#I want nothing more than for my writing to have a positive impact on people

[the-broken-pen]

Hi! I love love LOVE your writing so much!!!❤️❤️(it’s the only thing sometimes that can help me reorient myself when life sucks)-

Idk if you’ve already written a work like this- but could you write about a villain who fakes being in a relationship with hero to get information. Hero absolutely loves them and thinks that they can finally be happy….but then Villain breaks their heart- while saying they never loved them and that it was all a lie.

and then later on Villain regrets it and realizes they are actually obsessed with hero and go full psycho?

The hero had spent their childhood watching as their parents fought viciously with one another. Slamming doors and breaking plates, and then sullen, withdrawn and nearly silent conversations illuminated only by the dying lamp in the corner of the living room. Whatever the hero’s parents had, it wasn’t love, and never would be. The hero had no way of knowing if it ever had been. 

And then the hero had watched as time after time, their sister loved someone with her whole heart and was left shattered on the hero’s doorstep at the end of it. Fairytales that ended with no happy ending, ripped up love notes and a hundred playlists made for people their sister could no longer bear to name out loud.

The hero had watched their entire family reach for love and fall flat every time, and had resigned themself to a fate of the kind of heartbreak you cannot escape. The kind that hangs over heads like a cloud and fogs mirrors.

And then–

The villain. The hero had met the villain, and the villain had smiled, and they thought maybe, just maybe, they had beaten the curse. That they were meant for the soft kind of love they had only imagined when they were young, before the pain of it got too great.

The hero had let the villain intertwine themself into the hero’s life, and they had thought they were okay. They had thought they had made it. 

Which was why, now, they couldn’t seem to make themself think anything sensical at all.

The villain settled the file in front of the hero gently, on the table they had picked out together with as much care as one was capable of. They almost, almost, looked like they regretted it, face soft and breakable.

The villain cleared their throat in the silence. “If you just read it–”

“What, can’t say it yourself?”

The villain stopped, swallowing. This was the first time in a very long time the hero had seen them look unsure.

The hero scoffed at them. “I know about Project Pegasus.”

The villain went very, very still. They looked down towards the folder.

“So then–”

“This?” the hero picked up the folder, waving it once. They tossed it onto the floor without looking. “I’ve already read it. Two weeks ago.” They stared at the villain, and did their best not to blink. “I just hoped it was fake.”

The hero wondered if maybe, this was what had happened to their parents. If they had spent all of that time fighting and hating one another and crying in darkened rooms just so they could spend the rest of it constantly reaching back towards one another. Pretending that the file wasn’t real. That the fights were nothing more than a blip in existence and not the roots of a rot so deep it would never be fully cut out of them. 

They had wondered about a lot of things, curled on the bathroom floor around that wretched file, but mostly they had wondered if they had always been meant to end up here. If this was what being doomed felt like. 

The villain blinked.

“You hoped it was fake.”

The hero felt a little like they couldn’t breathe. They sucked a shallow breath in through their nose anyways. 

“If you–” their voice broke. “If you were me, would you want to believe it?”

The villain’s shoulders, almost imperceptibly, slumped.

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh, are you?”

“Yes,” the villain said, but in the space where they should have explained themself, where they should have said it was fake, and that they loved the hero more than anything, and that this little apartment meant everything to them–they said nothing.

“So, what,” the hero snapped, voice wet with barely held back tears. “You’re going to tell me you didn’t mean for me to fall in love with you? That this was an accident? That you’re sorry again? That you never meant to hurt me–”

“No,” the villain corrected gently. “You were always meant to fall in love with me.”

A tiny sob wormed its way out of the hero’s throat before they could stop themself, and they pressed their shaking fist to their mouth before anything else could follow, turning away.

“It was just about the information,” the villain said, and the hero shoved themself back from the table, just to get further away from the love of their life.

“You knew what you were doing,” the hero said bitterly. “You know me. You knew. You knew I would never be able to get over this, and you did it anyways–”

“It’s my job,” the villain protested, and it took the hero everything in them to remain standing. “It wasn’t personal.”

“You made yourself my world, you made yourself into my everything, you made me fall in love with you–”

“I never made you do anything.”

“Don’t say that. You don’t get to say that. This was your goal, wasn’t it? Own up to your accomplishments. Go on. Tell me how proud you are. Do it.”

“Hero.”

“I loved you,” the hero was screaming, maybe.

And there it was. Past tense.

Loved.

The villain stepped back like the hero had slapped them.

“Hero,” their voice was barely a whisper.

The hero picked up the file. Rifled through it once more.

“Hero–”

The hero held out the file. The villain didn’t take it, hands remaining limp at their side.

“Take it.” They gestured with the file. “Take it, and get out.”

The villain sucked in a breath.

“Hero,” the villain said again, uselessly. 

“Tell me you love me, then. Tell me you meant it.” They gestured to the file once more. “Tell me that this is the lie.”

“I can’t.”

“Tell me.”

The villain opened their mouth, and for a second, the hero hoped–

“I don’t love you.” 

The hero wished the villain had just killed them. 

“I never loved you. It was all a lie. A really, really pretty lie.”

The hero wanted to say something elegant to that. Something biting and vicious and jagged in the same way the inside of them felt right now. They wanted to say everything they had felt earlier, every thought that had cut them so that it could cut the villain too.

Instead, all they managed was a choked, “Get out.”

They threw the file at the villain.

The villain didn’t bother to catch it, letting it slam into their chest. It thudded against the floor, papers spilling out in a halo around the villain’s feet.

A part of them wanted the villain to argue further.

A part of them just wanted the villain dead.

“I’m sorry,” the villain said once more, and then they were gone.

The villain had known as soon as the hero had thrown that file that they wanted the villain dead. 

That they were more likely to claw their own bones apart than willingly reach for the villain’s hand again, and the logical part of their brain was viciously pleased about it.

It made this whole thing easier. No lingering attachments to further butcher. Just a field, burned so badly nothing would ever grow in it again, and god, wasn’t that convenient for their mission. 

A tiny, smothered part of their brain, however, wouldn’t stop screaming.

They drowned it.

But then the villain would catch themself glancing to their side in search of a smile. They would wait a beat too long after they said something, would wait for laughter, and then there would be none, and they would curse themself for it, and that little part of them would come gasping back to life and start screaming again.

Possibly it was that little part of them that had made them send a message to the hero, offering the apartment. It was the least they could do, right? Fuck up their life and then get the fuck out of it. 

But the texts had said delivered, but never read, and three days later when the villain used their key to open the lock, they found themself stepping into a mausoleum and not a home. 

They weren’t sure what they were expecting, but it wasn’t this. Dust hanging in the air. Blank squares left on the walls where pictures had once hung. Empty cabinets, empty floors, empty rooms; no, whatever they had been expecting, it wasn’t this.

For a reason they couldn’t name, they went from room to room, searching for something without quite understanding what. It wasn’t until they had come full circle back into the living room, fingers coated in dust and an aching chest, that the villain had realized. Ghosts. They were looking for ghosts. 

Because there was nothing better to describe the way they felt right now other than haunted. And if there was something, anything, of the hero left in here to burn, to destroy, to exorcise, they could use it as an excuse–

There was nothing left of the hero. There were no ghosts. This place was just dead.

The villain made a shuddering little sound, and slammed the front door closed behind them when they managed to stumble into the hallway. 

This was an easy mission, it was–

–two years and dates over ramen and houseplants–

–something even a new recruit could do–

–i love you’s in the dark and the scent of the hero on all of their clothes and–

–something the villain was trained for, countless hours spent–

–laughing and crying and rainy days and sunny ones–

–learning how to fake love, and somehow–

–the villain had forgotten it was fake.

The villain couldn’t breathe.

The villain had forgotten they weren’t supposed to fall in love, too.

The villain had forgotten they weren’t supposed to fall in love too, and they had just set their entire world ablaze around themself.

Fuck.

It really only made sense, then, that they found themself standing on the roof of their old apartment building as it burned. And when that didn’t work, they moved onto the next, until a third building went up in flames beneath their feet. They knew the kind of message it would send, and they knew exactly who that message would get sent to–

The hero landed on the other end of the rooftop, as far away from the villain as they could possibly get. 

“Stop,” the hero hissed, teeth clenched. “Stop lighting things on fire to get my attention, just stop–”

“I’m in love with you,” the villain said, voice wrecked, and the hero reacted like the villain had shot them. They stepped away, feet bumping against the edge like the fall was a better option than the villain.

“No,” the hero said. They shook as they said it. “Stop it. You don’t get to do this to me.”

“I love you,” the villain said again, and the hero pressed a hand over their own heart.

“Stay away from me,” the hero managed after a moment. Another deep breath, and their hand dropped back down to their side. “Go do whatever it is you need to do, go ruin anyone else’s life, and stay out of the wreckage of mine.”

“We have a life together,” the villain tried. If the hero could just see, could see that they could fix it– “I’m sorry. I was stupid, I was so, so stupid. But you can’t just leave, please, just let me fix it–”

“I told you to get out,” the hero said, and there was nothing soft in their eyes as they looked at the villain. “What about the way I said it made you think it was temporary?”

“Hero, please, let me fix–”

“Villain,” the hero said calmly, voice sharp. “Some things aren’t meant to be rebuilt.”

All of the air left the villain’s lungs in a pathetic sort of wheeze.

“You’re my everything,” the villain choked out. “My whole world, and I’m so sorry. I was–I made a mistake, but you can’t just throw us away–”

“No,” the hero spat, and the villain flinched. “You burned that world to the ground. You’re standing in the ashes of it. You don’t get to come to me begging for it back.”

The villain felt unmoored. Like the world had shifted one step to the left and they had no idea what to do with their limbs anymore, no idea how to keep existing.

“But I love you.”

“The only person who feels anything when you say that is you.”

This time, it was the villain who stepped back.

“Please,” the villain whispered, and the hero closed their eyes.

“What were you expecting to happen. That I would forgive you? Would fall back into your arms? You could tell me that you’re sorry in every language for the rest of your life and that wouldn’t make what you did hurt me any less. So why would you think you could light a building on fire, tell me you love me, and then make everything go back to the way it was?”

“I–I don’t–”

“There is no back,” the hero said firmly. “There is no undo.”

“I don’t know what to do,” the villain said. A tear dripped off the edge of their chin.

The hero appraised them.

“Learn to live with it.”

The villain sucked in a shuddering breath.

“I can’t live without you, okay, I can’t–”

“Then die.”

The villain froze. They waited for the hero to take it back, but the hero just stared at them, face stony and cold. An avenging angel on the edge of the rooftop, firelight flickering at their back and smoke rising into the air, not an ounce of sympathy left in their bones for the villain.

And before the villain could say anything, say that the hero couldn’t possibly mean that, the hero spoke again.

“I mean it. You are not my problem.”

The villain was choking. They were drowning on air and the hole they had left inside of themself when they ripped the hero out of their life and the hero was just watching them–

“Please,” they said pathetically, and even as they said it they knew it was futile.

The hero didn’t bother to give them another response.

They watched the hero leave without saying anything, smoke beginning to sting their eyes and nose as their hands shook. 

It felt terminal. It felt world-ending. It felt deserved.

They wished the hero had just killed them.

[lord-squiggletits]

I was at a "making friends" kind of social event just this past week and ended up having two subsequent conversations with different people that gave me an interesting reflection on my own reasons for writing without me even intending to make the conversation about it.

First conversation: The person talked about the feeling of awe from being at a music concert and how incredible it is that so many complete strangers can be united by a singular love of music. I related to it with regards to my own writing and how many people have read my stuff. Ended up telling this guy about some of the AO3 comments I've gotten from people to the effect of helping motivate them to live/just reflect on life in general. Somehow went into a tangent about a suicidal friend of mine who died when we were in high school, and me saying that maybe the reason I write so much about the things I do is because of the influence his death had on me. And the other person ended up asking me, 'So do you think it's like every time you write, you're doing it in his memory in a way?'

Subsequent conversation was with someone who was a psychologist for a day job, and I ended up telling them that I was kind of thinking of getting a degree in psychology/therapy one day because writing about mental health issues had gotten me so interested in the world of helping people heal themselves. But then I was also like, "Well, I don't know, it could be that I don't need to become a psychologist to help people with mental health. Maybe helping people by being a writer and telling stories is enough."

It was just a surprising, but topical realization for me to have talking to a bunch of strangers. For someone like me who's often preoccupied with doing and having knowledge and expertise, I often fall into the idea that you need to be directly involved in helping people to really be making a difference. I've literally had thoughts in my mind along the lines of "I'm so smart, hardworking, and dedicated when it comes to writing, but wouldn't it have been so much more of a net gain to the world if I'd decided to be this passionate about something like being a doctor or activist that actually helps people?" It's not like I truly regret being a writer (or ever will, because there's nothing else that I love so much), but in my bad moments I truly do sometimes think "Why does it make a difference if I entertain people or make them feel nicer for a while if it doesn't actually change anything in the world?" To quote one of my favorite Transformers fics of all time, "There was nothing that would have been more worthwhile, but that didn't rule out the possibility that the whole damn universe was wasting its time."

I guess the answer is that making someone feel better, even in a small way, is changing the world, even if it's just a few people, and even if it's just as simple as making someone's day better.

[bulletbilltime]

Oh y'all are sharing Spotify Wrappeds? Oh sure here's mine. I'm still waiting on my actual year-end list though. Yeah I'm making a homebrew year-end chart. Yeah it won't be ready for another 24 days. Yeah I use homegrown weekly data points harvested from local scrobble aggregators. Wait where did everyone go

[lullabyes22-blog]

Real talk because you are THE resident Silco expert and all your headcanons are 100% correct: why does fandom think Silco would be good in bed? (Or good at sex at all?)

I've seen headcanons about him being a giver, and about his dick game being fire, and while he's a sexy, charismatic man, I feel like he's too... selfish, insecure, and just not a romantic guy. He's also a very bitter, lonely, and angry dude. Idk, it makes sense he would have some kinks but I feel like he'd be too much of a bitch to care for anyone else in bed. I guess he'd want it rough, and I've read some fics where he's a sadist, but I feel like it'd just be a quick fuck to satisfy himself, not a slow, passionate, sensual thing.

idk, do with this what you will.

I agree - with nuance 💗

Silco - at least as I write him in FNF - is principally a headfuck. If he's demonstrating an interest in you, then he wants something from you. If he's nice to you, there's a bottom line. No act of generosity comes without strings attached, and every small kindness comes at a terrible price. That aspect of cold-blooded calculus is never far away from his base nature, which splits the world into assets and liabilities, and his own actions into a transaction of cost versus reward.

With that in mind, he excels, not at sex, but at getting his partners to do what he wants them to do. For him, it's one of the many fluid ways of expressing power, and demonstrating his mastery over the subtleties of the human body and mind.

A few readers have noticed that he comes across as very detached and controlled during FnF's sex scenes - and that they read as weirdly voyeuristic. That always delights me, because it's an intentional choice. He doesn't really see his partner as anything beyond a medium to his goals, so his focus is entirely on their physical responses and his own actions. His narration is distant, observational and impersonal, because he doesn't experience sex as something that involves an emotional or empathetic connection. Rather, he's gauging how his target's responses play out on a physical plane, and he's calibrating his own actions to maximise their impact.

To give credit where credit is due, he's very intelligent, patient and observant. There is also some realistic backing to the running gag that Good D is invariably attached to Bad Men. More specifically, Bad Broke Men. Silco has not grown up in a position of privilege or wealth. He has been forced to make use of every available resource. He has survived by the skin of his teeth on a constant knife edge of deprivation, hunger and fear.

He's a scrapper. He's a survivor. He's an opportunist.

And to be any of those things, you need to know your way around people: their wants and weaknesses. That's the foundation for the idea that he's good in bed - that he can anticipate his partner's desires, and respond accordingly. The difference is, his actions have no romantic underpinning. It's a matter of pure pragmatism and self-interest.

In terms of technical skill, he's likely very good at finding his partner's pressure points, both literal and figurative, and exploiting them. But if it were up to him, he'd find a way to turn the thumbscrews with nothing more than a well-chosen word and a cold look. The sex is just a generality, and his enjoyment a function of their compliance.

