#I’m gonna have to become a slave that’s the only way

[mybiasisexo]

rents due and I’m $400 short

[creatingblackcharacters]

“It’s Giving” AAVE, and the Denied Yet Undeniable Impact of Black Culture

I grew up knowing it as Ebonics; I didn’t hear 'AAVE' until I was an adult. Apparently it’s used derogatorily- I did not know. But when Robert Williams coined the term in the 70s, its meaning was:

“…the linguistic and paralinguistic features which on a concentric continuum represents the communicative compentence of the West African, Caribbean, and United States idioms, patois, argots, ideolects, and social forces of black people…Ebonics derives its form from ebony (black) and phonics (sound, study of sound) and refers to the study of the language of black people in all its cultural uniqueness.”

Familiar Examples include but are not limited to:

The History

It was unbelievably difficult to find a solely Black perspective on the subject. I’m gonna need everyone to let Black linguists talk, it’s literally their job. Anyway, I need y’all to actually WATCH this video. Don’t skip it thinking I’ll summarize. Watch it. Actually listen. That’s part of the problem to begin with, is not listening. Even if you have to read this lesson later, so be it.

One of the points emphasized in this video was that AAVE was formed of the need to communicate, and specifically to communicate in a way that hid what we were saying and thinking from antagonistic white society.

“…“the disguise language used by enslaved Africans to conceal their conversations from their white slave masters to the lyrics of today’s rap music, [the magical power of] the word has been shaped by a time when, as observed by Harlem newspaper writer Earl Conrad, ‘it was necessary for the Negro to speak and sing and even think in a kind of code.’””

Because it was in a form that white people could not understand, as well as already existing racist biases against the humanity and intelligence of Black people, naturally it was assumed that our way of communicating was ignorant and ‘false’. Even acknowledging it as a valid language was seen as abhorrent, by nonblack and certain Black people.

“For decades, linguists and other educators, pointing to the logic and science of language, have tried to convince people that Black English exists, that isn’t just a politically correct label for a poor version of English but is a valid system of language, with its own consistent grammar. In 1996, with the unanimous support of linguists, the Oakland School Board voted to recognize AAVE, or the more politicized term “Ebonics” (a portmanteau of “Ebony” and “phonics”), as a community language for African American students, a decision which might have opened up much needed additional funding for education. Instead it resulted in intense public backlash and derision due to the still widespread, incorrect belief that Black English was an inferior, uneducated form of English associated with illiteracy, poverty, and crime. It’s hard for a language to get ahead when it keeps getting put down. Some linguists, such as John Russell Rickford, have noted how even sympathetic linguistic research, which has derived a lot of benefit and understanding from Black English grammar, can unknowingly focus on data that represents African American communities negatively, giving “the impression that black speech was the lingo of criminals, dope pushers, teenage hoodlums, and various and sundry hustlers, who spoke only in ‘muthafuckas’ and ‘pussy-copping raps.’” The term “Ebonics” even now is used mockingly by some as a byword for broken English.”"

(Some of) The Rules

AAVE is a full dialect with grammar and social rules. But the ones most people are familiar with include:

Th becoming D (“dats”)

Double Negative (“I ain’t see nobody”)

Habitual Be (“It’s cuz he be on that phone”)

Possessive s absence (“I’m going to my grandaddy house”)

Question word order (“who that is with the ice cream and cake?”)

Zero copula (“who that?”)

"Why do you talk like that" Would you rather I code switch?

“Code switching, or adjusting one’s normal behavior to fit into an environment, has long been a strategy for BlPOC individuals to navigate interracial interactions successfully. Code switching often occurs in spaces where negative stereotypes of Black individuals run counter to what are considered appropriate or professional behaviors and norms in a specific environment, and regularly happen in work settings.”

In this context, you might recognize it better as “using your white people voice”.

Some Black Americans, for varying reasons including internalized antiblackness and a desire for assimilation, hate AAVE! Some people will hate that you don’t use AAVE! Never assume we’re all on the same page about its use! My own mother used to be big on speaking ‘proper English’.

Regional Differences

The same way regional differences affect standard pronunciation, it’ll affect the AAVE used. Culture in the area as well will affect the words that come from it. So someone Black using a phrase in Philadelphia might not automatically know what someone Black from Compton is saying.

Someone did their dissertation on this topic, and while I’m going to link the summary for yall to give it a shot, Imma be honest- I do not understand this. I tried. It’s interesting how something that comes so innately, once written out like this is like WHAT. But the research has been done!

Easier examples include:

"Aaron earned an iron urn"- Baltimore

GloRilla and "Mursic"- Memphis

A lot of AAVE from New York City is popularized; so you might hear words from anywhere that originated from Harlem or Queens, or New York Ballroom culture

Tonal Languages

One major source of misunderstanding AAVE is people not understanding tonality. AAVE is often tonal, similar to many African languages, languages in general- meaning that unless you hear it or are innately familiar with how it’s spoken, you might not know HOW I’m saying something and therefore will not understand what I’m trying to convey. Given the history, this was on purpose!

Black language- Black culture in general, really- is often conveyed orally. Everything we say and do is not going to be written down for someone else to study. Doesn’t mean we weren’t saying or doing it. If you want to understand, you have to listen!

“Linguist Margaret G. Lee notes how black speech and verbal expressions have often been found crossing over into mainstream prestige speech, such as in the news, when journalists talk about politicians “dissing” each other, or the New York Times puts out punchy headlines like “Grifters Gonna Grift”. These many borrowings have occurred across major historical eras of African American linguistic creativity. Now-common terms like “you’re the man,” “brother,” “cool,” and “high five” extend from the period of slavery to civil rights, from the Jazz Age to hip-hop: the poetry of the people. This phenomenon reflects how central language and the oral tradition are to the black experience.”

Some examples:

1) "You Good" can mean, depending on how it is said and the context in which it is spoken:

Are you okay?

Do we have a problem?

You’re okay.

You don’t want these problems so chill.

Do you have enough money/resource?

It’s fine! Don’t worry about it.

2) This was an interesting experience, watching the misunderstanding of AAVE occur live. It’s the realization that people read this as “This is something Bugs Bunny would wear” versus “Bugs Bunny would wear the fuck outta that outfit”. But if you didn’t know that, if you aren’t familiar with the tonality of AAVE, of course you’d think the first one is what it meant! And it's not wrong-wrong - he would wear it, but that's not necessarily all it meant.

3) “Chill-ay” versus “Chile”. Yeah, we didn’t forget that. This is often why AAVE is used to sound “aggressive” on the internet- if you perceive (however subconsciously) how Black people speak is aggressive, then when you decide to emulate my speech in your moment of aggression, it is because you think my Blackness will make you seem more intimidating! You find Blackness… intimidating. Same reason you think it makes you funnier than if you were to deliver the same joke using your own dialect. It means the jokes not funny; my language is what’s funny.

Black American Sign Language

We even communicate differently in sign language; there’s an entire history and culture behind the Black deaf experience.

“In April 2020, Nakia Smith, aka Charmay, created a TikTok account introducing five generations of her Black Deaf family and how they communicate in Black ASL. As a social media influencer of Black ASL content, Charmay made a series of educational and informative videos on the history and practice of Black ASL. Charmay’s video went viral, landing in a New York Times article, Black, Deaf and Extremely Online, and Blavity: TikToker Has Gone Viral For Putting The Culture On To Black American Sign Language. Additionally, Netflix requested Charmay to explain the difference between Black ASL and ASL.”

Everyone doesn’t speak AAVE!

If your Black character is not Black American, and has never once been connected with Black American culture or people, they are probably NOT going to speak AAVE! They’re going to speak whatever dialect THEY have! And that doesn’t make it any less “Black” of them!

Different dialects and languages across the diaspora include but are certainly not limited to:

Black British English

Haitian Creole

Gullah

Jamaican and Caribbean Patois

Everyone Owes Rihanna an Apology

Y’all remember the song Work. I know you do. It was mainstream’s love and joy when this song dropped to be overtly racist about it, Black Americans included. Everyone claimed it was ‘gibberish’, that she was just mimicking language on a song and ‘it would be popular’.

Meanwhile, it was her singing in her native island patois! The people who spoke her language understood it! Anybody who actually tried to understand it, understood it! Another popular song, Sean Paul’s Temperature, is also in patois! And I thought we loved that song!

So next time Black people speak and you find yourself thinking- ‘wow, this makes no sense’, I want you to think to yourself: ‘does it make no sense, or do I just lack the context/knowledge/language to understand it?’

NOW THAT WE’VE HAD SOME EXPLANATION BEHIND THE LANGUAGE!

Writing AAVE

Me personally, I admit I don’t like it being used in stories where it is clear the author doesn’t understand the dialect, or where it’s clear the only person who speaks it is the “Black character who OMG DID I TELL YOU THEY WERE BLACK”. I’d rather it be the regular Queen’s English. We speak that too. I’m not going to decry your fanfiction or your regular modern-day original story as “bad” if you choose to use whatever language your region commonly uses. We know how to speak it. We will be okay. Using AAVE is not going to sell me that this character is “Black” if the rest of the character writing is still bad.

If it means that much to you, because it is important to the character, then you as the writer need to commit to learning proper AAVE! This isn’t going to be a “look up every turn of phrase on google” or “ask Ice what every single thing means”. You’re going to have to do what everyone who learns a language does- immerse yourself in it! If you can’t be bothered to learn my language, I’m going to know that when I read your work.

Obviously if there’s a context where the Black people involved do not know how to speak a language, it is perfectly fine to show that, as long as you are showing that it’s not due to some innate stupidity or other stereotype that this person cannot communicate the same way others communicate around them.

“The N Word”

I know someone’s thinking it, so let’s address it. There’s a translation for this word in damn near every language that’s ever come across Black people. So don’t go “oh we don’t have that word in my language-” I bet money you do.

Yes, it could be used in historical context- the ‘hard -er’. Yes, it could be used in social context- the ‘-a’. It follows the tonality rules I discussed earlier; that is, the way it’s used and who is using it makes ALL the difference in how it will be received.

Everyone is not on the same page about the use of this word within our community. Some Black people think it should never be used, period, even by us! Some Black people think that it should be reclaimed and use it as such! The only thing we’re on the same page about is that YOU should not be using it.

I say this to say to nonblack writers: put the pen down.

My stance is, if you can’t understand AAVE, you CERTAINLY aren’t going to be able to incorporate the social use of this word. Period. If you scared of the potential smoke incurred if you fuck it up- and if we see it, you will catch it- don’t bother. Trying to “write realistically” does not cut it. You should be doing everything in your power to understand and write a great Black character in all ways before ever thinking this is something you should do. In fact, if you're that thirsty to use this word, you have some other things you need to consider.

In the historical context, just watch yourself. If you’re gonna drop that word, you need to be damn well-researched on every other aspect of Black life and oppression in whatever era you’re writing. Just dropping this word to say “life is racist” shows a lazy lack of understanding of antiblackness. You don’t even have to drop the whole word. A “ni-” at the end of the sentence is enough for me to know exactly where we’re going! But if you not gone do the rest of the work… you know what they say about stupid games.

The Fundamental Disrespect

If you watched the prior videos (and you should have) and paid attention up to this point, you have already heard the struggles that both AAVE as a dialect and those that speak it go through.

There’s a societal connotation of stupidity, aggression, and silliness behind the way I speak. None of those things are true, and it’s hard to be told that even the way you communicate with others is bad.

But the other reason it’s so hard is because we spend our lives hearing that those are the connotations… when WE speak it. It is not the language- it’s ME that makes it so! And that gets into the other part of this lesson, something that AAVE is oft victim to.

This part is a little scarier for me to write, because people don’t like it when you talk about Black Americans as a separate entity from the US of A as it is known. I’m gonna put on my political hat for a second, but I promise this ties into my overall point so stick with me!

Stolen Cultural Hegemony

The reality is that the United States of America has forced a cultural hegemony upon the planet (amongst other forms). Yes. That is due to the capitalism, colonialism, imperialism and damn near just about every other -ism at the US government and military’s disposal. I am not saying that part somehow changes, of course not. That’s just facts. There are people far smarter than I (Edward Said, take the wheel) who could explain this far better. But I’m only here to explain this one point.

What DOESN’T get acknowledged is how much of what is deemed American pop culture across the world is both 1) stolen 2) Black culture! We do not have equivalent political power despite what our hypervisibility would suggest, but our social currency is raw diamond- so naturally, it has to be plundered! The white American dollar might mean far more than my life, but it’ll pay for my creations- even more so when I’m not involved!

The issue is that if your society says that I am less than, how can you justify how you covet everything I create? If I’m supposed to be so much less than you, why do you seek my language, my fashion, my music, my body? Why do you feel entitled to my creation, but you think you should have it… Without me?

Sit on that one for a second!

Appropriation of AAVE

Let's refer back to that chart at the beginning. How many of these have you seen or even used before? How long did it take for you to know it was AAVE? Don’t get me started on the influence of AAVE in queer spaces!

Of course I’m going to get started. Ballroom culture, created by Black and Latino people in New York City in the 80s (Paris is Burning, anyone?), has spawned so much popular “gay” lingo, and it’s not even just “gay”- it’s of color! Black English in particular is the source of many of the words that queer people use now in casual conversation, brought into the ballrooms, normalized, and then proliferated with other communities.

I can always tell when a new phrase from AAVE has hit nonblack audiences because it’ll suddenly be in every sentence I see, often butchered. Remember that historical context- of having to speak in code. Have you ever considered why AAVE is always evolving? Why we have to find new ways to communicate with each other? Have you considered that when people are constantly taking and misplacing your words, they may lose meaning or value, and so you have to come up with something else?

Appropriation of Black Music

Jazz, swing, the blues, disco, rock and roll, pop, even rap and hiphop have all been subject to appropriation- intentional or not. Far more intentional than you might want to believe. And it all comes back to money!

White audiences in the 1900s loved Black music- as long as they didn’t know Black people were singing it! Often, songs would be completely lifted and given to white bands to re-record. When Frankie Lymon first came on stage to perform, some of the audience was stunned! Even you know Itty Bitty Pretty One!

