#I still hold myself to these arbitrary standards of 'normalness' and for what?

[a-side-character]

Something something cringe culture is dead but not for me though

[arihi]

I’m torn about Charmed. On one hand, I’ve been curious forever. On another hand, I don’t want personal information in the hands of organizers because, even with the best intentions, accidents happen. On a disembodied 3rd hand - a very big hand - I’m deeply uncomfortable about being in such a charged space with people who do things I consider not remotely ok. For example, if I see, hear or smell the word “bimbo” I will be in a table-flipping mood, not a fun-having one.

Hi Anon,

I received both of your asks, though I’ll respond to them both in this one. Privacy and security concerns are certainly important, and it is a fair consideration to weigh. I’d probably suggest that Charmed will not sate your curiosity in a satisfying way. On your disembodied third hand, you paint sweeping generalizations about people who participate in example kinks separate from yours.

Since you seem to have read my blog, I wonder if you stumbled upon the post I recently reblogged with the tag that using your discomfort as a gauge of morality is an ignorant way to go about things. Your feelings are not a basis of morality just because you feel that you are a moral person. You have a right to feel uncomfortable, but you don’t have the right to burden other people in a shared space with your own prejudices.

The reality is if I were to run a “cringe-free” con (whatever that looks like), that appealed specifically to my tastes and my tastes only, it’d have a small audience of one. Everyone’s going to have different kinks and things they’re into, and different ways they go about it. It’s not an issue of morals – frankly, I’d hope you’d see the irony in trying to bring that up while Charmed is also still very much a sex/kink/fetish conference, and we know how the general population sees hypnosis. Credit card companies won’t even work with anything that uses the word ‘hypnosis’. In a community full of non-standard beliefs and preferences and lifestyles, who are you or I to decide what is TOO ‘nauseating’?

I know that a ‘not all kinks are my kink and that’s okay!’ hands-on-hips stance isn’t necessarily going to sway you, and I won’t pretend it will. Ultimately, people are going to have different kinks they participate in, that you do not personally need to be involved in. I’m not going to say that I myself understand every kink – I’m actually a bit more reserved on that front myself, and I’ve physically removed myself from areas when applicable. That’s because my discomfort is my own responsibility, especially when it comes to a, once again, *sex* con. You’re bound to see all sorts of things.

Cons aren’t for everyone, so you’re probably right – but that’s fine. Not every space is going to be best for every person. As Charmed is a kink positive con, there are inevitably going to be people with all sorts of kinks there. If that’s an uncomfortable notion for you to the degree you’ve indicated, it probably won’t be a fun experience for you or other attendees.

You were quite a bit harsher in your second ask, which I can’t imagine holding that kind of distaste for people you’ve never met. It feels like a wearisome and prickly way to go about things. Again, I won’t say I necessarily understand all the kinks out there – but I know that people have them, the same way I have one for hypnosis. And I’d want someone to extend the courtesy of not being disgusted by me without even knowing me, if not ideally a neutral, non-judgmental indifference. The likelihood any of this rambling post has swayed you is low, but it is an ever reminder to anyone in a kink community that we are more similar to one another in our lack of adherence to ‘normal’ societally acceptable tastes, and that infighting over arbitrary kink lines is at best, a waste of time.

[donnerpartyofone]

Put more casually, I sometimes catch myself doing this: I'm a straight female and I have almost zero interest in mainstream femininity, so I really have no skin in the game, but I can still become enraged if a straight man claims some celebrity is hot when she does not meet the rigid attractiveness standards that I have to labor under in our shared society. Some part of my brain goes, "Hold the fucking phone, if THAT vision of imperfection is hot, then even *I* could be hot, but I have never been afforded any of the social currency that actually-hot people enjoy, so WHAT FUCKING GIVES?" Possibly the problem of internalized misogyny here is not so much about joining in the punishment of female sexuality because it's so normalized, as it is about avoiding the appalling realization that female desirability can be amorphous and arbitrary (within certain constraints of course) and if you individually got the short end of the stick in your lived experience, that's just tough shit, there's no reason for it and there's nothing you can do about it. Pretending your suffering is justified is a lot easier than dealing with cosmic anarchy.

Thinking about the desire for suffering to be justified. You see it in financial debates e.g. student debt forgiveness. The issue at the core of the argument is not just vengeance/"I suffered so now you have to suffer", it's more like a desire for order/"I can accept my suffering if I believe it was for a REASON--and if there was a reason, you should suffer too. If you don't suffer, if means I suffered for NO REASON, and this is the worst of all revelations." You also see this anxiety arise around beauty standards, e.g. people who suffer because they are not considered beautiful will still hold both themselves and others to the standards that cause their own suffering; even objectively beautiful people are scrutinized for signs of age or weight gain or substandard plastic surgery or unfashionableness, because we all have to work together to uphold the validity of the laws of suffering. "If I suffer under the sexual attractiveness rules, then everybody else has to suffer the same way; if they don't, then it means I've been submitting to suffering when I didn't have to, which is unacceptable." Maybe we see this also in the justifications offered by people who can't get themselves to leave abusive relationships ("He's really a good man and just needs support," "I did something to deserve what happened," etc), although that's trickier terrain. Or maybe I've just reverse-engineered sunk cost fallacy. I dunno, stay tuned.

[silverskye13]

different anon. it does for some people but not everyone. (also, some people may find the feature annoying in certain cases because the length it decides is Too Long is kiinda arbitrary and peoople have differnent lines.)

So in the spirit of Under-The-Cutting, I guess.

First thing of address, I guess: I can't control if people turn off the auto Tumblr readmore function. If it doesn't work for you, you can't control that either. But I find it a bit unfair that someone might, hypothetically, turn off the useful tool for cutting back on longposts on your dashboard, and then come into my inbox and be passive-aggressive about me not doing the function for them on my side of the equation. If that's the circumstances that kicked all this off, it's a bit... ahm... self-centered. I personally have it turned on, less because I want to filter long written posts [I like reading the fics posted on Tumblr] but because I like to filter long image posts, and those generally don't get censored under a readmore.

For that matter I also can't control someone's scrolling speed. I get what the second anon is trying to say: maybe only censor posts of a certain size. The issue here is what I think is long isn't the same as what someone else does. For me personally, I think long is a written work that tops out around 10k words. I'd get annoyed scrolling through that on my dashboard. The fic I posted yesterday was a rare 5k-ish. Most fics I've posted here in the past are around 2-3k, but I've posted an 8k fic here before with no resistance. Something I'm learning from this is other people think 2-3k is fine enough to scroll through, but 5k is a lot. So... noting that for the future.

So I personally don't like censoring my posts under the readmore function for a couple or reasons:

It cuts back on engagement, noticeably. It's the side-effect of social media that you want instant gratification as quickly as possible. When someone is given the choice to either click a button and sit on a post for awhile, or continuing to scroll through their dashboard for something quicker to engage with, normally they'll pick the second option. That's how social media was made, and while the Tumblr platform subverts this a little by it's nature, it still buy-and-large holds true.

Read mores, as far as I'm aware, can only be added on desktop. The snippets that make it to Tumblr, barring when I archive them for myself on a separate document, are all written on mobile. If they aren't completely mobile, they're at least started/drafted there and then moved to desktop later - but I want to say 9/10 of these are written and posted completely from my phone. And they're going to lean even more into that, since for various reasons, it's currently easier and more reliable for me to write on my phone. I won't be able to continue writing fics here if I have to wait until I have access to my laptop every time before posting them. Which leads me to my incredibly me-only dilemma:

Writing these quickly and posting them rough to Tumblr is the only reason these quick fics get written in the first place. I started posting written work to Tumblr because I was tired of abandoning so many ideas in the shuffle between "Is this good enough for AO3?" and "Is this good enough to be written at all?" But if I have to re-add roadblocks that make posting here more trouble than it's worth, I know myself, I will end up not posting fics here anymore. I'm sure it sounds silly. It sounds silly to me. But it's less of a "readmores make me not want to write" and more of the mental gymnastics of: Is this fic long enough to need a readmore -> If it does need a readmore, when will I have the time to add it -> Do I post it now and edit it in later? Probably not, because I won't remember to add it later -> Since I waited to post it, do i even remember hours later that I had a fic I wanted to post -> Would it have been easier to post this on AO3, even though it doesn't meet my standard of craft of AO3 fics? -> Why am I bothering to do this when I have so many other things I'd rather spend my time on? If you've ever done that thing where you got nothing done on a free day because you had (1) thing you had to do in the afternoon, and all your mental faculties were taken up going "No I can't do X, I have to do that thing in 4 hours!" That's kind of the odd cascade the whole readmore thing is doing for me right now.

My thoughts on this currently is I have 2 compromises and 1 definitely-not-a-compromise. And the one not-a-compromise is I ignore all this ever happened, and continue doing what I have been doing. I don't want to do that because I like to be accommodating? I'm very community focused. I like building an atmosphere that's welcoming when it comes to the blog. But that might also be what I resort to just because, as I said above, if this turns into more trouble on my end than I think it's worth, I'll just stop posting fics here, and I don't want to do that. Which leads me to--

Compromise 1: I stop posting fics here. It's not really a compromise, but it's easy. Ish. Eh. Not really. Tagging everything on AO3 is a pain in the butt for something quick and dumb you wrote up because you thought it'd be fun. But being able to post a link to a fic like with my LongFics is a think I could just fall back on. I think it also means I'll probably stop writing this stuff though, because I'll get bogged down in things like trying to edit them, or link them together cohesively when they're out of chronological order [Like the Hels/Wels fics, which currently are all over the place in their timeline, and will continue to be so probably]. Regardless it's an option.

Compromise 2: We can go back to the old standby which is me tagging anything longer than 3 paragraphs as "long post" and then if anyone doesn't want it popping up on their dash, they can filter the tag. I also don't like this option because it blocks even more than a readmore does. But it's quick and easy for me, and maintains the integrity of "I wanted to post this to Tumblr and not worry about it anymore."

This is all stuff for me to stew on. I don't expect people to weigh in on these options, though you're welcome to if you think you have some good input for it. But that's about where I'm at right now.

[artificialqueens]

I'm Not Into Sometimes, Chapter 2 (Rosnali) - SnowBun

A/N: Very proud of this chapter <3 finally feel myself getting back to the writing style I enjoy the most. I hope you like reading this is as much as I like writing it. much love everyone xx

Summary: When Denali goes viral for posting a dance video, she doesn’t expect it to lead her to becoming a choreographer for Rosé, an up and coming singer destined for fame. Denali thinks that this might be her first (and only) shot at achieving her dream. If only her dream wasn’t wrapped up in a flurry of pink hair, charm and a supposedly professional relationship.

—

Release comes in the sound of blades scraping against ice. It is the feeling of her core tightening as she pushes off the ground and becomes the world turning on its axis. She is this moment of weightlessness and control.

Then her head begins to fog with visions of spinning rose-colored tops across a dark wooden floor, so endlessly mesmerizing. Her mind fills with questions of intrigue and challenge, the first time she’s ever seen duality so up close. Oh, to be so breathlessly enamored by beauty and talent.

It’s the loss of focus that weighs her down, causing her to land shakily on her right foot. She extends her left leg for balance and slides not-so-gracefully on the ice. She hears Olivia cheer in the sidelines, all bright white smile and wonder. It brings her back to the rink and away from the studio.

She skates over, pressing her forehead to the fence. “It’s not so bad.” She thinks. The rest of the world is slowly but surely getting hooked on Rosé, and she lives up to every expectation and more. She thinks it’s perfectly normal to feel a little charmed by her.

Even if she was a bitch at first.

“What’s wrong?”

Then again, she can’t quite answer Olivia’s question. She isn’t a fan from half way across the world. She’s the damn choreographer. She’s in New York, seeing her old friends and grasping onto her dream.

Said dream just had to come in the form of pink hair and clear brown eyes.

She shakes her head and smiles. “Nothing’s wrong, Liv.”

—

At first, she thinks she’s just so tired that she’s seeing things. When she blinks, she realizes that her eyes aren’t lying and that Rosé really is right there, sitting on the dance studio floor at 6:30 in the morning. She’s staring at intently at her phone, with an expression that can only be described as upset fury. She becomes too absorbed in typing to even notice Denali come in.

“Hey.”

She looks up and her face softens into a small smile. There it goes again, that weird feeling of nakedness that comes with being looked at by those eyes. The combination of this and the lack of sleep is disconcerting, but she manages to smile back anyway.

“Hey.” Rosé procures a coffee cup from behind her and reaches up to pass it. “I got you coffee.”

It takes her a minute to process, way too taken aback by the gesture. She’s always prided herself on being difficult to phase, but when a woman who is basically her employer that she barely knows hands her coffee, it’s hard not to act surprised.

Nonetheless, she accepts it gratefully, muttering a ‘thanks’ as she sits down on the floor beside her.

For a while, she stills as Rosé continues to type with such force that Denali’s scared that she might end up cracking the screen somehow. She wonders in silence, but she’d be lying if she says she’s not tempted to cross the arbitrary line and ask if something is wrong.

“Sorry.” Rosé’s voice suddenly rings clear, but the world around them still feels quiet, tranquil almost. “Just a lot of stuff that needs to get done before the video shoot.”

“Mmm,” Denali says, as she sips her coffee. “It’s fine, I don’t mind.”

Even if the phone has been tucked into the pocket of her bag, Rosé opts for stretching out her legs in front of her and yawning instead of getting up. She turns her head to look at the choreographer whose gaze is directed at the cup in her hand.

“So,” She draws out the word lazily, cocking her head to the side. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“What do you think of Phenomenon?”

It’s a difficult question to answer. If she says something bad, she’s kicked off this project. If she says something good, she’s just kissing ass. She knows that the only right answer to this question is her own opinion, but when her mother told her that honesty is the best policy, she’s not sure this is the situation that she had in mind.