When it comes to actual intimacy?

My friends, he'd be spectacularly bad.

Not just bad, but skittish, hostile and hopelessly inept. He'd feel like an accomplished stage actor who has to step out onto the boards for an improv class. He hasn't got the right lines, he isn't dressed for the part, and he isn't even sure what role he's supposed to be playing. He'd be so awkward, he'd actually have trouble looking his partner in the eyes. The sum total of his sexual ouvre would devolve into the following comedy of errors:

"What the fuck is this?"

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Don't touch me there."

"This is going well, right?"

"Why can't I get it up?"

"I can't do this."

"Leave me alone."

"Where are you going?"

"Don't leave me."

"They always leave me."

"Why does everyone leave me?"

And he'd only spiral deeper into self-loathing and isolation. To submit to intimacy is to open oneself up to the mortifying ordeal of being known, and the constant risk of rejection. To Silco, it is anathema. Actual emotional vulnerability during sex would be not unlike attending his own public execution.

But.

Silco is not a one-note villain, much less a one-trick pony. He has a human history riven in deprivation, bloodshed and betrayal. He's remade himself from a 'weak' man into the premier kingpin of Zaun, but that predatory bracing still hides remnants of the soft-natured idealist he once was. In fact, he's the product of a deeply embedded internal conflict between two distinct versions of himself. The one who seeks to burn his enemies, and the one who seeks to save his city. He's also, as demonstrated by his love for Jinx, capable of profound devotion, loyalty, and a deep-seated longing for companionship.

That means the potential for romance exists. It's just buried deep, deep, deep down beneath years of abuse, neglect, trauma, and self-imposed barriers. If he meets someone who can dismantle those barriers, or bypass them altogether and earn his trust, there is a ray of hope.

Sex would still be frightening and uncomfortable, and it'd involve a lot of trial and error. But it'd also have the potential to be deeply healing. Not because Silco would become a better man, but because his partner would make him want to try. He'd also bring the same intense focus, intelligence, and determination to the task that he applies to his criminal empire - which means that, once he does have his sea legs, Silco would have the potential to become a truly giving lover.

It's all about context.

And the context is always: will he take the gamble when he has nothing to lose, and everything to gain?

[thepigeonhasapen]

I was wondering if you could do the Olympian Gods with a reader whose asexual? Like, what would their reactions be, would they mind, stuff like that d:

Asexual Reader, Olympian Edition

(Doing these asks out of order but shhhhhhh. Also strong warning for acephobia because Zeus in an ass)

🩷Aphrodite🩷

Very chill about it. She's the goddess of love and that includes ALL kinds of love. Self-love is one of her favorites. The fact that you know and accept who you are and that you're willing to let her in on it? Well, Aphrodite might just adore you even more than she already did.

"You’re...? Well of course I don't mind, dearest! In fact, I think that's positively wonderful!"

Regardless of whether or not you're interested, Aphrodite still can't refrain from making comments about your physical appearance. She'll try and curtail some of them if you find them uncomfortable, but she loves lavishing praise upon you and talking you up to her friends.

Partially jealous to be perfectly honest. She can't help but wonder if you have a more pure understanding of beauty because you're not looking at it though the rose-tinted lens of horny. Aphrodite is deeply fascinated by asexuality and even if she doesn't quite understand it, she tries her best.

⚔️Ares⚔️

Doesn't mind. Honestly, it doesn't even really impact him that much. Just neatly writes sex out of the equation and carries on.

"You seem nervous, my dear. You... oh? Is that all? No need to distress yourself so much over such things. I love you as you are and knowing this will not change that."

May ask you a few questions at the beginning but mostly leaves the subject alone after that.

If anyone's giving you shit, all it takes is a dirty look from Ares to shut them up. What can I say the man has a way with not using his words.

🏹Artemis🏹

You too?? Artemis tries to play it off cool but she's low-key thrilled actually. Internally screaming because thank the Fates, she can get as close to you as she wants and she doesn't have to worry about things getting Weird™️

"You’re ace? That's... cool. Sorry, that came off as really insincere. It's just... me too, you know? I got a little surprised is all. And um, we've been hanging out for a while and I just wanted to say, you know, now that we're talking about this and I know you're not gonna take this the wrong way, I think you're really neat. I love hanging out with you. ...Don't go spreading that around though, okay?"

Artemis is sex-repulsed. If you are too, she drags you to family events so she can make faces at you whenever her family starts talking about their sexual conquests. If you're not, she's deeply fascinated and will probably ask you WHY on earth you would want to do that.

Despite the fact that Artemis doesn't want to have sex, I feel like she'd still enjoy certain kinks. Primal play, petplay, and leather are things I feel she'd enjoy partaking in. (Source: I am ace and very kinky lmao)

🦉Athena🦉

What a good match, Athena is asexual too! She probably blanks your confession to be honest because she sometimes forgets that people actually have sex frequently and on purpose.

"Asexual? Yes, alright. And how fared your journey up to Olympus by the way? I hope Hermes treated you well."

Sex-neutral. Will occasionally give sex a go if her partner happens to bring it up but will mostly just forget it's existence as a thing entirely.

Athena is actually quite haughty about her asexuality. She is definitely looking down on anyone who is swayed from the path of wisdom by someone else's sex appeal. Loves that you can understand her point of view on the subject.

❄️Demeter❄️

As Demeter has aged her sex drive has shrunk to like nil so really nothing about your relationship is much different.

"Asexual...? Ah, like young Artemis, yes? Fascinating. I've never been able to pin her down long enough to converse upon the subject. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"

Demeter tends to be a touch more overprotective than she needs to be. If anyone even so much as gives a hint of giving you shit for it, Demeter is sending them an absolute withering glare that has the potential to kill even the most vibrant flower. She follows it up with some bitterly cold words if necessary but it rarely comes to that.

She's honestly quite relieved about it really. She was never really that horny of a person and is happy to find someone who can relate to that. I personally think Demeter is some kind of acespec but that might also be my asexual ass projecting my aceness onto every character I get my grubby little hands on lol

🍇Dionysus🍇

Chill about it. He's chill about literally everything, what do you expect? Dionysus is commonly associated with trans people and I like to believe that queer people in general just flock to him because he's just so open and accepting.

"Ace, yeah? Congrats, man, thanks for telling me. Just let me know if I ever step on any toes, 'kay?"

Not gonna lie, he secretly corners Artemis and Athena to bother them on the subject just in case he's got it wrong. He didn’t as it turns out, but he's glad he checked in anyway because it was an enlightening conversation. With Athena anyway. Artemis runs off at the first available opportunity.

Happy to go whatever speed you want, if you want to go any speed at all. He may still get a little handsy sometimes but he doesn't mean anything by it, he just really likes holding you like a teddy bear. Honestly, I think he'd get a real kick out of somebody aegosexual and think it was such a super fun party trick that you can say such horny things and not be interested at all. Probably mildly pesters you to engage with smutty things because he finds your unamused expressions absolutely fascinating.

🪽Hermes🪽

Bursts out laughing when you tell him. It's not for the reason you think and he does feel really bad about it when he sees your face.

"Haha, of all the...! Haha– oh, hey, hey, I'm sorry, it's not that. I totally don't mind you being ace or anything, far from it, it's just that I seem to have an accidental habit for attracting your type and I seem to be collecting you."

Besides you, the person Hermes spends the most time with is Charon... who is also asexual. Hermes, the uberhorny hypersexual fuckbunny who would literally die for a quickie every five minutes find this hilarious. Opposites attract I guess? Hermes has a good giggle about it everytime he thinks about it.

Doesn't mind if you don't want to have sex. If you do, great! But if you don't, it's not a big deal.

🔱Poseidon🔱

Poseidon is... confused. It'll work out better if you're sex-repulsed and straight up don't want to have sex ever, otherwise poor Poseidon will absolutely struggle. He doesn't understand the difference between sexual attraction and aesthetic attraction and is just genuinely so out of his depth. You like the way he looks... but you don't want to have sex with him??

"What's that? Asexual? I, uh... okay, just between the two of us, you're gonna have to explain that one to me, babe."

He talks to Dionysus. Even after that he still doesn't get it. Poseidon tries his best to be supportive but has like no idea how. Probably shooes away people who try to even mention sex in your vicinity. It's gonna take awhile before he understands how this works. Confused but he's got the spirit kinda?

May initially try to convince you that you just haven't had good sex yet. Sit him down, explain this all to him, and he'll probably get it. Okay, let's be honest, he still doesn't get it but he respects your choice and generally leaves the subject alone. His libido is quite high though so he will frequently sleep around just to scratch that itch.

⚡️Zeus⚡️

We were doing good until we got to you, huh Zeus? Zeus just quite firmly doesn't believe in asexuality. He definitely thinks you're just confused or that you haven't had sex right yet or that you'll change your mind at some point.

"Asexual? Oh dear, have you been talking to that daughter of mine, Artemis? She's always on about something or other, if she chooses to talk to us at all."

Zeus won't force you to have sex but he will make subtle (he thinks he's being subtle anyway) comments about how you're a tease or a prude. If you're interested in having sex, Zeus doesn't understand the definition and just thinks you don't find him attractive. His feelings are now hurt. He will be throwing a violent totally-not-a-tantrum now.

Will eventually, probably shut up about it. Look, he's never gonna understand it so shutting up about it is the best you're gonna get from him. This idiot thinks with his penis, okay? Athena stole all the intelligence from him at birth. Just doesn't get it, very confused, cannot even comprehend the idea of not wanting to bang everything in sight.

[suikung]

Just discovered your blog and I just gotta say AMAZING!

I saw that requests are open, if they're still open then can I request the Akatsuki (not yandere) being mean to and gang nonconning a weak and shy jinchuriki they captured? I saw you only write up to 5 characters so you can pick whichever 5 Akatsuki members you want! Have a good day!❤️

Caught

| Pain Deidara Sasori Hidan Itachi

| Tw. Gang rape Non-con Anal Blood Necrophilia (technically with pain)

WC. 5.5k

For story purposes reader has the three tails,since it’s the only one without a Jinchūriki. It’s a little bit of an odd pairing but I went with what I believe are the more liked ones. Maybe not Hidan, he’s just my indulgence. Also w/ Hidan’s ability you feel both pain and pleasure. I think that’s all the disclaimers now

The trees were still, not a single noise was out of place for you. A night just like any other. This forest was all you had known since your childhood. Your parents had died when you were 16, and for the last two years you’d been surviving here on your own. Well not entirely on your own. The three tails resided in within you. After you had become a Jinchūriki at the age of five, your family fled your village in fear people would target you. Many villages came after you, hoping to take you back with them and use you as military power. But somehow your parents always fended them off. They taught you ninjutsu, seeing as they were Shinobi yourself, but nothing extraordinary. Nothing that could save you from the predicament that had sprouted from this serene forest.

Two robed figures stood in front of you, a man with bright yellow hair and a hunched one you could only assume to be his partner. At first thinking they might have been lost travelers, but the thought quickly disappearing when the hunched man threw off his cloak and launched what looked like a scorpion tail at you.You jumped back, managing to barely escape his attack. A large hole now visible in the ground where he struck. “Hm I guess it’s my turn.” The other man threw what seemed to be a round white ball, quickly exploding upon impact. Exploding on your arm, pain shot through out it all. Whoever these guys were, were significantly stronger than you. And it didn’t take much for them to take you down, a girl who still didn’t know much about actually fighting in battle. They both took a position next to you, one to your left the other to your right. Simultaneously they launched their attacks on you, a bomb to your right, a scorpion tail to your left. Having no previous battle experience, a proper defense reaction didn’t occur to you, and you were hit. All you could see as you laid on the ground was the two men staring down at you. “Hurry up and finish tying her up Deidara. I don’t like to wait.”

The next time your eyes opened, there wasn’t two men staring down at you, only a rock ceiling. Your hands and legs had been bounded, barely able to sit up. It was dark, your eyes only beginning to adjust, pupils dilating trying to take in any light. Once your eyes adjusted, you looked up to see giant hands, two hands just still in the air. What stood behind you was am enormous statue of a petrified monster. Heart picking up it’d pace every moment you stared longer at it, but within a minute the statue didn’t move so you could breathe a little. “What is this.” You spoke out to no one, however you received a response back. “She’s awake Sasori. What you see before you is where that little tailed beast inside of you will soon reside.” The voice spoke from a nearby ledge in what you could only assume now is cave with its lack of light.

The voice, dropped down, now able to make them out to be the yellow haired man from before; the silhouette of his pony tail giving away his identity. “It’s such a pain to be in this musty cave, I don’t understand why leader hasn’t called us all to seal this brat yet Sasori my man, hm.” He approached you, circling you now. He was analyzing your next move, would you fight back maybe? Unlikely considering the weak one you had put up when they captured you. “She’s quite cute. Maybe leader will let us keep her for a while. Come down here Sasori, and take a look for yourself.” A thump landed next to you. It was the hunched man, who now had a name to his face. “Stop messing around Deidara.”, Sasori’s voice was low already, but the annoyance towards his partner lowered it farther. Before Deidara could snap back at him, a voice called out their names. Quickly they jumped from their position to the fingers of the monster statue. Holograms appeared on each hand, every finger now occupied. “How did the capture of the three tails go?” A hologram with spiky hair spoke, your neck strained trying to see them all from your position on the floor. “It wasn’t that hard. She’s awake, sitting right below us. But I doubt she’ll fight back, she proved herself a weakling in battle.” Sasori spoke up. Everyone’s eyes now lowered to the floor, they hadn’t had a Jinchūriki conscious in their meeting.

“Let me use her for my ritual for a while before we store the three tails yeah?” One that seemed to have a weapon attached on his back spoke up. You eyes only widened at his words, what possible ritual could he be talking about? “Shut up before I kill you Hidan.”Chimed the hologram right next to him. “Yeah yeah we both know that ain’t happening Kakuzu.” The pair bantered back and forth before the spikey haired man spoke again, “We won’t be storing the three tails today, so do with her as you please, just don’t kill her. That is all, you may return now.” Just as he appeared, he was gone. “Well Kakuzu, I’ll be taking up on the offer so I’ll see you soon.” Slowly all the holograms disappeared, not before making eye contact with a specific one. Those red glowing eyes, could it have been a sharingan?

Deidara and Sasori were the last two up there. They seemed to be whispering about something, their voices just at the tone where it made it impossible to decipher the words. Shortly after their secret meeting was over. “Well my man Sasori I think we should get started before the others come to interrupt our fun hm.” Both the men discarded their black robes, Sasori took an extra step; out came a young looking man from the hunched figure. “Please just let me go and I’ll tell no one of what you did. Please just let me go!” Practically screaming now in their faces. You weren’t stupid, you knew what their idea of “fun” was. “Even if we wanted to, which we don’t. We can’t. After we finish with you here, that three tails of yours will be sealed away and you’ll be dead.” Sasori’s voice was cold. Not even being able to see properly from the way the tears erupted from your eyes. With a kunai Deidara cut the front of your shirt, hands and legs still tied just incase you tried anything funny. “Come on Sasori we can’t do anything if we keep her hands tied up.” Sasori rolled his eyes, motioning with his hand for Deidara to do what he wants. Your hands were now free but Sasori immediately attached chakra threads to your wrists. They could never be too safe with a Jinchūriki. “Either you can do it willingly or I won’t hesitate with my chakra threads.”

Deidara now stood in front of you, eye level with his mid section. Sasori to the left of you, his chakra strands bringing your hand up to the band of his pants. “I think you know what to do now girl un.” With one hand each, their pants came down simultaneously. You could now see clearly the mouths on Deidara’s hands as he came to down to play with himself. He guided himself forward, tapping the tip against your lips. Refusing to open for him, his free hand came to the side of your cheek his extra mouth licking your face. Before you could even open your mouth fully, he shoved himself into you. His tip immediately hitting the back of your throat causing your gap reflex to activate. Coughing while his dick was in your mouth proved to be a challenge, he pulled himself back slightly to allow you more breathing one. But while one assault finished a new one continued. Sasori refused to be forgotten from the fun and with his chakra strings, he positioned your hand loosely on his base. For someone with a puppet body it amazed you that this was the one thing that remained human. “It’s works just like any other so don’t be afraid to test what I just told you.” Your hand began to move up and down his cock, a shutter coming from Sasori. Not only did he practically dedicate himself to his art, but being in the Akatsuki never gave him the time of day to thing about pleasure. Which is why this simple movement from your hands had small sounds escaping from his mouth.