A more modern-day example: not to pick on the K-Poppies, but unfortunately it’s a low hanging branch example.

What K-Pop groups are doing now is heavily influenced what Black pop, rap, and R&B artists were doing from the late 90s to this very day. Part of the reason I enjoy K-Pop is because it reminds me of the stuff I used to listen to growing up. How many times have you heard someone think a Korean rapper in a K-Pop group is “fine”, but “don’t like” rap otherwise? Or will listen to K-Pop groups, but have very few to no one Black of the same sound on their playlists?

Examples:

Rover by Kai (2023) vs Swalla by Jason Derulo (2017)- Idk how popular Kai is outside of EXO, but I do know that some influence was had. And I like the song, btw! I prefer the music video! It’s just not the first time it’s been done!

Sweet Juice by Purple Kiss (2023) vs Say It Right by Nelly Furtado on a Timbaland beat (2006)

Taemin and Michael Jackson, period. Taemin having a song called The Rizzness. How did ‘rizz’ get to him? How did he know? More relevantly, how did the people who wrote his music know? How did something that started with Black people in Baltimore get all the way to Taemin in South Korea without influence?

I’ll use another example, so it doesn’t feel like I’m picking on K-Pop. I’m currently listening to CĂN NHÀ TRANH MÁI LÁ (Vietnamese, if you couldn’t tell) and as much of a banger as it is, with its own amazing cultural spin on the delivery… it is CLEARLY influenced by Black American rap. He nicknamed himself Vietgunna. Yall.

A non-American musical example: Afrobeats has taken the music industry by storm… How many of those people who enjoy an afrobeat from a nonblack artist will enjoy it from Wizkid or TEMS?

Those polls, where they ask how many Black artists you listen to… try paying attention to see just how much of your music takes inspiration from Black creators, but there’s a non-equivalent amount of Black artists that you support!

Political Bastardization of Powerful Black Colloquialisms

The appropriation of Black English isn’t always for entertainment. Sometimes, it’s a purposeful, malicious tactic to demean the words, and therefore the intent behind them.

“Woke”

“Michael Harriot, columnist at TheGrio and author of the upcoming book, Black AF History: The Unwhitewashed Story of America, explains that this kind of insidious takeover and flipping of Black vernacular to anti-Black pejorative has numerous parallels in America’s past and runs all the way up to present day. “When you look at the long arc of history and America’s reaction to the request for Black liberation – every time Black people try to use a phrase or coin a phrase that symbolizes our desire for liberation, it will eventually become a cuss word to white people,” Harriot says in an interview with [Legal Defense Fund]. It’s perhaps this very context — Black people’s awareness of their history and their power to resist injustice — that made woke so ripe for the pernicious mutation it has now undergone. Indeed, the forced transformation of the colloquialism echoes how countless other Black ideas and intellectual contributions have been maligned. “When people during the civil rights movement began saying ‘Black power,’ all of a sudden it became a term that people equated with communism and anti-white sentiment — and then it eventually gave birth to ‘white power,’” Harriot tells LDF. “The ‘1619 Project’ [which centers the ramifications of slavery and the contributions of Black people in American history] has become an insult. ‘Black Lives Matter’ became an ‘anti-white sentiment’ that was banned in school and spawned ‘all lives matter’ and ‘blue lives matter.’”

#SayHerName

This discourse is happening again, it happens like every six months on here, and it’s one of the things on here that fills me with a hatred that I struggle with every single time. It is hard, I literally feel that hatred in the pit of my chest right now as I type this.

Kimberle Crenshaw (Black woman and the originator of the legal term ‘intersectionality’), the Center for Intersectionality and Social Policy Studies, and African American Policy Forum coined the hashtag in 2014. TWENTY FOURTEEN.

It was meant to highlight the violent deaths of Black women and girls at the hands of police, which happens at a high rate like Black men and boys, but often goes far less acknowledged. By appropriating the hashtag, you are actively choosing to speak over the very names and deaths of Black women and girls we don’t know, because we are NOT SAYING THEM, and therefore are allowing those deaths to continue as though they do not matter.

I’m going to stop before I get more upset. But know what violence you’re contributing to in your negligence.

How to Avoid Cultural Appropriation while Showing Appreciation

Everything is obviously not appropriation. It is possible for people to appreciate, replicate, and take influence without being disrespectful! It happens! And because it is possible, is why it’s so infuriating that it does not.

It’s frustrating that when something is on me, it’s ghetto, ugly, ignorant. But when it’s on the right stick thin pale girl, it’s chic, it’s fashionable, it’s new. So if it’s not the language, and it’s not the fashion or music you don’t like… It must be… Me. I am somehow not worthy of respect for the very culture I create.

Can you imagine being told that? That you are not worthy of being… you?

If you are worried about cultural appropriation, both in your writing and in your life, the easiest way to avoid that is to:

1) acknowledge and support the culture that created what you’re saying or doing and

2) actually treat them like human beings instead of zoo animals or a species to study. Show respect! It’s not hard!

This is my body, my language, my creation. It’s not just to entertain you! It’s my life! I talk like this because this is how I speak, not because I want to get Tiktok cool points. If I’m around people who treat the way I talk like childish babble, it makes me feel stupid and disrespected. We can see that, and we can read it in your writing.

And yes, you may be saying “well none of that is unique to AAVE, that’s how other languages work!” Okay then go speak those languages then lmao. But if you’re absolutely determined to understand and utilize mine, then you need to treat it with respect and not like the Gen Z slang babble (or worse- the threat) y’all treat it as. It’s a form of antiblackness that is so normalized that we don’t even think about it… but now that you’ve read this lesson, you can start! You can start taking the time to actively dedicate a thought to what you’re saying and doing and where it came from. You can take the time to notice when something isn’t right- and maybe even choose to speak up, because it’s the thought that counts, but the action that delivers.

[slowcatsisland]

Hey, i love your stories, can you do how the warlords (specifically Mihawk, Jinbei, and Crocodile) would react to finding out the reader is a former slave, but the reader is also a warlord themself, it can be platonic or romantic, I don't mind either way.

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Warlords; Involved With A Warlord That’s A Former Slave

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A/N: established romantic relationship (well as romantic as u can get with some of these guys..) Takes place before the Warlord system was abolished. I had a hard time writing this without it sounding too ooc so if u have a different thought abt how some of these warlords would react pls comment and lemme know! I was gonna include Blackbeard but lowkey idek how he’s react I don’t understand him that well and I have free will to not write abt that lil hoe

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Dracule Mihawk: Mihawk was approached by you initially before the two of you became involved with each other. Your abilities and admirable Haki gained you some respect from Mihawk. Particularly your fighting style was something that stood out to him, and he was interested to understand your potential more throughly.

Mihawk’s stoicism and general lack of public presence fit your needs well. Due to Mihawk’s perceptive nature, I’d wager he had suspicions that something happened between you and the World Government because of your obvious aversion to them. Though, lots of people don’t like the World Government, especially pirates so I don’t see him bringing it up unless he was too curious.

Assuming you keep the slave branding covered, Mihawk would only ever see it if you willingly present it to him. I don’t really think that the dynamic between you two will change once he knows. He would probably be more accommodating for you at Muggy Kingdom and understands your character better than he did previously. He himself has his own issues with the World Government and for his partner to be a victim of the conditions that they set up definitely increases his loathing of the world government.

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Bartholomew Kuma: (small disclaimer I’m not too familiar with Kuma’s character either..) Kuma was probably hesitant to become involved with you due to his own enslavement to the World Government both previously and in terms of being a pacifista cyborg as well as being a revolutionary member. Though through small, private interactions over the course of numerous years the two of you had developed a bond.

Once Kuma put his trust in you and knew that while you were a Warlord and pirate; you were also a rare, good person, he was willing to risk confiding in you. He didn’t tell you everything, just a little bit about himself so you were aware of his mixed life. It prompted you to reveal your own checkered past and sorta showed him how similar people become after being affected by the World Government.

You had told him about your previous status as a slave. I feel like Kuma would be disheartened to hear about another’s enslavement, but he would also be able to empathize with you more than most anyone else in the world (as well as he can for a cyborg..) At most I feel like he can only offer you words and wouldn’t be able to take any action for you. Though his tender empathy, even at a distance, is comforting to you.

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Donxuiquote Doflamingo: (literally the worst reaction you could ever hope for. I’m sorry but to me I feel like telling him this is the equivalent to saying that you have a D middle initial in your name. He WILL tweak I promise)

Your relationship with Doflamingo is akin to a give and take rather than an actual companionship. Though there might be what he thinks is love present on his side, it only ever harms you and even others at times. His love is more reflective of a child roughly playing with his favorite toy no matter how tattered it gets. You’re his favorite yes, but for how long? When will he notice the cracks in your paint coating? Or the chipped pieces of your frame?

He was attracted to your abilities and wanted to form an alliance. This alliance did benefit your crew, and granted you more political influence in the world. (Though, I feel like Doflamingo would try to make it physical between the two of you.)

Doflamingo figuring out that you were a former slave wasn’t intended by you. You had wanted to keep that a secret from him as long as you could. You didn’t know how he would react, but you didn’t think it would be good. And it wasn’t good, when he saw the burn seared into your back. The whole world stopped for a moment, nothing heard except your shaky breaths. I feel like this would go either two ways.

Doflamingo would be disgusted. He would feel cheated. How dare you be branded by something other than him, is what he would ask himself. He used to own slaves. He technically still does with his citizens of Dressrosa. He knows their lack of worth, their use to him and his mind would clash that version of inferiority with you instantly. To him, you were less than before but now you’re just a fake pretending to be human and pretending to be stronger than you really are. I feel like his reaction would be violent towards you and he would call off the progression of your alliance immediately.

The other way I see it going (and it’s kinda sick in my mind) is that Doflamingo would feel a new type of ownership over you. He used to authorize people to get that branding on your back. He’d feel like you were reminiscent of his past and his former birth right. I feel like he might try to coax you into becoming a slave for him under the pretense of sympathy and understanding. This would be him playing the long game, trying to break you down enough mentally for you to be dependent on him and he would be able to use you however he wanted. He would also use this information against you too, threatening to reveal it to the public or the government officials. Even worse, the celestial dragons so they could come and take you back.

Disgusting bird this one is

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Hancock Boa: (lowkey I feel like she’s incapable of falling for someone other than Luffy presently but we can ignore that) Boa would only ever try to pursuit a relationship if you had treated her the same way Luffy treated her. If you had shown her a lack of lust and instead genuine affection or kindness, she would be down so bad.

One big milestone in the development of your relationship with Boa was her revealing her own personal enslavement. She told you in desperation of a connection of trust and to try to prove that she wasn’t worthy of you. She was utterly shocked when you turned around and bared your own identical marking to her.

It would cause the two of you to have an intimate bond beyond anything sexual. You validated her and her sisters’ worth and existence. You also showed her that the mark didn’t have to be something to fear and that she could rely on you. I think she would fall in love with you like how she did with Luffy and would defy the World Government not just for herself and her empire anymore, but for you as well.

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Jimbei: I feel like Jimbei would pursue someone with a clear moral scale and have ideals that align with him. (Though he’d probably prefer fishmen so like if you’re human he might not be looking at you like that..) You were an honorable pirate and someone that Jimbei was able to communicate with beyond Warlord meetings. The Sun Pirates would most likely notice the chances of an alliance forming between them and your crew given the praises Jimbei has given you.

It was on an island of neutral ground for the two of you, enjoying the isolation and conversing with one another when it happened. You told Jimbei of your previous enslavement and showed him your branding. It wasn’t really prompted, maybe you wished for Jimbei to talk of the important history of the Sun Pirates and Fisher Tiger. The slavery of fishmen was woven between the threads of the creation of the Sun Pirates. It was a safe space, Jimbei makes you feel safe, so once Jimbei was done talking, you opened up.

Jimbei would feel sympathy for your mark and your story. But he’s also someone who would be quick to acknowledge your strength to overcome it and persevere to the status of Warlord of your own pirate crew. Jimbei ran a hand over the mark softly before thinking of something. He offered to give you the Sun Pirates’ marking over it.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Trafalgar Law: Law wouldn’t be looking for a relationship until possibly after he is able to complete his goal of avenging Corazon by defeating Doflamingo. Plus you were a warlord with your own crew, so the trust he gave you was scarce if he gave you any at all.

Though, if he did align with your pirate crew and you helped him in his goal he’d have a considerable amount of trust and loyalty towards you for the duration of the alliance. Through this, the two of you gradually became a little closer to each other, divulging in stories of the past and history in the small free time you had. Though you weren’t together and neither of you would mention the kindles of what could perhaps be something more between the two of you.

One late night, you let it slip that you were a former slave. Law paused momentarily before acting unaffected. A silence fell over you two for a couple moments before he mentioned that you were free now. To which you responded with a smile. It wasn’t brought up again, and your alliance ended after the events of Dressrosa.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Gecko Moria: (guys I don’t like him) Hm. I feel like he would approach you first. Especially in his youth because he was more of a confident pirate before he faced off with Kaido. He had taken a liking to your appearance and your abilities were well suited for tasks in his opinion. I feel like he would propose an alliance with an ultimate goal of obtaining your power for his motives.

I thinks relationship with him would be another one based on mutual contentment, you scratch his big back, he scratches yours. Though, over time I think he would become loyal to you and care for you of his own will, not for the sake of the alliance.

He found out about your enslavement through one of his nosy underlings, maybe Perona. It would reason that you and her were at least acquaintances. I don’t think this would change much for Moria, though he might try to express sympathy for you. Perhaps he might bring it up in hopes you talk about your past to him so he can know more about you and what you’ve endured. He is caring to those who he considers family, and he would be willing to consider you that.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Crocodile: Crocodile was most likely approached by you. Though being the business man that he is, the only form of entanglement he would engage in would be through a mutual alliance of some sort.

Time may change the context of your alliance with him, and your relationship could grow into something that loosely resembles a carrying couple. Yet while Crocodile has his own secrets you aren’t privy to, he doesn’t enjoy you hiding ones from him, especially if it affects business.