“Honestly?” Rosé nods. “I think it’s great. The lyrics are good, the production is amazing, your vocals are fantastic. Plus it’s your own brand of witty and self-assured. Not sure what’s not to like there.”

She isn’t sure if this was the answer Rosé expected from her. All she hears is a sigh and they sink once again into that comfortable silence while Denali finishes her coffee. She doesn’t really know much, or anything really, about the woman beside her, but in the stillness of the morning, she feels comfortable.

“Right,” Rosé’s voice is soft and she hates herself for the ache that starts to bloom in her chest. “What’s not to like?”

She tries to ignore it, that stupid idea that this true vulnerability and not just small talk between colleagues; but she sees those eyes staring into the empty space, watches the beams of sunlight give her a blush halo. The ache spreads through her body and she bites her tongue to stop from begging to know what she could possibly not like.

Denali stands up and throws away her cup in a bin in the corner of the room. “Anyway,” She reaches out a hand to help her up. “We should get to work.”

Rosé smirks up at her and she thinks that the ache is threatening to cause an implosion. “Oh, so she’s all work and no play, huh?” She says, grabbing at her hand.

Then they’re face to face and Denali can feel the tug, that back and forth that comes with the competition that is flirting. She laughs a little, tries her best to play it cool. “I have to work hard if I want to play hard, don’t I?”

She walks away with a pair of eyes on her back and an ache that won’t go away.

—

“Are you going to spill all the tea now or what?”

Her eyebrows raise behind the glass of vodka cranberry that she’s holding. Of course, Mik wants to get straight to the gossip. She’d be surprised with any other conversation starter to their Friday night, almost a week since she’d arrived in New York. The bar Mik chose is a little too crowded for her taste, filled with other women who have been eyeing her. She notices but she ignores it in favor of the woman in front of her.

“What happened to ‘how have you been, Denali?’ or ‘how’s New York, Denali?’”

“Okay whatever,” Mik rolls her eyes. “How are you?”

“Tired.” She answers in a heartbeat.

“And would that have anything to do with a certain singer whose name rhymes with… shit, I can’t think of anything.”

She purses her lips together. If she’s honest, working with Rosé is probably the least tiring thing on her agenda. The ice skating in the early evenings as a bid to tire herself to sleep hasn’t been working. All its led to is sleepless nights staring at the ceiling until she sees the first vestiges of day creep through the windows, signaling another turn on the earth’s axis.

In the studio with Rosé, she can at the very least find some peace. The understanding that they are both good at what they do and the comfort of knowing that each day with her is a chance to know her more drives her to get out of bed and into the studio.

“A part of it, yeah.” It’s the tiniest bit of truth and Mik doesn’t look one bit sated by it. “What else am I supposed to tell you?”

“Oh, come on,” It’s that signature Mik whine that finally gets a laugh out of her. “You have to tell me something, anything!”

“You’re an MUA that works with runway models. You know enough famous people as it is.”

“That doesn’t make me any less curious about them.”

She bites her tongue when she hears those words. It’s not like she’s any different. Every morning with Rosé is an established routine with coffee and curiosity on both ends. The existing respect for each other’s craft makes them both wonder about the person underneath.

So, they start to ask questions. How’s New York? Where’d you get the coffee? How’s your morning? What’s the name of that guy on TV who used to host Fear Factor and is a shithead now?

Like clockwork, the questions morph into flirting. It’s standard, innocent, verging on comfortable even. Rosé is always the first to break into a blush, true to her name. At times, Denali thinks that she may have gone too far, but then she sees those eyes again, all amusement and interest. Each interaction is a chance for the ache to spread somewhere new along with the growing assurance that there’s nothing to dislike.

“I don’t know, okay?” She finally lets out. “We work great together and we get along, but it’s not like, ‘ooo, you’re my new bestie’ or anything like that.”

“Hmm,” Mik lets out a him, popping the straw out of her mouth. “That’s interesting.”

“Why is that interesting?”

“Let’s just say my sources tell me she doesn’t get along with everyone.”

Her eyebrows scrunch together at that. Sure, she understands that Rosé isn’t exactly everyone’s glass of wine, especially with the cold seriousness that she handles her music, but she respects that about her.

What’s not to like?

“Well, I don’t think she’s a bitch, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Or maybe you want to be her bitch…”

“Oh, fuck you!” She throws a tissue at Mik’s face as the model cackles in delight. Her phone suddenly chimes, a message from an unknown number popping up on the screen.

?: hey, I got your number from Tamisha

“Who is it?”

Damn her and her expressive features. She keeps quiet, brain going at breakneck speed to think of all the reasons why she’s texting on a Friday night when she probably has at least a hundred different parties to go to and a thousand different women trying to catch her eye.

Denali: really hope this is rose and not the guy standing outside Tamisha’s office who keeps asking me out

“It’s just Rosé.” She watches Mik’s mouth turn into an O-shape and she throws another tissue. “No, no, not what you’re thinking, sweetie.”

At least she doesn’t think so. Harmless flirting is one thing, but getting her number from her manager? They keep stepping closer and closer to the line and she thinks she sees the chalk start to smudge.

?: sorry to disappoint, it’s just rosé

Denali: too bad. what’s up?

“She’s texting you on a fucking Friday night.” Mik sounds absolutely dumbfounded. “Sounds a lot more than professional to me.”

She knows that Mik is right. They don’t even have practice tomorrow, so she can’t justify it as a possible cancellation. She’s about to come out with some boldfaced lie when her phone vibrates on the table.

Rose: just thought you should have my number. ps: my name is not rose

Olivia arrives and she slams her phone right down on the table.

“I’m buying us a round of shots.

—

She hates this. She loves this. Saturday morning is now the distant tip-tap of heels against the floor, click in the brain, a switch to her soul. Wake up, wake up, wake up. This is not home, it’s not her hotel room. It’s just a cold floor where she has some peace.

Then she hears that voice, every note of the song a gentle wave rushing in to carry her away from her body. Her eyes are glued shut, but it doesn’t matter when she’s already left her body behind on the shore. The voice grows louder, closer, and the waves start to grow. Her body is too far away now and she’s not sure if her eyes will ever open again.

Wake the fuck up.

“Denali?”

A poke to the ribs sends her rushing back into her own body. An involuntary groan escapes her lips and she hears a laugh from above her. She scrunches her eyes shut, terrified that any form of light might cost her the ability to see.

“What the hell?”

Her voice sounds like a croak to her ears and she manages to roll over onto her back. With a moment of preparation, she cracks open an eye. She’s greeted by the sight of Rosé kneeling over her barely functioning body, clearly trying her best not to laugh. Again, she groans and Rosé can no longer help herself.

“Why are you here?”

Honestly, she’s not sure about the answer to that one. There are bits and pieces of memories from last night printed on the back of her eyelids, but it’s all too fuzzy for her to try to piece together immediately. She remembers the sound of Olivia’s laughter mingling with Mik’s voice as they watched her throw back a seventh shot. The memory causes pain to start creeping into her head and she makes a promise to herself to never drink again.

There’s the sound of shuffling and when she looks up, Rosé isn’t kneeling above her anymore. She assumes that she’s sick and tired of her hungover ass, a perfectly valid response in her opinion. Then she hears humming beside her and sighs, glad that validity has no place in this situation. She closes her eyes again, losing herself to the light behind her eyes to ease the throbbing at her temples.

“Isn’t it a Saturday?”

“Yes.”

“Why are you here?”

“I asked you first.”

Her hands fly up to her face. Rosé is laughing again and the pain starts to spread throughout every part of her head. If only it would subside, maybe she’d finally have the energy to actually be embarrassed about waking up on the floor of her workplace.

“Went drinking.”

“Ah, and how’s that going for you?” There’s a smile in her voice. Fuck it, she thinks as she jumps straight over the line of professionalism with a flip of her middle finger. Oh well, it’s not as if this whole situation has pretty much created a void where the line should be.

“Your turn.”

Rosé goes quiet. She focuses on the sound of their breathing. Inhale, exhale. The expansion of her sides with every controlled gulp of air. She hears a plane overhead, letting the escape of air follow it far away from city streets.

“Just wanted to get away for a while.”

She turns her head, sees pale pink rose petals sprawled out on the dark floor. In the gentle light of a Saturday morning, her eyes break her promise to herself, drinking in the sight of weary beauty. She thinks she’s just hungover, but she believes she’s never seen anyone quite so pretty before.

“Well,” She looks back up at the ceiling, stark white staring back at her. “Same here.”

—

By 10:00 PM, she’s burying herself in sheets. She’s never been much of a fan of stillness, but she thinks the last week might be changing her mind.

A few hours earlier, she’d replied to Mik and Olivia’s texts, asking her if she was okay. She cursed and reassured them in the same breath. When they’d asked her where she’d ended up, she had said, “passed out on the floor.”

Half a truth is good enough, right?

If she had told them everything, she’d have to tell them that she laid in the studio for half an hour with Rosé’s humming the only thing cutting through the pounding in her head. She would have to tell them that she’d stumbled as she got up, letting warm hands guide her as she learned to stand. She’d have to tell them of the exchange of tender smiles, so different from the tug of war of flirtation that she’s accustomed to.

Her phone lights up. She expects Mik or Olivia, even Kahmora. No, she only sees that name and she giggles to herself like a damn teenager, a quiet admission that she’s allowed something to change.

Rose: pls tell me you didn’t go drinking again

Denali: I actually like having more than one brain cell, thanks

Rose: great, don’t want to have to pick you up off the floor again

Denali: won’t you ever let me live it down rose?

Rose: only if you start spelling my name right

Denali: the accent’s too much of an effort

Rose: then use my real name

Denali: ???

Rose: call me rosie

A smile graces her lips and she shoots off one last message. She places her phone on the nightstand and buries herself in the blankets, drifting into her first good sleep in a long time.

Denali: alright, night rosie

—

Monday morning suddenly frees up when Rosé says she has to move their session to the evening to make room for interviews. She fills up the rest of her morning by replying to emails about skating gigs for when she eventually returns home. She has lunch with Mik and Olivia and when they inevitably begin to pry, she stays mum on what she can only now describe as her complicated friendship with Rosé. She returns to the hotel and lets herself sleep, turning the feeling of being well-rested into a brand-new addiction.

When she arrives at the studio at 7, there’s no one there. While it isn’t like Rosé to be late, she doesn’t text. She assumes that she’s coming from yet another one of many interviews that she kindly referred to as, “shitheads trying to get way too personal.”

She settles for freestyling to loosen up while she waits. When the music starts, she feels herself break. Every moment is grounded in her own brand of ferocity and well, sex. There’s comfort in her own body, in the knowing that it is a temple of worship to herself. A signal from her brain to move, a single fluid motion, all indulgent offerings to the pleasure only she will ever feel. She throws herself into the fire and the sensation of pleasure starts to build.

The door opens, but she doesn’t, can’t stop. She feels like she’s hovering over the floor, on the brink of climax. The song peaks and she almost gasps, dropping to her knees and letting her back hit the floor. She takes a deep breath, relishes the feeling of being alive.

“Sorry.” She’s apologizing, but she’s not sure for what.

“I…” For once, Rosé is at a loss for words. Her quick wit has been thrown out the window and is probably being dragged around under the wheels of a taxi. She laughs breathily as she gets to her feet.

When their eyes meet, the air turns heavy with unspoken words and desire. She tries to look away, but she can’t. Brown gazes meet and for the first time, she permits herself the thought of what it would be like to kiss her. Maybe, just maybe, that wouldn’t be so bad after all.

“Uhm, okay! Let’s get started?” Rosé bursts out and she thinks that she might have won this round.

If the singer seems more distracted than usual, she doesn’t say anything about it.

—

The water in the shower is still cold when she receives a text that evening.

Rosie: no need to meet me for the rest of the week. We need four dancers for the video, auditions on wed

The water suddenly seems warm and for the first time in her life, she thinks she’s finally learning what it’s like to lose.

—

[angelofthequeers]

City of Ashes thoughts

Got bored, devoured an entire book in a few hours like back in the good old days of a happy little autistic kid with hopes and dreams and no burnout 🙃 Tagging @repulsolife again for the lolz.

Prologues normally make me wary but this one worked. It set up the main mystery in the story in a way that wasn’t immediately obvious and made me want to read more to see why Valentine needed Elias’ blood and why he needed to summon a demon in the first place.

I can’t tell whether it’s me being aro as hell, knowing that Clary and Jace have to be endgame and can’t be if they’re siblings, or just not being invested in the Clary/Jace relationship. Maybe a mix of all three. I just found myself not really caring about the whole incest/forbidden love thing while also questioning the appeal of it. But I did appreciate that it was Legitimate Relationship Drama instead of the tired old cliched misunderstandings or “we can’t be together for arbitrary plot reason” (which is why I don’t read romances in the first place), so point to Cassandra Clare there. Miraculous Ladybug also has legitimate reasons for the love square not being together, which is why I’m so invested in them.

Still like Clary. She’s annoying at times in the way that teenage girls can be annoying and self-centred while trying to figure themselves out, and she’s explicitly called out in the story by Jace and Simon and the people she hurts, so she’s nowhere near the perfect goddess that people who accuse her of being a Mary Sue call her. I did feel for her trying to lie to herself and tearing her hair out trying to figure out who exactly she was, because her stable identity as Clary Fray was ripped away not too long ago and she hasn’t had the time to really sit down and think about who the heck she is. She’s just a pretty typical teenage girl trying to figure out her place in the world, when the world happens to be full of deadly threats that are out for her and her friends and family.

I also liked that her affinity with runes was expanded on and further hinted at. There’s an actual reason for her having a special gift, and she’s not the only one, and I want to know more.

Still don’t like Jace. I feel for him. I get the inner torment he went through. I get that trauma makes you act in fucked-up ways. But if he’s able to look at a kid and laugh and say that the kid basically got what he deserved, it’s gonna take a hell of a lot more than a troubled past and an identity crisis after being rejected by his adoptive mother to make me like him. He’s an arse.