While your hand pumped Sasori’s, Deidara placed the hand that was previously on your cheek behind your head. His fingers tightly interlocked in your hair, he now had a tight hold to fuck your face. And that he did. With your breathing finally normalizing and your coughing diminishing, he wasted now time in shoving himself back in. Having regulated your breath for nothing. “Use your tongue come on hm”, he whined from above. He was practically giving you whiplash from how hard he was fucking himself into your face. His balls slapping against your chin, and his tip narrowly avoiding your uvula. You want to throw up. Not only from gagging but from being forced to fuck the men you know will have a hand in your death after they’ve spilled enough inside of you.

“Go faster”, Sasori demanded of you. His chakra threads felt looser as you began to comply with him. Both men were letting out groans, their inevitable end coming soon. They were so deprived from any type of pleasure lately this would enough from them, however after they recover from this first orgasm they’ll make sure the next will be thanks to what’s between your legs. The pace you had was not enough for Sasori as his chakra threads took control again. Your hand was now vigorously moving, twisting around his cock while simultaneously moving up and down. This pace being something you could’ve never set on your own. Deidara wasn’t letting up either, your head ached from his grip, your chin probably now red from his balls continuously hitting it. They both seemed to choke up on their moans, immediately feeling a foreign liquid in your mouth. It was salty, only causing you to gag from its revolting taste. “Awe shit”. Sasori finshed in your hand, however due to having a puppet body he had no semen to expel. However the orgasm still rang through his body, a string of curses leaving his mouth. Deidara pulled his cock out, taking this as your chance to spit out his semen. But he saw your next move, his hand came over your mouth, his hand-tongue licking your lips. “You better fucking swallow it.” His eyes were dark, his hand firm on your face. “And when you do, open your mouth so I can double check un.”

You did as he said, not wanting to anger him and expedite your death but maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad idea. Pain began to spread through your ass from the hard rock floor. You shifted slightly, now free from Sasori’s chakra threads, hoping this new position would subdue the pain. Nonetheless it didn’t matter soon enough. Light began to pour into the cave, the sound of something heavy being dragged echoed. Eyes squinted from the sudden rush of light, slowly adjusting. Deidara and Sasori’s had finished readjusting their clothes, attention now turned to the entrance to see which one of their members had come.

“Well well it looks like the party’s already started.” The backlight figure continued to walk towards the three of you, until you could finally make it out to be the hologram with the weapon on his back, the one called Hidan. He had a maniacal look in his eye, wasting no time to remove his sythe from his back as he approached you. “Hidan, don’t kill her. She’s not a sacrifice for your God.” Sasori glared at him, obviously accustomed to his traditions. He rolled his eyes, “I didn’t say I was gonna kill her did I?” Deidara only watched in amusement from the sidelines as Hidan’s sythe was thrown at your face. The tip from one of the three blades cutting into the supple flesh of your cheek, quickly retracting back into Hidan’s grip. So graceful yet so careless with it. The red of your blood blending into the color of his blade. The blade now up to his lips, tongue swiping across it knowing perfectly around it as to not cut himself. Like that would matter to him. The immediate presence of your blood on his tongue changed his entire appearance, body going from looking of normal flesh to being as if his skeleton had been brought forth out of him. “What… what just happened to him…” eyes practically bullying from your head, confusion and fear evident on your face. Would the same happen to you since it was your blood that had done that to him?

Hidan’s laugh now roared throughout the cave, echoing off every empty wall. It was haunting, terrifying, he was a damn psychopath and you could tell this wasn’t the end of his actions with you. His eyes now stared directly at you, never breaking contact as he pulled a sharo baton from inside his cloak. “That’s his crazy ritual to his God. You can never get used to how just over the top and dramatic he is with it.” Deidara answered your question from early, was this what he meant by what he had said before? Immediately after Hidan spoke up, almost interrupting Deidara, “I’ll give you one chance to submit yourself to Lord Jashin.” Who? “Accept him into your life and I won’t have to do this.” The baton was now aimed at his palm, his eyes staring you down from any answer. If this was the way out, you’d gladly accept this ‘Jashin’. Head nodding at a pace that you almost gave yourself whiplash for a second time that day. “That’s too fucking bad bitch. Jashin wouldn’t want a whore like you to serve him.” With those parting words, the baton cut halfway into his palm. Bleed pooled onto the floor, a sufficient amount for him to drag it first into a circle and then a triangle inside. “Ritual complete”, being the only thing he uttered. “One of you two untie her completely, after this she won’t have enough strength to run away.” On his words, Sasori being the closet to you undid the rope on your legs. Just as you stood up, pain shot through your leg, your calf on fire. Hidan’s laugh the only thing you could hear apart from the ringing in your eyes. Barely being able to lift your head, you saw he had the baton wedged in his calf as well but he looked to be enjoying it.

“Ah fuck, your pained face gets me going.” You didn’t know the extent of his jutsu, but you’d be finding out real soon. He dropped the baton next to him, his non-bleeding hand coming into his cloak and done his pants. Cock already straining against his pants he couldn’t help himself and began to palm it through the fabric. Immediately you felt it too. This pyscho’s powers made you feel everything he felt physically, pain or pleasure. To Hidan this was perfect, the stinging in his calf, the relief of his hand on his cock. An immediate heaven. “Stop…please” voice weak, unable to find any strength in yourself to speak up. Your head spun, unable to find a middle ground from the feeling in between your legs, undoubtedly creating a wet stain, and the pain in your calf. He increased his pace, hand now inside of his pants, the strain to unbearable now. Your pleasure amplified, unable to resist the noises your body produced. Soft moans left your mouth, hunched down on the floor using your good leg to kneel for support on it. The other two members couldn’t doubt their oncoming arousal from the sounds you made. Soon enough they’d be ready to go again with you, but for now they lazily stroked themselves. “Doesn’t it feel so good, the mix of both these feelings!” You could only cry out as a response, but before he could proceed any further the three members sensed two new chakras in the cave. Somehow these two had made it in within without making a sound.

Glowing purple and red eyes, the rinnegan and sharingan. All eyes averted towards them, tension thick in the air. No one would except the leader of the Akatsuki and Itachi to participate in this. But then again in this line of work everyone was deprived of simple things in lives, they just couldn’t help themselves to a little divulgence. “Please don’t stop Hidan, we are here to join in. Show her your version of pain if need be.” Your head snapped between the men now. He took no time in resuming what he was doing. How could someone have such lack of embarrassment, then again all these men were here for the same thing. Itachi stayed silent as he watched the scene unfold in front of him, taking in your battered form. Eyes puffy, tears dried on your face, calf bleeding while you cry from a forced pleasure. It did something inside of him. The wanted to be responsible next for those sounds coming out of your mouth.

Hidan’s pumped himself at a quickening rate, the orgasm building in his body and in yours. However he wouldn’t let you have it so easily, so just as you both were sent over the edge, he stopped. The build up on your untouched clit fading away. “Join in, don’t stand there like some creeps just watching.” Deidara, Sasori, and Pain all approached you, Itachi would continue to watch for now while it seemed as if Hidan was restricted to the symbol h had drawn on the floor. You stayed on the floor, still unable to get up from your earlier injury. The three men circled around you. Deidara sat down in front of you “Lift yourself up, we can’t do anything to you if you still have those rags on” he said pointing to your pants. So far your pants had been the last scratch of dignity you had, now it was about to be stripped away.

With your pants lowered to your knees, Deidara could put into action his plan. His mouth-hand latched onto your nipple while the other went straight down on your clit. The sudden feeling sent a moan flying out of you, rapidly trying to shut yourself up. The guilt tripling in your body from allowing such reactions to occur. Nonetheless it wouldn’t matter, your head was pulled to the side by Pain his cock already in hand. Rods poked out from the side of his length. “Open” were the only words he spoke to you before relishing in the warmth of your mouth. While pain adjusted to your mouth, Sasori attached his chakra threads back to your wrist, hand moving up towards his base. Pain didn’t grip your hair to shove your face back and forth, instead he simply bucked his hips back and forth into you. Such an unstable position for you led to your head moving around. “Hollow out your cheeks and put your tongue under it” luckily he wasn’t as big as Deidara who nearly choked you, but he moved at such a pace it stained your neck muscles in any way. Scared of the man who led such powerful shinobis, you did as he told. The sudden vacuum you created with your mouth, left Pain hissing in pleasure. What you didn’t know was the man you currently had in your mouth was feeling no pleasure and instead someone near by the man who was controlling him and was feeling everything.

Your fingers tightened around Sasori’s length starting at the base of his cock. Sasori felt cold, his body was cold. How could someone be so far away from being a human yet still possess the ability to feel lust. All he wanted right now was to achieve another orgasm. “What if we keep her as our Akatsuki whore Pain? It can’t be such a big deal if we don’t get all the tailed beasts right. Plus I think this is a better suited life for her, just being our little plaything, hm.” Deidara spoke up with his unoccupied mouth, you’d rather death than this. If only you had the means to say that to his face and defend your ground. Before you knew it, Deidara had taken your free hand and placed it over his cock. You were completely invaded by them. Hidan continued to slowly play with his tip, lathered with precum, clit pulsing from his actions. What didn’t help was Deidara’s hand-mouth kept kitten licking your clit. Moans vibrated around Pain’s cock, leaving him groaning above you.

However that was all brought down when Hidan picked his Baton back up, hand never moving from his cock as to not draw your attention back to him. With it back in hand, he stabbed his upper arm, head pulling back from Pain to scream, blood began to rush out your left arm. However it didn’t falter as it was held the chakra threads. “You’re luckily she has my chakra threads Hidan, or else her arm would be useless.” Sasori glared at Hidan, he almost got in the way of his climax. Every jerk and pull of Sasori’s cock sent a shock of pain throughout your arm. Tears began up again as Pain grabbed your face redirecting it back to his cock.

“That felt good right bitch. You’re crying now but soon you’ll be begging me to give you more pain.” Hidan screamed from his position to you. The blood curdling scream you let out made more blood rush to his boner. He jerked off faster, blood trickled down from his wound onto his cock. The lather of the liquid making his hand easily slid up and down. Involuntary bucking your hips now against Deidara’s hand, your movements on Deidara’s cock faltering from being bombarded with so many feelings at once. The knot in your stomach growing tighter. Just as you were about to be pushed over the edge, he screamed at Deidara. “Don’t let the bitch have it Deidara.” With Hidan’s words, he retreated his hand from your clit licking the excess liquid from around the palm. How many more times did he plan to do this you? You hated these men, but this was sending you over the edge.

“She’s such a slut, didn’t even bother to stop sucking Pain’s dick after that.” Deidara piped up, never having felt so humiliated in your life. Pain was silent throughout this whole ordeal, his man focus on getting the best out of your mouth and that he was doing. The rods grazing the sides of your cheeks, not enough to hurt you but enough that they were becoming a nuisance after he had Mae you hollow out your cheeks. He felt strange being so cold, his temperature almost on the verge of giving you a brain freeze. But all those thoughts were pushed aside when his thrusts became erratic, your nose grazing his pubic bone, ginger hairs tickling your nose. His upper body hunched over you, hand on the back of your head stopping any of your movements and just keeping his dick nestled in the back of your throat. However, just like Sasori, he expelled no semen from his body. He whispered a string of curses, his mouth not far from your ear. With your mouth now unoccupied by Pain, the screams from the injury of your arm came rolling out. What didn’t help was Sasori was approaching his end and sending up your arm, it felt as though any moment it’d rip. His hips thrust into your hand, no longer solely relying on the chakra threads to do his bidding. His groans ceased as he reached his end, arm dropping now to your side. The only one that was left was Deidara, but he figured he’d finish after he was inside of you.

“Stand up” this time it was a new voice. One that had remained on the sidelines, just watching. But now he stepped up to have his turn. Itachi wasn’t a man to waste time with measly foreplay but instead he preferred the real thing. Sasori removed himself from you, his face looked tired, he was spent from those two orgasms. With all the strength in you, you stood up, all your weight on one leg. Immediately one of Deidara’s hand spit out a white bulb taking on the shape of a large flat cube. Itachi sat on the edge of the white cube, cloak to the side of him. He motioned for you to come over to him, pulling himself further back on the table. “Get on top” Deidara stood behind you, hand on the small of your back guiding you towards Itachi. Your calf still stung with every step you took, but the bleeding had managed to subside. Knees on the table, leg on each side of him, Itachi’s legs hanging off the edge. Forcefully pushing your hips into position where you were now straddling him, your soaked pussy directly above his now unclothed cock. Behind you was still Deidara who took the liberty of beginning to rub his tip on your ass. Everyone except Sasori had now taken their positions around you, Pain standing on the table, to the right of you and Itachi, Hidan right next to him but only on his knees.

“Let’s give her a good send off hm.” Out of no where Deidara pushed his cock inside of your ass. A scream ripped from your mouth, he had practically ripped you in half. Itachi followed suit, his entrance into you easier than Deidara’s, the slick of your pussy allowing him easy access. They began a switch off of thrusting, when Deidara would go in, Itachi came out. With this tactic never once did you feel empty, a constant stretch in your body. Both the men to the side of you began to lazily stroke their cocks, however this wouldn’t be enough for them, they needed to have you also paying attention to their needs. Pain had quite enjoyed the home he had made out of your mouth, not wasting another second in placing himself back in. Hidan now out of his jutsu, a relief to know you wouldn’t be injured anymore, however not stopping him from guiding your hand down to his cock. After all this time of teasing and edging both you and him, he’d reach his end by your hand.

The members all seemed to flow into a rhythm, their synchronized combat skills coming out on display in this very moment. Deidara’s hands came around your chest, latching onto your breasts. Just like before, the stimulation left you moaning around Pain’s cock. His rods seemingly being the only warmth that would come through his body. He looked down at you, hand reaching to wipe your tears. Maybe he was show some mercy to you, but no. His nexts words leaving you speechless. “This will be your way to know Pain. Your pain will bring about the peace of the world. Be grateful this small chapter in your life will only equate to the savior of the world.” What did he mean, how did this ever equal the peace of the world? “Hey bitch, don’t let those two cocks inside of you distract you. You’re still jerking me off.” Hidan snapped at you, the back of his hand coming to slap your cheek to regain your attention.

Stimulation in every possible place in your body left you a crumbling mess within minutes, the over stimulation left your body jerking trying to get away from them. But it was impossible to move, Itachi had an unwavering grip on your waist. Pain was the first one to approach his orgasm after you, his hip movements became erratic, balls hitting your chin just as Deidara’s were before. At the last minute, he pushed with everything he had down your throat. No longer able to hold it in, you gagged, the rejection from your mouth causing Pain to pull out. Your face was beat red, trying to stop coughing and relax your breathing. Drool shined on the side of your mouth, and without hesitation Itachi’s hand brought your face down to his. A kiss so gentle, this would be the last feeling of kindness you would receive and he knew that, somewhere within him he didn’t want you to leave only having experienced pain. However none of that matter, it all felt of a mockery of your situation, why would the man who currently had his fingers digging into the side of your hips, allowing you no way to move from him, care about your demise.

Deidare had now moved one hand off your breast, using it to slap the flesh of your ass. Each time he detached himself from you, his hand would come down with immense force. He wanted to play a little game. “You’re gonna count each time I slap you, all the way to 10. If you mess up, restart the count you hear me bitch.” You only nodded, seeing the approval from the back of your head. So he began, one slap, you counted one. The second, you counted two. The third, counted three. The fourth, you faltered. Not by your mistake but because Hidan slapped you across your face. “Come on princess just wanted to see that pained expression again.” Both the cheek on your face and on your ass now held the same red color. “You know the rules, start over again.” Also so you did. One. Two. Three. Four. Six. Eight. Nine. And ten. A sense of relief washed over your body. His little game was over and he retreated his hand from your ass, placed back onto your nipple. You were approaching your second orgasm right alongside Hidan. He roughly cupped your face, teeth biting your lips drawing blood that he lapped at like a dehydrated dog. The taste of that metallic liquid sending him over the edge. His warm cum spilling into your hand, running down your wrist. He had some much over it after his teasing session. Your walls tensing around Itachi, the warmth enveloping him completely.