You told him you would tell him a secret if he told you what happened to his hand. It was the amount of whiskey you had earlier in the evening talking, but Crocodile always became rather amused with your drunken ramblings. He made you go first.

He was rather surprised when you told him that you used to be a slave. You had covered your past so well. You were always dressed luxuriously, you surrounded yourself and your crew with powerful people, and you had this air of unassailable confidence that he always wanted to control. It just didn’t fit you, being a slave. When he asked about the marking, you replied that you got surgery to remove it and replace the skin graft of the area it was covering. He could tell you hated that part of your past, and hated the World Government and Celestial Dragons even more. You told him you would wring his neck if he publicized it. Puffing his cigar in your face, he mused before taking a deep sigh and told you about the story of his hand.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Kinda a long one, I really had to think abt this one but it was fun to write

Mwah 😽

[kxnkprxncess]

Edging myself to the thought of my Husband training me to be a perfect housewife. I cook, I clean, I bend over on command, I swallow. I had been so dumb before I met Him. I could barely cook eggs. I was awful with money- I fell for the rent scheme, paying money to live alone when I could live with a good Man for free. The apartment I lived in wasn’t even clean. I had thought having a job was more important than keeping a home. My Husband saved me, taking me in and buying me cooking classes, managing my finances, and showing me that my cluttered apartment meant a cluttered mind, a clear home meant a clear mind.

He begins showing His friends how good a wife I am. Inviting them over for the game and having me keep their laps warm while they used my tits as stress balls. When His team wins they get to fuck me to celebrate, and when His team loses they take their anger out on me.

One of His friend’s begins coming over more often. I start expecting him almost nightly when preparing dinner and soon even for dessert where I now start sucking them both of. First separately, then together.

The first time I see my Husband kiss him my jaw drops open and their cocks fall out of my mouth. My Husband slaps me across the face saying He didn’t tell me to stop. They cum at the same time and I choke on their huge loads.

My Husband has me clean up and sit down at the kitchen table. He tells me that I’m such a good wife I deserve two Men in my life. And since I’m only a woman, He needs someone in the home he can actually relate to, especially when the children come around.

This shocks me. We had been against having kids before I became a housewife, so much so my Husband had a vasectomy. Now, after learning the error of my ways, I constantly feel barren and useless. He looks to my new husband with a smile. We’re gonna make you a mama, he says. I cry with joy. Can we start now?

My Husband has me get down on my hands and knees and pull my dress up. He positions Paul behind me, fingering my baby hole to get me wet for my new husband. I’m positioned in front of a mirror and I watch Him get behind Paul. He fucks himself into Paul while Paul fucks into me. The idea of my Husband pumping a baby in me makes me wet and Paul whispers in my ear, I’m going to fuck you full of dozens of children. You’re going to be such a good mommy to me and His kids. You’re going to get so big you won’t fit in clothes and your tits will be so heavy and painful with milk he’ll stop taking you out in public. You’ll be used just for breeding and feeding our children.

He cums inside me but my Husband hadn’t finished yet so he is forced to ride out his orgasm still being fucked into me.

I become a house slave for my two husbands and they breed me daily so I will be pregnant and finally useful every chance I get.

[rip-quizilla]

Impossible to Hate You ~ Part 6

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!Reader

Summary: Thanksgiving, idiots in love, and unwelcome encounters in the parking lot.

Word Count: 4k

A/N: Content Warning! This chapter contains sexual harassment (grabbing at clothes, derogatory name calling).

Thank you so much @hellfire--cult for the adorable Converse divider🥹

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Part 6

Thanksgiving Day, 1983

Eddie had a lot of things to worry about today, but right now he was most worried about whether or not the mac & cheese he’d slaved over all morning would taste like shit. 

His sweaty hands clutched the dish towel-wrapped baking dish for dear life and mentally rolled through all of the ingredients he had read on that clipping from the Southern Living magazine he’d grabbed from the grocery store. It wasn’t as if he’d never cooked before- he could make a mean grilled cheese, and if something came in a box he hadn’t found a way to fuck it up yet. This time, however, he’d been a little out of his element. 

Wayne had been excited to finally have a use for the casserole dish that had been sitting in a cabinet unused for so long that Eddie hadn’t even known it existed. Currently, he sat relaxed in the drivers’ seat of his pickup smiling smug as hell even though Eddie had assured him multiple times that he was not about to meet Eddie’s girlfriend… just a friend. 

No matter how much Eddie tried to hammer that point into Wayne’s skull, however, he still smiled that stupid knowing grin every time your name came up in conversation, as if he knew something Eddie didn’t. 

“You seem nervous.” Wayne commented, keeping his eyes trained on the road ahead as he lazily turned the truck into your neighborhood. 

Eddie glared at the tin foil topped dish in his lap. “Well, I’ve never made this recipe before, I keep picturing everyone taking a bite and immediately spitting it into their napkins.”

Wayne snorted, shaking his head softly and guiding the steering wheel with one hand. “Son, it’s pasta and cheese. Pretty hard to mess that up too bad.” 

“Yeah, well…” Eddie harrumphed. “I’m sure I found a way somehow.”

Wayne smiled softly at his nephew’s smitten nerves, parking the pickup with a jerky stop at the curb of your house. “505, right? This is the one?”

“Yeah.” 

Watching smugly as Eddie stared out the window at your house, Wayne waited about four seconds before he asked, “Are you gonna get out of the car today, or…?”

Cue the sound of the car door opening and Eddie grumbling a sassy muttered retort of I’m going old man, calm down, or something along those lines. Wayne pretended not to catch it. 

You opened the door before Wayne and Eddie could even get to the door, and when Eddie’s eyes landed on you? His uncle could just tell. The smile that exploded on his nephew’s face was all it took.

“Oh here, let me take that-”

“No, no, it’s fine Ace, I got it.” Eddie reassured you, swooping the casserole dish away from your eager hands. He nodded in Wayne’s direction, directing you to do the same as he introduced the only family member of his that you’d heard of at all in your time as friends. “This is my Uncle Wayne.” 

Your eyes shone, welcoming and warm, and Wayne understood in an instant how you’d had such an effect on Eddie in less than a year. Since he’d started spending time with you, Eddie Munson had become the kind of young man who did his homework without being asked. He’d even gotten a job at the mall of all places and gave a portion of his earnings to his uncle to help with living expenses. 

None of the things Wayne had always loved about Eddie had gone away- the changes he’d seen in his nephew were all additions to a personality that he’d always known would take him far in life if he could just surround himself with those who brought out the best in him. People who saw that spark of Munson Magic and knew how to fan it.

Wayne could now confirm that you were one of those people.

He took your hand in his weathered and wrinkled one, pouring his approval of you into a firm and fatherly handshake. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, young lady.” He gestured to Eddie with a conspiratorial nod. “Nice to put a face to the name, all he does is talk about you.”

“Brrrrr, it’s cold out here!” Eddie interrupted his uncle with a hand on your back to steer you away from Wayne and into the house. “Are you cold? You look cold, we don’t need to stand out here yapping when you’re cold.” 

You smiled, following Eddie’s lead but tossing a look over your shoulder at Wayne like it was a shared secret. 

Eddie had already met your parents, so greetings were warm and familiar once the three of you had reached the foyer. Wayne was introduced to both your mom and dad before your mom noticed Eddie had brought an offering for the table.

“Edward Munson, if I’m about to find out you’re not only a shoe designer but also a cook, I might just have to extend a standing invitation for all future holidays!”

“Shoe designer?” Wayne raised an eyebrow. 

You chuckled, pointing your foot out for him to see your white (now turned a bit duller from wearing them every day) Chuck Taylors, completely covered in idle drawings from Eddie’s inability to sit still. 

Wayne gawked at the artwork on your shoes; he’d always known that Eddie was talented, but this was the first time in a long time that Wayne had really stopped and looked at his nephew’s art. The detail, the use of space and composition- it was clear that Eddie knew not only how to draw, but he had an eye for how to make his art look like it belonged on its canvas. Even otherworldly monsters- sea creatures, dragons, demonic ghouls and ghostly images- looked at home on your well-loved high tops. 

“You drew all this, Ed?”

Eddie smiled shyly, nudging your shoulder with his own. “Ah, they’re just doodles. This one over here figured out I pay better attention in class when I’m doing something with my hands. Helps me listen better.” Finally, his trademark grin reappeared, shyness replaced with snark. “Now I’m the one helping her in class.”

“All the times I’ve had to kick you so you don’t fall asleep in O’Donnell’s beg to differ.” You replied, rolling your eyes at him. This brought a good-natured ripple of laughter from everyone in the room. You all felt it- the ease with which familiarity settled in the air amongst you. Eddie felt it most of all, since he wasn’t quite accustomed to the particular familial feel of it. 

He might have been, once. But it’s been a while. 

A second later and your mom had whisked Eddie into the kitchen to set his dish down on a trivet and sent him into the living room with a steaming cup of wassail in one hand and a plate of appetizers in the other.

“There was enough food in there to feed an army,” Eddie said, bemused as he sat down next to you on the couch. “Does she know there are only five of us?” 

You toed off your shoes and let them fall to the ground before crossing your legs up on the green ottoman, fuzzied soft with wear from years of love. You leaned closer to Eddie, eyes fixed on his plate of goodies as you began to pick pieces of fruit and cheese for yourself. 

“Mom grew up with a big family,” you said, popping a juicy red grape into your mouth. “All the family recipes make enough for six at least. She could probably cut the recipes in half… but I think cooking all this food reminds her of home.” you smiled tenderly and shrugged. “We usually freeze the leftovers, but since you and your uncle are here I doubt we’ll even have to open a freezer bag. We’ll just send leftovers home with you!”

Eddie liked the sound of that. 

An hour or so passed before you all sat down to share your meal, and Eddie was amazed how quickly his nerves had dissipated in that time. The two of you sat cozied up on the couch, munching on fruit, cheese and deviled eggs. Your dad had offered Wayne a beer, and the two of them sat watching football in front of the TV until your mom gave the all-call for dinner. 

Everyone loaded up their plates, remarked on how good the food looked, thanked your mom for all of the hard work that went into today’s meal. This was quickly followed by a pointed thank you from your mother to Eddie for the “best mac ‘n cheese I’ve ever had” according to her. He was pretty sure she was just being nice, but he didn’t care. Her smile was still contagious- one of those ‘I love you no matter what’ mom smiles.

He’d forgotten about those.

He’d also forgotten what it was like to sit at a dining room table with more than three people. For a second, he’d been worried that you were all about to hold hands and pray, which wouldn’t have been ideal since all Eddie could remember about the dinner prayer was “bless us, oh Lord, for these thy gifts,” and he didn’t want to embarrass himself. 

But there wasn’t a prayer. This wasn’t a test he’d forgotten to study for, just a meal where Mom and Dad and Uncle were all happy he was here, happy each other were here. That was new. And when your dad asked Eddie how school was going, for once he had nothing but good things to report. He’d gotten a 95 on his last English test. For the first time since sophomore year, he wasn’t failing a single class. And when your dad said “Glad to hear you’re doing well, son.” Eddie felt you squeeze his thigh lightly, just above his knee. He saw Wayne smiling proudly out of the corner of his eye.

Eddie could get used to this. 

Conversation flowed easily in your family; no one felt the need to talk about the weather or ask arbitrary questions, and thankfully nobody decided that “we should go around the table and all say something we’re thankful for!”. There wasn’t a need for it. None of you needed to say it out loud to know you were all thankful for each other. For this. 

By the time dessert came around, Eddie started to think he might be dreaming. Apparently, you were the one always in charge of dessert in your household. And while he’d grown very acquainted with your chocolate chip cookies, he hadn’t been adequately prepared for your pecan pie. Or your chocolate & peanut butter sheet cake. Or the chocolate pudding/cool whip/cookie crumb whatever-it-was that you’d spooned onto his dessert plate. 

Could a person become delirious after consuming too much sugar? Eddie wasn’t sure if it was sugar that was causing him to start wondering what you’d look like making all these desserts in a kitchen that you both paid rent for, or if that was just him. It was probably the sugar.

As soon as Eddie was shoveling his last bite into his mouth, he was looking over to see if you had any left for him to mooch off of you. Your plate was empty- scraped clean, even- and then you were grabbing his empty plate and standing to take them into the kitchen. Eddie was about to pout when you looked at him knowingly and asked, “You want seconds? I’m getting seconds.”

It wasn’t the sugar. Eddie wanted to know what your signatures looked like together on a lease. And Eddie couldn’t believe it had taken him so long to finally admit to himself that he’d been nursing a crush on you since… when had it started? Eddie wasn’t sure. Somewhere between seventh grade history class and this very moment, he figured. 

He looked up at you from his seat, mouth still stuffed with pie crust and cool whip, and smiled when he noticed how pretty you looked in that sweater you were wearing. It was red- you wore red a lot, he realized. Had you always worn red this often?

You giggled, poking his cheek. “You look like a chipmunk when you smile like that.” 

His eyes followed you as you disappeared into the kitchen, and when Eddie caught a glimpse of the way Wayne was grinning at him? Well, his blush was a deeper shade of scarlet than your sweater.

The smile stayed, though. Even a punch to the jaw couldn’t knock that off Eddie’s face.

“I wanna take you out.” 

It had taken Eddie what felt like ages to finally ask you. You were both at school, and he had been thinking about it and thinking about it and ramping himself for weeks to just grow a pair and ask you. The question had sounded smoother in his head, but now he thought he sounded vaguely frightening- sharper and more desperate than he’d hoped.

You blanched, eyes wide and mouth open to a little “O” shape that made Eddie’s heart flutter. 

You were so cute. How had he ever ignored it?

You grinned a little, “Take me out like… assassination, take me out, or…?” 

“No,” Eddie shook his head, laughing nervously, “I mean like, out. To a place. Or multiple places, if you want.” He was jumpy, his hands switching from his pockets to the strap of his backpack, to his hair, to the fraying edges of the friendship bracelet you’d tied around his wrist in July. 