And especially because no one calls him out for that. They rag on him for being reckless enough to pick a fight with werewolves, but literally no one apart from the wolves themselves calls out Jace for pretty much laughing at the death of a child. Even Luke is just like “kk guys he’s our ally so like chill” and covers Jace’s rear, when he could have also at least tried to scold Jace for mocking the death of a kid.

I hate Jace right now, if you couldn’t tell.

I hope that changes, because otherwise I’m really not gonna care about the Clary/Jace drama that seems to be driving these books.

I both like Simon more in this book and also dislike him more. I like him because Clary was giving him mixed signals and I don’t blame him for interpreting them the way he wanted, because he’s only human. Or, well, he was. I dislike him because he’s basically acting like he’s entitled to Clary as his girlfriend, carrying on about how long he’s loved her and acting as though being her oldest friend is enough to stake a claim on her.

Clary was kind of just along for the ride when it came to the relationship part of this book; and I get she was trying to figure herself out, and that it’s a normal human thing to try and “settle” for what they think they want and to have things both ways, but she didn’t really do anything. It was Simon and Jace calling the shots by breaking up with her or storming off in a fit of rage or whatever.

But I did like Simon outside of the relationship drama. And even though I think (????) I’ve read this book like literally years ago and knew he became a vampire, it was still a shock when it happened, and the scene where Valentine ‘killed’ him made me stop reading for a few minutes to process, even though I knew Clare wouldn’t kill off one of the main characters. Especially after he already had a ‘death’ scene earlier.

I also liked the nods to him being Jewish. I know Clare is Jewish herself, so it was a delight to read about these little things, especially how Jewish vampires might work.

Isabelle was same as always. Her banter with Meliorn was amusing, and I loved how furious she got in defence of Jace, but she was kind of just...there.

Max was cute. I like Max. He’s totally going to die later on.

Alec got some real growth this book and I actually like him a lot now. He’s still himself but he’s not a raging prick to everyone.

Loved Maia. I hope she’s a more major character later on, because I’d really like to see more of her.

Imogen was meh. I knew as soon as Stephen was mentioned that she was going to have a change of heart and die defending Jace somehow, and I was right. She was a solid antagonist and her motives were understandable and she was a good foil to Valentine; I just didn’t really care much about her.

Valentine is very suitably creepy. He’s excellent at emotional manipulation, especially when he left Jace alone in the Bone City after killing the Silent Brothers, and I actually know about the plot twist regarding Valentine and Jace because I’ve seen Jace’s real name floating around since this series came out like a decade ago. So that makes this even more chilling, because Valentine knows that Jace and Clary aren’t siblings and he still perpetuates that lie to mess around with both their heads and still continue to claim that he’s Jace’s real father to try and persuade him to the dark side.

He really reminds me of Gabriel Agreste from ML, and I would hurl Gabriel into the sun, so Clare’s done a good job with him. And just like Gabriel, he’s a pretty standard villain who’s willing to do anything to achieve his goals, even if that means being a hypocrite and sacrificing his morals and beliefs. I’m not so much invested in the Evil Plan part of him as I am in the Horrifically Manipulative Jerk part of him, and I did enjoy reading more about how he charmed the Circle to his side in the first place.

The worldbuilding is still as alluring as always. I was so invested in every little bit I learned about Clare’s world, and I liked how the Clave was established as theoretically on the side of good but in practice kind of...lacking. It really enhances the idea in these books that good and evil are both clear, solid positions but are also hazy and can’t be that easily defined.

I enjoyed City of Ashes more than City of Bones. It had a good deal more action and the murder mystery was intriguing, and the world was also fleshed out a good deal more. Now I just have to hold off on City of Glass until I get City of Fallen Angels (😭), which is where I think I stopped reading the series back when I was like 13 if I did read it? I don’t recognise the last two titles in the series like I do the first four. Idk, it’s been a decade so I don’t remember anything.

[norrrington]

rules of engagement | pirates of the caribbean | ao3

Governor Swann throws a lavish engagement party for the newly betrothed James and Elizabeth, but the celebration is interrupted when James receives an unexpected correspondence from his estranged father.

hello! as my lovely friends and followers know, a few days ago i published a norribeth fic on ao3 and made a post about it here, but unfortunately tumblr’s new arbitrary tagging rules prevented it from showing up in any of the relevant tags. in an effort to circumvent this i’ve decided to publish the body of the work in plain text here, but i also have a link to it on ao3 if you would prefer to read it there or would like to leave a kudos or comment (which i would very much appreciate)! i hope you enjoy it. thank you so much for reading :’)

Approximately two hours into the party, she loses him.

Truthfully, the engagement ball had been her father’s suggestion. Despite James and Elizabeth’s obvious disdain for such functions—James, ever the picture of graciousness and cordiality, expressed his feelings considerably meeker than his fiancée—the governor could not forego the opportunity to celebrate the impending union of his only daughter and the decorated Commodore he’d always loved as a son.

The couple obliged him gratefully, though both found themselves shocked at the grandeur with which the event was thrown. The guest list not only boasted the presence of Port Royal’s finest, but a smattering of Weatherby’s contacts in London who were exceedingly happy to make the arduous trip, if only to determine for themselves the veracity of the legends about the Royal Navy’s fabled “Scourge of Piracy”.

Much to her surprise, Elizabeth finds herself in thorough enjoyment of the evening. She’s never cared for the social obligations of her station, but the thin gold band that newly adorns her left hand brings with it feelings of security and warmth, much like the man to whom it tethers her. James has been a steady fixture in her life since her early adolescence, treating her with kindness and respect at an age when she was frequently dismissed and condescended to by those in lower positions than he. She fondly recalls the countless times he patiently entertained her insatiable curiosities about his exploits at sea, even occasionally gifting her trinkets from his military escapades abroad. As she grew older, her adolescent infatuation with him bore heavier water, which he returned in spades of ardent devotion during their courtship.

She feels a small smile pull at the corners of her lips as she remembers the night of his proposal. It was an uncharacteristically cool evening in Port Royal, and the newly-minted Commodore had escorted her away from the suffocating crowd and toward a parapet overlooking the serene, sparkling waters of the Caribbean. Their mutual contempt for social engagements was a hallmark of their relationship, and she chuckles to herself thinking of the myriad dinner parties and elaborate balls during which they’d traded snide comments in conspiratorial whispers.

She takes great pride in cracking his stoic facade, causing him to spurt startling barks of laughter at inopportune moments that draw irate glares from their guests and color the tips of his ears a deep, bashful red. She enjoys this side of him, in large part due to the fact that it seems solely reserved for her. Under no other circumstances does he waver or relinquish control, yet the night of their engagement he appeared positively flustered. She had fought an adoring smile as she watched him silently war with himself, no doubt chastising himself for the adverse effects of his nerves.

His words wove gentle knots in Elizabeth’s heart, promising his love, adoration, and unrelenting devotion to her. She had never known a man as steadfast as James Norrington, and to be the subject of his affections was a stroke of good fortune she often found herself in awe of. Her answer came swiftly, enthusiastically, and affirmatively, bucking his cherished standards of propriety and drawing him down for a long, tender kiss.

The swell of the orchestra returns her from her reverie, and she scans the room for her fiancée, hoping to entice him to join her for a quiet moment in the garden, yet James—whom she normally spies pressed against a wall in hopes of avoiding detection—is nowhere to be found. His unannounced absence sets her on edge, and she slips out of the ballroom in search of him.

As she turns into the hallway, she spots the door to the study is slightly ajar, casting a sliver of moonlight upon her feet. She enters quietly, careful not to immediately notify him of her presence. The room is dark save for the pattering of starlight dancing across the floorboards, and she feels an inexplicable chill run through her despite the balmy evening air.

She spots James seated at the desk, illuminated only by the flame of a small candle flickering next to him. He is ensconced in shadows, and though she cannot see his face, he appears decidedly defeated, his shoulders slumped and head bowed over what appears to be a small letter.

“James?” she calls. “Are you alright? You seem to have disappeared from the fray.” She remains in the doorway, hesitant to enter, as if approaching a wounded animal.

James lifts his head at his name, and the expression he bears churns her stomach.

His dark brows are knitted in concern, his mouth contorted in a severe frown. Elizabeth is stricken by how uncharacteristically small he looks in this moment, and her heart aches. She crosses the room to meet him, resting a hand gently on his shoulder.

As if suddenly aware of the effect his rare, unguarded display of emotion has on her, James straightens himself and attempts to adopt an expression of neutrality. It doesn’t work, however, and Elizabeth’s throat tightens. She wishes he didn’t feel the need to always be strong for her, especially at the expense of conveying his true feelings.

“I’m sorry to have left so abruptly,” he sighs, reaching up to his shoulder to place his hand over hers. “I should have come to find you.”

“No need to apologize, darling.” She pauses for a moment, searching for a way to lighten his mood. After a brief silence, she ventures, “I was hoping for a respite from these stifling guests myself, but it appears you’ve taken the preferred hideout.”

He smiles weakly up at her in a halfhearted acknowledgement of her attempt, but the expression does not meet his eyes. He glances down at the parchment in his hand, and Elizabeth notices that it is trembling slightly.

“I received a letter from my father.”

A wave of dread washes over Elizabeth, nausea nestling uncomfortably in her stomach. James never speaks much of his father, but she knows enough to be aware that he holds no affection for the Admiral, nor he James.

“Oh,” Elizabeth breathes, her anxiety casting a thick cloud in the humid air. What small bouts of communication James has with his family are usually conducted through his mother, who often disguises her own praises for her husband’s. James is never fooled, but extends her the courtesy of letting her believe otherwise. “He wrote you directly?”

“I was similarly surprised,” he sneers. “Apparently he deems our engagement a worthwhile enough occasion for his semi-annual acknowledgement of my existence. Aren’t we lucky?”

James’ words are acidic, but the thinly-masked hurt behind the words renders his voice nigh unrecognizable. Elizabeth squeezes his shoulder in response, then kneels at his side to meet his mournful gaze.

“May I see it?” she asks, so softly it’s nearly lost in the cacophony of music and laughter wafting from the adjacent ballroom.

James obliges wordlessly, casting his eyes downward like a child being scolded. She desperately wants to rest his head against her chest and press soothing kisses into his hair, but she refrains. Instead, she accepts the letter from him, dusting a soft kiss across his knuckles as she does so.

She knows from James’ occasional mentions that his father is a man of few words, yet she still finds herself taken aback by the brevity of the letter. The man’s penmanship is immaculate but impersonal, spanning the width of the page as if striving to crawl off of it.

Son,

I wish to extend your mother’s and my sincere congratulations on your engagement. May this be an accomplishment you brandish with pride.

Regards,

Admiral Lawrence Norrington English Royal Navy

Elizabeth scoffs at the formality with which the letter is written. Though she‘s always been aware that the relationship she shares with her father is rare, the cold detachment etched into the parchment sends a shiver down her spine. She gleans more information about her future father-in-law from what is withheld from the page than what is written, taking particular notice of the seemingly deliberate omission of any personal details.

She makes a silent note to herself to hug her father particularly tightly the next time she sees him.

After a long pause, she lets out a bitter laugh that pierces the air and startles James out of his stupor.

“Clearly you gained more from it than I did,” he responds flatly.

Elizabeth shakes her head. “Not at all. I’m simply marveling at the misfortune of the poor couriers whose efforts were wasted delivering such a worthless correspondence. I only hope they were compensated handsomely for their needless trouble.”

James arches an eyebrow in question, then releases a sharp bark of laughter that seems to deflate his rigid frame. Encouraged by his responding levity, Elizabeth smirks. “Do you think he believes he’ll receive a court martial if he fails to sign off with his full title?”

James unleashes a smile that illuminates his face, flecks of gold glinting in his impossibly green eyes. Elizabeth’s heart swells at the sight. “Perhaps my own failure to do so is why I have not yet been similarly promoted,” he replies, slapping his hand over his heart in feigned shock. “And to think the solution has been in front of me all this time!”

“Oh, please,” Elizabeth answers, waving her hand dismissively. “The honorable Admiral Norrington seems to perceive our impending union as a suitable alternative.”

James’ face falls at this, and he reaches down to clasp her hands in his own. Though she plays off the comment in jest, James knows she resents the frequent comparisons of her hand in marriage to a prize won. “Elizabeth,” he begins, his emerald gaze intent on her. “I assure you his foolish assessment of our relationship is not founded in anything he’s learnt on my behalf.”

A conciliatory smile graces her lips. She knows this. No matter how forward she’s been, how explicitly clear she’s made her feelings for him, James has never taken her—or her word—for granted. Even on the eve of their engagement, when their prior expressions of love rendered the occasion more a formality than an official inquiry, she had noticed an air of trepidation about him, as if he anticipated a rejection. She wondered if something in a past life had prepared him for it.

“Of course,” she replies, cupping his cheek in her hand. “I simply find myself tiring of those who liken our marriage to a professional laurel. I understand not all are able to marry for love, but reducing the value of women to what they can offer to their husbands…” Her gaze drops to her lap as she trails off, unable to finish without betraying the bitter lump in her throat. She hadn’t expected such emotion to overcome her in her efforts to comfort him.

James pulls her closer to him, pressing his forehead against hers. The simple, wordless act of understanding diffuses the tension in both of their bodies, and they sit in silence for a few moments, relishing the quiet intimacy of being entirely anchored to one another. He presses a soft kiss to her hair and tilts her chin to meet his eyes. After a beat, he smiles mischievously, as if he was just made privy to an excellent joke.

“I would say we’ve been most gracefully acquiescent to the governor’s lavish wishes for our engagement celebration. Perhaps we could leverage him to limit the capacity of our wedding to a more… amenable audience?”

Elizabeth releases a satisfied grin that splits her features, positioning her chin authoritatively. “I believe that can be arranged.”