“You were a good fuck princess. I’ll miss ya.” Such sweet parting words from Hidan as he pulled his pants back up. All that was left now was Deidara and Itachi. Deidara wasn’t too far, the tightness of your ass left his dick squeezed in such a way he never seemed plausible. His hands now wrapped around your neck, the lack of oxygen causing your entire body to tense up including the hole he currently preoccupied. He couldn’t hold it any longer, pulling out of you his white sticky cum painting your lower back and ass. The warm liquid made you squirm, feeling it run down the line of your ass. “Art is an explosion, a fleeting moment.” He removed himself from you, not before smearing his cum on your back as if he was applying lotion on you.

Itachi stared into you, with only him left he could fuck into you the pace he wanted. He was a savage in the way he pushed his cock so dick inside it grazed your cervix. However this was anything but enjoyable, having something so deep inside of you be touched was painful. Tears dripped onto Itachi’s face. Whispering softly to him, softly enough for the members not to hear you, “Please save me. Don’t let them kill.” His face was void of any emotion. Not a hint of acceptance or rejection to your plea in his eyes. It felt like an eternity had passed waiting for his response and all you received was warmth spreading in your body. His hands holding you down as he release all he had into you. It didn’t matter at this point, you’d be long gone by the time you would conceive a baby.

Your eyes had lost all signs of life behind them, dull now. Itachi had helped you lift yourself off of him, placing yourself at the edge alongside him with your head hung in acceptance. Acceptance that this was it. This was your end.

A voice erupted the silence. “I’ll summon the rest of the members and we will commence the sealing of the three tails. Itachi immobilize her.” The last thing you saw was Itachi’s glowing sharingan as he placed you under a genjustu that would last until your demise.

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A/N thank you anon for your support im sorry it’s taking me so long to get this out. I hope you had a good weekend💜

[noc1818]

A Score to be Settled - Chrollo X Reader Fanfic

Hey everyone! I've had this idea for a Chrollo fic swirling around in my head for a while now, where Chrollo wrongs the reader, who's also from Meteor City, during their childhood. This event impacts them so deeply that they’re willing to go to any lengths to seek revenge and settle the score. This chapter is just the backstory leading up to the main plot. If you're interested in reading more, let me know—I’m really enjoying writing it and have a lot more I want to explore! Plus, it’s a fun project to help me get back into writing again. I truly appreciate any support!

Also, this is mostly unedited because I was too excited to share, so feel free to let me know if anything needs fixing!

A few warnings for this piece: Dark themes, death, angst, and intense struggles for survival.

Chapter One: The Debt

Meteor City - Residential Area, 1984

Digging through the scrap was a common occurrence in Meteor City. It was the only way to survive. It always astonished you that people would just throw out and dump some of this stuff without a second thought. Had they never had to scavenge for food or clothes? The idea of having a roof over your head and some form of food security felt like a distant daydream. But that was not your reality. Even at such a young age, the harsh truth of Meteor City was ingrained in your very being.

This had always been the case, at least since you could remember. Your first true memory was when you were five years old, hiding in a broken refrigerator with your little sister, Sumi, who was only two at the time, from some less-than-favorable characters searching the area. That was the reality for all the kids in Meteor City—except for Sumi. She was always a ray of light. Even in the darkest moments, she could spin a positive outlook, which, while uplifting, was sometimes a bit overwhelming.

Recently, she’d been going on and on about a group of kids, she’d met who performed shows for anyone willing to watch. Every day, she came back excited, telling you all about the latest show and its colorful cast of characters. You had promised her that one day you’d go with her to check out the performances. But the reality was that most of your days—hell, your entire childhood—had been spent scavenging and trying to make the best shelter you could for Sumi and yourself.

Still, if you were honest with yourself, your efforts were starting to pay off. You had gathered enough food and non-perishable goods to start a stockpile for the coming winter.

Not only had you been gathering food, but you had been saving Jenny, hoping to accumulate enough to get you and your sister out of the city. At thriteen years old, hidden in your makeshift shack and buried deep within an old metal tea kettle, you had quite a bit saved up. The reality was that it wasn’t much, but to a child with nothing, a hundred Jenny could change a life. Soon, you and Sumi would leave this scrap heap behind and start a real life. You’d be able to give her a solid foundation and a secure future.

As if on cue, scrambling down the narrow paths between the trash heaps, Sumi appeared. She ran toward you in her oversized pink sweater, patched and worn where the fabric had torn over time. She wore frayed blue shorts and dirty old sneakers. As she approached, you noticed her shoes were untied again and made a note to try to teach her how to tie them properly.

Upon seeing you, Sumi immediately called out, “Big Sis!”

Looking up, you gave her a warm smile and a wave. “Sumi, be careful running like that! You might fall!”

Hearing your call, she slowed down and made her way to your makeshift shelter. You had found a space between two scrap heaps, covered with metal sheets that mostly kept the rain out during downpours. You’d draped a cloth over the outside to help keep out the cold and block prying eyes from seeing inside.

Sumi walked over with a big smile, immediately hugging you tightly. “Big Sis, the show today was so cool! They were doing a musical.”

You hummed in acknowledgment of her excited ramblings. Your focus was more on her worn shoes and thinking how you might be able to get her a new pair. But Sumi bright, attentive eyes and her soft call of your name brought your attention back to the present.

“Y/N, are you listening?” she asked, tilting her head with a playful smile.

You nodded, ruffling her hair as you gave her your full attention. “Yes, I’m listening. Tell me all about the play. You said it was a musical, right?”

Sumi’s face lit up as she started rambling in detail about the play, the songs they sang, and the performances. It made you happy to know she had found something that made her so happy and allowed her to still be a kid.

Sumi’s gaze then shifted to the bread rations you’d found and set out for the two of you. She eagerly sat down on the dirt, ready to eat.

“Also, Big Sis, my friend from the play... Can she come over to eat sometime?” she asked, her brown eyes filled with hope.

Typically, you would say no. It was hard enough to feed just the two of you. But this was another kid—another kid from Meteor City—and she made your little sister happier than anyone else could. So, with a reluctant sigh, you nodded, saying, “Sure, but just her, okay?”

Sumi’s eyes widened, and she beamed. “Oh, good! She’ll be so excited when she gets back!”

That last part caught your attention—when she gets back. You wondered what Sumi meant by that, but rather than ask, you focused on the task at hand: getting something to eat. Hunger was often your main drive, having never truly been full your entire life. The two of you ate your bread and chatted the night away until it was time to sleep. You shared a torn-up mattress you’d found one day.

As your sister fell asleep the moment her head hit the pillow, you found yourself wide awake as always. The night was especially cold, even with the cloth covering the sides of your shelter. The cold air still billowed in, leaving you shivering to your core. Unable to sleep, you quietly got up and made your way outside.

Despite the chill, it was a beautiful night. The full moon illuminated the ruins of the city, casting a soft light on the heaps of metal scrap. The sky was clear—a rare sight since the smog usually made it nearly impossible to see the stars. But tonight, they shone bright and radiant, lighting up the darkness.

Little did you know, that on such a peaceful night, your life would change forever because of one mistake.

The sound of scrap being knocked over in the distance caught your attention. Despite your maturity for your age, your curiosity got the better of you. You crept toward the sound, the noise growing louder with each step. Expecting to find an adult out to cause trouble, you peeked cautiously around a corner. To your surprise, there stood a boy, slightly older than you.

He had his back to you, but you could make out his raven-like hair, which ended just above his ears. He wore a yellow-striped shirt and grey shorts, his sneakers as worn out as those of the other kids in the city. You also noticed his pale complexion. But it wasn’t just his appearance that caught your attention—it was the palpable anger radiating from him.

The boy was frantically searching every crevice in the piles of trash, looking for something—or perhaps someone. When a spot didn’t reveal what he was searching for, he would kick and throw things, sending the scrap tumbling down. But it wasn’t just his actions that struck you. There was an energy about him, an intense, almost suffocating wave of anger and despair that filled the air, making it feel heavy and thick with emotion.

You stood frozen, unsure of what to do. You had never encountered such a crushing presence before. The weight of his emotions was almost too much to bear. It took him a while before he realized someone else was there.

He turned toward you, taking a moment to process your presence. Even at his young age, it seemed like he was studying you, trying to figure out who you were. His expression was unreadable, but your silence seemed to provoke him. Without a hint of fear or caution, he started walking toward you. You weren’t surprised—after all, what could a bone-thin girl like you possibly do to a boy older than you?

As he drew closer, you noticed something you would never forget—his eyes. Steely grey, cold as steel, eyes that no child should have. They held a depth of pain, rage, and fear. It was as though his gaze could pierce through you, reading your every thought. The emptiness in them was unsettling, yet beneath that emptiness was an ocean of raw, unspoken emotion.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. His gaze remained locked on yours, unflinching. Then, in a voice that matched the indifference in his expression, he asked, “Why are you out here?”

You hesitated for a moment, processing his question. Finally, you answered in your quiet, almost inaudible voice, “I couldn’t sleep... it’s freezing.”

He listened, his eyes still fixed on yours, and after a brief pause, he nodded slightly. His tone remained flat, as if unaffected by the cold, the silence, or even the raw emotions swirling between you. “I suppose it is quite cold tonight,” he said.

You ask him the same question in return. “Why are you out here?”

Without hesitation, he responds, “I’m looking for someone.”

You raise an eyebrow, puzzled. Why would he be out here, so late, searching for someone? And what’s more, he’s dressed lightly, yet he doesn’t seem bothered by the cold. Curiosity laces your voice as you ask, “Wouldn’t it be smarter to search in the morning, when there’s daylight?”

A flicker of annoyance crosses his face, as if that option simply isn’t available. “Not possible. I’ll find her tonight.”

Normally, you would’ve dismissed him, turned away, and continued with your own business. But he’s another Metor City kid, and something in the back of your mind nags at you. He’s not dressed appropriately for the cold, and if he stays out here like this, he’ll get sick. You remember finding a man’s jacket a while back, one that was too big for you or your sister, and you think maybe it’s time to put it to good use.

“You’re going to catch a cold out here like that,” you say, a note of concern in your voice. “Come with me for two seconds, and I can give you a spare coat we have.”

Your tone is free of malice, just genuine care, and that catches his attention. He gives you a curious glance, eyebrows furrowing as if trying to decipher your intentions. Every kid in this city knows that nothing comes without a price, that nothing is truly free. So when he speaks, his words are cautious.

“I don’t need the jacket.”

His dismissal stings more than you expect, and you sigh, visibly irked. You take a few steps toward him, frustration settling into your voice. “Just take it. We don’t need it.”

At the word “we,” he raises an eyebrow. He’s perceptive, you realize. He takes a step closer, and you suddenly feel the suspicion radiating off him. “You have others with you?”

The question catches you off guard for a moment, but you recover quickly. “Yeah, my little sister, Sum.”

He pauses, his face unreadable, before asking, “You’re Sumi’s older sister? You must be Y/N, then.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. How does he know your name? You raise an eyebrow, and he chuckles, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Ah, my apologies. Sumi talks about you a lot. She’s always at shows with me and the others.”

That explains it. He must be one of the performer kids Sumi has befriended. You smile, relieved to understand the connection. “Oh! You’re one of Sumi’s friends. She never stops talking about all the shows you all put on. I hear about it all the time.”

“I’m glad she enjoys them so much,” he says with a chuckle. “My name’s Chrollo, by the way. It’s nice to officially meet you, Y/N.”

You extend a hand to him, offering a handshake. “Nice to meet you too, Chrollo.”

As you both shake hands, the conversation continues, and you press him once more to take the spare jacket. He doesn’t seem to trust easily, but the fact that you’re Sumi’s sister seems to put him at ease enough to accept the offer. You can’t let one of your sister’s friends freeze, after all. In your world, you cherish the small acts of kindness, especially when life is so unforgiving.

When you lead Chrollo into your home, you notice his gaze lingering on Sumi, who’s still fast asleep despite the chilly draft in the room.

“She sleeps like a rock,” you say with a smile, reassuring him. “Don’t worry, we won’t wake her up.”

Chrollo raises an eyebrow, then shifts his attention back to you. “Really? She always seems so happy, so it’s not surprising.”

“She’s always been that way,” you reply, a fondness in your tone. “She’s able to find the bright side of things. I’ve always admired her for that.”

“That’s an admirable trait, but a bit naïve,” he remarks, his eyes scanning the room. “And you, Y/N? Which side do you find yourself on?” His intense gaze meets yours, as if he already knows the answer, as if he’s searching for something more.

You hesitate before answering, taking a moment to collect your thoughts. “While I’d like to see things in the best light, it’s not always something I can afford to do. Life is tough, especially in the city. I’m sure you know that. I guess, if anything, I’m just realistic.”

Your words hang in the air, and you meet his gaze. Life hasn’t been kind, not forgiving, and you’ve learned to take things as they are—even if that means accepting a certain darkness. It’s how you survive. It’s how you cope.

Chrollo watches you as you pull the coat from the cooler you’ve repurposed as a storage bin. You turn to hand it to him, but before you can react, he’s right there, standing so close that you nearly jump in surprise.

“Oh, my—” you start, startled. “You surprised me, Chrollo.”

He chuckles lightly. “My apologies. It wasn’t intentional.” He accepts the jacket with a graceful nod. “Thank you for this.”

You watch him pull the coat on. It’s a bit oversized now, but in a few years, it will fit him perfectly. The jacket is a unique shade of royal purple, with white fur lining the neck and sleeve ends—definitely a one-of-a-kind piece.

“Well, Y/N, I have a search to continue,” he says, turning to leave. But before he pulls the sheet up to shield himself from the cold, he pauses and looks back at you.

“I’m also a realist,” he says, his voice quieter now, almost contemplative. “But there’s something so lovely about dreaming, isn’t there? I look at this life from both spectrums. Sometimes, I even think those dreams we chase so desperately can become our reality—if we push hard enough. Just something to think about.”

With those final words, he leaves before you can respond, disappearing into the night.

You stand there, staring at the door as his words linger in your mind. At first, you feel a sharp irritation. He didn’t ask for your opinion, so why did he offer unsolicited advice? And as for his belief that dreams could be turned into reality with enough force—that seemed utterly delusional, especially for kids like you, or anyone from Metor City. Hell, you’d be lucky just to make it to eighteen.

But something about what he said sticks with you, curling into your thoughts like a stubborn seed. You don’t dwell on it for long. You curl up next to Sumi, trying to shake the thoughts away, and drift into sleep. But as you do, you can’t help but wonder… what if, just for once, he was right?

 The next morning, you wake up to the sound of Sumi’s sobs, her distress pulling you from sleep. Instantly, you pull her into a tight hug.

“Shh, Sumi, it’s okay. Tell me what’s wrong. Are you hurt? What happened?” Your voice is steady and calm, a skill you’ve mastered over the years, both as her big sister and in moments of chaos. You’ve always had a knack for calming people in hysteria, and Sumi, in her younger days, gave you plenty of practice.

After a few minutes of reassurance and gentle prodding, she starts to calm down. She looks up at you, her eyes wide and teary, her lip trembling.

“Big sis, it’s… it’s all gone. Our food… our money… it’s all gone,” she says, before breaking into fresh sobs.

At those words, your heart drops. What does she mean? Gone? Your stomach twists with dread.

You pull away from Sumi for a moment, moving quickly to the cooler. There’s no way it could be empty. But when you lift the lid, your breath catches. The cooler is completely bare. All the food and supplies you had gathered for months—some even for years—are gone.

Frantically, you move the cooler aside, only to reveal an empty hole beneath it. The kettle where you kept all your jenny, your coins, your savings—also gone. There’s nothing left.

Panic rises in your chest. How could this happen? Who could have taken everything? Why didn’t you hear anything during the night? Your mind races with a hundred questions, each more frantic than the last. Beneath it all, though, a seething anger begins to bubble. How could anyone do this to kids who had nothing?