“So when you say take me out, you mean like… on a date?”

There it was. You’d said it, that word. Date. It was out in the open now. 

You’d put the ball in Eddie’s court, and he should be happy about it. This was how it was supposed to be, right? He needed to be a man, take control, take the lead. But unfortunately, it had taken the majority of his bravery just to initiate this conversation.

“Do you want it to be a date?”

Just like that, he passed the ball to you. Eddie cursed himself, waiting anxiously for your response, completely at your mercy.

You looked down at your shoes covered in his doodles, at the red plaid of your flannel that you wore because you’d bought it in hopes that if he started to associate you with his favorite color, he might like you more. Like you the way you liked him.

You couldn’t say the words either… couldn’t speak them into existence without fear of sounding too desperate, too eager. So instead, you nodded yes to your doodle covered shoes and smiled at the dragon he’d drawn on the left toe.

Eddie beamed- inwardly, of course. Couldn’t let you see exactly how happy he was that you felt the same as him- he needed to be calm, to be cool. Girls liked calm and cool.

 “Then it’s a date, Sweet Tart.” He ached to sling a triumphant arm over your shoulder, but shoved his sweating hands into his pockets instead. 

You snuck a glance at Eddie, your smile refusing to leave no matter how cool you were trying to appear. Be cool, don’t act too desperate, you chided yourself. 

“It’s a date.” you repeated, beaming up at him. “When were you thinking?”

“Well,” Eddie shrugged as you both came to a stop by your locker. “Finals are next week and then we’re off for Christmas break, so I should be able to pencil you in for next Saturday night.” He leaned against the adjacent lockers, a smug smile shining down on you. 

“Pencil me in, huh?” you giggled, replacing the notebooks and folders from your last class with your supplies for the next. “I’m flattered you could fit me into your busy schedule.”

“If there’s one thing my schedule always has room for, it’s you, Ace.” 

Swooning. That was the only word for what those words made you do. You weren’t sure if Eddie was aware of the effect he had on you, but you were pretty sure you wouldn’t be able to help it if he was. 

You were actually grateful for your final exams the following week- they gave you something to focus on other than your date with Eddie. Which meant that the moment you’d finished your last exam on Friday, that date was the only thing on your mind.

Your date with Eddie. The words alone were enough to make you smile to yourself. You’d been harboring this crush on him for the better part of this year, and now he asks you on a date? Was it possible that he had felt the same way all this time? 

“You sure you’re cool if I don’t stay for the whole session tonight?” you’d asked Eddie as he’d prepared for Hellfire that afternoon, triple-checking that he wasn’t upset. It had become a routine for the two of you- your weekly presence as the one and only audience member for Hellfire’s in-game escapades. 

“Cool as a cucumber, Ace.” Eddie had replied, “You took three exams today, for crying out loud. Go take a nap.” 

When you finally conceded, he’d walked you from the gameplay table to the door, even going so far as to hold it open for you. Then, to your surprise, he’d taken your hand in his and brought it to his lips. 

“Go rest up.” He’d muttered, low enough so only you could hear. Then he’d brushed his lips against the back of your fingers, and you’d just about melted on the spot. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow at 8, Sweet Tart.”

Your hand still tingled as you thought about the feel of his lips on your skin. Now, you wanted that feeling everywhere. 

Your body was on autopilot as you made your way through the school parking lot; slushed, muddy snow sat piled up in corners and untouched patches at the edges of the lot from the on-again off-again winter precipitation over the December weeks. Your booted feet marched on toward your car, your mind entirely occupied by thoughts of tomorrow. 

You were so distracted by that thought that you didn’t notice who was waiting for you, leaned up against the trunk of your car.

“Hey there, firecracker.” 

You stopped short when your eyes snapped up to see Alan, along with a couple guys from the basketball team. Their faces were pure predatory malice as Alan eyed you up and down. 

You paused a moment, your heart rate picking up a notch when you realized just how empty the parking lot was, given the hour that had passed since the final bell. 

“I have to get home.” you muttered, keeping your eyes on the driver side door and making your best attempt to brush past the jock leaned up directly beside it, but to no avail. 

“Not so fast, you little freak.” Alan stepped into your path, a cruel smile creasing his freckled face. “We just wanted to chat!”

“You,” your voice betrayed every ounce of disbelief that you felt looking up at the meathead blocking your path to your own vehicle. “-want to chat. With me?”

“I know, I know, you’re flattered-”

“I’m not.” 

“Well you should be.” Alan peered down at you with frigid eyes. “Lord knows no guy will ever want to be seen with you now that the Freak’s got his claws in you.” 

You felt a surge of indignant fire seep into your gaze. “Piss off, asshole.” You attempted to shove past him, but Alan took a step toward you, throwing off your balance. You had to grab the bumper of the car beside you to keep from falling over, clutching at the books in your arms to avoid dropping them onto the icy pavement below. 

“I even heard he branded you.” Alan’s hot breath sent an unwelcome shiver over your skin. “Sherrie said she saw you in the locker room with… some kind of symbol… on your upper thigh, I believe?”

A biting breeze whooshed past you, but you didn’t feel it- your body had already gone ice cold. 

“Sherrie’s lying.”

“You know, I don’t think she is.” Alan’s hands crept closer toward you, ghosting fingertips across the fabric of your skirt. “But if you want to prove it to us…”

You felt your stomach drop when one of Alan’s friends stepped behind you, boxing you in. They were like vultures- to them, you were already down for the count. Ready to be picked at and preyed upon.

Slapping Alan’s hand away, you attempted once again to squeeze past him and his goons, anxious for the safety of your driver’s seat and a locked door between you and them. Unfortunately, Alan had other plans. 

“Come on,” he crooned, “girls don’t get tattoos unless they want people to see them. Go ahead and show us.”

“Go. Away.” you gritted through your teeth. 

“The Freak’s seen it, hasn't he?” Alan pressed, his hand grasping the fabric of your skirt in his fist. “What, you’ll slut yourself out for him, but not us?”

“What the fuck are you dickheads doing?” 

You’d never been so thankful to hear Robin’s voice in your life. 

Alan sneered at the unfamiliar sophomore, subtly letting go of your skirt. “Who the hell are you?” 

Robin marched up to the boy standing behind you, powering her glare with just enough ferocity that he actually moved aside. Grabbing your shoulders, Robin pulled you a good five feet from Alan and looked you square in the eye. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, pulling your car keys from the pocket of your backpack. You were anxious for something tangible to fidget with, something to ground you in where you stood, away from Alan and his wandering hands.

Once she was sure you were alright, Robin turned the full force of her fury on the boys that stood around your car. 

“Mr. Dunne was right behind me on his way out here, so unless you want me to tell him that I just found you groping a female student, I suggest you scram.” 

You saw Alan weighing his options for a moment, but eventually he stuck his hands in the pockets of his letter jacket and- thankfully- took his leave. 

“Whatever, freaks.” he muttered, strolling away like a brat who had grown up believing himself to be invincible in a system that agreed with him.  

It wasn’t until the two of you were both sitting in your car and safe behind locked doors that you finally let out the breath you’d evidently been holding. “Fuck him.” you huffed. “Fuck. Him.”

“Fuck him.” Robin agreed with an emphatic nod of her head. “Has he ever even talked to you before? That seemed… super random, honestly, I’ve never even seen him look in your direction.” 

“I may have picked a fight with him after I heard him call Eddie and I freaks in class not too long ago.” you winced, remembering how brazen you’d been that day… you’d been so bold, so fearless, but that girl was nowhere to be seen today. Instead, you’d frozen like a cornered fox surrounded by hounds. It made you feel so small, you thought you might be sick. You hated feeling this way.

“Apparently,” you continued, “his girlfriend saw my tattoo in the locker room. He said he wanted to see it for himself.” 

Robin had been the first person- and only person- you’d shown your little bat to after Halloween. She’d been pretty impressed… after she’d stopped worrying about it getting infected, of course. 

“First- ew. Gross.” Robin grimaced. “Second- are you telling me you just change in the locker room with that thing out in the open?” 

“I’m usually super careful about keeping it hidden!” you argued, “But it is a possibility that I might have been a little rushed to get to my next class at some point… I guess I wasn’t careful enough.”

A short silence settled while you mentally kicked yourself. I should have known this would happen. How could I be so careless? 

“Well,” Robin started, suddenly chipper. You knew this tone; she was about to try and cheer you up. Good luck, Rob. 

“You’re going to drive me to your house and then we’re baking cookies and watching whatever movie you want.” 

While you were still far from what you would consider over what just happened, your interest was definitely piqued. “Whatever movie I want?” you countered. 

Robin sighed. “I know what you’re about to ask, and yes, we can watch The Dark Crystal.”

The beginnings of a smile stretched across your face. “And you won’t call any of the puppets creepy at any point?”

“Let’s not go that far.” she deadpanned. “I will watch it, I will eat cookies, and I will not suggest that we turn it off before the movie is over. This is my final offer.”

For Robin, that was a pretty good deal. Your beginnings of a grin had graduated to a full-on smile as you took her hand and gave it a grateful squeeze. “You’re a good friend.”

She returned your smile, and squeezed your hand back before letting go to buckle her seatbelt. “I’m a great friend. Now start driving, I’m hungry and we’re stopping for french fries.”

Part 7

Taglist: @rustboxstarr, @josephquinnsfreckles, @rozxartaki, @sheneedsrocknroll92, @melodymishahiddlestan , @sadlittlesquish, @clarafornerlyknownasclaire-blog , @stylesxmunson , @fishwithtitz , @elvendria , @carrotbunnies21 , @the-unforgivenn , @munson-blurbs, @writinginthetwilight, @ghost-proofbaby , @hellfire--cult

I added a few people to the taglist who’ve shown an interest in the series or have been my sounding boards during the writing process for this story. Hope y’all don’t mind!😊❤️

[watarfallar]

*gay braincell tossing*

Scar: Do you have any idea what you’re doing? Grian: Why start now?

Grian: I love you. Scar: I love me too.

Grian: I literally cannot believe I let you talk me into this. Scar: I literally said “I have an idea,” and you just went along with it without question.

Scar: Snow got me feeling some type of way. Grian: That's hypothermia.  Scar: Damn, the paramedics told me it was the magic of Christmas.

Grian: Surgery is basically just stabbing someone to life. Scar: Please never become a surgeon.

Scar: *gets set on fire and screams in agony* Scar: Nah, I’m just kidding. Fire does nothing to me.

Scar: Damn, the power went out. Grian: Don’t worry, I got this. Grian: *stomps foot* Scar: What-? Grian: *Sketchers light up*

Grian: We either die free, or die trying! Scar: Are those the only choices?

Scar: I’m totally useless. Grian: You’re not totally useless. Grian: You can be used as a bad example.

Scar: Fellas, I gotta know for science. Is the opposite of red green or blue? Grian: Technically a mix of green and blue? Scar: So blurple. Grian: That's implying you're mixing blue and purple. Scar: Would you rather have fucking bleen? MOTHERFUCKING GRUE? Grian: You were confusing before but now I'm scared.

Scar: Why is it so hard for you to believe me?! Grian: ... Scar: Oh, right. The lying.

Grian: You’re not jealous, are you? Scar: No! Grian: Good, ‘cause I consider my fake relationship with you a lot more meaningful.

Scar: And what did we learn, Grian? Grian: Tackling someone isn’t the correct response to being asked a simple question.

Scar: You know, it’s fine to admit you were wrong. Grian: *Sipping their drink after accidentally adding salt* I just like the way it tastes.

Scar: You are a solid 11/10. Grian: Aw, thank- Scar: Which is 1.1 because you look like shit.

Scar: And have you learnt anything this Christmas, Grian? Grian: …Not really. Scar: Nothing? Grian: Tell you one thing I have learnt—Christmas; ultimately, commercial holiday. Who's the real winner at Christmas? Amazon. they have drones now! Tiny little dystopian slaves delivering iPads and headphones. I ordered a toaster; It was on the doorstep five hours later! Do we need that? It was 4.99! For a toaster! I mean, someone's being exploited there.

Grian: Kill him. Scar: This is the kind of quality advice I look for.

Scar: There are no friends when playing board games. I am here to win.

Grian, texting: Scar, will you please go to sleep? Scar, texting back: What makes you think you didn’t just wake me up? Grian, yelling: I CAN HEAR YOU CLAPPING TO THE FRIENDS THEME EVERY TWENTY MINUTES SHUT THE FUCK UP AND GO THE FUCK TO SLEEP! Grian, texting: Just a hunch :) You goin’ to sleep soon? Scar, texting: I’m trying Grian, yelling again: TRY HARDER I HAVE A 5:45 AM MEETING TOMORROW BITCH Grian, texting: Okay, don’t stay up too late or you’ll be cranky :)

Scar: I’m a masochist, not a loser.

Scar: Wow, that was quick thinking on that phony sacrifice stuff. Grian: Oh, that was all real. Scar: Wait, you were trying to help them kill us?! Grian: If I’m gonna be sacrificed, I’m gonna do it right.

Grian: *spins around in chair ominously* I’ve been expecting y- *chair continues to spin* shit *tries to stop spinning* shit *tries to grab a table to stop spinning* sHIT *falls out of chair*

Grian: I’m not stupid, you know. Scar: Well, you’re doing a really good impression of it!

Scar: Why do you think I don’t like you? I do. I would kill for you. Scar: Ask me to kill for you. Grian: ...First of all, calm down-

Scar: Grian, you’ve tried 37 times and you’ve failed every time. Give it a break. Grian: DO I HEAR “FIRST TRY PART 38?”

Grian: I know how this must look but I can assure you we have a perfectly logical explanation. Scar: Yeah! We’re cowards!

Scar: *holds a gun out to Grian* Grian: I-I don't believe in guns. Scar: Well, trust me, they're very real. Now take it.

Scar: I owe you one. Grian: That’s ok. You can just date me and we’ll call it even.

Grian: I hate you with every inch of my body! Scar: That’s not a lot of inches.

Scar, to Grian: You drink too much, swear too much, and your morals are highly questionable. Grian: … Scar: You are everything I’ve ever wanted in a best friend.