[kagami190]

“Death & Rebirth” Chapter 1

Chapter 1 - Death

Prologue

Konata, Kagami, and Tsukasa sat around a table at the Hiragi household, finding themselves restless in the summer after graduation. And as per usual, Konata had found something to rant about. What was unusual was that it wasn't anime or games or even something arbitrary - she seemed it have a genuine concern with the lack of romance during their high school years.

"The funny thing about it is," Konata said holding up one finger in a declaration, "As much as we talk about it, not one of us goes seeking out boys."

"YOU'RE the one who's talking about it," Kagami said annoyed, "I think that's personal stuff and it's rude to ask someone about it if they're uncomfortable."

"And me talking about boys and dating makes you uncomfortable?" "Yes!" Kagami said, "Why else would I have said that?!"

"Well we have been friends for a long time,". Tsukasa interjected followed by an innocent smile, "If you can't talk about things like that with girlfriends, who else would you talk about it with?"

"That's my point though, what's there to talk about?" Konata said, "No one even talks about having a crush. We're missing a core dynamic in a female social circle."

"I've just had more important things to concentrate on." Kagami said, "I was worried about my grades up until the day of graduation... Wow, can you guys believe we're done with high school?"

"I can believe that." Konata said, pausing for a beat, "What I can't believe is how a group of hotties like ourselves made it to the end of high school without so much as holding hands with someone."

"Wow," Kagami said, "You're not letting this one go, are you? "I'm just saying," Konata said.

"She does have a point," Said Tsukasa, looking sadly at the ground, "I mean, I don't think I'm ugly..."

"You're not." Kagami said, "You just have priorities as I do."

Tsukasa smiled, "Thanks, sis." She turned to Konata, "But Kona-chan you've never really cared about boys and relationships anyway. Why start now?" Tsukasa asked.

"I'm just making an observation," Konata said, "Not like it keeps me up at night." "Yeah, I'm sure your pervy dating sims satisfy your loneliness anyway." Kagami teased.

"Nah, I don't get off on it or anything. My dad might with his dating sims, but I'd rather not think about his gaming practices." Konata said, shivering a little.

"So then why play them?" Kagami asked. "It's a great social exercise," Konata said nodding.

"Right," Kagami rolled her eyes, "Social skills for the social life you don't have?"

Konata shrugged, "It beats talking to people and trying to convince them to be my friend. In the game everyone likes me."

"That's all well and good," Kagami started, "But the adult scenes?"

"Good study material for how stuff is gonna go down in college. Girls gotta be prepared to face the world of naughty coed antics."

Kagami sighed, "Riiiight. If you say so." Tsukasa gasped, "Is... THAT what happens in college?!

-1-

Konata stood at the front door of the Hiragi household, about to leave for the night.

"Bye Kona-chan! Thanks for stopping by." Tsukasa said smiling at her friend, "And thanks for letting me borrow this anime DVD. Promise I'll give it back."

"Yeah, you'd better," Konata said matter-of-factly, "I know where you live." "Real nice, creep-a-zoid." Kagami shook her head.

"You know I'm your hero." Konata winked, waving to the twins as she walked out, "Have a good one!"

"Bye!" The girls said in unison.

And with that, Konata had left for the evening.

"What'd she lend you?" Kagami asked.

"Oh, some kind of show about giant robots." Tsukasa said, taking a second to think quizzically, "For some reason, she really wanted me to watch it."

"Giant robots huh?" Kagami said, "I've seen a lot of those around in my life - which one is it?"

" I think it's called Ev******," Tsukasa said.

"Really?" Kagami said, "Sounds kinda Christian or biblical."

"Yeah, but she said it was really good and thought-provoking." Tsukasa said, "So I figured what the heck."

Kagami shrugged, "If Konata likes it, it has to be weird."

"Probably," Tsukasa said knowingly, "I won't be able to watch it tonight though - I have some college applications to fill out."

"I already sent mine off," Kagami said worriedly, "You know, you should have sent yours by now too."

Tsukasa felt a slight sweat drop of embarrassment, "Always one step ahead of me, sis."

"I'm riddled with anxiety waiting for the responses, though..." Kagami sighed. "Ya mind if I watch that anime tonight then? If you're not gonna watch it I may as well to keep myself occupied."

"Sure, sis!" Tsukasa happily handed the DVD to her sister.

"Thanks, Tsukasa." Kagami smiled, "Let me know if you need any help with those college applications."

"Kay. Night, Sis." Tsukasa said walking off. "Night," Kagami replied looking down at the anime DVD case she was holding.

It was a standard DVD case with a white piece of paper inserted where the artwork would usually be, on the spine in pen the title read, "Ev*****: Death and Rebirth."

Kagami opened the case to find a burnable, unlabeled DVD-R on the inside.

Kagami rolled her eyes. Of course, Konata would only have an illegally burned copy of a DVD. Probably purchased at some anime convention somewhere at a shady bootleg table. She briefly pondered how bootleggers got away with stuff like that at public events. It must be such a staple of Otaku culture that they just let it slide.

Kagami shrugged at her inner thought and headed for her room with the DVD.

After changing into her nightclothes, she opened the case again and marveled at how unorganized it looked. Title scribbled in the spine. Not even labeled. Only Konata.

She pressed the center button in the DVD case and with a click it released the disc, which she put in her DVD player.

The anime automatically played and opened up to a schoolyard. The camera's view panned across the front of a normal-looking high school and followed the building around to the back, in front of a group of windows. Kagami could lightly hear the sound of moans.

Moans of pleasure. Soft and breathy from a female.

"What in the..." Kagami started to herself, her entire body immediately getting extremely hot, so hot she almost broke a sweat. Her eyes stood locked on the television screen.

It was then on the screen that Kagami saw the hands of a beautiful anime girl with pink hair and small breasts pressed against one of the windows of the building. She was being pounded from behind by a strong man. A darkly handsome man, albeit in the form of an anime character. He held on to her sides and continued to penetrate the pink-haired girl. Her moans growing louder and more passionate. The man cupped her small breasts as he continued to thrust his member into her.

It was at this point that Kagami was certain this was not "Ev*****: Death and Rebirth." This was not an anime with giant robots this was explicit anime, hentai. Kagami assumed correctly that there was probably an anime with giant robots somewhere out there, but regardless, Kagami knew she wasn't watching the intended film. She grabbed her remote to lower the volume but did not stop the feature.

But she continued to watch, transfixed, now watching as the petite pink-haired girl was in a reverse cowgirl position, her small breasts bouncing up and down as the character on the screen continued to moan.

Kagami felt tingling all over her body, craving the same pleasure she could hear in the moans.

She picked up the remote beside her and turned the TV off.

Kagami couldn't believe herself. She was getting turned on, getting off to a cartoon. What the hell as the matter with her?

"I'm not going to sit here and turn into an anime perv," she whispered to herself, a light blush still apparent on her face - she could still feel the warmth her body had released.

She couldn't help but dwell on what she felt as she sat in her room in silence - the yearning. She'd never felt this way before. All thanks to Konata her first taste of sexual appetite stemmed from a perverted anime. Great.

She knew, though, that she couldn't let this moment slip away. It felt too good. She finally knew what it meant to make an irrational decision about sex. Should she watch it? Of course not... It was immoral and completely out of her character. But she wanted to watch it, to hell with everyone else. She wanted to feel pleasure, to be relieved of this bold new feeling. To feel the release, the ecstasy of what she knew to be the result. It was well worth a little bit of guilt.

Once again she picked up her remote and turned the TV.

When the screen lit up, she saw that the film had continued to play and now the same pink-haired girl lay on her back, legs spread. In between her legs was another girl, just as cute and sexy with blonde hair and a busty chest, slowly licking in between her vaginal lips.

Kagami's hand flew up to her chest, partly in surprise. When she felt her hand touch her breast she instinctively gave it a firm squeeze, a small burst of pleasure shooting through her. She let out a surprised moan. She wasn't expecting that to feel good.

She moved her hand in a circular motion, pressing down on her petite breast as she did so. She let out a small, this time pleasurable, moan, and began to unbutton her shirt.

Once she had the first few buttons undone, Kagami allowed her hand to slip underneath the shirt. She continued to fondle herself, grabbing her chest and rubbing her breast.

Kagami stopped for a split second and took two fingers and pinched her small pink nipple. "Ah..." She let out a soft sigh.

With her other hand, she slowly moved towards her waist and put her hand underneath the elastic of her pajama pants, moving past her cotton panties and feeling herself.

Kagami let out a moan so loud she had to cover her mouth with her free hand.

"It's wet..." She said to herself, smelling her sexual juices, "I'm wet."

So this was what 'wet' meant.

Keeping her hand covering her mouth she went in with her hand again, shutting her eyes firmly in anticipation.

It wasn't in vain, she moaned loudly into her hand as soon as her fingers reached under her panties. She rubbed her fingers up and down her pussy.

"Yeah..." She whispered to herself, "Oh my God..."

Her breathing became heavier as she continued to rub her young body. Looking back up at the TV, the scene with the two women was still playing, the pink-haired girl now pleasuring the blonde one with her finger. But she was concentrating on a specific part towards the top. Kagami recognized why.

Kagami had always known what her clitoris was, and what it was, but never dared to try anything.

Unlike tonight when she thought, it was anything goes.

She ran her middle finger over her clitoris for the first time and hunched over in pleasure.

"Fuck..." She heaved, slightly taken aback but not completely surprised at the use of the expletive. "Jeez..."

She took her middle finger and moved it back to her clit, this time rubbing it in a circular motion. "Oh yeah..." Her other hand covered her mouth once again as she let out a long muffled moan, "Oh, God!" She screamed again into her hand. She slowed her hand as she rubbed her clit, the ecstasy became more sensual and bold.

"Hah..." She panted, her voice raising an octave or so, her body began to tremor.

She once again sped up her finger movement massaging her clitoris. It was unlike anything she had felt yet, the soft fondling evolving to a faster more aggressive rubbing was so potent with pleasure, she felt like she was going to explode. She felt like she was going to explode.

But she kept on.

She thought for a split second that she might pee. But the feeling of ecstasy far outweighed the feeling of impending urination. Something else was about to happen and she didn't care what.

She felt her entire body tighten and fill with the nicest, the most pleasurable thing she had ever felt in her life. Her body filled with warmth. It almost felt like a magic warmth and it shot through her entire body.

Without warning her pelvis shot up into the air as her fingers continued to massage her young 18- year-old clitoris. She used her other hand to grab her right breast and massage into it as she experienced her first clitoral orgasm.

She screamed - not bothering to cover her mouth. It was loud, almost a guttural moan, followed by her soft voice letting the rest of the exasperation crawl out of her mouth, out of her petite body.

With that, she simply lay there to catch her breath, heaving and panting, not regretting a single moment. She already knew she needed more.

She looked down in between her legs to see a small puddle that her juices had left on the bed. She used two fingers to wipe over the small puddle and investigate it further. When she brought her two fingers closer to her face, they were damp and slightly dripping.

"Wow, " Kagami said to herself, "That's a lot of... Uh, stuff." There was a light tapping at her door.

"Kagami?" She heard Tsukasa's voice, "Are you okay?"

Kagami jumped, a pit in her stomach dropping like a slab of cement. She pulled the cover over her body frantically and did her best to answer her sister in a normal voice.

"Yeah," She said weakly, "I'm good."

"Can I come in?"

"NO!" Kagami said, "I mean.. No sis, I'm totally ok, besides I look horrible."

She looked again at the puddle in between her legs. Yeah, she could look pretty bad if someone walked in.

"Umm. Ok." Tsukasa said, "I heard a scream I was just worried. "Uh, yeah," Kagami said, "Just stubbed my toe, it really hurt." "Oh," Tsukasa said, her tone not buying it, "You're SURE?" "Tsukasa!" Kagami said, "Go to bed!"

"Ok.." Tsukasa said, a little hurt in her voice, "Sorry. Good night."

Once again Kagami felt her red cheeks subsiding and the blood finally rushed back into her body, her face going from a bright red to her normal skin color. That was a close one.

She didn't know what to do with her newfound hobby, or who she should confide in... IF she should confide in anyone. Konata was out, she would just tease her until the end of days. But this was too much for her to not seek advice from someone.

She sighed. That was probably enough sexual stuff for the night. She felt spent anyway, as the experience was considerably intense.

She got up from her bed and began to get dressed in her pajamas once again, going to her closet and grabbing a spare sheet... so that at least the giant wet spot wouldn't keep her from sleeping. It would probably be dry by the morning.

Turning off the lights and laying down she pulled the covers over herself couldn't help but wonder what this meant. The death of her innocence?

Maybe. But it felt good. It felt really, really good.

[theangrypokemaniac]

Your whole Contest rant read almost like a parody. The Contests were the most popular goal for female companions in the anime, and the vast majority of fans of Contests were female fans. Likewise Misty had already gotten stale and dull in Johto, and Contests brought in better battles, storylines and character development. Saying they're all about being girly makes me think you have no idea what they're about, since most are abut battles and combinations. I doubt most will agree with you.

Oh, but Nonny, you don't believe in what you're saying since you won't put your name to it, so why should I listen?

It's a 'rant' because you disagree, not for actual content.

The nature of a rant is crazed disorder, but this comes in numbered sections clearly laid out.

More aptly, the first three words of that post were 'I hate Contests'.

If this view is such an anathema, why did you keep on reading?

Who's the fool here?

Whether anyone agrees with me or not is immaterial. Truth isn't a popularity contest.

It's still my opinion whatever anyone else thinks, no lesser or greater.

If you want to be liked, then lie.

I tried this method, keeping my feelings to myself, never daring to speak my mind, and where did it get me?

• Unfollowed

• Ghosted

• Insulted

• Blocked

• Shunned

Where is the incentive to hold back if that's the reward?

Might as well say what I want. I think I've a right to on my blog.

It is you who misunderstand. I complain Contests are vacuous and girly, and your defence is that they are for girls and most fans were girls.