But then, Sumi’s sobs break through your clouded thoughts, pulling you back to reality. This is where you need to be the bigger sister. You need to calm her down, to give her the reassurance she needs, even if it means making false promises in the moment.

You pull her into another tight hug, patting her head in an attempt to soothe her. “Shh, Sumi. It’s going to be okay. I’ll figure it out. We’re going to be just fine, I promise.”

Your words, however, don’t seem to help. Sumi’s crying only intensifies, her distress deepening.

“No, Y/N, it’s not! It’s almost winter! I may be younger, but I’m not dumb. I knew it took you almost all year to gather what we had, and that was mostly lucky finds. This is my fault!” she says through ragged sobs, her nose sniffling.

“It’s no one’s fault, Sumi,” you reply, your own voice breaking slightly. You can feel the tears welling in your eyes, but you fight them back, continuing to hold it together. “We’re going to be okay. I’ll figure it out. Everything will be fine, I promise.”

But Sumi, seeing the tears in your eyes, crumbles further. “Big sis, you don’t understand. This is my fault! It was my friends at the play. They took our stuff. I shouldn’t have told Big Sis Sarasa where we live. She must’ve told the others. But I don’t know how—she’s been missing for a few days now!”

Your heart sinks, piecing together exactly what’s happened. It was Chrollo. He and his friends took everything. You allowed yourself to be blinded by the fact that he was another kid, someone you thought you could help. But instead, he took advantage of your kindness.

It takes everything in you to hide your shock. You can’t let Sumi see your own pain and disappointment. Instead, you swallow your anger and fear, and lie to her, thinking that protecting her from the truth is what’s best.

“Sumi,” you say, forcing a smile, trying to sound reassuring, “I bet your friends are just borrowing some food from us. Nothing to worry about. They’ll bring it back soon, okay?”

You can see the doubt in her eyes, but there’s a glimmer of hope there too. That spark—the same one she’s always had—begins to flicker. “Prove it, big sis. How do you know?”

You take a deep breath, hoping the lie doesn’t show in your eyes. “I just know, Sumi. I’ll make sure everything’s okay. I promise.”

Even though she doesn’t fully believe you, the fragile hope in her eyes is enough to make you cling to your own false reassurance. For her sake, you need to keep it together, even if it’s falling apart inside.

After Sumi had calmed down enough to be let go, you stood up, needing some space to think and to get some fresh air. You reached for the jacket you had thrown haphazardly over yourself the night before to stay warm, and as you put it on, a small white note fell from the pocket. Sumi, too absorbed in her tears, hadn’t noticed it before.

You hesitated for a moment, but your curiosity got the best of you. You unfolded the note, already knowing who it was from. It could only be one person—Chrollo.

The note read:

Y/N,I am sure you are angry, and rightfully so. It was nothing personal, of course—just my family needed it more than yours. Take this as a lesson and grow stronger from it. Never trust a stranger, no matter what they look like.Best of luck, and do take care of Sumi. Thanks again for your generosity.

As you read the words over again, the initial shock wore off, and a seething anger filled you. That bastard had taken everything—everything—because he could. And now he had the audacity to call it a lesson.

Your blood boiled. You would find him. You would make him pay.

In the midst of your fury, you didn’t notice Sumi, still sitting on the floor, glance over your shoulder and read the note with wide, curious eyes.

“Big sis? What does it say?” she asked, her head tilted, voice uncertain.

You froze for a moment, her question catching you off guard. Then, your mind raced. You knew Sumi couldn’t read—something that, under normal circumstances, would be a problem. But today, it was a relief. More than anything, you wanted to preserve that spark of joy in her eyes, to keep her from losing that innocence and hope.

With a forced smile, you turned to face her and lied through your teeth.

“Oh, it’s just a letter from your friends. They’re gathering more food and are going to bring it to share with us.”

At your words, Sumi’s face brightened. The sadness left her eyes, and joy returned to her expression as she beamed up at you. “Really, big sis? That’s great!”

You nodded, offering her a reassuring smile, though inside, your mind was still spinning with your plan for revenge. Sumi spent the rest of the day telling you about the shows and how amazing they were. You listened, but your thoughts were elsewhere, planning the next steps, knowing full well that your reality wasn’t one that relied on hopes and miracles. You would have to be ruthless to survive in this world—and you would.

Meteor City – Residential Area, 1995

Years later, you found yourself standing once again among the scraps of Meteor City, holding a small yellow daffodil. You gazed down at the modest grave, an unreadable expression on your face. Deep inside, though, the wound was still open and raw. The stone atop the grave was crudely carved with the name Sumi. Her grave was one of the few places in this wasteland where life seemed to thrive—a small patch of grass and flowers growing amidst the decay.

You offered a faint, sad smile, thinking that even in death, Sumi brought hope and life wherever she was.

Your mind wandered back to that brutal winter in 1984 when you lost your little sister. After the Phantom Troupe stole everything—your food, your money—you were left with nothing. For months, you scavenged, but it was never enough. The freezing nights and lack of food took a toll, and Sumi grew terribly ill. You searched high and low for medicine, anything that could save her, but the world wouldn’t help two poor kids from Meteor City. Every time you tried, you were chased away or kicked out.

As the weeks dragged on, one night Sumi’s fever spiked too high. You held her until she fell asleep, but then you heard it—those final, shallow breaths. That’s when you knew. Your sister was gone.

Now, standing over her grave, you reached into the satchel you carried and pulled out three items: a ticket to a masquerade ball, a key, and new identification papers. These were the tools you’d carefully acquired through a contact to forge a new identity—a whole new life in Yorknew City. They were your tickets to escape Meteor City, to avenge Sumi, and to strike at the heart of the Phantom Troupe. You couldn’t let them know who you truly were.

You had devoted your life to this, to rebuilding yourself and taking them down—especially Chrollo. He was the one responsible for her death. It was all for greed. But that was going to end now.

Looking once more at Sumi’s grave, you made a vow, your voice firm and steady.

“Sumi, I swear I’ll come back once the debt’s been repaid. After all, we’ve got a score to settle.”

With that, you turned away and walked towards the tinted car that waited to take you to the next step in your journey. The road ahead was long, but it was one you would walk with purpose. Chrollo Lucilfer—the leader of the Phantom Troupe—had no idea what was coming for him. You would make him pay, and you would not stop until you did.

[tiny-pun]

On writing pain

Okay so for once this isn’t an actual prompt but more so a tip:

If your character is supposedly in pain that lasts more than a couple of days or even weeks and months, eg. Because of a bigger wound or of a (new) disability… you most likely should show this in more ways than just the occasional “gasp and clutching the wound”!

Having such constant pain will have at least some kind of emotional impact: the stress of constantly being in pain, the constant push and pull between just succumbing to the pain and laying down until it goes away or just ignoring it and powering through. The balancing act of not overdoing it and being hypervigilant to the point you just hunch down to avoid worsening it.

Additionally you have to think about how to treat all of the different pains. How connected are they really? How much sense does it actually make to take pain meds ? Are there enough? Do I trust my doctor/s, to actually listen to me and take my pain seriously? Am I over exaggerating my pain? Am I underselling it? Am I annoying my doctor? Should I just wait and hope it goes away? It’s probably nothing anyway. But what if it’s so much worse ? What if this pain is just covering up something truly awful? But what if I’m making such a fuss now and tomorrow I can jump around like always? How unnecessary it would be to get so many people involved. Right ? This is especially hindered by poor use of words aka incapability to communicate. ( My head is just … kinda fuzzy?/Everything hurts?)

Another factor is how much they want to openly tell others about it. And whom they could possibly even tell and all the whys and hows surrounding it. And how hard it would be aka how long they’ve know each other and how much time they spent together. The hiding and lying adds more emotional stress and also possibly leads to neglect of any medical help. The “overt” complaining about the pain/situation can be exhausting and thus a different kind of stress. Especially if they’re feeling childish/unheard or otherwise ashamed about voicing anything but positive emotions but the pain is just too much and too consistent.

This can also lead to a constant comparison of how far into their recovery they “statistically already should be” or just the plain old “I could do xyz SO EASILY before”. Or worse: they’re comparing themselves to another (equally) wounded/disabled character. Wether it’s an internal belief or externally expected: if the character believes, that their wound/pain is comparably minor or should be easily overcome by themselves; and especially if they have a certain goal in mind, by which they should be back to their regular power and it’s not look in good … well then you certainly have a nice cocktail of stress and anxiety.

And if during the time of their supposed recovery, they end up getting some minor but more common sickness, eg. A cold or a stomach bug, it might not be their first thought. In fact they might do any and every test possible BUT think of the common cold. Not bc they’re necessarily stupid but bc of the fear, things might go to hell after all. Especially if the symptoms of both illnesses are similar enough. Anything else will just not be in their radar.

Also how would they like to be taken care of ? How much of that is a facade to please others ? Do they actually want to be hugged right now or are they just trying to please someone yet feeling suffocated? Do they just want their dead siblings soup and is a companionable silence enough to know they’re gonna be fine? How honest are they towards not only themselves but to others? And how much can the people and the situation itself even give that to them right now? (Do they need silence but they’re currently lying low in the city’s biggest hotel next to the market place?)

For all of this it doesn’t matter how big or small the pain actually is. What matters is that it is seemingly constant and only very slowly going away. The combination of constant physical pain with so much emotional turmoil and back and forth between opposing ideals aka stress can translate to even more physical pain aka psychosomatic pain. Headaches, breathlessness and even bigger issues such as literal heartaches can be the result.

This all can lead to spiralling and in the worst case a (temporary) depression. I dont think I have to explain how that could look like.

And one last thing: If the character is used to being in life or death situations, no matter if it’s due to multiple fights or an already existing disability: the common cold might be worse to deal with. They could be so used to dealing with the possibility of death that anything less than that is ironically unbearable. During a basically fatal stabbing they might just say a cheeky joke but freak out during the common cold.

Disclaimer: I am not a doctor. If you have the same pain for more than 6 week pls get it checked out if you can! And get well soon. These are just possible ways to write, what kind of thoughts and issues any type of constant pain (fatal or not) could cause.

[umalvie]

what iroh should have been, and how it would've impacted zuko and azula's arcs

in terms of canon atla, aside from my criticisms of the orientalism woven into the show's fabric, its pattern of telling not showing, the tumor-like presence of filler episodes that don't do enough as character studies or dynamic studies (mostly in book 3; in book 1 i'm more forgiving of these since atla was still finding its groove), and my issues with zuko's redemption arc not challenging his political beliefs in a meaningful way, the thing that i would consider its biggest failure writing-wise is the fact that iroh is not intentionally portrayed as a morally gray character.

the thing about iroh is that he is a longtime war criminal. they try to soft retcon some of that in book 3 by making his nickname "the dragon of the west" about him pretending to have hunted the dragons into extinction and by making him a part of the white lotus, but this to me is not only grievously boring but also a waste of his character.

i understand why the idea of iroh as little more than zuko's loving, wise, and kooky uncle makes people happy. it means zuko gets to have a father figure who loves him unconditionally and makes him feel safe. that's a lovely concept! but not a very interesting one in terms of the narrative, nor is it one congruent with iroh's initial characterization.

think of the absolute contempt and terror he struck into those earthbenders who tried to arrest him in book 1. think of the fact that he besieged ba sing se for 600 days straight well into his adulthood (his age is unclear, but i'd presume he's somewhere in his mid to late 50s throughout atla, so he would at youngest in his 40s when he lead the siege of ba sing se). think of the fact that iroh only changed his mind about his very active part in the war as a grown man once his son was killed. think of the fact that iroh spent 3 years with zuko in exile without ever once actively making a real effort to help zuko unlearn the fire nation propaganda he was indoctrinated with from birth or to truly help him understand that ozai abused him. think of the fact that the white lotus didn't really do much of anything throughout the war to end it.

what picture do these facts paint? is it really that of a reformed war criminal? no, not really.

iroh loves zuko unconditionally. he is patient and kind and loving with zuko. i don't think there's much, if any, room to argue with that. i am not denying that to zuko, iroh is a loving, wise, and kooky uncle.

however, i am saying that iroh is multifaceted. he is zuko's loving, wise, and kooky uncle, and he is also a war criminal who, despite the show telling us has reformed his ways, is not shown to have done so in any meaningful way. he does not do much to help zuko to unlearn imperialist propaganda, does not do much to discourage zuko from trying to capture the avatar, and does not do much at all to end the war.

this makes for an incredibly interesting and dynamic character! this is a character who believes that his personal kindness absolves him of his heinous political misdeeds. that is why he does not do anything meaningful to challenge imperialism where he sees it. that is why he is also a kind, loving man. he's hugely flawed, but he also has virtues that make you want him to overcome his flaws! there is so much room for him to develop whether it's negatively or positively, and there is so much that can be done with the relationships he has, especially his relationship with zuko! furthermore, this is the summation of what the canon material overall most strongly presents us with.

but it's not how the narrative wants us to view iroh, so it's not how the narrative treats him.

instead, we are told that iroh is a reformed war criminal (and later even the notion that he was in the wrong for his military service to the fire nation is soft retconned) who is now nothing but a loving and supportive uncle to zuko. he's unfailingly kind to both zuko and the gaang, ty lee lets slip that she actually rather likes him despite azula's contempt of him to show us that ty lee is an antivillain who will be redeemed (despite her political beliefs never being actually challenged in a meaningful way), and really the only people iroh is unkind to or who dislike him are azula and ozai to highlight to the audience that they are villains.

this makes for an incredibly static character who essentially only exists to love zuko and act as his moral tether despite the fact that iroh never actually challenges zuko's political beliefs. iroh does not need to grow or develop within the narrative atla tells us exists. he has already done his self-reflection and repented for his behavior. he is a figure of moral authority. while this makes him feel safe and good to viewers who accept what atla tells them without question, in addition to not aligning with what's actually shown, it also makes him insanely bland from a narrative perspective.

but what if atla intentionally portrayed him as morally gray? what if they leaned into his shortcomings?

here's the thing about if iroh is intentionally portrayed as morally gray: zuko's redemption arc improves drastically, and azula's is given a much better opportunity to begin.

hear me out. if iroh is morally gray, then he is not solely there to show zuko what real, unconditional love looks like so that zuko can replace his abusive father with a loving father figure, giving him the strength to do the right thing and join the gaang. i'm not saying iroh no longer serves this function in the narrative; i'm saying that now that iroh does this, and his failure to meaningfully repent for his war crimes and to challenge imperialism creates conflict with zuko. you see, if iroh is morally gray, then his failure to challenge zuko's political beliefs (i.e. imperialism is good) is something that zuko is forced to reckon with throughout his redemption arc.

this would mean that zuko is finally actually challenged in his political beliefs as opposed to simply accepting that people are afraid of him because he is a destructive firebender/the prince and thus representative of the harm they have endured throughout the war. furthermore, it means that zuko has to go against a father figure who has treated him well, so his redemption is no longer a matter rooted in kindness but in moral conviction. zuko doesn't have to lose his love for iroh to do this; in fact, that would be a very boring way to portray this. it is far more interesting if zuko has the internal conflict of both loving his uncle and condemning him politically as he struggles to do the right thing in spite of that love.

the idea of zuko managing to grow beyond iroh and do the right thing even though it is hard, even though it means not only going against ozai's malice but also iroh's complicty, is one that would round zuko's arc out better.

it's also one that would open up the gates for an azula redemption arc a lot more than what canon does (although canon azula is still redeemable).

if zuko outgrows iroh enough to challenge his inaction, then he has outgrown iroh enough to start to really see his flaws.

one of zuko's main flaws in canon is that he has a very black and white way of thinking. this is a hugely defining flaw for him. it's why he struggled to accept that ozai abused him, why he struggled to see that his pursuit of the avatar and thus the war as a whole was wrong, why he got physically ill when he was confronted with the fact that he was harming people, etc.

but if zuko starts to see that iroh's inaction as a flaw despite the fact that iroh loves him so sincerely and is so kind to most everyone, then he can start to break this black and white thinking. like ozai, iroh is no longer on a pedestal in zuko's mind. this would lead to the unearthing of more of iroh's flaws.