Scar: I need a long word. Grian: T-rex but the long one.

Grian: I see the red flags, I acknowledge that they're there, and then I completely ignore them.

Grian: You know you've made it when you see your picture everywhere you go. Scar: Those are wanted posters!

[luffyvace]

Hey there brook! I hope u having a nice day! Can I ask for a luffy x heroic fem reader headcanon? by heroic I mean that she completely dedicated her life to help and save ppl and that her purpose in life, she's strong and seems cold but when u get to know her she has empathy more than anyone else, I feel like this is the perfect character that luffy would fall in love with, pure kindness hiding behind a tough facade, she doesn't even like being called a hero, yet she is willing to do anything for those in need, slaves, poor villages, she goes against anything unjust without any fear, cause thats her purpose in life (sorry if that was too long 💀)

Hi anon <33 (it makes me so happy that someone finally addressed me as that💗)

today was a very chill day 😊 thank you! How’s yours?

Reader sounds so genuine with such a good background for a op character!!

(Don’t worry it’s not too long—I love to read:3)

Ngl luffy subconsciously sees a little bit of himself in you!!

like your hearts are so similar—gold!

of course he doesn’t directly think that way- but he feels the connection!

which is through helping!

you two never turn your backs on those who have never wronged you

its not even about if they’re on your side or not, as long as they haven’t wrong you? and they need help?

the both of you are on it 🤜🤛👍

you wanting to save others becomes admirable to more than just him, to all of the straw hats—chopper and usopp especially!

I’m gonna go ahead and say it here and now you remind both Jinbe and luffy of whitebeard and fishman island type thing

LIKE THAT’S HOW IT IS!!

Y/n is just her tbh 🤷‍♀️

and if the ops don’t like that? 🤨

🤜💥

how you like that? >:)

your strength may or may not be hereditary but either way if you don’t continue training or working out your gonna loose that strength eventually

which shows just how hard you train everyday!!

bro works harder than zoro 🗿

and we all know he don’t sleep on workin out

so y/n is a gorilla the og

its no wonder you be cookin the ops like breakfast👩‍🍳👍

this is literally turning into a rant about me being (name)’s biggest fan ok let’s move on

luffy saw you cold exterior and was like

😍😍😘🥰😘💍💋💋💋

LOLOLOL no but fr he looked straight past that

he always does- he ignored law’s and zoro’s why wouldn’t he with you-

and once he sees your true kindness???

Locked in like a booty hole 🔗

(ANYWAY I HAD TO🧍‍♀️)

yeah he pretty much busts right through that

he pretty much instantly demands you already are is nakama after that

Your empathy is what really swoops him off his feet tho

like luffy has a good sense of empathy so much so he can hear the voice of all things

and you probably can too! It’s highly likely!

(y/n could have her own anime at this point 🤷‍♀️😚)

But seriously the way he can just feel the way you long for others when they’re in pain just gets him right at the heartstrings you know?! 🥺❤️‍🩹

you comfort them so assuredly and keep your promise to win every time !!

luffy would admire himself more than he would know if he realized how alike the two of you are

tbh you probably admire luffy!!

like it’s a mutual thing, where you pretty much don’t see your own coolness you only see the other’s

so you admire each other unaware that your the same 😂💗

he absolutely adores and admires that empathetic part of you thoo!

he loves how your kind and tough

he wholeheartedly believes the strong should protect the weak, cuz that’s what a man does.

especially with nakama.

so he definitely understands your need to protect those who can’t do it for themselves

there are many times he can recall where he had to rely on others

so he loves that your the one who does that for people

and you don’t do it for the money or fame!

you don’t even view yourself as the hero and savior that bystanders see you as!

that’s so cool to him!

you background/past might’ve caused it! Like maybe you had no superhero! So you decided to become one!

he kinda looks up to you in a way 🤩

as someone who has also helped slaves and the poor he completely understands where you come from in your kindness

and it’s even cooler that you charge head on into battle for others without a second thought

that’s just how tough you are ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ

not an ounce of fear in your eyes as you walk up to someone 20x the size of you to simply get back the bread they stole from a poor little child

LIKE HOW COOL IS THAT?! 💥💥

your a super hero!! Dundun duh-duuuuuun!!

🦸‍♀️‼️🤩

you have a goal just like him!! He wants to be the king of pirates and you wanna help others!

With the type of pirate he is?, those things go hand in hand 🤝

”STRAW HAT LUFFY AND PIRATE HERO (NAME) IS HERE!! RUN AWAY!!”

says the pirates who know they’ve done wrong doing!! ��

also excuse (name)’s lame pirate alias i couldn’t think of one 😊💖

(Name) is so cool 😎 I admire her 💓

hope you enjoyed your hcs anon!! *super heroes away🦸‍♀️🚀*

[murfpersonalblog]

I don’t really interact with the fandom very often due to the racism that’s portrayed, but thank you for posting this because you just put into words something that I’ve been struggling to articulate regarding how Louis is perceived and treated by the fandom. Recently, some white woman on TikTok posted some “analysis” of sorts about Louis and Claudia and basically she came to the conclusion that if Claudia was not turned by Lestat, that if she survived as a human and grew older, eventually she would’ve turned out to become one of Louis’ girls/prostitutes because according to this creator, Louis has no regard for women and girls and only sees them as commodities. I wish I could find that TikTok for you, but I pressed “Not Interested” so quickly after I heard that. She phrased it like “if Claudia survived as a human, how long would it be until she would become one of Louis’ girls?”

Something about that just made me so deeply uncomfortable. It really opened my eyes up to how both Louis and Claudia as the leading black characters are perceived by the white fandom. It sort of is a reflection of how they see us as black people in real life too, but we won’t get into that lol.

Because why is THAT the first thing that comes to mind when wondering about what Claudia hypothetically could’ve been if she had the chance to grow up? She could be a wife, a mother, anything else and THAT is where their minds go? And why is Louis the only character that has his past held against him by the fandom? There is so much grace given to Lestat and Armand, but none to Louis.

I’m not saying that Louis is perfect and that he has no faults, but yeah. Thank you for making that post because it really articulated what I’ve been feeling and trying to say.

@autumn-slaves Thank you so much for sending me this! ❤️ I'm so glad that you like my metas, and that my long-winded tirades are actually articulating people's thoughts about IWTV, AMC!Louis, and receptions by this wild AF fandom.

Recently, some white woman on TikTok posted some “analysis” of sorts about Louis and Claudia and basically she came to the conclusion that if Claudia was not turned by Lestat, that if she survived as a human and grew older, eventually she would’ve turned out to become one of Louis’ girls/prostitutes because according to this creator, Louis has no regard for women and girls and only sees them as commodities.... why is THAT the first thing that comes to mind when wondering about what Claudia hypothetically could’ve been if she had the chance to grow up? She could be a wife, a mother, anything else and THAT is where their minds go?

Yeah, there's something crucial that people don't seem to realize:

Claudia is arguably the best & most tragic character AR ever created, cuz she was always DOOMED by the narrative.

Woulda coulda shouldas are absolutely pointless. Claudia was NEVER meant to grow up, cuz Anne Rice's daughter Michelle never got to grow up, either.

Book!Claudia was abandoned by her biological father, who ditched her & her sickly mom when they contracted the plague. Her mom died & she was left in the house all alone, and would've soon died of plague, even if book!Louis hadn't found her & drained her nearly dry; and Lestat Turned her to babytrap Louis.

Likewise, AMC! Claudia was abandoned by her biological father “whose daddy gave her away to a mean old auntie” after her mom died in childbirth. She was trapped in the house all alone when it caught fire, and would've soon died in the fire, even if AMC!Louis hadn't found her & caused the riots and Lestat Turned her to babytrap Louis.

Either way, Claudia was destined to die.

AMC even takes it a step further, to have Claudia be a twisted & more tragic version of book!Loustat's 2nd daughter, Rose.

AMC!Claudia was NEVER gonna get to grow old enough to be a prostitute, cuz the race riots & fires that burned down her home were gonna happen in 1917 (when she was 14) anyway.

AMC based the race riots on IRL events that happened when the racist Ordinances segregated NOLA & shut down Storyville in 1917 (the year Claudia died/Turned); kicking all the black people out of their homes & businesses to gentrify it for rich white people. AMC changes things so it looks like Louis' solely to blame for the riots burning down Storyville cuz HE blames himself (for everything). But even if Lou was never a vampire & never killed the Alderman, he'd've never been able to keep the Azalea; and Claudia wouldn't survived the fires that broke out as white people burned down Storyville to force ALL the Black people who refused to leave out of the area. Where would Claudia have gone?

"And why is Louis the only character that has his past held against him by the fandom? There is so much grace given to Lestat and Armand, but none to Louis."

Exactly. People act like Louis was the ONLY man in NOLA running a whorehouse; it's ridiculous how bad people don't pay attention.

Finn O'Shea was the one who helped burn the Azalea down, and it's HIGHLY likely that his "supper club" (ie: underground whorehouse) across the street was JUST FINE once all the Darkies were gone.

Another thing about the fire is Claudia's own dreams/what-if scenario about what could've happened if she'd never been Turned.

The whole hospital argument is moot, cuz we see half her face covered in burns in 1x4/2x7, and Lou said "she's going cold." Burns even in 2024 are dangerous, let alone 1917. She ranted about having a husband & raising babies, but IF she survived & not been Turned, she'd've been a half burned/scarred; and her throat/lungs would probably be effed up from all that smoke inhalation. Marriage & children seems highly unlikely for someone who'd've been a (possibly comatose/bedridden) hospital inmate for YEARS, slowly recovering from SEVERE burns "her body's all charred" with 1917 treatments.

Not to mention, which hospital?? 🤨 In the middle of a race riot/racial PURGE; when the whole effing district was under siege, hundreds if not thousands of people would've been all kinds of injured & dying, or just in need of shelter.

Like, I know nothing about NOLA hospitals, but Google told me:

The Flint Goodridge Hospital was for Black people (cuz segregation, and most private hospitals refused to serve Black patients), but in 1916 only had 50-60 beds. They charged "1 Penny A Day" for hospitalization, which was crazy cheap even for that time, so that poor Black folk could afford to be seen.

Maybe Charity Hospital? They had a "colored ward," but by the 1930s was notoriously racist & kept the ward in terrible conditions, with Black patients as their lowest priority & left to wait HOURS just to be seen.

"Private hospitals such as Ochsner, Mercy, Touro, and Southern Baptist" refused to integrate before the gov't forced them in the 1960s during the Civil Rights Movement (x x). Same with Tulane (Medical Center/School/whatever), which didn't even accept Black students till the 1960s, so I doubt they'd've taken her either.

Maybe Hotel Dieu? I don't think it was private, so maybe they would've taken in Black folk?

The French Hospital only had 60ish beds even by the 1940s (when it got shut down). IDK if they were anything like NOLA's French Opera House, which was hella segregated.

The Marine Hospital was for sailors/etc; but had a ward for kids, but only took in the mentally ill. They charged $1 per day for hospitalization.

So yeah, the odds of Claudia being seen, let alone successfully treated long-term, are rather low, esp. when so many other people would've needed care, too, and there were VERY few beds in NOLA hospitals at the time.

But even if Claudia hadn't died that night, the dream she wanted would've died, too. Granted, I'm not saying we should THANK Louis for "saving"/damning her (just like we shouldn't THANK him for taking in girls as prostitutes). Vampirism IS inherently evil. But she definitely needed a bit of reality check, too. Louis wasn't gonna risk wasting time finding a hospital that could/wouls take her, when she was "barely breathing," cuz he knew Turning her was a quicker & surer way of having someone heal her ASAP--Lestat.

Like, YES, Louis saved her for selfish reasons--his ego was SHOT, and he just needed to help save SOMEONE, to feel like he wasn't a FAILURE anymore (he'd JUST lost the Azalea & been kicked out of his home by Grace/Florence & was ready to divorce his husband Lestat who was busy cheating on him with a white woman).

It didn't matter to Louis if she was a girl or a dude ("a family of my own...no sons, no daughters"), so long as he had someone he could FINALLY feel like he "did right by."

"according to this [Tik Tok] creator, Louis has no regard for women and girls and only sees them as commodities.... "

Jfc. Oh, I'm sure Louis only ever saw his mother & Grace as commodities, yup! XD ZERO regard for women, yeees, which is why he stood up for Bricktop when she nearly killed the Alderman for raping her, when plenty of other guys would've fired her for jeopardizing his business~! And why Louis DIDN'T allow Tom Anderson to sleep with his girls for FREE so they couldn't earn any money whatsoever, the way Tom did at the Fairplay, where he treated prostitutes like fleshlights; cuz Louis disregards women SO MANY TIMES~! 🙄 Nevermind that Louis let Bricktop be in charge of the books, cuz he trusted her with his money & the legalese of running his businesses in a sexist world that thought women were only ever useful on their backs!

Nevermind that Louis was openly sobbing about how much he HATED being a pimp, cuz all he wanted was to be RESPECTED as a respectable man with a respectable business; and that he DIDN'T want to exploit women, and he KNEW it was wrong to exploit women--the show NEVER glamorized prostitution as if human exploitation of any kind is a GOOD thing. Lou turns a blind eye in the hopes of pleasing his rotten MOTHER & taking care of his spoiled SISTER; who still HATED him even as they took his dirty money. What was it all for, if not even his own family respected him?! But Lou doesn't have regard or respect or care for women at allll~!

We can acknowledge what a deeply flawed & selfish & naive idiot Louis can be; while still acknowledging that he HATES hurting people. He's NOT a sadist, and has never been comfortable or OK with being put in a position where he has to hurt people for his own benefit--hence his whole issue with vampirism & his confession booth scene. His whole thing is STRUGGLE; fighting to do the right thing in bad circumstances, when it's already too late--they're all already DAMNED. Keep up, y'all. XD

"It really opened my eyes up to how both Louis and Claudia as the leading black characters are perceived by the white fandom. It sort of is a reflection of how they see us as black people in real life too...."