Well, yeah. That's what I said. A show once having universal appeal downgraded itself to be toddler fantasy pap:

The anime began aimed at everyone, especially children and teenagers, but now, when its concern with fluff and sparkles takes precedent, it's a fantasy for toddler girls.

You tell me I'm wrong by concurring it's for girls, then you insist considering it to be girly means I know nothing about it.

Eh?

Girls got along fine watching Pokémon for years without being pandered to and infantilised by shallow spectacles like this.

Pokémon used to be for everyone, although because game-players were, and still are, mostly boys, what one saw of the fandom was largely their input.

• Letters to magazines were mainly from boys.

• If you knew of any fans at school, they were boys.

• Attendants to downloading Mew were nearly all boys.

The exception were fan sites, shipping and art, which were dominated by girls.

Then along came Contests, and that balance tipped, until we get to the point now that I doubt many viewers of the anime are male, because it no longer holds any appeal.

Why should they put up with a monotonous fashion parade when they watched it entirely for fierce showdowns?

We started with tough girls like Jessie and Misty, then along came the Contest blender, and we ended up with feeble vessels like Mallow and Lillie.

Ultra girliness is all very well on the periphery, or as part of an ensemble, but when it's the only stock feminine character available, it's boring to the point of paralysis.

Why should I be pleased a series with edge devolved into a mess of pink and cuddly cushions?

With whom were Contests the favourite female occupation? Fans?

What were the options?

• Tagged along because she was going that way (Misty/Iris).

• Contests/Showcases (May/Dawn/Serena).

• Lives nearby (Lillie/Mallow/Lana/Chloë).

I'm not really surprised at the result. I still don't see why this invalidates my take.

Amid your ravings, I am told that 'most are about battles and combinations'.

Most? Some aren't then?

What are these few about then? Vietnam?

By your own admission, a few are nothing but vacuous posturing.

Again, you agree with me. What's the complaint if I'm right?

What storylines? New Ribbon or no Ribbon?

And what character development? May and Dawn began wanting to be champion, and finished wanting to be champion.

Since that was the close of their story, any 'lessons' they learn are redundant as we'll never see them put into application.

Better battles? Better than what?

Have have you the nerve to lie that Contests are about combat?

The entire premise is showing off how pretty attacks are, not the strength.

Were it a display of power, as a normal fight is, people would be entering with teams of enormous hulking beasts, leaving the likes of Piplup bloody lost.

Some ugly Pokémon, like Gabite and Ambipom, are included, but because they've got some shiny move up their metaphorical sleeve.

Come on, man! The first round is decided on who's bustin' out the sparkles!

Every subsequent round may pose as battling, but you don't succeed by beating the opponent unconscious as usual.

You win if your 'energy bar' is highly than theirs, bought about by pulling off attention-seeking stunts.

Knocking 'em out is a blessing as it assures a win, but it's not the goal.

How is that battle in any legitimate sense when the very markers of victory and loss are removed?

Since beauty is subjective, the winner doesn't succeed because they are measurably superior to their opponent, or at least capable of thinking on their feet.

They win just on the whim of this set of judges liking their performance more. Another day, another panel, and it'd be different.

A real fight in a proper competition doesn't depend on arbitrary standards like that. You take 'em down here, you'd take 'em down in any stadium, any country. It is thus a quantifiable achievement.

In real life, we don't class a sash from a beauty pageant as of equal value to a black belt.

It's okay, but we know it was a matter of luck, whereas any sporting trophy comes from clearly out matching the rest, with hours of strain, sacrifice and suffering paving the path to that moment.

Contests involve no such effort. You pick what glitters and the rest is rehearsal. No need to enter a single fight to hone your skills.

Why isn't Ash eager to get in on the action then, if it's 'truly' such a test of combatants?

The answer is because it's nothing to do with his career as a Trainer. If it were, we wouldn't need the separate term of 'Co-Ordinator' to describe entrants.

Trainers train Pokémon, Gym Leaders lead Gyms, Co-Ordinators co-ordinate routines to be spectacular.

Why have different descriptions if it's exactly the same?

Martial arts, both in fantasy and reality, have a spiritual element. Those who dedicate their lives to it are regarded as having reached a higher level of being.

Battles share that quality. It's not about brute force, focus is place more on inner strength, in heart, courage, determination and loyalty.

A Pokémon which, on paper, is weaker than its foe, can still come out on top if it's prepared to go the distance and want it at all costs, compared to an apathetic opponent.

Simultaneously, the Trainers have their own battle of minds, picking up on style and mistakes, always ready to pounce.

Contests have no such deeper consequence. They are wholly fixated on what's flashy and external. Ice shards are no more glassy just because you really mean 'em.

Combinations are a couple of attacks put together to look nice. How is this refuting my assertion they are but ephemeral bits off fluff?

Why should I be interested in a career so hollow, and ultimately futile, since neither girl won, and now never existed?

Your also claim the ejection of Misty is warranted since she became 'stale and dull', as  if refuting my words.

If you'd bothered to read it properly rather than twisting yer knickers, you might notice I wrote exactly the same thing.

Perhaps it makes no difference. By Hoenn they'd rendered her a leaden blandness sucked dry of all that made her special.

I am not saying a Hoenn Misty would've been a more interesting companion. Her personality had to be erased before being allowed back at all.

I was mocking the excuse given for her exit, that she had no longterm goal, when there was no reason she couldn't participate in Contests.

A. If featuring them is intended as promotion, the audience is more likely to invest in the activity of a familiar face.

B. Just ruin her character if it's an obstacle, as they did everyone else.

C. Contests are a rip off of a competition Misty entered!

The truth still stands that had Misty stayed, we'd have no May, and in turn, no Max, and that's a bad thing?

In conclusion, you disagree with me by agreeing with me, so what exactly is the issue?

Since you fail to object elsewhere, I take it that the remainder is to your taste, and you also think Jessie was shafted, resembles a backwards country cliché and that May and Dawn should have won.

Not a bad dissection then.

[violentviolette]

You have been talking a lot about being "Controlling". How did that manifest? And also People have told me that, I have the desire for control and I agreed, because I want to control my emotions and thoughts and have more control over myself (for example switch less into depressive mode and be less of a burden (others have told me that I am hard to handle and therefore they suggest professional help and/or break off contact) and also more like to become what People want me to become without (1/2

feeling pain, become normal, have the interests people expect me to have at my age etc. But when people tell me I want to control, they mean like control them (which as far as my consciouss thought process goes I do not want, aside from prove them that I do not consciously lie to them or that I am not intentionally trying to manipulate them) I know my communication skills are bad, but still my statement stands, it is only when I am told that stuff that I try to obsessively proof them wrong

for me being controlling of other people meant wanting to be the one who made all the decisions, and feeling like what I thought and felt was always right and so therefore everyone should agree with me and if they didnt I debated and fought them until they did/gave in.

so with my wife, I wanted her to always be doing what I thought was best in the moment, and when she did do things they had to be done my way or they were wrong. so like, household chores for example. I wanted my wife to be in charge of doing dishes because I hated doing them, even tho she also struggles with dishes because of her executive dysfunction. that didn't matter to me because only my feelings mattered to me at the time. I then also wanted her to do them exactly when and how I wanted. so if I wanted the dishes to be done, instead of doing them myself, I would yell at her to do them because I had decided they were "her job" and then if she didnt do them fast enough I would get mad. and even if she did start doing them, if she did them in a way I didnt like (I didnt like to soak dishes but she did) I would also get mad because then she was doing it "wrong" aka not my way.

so it was all about things being done to my arbitrary and nonsensical standards that I didnt even hold myself to. it was just that I wanted to be the one controlling the decisions. because I felt I had to be right all the time, and so if I'm right then that means we do things my way. which again is horribly unhealthy and wrong.

but none of those things were about me, they werent about trying to control how people saw me or understood me, which from what I understand is more what ur talking about in trying to control how people view u (like if they think ur a liar or lazy ect), I was trying to directly control the things my wife did that had nothing to do with me. how she spent her time, when she did things, where she went, who she talked to, who her friends were, her hobbies, ect. those were the parts of her life I tried to control.

which again were all horrifically wrong and misguided and contributed to the abusive behavior that made our relationship unhealthy. I have since gotten very good at redirecting my need for control onto productive and healthy outlets like organizing my room or keeping a planner. focusing on controlling myself and my behavior as opposed to someone else and theirs.

[thewhumpstuff]

You and I, Me and You [37]

[CW: Vague references to human trafficking]

[Teaser and Master List] [Archives of our Own] (Lost and Found: Chapter 12)

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Akira spoke loudly enough for the walls and the doors between them, and the others to not matter. “Look, I get Nova… I get where she is coming from. But she can’t actually make promises like that.” 

“Shira.” Jared spoke very quietly, but by no means was his tone demure. “What?” Her voice dropped to a whisper too. He had made his point, they had to maintain some discretion. “Zizi doesn’t need that right now. She doesn’t need to imagine being in situations-” “How the hell do you know what she does and doesn’t need? I’m the one stuck-” Jared’s look betrayed a sort of judgement. The exact kind that Akira feared. Like he would think she was some sort of an insensitive, shrewd… Bitch. “I mean stuck here, in the suite. Not stuck with her.” She tried to justify herself. He wanted his expression to soften. But it did not soften enough.

Silence. His silence always rang louder than words. And it was always the kind that she felt compelled to break. “Look, I get that you guys think I’m somehow not good enough…” “I never said that.” This time Jared did speak because he did not want Akira entertaining that thought. It simply was not true. 

“Yeah, but you act like it, like I’m some kind of a failure.” Because you are… She tried to push the intrusive thought away again. Since the card game, the thoughts were omnipresent and pushing them away was a habit now. Jared’s sigh struggled to fight with the voice in her head. She needed more. “You’re not a failure, Shira.” He offered more and sat down on the bed.

She forgot to keep her voice down. And he forgot to ask her to. “Yet you keep meddling and acting like I’ll somehow break Zizi. I’m the one with the broken nose damnit. Either trust me with her, or don’t.”

“I do! I trust you. It’s just that Nova and I think Zizi needs some time...” Jared’s voice rose too. “And how exactly do you and Nova always know more than me about what Zizi needs somehow?” “Because... Because we have gone through things, Shira!” Her first instinct was to snap at Jared. “Things you won’t talk to me about.”

He folded his hands, his jaw tightened in a manner that let her know that today too was not the night for that conversation.

Akira clammed up for a second as she recognized that same lilting sense of selfishness. Like she deserved that judgement that she saw flash in Jared’s eyes before. She went on trying her best to be more accommodating, “I know… I mean, at least Nova told me, and I get her. But it is not… not like I have not… gone through things.” Somewhere, she sought acknowledgement that she didn’t know how to ask for. And Jared could not, in this moment, see what she needed. He had a lot on his plate, it certainly was wearing him down.  “Shira, this is about Zizi.” He sighed the words and looked at the floor, with his hands on his knees. He stretched his aching neck. Correct. This is not about me- (Don’t think it. Don’t think… it.)-Nothing ever is. She swallowed and folded her hands. She looked at the floor too. “Right. Why don’t you just give me a rulebook…?” He rubbed the back of his shoulders. Maybe I should have, maybe she was not ready after all. He answered her rhetoric with some sincerity, consciously softer again. “Just… avoid going into her past. If not for me, or her… at least for Nova’s sake… okay?” “Not into yours. Not into hers…” Akira whispered; she did not really confirm that she would follow through on his request though.  She did notice how tired Jared looked. The way he winced slightly as his fingers worked the knots in his tense muscles. She clicked her tongue softly. Her hands closed over his. He let his slip out from underneath hers when her grip tightened and then slackened reassuringly. He gave the access she needed to knead his flesh, with tender attention. As he loosened under her administrations, for the briefest of moments she felt wanted. Truly wanted. And he felt a safety he did not know he needed. 

“Please… Just let me in Jared…” He instantly tensed again and held her shoulders. There was a certain desperation in his grip. His head rested against her almost pleadingly. “I… I am okay now Shira… Who I was… and everything else… It really doesn’t matter any more. Trust me.” He wanted to believe what he was saying and he could not, how could he expect her to? She pulled away. His hands hung in the wake of her movement, briefly, like she had torn a part of him with herself and he was trying to hold on. “No… You don’t trust me...” She sounded sharper than she meant to and threw up her hands in a surrender. And then threw open the door behind her as she muttered, “Whatever…” - Tariq had never really witnessed this side of Akira. In fact, this was the second glimpse he had of Jared and Akira in a normal setting. By normal, he meant one that did not test them to the point of breaking, one where neither of them were on the verge of succumbing to injuries. Their attachment and love flourished better in the latter than the former thought. Better with guns and whips, than wine and dine? That’s a little fucked up. Everybody could still see that the two cared about each other deeply though. He was not too surprised either, Akira was always very headstrong and today had not been a good day for her. Jared seemed quieter but he certainly was not one to budge either, when it came down to it.

From the way that Nova reacted with a certain resignation, it seemed like this was not a rare occurrence between them. He lingered with Nova, having witnessed yet another side that he had not seen before. Hers. Tariq tried to offer some comfort. She leaned into his touch but seemed inconsolable. Still reeling from the way she had acted... Nova had enough practice actively trying to not eavesdrop on Akira’s and Jared’s arguments. Today, she did the opposite for a chance, especially when she heard her name. She lurked, leaning into to the door. Till it opened. Nova peeled herself away from the door that flung open, just in time. She flattened herself against the wall opposite to it. She looked sheepish and guilt. Akira fiddled with the zip of her jacket, intentionally avoiding the medic as she returned to the living room. She decided to see Tariq out. They lingered in the corridor outside the room, just out of earshot. “We all want what is best for Zizi? It makes sense to indulge her wishes I guess…” Even though sparring with Zizi irked Akira in some inexplicable way and left her with a broken nose, she was defensive of their choice by compulsion. “If it makes her happy right? I mean, you don’t have to, if you don’t want to…”  Tariq added. “A broken nose hasn’t stopped me before… I’ll keep myself reigned though.” They nodded in a silent promise. It felt agreed upon that they were going to continue training with Zizi if she was still up for it. An awkward apology flashed in his amber eyes. Sorry, I guess that comes between you and Jared? She could practically hear his thoughts. She was acutely aware that things had gotten slightly weird.  But it was something a quick conversation in the future would have to diffuse. After all, she too, still needed answers regarding his pointed chirpiness the other day after his alleged date with Osi… But now was just not the time.