in conjunction with the fact that zuko has now seen proof of azula's pain (her psychotic break in the last agni kai), this means that zuko can start to place blame where it's due with people over her pain.

i am under no delusions about the state of zuko's relationship with azula in canon. i've expanded on my thoughts about the love between them here if you'd like to see them, but i can sum it up as so: while azula cares about zuko in her own deeply screwed up way, zuko doesn't really care about azula because he is shortsighted and struggles to empathize with her or even see a need to.

however, seeing proof that azula has been harmed too means that zuko would finally see a reason she is worthy of his empathy. the first, most obvious, and easiest to identify (for zuko) perpetrator is, of course, ozai. like with the war, ozai is clearly malicious. now that zuko has admitted and accepted that his father was abusive to him, it is much easier for him to admit that their father is responsible for azula's pain too. this much i believe is likely in canon as well.

the next person for zuko to look to, which can only happen if zuko has opened his eyes, is iroh. like with the war post 600 day siege, iroh was not malicious in his treatment of azula, but he was still complicit. iroh may not have abused azula, but he did neglect her entirely. he did not give her a chance to ever be anything but what ozai told her she should be. he did not show her love and compassion the way he did zuko. furthermore, he not only failed to encourage zuko to ever try doing so, he actively discouraged him from attempting to.

to be clear: i don't think zuko should be a mentor figure to azula during her redemption. like azula, he's just a kid. he's still growing and learning himself. he also doesn't really understand her at all, even if he has realized that she was hurt too. he doesn't understand how she was, and he's going to have to spend a lot of time reconciling the way their father's abuse colored his perception of her with how she actually is. furthermore, their relationship is complicated and full of pain for them both, so relying too heavily on it to help azula recover and redeem herself would end badly if we're being realistic.

but zuko seeing that azula was abused by their father and seeing that their uncle's failure to ever give her a chance to understand real love is crucial to him realizing that the asylum is not somewhere that gives her a real shot at recovery and redemption.

whether or not azula takes that shot when it's given to her is a more complicated story that would involve both zuko and azula having to reflect more wholly and honestly on ursa than i think either of them ever have before as well as some likely very painful conversations challenging the way she, like all other fire nation citizens, was indoctrinated, but do you see how interesting treating iroh as the morally gray character he is could be?

even if you don't want to see a redeemed azula (i personally do, but the possibility of her rejecting the idea of redemption is also quite fascinating and tragic in this context), zuko's arc and the commentary made about redemption and second chances overall are made so much more interesting and nuanced by this simple choice.

[lasnevadaslaborunion]

Okay, finally caught up on the full VOD and here are some messy thoughts

...

So. UHHH. On a gut emotional level, I fucking hated that lmao. Whole chapter of my life finished with a bang and a whimper. Las Nevadas Labor Union is over, y'all. The boss just deny, defend, deposed himself. Holy shit.

On an intellectual, thematic level... I... can't really... argue with that? Like, we didn't actually expect a character that cc!Q explicitly said was inspired by Walter White to receive a happy ending or a functional relationship, did we? We were really high on our copium supply, good grief.

I could, and still might, write a whole meta about how c!Quackity has been passively suicidal with a foreshortened sense of future for a very long time. As far back as Doomsday, he didn't care if he lost his life, as long as he got to watch those who hurt him go down first. He declared so many times that he would die with his country. He was incessantly compared to c!Wilbur, both by other characters and by the narrative itself. He was fucking terrified of being betrayed again, but he always expected it, and moreover did nothing to prevent it. He told c!Foolish and c!Purpled outright that they would have every right to kill him for what he did to them. Didn't even consider making himself immortal with the revival book, instead focusing on making sure c!Dream would no longer have it. Didn't fight back when Slime killed him. Doubled down on his mistakes, and in hindsight rationalized everything as inevitable. Wrested back control the only way he knew how, following another's model. Las Nevadas was a broken institution, built by a man who had given up on fixing anything. His story was always about the self-perpetuating cycle of power and abuse.

This... isn't shocking, unfortunately. If anything, it was too obvious an ending.

I won't go too deep into the OOC implications, because they will make me sound... way more parasocial than I want to be. But I don't think it's controversial to say that the DSMP holds a lot of complicated, difficult, bittersweet memories for many of its former members. It does not surprise me at all that the ending cc!Q chose for his arc was an unhappy one. There are several possible conclusions I would have greatly preferred, but none could have realistically happened without Certain People returning. I wonder how aware the creator was of that, and how much those emotions bled into the writing.

And while I'm... still not certain how I feel about c!Quackity blowing himself up even after being given a second chance (I will always prefer "live and try to do better" à la Bojack Horseman for characters like this), I see the in-universe logic behind it, and everything up to that point was completely in character. Right down to his denial of having ever done the deed, boasting that his enemies deemed him important enough to kill, while ironically taking hollow pride in denying them the chance to take the revenge he so desperately sought for himself, showing no mercy to who he maybe subconsciously believed was his greatest obstacle to true glory... ughhh, c!Quackity makes me so fucking SAD you guys-

Ahem. Anyway. Could he have forgiven himself? Would he have ever accepted the forgiveness of others? Perhaps, perhaps not. In two other lives, those he unknowingly gave a second chance to, he did. q!Quackity went on living for the sake of someone he loved, knowing he, too, was loved. k!Quackity went on living until he found justice, knowing he did not deserve to be wronged. c!Quackity... what other legacy would he have left? Does he know what he truly wanted, before all that fear and hunger for control tainted his heart? Was he content to know someone would remember him with a shred of fondness? That he left a single positive impact? That his life did have a purpose?What if he knew that even some of those with the most reason to hate him still wanted him to be better?

I suppose one might imagine an open-ended resolution, exchanging that last shot of c!Q's last life vanishing with him riding Boner/Ossium away from the explosion and into the sunset to build a better legacy. What would that new legacy look like? I have no idea. I don't think he knows yet, either. But we can pick our favorite based on the day. Time travel is real, and canon is made up. We can do what we want forever now. Enjoy.

...

He's not a fucking gringo, though. c!Quackity is Mexican, importantly so, full fucking stop. Stop infecting him with more Trump particles than he already had. "Oh great, a foreigner" honestly FUCK you Alex. 0/10 for that

[horseimagebarn]

hello friends and welcome to the horseimagebarn weekly interaction recap where i respond to many of the comments reblogs and asks i received in the past week it has been a while and i appreciate endlessly the happiness i have borne witness to due to my return i shall do my best to continue serve you all as curator of the horseimagebarn

which by the way i do appreciate all of the love i receive in reblogs and asks and comments more than you will ever know and i want to in my heart respond to every single one but i do not want to turn this account into some kind of vanity project and clog everything up with my own responses to praise of me especially when i have nothing else useful or entertaining to add other than my many humble thanks so know that even though i dont always answer i really do read every single reblog and comment and ask i get and it is indescribable the happiness it gives me to know that my stupid horse posts have such a positive impact on other peoples lives and even though i dont say it to every single person i do love all of you dearly

anyway i will respond to things posted both this week and what i have seen from the period of my absence so nothing is missed

you know it brother

this gave me a good chuckle thank you

i do love pigeons i am happy to find that there are three hidden in my post

this is from before i vanished but i hope you feel better now

there are no words i can say to properly alleviate the grief i am sure you are feeling but i hope you find it comforting to know that because of your submission he was loved by many more than he will ever know and i feel very lucky to forever count him among the horseimagebarn horses

literary students rise up

i was not inspired by actual image ids rather it was those twitter accounts that post reaction images with descriptions full of somewhat disparate words meant to help people who are searching for a specific image that led me to this concept i have considered using this style of posting as a type of cool storytelling medium on another blog but i think i need to improve my photoshop skills first to make it really work

being high either shows you the beauty of the world or the evil of it

it is comforting for me to write the posts as well i havent had as much time for creative writing recently especially poetry and this is close enough to scratch the itch i suppose i really enjoy comparing it to a form of literary doodling it pleases me

i am glad to have been of service

maybe that is why the ancient greeks believed horses a creation of poseidon maybe they saw it far before any of us

shoutout monkeywikis cats

[rikomoriyama01]

🗣️ (also sorry this got long, turns out i have thoughts) so like riko is one of the weirdest fandom cases i've ever seen. i've been in fandoms where characters who commit actual war crimes and genocide are badass babes or uwu soft bois, and even spoiled mafia brats who commit terrible crimes against the heroes for daddy's attention that get love and redemption. it's so weird to see just how isolated from all that riko is to me.

i do think it's partly how aftg is written, and that's also partly because niel's pov is not at all forgiving of riko, while is entirely forgiving of people like andrew. but i also think it's because of how riko himself is written. he's one of these characters that's better on paper than he is in the book to me. because he's never presented as smart enough to fall into the magnificent bastard trope where everyone applauds how devious his plans are, but he's not outright hammy enough to just be a fun read, he doesn't even get the same stupidly dramatic flare as andrew. and while we're told he's powerful and doing dangerous stuff, he's presented on page, more often than not, as a petulant child that neil is just done with or a guy who likes to torture people who neil is also done with. neil is never actually scared of riko, or even particularly threatened by him, and i think that hurts him and makes his position in the narrative weaker. especially when nora is trying to play him as a villain and a threat in a mafia story rather than a good old fashioned rival in a sports drama. for example, his first impression on the kathy show should live up to the hype of this imposing charismatic villain who broke kevin's hand, but instead loses him temper, forgets all of his media training and lets a nobody like neil goad him into losing control of the interview, and then his payback, things like shoving neil around and seth's death, are basically brushed off because neil doesn't really care that much. it's not given the weight to be a seriously omg this guys a threat first impression. and this isn't uncommon, lots of media hamstrings their villains at the start by making sure we know the main character is too sassy for them and can humiliate them, without thinking about how weak that can make the villain seem. it feels sometimes like nora wanted riko to be this chess master villain or tragic child who's lashing out at the world, without committing to it fully to either, or was just not an experienced enough writer to have known how to write either of those things in the pov of someone who hates riko's guts, which is understandable, writing is hard and that sort of nuance takes practice, especially if you just go by the books and not the extra content, and i do wonder how differently nora would have portrayed riko if she rewrote the main trilogy now with presumably a lot more practice under her belt. in the end riko ends up in this weird grey area to me where i understand why he's not popular, given he has none of the usual obvious traits that fans like to latch onto when redeeming a villainous character, and even the ones that are there are glossed over pretty quickly because of neil's pov, and a lot of his more interesting pieces are on paper not actively presented in the book, and not everyone reads super deep, but i also don't understand the amount of hate. i have literally never seen a character in any other fandom i've been in have this much fandom wide hatred.

See I have nothing to add here because you single handedly dropped the best analysis of Riko's character in the series I had pleasure to read so far and summed up all my feelings about why and what of the fandom. If the goal was to write a character that is impactful yet easy to hate then that goal was achieved but for me it real takes away form the magnitude of feelings Riko could evoke in reader and questions he could provoke in narrative if he was given bit different presentation that woudl still align with the lore we already have.

[wexhappyxfew]

"Hello, love! Could you please write from seeking out physical affection”, specifically comparing hand sizes, holding their hands against each other's, and then just holding hands” Could you also add a kiss on the cheek? For Judy and Rosie.

Tarzan and Jane vibes!

P.S Resending this, because I forgot to say that it is for Judy and Rosie 😆

Love you ❤️

AH HELLO!!!!! thank you so so much for sending this in! both you and @archival-hogwash sent in Judy x Rosie for this AND the same prompt so i hope you *both* enjoy this one!!!! i certainly had a GREAT time writing this, as i haven't done judy x rosie in what feels like AGES!!!!! SO!!! this is probably one of my favorite things for judy and rosie because we really get into their connection on multiple levels, along with their emotions and a piece purely focused on them. i would say this is purely self-indulgent on my part haha! so, i truly hope you enjoy! <3 THANK YOU SO MUCH AGAIN BOTH OF YOU!! :D

know it's you

(a/n): to the judy x rosie girlies, your joy and support and love for this duo has truly transcended, and so this piece is for you! judy rybinski is an OC i hold incredibly near and dear to my heart and it seems she's made quite the impact as well. plus - her and rosie make my heart melt and there's a whole lot of that here. so please, truly, enjoy! :) definitely love the jane/tarzan vibes in the gifs too hehe - that's so them in ways!!! AND -- to the judy anons earlier talking and asking about judy's past, we see a bit of why that is important to her character right here! ps — there’s some intimacy here but nothing super intense past that! just incase there are some not interested parties!

The barracks were much emptier these days - it still housed the Silver Bullets group, but with them 40% down their normal crew, which was now dispersed halfway across continental Europe, with the other 60% obtaining various positions in the air and on base - quiet was the new normal.

It was an off day and Judy hadn't been one to complain - they'd been doing missions and training relentlessly for days and by this point, to say the exhaustion wasn't getting to her would be a whole other level of lying lunacy. She'd had dinner with the rest of the girls - Dougie joining in beside Carrie because ever since they'd seemed to silently make it official between them, they'd been attached at the hip when they didn't have to be apart.

By that point, everyone else had gone out to the flying club, but Judy wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed and read the rest of Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen - she'd gotten close to the part with the love confession - she could feel it.

Freshly showered, hair nearly dry as it clung to her nightshirt and neck, she sat crossed-legged sideways on her bed, back leaned up against the wall of the barracks, listening to the silent hum of all the bugs outside, the crackle of voices somewhere in the distance and the hum of the lantern light turned on beside her.

If this was peace, she never wanted to let go of it.

It was almost a weird comfort that reminded her of training days - first getting the group of women together when Birdie had called on a crew. Meeting the girls, hanging out late into their off-day nights, talking, hearing peoples' stories and backgrounds and family history. By that point, Judy had taken to wearing her PT shorts to bed with one of the pale wool button-ups that Birdie had requested for the crew. Now, cuddled with her blanket, her button-up and her book, she was as happy as a damn lark. A gentle knock came from the door.

"You in there, Judy?" the voice called through. The corner of Judy's lip drew upwards.

"Who's asking?" She knew. She always did. She grinned wider.

"Who do you think?" the voice called back, a slight chuckle on their lips.

"I don't know…."Judy called back, "kinda hard to distinguish entirely with a wooden door breaking up the noise." She heard the laugh behind the door and couldn't help but take a split-second to brush her lose strands of hair behind her ears and rub a bit underneath her eyes, hoping the dark circles weren't as big as they had been earlier.

"Am I good to come in?"

"All clear." Judy called back. The door slowly pushed open and Judy couldn't help but feel her heart spin a bit out of control at the sight of Rosie Rosenthal stepping inside, crusher cap perched on his head, layered in his A2 and button-up, that look on his face that was a mixture of soft worry and concern all at once.

"Hi." Judy said, watching as he shut the barrack door behind him, waltzing over towards her with that silent look on his face and lips.

"Hey." he said back, pulling over one of the chairs from a table and placing it beside her cot and settling himself into the chair comfortably before leaning forward, "You doing okay? Didn't see you at the officers' club." She could feel the tension in her shoulders slowly unknotting at his worrying question, watching him peel off the A2 and crusher cap; it only took her a matter of seconds to slowly nod, a small smile on her face as she tilted her head.

"Yes," she said quietly, "just didn't feel up for being out tonight, I'll be honest. What about you though?" Rosie watched her as she let her eyes gently draw over his entire face, taking in each aspect of his eyes, his cheeks, his lips that made her feel all over the place on the inside. He grinned.

"Well, I'm glad you're here then," he said quietly with a nod, "sometimes you need a night away." She grinned. "I was at the officers' club. But, I don't know….didn't feel up for being out tonight. Wanted to come and see what you were up to." Judy let out a laugh and gently closed her book and leaned towards him over her crossed legs with a smile.

"Thanks for joining me then," Judy said, "can't promise to be as much entertainment as Dougie thinking he can dance, but….I can tell some pretty good campfire stories around the potbelly stove, I must admit." Rosie chuckled at her words, before looking up at her with a quiet look on his face, blue eyes watching her intently.

Rosie Rosenthal was like that though - he knew there was more behind it. He always did and with the way his mood had shifted, she knew in an instance that he'd been worrying for her longer than just the past hour when he came to see her. He could be in the flying club with the rest of the crews, drinking, having a grand old time, but instead he was here. With her.