FACTS. That's really all it is--antiblack racism plain & simple. You can tell every time they get PISSED whenever Black people get on their case for being insensitive, demeaning, microaggressive, hypocritical, etc. Cuz art imitates life, so if you're THAT quick to demonize the characters that the show's deliberately going to great lengths to show as sympathetic & genuine--ESPECIALLY Louis' love for Claudia--and you're saying Louis DGAF about women & only ever commodifies them, you're deliberately being obtuse & refusing to see the MULTIFACTED aspects of his character.

[ghost-buddies]

ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪᴠɪɴɢ ɢʜᴏꜱᴛ.

ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴇᴡ. in commemoration of jjk ending: what would've happened if suguru never defected, and... Shoko did? [pt 1 of 'gone like a wisp of smoke']

ɢʜᴏꜱᴛ ɪɴɢʀᴇᴅɪᴇɴᴛꜱ. lowkey au :: angst :: hurt :: self indulgent :: sfw :: cursing :: multiple parts :: highkey really bad so m sorry

ʟᴏꜱᴛ ꜱᴘɪʀɪᴛꜱ. Gojo Satoru :: Ieiri Shoko :: Geto Suguru :: Iori Utahime :: Mei Mei :: Masamichi Yaga :: a whole lot of other characters that my 3am brain can't comprehend

ɢʜᴏꜱᴛ ɴᴏᴛᴇꜱ. I love shoko and she's being slept on fr </3 this is really self-indulgent and i really dont expect this to go anywhere... enjoy. ANOTHER NOTE. if youre reading this ur a real one, but the next installment is gonna be more abount the 2006/star plasma thing. i havent seen anything on her perspective.

ᴡᴄ. 1.8k (oof)

Ieiri Shoko is a living ghost. Not quite human anymore: just an asset for the Jujutsu world, and a slave to the people that take her for granted, right?

No, Ieiri Shoko is not a ghost. She is a useful tool that will kill herself with cigarettes and sadness, because most of all she cannot feel anymore and simply does as she is bidden.

For all the moping that Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru do about ‘being the strongest’ and ‘no one quite like us,’ there is no one quite like Shoko; and so she suffers in silence as the world keeps moving.

2006 is the year that everything seems to turn for the worse. But of course Shoko doesn’t know that; she’s barely seventeen, after all, and her biggest worries are keeping her smoking secret(-ish) from Yaga, stopping Gojo and Geto from starting a full-on battle because someone ate the last limited-edition Kit-Kat (Shoko did), and healing them when missions go south. So when the three of them are sent to the gym after Gojo forgets to put a veil where Mei Mei and Utahime did their mission, she doesn’t expect anything to happen.

If anything, she expects Mei Mei to blow a vessel because Utahime’s ‘crush’ on Shoko is getting ‘too obvious.’ Mei’s undying bets about relationships seem to never end, and in order to stop them, Shoko fears that the only way out is to pay the white haired menace.

But that doesn’t matter. Satoru and Suguru seem to be getting ready for another argument, and it’s a perfect moment to have the two boys get their emotions out of the way. Shoko leaves for a smoke break.

Apparently, they’re being sent by Tengen (why he would choose her two insufferable classmates out of anyone, Shoko will never know) to escort the Star Plasma Vessel to assimilate with him.

Satoru makes sure to send her lots of photos of the fight, and Shoko fights a smile as the sees them.

She doesn’t feel too sad that she wasn’t invited to partake in the mission, but Yaga wants to talk to her anyways about it.

“Shoko!” he says, catching up to her as she’s walking back to the dorms from the infirmary. “I just wanted to apologize.”

She looks at him, confused, and so Yaga continues:

“I didn’t invite you to the Star Plasma vessel mission. Tengen just requested the two of them.”

Shoko laughs, a bright little thing that Yaga seems to like since he offers her a small smile. “Oh, sensei, don’t even think about it. I would’ve been dead weight. I’m not worried about them.”

(She should’ve been.)

Time seems to move too fast when they come back to Jujutsu Tech.

--

It’s 2006 – right after the Star Plasma vessel died – and even though the death is still a shock to Gojo and Geto, they’ve bonded over their loss and become stronger from it.

(The one time Shoko thought she might serve as more than a tool to heal, she’s been left in the dust.)

It’s the end of August when Shoko finds Suguru alone. She’s puffing a new cigarette, and he waves to her.

“Oi, Sho. I haven’t seen you in a while, what’s up?”

“Same old, same old. How… how are you? After the vess- After Amanai?”

“It’s tough, but that’s expected of the job. I have Gojo to look after me.” He takes a cigarette from her, making heart eyes at the mention of Satoru.

Shoko internally blazes. She was there every night, when Suguru felt the pangs of guilt, when Satoru felt inadequate for the title of ‘the strongest.’ She was there for them, the both of them, so how dare he say he has Gojo?

“You also have me, dumbass,” she deadpans.

Suguru doesn’t seem to respond to that, because he laughs a little bit and Shoko’s felt no stronger urge than now to slap some sense into him. “You look tired, Sho. Have you been getting rest?”

She ignores him back. “Geto, I have a question for you.”

“What’s on your mind?”

“Do you… do you ever get tired of doing sorcery?” Do you get tired of being used? “You’re forced to risk your life every day to save the people that cause your suffering.”

Suguru thinks for a moment. He’s always been the thoughtful one. “What brought this on? But I guess not. Sure, it gets exhausting, but it’s rewarding knowing that you’re helping innocent lives.”

“Well,” Shoko deadpans, “surely you get annoyed that you need to eat curses and feel like throwing up almost every night.”

He laughs again. Shoko leaves.

--

When Shoko sees Gojo, she’s not doing well. She’s lost weight, and her once-shining eyes are surrounded with puffy purple. She doesn’t sleep very much anymore, using her reversed cursed technique to sustain herself. Satoru’s landed himself in the infirmary, and Shoko almost feels like laughing when she realizes it’s been months since she last saw the white-haired man.

She decides to cut around his shirt to get closer to his broken rib: it’s fractured and bound to hurt like hell, and she doesn’t want to heal through the fabric and waste precious energy.

Instead of using scissors, she chooses a scalpel. At first, she’s scared of the tiny, wicked blade, but her hands are always steady, and soon enough, she was using it every chance she got. She still has it today: a glinting, thin silver blade that she had personalized – there’s diamond edging along each of the assortment of blades, which she uses on a rotation. It exuded her RCT, and sliced skin (and fabric) easily and reliably.

Satoru’s been scraped badly after a mission, and even though he has Six-Eyes and probably knows Shoko’s unwell, doesn’t seem to comment on it. Shoko heals his broken rib and the scratches on his knuckles and moves to leave him when he grasps her wrist. She stills.

“Sho? I’ve been thinking. We should go out for yakisoba sometime soon.”

“I… can’t.”

“Heh? You’ve never said no to an outing!!”

“It’s been months since you’ve even thought of inviting me to you and Geto’s shenanigans.”

She turns to face him, and he seems to register her state. He softens, only marginally. “You look like shit, Shoko. Let us take you out. We’ll protect you from perverts on the train, and you’ll keep me and Suguru from killing each other. It’ll be like old times.”

Shoko doesn’t smile. “I wish I had the free time. There’s more work for me here in the infirmary.”

“Shoko…” Satoru pouts. “I don’t want to exclude you, or anything like that—”

Shoko tamps down her frustration. She smooths a mask of indifference over her face. Bastard, she thinks. You already have. She looks at his shining eyes.

“It should be a date for the two of you. I’d hate to impede.”

She wriggles her wrist from his grip and leaves.

--

The one thing that perhaps Shoko appreciates about school is that even though her talents lie solely in healing, Masamichi Yaga is not stupid and teaches her how to fight.

She’s a Grade One sorceress, after all. And she did accompany Geto and Gojo on missions early on – it’s a shame her technique is as prized as it is because she could be quite formidable.

So when Shoko reveals that giving energy and healing others using RCT isn’t her only talent, it’s not met with the kind of ‘wow, you’re not actually a one-trick pony!’ response, and more of a ‘well, good to know’ half-assed reply.

Late 2005 and early 2006 were the last times she went on missions.

It was a rainy night, and Shoko, Geto, and Gojo hopped onto a train from Shibuya. It was an easy Grade Two curse and a couple of Grade Threes, and they had no trouble taking care of them.

Unfortunately, Shoko was cold and tired of hearing Satoru yapping, so they quickly boarded the train.

It was of course their luck that it was cramped, and they all had to stand up.

“Why the long face, Ieiri?” Satoru probed. “No way those curses wiped you out. All you did was punch them and swing around banging your stethoscope into their brains.”

Suguru punched his arm. “Yeah, just like how all you did was run around in circles after one of the Grade Threes tried eating your finger—”

“It was a rat! You know how I hate those! Thank goodness for Shoko taking care of that thing—”

Shoko groaned when Satoru blocked Suguru’s next attack with a blow to his shin. They started to attract odd glances, but thankfully Shoko didn’t have to deal with troublesome girls gawking at the two imbeciles next to her because the train was filled with…

Just her luck. Old, pervy men.

They shamelessly gawked at her (she’s a teenager. She’s growing, she shouldn’t be surprised they’d stare), and of course Satoru and Suguru noticed immediately because they formed a meat shield around her.

Satoru snapped at an old man who was taking photos of her: “Oi, what’re you looking at?”  while Suguru tag-teamed with him, snatching the phone from the geezer and quickly deleting the photos he’d taken.

Shoko smiled inwardly. They stopped fighting, to protect her.

One by one, Gojo and Geto intimidated any and all creeps trying to perv on her. Once the train car finally fell silent, they were fighting again as if nothing had happened. Thankfully, they kept up the meat shield.

Shoko had to stop them from having a full-on battle to the death (what Satoru jokingly calls the ‘Battle of the Balls’) before they arrived back at Jujutsu Tech.

Shoko secretly hid the tiny Grade Three curse – the rat that attempted to eat Gojo’s finger – and cupped it in her hands.

Thank God for those creepy men, and them distracting Gojo and Geto from the cursed energy swelling around the tiny thing, Shoko thought. I want to experiment with you, little guy.

If Shoko can output RCT, surely she can take it away… right?

They arrived back at school, right as she finished the thought, and they bid each other goodnight. Shoko made a quick beeline for her room, all while blaming it on ‘the two of you punks taking up all my energy,’ which wasn’t quite a lie. They know she’s thankful for the two of them taking care of her.

In the silence of her room, Shoko marveled as she forced the rat close to death, and then brought it back to life.

She withered an arm and then regenerated it.

 She wrinkled its eyes and let it see again.

 Ieiri Shoko found her full potential that night.

© property of @ghost-buddies. do not repost, translate or edit.

[kisses4mizu]

y’know I respect a fan’s choice about how they want to view mizu but tiny ramble about it here. this isn’t any sort of discussion or ‘matter of fact’ essay, just a simple rant about headcannons about her being TRANS and her SEXUALITY.

Warning: extremely long.

Given the numerous limitations that would arise from traveling as a woman, I find it very difficult to understand why some people believe Mizu is transgender when it's obvious that she is hiding this information in order to survive. This was particularly true during the Edo period, when women were dehumanized and treated like objects because we only ever see them as a slave or working in a brothel (majority of the show at least). They were also seen having to depend on men for nearly everything, as demonstrated in the episode where the mother and daughter were left outside to freeze to death since her husband was not present to accompany them. Along with that subtle hints were presented to us that show how comfortable she is when in touch with her femininity like a few moments in the episode where she came back to Swords-father Eiji’s hut. Though, I can definitely see why people would label her as transmasc with the theory that she must’ve grown so accustomed to this sort of lifestyle, she’d perhaps just become transmasc in the later episodes. We’ll never know!

Next, not gonna lie, I’m insanely guilty of viewing Mizu as a bisexual women despite feeling that she is leaning more toward heterosexuality in terms of her sexuality. I have the biggest fattest crush on her so I have no problem stating how much I'm crying and wailing over this. Like c’mon, let's be real, I guarantee that 98% of simps are female, and I’m sure every single one of us has mentioned once that we can all treat her better than Mikio and Taigen. Speaking of Taigen, I HAVE to admit that him and Mizu do have the best chemistry compared to everyone in the show. It’s clear in the way she pulls him away from those shooting arrows, knocks him out becahse she fears for his safety if he follows, saving him from Fowler's castle even though she could have easily just left him to die and slain Fowler, etc. At first, I would’ve assumed she’d have trauma with men especially after Mikio’s betrayal which might’ve led her to stray away from any romantic attraction with men—or anybody in general. Honestly, I have dedicated my time to search for ANY hint (ok not rlly) that she might be attracted to women, but the only time I ever see her become flustered by one is when she appears to be taken aback by the prostitues she tried to ask for directions to the Shindo Dojo. Plus, there were only two occasions where she interacted with Akemi that people use to automatically ship them which is when she saw Akemi in her carriage (not sure of the specific name) and pinned her down in Madame Kaji's brothel. I can’t imagine them as a couple in later episodes, something I’m been dying to see. Though, it’s hard to determine what was running in her mind during the scene where they both stole glances at each other, especially since there was no sort of indication in her inner thoughts or emotions, so it’s normal to assume the above as well. (Despite that, I’m still rooting for AT LEAST bisexual Mizu because for the love of god and for the sake of all of the gay women here, PLEASE. /j)

I may make jokes about these headcannons like playfully hating on the TaiMizu ships. All in all, I’m sure the fans are mature enough to understand that these are meant to be lighthearted jokes and that people interpret a character and show in various ways and it’s normal! Even if I can’t comprehend the theory or feel as though it is a little too complicated/really negotiable, remember to support what you want, ship what you want, make whatever headcannons, nobody’s stopping you! Don’t be too afraid to just announce what you feel about the show. All I ask is to avoid SERIOUSLY cancelling someone just because of their own feelings and opinions. In the end, they’re stilll fictional characters (😞😞) who have no sort of physical form of any sort so do whatever, as long as it isn’t really THAT problematic in a sense (e.g. romanticising rape), go for it.