Akira went back in and ran into Jared as he bid goodnight to Nova. Jared threw his arm around her like it was second nature. “Do… do you want to come spend the night with me? Nova was just saying that she a-” “No… I am fine here. Good night.” After days and days of wanting to sneak a sleep-in with Jared, Akira pointedly denied the offer and retired to her bedroom. - Nova apologized to Akira for the outburst before leaving the next morning. Akira returned a hollow one. They rarely disagreed and apologies could not bandage those moments. A consensus felt impossible. Akira considered offering an apology to Jared. And didn’t for the same reason. On some level, she was keenly expecting one from him instead, though she couldn’t place a finger on what for exactly. Somewhere in the BioHacker trainee section, Jared echoed the sentiments of his lover. And no apologies were exchanged between them. Or anything else.

Akira took a long shower before ambling into the living room. This apology was one well directed and deserved. The night should not have become what it did.  “I… kinda put a damper on dinner last night huh? I’m sorry…” She noticed Zizi scrawling something meticulously with pen and paper. That was a rare sight, everybody just used the CommCubes for everything. She slowly sidled closer to Zizi. “I did that when I broke your nose, I think.” Zizi spoke, but did not look up from her work. “We both know it was an accident…” A part of Akira was fuelled by the desire to be better, to meet some arbitrary expectations. Some standards that the others had unknowingly set with regards to her role in Zizi’s recovery. But she... Also wanted to be right. Zizi is a person. She is not a survivor and she is not a victim. She is a person! Akira did not wish to see that, while Zizi was indeed a person, being a victim and a survivor were certainly a part of her too. Parts she should not be undermining, any more than the others who were unintentionally undermining the person under the breakable exterior. “I feel like eating left-overs for breakfast… What about you?”  “Sounds good…” Zizi had expected Akira to grow even more distant after last night, so she was a little dismissive of her. Her eyes remained slightly glassy as she continued transcribe from her SmartEye feed to the paper, something with a fixated focus.

Akira reheated the dinner. “Collating information again?” She asked as she took the plate Zizi, they sat on the rug by the fireplace. “Something like that…” With a small smile, Zizi put away the CommCube and her notepad and picked up the cutlery. “You said you worked as a journalist…” Akira was actively breaking the rules Jared and Novara asked her to follow. She felt liberated in her rebellion but fought the guilty instinct that compelled her to pull the plug on this while she still could. “T.S.T” “So you used to work for The Supremacy then?” Akira tried not to sound judgemental. After all, she too had enrolled with them for her BioHacker license. “Not exactly… I did what they asked of me, but I… ran my own little edition of the paper. Anonymously, of course. Circulated among most rebels. Information, intel… gossip. Local… mostly, so if you weren’t from Sector 0, you probably won’t know” Akira’s eyes widened with a child-like admiration. “That’s so cool…” She said, with a sincerity that surprised Zizi. She settled down onto the carpet more comfortably.

Zizi had been pining to share her story and ask Akira for hers. Her old journalistic instincts floated to the surface. Something about their co-habitation so far, had felt too tenuous for her to risk it. It was surprising to Zizi that Akira chose this morning to take down that wall. She did not read too much into it and assumed that the conflict yesterday gave the younger girl some kind of catharsis… which allowed her to open out more. “Technically, one could say it gets cooler. But I doubt you will believe me even if I told you.” There was an eager glint in Zizi’s eyes as she deliberately created anticipation. It was reflected in Akira’s. She had not walked into this conversation with the noblest of intentions. She wanted to prove Jared and Nova wrong… she wanted to be right, she wanted to know. But, whatever her reasons, Akira was already hooked. “Try me!” “Only if I get to ask questions too.” Zizi challenged after taking a sip of water. “Done. And… You- we don’t really have to share something we don’t want to.” Akira did not want this venture to fail. She did not want to become the reason that something went wrong and that Zizi truly ended up suffering on account of her nosey curiosity. “Oh honey! First rule of journalism… Make sure they always want to answer your question.” Zizi teased, confidently.

Akira grinned. This suddenly felt so easy. “So, what is it I won’t believe?” “I started this spoken word section, basically a vent for how shitty everything was-” Akira already looked at Zizi like she was a fan. “-And upon request, I performed it on record. I changed my hairdo and wore a mask, undisclosed location, encrypted software and secure platform… the whole shebang. All cloaks-and-daggers. I am not going to lie, I didn’t want to lose my day job. It provided the money I needed to run this stuff…”  Akira raised her eyebrows and held up her hands. “Wait… did you dye your hair teal?” Zizi nodded, glad that Akira had already caught on... “And was your mas- Oh damn! You wer-are Ritonix! The original… Like really? You aren’t making this up?” Akira wasn’t somebody who fawned over people for their stardom or popularity, which is what allowed her to get close to Jared, all those years ago. But Ritonix was more than just another artist, she was a symbol… a movement and a concept. And Akira was rather fond of her work. Everybody knew that Ritonix was eventually more than one person and for a few years… Everybody wanted to be Ritonix. “Told you, you won’t believe me! But yeah, in the flesh…”

Her work had permeated Akira’s Sector after it had already taken The Mainland and Sector 0 by storm. But she and Tariq were hooked, especially because it was around the time that The Supremacy had taken over. They had to breach some serious security protocols on The Network to gain access, but they had. Just humming along to those words in the oppressive hallways of The System, had given Akira the strength to make it through. “I guess that’s why I caught Nova muttering those lyrics sometimes…”

Zizi’s smile vanished and she fiddled with the metallic fingers of her prosthetics. Her dark skin accentuated the brightness of the metal. “I… yes. I relied on Ritonix as anyone else through… dark moments I guess.” Zizi sounded ashamed. Akira could not help but picture the woman in Ezekiel’s room, rapping her way through the torments of the Serum. She too had used words of songs to anchor herself, several times… Through the stint when Jared tried interrogating her, on the metallic table in the east-facing cells after the whipping.  “I, I get it. I’ve done something like that too…” She trailed off.

Zizi and Akira both sat in silence. Neither of them pushed for sombre details now, but they shared a moment. An unspoken acknowledgement of suffering. Akira smiled weakly.

“Tariq and I were such big fans…” “Were? I heard Ritonix is still alive and kicking…” Zizi pestered playfully, trying to help Akira in drawing the conversation away from something that felt too uncomfortable to approach yet. “So-” “Uh-huh, my turn. On the topic of Tariq… You two seem pretty close, more than just colleagues for sure...” Akira’s smile grew brighter as Zizi cut her off to ask about Tariq. “Oh! We grew up together, same neighbourhood and school. Both Football captains… Both wingers too… Till my knee injury any ways. T and I kinda spent more time competing than being friends, but we spent a lot of time together.” Her story was not as flamboyant as Journalist-turned-rebel-rapper. But Zizi listened with such keenness, that Akira felt like it was. “We truly got close surviving The System after The Supremacy took over my Sector and we were in there together for a couple of years, I think I was fifteen... He...” Akira wasn’t sure if this was her tale to tell any more, so she paused. Zizi tried to prompt her.  “And then…?” Akira decided to avoid the topic of Tariq’s loss. “Life took us our separate ways. And… After the Supremacy fell, I ended up aligned with SpecSyn briefly and he’s always been here with Q.B. So strangely enough we ended up on opposite side of things…”

Akira took her time to explain how she and Tariq reconnected and just as she finished, he arrived for their standard training session.

Tariq did not ask how or why Akira and Zizi were on better terms. He was simply glad that they were. They did not spar against one another today. Each of them worked on perfecting some techniques individually. Zizi could never let go of a bone once she got a whiff.  "Akira told me how you too got close... Sweet..." "Well... In some ways she was all I had left, I'd lost my mom already, The Supremacy took care of my brother and father." Akira heard the clarity and the usual feigned nonchalance in Tariq's voice as he spoke of his family and how they were killed. She continued to shadow box in silence. Zizi responded to Tariq in kind and on instinct, which surprised Akira. "My parents never made it past The Screening... And The Supremacy took a lot from me too. First my arm, then my siblings... I never even found out what exactly happened. The bar Kojo and Daya owned, was razed to the ground, with them in it..."  Akira turned to look at the two of them exchange a look of empathy. It chilled her and warmed her at the same time. She had been there for Tariq, but Zizi understood him in a way Akira never could. Zizi went on, now assuming a note of poignant nostalgia. "Daya used to work in pharmaceuticals and Kojo was a head chef, they both saved up to get that dingy shack of theirs... It’s my fault. I think they did some demonstration after I was forced to seek refuge outside of Sector 0. If I had never created Ritonix, none of this would have happened..." "Do you regret it, then?" Akira asked, softly, her curiosity getting the better of her. "I... I don't know."

Akira still wanted to know so much more, but some truths were a lot easier to like than others, as Akira would come to realise over the next few days.

[Tags: @lettuceknighted, @quirkykayleetam]

[matinjapan]

Day trippin’

Controversial, maybe slightly provocative opinion, but travelling can kind of suck.

There are a few big caveats to this opinion though. And it’s massively contrived. This post is basically just an extension of a half thought I had while in Yokohama today (actually now yesterday).

So yeah, Yokohama. Again. I made the decision to head down on the morning of (the day trip). Just for something to do. It was Sunday morning. I’d already gone for a quick run. Didn’t have any other plans, and so after quickly mulling a few options, I thought heading back to Yokohama would be an alright use of time.

I could’ve just hung out at home. Even just to do something as pedestrian as read (I’ve a massive backlog), or maybe even write, like I’m trying to do now at 10pm. But there’s this thing within my psyche that makes me feel guilty if I stay at home on a day off. Guilt booted me out the door at around noon.

It was super sunny. Cold though, with a pretty icy, substantial wind. But I learnt my lesson from the last trip and wore an appropriate amount of clothes. Jumper, and crucially, jacket.

Yokohama was cool on first visit, but the decision to go back wasn’t driven by any great desire to do anything (nothing specific anyway). If all options were on the table, I would’ve definitely preferred to go climbing. But I’ve done something to my elbow, and so, I’m trying to rest it. I’ve had a month off, and It’s not really getting better like I had hoped. Hence, I have to scrape the barrel in terms of organising non-descript day trips.

Which I don’t normally do. For the past year, a lot of my venturing has been tied to climbing. A bit of surfing, far less snow, and a few mountain bike ventures, too. Since arriving in Japan, all my activity-based travels have fallen to close to zero. Tokyo just ain’t as conducive, though a big part is me being (kind of) injured.

Anyway, this non-descript day tip led me to the thought bubble about travel. Travelling is, like I said, kind of shit. Main caveat: it’s shit if you don’t attach it to something you want to be doing.

Food, skateboarding, giant Sequoia’s, nouveau impressionists, taking photos of cobblestones, whatever. If something you’re keen on is the impetus for the travelling, then it typically makes for a fun time. But if you just go and aimlessly traipse around, it’s not necessarily that fun. As cool as I found Yokohama the first time, there’s nothing really there that I was going back for.

Continuing the thought bubble, there’s another caveat: I guess even without travelling somewhere to do something that you want to be doing, travelling can also be good if it’s to spend time with people you want to spend time with. Yeah, you can do that back home (depending on where your friends are), but the solid chunk of time that accompanies a trip can be great for dedicated time spend’age (with the peoples).

Travelling is also great if you’re genuinely adventuring (yes, another caveat; this whole theory is turning to mush). This is the type of travelling I daydream about, but don’t actually ever do. It’s hard though. To get off the beaten path, and properly trail blaze. To do something that not many others are doing requires some pretty dedicated planning. I’m thinking on, or in, the order of walking/travelling between some stupidly remote destinations. The type of trip where you can properly get away from it all. And risk dying while you’re at it.

Not to everyone’s liking, and polar opposite to the standard pool and cocktail type trip that a lot of people froth on. If you’re anywhere near a Starbucks, then you’re probably not adventuring. Needless to say, Yokohama has more than a few Starbucks; I wasn’t adventuring yesterday.

I think Starbucks is what contributed to my initial thought bubble. Walking along the street, seeing a few people holding coffee, ambling around Yokohama with no real intention, just seemed a bit shit. Maybe they really fucking loved Starbucks, and were mid-worldwide-taste-testing-tour. But more likely, they were probably just in Yokohama for something to do; being lame like me.

Continuing on with the whole Starbucks thing, I didn’t partake. Instead, I grabbed one of the Family Mart machine-made coffees for 100 yen. Cheap skates’ delight.

Aside from a coffee and accompanying rice-triangle thing (I believe they’re called Onigiri), all I did in Yokohama was walk. Past the marooned cruise liner filled with novel coronavirus, and a fair way through and around the coastal suburbs, which kind of reminded me of Sydney’s north shore. Less greenery and foliage but pretty similar geographical vibe.

I also skirted China town, but thought better of heading too far in, lest I expose myself to a virus laden package.

Anyway, I think I’ll be a bit more diligent with my travelling (does a day trip even count as travelling?). Hopefully the elbow improves, because I’d really like to go bouldering and/or climbing around Japan. Admittedly, climbing is almost as arbitrary and meaningless/meaningful as going somewhere, just because. But the ‘almost’ part gives it the edge. 

In non-Yokohama’ing news, a friend made it to Japan last week, and we ended up shredding the gnar for a few days at Nozawaonsen. That was a cool trip (ticked all the above mentioned boxes), even though it has been the worst season for decades. We were lucky. When we arrived, we were greeted by a couple of consecutive days of 30cm of fresh. The base that the snow was falling on could’ve been more substantial (a lot of small twigged bushes to plow through), but it was still pretty sweet.  