"Just you here?" Rosie asked her, a slight tinge of concern in his voice and Judy nodded.

"It's okay," Judy said, looking down at her nails and picking at the edges of them with a shrug, "the other girls needed a night and I just wasn't feeling it. Didn't want them to miss out though. And sometimes just being here is what I need." Judy nodded towards the four usually empty and fresh-made cots. "Sometimes it's like they're here, ya know?"

They glanced towards the footlockers and cots across from Judy - mainly at the end of what was still Lieutenant Bradshaw's cot. Francis generally didn't allow anyone to touch it, open it, hardly even look at it. She always told people that they were coming back - if there was no word on any of the missing members of Silver Bullets or their bodies - they weren't dead. It'd be there until they got back. And Judy always believed Francis, she always did.

Judy couldn't help but feel her emotions wrangle with her heart as she stared at those four lone footlockers, untouched for months, cots forever-made on that last morning they'd been here.

The chair screeched slightly closer and she felt warmth overwhelm her hands, Rosie's large palms taking her small fists into his own hands, the nerves and tension immediately seeming to dissipate. Looking back towards him, she couldn't help but feel a small smile grow on her face, his face inches from her own.

"They're still out there," Rosie whispered quietly, his thumb running circles underneath the knuckles on her left hand, "I know that." Judy slowly nodded, knowing her words would fail her if she tried to talk. Rosie seemed to catch that in a matter of seconds and let out a deep breath.

"Tell me about what you were reading," he said quietly, nearly therapeutically, "that's a good one."

"You've read it?"

"I have." Rosie said, his voice a soothing sound to her ears, "When you have sisters, they convince you to read books like that." Judy gave him a look and he chuckled. "Didn't complain, I promise." Judy laughed lightly, eyes growing soft at his gaze on her as she smiled lazily.

"Mr. Darcy has just confessed his love for Elizabeth Bennet." Judy said quietly, retracting one of her hands to reach up and brush her fingers past some of his lose curls near his forehead, smiling slightly at the chill racing across his body underneath her touch, the way his eyes shut slightly and a small breath left his lips, "I would say it didn't entirely go as planned, but it has been one of my favorite things to read, I must say."

"You think it's a good book so far?" he asked her quietly, and she nodded, hand continuing to slowly careen back and forth over those few curls on his forehead.

"It blows some other books I've read out of the water." she said and she watched as he grinned, his eyes refusing to leave hers as he continued to watch her, the two of them falling into silence.

Watching each other in this quiet way was far more intimate than anything else she'd experienced in life and she hadn't experienced much. Her hand running through his hair, his hands holding her other, inches from each other's faces. Inches.

They each seemed to linger closer to one another, their eyes holding one another's gazes and she found herself welcoming his touch up onto her neck, the warmth making her whole body feel as if it were on fire.

It was always this.

Never touching this way, but still going to an extent before they'd back away. But now, they were alone and it was a warm, spring night and it was different; she wanted to feel something different than grief and loss.

Feeling his fingers grow up her neck towards her cheeks, her eyes shut at his touch; it was a little crazy to think about how close they were, his touch on her neck and face, breath fanning across her face. Maybe this crush wasn't as stupid as she had thought it to be. She was scared to open her eyes that had since closed and look at him, feeling his continual warm breath inches from her lips.

Kiss me, her voice seemed to whisper inside her head, please kiss me. His thumb brushed her warm cheek and she shivered a bit at the touch.

"You're shaking." Rosie whispered, and she shivered again, her heart racing inside her chest. She couldn't look at him. She couldn't do it.

"You make me nervous." she whispered back, her voice sounding light, almost like she was floating. Slowly, she opened her eyes - he was right there. He was so close, staring at her face like she was staring at something holy. His eyes were beautiful so close to her face, deep and caring and full. She had never been touched by someone like him, cared for, held and loved by.

"May I kiss you?" he whispered, his own voice sounding strained, "Please?"

"Please do." she whispered and it was in what felt like milliseconds where she was engulfed by him. His arms wrapped around her back, pulling her into him, his lips pressing earnestly against her own, her body snaking into his lap on the chair and her hands crawling into his hair and messing up those curls that were so perfectly done day in and day out.

Judy melted into him, his hands going up her back into her neckline, her body hot all over the place it felt as he tugged at her bottom lip, a small sigh escaping as she pressed her lips back to his.

It was such a quick-paced and desperate array of kisses - something she had never even experienced in her life. Rosie made a noise at the back of his throat, which made Judy pull back for a second, almost caught off guard - she'd never done this before, what was she even doing - were her hands in the right place? Could she even kiss well enough for it to be worth it? Did it mean anything? For him? For her? For them?

"Hey, you okay?" managed Rosie, trying to catch his breath, his lips a deep red - she realized she'd been sucking a bit on his bottom lip - his cheeks an equally similar color.

"Yeah, yeah," Judy said, her body clinging onto him with her arms and legs latched around his frame, "fine, this….wow."

Words, Judy, words.

It was so intimate to be so close to his face, almost like it was some secret thing no one had ever gotten the pleasure of doing before. She stared at him and watched as he licked his lips and glanced at her lips.

"Just…." Judy started as he watched her, his hands softly clinging to her back, his fingertips sending sparks along the fabric atop her skin, "I…..I've never been like this with someone."

"Like this?" Rosie whispered back, reaching up a hand to clutch at her cheek, brushing her flaming skin and smiling. Judy nodded.

"This….close." Judy whispered, "But for the first time in my life, I trust someone to be like this with." Rosie stared at her, a tender look on his face.

"I feel safe with you." Judy said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. Rosie continued to watch her and then smiled.

"Thank you." he whispered softly back, "I feel safe with you, too." Judy felt her heart skip a beat - multiple beats if anything - and smiled.

Within seconds of such a thing to say, Judy was kissing him, wrapping her body around him, pulling her hands up through his hair, every part of her body feeling her heart continuing to race faster and faster.

There was a deep-seeded need, but gentleness that came with his touch to her lips, the exhaustion of the day ever-present, but the want to feel showing in ways she couldn't quite understand as he deepened the kiss there in front of the fire. He slowly bit at her bottom lip as they parted, the two of them shaking, deep labored breaths escaping their lips as Judy slowly looked upwards towards Rosie, staring at his eyes in the quiet darkness that evaded nearly all the light. Judy's hands slowly moved down from his hair to his olive button-up, her fingertips dancing on the buttons.

"Do it." Rosie whispered, his breathing heavy, "It's yours." Just those words seemed to flip a switch in her head as she slowly, button by button undid both the shirt and him.

As she came to the bottom, his bare chest began to show and she slowly let her hands move towards his shoulders, peeling the fabric from his form, down his arms and to the ground. Her body was on fire, as she looked back up towards him, staring at her with those darkened blue eyes that made her go slightly insane. His hands lingered on her waist, hers on his now bare arms, their bated breath held for a moment as they watched one another.

Every movement made her want more, every look, every touch.

Everything made her live with want. Her hands slowly trailed down to his own hands, which felt like they were equally on fire, and she slowly guided them to the front of her wool button-up.

"Judy…." Rosie whispered. She slowly looked up and met his firm gaze and she sucked in a breath. It was so insanely attractive to her to know he was looking at her like this. She leaned slightly closer, still holding his hands to the buttons and watched his gaze.

"Will you help me?" she whispered.

"Yes." Rosie said, almost without any hesitation and immediately began unbuttoning her top, her heart pounding, the need growing.

As soon as the button on the bottom was undone, the top slid off her shoulders to expose her bare chest - and if she was honest, her rather sorry-excuse of a bra - his lips were pressing on her own and goosebumps danced over her skin at the slightly cool air and his touch. His lips were so gentle and soft, placed there on her own, a distant hunger behind each deepening of touch that made her crave more.

Taking in a shuddering breath, his lips moved to a tender spot on her neck and a small noise in the back of her throat escaped - it was almost so light-hearted as Rosie pulled back and softly tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and chuckled that soft, breathy laugh.

"You okay?" he whispered and she looked to him, a smile on her breathless face as she looked at him.

"Yeah," she whispered shakily, "yeah. Wow." Rosie smiled at her through the darkness before slowly leaning forward and bringing her into another kiss, him biting her lip, a groan from the back of his throat and a whimper from her own mouth.

The slight grind of his body against hers was making it much harder to just focus on him and his lips. He was kissing her neck again, his lips exploring the whole of her neck, arching down to her collarbone as her eyes shut and far too many pleasant thoughts entered her brain. She was unbecoming in front of him, as he clung to her in a God-like way.

Slowly, Rosie shifted, clutching her to him and moving her to the cot, the blanket soft on her back as he laid her there and then pressed down onto her, his larger form a comforting weight there on top of her.

God, if someone walked in now, what would she say?

But, it was Rosie.

With Rosie, she was safe.

Rosie sucked on her neck, before pulling back for a second, his entire body shuttering as he looked towards her and then smiled, hovering overtop of her and softly kissing her forehead.

"You're one of the most beautiful women I've ever met." he whispered softly, eyes honest, almost like he spoke and got choked up in the middle and recovered.

"Thank you." she whispered back, her own throat choking up as she stared at him, the light from the lantern tickling his features, making his face a honey gold.

No one ever had told her such things, touching her and holding her as gently as he had, caring for her like he did. Rosie smiled and then Judy followed, a giggle along with it. Then, they were kissing, their bodies pressed against each other again.

At some point, his lips were on her collarbone and her lips had traversed his face and neck and then they were curled into each other's bodies, as he traced her bare back with a warm finger and she stared at his soft, cuddly face that she planted a kiss to every so often.

Rosie Rosenthal was shy when he wanted to be, but he was nowhere shy about where he wanted to put his hands and mouth.

But in this moment, quiet and intimate, all she could do was watch him.

"I'll admit, I've never been like this with someone," she whispered quietly as his light finger touch sent chills down her spine, "I'm sorry if my kissing didn't offer much." Rosie watched her and then shook his head with a playful scoff, and continued tracing her back.

"Don't say that," Rosie whispered quietly and then brought his lips to her ear, "your lips were reverent."

Judy could feel her body get hot just at his words and slowly turned to look at him as they lied there under the blanket. Her heart pounded as her cheeks grew hot, staring at his devastatingly handsome face watch her right back, like he could see all of her - which in ways, he definitely could.

She leaned forward and captured his lips again in hers, hungrily deepening the kiss, both their lips red and swollen as she bit down tenderly and a groan filled his mouth. She was sinking underneath him as he deepened the kiss against her lips this time. His warm hands were dancing across her bare-skinned chest and eventually reached the waistline of her shorts.

And the second she felt a finger on her waistline, her entire body grew cold and froze. She stopped kissing him, her lips growing shut, her eyes blasted wide-open and her shoulders immediately tense. Rosie pulled back in an instant, his hands on her cheeks gently, his own eyes open above her, worry pooling in his blue eyes as he looked down.

"You okay, Judy?" he whispered quietly, slightly out of breath, "We can stop." Judy looked at him, her eyes suddenly filling with tears she hadn't quite expected.

She didn't want to cry, why was she crying. No, no, no.

"Oh, hey, hey, c'mere." Judy put a hand over her mouth, Rosie coming off the top of her, reaching over the edge of the bed to grab his collared button-up. As tears grew down her cheeks, Rosie gently guided her arms into the long sleeves of his button-up, pulling it overtop her bare shoulders, before slowly buttoning it up, button by button.

"C'mere, Judy." Rosie whispered quietly, positioning himself sitting up against the pillows on the cot, allowing her to curl into his body, head snuggled against his bare chest, comforted by his presence, the scent of his shirt that always smelled like that pleasant cologne he always wore, and the quietness of the world surrounding them, "You okay, Jude?"

Whenever he kept repeating her name, it always brought her back, it allowed her to ground herself and think and keep her mind clear. Because it usually meant he was trying to get through to her and calm her down. And it always worked.

Judy could feel his hand around her waist, his other hand gently brushing through her hair, over and over in the most soothing manner. A mixture of embarrassment and guilt hit her in that moment curled beside him.

Would he think that he'd done something wrong?

Would he not like her because she couldn't do it?

Whatever it really was?

Would he think she was too inexperienced and naive?

Would he-?

"I'm sorry," she whispered out against his chest, the tears continuing to well in her eyes as she let out a shaky breath, "I just….it's me."

"No, no, it's okay," Rosie whispered quietly above her, gently pressing a kiss to her head - she could hear the smile in his voice, "it's okay." Judy snuggled closer into him and let out another shaky sigh.

"I'm not ready," she whispered through tears, "to do that yet. I'm sorry."

"No, no," Rosie said quietly - quickly, "don't apologize. You don't have to apologize to me, okay? Or…better yet, at all. You're ready when you're ready and if it's not yet, that's okay." Judy slowly peaked up at him, red-rimmed eyes, her nose probably getting drippy, looking far less unpleasant than she had earlier.

"Are you sure?" she asked him quietly and he gave her the sweetest smile she'd ever seen.

"I am." he said quietly, reaching up to brush at some tears on her cheeks, "I just want to be with you, Judy, that's all. In anyway I can." Her heart released the tension it had held for a brief moment and she nodded, a small smile peaking out.

"There's that grin," he whispered, pressing another kiss to her forehead this time, "there it is." Judy smiled wider and couldn't help but press closer to him, trying to gain access to every part of him there, curled into him in anyway she could. In a quick second though - she came quickly to the realization of what had just occurred and looked up at him.

Kissing him, kissing Rosie Rosenthal, kissing him the way she had and him kissing her back with just as much desperation as she did to him.

"That was my first kiss." Judy whispered quietly, staring out in front of them, towards where the sun had finally set out that little window, "My first….anything like that."

Maybe Judy should've held off saying that because Rosie froze there beside her, the hand on her hair going still, the hand on her waist tightening. She slowly peaked up at him and saw him watching her, a mixture of worry and concern mixed in his eyes and maybe a slight bit of nervousness that wasn't there before? She sat up a bit, and reached forward with her free hand that wasn't tucked against her body and lightly brushed her fingers against his face, smiling automatically, his own grin growing on his face afterwards.

"I'm…quite honored to be your first, Judy." he said quietly, the nervousness in his voice probably one of the cutest things she'd heard in a while, "Firsts are always special, so…."

"You always make everything special for me, you know that?" she said quietly, tilting her head against him, "That was really special though. Truly." Rosie watched her with that soft grin and she couldn't help but lean forward and press a soft kiss to his lips, the quickness of the familiarity of his lips almost insane to her - that her body could so instantly store in her mind the touch and feel of his lips just like that, his presence, his touch, him. Pulling back slightly, she watched him.

"Even if my first didn't…..go all the way, I guess." she said.

A few years ago, she remembered when all the towns girls would talk about their firsts - she remembered some were even getting married or having their first born! And there'd been Judy, waiting and waiting. Feeling left behind, embarrassed, too quiet not to say anything, too much of an outlier to say that she felt she was behind in the first place.

In her mind, she knew she was being too hard on herself, but it was something about her past few years that did it to her. But Rosie was stopping that and telling her there was no rush - he just wanted to be there. With her. And that was more important than anything.

"It doesn't have to," Rosie said quietly, cupping her cheek and smiling tenderly, "it doesn't need to. It's whatever you want it to be. And to even just….know it's you…." Judy watched him, eyes darting back and forth between his eyes as her cheeks slowly heated, despite the realization she'd been heavily making out with him moments earlier. He'd probably always have that effect on her.

"Know it's me?" she whispered. Rosie smiled, lovingly running his hand back through her hair before coming to dote underneath her chin, raising it up gently and pressing a kiss to her lips.

"Yes." he said quietly.

"What does that mean?" He watched her and grinned again.

"Ask me again in a few months." he whispered back to her, pressing another kiss to her forehead, making her feel all warm and fuzzy. Slowly, he held up his hand and she reached out her own hand to press against his - she giggled.

"Your hand is so big, Rosie, God," she said with a laugh, hearing his chuckle from somewhere above her, "mine is so tiny."

"It's cute." he whispered quietly, clasping his fingers around her hand, holding it there against his chest.