(Sorry for bringing her sexuality into this, I’m aware of how the show is definitely not centering on this and not every single thing has to be LGBTQ-related but I noice it’s something constantly brought up in the fandom. As someone whose phrasing and essay writing skills suck, I’m still learning bit by bit about how the world works in terms of differing views on things. I may not support your idea of a character but I RESPECT it! If I came off as rude, I’m sorry, remember it’s just my random midnight thoughts🙏)

[maxzinn]

What bothers me after all this drama is that those users that made the posts calling out the type of fics they were bothered with, didnt actually include like a list of those fics (probably to avoid an entire purge and hatred), and everyone in the comments of those posts just suddenly at a flip of a switch, all could only think about one. single. story...and that was the 2 part fic from the now deactivated account.

So for a fic which diverges from canon by having Aventurine NOT go through the entire rollercoaster of drama and be given a chance at a normal life, everyone and their mother jumped to bully the writer. Please, gimme a break, he could've still become the same charismatic gambler we all know and love, just he would've had an oh idk- a little support system given by the person that got him out of a much crappy life? Seriously, how many fics AREN'T out there which diverge at one point from canon?! Or, even better, ignore the canon completely and they are their own thing! HOW MANY- A LOT OF THEM ARE!

It's like they were bothered that there can be a "what if Aventurine was saved before he went through the rest of that hell?", as if his canon story is the only thing that matters and shouldn't be changed at all - THE MAN IS IN SHAMBLES. HE WANTED TO UNSUBSCRIBE FROM LIFE. And I cant be the only one who doesnt believe that him, as he grow up, didn't wish for someone to come to his aid, to take him out of there, but the more time passed, the more hope he lost and he just "well, guess I'll do this on my own". He. Has. No. One. To. Talk. To. Without. Him. Hidding. Behind. The. Persona. He. Created. No one.

Anon you have said exactly everything that I wanted to hear ‼️

(They all started this mess so I’m not gonna stop till I get my point straight across their faces)

These people CANNOT tell me that Aventurine didn’t want to be saved. They CANNOT tell me he didn’t hope for a helping hand throughout this whole hell.

The IPC had failed him and his race from the very beginning when they failed to protect Sigonia IV and the Avgins from the Katicans, and yet I still see people saying that creating a fic where he was saved is disregarding his effort in surviving like pls- my girl… he wanted to DIE to be with his family again and he’s literally in the clutches of the very same company that FAILED him and his kind. His life is literally in their hands and NO ONE would ever want to be at the mercy of the very same people who failed you.

He’s tired. He thinks so lowly of himself. He thinks he has no worth. He has no self-esteem.

All of that could’ve been avoided if someone had helped him, way before his neck was branded by the slave mark, or even during the time he was enslaved.

Like you said, there are already tons of fics that diverts from the canon story of the character into something that is almost disregarding it, so why is that an issue now?

We all love him the way he is, but don’t you think it’s also insensitive to say that when he himself hated the process or events that transpired to become what he is now?

I give him credit for his hardwork and efforts for staying alive and getting past the hell, but that cost him EVERYTHING. He survived, but he thinks so lowly of himself. He still think he’s only worth 60 tanbas. He didn’t refute Ratio and Sparkle’s insult. He throws his own body on every gamble because he thinks that’s his only worth… and now a simple harmless fic that aimed to provide him a normal life free from that tragedy was frowned upon by everyone just because the reader “bought him as a slave”.

[rreskk]

Dear ol' Trev

I'm experimenting with heavier topics, like smut. So if you're sensitive to the subject of "BDSM", don't read! I'll be answering requests soon enough, thank you for being patient :)

Summary: Trevor was untamed and aggressive. There was only one way to force him out of that toxic mentality.

TW: -heavy smut (BDSM) -Violence (Death threats)

Pairings: Dom!Fem reader/ Trevor Philips

Word count: 2971

For the past three days, he has been unrightfully slaughtering every flaw he deceives, and the judgement has been clashed onto you. So for the past three days, you’ve been verbally insulted with every fibre of his body. Reason complied? Unknown. You haven’t recalled doing anything wrong, or anything to cause this spike of anger. Alas, you have been nothing but idle for the past days. He hasn’t made the effort to conversate, fuck, treat you with dignity. Ever since he came home from Los Santos, he’s been ugly and obscene.

You’ve tried to argue against this sudden aggression, challenging his authority, and it would get physical. Right now, he was more than physical. You had lost your temper and called him every name under the sun and he was provoked beyond belief. His face was red, eyes filled with angry tears, fists clenched as his nails would pierce the skin underneath. Trevor stood an arms-length away from you, his eyes burning daggers into yours.

“Say that again.” His voice hoarsely demanded.

“You heard me.”

“You little shit.” Trevor croaked, his vexation becoming hostile.

You raised an eyebrow, “What’s the problem? I don’t see a lie.”

His lips twitched into a snarl and he grabbed the collar of your shirt, threatening to toy you around. His neck and arm veins were pulsing. You wondered if he strained anymore, they may burst.

“Keep your mouth shut. You’re pissing me off, big time.”

“You’ve been pissing me off for the last 72 hours.”

“You don’t say?” He cruelly hissed, “And you repay that by insulting me, [y/n]? You think it’s funny abusing dear ol’ Trev?”

“Cut that creepy shit out. You’re disgusting – “

“Ohhh… Complaints, complaints, complaints. You always FUCKING complain.”

“Maybe you should take the fucking hint and MAN UP!” You shouted in his face, “The moment your revolting scent arrived at my door after a week of no calls or texts, you had the audacity to operate and belittle me? Like what? I was some slave? Oh yeah, what a lovely man dear ol’ Trev is. What a lovely cunt!”

“THE FUCK DID YOU SAY?”

“Just get out, seriously – “

Trevor pushed you back violently as he threw his arm over the dining table, all the plates and clutter falling onto the floor with a big crash. You glared at him after finding your balance.  He maintained that deep scowl, eyes not leaving yours as it went silence, only the background noise of glass crunching under his work boots.

“How fucking dare you.” You heaved, the energy you have left slowly running out.

“You gonna complain again, sugar?” Trevor tongued as you saw the strands of his saliva spit with vemon.

“Get the fuck out of my house.”

“I know you,” He continued, “You wouldn’t last a week without me.”

“Me? Really? Please! That’s utter bullshit.”

“Yeah… Really.” At this point, Trevor was breathing down on you, his arms locking you against the wall behind. He began to smirk at how trapped you were. He enjoyed seeing you covered in his shadow with that nasty look in your eye.

You tried to lean away, despite his nudges. His hands began leaving achy bruises on your wrists, them cruel fingers spreading his disease while you avoided the discourse of his intoxicating breath. It smelt like death. Your throat numbed at the inhale of his mucky scent, and before you knew it, he lowered his head and began to combatively whisper slander in your ear.

“I ain’t leaving, prick. I am not leaving this place until it’s fuckin’. You hear me?” His hot breath antagonising your neck.

“Get off me, Trevor.”

“No, I think you like it.”

“You fucking pervert!”

His voice rumbled, “Mmm… Maybe I am. Maybe I’m just a burden, a pervert, a creep. Maybe I just wanna bash your fuckin’ head in? What do you think about that, baby? Sounds good?”

You striked his cheek suddenly, his frame falling back at the impact. Trevor held his cheek with a disturbed expression, his eyes wide. Your hand stung with succession as you gave him a gnarly grin.

“I think that’s a great idea, Trevor,” You said, approaching him, “Maybe I should bash your fucking head in,” Your left hand rapidly grasped his jaw before he could fight back, “And you’ll definitely enjoy it.”

“The fuck? –“ He whinged when you grabbed his neck and jaw.

“What’s the matter? It’s not nice being treated like a dog, isn’t it?” Your other hand jolted forwards, hitting his cheek again where a small cry of pain left his lips.

“Fuckin’ stop!”

“You are going to pick up every shard of glass on this very floor. If you don’t, I’m kicking your ass goodbye. You got that?” You shouted in his flushed face.

Trevor threw your hands off, a look of disgust painting his face. He studied you up and down, a sense of uncertainty behind those unstable eyes.

“You’re taking the shitting piss, [y/n]. I’m not doing that.” He mocked.

“You are.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Really?” You licked your teeth, “I think you are.”

He sent you a hefty glare, “The fuck are you playing?”

“You want to play?”

“What? – “

“Okay, Trevor. If you really wanna play.” Within a second, Trevor felt his trousers being torn off as he cried out in surprise. His hands automatically covered his bulge but you slapped them away, your fists threatening to interrogate his crotch.

“[y/n], fuck off!” He demanded, fighting against your hands.

“No, I think you like it.” You reflected his words from before, smirking.

“Stop! – “ His voice wobbled with vulnerability. He bellowed forwards and tried to pull his trousers up until his underwear was confiscated as well. Trevor gritted his teeth, seeing you enjoy the struggle he was going through when his cock was on display. He noticed you were grinning at his exposure, feeling fragile and insecure, “C’mon – this ain’t funny. Fuck off!”

“Awh…” You teased and allowed him to scatter, his trousers clumsily being buckled up again. He did not look happy. Trevor’s nostrils flared as he stared at you with raw fury.

“You think this is funny?” He shouted, “You’re a fuckin’ cunt!”

“Easy…”

“EASY? YOU TELLING ME TO BE EASY?”

“You always liked showing yourself off. What’s so bad about it now?” You questioned, smirking up at him.

Trevor stumbled backwards, his feet stomping on the shards of glass that he littered. One piece made a crunching sound from under his foot. He gazed up to see if you had noticed, biting his lip when you stared heavily; watching his every move like a vulture feasting on it’s future prey, the impulsive climax barely containing itself.

His lips snarled when you spoke again, “I heard it – you heard it.”

“I ain’t cleaning.” He responded, crossing his arms.

“Why not?”

“Because I ain’t. You can’t make me.”

“Oh, okay.” You hummed and dismissed the conversation, turning your back.

Trevor smirked when he thought you backed away from the argument. He uncrossed his arms and whistled, singing your name as he placed his foot over a broken frame of you and him. Once he had gained your attention, Trevor licked his lips and pressed down, breaking the picture even more – clearing wanting a strong reaction, as he found it enjoyable.

You felt something stab your gut when he pathetically destroyed the only good picture of you both. And he smiled after it broke. It made you distressed, furious, hated. He stood there carefree, his belt still loose from your stunt beforehand, making him look like a golden stud. A golden stud you wanted to hammer.

“Whoops.” He winked, rotating away from the living room before a hard-hitting hand clenched his shoulder, launching him backwards and onto the rumble of glass. Trevor cried out, his skin scratched and prickled by the mess he made.

You stood over him and stared down; no sign of pleasure nor happiness. He cursed your name as he tried to stand up from the pile of shards but your foot sent him flying down again. It crushed his lower stomach, his breathing becoming unhinged and erratic. Extending weight onto your foot, his hands wrapped around your ankle, begging for you to get off.

“Fuckin’ get off!” He pled repeatedly.

Of course, it didn’t convince you. Your foot dug into his torso until he was threatening to lose his ability to breathe. Waiting for the moment Trevor’s eyes would portray the seconds left of his near-death experience, you released the pressure, and he frantically crawled to his knees, wailing for some air. He mercilessly wailed, believing he was on the road to death by your strangulation.

“Why are you crying?” You degraded, grabbing his hair and forcing his knees to kneel against the glassy carpet.

Trevor panted. His head being forced to look up, staring directly towards your thighs. He didn’t say anything but whined when you’d occasionally tug his hair, trying to pressure some rise out of him.

“C’mon… You’re feeling shameful now, aren’t you?”

He shook his head, still being stubborn.

“You like being on your hands and knees, Trevor?”

He whined again.

“Why don’t you get the fuck up?” You smirked.

“I hate you,” He finally mewled, “I’ll kill you!”

“Get the fuck up then.”

Trevor struggled, trying to use his weak arms but you only pushed him back down with a laugh.

“[y/n]!” He snapped.

“What?”

Your fingers tickled his scalp, falling down his back, reaching the hem of his trousers as he remained on his all fours, having a hard time keeping balance due to the amount of scratches and impaled glass in his skin. Nonetheless, your fingers tickled him. Trevor felt his trousers being pulled down again, and he dropped his head, whispering profound insults that definitely included the words “evil”, “witch”, and “bitch.” But you didn’t care. You waited until his ass was exposed and his cock dangling between his legs. He was shaky, unsure of what you’re about to do. He wanted to stand up, but your grip on him only tightened and his knees were too weak. Did he beg you to stop? No. So you only made it harder for him.

Very hard.

“Fuck… The fuck you doing to me?” Trevor murmured in pain.

“If you wanna ruin my home, you can be ruined with it.” You said before kicking your shoe against his exposed cock, making him jump and cry out in agony.

“FUCK!”

“You like that?” His whole arousal was being beaten with your shoe again, the repetitive kicks destructing Trevor’s last ounce of his aggression.

“FUCK – I HATE YOU! – “ He’d cry, tears oozing down his red cheeks as you kicked him from behind again.

“You deserve so much more hate,” You huffed – his cock and balls being left swollen and bruised, “I’m giving you the bare minimum of it. You should thank me, Trevor.”

It ended with his face crazing against the glass-scattered floor, his cheek embedding deep wounds as he wails from the pain of his genitals being physically abused. He attempted to cover his cock but you slapped his hands away, kicking him one last time before giving him a minor break.

He collapsed, body sprawled out.

The glass was ignored now. You stepped over him, your shadow overcasting the menacing danger of your touch. Trevor, with his eyes closed, felt the shade and spoke through his condition, his voice crackled and fable – like an emotional child begging for some hugs after a traumatic nightmare.

“I’m not thanking… I’m not! Not thanking – you! Kick me again, I fuckin’ dare you! I’m never – FUCK!” You obeyed his request and pressed the soul of your shore against his manhood, crushing until it went numb.

“You never give up, baby…”

He whimpered with is nose stuffed in the carpet floor.

“Wish you’d last this long in bed.” You ended.