I’m actually thinking about booking again this weekend. It’s apparently amazing right now. Around 2 metres of fresh in the last 10 days. But it’s supposed to warm up on Wednesday and rain all the way through Friday/Saturday. Not really worth it if that’s the case. Goddamn. Maybe a weekend in instead, reading. And lamenting that I didn’t get out. Ha.

Photos are from the last few weeks of Yokohama, Nozawaonsen, Tokyo and potentially other forgettable day trip places.

Adios

[purpleswans1]

The Split a Long Time Coming

Here’s @villainmonth​‘s 10th prompt, “Betrayal.” I had to edit this in a hurry, and am still not happy with how it turned out. Feel free to give me constructive criticism.

Read also on FF and AO3

“You want me to help you capture WHO????”

Tomura blinked. “I want you to come up with a plan to capture Katsuki Bakugo. Probably at the UA hero course’s summer training camp, since they won’t expect us then.”

Izuku stared at Tomura. “Why? What possible goal would it serve?”

“Recruitment,” Tomura explained. “You saw how he acted in the sports festival. He’s a kindred spirit, and his quirk would be useful to the league.”

Izuku still couldn’t couldn't comprehend Tomura's plan. “Throwing a tantrum for not winning a competition the way they wanted to doesn’t mean that person will join your League of Villains. Ka- Bakugo joined the hero course for a reason. He’s not going to willingly join people he knows are villains!”

“We’ll convince him once we have him. After all, Sensei and I have done it before.”

Izuku clenched his fist. He didn't need a reminder of how he joined the League. “That took 8 years, Tomura. There’s no way you’ll be able to keep Kachan that long. Even if he isn’t able to break out on his own, the heroes will be actively looking for him.” He was so angry, Izuku didn’t even notice he’d accidentally called Bakugo by his childhood nickname.

“We can handle any heroes that get close enough. And what does this Kachan person have to do with anything? Wasn’t that the name of your childhood bully?” Tomura said.

Izuku took a deep breath. He’d been terrified by the thought of Kachan coming after him when he was a kid, so of course Tomura had picked up on that. “Kachan is what I called Bakugo when we were kids. They’re one in the same. That's why I wanted to handle him myself during our USJ attack.”

Tomura gave Izuku a calculating look. They were both in the bar area, so several of the other members were watching their exchange. The whole room was silent, except for running water from Kurogiri cleaning dishes.

Tomura shrugged. “Well, whatever. You need to get over it anyway. I’m sure you’ll work it out once you start working together.”

Wow, you're a huge hypocrite. Tomura was still holding a grudge against the society that hadn’t helped him twelve years ago, and he was telling Izuku to just “get over it?” Then again, he rarely took Izuku’s feelings or needs into account.

Enough is enough.

“I won’t do it.”

Tomura narrowed his eyes. “What did you say?”

“I won’t help you capture Kachan. And if you do, I won’t work with him. If you intend to bring Katsuki Bakugo into the League of Villains, then I’ll leave.”

“You wouldn’t dare. You have nowhere else to go. Sensei has been providing for you all this time.”

“Doesn’t matter. I won’t be your puppet anymore.”

Tomura lunged at Izuku, hands ready to strike. “You little…”

On a normal day, Izuku would have flinched, backed away, and groveled. If Izuku hadn’t been able to get away in time, Kurogiri would have opened portals where Toura’s hands were to stop the fight. But today, Izuku realized he didn’t have to grovel. He’d spent years watching how Tomura fought and he knew the best way to stop Tomura’s quirk.

Izuku pulled out a pen from his notebook -- there were always two attached to it, in case one ran out of ink -- and held it firmly by one end. Careful to keep his body parts out of Tomura’s immediate reach, he threaded the tip of the pen through Tomura’s thumb and index finger. In the same motion, he threaded the pen tip out through the middle and ring fingers. This not only allowed Izuku to block Tomura’s hand, but also kept the index and middle fingers from wrapping around the same thing as the rest of his hand.

Someone gasped on the other side of the room.

Tomura was clearly angry at this, and continued to attack with his other hand. Izuku simply used his other pen to repeat the block.

For the first time, Izuku and Tomura were on equal footing in a fight. Izuku may not be able to do anything to attack, but neither could Tomura. He’d forced a deadlock.

Tomura grit his teeth. “You quirkless brat…”

“I’m not a brat anymore,” Izuku replied.

A scratchy voice interrupted from the TV. “Izuku Midoriya, you know that Tomura Shigaraki is meant to be the leader of the League of Villains. It’s your duty to do as he asks.”

“So, Sensei finally decides to intercede.” Izuku said with a slight laugh. “Always happy to remind me where my place is, but never willing to correct Tomura’s behaviour.”

“Izuku, if you continue to rebel like this, you’ll never recieve a quirk of your own.” All For One reminded him.

That made Izuku stop and think. Tomura took this opportunity to get out of Izuku’s block, but didn’t try to attack again. Clearly he thought Izuku had been cowed by All For One.

In reality, Izuku had been anything but cowed. Hearing All For One’s constant offer once again made him think about his reasons for staying. At first, it was because he had no choice. All For One was an all-powerful god-villain, and a quirless kid couldn’t do anything but follow him. As time went on, All For One continued to remind Izuku that he had the power to give Izuku a quirk, but that he wouldn’t do it until Izuku had fulfilled some arbitrary requirement.

But now, Izuku knew better. All For One isn’t all-powerful. He isn't even nearby. I'm not a kid anymore, and have proven himself more than capable of doing my own thing.

And he finally realized that he’d never do enough to deserve a quirk in All For One’s eyes.

Izuku grit his teeth. “Screw that! I don’t need a quirk. I’ve always wanted one, but after years of learning to fight with weapons and managing your criminal empire, I don’t need it. I don’t need you. And I definitely don’t need to continue living in Tomura’s shadow.”

Izuku grabbed his notebook and started walking out the door. “I’m going to make my own path. It may not be ‘good’ or ‘righteous’ by society’s standards, but at least it will be my own choice.”

And so, Izuku walked out the door without even looking back. He half expected to see a black portal blocking his way, but for some reason nobody - not even Kurogiri - made any effort to stop him.

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

Once Izuku was out of that bar, his thoughts cleared and he was able to think rationally. He didn’t have anything except for two pens, a notebook, and the clothes off his back. He may have made a show of leaving on the spot, but he really should have grabbed some of his supplies. Especially his gun and knife.

Izuku also realized that he was being followed.

He turned around. “If you’re here to make me come back, you can forget it.”

Dabi, one of the two who were following him, said, “Fuck no. I never liked handjob.”

Toga, Izuku’s other shadow, just giggled. “Silly Izuku! Can’t you tell we want to go with you?”

Izuku looked at them in confusion. “Go with me? But -- I mean -- Honestly, I don’t have a plan for what to do now.”

Dabi rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well your improv is probably a lot better than whatever Shigaraki comes up with. I may not have done anything with him yet, but I can already tell that.”

“Izukun, Dabi and I joined the league because we wanted to follow Stainy’s ideology.” Toga explained. “We heard from Uraraka that Stain liked you but didn’t get along with Shigy. So, it makes that we should stick by you!”

Izuku blinked. What Toga was saying made sense. He’d always felt like Shigaraki was a fraud for mooching off Stain’s reputation when he didn’t believe in the man’s ideals. Stain had wanted to fix society and their heroes. Shigaraki just wanted to destroy everything.

Izuku would much rather fix society than just mindly destroy it.

“Are you sure about this?” Izuku asked them. “I’m not trying to dissuade you, but right now we don’t have any resources. There’s only three of us, and I don’t even have my usual weapons.”

Toga looked up and smiled. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

Izuku turned around. It was Uraraka, a few feet above his head, slowly floating down to the ground, holding several backpacks filled to the brim.

“Hey Deku!” Uraraka said, smiling at Izuku.

“Uraraka!” Izuku gasped. “Wha-What are you doing here?”

“Obviously, I came to join you along with Toga and Dabi,” she explained as she touched down. “By the way, Spinner is coming too. He’s just grabbing some final things before crawling down the walls.”

“Bu-But what about your debt to Sensei? Your mom?” Izuku asked.

“Honestly, I’ve already done plenty for All For One.” Uraraka shrugged. “I gave up my future as a hero or ordinary citizen and have been working for him for about a year now. I told my mom to go into hiding as soon as I started working as a villain, so he won’t be able to touch her. I want to choose from now on, and I chose you Deku.”

Izuku could feel happy tears welling up in his eyes. “You guys…”

“Oh, and I grabbed as much of your stuff as I could. Same for Dabi and Toga.” Uraraka held out the backpacks for each of them to take. “I couldn't get your notebooks, but I did get your laptop and weapons.”

Izuku checked in his backpack. It was better than he’d hoped. Not only did Uraraka get his laptop and knife, but she got his gun and two boxes of bullets. The notebooks weren't a big deal; he knew them by heart.

“Yay! Bestie got my blood-sucking machine!” Toga cheered, tackling Uraraka with a hug.

Dabi didn’t comment on the contents of his backpack, but he didn’t really have much gear.

Spinner came crawling along the wall towards them. “Do you mind if I join?”

“Spinner!” Izuku said. “Of course, you’re welcome.”

Once he was close enough to the ground, Spinner jumped down from the wall and handed a piece of paper to Izuku. “I don’t know what this is or if it’s a trap, but Kurogiri told me to give this to you before he let me leave.”

Izuku frowned as he took the paper. Kurogiri was fiercely loyal to All For One. He may have given Izuku some of his attention, but Izuku was sure he’d always choose Tomura over Izuku. Still, he read the writing on the paper.

There’s an empty warehouse at the following address. The Master doesn’t use it anymore because he has no business in that area, but it may be a suitable place to stay until you get your feet on the ground. The key is hidden in the bushes next to the front door.

Underneath it was an address near Musutafu.

Izuku smirked. It wasn’t much, but it was something he could start with. If he got more successful he’d probably try to find another hideout, but at least now they had a place to stay.

“Come on guys. We have work to do.”

[faean]

Endeavor x G. Neutral Reader x Hawks

Requested by: Anonymous

Rating: T+; Language and Sexual References/Innuendos

Word Length: 2072

Title: Villains... Or you two?

           “Of course, sir, I’ll head straight over there.” I hang up, putting my phone in my pocket as I leave the coffee shop.

           So, the flame head finally had an epiphany, I think to myself. These past few weeks have been, strenuous, to say the least. Working with heroes guaranteed an interesting time, and I welcomed getting to know some of them personally.

           Not this time.

           I was paired with two of the top three heroes here in Musutafu, and I still cannot decide who got on my nerves more. Was it Endeavor and his blinding ambition? Or perhaps Hawks with his cringe-inducing arrogance? To be fair, I could look past such… qualities, if not for one particular reason that has made me regret becoming a Private Investigator.

           The two heroes flirted with me, unabashedly, ever since they requested to work with me on a cold case that was re-opened after 23 years. Quite obviously, this has led to numerous issues.

           One- We are on a case and must be professional. Which they regularly ‘forget’.

           Two- I have a decade on Hawks, and the gap was even larger between Endeavor and me.

           Three- They were willing to share me.

           Four- I am quirkless, and I did not become the best PI in the world just to be catered by these two.

           Five- That’s about it, but I wanted to hit a nice number to end on. So…

           Getting in my car, I make no effort to speed to the meeting location where Endeavor would share his findings with myself, Hawks, and the small police squad I was given charge of by the Chief of Police; who happens to be a good friend.

           Now, it may appear that I am indifferent about this case, but truth be told, I had solved it days ago. However, my ‘partners’ were reluctant to let me investigate on my own and had convinced the chief to ‘give us time to consolidate the evidence and prepare for a raid.’

           Apparently, the threat was ‘too great a risk’ for Japan’s best PI to take on alone; despite having crossed paths with the League of Villains multiple times during other investigations, arresting several of its members and still completing the task I was hired to do. All while being quirkless, those love-struck fools.

           Nevertheless, I listened to my superiors, ready to save their asses when the time inevitably comes for a confrontation… that they use for showboating.

           Arriving at a warehouse that was a secret meeting place for law enforcement, I stroll through the metal door, greeting a few colleagues as I made my way to the front of the group. With a stern look, I urge Endeavor to share his ‘findings’, ignoring Hawks’ flirting. Neither hero was perturbed by my blatant disregard for their advances, and Hawks was content with looking up into my eyes (being several inches taller than normal had its advantages; this was not one of them) as Endeavor spoke in his usual proud tone.

           “After much consideration and deliberation, we have deduced the location of the criminal organization that has been feeding vital intel to the League of Villains. After this brief, we will suit up and take action. Now…”

           Having lost interest in his droning, and not wanting to listen to Hawks comments, I let my mind wander on the multiple high-profile villains that were associated with this case. Over two decades ago, these few villains had banded together and wreaked havoc in northern Europe. After being discovered, they scattered, establishing small safehouses for information gathering, always in touch.

           I had been working on the case for nearly a year since learning of it, traveling everywhere, calling in favors. I had soon discovered that many of the safehouses had been sabotaged by an anonymous source, which I traced back to my home city in Japan; where the same villains had gathered once more to join forces with the League.

           They were, indeed, not be underestimated, having sold out several allies for personal benefit. Even after 23 years, there was little doubt that age would be a factor in the coming battle; after all, if they could handle an entire nation’s efforts at stopping them, they could certainly hold their own with a small task force. If that task force didn’t consist of specially trained officers, two pro heroes, and the best damn PI in the world.

           “You all know your roles, we leave in 15.”

           Endeavor had finished detailing the mission, and I took the opportunity to head to my car to suit up, having acquired numerous ‘resources’ over the years; many of which were standard issue, but specially fitted and adapted to me alone. It was for the best, as my fighting style sort of required me to stay adaptable, which helped when facing down those with quirks.