Staring at their intertwined hands against his chest, an aggressive feeling for him suddenly took shape and she realized how quick it was that it was in fact the feeling of genuine love.

Affection.

Adoration.

Love. For someone like him. For every part of him in every way.

Judy looked up at him, meeting his gaze again there in the lantern light and couldn't help it as she leaned towards him and lovingly pressed a kiss to his lips that slowly got deepened and rather emotional and slow and infused with a tenderness that she'd never felt before. It was slow movements, their heads and lips moving in unison, breaking every so often for a collection of air, before connecting again, their noses brushing, bits of laughter escaping every so often. Judy couldn't help but laugh at how ticklish his mustache was against her upper lip. It was all so gentle and peaceful - she had never felt so at peace with someone like this.

"If one of the girls came in now…."Judy whispered, before breaking into a laugh, "I'd probably never live it down." Rosie let out a small chuckle and shook his head against her softly, before pressing another kiss to her lips.

"You're something else, Judy Rybinski," he said quietly, eyes meeting hers again and she couldn't help but swell with emotion, "ever since I met you. Something special."

[damnfandomproblems]

6041 I've actually been writing up my own submission on this exact topic, but this is such fortuitous timing that I might as well go ahead and submit it as a response.

Yeah, M/M shippers can be really obnoxious, but I am so fucking sick of seeing them being blamed for "See! This is why men are afraid to show affection to other men!" No, men are afraid to show affection to other men because of HOMOPHOBIA. You really think that a handful of fangirls who want Kirk and Spock to kiss have had more of an impact on how men fear their relationships with other men are going to be perceived than the uncountable instances IRL of people being beaten, punished, brutalized, murdered etc. over the mere suspicion of being gay?

Here's a fun fact: it's ALSO damn near impossible for men and women to be platonic friends with each other IRL without everyone and their mother assuming that they're dating, and most people who are in this position find it really exasperating to have to explain for the umpteenth time that "No, he really is like a brother to me, no we don't secretly have a crush on each other, no we are never going to date", but they don't fear for their lives about it. And guess what? Some of the most popular het ships I can think of are ALSO between characters who are canonically platonic friends, where it's stated multiple times by both the characters and the creators that they're not interested in each other that way, and whose shippers are ALSO really obnoxious about insisting that their interpretation is right and everybody else (including the actual writers) is wrong, and who constantly read romance into every single interaction no matter how mundane or negative… but I have yet to see anyone pointing fingers and blaming Zutarans for amatonormativity or for the fact that no one seems to believe men and women can be friends without secretly wanting to bang.

So is it just me, or does pointing the finger at M/M shippers and screaming that "YOU are the reason that men are afraid to show affection to other men!" feel like nothing more than yet another poorly disguised attempt to punish women and girls for daring to like something?

Posting as a response to a previous problem.

[sonicfanthenightfury5099]

Hello! Could you write something (a long headcanon or a one shot) in which the reader is Michael's new psychiatrist, please? She's still working under Sartain's authority (like she's completing her residency program at Smith Grove). Many patients have a crush on her because she's young (late 20s), smart and nice. Of course, even if it's not that obvious, Michael also has a crush on the reader. So, they met for the first time in 2018, something like that.

Ooooooh I love that idea

I'll do a one-shot cause I'm stumped on short story ideas

Sorry it took so long

Peepaw Michael Myers One Shot

"Miss Y/n?"

"Dr Sartain." You replied

You got into this position nearly 3 years now, late 20's alot of people had eyes on you. Young, smart and kind to anyone in Smith's Grove.

One pair of eyes or eye had on you for since you came here. He was always watches from a distance, never coming even close to met you. He wants to feel your warmth against his cold heart, if he even has a heart.

Dr Sartain was once a student of Samuel Loomis before he retired and passed away in the 90's.

Loomis was once the doctor to now Sartain patient, Michael Audrey Myers.

Michael has been in the Sanatorium since the 60's. He once escape back in 1978 before getting captured.

Loomis could have put Him down before Hawkins stopped him.

Michael has been locked up for 40 years now. In a few weeks he's being transferred to another facility till his last days.

"Still haven't Talked Has He?" You asked Dr. Sartain, "No, be does sometimes, quietly. Y/N when I took you under my wing, I never thought you would help other patients with different types of health therapy for each one." He remarks as you both walked down the hall. "I wanna do something for each person, not having them locked up. Simple treatments to be frank." You said, "But since Ive been here i feel like I'm being watched." "Really?" Sartain asked, "Not malicious but it feels more different." You replied.

You went wrong about being watched, Michael was keeping an eye on you. When he first saw you he felt his heart skipped a beat, and he developed a crush on you.

He wants you.

The next day

You were doing some writing till you heard a bang outside your office. Thinking something fell outside, you went to check only to be met by Grant, a patient who freaks you out at time due to his Bipolar disorder and Schizophrenia. "Hi Pretty." He calls you. "Grant, what are you doing out of your room?" You asked him, "i wanted to see you Pretty,  i was wondering if you were thinking about me." He said. "No, I wasn't thinking about you.You just think Im interested in you, but in reality, Im not." You said as you tried to get the walkie, "Oh ho ho, but you do, Pretty. When I saw you for the first time, a little bird told me you're into me." He said

"Grant, listen to me. You have hallucinations from time to time the mentioned bird is one of them." You said in a calm tone as you finally got your hands on the walkie. A great force grabbed you, Grant held on tight, "Why?" He asked, "Why don't you love me?" He backed away as you quickly called someone. "You Bitch!" Grant yelled as he bolted towards you with something in his hand raised over his head.

You braced for impact

But nothing came.You heard Grant stuttered as someone blocked him from you. "OH GOD, ITS YOU THE EVIL!!" Grant Screamed. He ran away from the person standing in front of you. Opening your eyes you saw him.

Michael was standing in front of you with soft eyes. His left eye had a large scar, making his eye dead. His hair was grey, transitioning to white with a beard covering his upper lip and jawline. "Uuh. Thank you.." You said He nods as his way of saying You're Welcome.

When you go to Michael's room for his routine he responds to you better than the other doctor. You noticed that he would have a small smile on his face, out of the usual stoic face 24/7 but him smiling softly when your around should be a hint about his feelings towards you. Dr Sartain even noticed that as well, so he tried something a little experiment. He entered Michael's room and Michael gave him a death stare, Sartain left the room "Y/N" her said as your cue. You entered Michael's room and he gave you his soft smile making you smile. You exited this room and Sartain poked his head in the doorway, Michael expression changed to his death stare again. He moved his head so your head could poke in place, again Michael's expression changes again.

Sartain, Death stare, You, Smiling, Sartain, Death Stare again, You, Smiling again. "Interesting, he likes you more than me." Sartain said afterward, "Maybe because he knows I treat him better than everyone else here." You replied as you take a sip of your coffee. "You talk to him like if he wasn't Evil itself." Sartain said, "Did Doctor Loomis really believe he's Evil?" You asked, Sartain went serious looking at you."From how Loomis described Him and how He Scared him,Then yes. He did believe that Michael is Evil." As he finished, he took a sip of his tea

Weeks passed

October 30th, 2018

The day that Michael gets transferred from Smith's Grove. Two Podcasters came to see Michael before he 8s transferred.

You came to his room to see him one last time. "I'm going to miss you, Mickey." You said as you held his hand, rubbing his scared knuckles, "You're leaving Tonight to a different Facility, I wish you good health, Michael." You said as tears started to form, "IMaybe if you didn't go down this path and you were a little younger. We could have been a thing." He tilted his head as he cupped your face with his free hand and wiped your tears away as he gave you his soft smile. You hugged him tightly, wishing time could slow down for this moment.

Halloween

You where so busy with today you didn't hear about the bus crash from last night. Not knowing Michael is freely walking around Haddonfield till later that night.

CRASH

You where working in your house office room when you heard the loud crash.

Thinking someone broke in you grabbed your metal bat and went to see what was the cause of the noise.

Walking downstairs you found a figure on the floor, a masked figure breathing very heavily as dark red stains cover their clothing. Grabbing your first aid kit and started patching to your unexpected nightly visitor, you didn't notices till you recognize old scars on their body. Reaching for the mask, an old familiar face was unveiled from the old mask, "Michael?" You said quietly. His Eyes opened without moving his head his eyes met your's and he smiled softly.

So many questions flooded your mind but pushing them aside to patch Michael up.

Afterwards you showed him a spare room for him to sleep in. Before he drifted off to sleep and you went back to your office, he held on to yout hand rubbing your knuckles with his thumb as his way of saying "Thank you."

You became torn about what to do next, do you phone Smith's Grove about Michael being here in your house or do you keep him here. He had developed feelings towards you and you are starting to feel the same feelings towards him after many months working with him.

Would you risk having Michael in your house? The Love for him says yes. Leaning down towards the sleeping Michael Myers and whispered into his ear, "You can stay here Mickey, cause l care about you." Kissing his forehead, he smiled once again before he whispered back

"I love you, Y/N."

===============================

Hope you like the ending 😊

[jbaileyfansite]

Interview with The Hollywood Reporter (2024)

Talking about his role in Showtime’s Fellow Travelers, Jonathan Bailey can’t help but be earnest. It’s a trait he calls out about himself but is learning to embrace, as he notes the importance of the series for LGBTQ+ viewers around the world, and within his own life, where it’s helped him chart a path forward and earned him his first Emmy nomination. 

“I’m so grateful that it’s for something that I can talk passionately about endlessly, and it feels really important,” Bailey says of the supporting actor nomination.

In the limited series, Bailey plays Tim Laughlin, an idealistic congressional staffer who falls in love with Hawkins Fuller, a career-first State Department official played by Matt Bomer. Their relationship begins during the Lavender Scare of the 1950s, when homosexuals were banned from holding positions in the federal government, and evolves across several decades, as the pair contend with the Vietnam War, the AIDS crisis and societal pressure. 

Bailey spoke with THR about the significance of the show, created by Ron Nyswaner and based on Thomas Mallon’s novel, and balancing the shooting schedule with Bridgerton and Wicked, as well as his upcoming role in Jurassic World 4. 

What made you say yes to this role?

I heard that Ron was going to be investigating and exploring 40 years of queer life and experience. But at that time, it looked like I might not be available. I pursued it. And after doing something like Bridgerton, it felt important to me to find something rich and complex. There’s nothing more of a gift than to be able to educate yourself, and also in the investigation and in the performance of it, to live a really dangerous life, but within safety, and, ultimately, write this love letter to those that came before us. I was enchanted by the idea, and there was no part of me that didn’t think it was the punkest thing to do. 

What impact do you hope this series can have? 

By stepping back 50 years or 70 years, you can highlight exactly what’s going on in our societies today. There’s rhetoric we hear now in politics that echoes Senator McCarthy’s speech that’s featured early on in the series. I’ve been in Thailand working recently, and there are so many people across the world now on these streaming platforms that get to watch it, and there are so many people who are living under a similar sort of regime to the Lavender Scare and the oppression of McCarthyism, and so much more extreme than that. I think the impact we wanted was for people to be celebrated, educated, and also for all the people who have lost their lives fighting, and spent their lives having to fight, to pay homage to them. I know this sounds incredibly earnest and sincere.

That’s not a bad thing.

No, it’s not. And that’s one thing that I’ve learned from Tim, because I can see how it’s changed the course in my life, put into focus levels of importance about how you communicate your own identity, and understanding that all of us inherit such a deal of shame, which comes from powerful figures using fear and an aggressive sort of alienation to control people. I’ve had more messages about this than anything I’ve ever done, and more people stopping me and wanting to talk about their own lives, whether they lost their fathers, their uncles, or they were children of someone who died in the ’80s. But then also now I get to live my life.

The thing that makes me really smile is that last Pride month, I was filming Wicked, and when I’m working, I’m incredibly disciplined and don’t really go out. But for Pride, me, Andrew Scott and Jessica Gunning all ended up on a night out together. We snaked through SoHo and had a really good bop that night. And it’s just so funny to see all of us now nominated for Emmys. It’s kind of extraordinary. And you think about that, about how now that’s being celebrated, which is amazing. But I look up and think, “Where are the 50-year-old and 60-year-old gay actors?” There’s a whole generation that’s been lost. That’s why the earnestness is afforded, for sure, and I feel very proud.

The Fellow Travelers scene, where Matt Bomer’s character seductively tells yours to “shut up and drink your milk,” has really taken off, especially after you turned it into a T-shirt collection with Loewe to raise money for your LGBTQ+ foundation, The Shameless Fund. What prompted that? 

I went to present an award for Matt at the [Human Rights Campaign] in Washington, and being in the room with people who were just so galvanized — it was my first American gala, and I was infected by the energy. I had this idea of a T-shirt, and it occurred to me that it should be about the spilling of the milk.

I think we had four scripts before we started, and there was one version of a sex scene, which I’ll leave to Ron Nyswaner to reveal at some point in the future, which was wild, and then when I saw that it moved to the milk. I just thought, this is such an incredible moment of the exploration of power within sex and intimacy. “Shut up and drink your milk.” It feels to me like an incredibly political line, somehow. 

Has playing Tim informed what roles you want to take on next?

Yes, a hundred  percent. Since then, I’ve magically been able to find parts that have similar character arcs, that have something massive to question and to overcome. But right now, I would say that I’d probably be looking for something as far away from Tim as possible, and I’m going back onstage anyway. I started in theater, and I wouldn’t have been able to give the performance in Fellow Travelers had I not done 12 weeks onstage just before it, because it’s so academic and it’s so in the body. You sort of have an exorcism, and you end up being a husk with no conversational skills or anything. But what you do have is stripped-back, pure instinct, which is so great to feel. I’m looking forward to going back onstage next year. But I’ll be excited to see what parts are lurking around the corner after that. 

You’re doing Richard II in the West End, another intense role.

Yes, and equally as sort of questioning and as poetic, I think, as Tim. In between running away from dinosaurs — I just spent a whole day doing stunts [for Jurassic World 4] — I just walked around Valletta with my AirPods on listening, trying to learn a soliloquy, and I’ve managed to get one soliloquy down, so I’m thrilled.

You were also shooting Fellow Travelers, while also shooting Bridgerton and Wicked, right? 

That’s right. The whole experience has just shown me how amazing producers can be. I think it was 32 days in a row where I didn’t have one day off. And I flew back and forth four times. I’d go from Hawk’s house in the ‘60s at the cabin, go straight to the airport, sleep on the plane, go straight to a regency ball, sleep there, then go straight to Wicked to be learning choreography. And at that point, I was so late in joining the Wicked lot, because they’d already started filming, and that also was incredible for Marc Platt to make that work. There’s nothing quite like the feeling of trying to work out the priorities of whether you have to learn the choreography today, or work on your American accent, or pelt your hair ready for another Bridgerton snog.

How did you keep track of all those different roles in your mind? 

I probably wouldn’t rush into doing that again. Music for me, is absolutely key, but it always sort of has been. It was an absolute freefall and luckily, I’ve got patient friends and family, and you just have to sort of sign off for a bit. I found playing Tim an incredibly happy place to be, which is also a testament to his spirit, I think, because obviously it was some really brutal stuff and the yearning and the constant battle that’s going on in his head of questioning what’s right and what’s wrong. But I would say that I was quite good at rolling all the way through and then at the end, I had a five-day holiday, and my hair had died from all the the perming and straightening, because I had to perm my hair for Bridgerton and straighten my hair for [Fellow Travelers]. I was like a teenage beauty advert, doing everything to my hair. I remember going on this holiday and I got to the beach, I sat down in the sun, and my hair was just like floating, whisping off, like breaking away. And I looked completely and felt completely insane.

Why did you want to do the new Jurassic World movie?

The original film Jurassic Park was just a completely life-changing moment because I went with my full family, and it was quite a rarity to all go, because I’ve got three older sisters. Every frame of that film is imprinted in my mind, and the Frank Marshall-Spielberg duo of the films in the ‘80s and ‘90s are just what totally encapsulated, enchanted and inspired so much in me. I couldn’t quite believe I was stepping into something that I so adore, and the script is brilliant. And it’s David Koepp again, who wrote the original, and it just asks some really brilliant fundamental questions that the original film did as well.

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