           My quiet time didn’t last, unfortunately, as it dawned on me that I was to ride with Endeavor and Hawks… Silently cursing myself for not having my motorbike, as that would mean the two would have to share the sidecar, which would be a hilarious sight-gag, I got into the driver seat and awaited their arrival.

           With a few minutes to spare, I put on a playlist I made to help me relax, while simultaneously pumping me up for a fight. Admittedly, a lot of it was from an animated show I adore; you know, ‘It’s also a gun!’

           While listening to the music, my mind began to wander, and I hesitantly entertained the idea of possibly allowing a single date with the two heroes. If we weren’t trying to save the city, and they at least tried to stay professional, then maybe after all was said and done, I’d go out with them. But, no. Worse was the fact that both were incredibly handsome, and Endeavor was a role-model for me when I was making a name for myself. And I may have a thing for younger guys…

           A heavy sigh escaped my lips when the heroes entered my car, signaling it was time for the raid. 

           “I’m impressed, it only took all seven of you to get me tied to this chair and hang it from the ceiling.” I say smugly.

           I was, obviously, tied to a chair dangling from the ceiling, the seven villains in a semicircle around me while my partners and squad were in the front room, fighting the countless lackeys they hired over the years. Thankfully, I got away from that pointless scuffle and was able to corner the villains we had been searching for. Naturally, they thought they had the upper-hand.

           Oh, were they wrong.

           Best part? The idiots started monologing. They took turns revealing all they had done, like they fucking rehearsed it. I was loving every second of it, considering they were holding my faux ear piece, which functioned as a recorder. They also removed my utility belt, claiming a toy gun and plastic knives. What they didn’t take was my bulletproof vest that was fitted to my body, so it looked natural; nearly a dozen real knives hidden on my person, including the one currently slicing away at my restraints; several shock-absorbing braces on my arms and legs that were reminiscent of an African hero’s panther suit; and a pair of faux glasses that I was wearing with thermal, night, infrared, and UV vision.

           Being kind enough to wait until the end of the monologue, I stayed in the chair, reclining with my legs crossed while snacking on a bagel I had tucked away, a knife twirling in my free hand. When they finally stopped, a string of threats was thrown towards me before one realized my bonds were broken.

           Having spent the 15 minutes they monologued mentally reviewing the info I gathered on them, creating a feasible plan to execute that would incapacitate the three villainesses and the three villains. Then, I was going to interrogate the behemoth of a person that was in charge to find out what secrets they had given to the League.

           The villainesses consisted of one who could electrically charge their muscles for extra strength and speed, one who could bend light to create barriers and turn invisible, and another who could sap the heat from objects to effectively freeze them. The villains, on the other hand, had one who could exhale hurricane force winds, one who resembled a scorpion with a tail and pincers, and another who could increase gravity in a small area. As for the behemoth, they could block out all pain, and had a one time use of a mutated quirk that allowed to double the pain experienced and force it onto someone else.

           Swinging from the chair and breaking the chain holding it, I spun it around as I descended, crashing it into the leader so I could focus on the other six. Hitting the ground rolling, my braces already storing energy, I blocked several charged punches from a villainess before judo flipping her into the tempest breather with the help of the braces, causing him to blow back the gravity shifter and knock him out while he, himself, got electrocuted. The villainess was knocked out from the force of the impact.

           Three down, three to go. Then, the main boss … I may play too many videogames in my spare time. Ah, well. I was having fun, but it got exponentially more exciting when I was charged by the heat sapper and scorpion man; or so they attempted to fool me with. My special glasses allowed me to see the light bender who was shadowing the heat sapper (I probably should’ve learned their names).

           All I had to due was time their movements, so they struck each other, which proved a challenge to me. After all, I needed the scorpion to strike and poison the heat sapper who would, in turn, flail and steal the heat of the light bender, freezing them in place.

           Or, I could go a route that relied on actual skill, and not arbitrary luck (although, there was a heroine back in the states who could manipulate luck; I think she was part of some sort of force with an ‘X’ in it?). 

           Dodging the tail thrust of the scorpion, I grabbed his tail and pulled him into an overclocked punch, knocking him out. Then, ducking under the grasp of the sapper, I grapple her, spin around, and suplex her into the light bender, using up the stored energy in my arm braces (and possibly breaking someone’s bone(s)).

           Finally, I moved on to the big one, seeing as they were finally able to pick themselves up from the ground and face me. I had to be careful with this one, seeing how they didn’t feel pain. But, as a favorite red-headed character from a show I like once said…

           ‘I don’t need him to feel pain; I just need him to GO DOWN!’

           They charged me in a fit of rage, swinging an arm at me. I leapt up, allowing my leg braces to absorb the impact as I was launched into a wall. Once again using my braces, I timed my velocity to kick off the wall with maximum force, shooting towards final villain, and with a simple twist and drop kick, they crashed through the building, skidding into the street.

           Strutting out into the main room where my squad and the heroes were preparing to breach the door that now lay splintered, I drunk in the praise of my squad (after an accidental misfire at me, which didn’t faze either them or me since I still wore my vest); having seen me in action before, they had an inkling of what to expect. As for the two males currently gawking at me, unable to respond, I didn’t hesitate to make a remark while still on my adrenaline high.

           “Well?” I ask, my voice laced with authority as my lips donned a smug grin. “The sooner you two finish up the job, the sooner you two can fire your ‘shots’ in me. Or am I too much for the two of you to handle?” I finish with a wink and coy smirk, leaving to my car.

           The last thing I heard was the scrambling of feet and an argument on who would top me first before I shout over my shoulder, “Who said I was letting either of you top?”

[bloodredrose-archive]

This isn't knocking on the way you speak at all like that other anon but do you actually talk like this in real life?? Just a question

Yes, I do. Obviously, I tone it down and use occasional colloquialisms because I am still in my twenties and fraternize with people within my age range who are accustomed to such vernacular and I have to at least somewhat attempt to 'blend in' with them, even in something as basic & arbitrary as my language despite my eccentric personality and style of dress standing out. But I've always spoken "formally" and felt more comfortable doing so out of two things: firstly, the fact that I am Nigerian and, in my culture (partly due to British colonization and English being our second or third language following our indigenous/tribal languages), it is a necessity to speak with an expansive vocabulary while getting our point across, rarely, if ever, using any slang terms (what natural-born Americans interchange with "normal" language) - something that is foreign to natural-born Americans & which they cannot comprehend hence their ridiculing of our settlers, the English, for speaking in a manner they deem "posh"/stereotypically Cockney.

Secondly, I opt not to use slang simply because it is cacophonous with my (and many other Nigerians'; if you encounter a Nigerian from Nigeria who speaks English fluently, you will notice that we never use contractions - e.g. we say "you are" instead of "you're", "it is" instead of "it's", "I am" instead of "I'm") voice and dialect, seeing as I have a distinct Nigerian accent mingled with a "valley girl" one and while I am from a region in America that is plentiful in slang, I was brought up in a household full of Nigerian immigrants to the U.S. (including my mother who holds two master's degrees and a PhD) that was not, has never been, and will never be, as such. There was a point in my youth where I did try my hand at using slang terms in excess and failed miserably because that was not at all how I naturally spoke, it did not sound right on me, and it was blatantly obvious that I was faking. This was compounded by the fact that, as a child, I was a severe bookworm and that was where the bulk of my English lexicon was derived and continues to be so as an adult - even then, my mind conjures up a word to use, no matter how unorthodox it is, and sees it fit to use contextually, so I decide to use it; that is literally all it boils down to.

So, no, me always using "big words" or "dictionaried words" is not done so out of an intentional, malicious means of somehow "exacting my superiority" over other people or going out of my way to be pretentious; it is quite literally how I was socialized and if I didn't know better, I would go so far as to say that criticism of me being this way given my upbringing is culturally insensitive and short of colonialist. Despite me toning my manner of speech down in the real world largely for my own benefit, I ultimately refuse to assimilate to American standards or make myself palatable to Americans who would discriminate against my family without a second thought. You will ultimately have to accept and learn to comprehend how I am even if it is otherworldly to you, or simply disengage, leave, and refrain from both making yourself uncomfortable and infringing on my boundaries if you don't like it. That is all there is.

[xanthera]

omg can you make my day and do 6 for chansaw pls

I’M SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG. The prompt gave me a million ideas so this ended up being way longer than I meant for it to be lol. Modern AU

6. “I need a place to stay.”

–

Veronica hadn’t expected for her doorbell to ring at eight PM on a Thursday, yet there it was, somehow audible over the TV and the pounding rain outside. She thought about putting on real clothes to answer it, but if someone was going to come calling at this hour on a weeknight, they could deal with seeing her in her pajamas. Besides, she didn’t want to leave whoever it was outside in the deluge for longer than they needed to be.

“Coming, coming.” She checked the peephole and nearly fell backwards in shock at who she saw. However, she quickly composed herself and opened the door to a sopping wet Heather Chandler.

“I need a place to stay.”

Veronica didn’t ask questions, just nodded and pointed Heather in the direction of the downstairs bathroom with a subdued, “There are clean towels under the sink.” Heather kicked off her shoes and wordlessly walked into the bathroom with a way-too-full duffel bag–Heather has luggage that isn’t Gucci? Veronica mused–slung over her shoulder. The door slammed behind her, followed by the sound of the shower turning on.

It took Veronica a good ten seconds to realize that the front door was still open, the carpet slowly soaking up the rain. She hurriedly shut it and peered out of the bay window, catching sight of Heather’s Porsche under the orange glow of the streetlight. So she still had her car, but couldn’t stay at home, and had clearly packed in a hurry. Veronica had a sinking feeling in her gut, but she tried to ignore it. The reason for her friend’s sudden appearance didn’t matter, only the immediate situation.

That situation being an apparently homeless Heather Chandler in her shower.

Ten minutes later, the bathroom door opened and Heather stepped out in a too large ‘Big Fun’ tee and gray sweatpants. She clearly hadn’t bothered to blow dry her hair, and there was still a hint of smudged mascara under her eyes. Or were those just dark circles? It wouldn’t have surprised Veronica, considering how haggard she looked right now. She shuffled into the living room with none of her usual grace, her posture slouched and her eyes cast downward. With a groan, she plopped down onto the couch, and Veronica sat awkwardly next to her.

She ventured, “So do you want to tell me why you’re here, or…?”

Heather began toying with the fringe on one of the throw pillows and sighed, “I’m pretty sure my parents just kicked me out.”

Veronica didn’t bother to hide her surprise. “What the fuck?! Why?!”

Any apathy on Heather’s part disappeared in an instant, but what Veronica heard next wasn’t her normal bitching; she was breathless, panicked, clearly hurting behind the anger. “Because they’re religious nut-jobs and going to my grandma’s crazy fire and brimstone church just makes it worse because she’s a delusional old cow who thinks that everyone who doesn’t follow a list of arbitrary rules from fucking thousands of years ago is going to burn in hell and I got sick of them repeating her bullshit every time two guys hold hands on TV and long story short I accidentally outed myself and they told me dykes weren’t allowed in their household and to get out.” It all came out in one breath, leaving her panting and shaking, tears beginning to trickle down her cheeks. She swallowed hard and choked out, “So I did.”

Veronica immediately pulled Heather into a tight hug, and she felt the other girl practically melt into the embrace, her shoulders quaking with quiet sobs. She was way out of her depth here, with a crying Heather Chandler trembling in her arms. This was not a situation she was prepared to deal with. She could see herself holding Duke during a breakdown, or even Mac, but Chandler was unflappable. The mythic queen of Westerberg, solid steel, never showed any emotion that could be seen as weak.

Yet here she was, sobbing into Veronica’s chest because she had been kicked out by her parents after accidentally coming out as gay.

Speaking of which, that was another topic she’d have to broach at some point, but right now Heather just needed to be held, so she pulled the other girl closer and started rocking slowly. There wasn’t even a question in her mind that this could have been the first time in years that Heather had let herself be this vulnerable, if her relationship with her family was any indication. Veronica had never seen mask crack before, but it had completely crumbled away before her eyes, revealing what Heather Chandler truly was behind the makeup and hot clothes and bitchy attitude: a teenager trying to survive high school by any means necessary.

And really, that was all that any of them were. Just a bunch of scared kids doing their best, and getting raked over the coals if they didn’t live up to some unspoken standard of “cool,” or even just “normal.”

“The world is fucked up,” she murmured, absently running her fingers through Heather’s hair.

Heather sniffled and let out a humorless chuckle. “Yep. I guess we fit in pretty well, then.” She snuggled closer to Veronica, nuzzling into her collarbone, and the brunette felt her face heating up at the closeness. If this were happening under less dire circumstances, she might enjoy cuddling with Heather. But, alas, even though she now knew that their sexualities were compatible, that would have to wait.

“Did you eat dinner before, uh, before you left?” Heather shook her head. “Do you want me to throw something together?”

She shook her head again. “We’d have to move to do that. I’m comfy right here.”

Veronica couldn’t help the giggle that escaped. “Do you want to just nap, then?”

Heather pulled away just enough to look at her with watery gray eyes. Her makeup had been washed away, her hair was limp and untamed, and she was wearing the least sexy sleepwear that Veronica had ever seen her in, but she was beautiful in that moment. No accessories, no mask; just Heather.

“I’d like that,” Heather smiled, and slowly laid down with her head in Veronica’s lap. Veronica reached for the remote and switched the TV to the most calming thing she could find - a documentary about migratory birds - and resumed toying with Heather’s hair. When she felt her breathing slowing down, she pulled the blanket off of the armrest and draped it over Heather’s shoulders.

This wasn’t how she had expected her evening to go, and there would definitely be a lot to deal with when Heather woke up, but for now, she could pretend that maybe the world was a little nicer. It wasn’t hard to imagine, with the comforting weight of Heather sleeping on her lap.

Those were the thoughts that floated in Veronica’s head as she drifted off to the sounds of birdsong and Heather’s soft breathing.