Trevor’s head jerked up at the mention of you judging his struggle to hold. He gritted his teeth and aimed to spit, unsuccessfully watching the saliva reach barely half way as you just watched with a frown. A piece of clammy drool fell from his lips, dropping onto the floor, along with his tears.

“And what was that for, huh?”

“Fuck you.”

“Sensitive topic?”

“FUCK YOU!”

You grabbed his waist and forced him to his knees again. Trevor tried to resist but fell into your hands, murmuring complaints about the pain. He winced, trying to face you. But yet again, he failed. And he was beyond angered at his power being taken away.

“This is not FUCKIN’ funny, baby,” He whinged, “I hate you so much sometimes.”

“Sometimes?” You grinned.

“Mm, shut the fuck up…”

“C’mon. Admit it.”

“I said; shut the fuck up!”

“Fucking man up, Trevor. You’re on the floor with your cock fucked and your knees asleep – what are you gonna do? Encourage me to enjoy this more?” You caressed the back of his neck.

“Keep on going…” He whispered, almost quiet enough for you to miss.

“Sorry?”

“Keep going.”

A small smirk twitched and you crouched down, Trevor hesitantly putting his chin on your knee as he looked at you with an angry but lustful stare. He tried to lean closer, wanting a kiss, but he was refused and grunted when you dropped his head onto the floor again. He hit the floor and cursed your name menacingly.

“Fuck you, baby! I want you!”

“You wanted this, Trev?”

“Shut the fuck up and kill me already! Just end my life, make me cry!” He protested with desperation.

“You’re gonna be a man and last long for me?”

He nodded his head, “I wanna last long for you.”

“And you’re going to apologise? – “

“[y/n]! Please, just help me already!” Trevor complained and returned to his knees and hands, his dick burning red.

You laughed and shook your head with a small grin. Now that he was vulnerable and eager for your touch, it made it easier to gain a reaction. Your knee pressed against his backside and you forced him up, his back grinding against your thigh. Trevor closed his eyes as he felt your arms wrap around him, the skin-contact trailing from his stomach, closer to his arousal. He twitched with excitement, his hair mangled and skin tattered with oozing blood.

“So good for me, baby.” You praised and hugged his cock with your cold hands, massaging the tip and roughly mishandling the length to ensure your power is still prominent.

His whole body shook at your touch and he groaned when you demanded him to keep his hands away. It took some courage to follow your authorities, but it was worth it when you began stroking him, caressing his sore skin.

“Yes…” Trevor breathed, “Yes… Yes, that’s right.”

“You wanna be rubbed like the pervert that you are?”

“I’m a fuckin’… God! Yes!”

“Tell me how bad you want it, Trevor.”

He struggled to speak, “I – I… Oh, fuck… M’yeah. C’mon… Fuckin’ faster! Now! – “ Then he paused, dread clogging his throat when you clenched his cock.

“You want to continue being a little fucker?” You hissed in his ear.

“No… No, ma,” Trevor felt it get tighter as he whimpered, “I’m your fucker… I’m your pervert, God!”

“Say my name.”

“[y/n]…”

“Prefer me being in charge, baby?” You giggled, not used to seeing him so submissive.

“I love being treated like a rape toy, mommy!” And he had lost the plot, so emerged in his attraction.

You rubbed him harder and faster, your lips pressing down his neck as he was moaning frantically. From the way he was so stiff and hot, it was clear he had been holding a semi for a long, long time. It made you smirk. Trevor was so pathetic. He made it harder for himself – just so he could feel some pleasure in the end.

“I’m gonna cum – “

“What did I say?” Your lips moved against his skin.

“I – “ Trevor rolled his eyes back and dramatically growled, his hips jerking and cock twitching.

“Don’t cum yet.”

He panted, “Fuck you… Fuck you… Fuck you, I love you!”

“Easy. Concentrate on me, baby.”

“All for you, ma. All for you!”

“You’re so hard, sugar.” You held his body weight so he was forced to deal with you edging him. Even though he was erratic and fierce, you managed to keep him in check and he remained huddled in your arms, his cock being molested by your hands.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ cum!” He sobbed.

“You’re such a slut, Trevor.”

“Ohhh… Fuuuck!” His words mingled for so long that it would crack. Then it went silent before his body spazzed, his dick delivering a huge load of cum that squirted onto the floor that was stained with damp tears, blood, glass.

He had silently cried through the orgasm. You looked at Trevor, his face scrunched and tongue hanging out like a dog. You had overstimulated him too much that climaxing had become a huge revolution, almost as though he transported through time.

“All good, baby?” You asked.

It took a few seconds before he nodded.

“You sore?”

He nodded again, chest heaving in and out.

“Good boy…” You kissed his cheek.

“You’re killing me,” Trevor airily slurred, “You almost killed me.”

“I know.”

“Fuck… Fuck! Fuck you… That was so hot…”

“You gonna clean up now?”

“[y/n]!” He whined tiredly, “You punished me enough, baby…”

You’d smirk, “Fine. You’ve proven how much of a baby you are. I wouldn’t want to cross the line and over exhaust you.”

“Fuck you.”

“And stop insulting me. Who’s house are you in?”

“…Yours.”

“So treat this place with respect, and me.” You warned.

Trevor gave you a playful glare before nodding, “Fuckin’ fine…”

“Now stand up. You reek.”

[savoytrufflephd]

Let’s explore canon parallels…

Thanks for the love on the earlier post! Clearly, like me, you can’t get enough of analyzing HIUH. Allow me to test that theory…

HIUH is both an easy and a hard read. On the one hand, the writing style makes is go down smooth. On the other hand, the plight of the characters burns (in all the best ways). And sometimes you just want to shake some sense into them!

I am obsessed with HIUH to a borderline unhealthy degree. I love the style and subtly of the writing (but that’s a whole topic for a different post). I love how frustrating and heartbreaking and hilarious (I’m looking at you, Ancel) it can be. I’m obsessed with how much it makes me feel.

Typically, when a chapter is posted, I read it once, then go back and read the previous chapter and the new chapter again, then reread my favorite little sections again and again. Sometimes, I start at the beginning of the story and read all the way through. It’s never not worth my time.

So, anyway, perhaps this obsession explains how very defensive I feel when I read people commenting on how unlikeable Laurent (or Damen) is, or how they can’t imagine feeling good about them getting back together. I mean, it’s fair for them to feel however they feel as readers, but also…

Of course they have to get back together, because they are MEANT TO BE!

Which brings me to the question of canon parallels.

Because we, as a fandom, know that they are MEANT TO BE because of Pacat’s trilogy, and more specifically, because they had SO MUCH to overcome. Only a couple that is MEANT TO BE still comes to be despite the fact that one killed the other’s brother and the other took the one as a slave had him nearly whipped to death. I mean, that’s a lot to get past.

And herein lies the genius of HIUH. Because Pacat was able to set up this drama by setting her story in a pseudo-historical world of kingdoms and old-fashioned, army-clashing warfare. It was neither farfetched nor unreasonable that Damen killed Auguste. And it was believable (to everyone but Damen) that Damen’s brother tried to have him killed in a coup. And it was fair enough that Laurent swore vengeance, which, combined with the trauma he had experienced, ultimately allows us to forgive his cruelty. Also, Damen may not have whipped slaves, but he owned them, so he ultimately lacks moral purity (despite a common desire to grant it to him in fanfic, which I totally understand, because he has honor! It’s hot!). And they all live in a world before therapy, so they’re just gonna have to kind of suck up their trauma and go on ruling.

But how do you plausibly transfer this meant-to-be-despite-all-odds to a modern-day setting?

You can make them both modern royalty (which is always fun), but you can’t make Damen own people or have Laurent be casually sadistic and still have us root for them. Laurent’s trauma can be the same (unfortunately, because shitty adults still get away with abuse), but he can’t take it out on Damen in the same way. And Damen can’t be a catalyst for the trauma to the same degree either, because it’s hard in modern setting to imagine him having justifiably killed August and then Laurent being able to move on.

So how can two people hurt each other so much and still come together in modern times? By being exes, it turns out! Who knew?

@thickenmyblood knew!

And from that amazing canon adaptation of the overall conceit, @thickenmyblood goes on to create so many other canon parallels. I’ll number them (in order to assure you this post isn’t actually endless), but I’m sure it’s not an exhaustive list:

1. Damen’s quest begins when his privileged world, which he has never examined very closely, gets turned upside down. His unquestioned acceptance of slavery becomes an unquestioned acceptance of toxic masculinity, which also parallels with Damen’s unquestioned pursuit of war glory (the Original Toxic Masculinity™). His complete inability to recognize what every single reader can see – that Laurent was abused by his uncle – becomes an unwillingness to hear about Laurent’s traumatic experiences or accept their mental health consequences. His quest to regain his throne becomes a quest to regain his sense of self, which leads him to therapy, which leads to a realignment of his priorities that ultimately puts a connection to Laurent high on his list (as in the books).

2. Which makes sense, I think, of why Damen still cares so much for Laurent in HIUH despite his recognition of Laurent’s behavior. As in the books, he, like a few of the people closest to Laurent, sees beneath the judgmental exterior to Laurent’s resilience, deep care for people like Nicaise, and well-hidden playfulness. Lest we forget, the running over the rooftops was a key moment for Lamen – the banter and wordplay they can still find in HIUH post-breakup gestures to that playful connection/reconnection.

3. Meanwhile, Laurent remains a survivor in both worlds, and alternates between dedicating almost everything he has to simply persisting despite his uncle and trying to carve about a more purposeful and livable existence, which he at the same time does not fully believe he deserves. He is willing to protect and fight for Nicaise in ways he isn’t always able to fight for himself.

4. Nicaise, as in canon, sometimes desperately appreciates that, sometimes need to push, push, push until Laurent gives up on him the way he can’t stop fearing Laurent will.

5. Meanwhile, just as in canon, the only means Laurent has found to protect himself is by keeping his deepest self hidden and feigning indifference and superiority when he feels vulnerable or hurt. Did Laurent break up with Damen to protect Nicaise? Yes, absolutely. But, as I argued in the previous post, Laurent also breaks up with Damen because he believes deep down that, in the long term, Damen could not love the real Laurent because the real Laurent is fundamentally unlovable.

6. And he clearly told himself Damen would be better off without him, and without Nicaise, too. Like in canon, he’s willing to sacrifice his own chance at happiness to let Damen have his. He probably figured he was letting Damen go back to his charmed and trauma-free life. Which was less charmed and trauma-free than Damen thought it was, as it turns out (thank you, Neo). Which just takes us right back to Damen’s canon obliviousness and rose-tinted glasses.

7. Consider also that Laurent comes to give Damen his first and second chances because he is so desperate for Damen’s help that he has to push aside his anger, pride, and fear and let Damen in just a little (calling him for that first date, showing up at his house looking for Nicaise + asking him to take Nicaise after the paperweight). This mirrors his decision to take Damen with him to the border. But, just as in canon, whenever he lets Damen in just a little, Damen surprises him and worms his way back into Laurent’s closely-guarded heart.

8. Similarly for Damen in canon and here, Laurent is easy to hate when he’s being icy, superior, and hurtful, but impossible for Damen to hate when he pays close enough attention to see Laurent’s vulnerability. A lot of this comes through in HIUH in Damen’s careful notice of Laurent’s body language. When not clouded by his own insecurities, Damen can still read Laurent like a book.

9. Also worth noting is the way @thickenmyblood translates the differences in how Damen and Laurent think. As in canon, Damen is very literal and practical, thinking in straight lines. He is well suited to the law. Laurent’s thinking is more complicated, theoretical, and more attuned reasoning born of trauma. He is well suited to academia. But since there is no court intrigue in this modern setting, these differences are displayed not only in their communication differences, but through the contemporary complexities of sexual orientation and gender expression. Laurent (and his friend group) navigate these things effortlessly, while Damen (and his friend group) find it needlessly confusing and easy to mock. But like in canon Damen really should have understood court betrayals for his own sake, so too should this Damen understand how his thinking and friend group have prevented him from being fair to those he loves and fair to himself.

10. And if we want to get really metaphorical, we can say that Kastor "kills" their father in this by forcing Damen to realize he wasn't as good a father as Damen cast him in his memory. Although in this case, the metaphorical killing of the father opens the possibility for a more genuine relationship between the brothers, instead of destroying it...

And let’s stop it there, yeah? (Off to read the user manual for my new dishwasher.)

[jeremiah-fisher]

you and me,

—a the summer i turned pretty fic starring my first and favourite book boyfriend, jeremiah fisher ♡

「epilogue — jeremiah, reader insert」

JEREMIAH

. . .

SEPTEMBER

“Jere, come on. I’m gonna be late for school and it’s only the first day!” 

A sense of euphoria washes over me. All these years together, being friends and now something more, not a moment goes by when I’m bored with her, bored seeing her. In a lot of ways, her face or her voice or even the shape of her smile makes my head all loopy and I’m reminded of the fact that I’ll be in love with her all my life. 

My best friend, my girlfriend, and someday – my wife. 

Contentedly, I sit back against the sofa and smile at my phone screen. The FaceTime video call has been going on for the last almost hour. We even left it on when we both hopped in the shower twenty minutes ago. My hair’s still a little wet but I don’t care half as much as I should.

“Give me a minute more,” I ask – beg – in the sweetest voice I can muster. I’ve always been told I have a nice voice, by more than one member of the opposite gender. YN most of all. “I just wanna start my day right.”

YN rolls her eyes as she sets her phone up in the car. As she snaps on her seatbelt, she mumbles, “And seeing me will do that?”

“Uh huh.”

A grin spreads YN’s lips wide, and for the umpteenth time, I mourn the fact that I can’t just grab her by the chin and kiss her for hours and hours until our lips become one. Or something cheesy like that. 

The two of us have been apart since a few days ago. 

On our last day in Cousins, Laurel was in lieutenant mode and made all of us clean the house – from top to bottom. We weren’t allowed to go to the beach in case we dragged more sand in and we had to sit and eat every meal together, all leftovers except for breakfast. Those were the rules. 

The YLNs came over for dinner, too, and they brought the only fresh food we ate that night – carne guisada, which YN jokingly told me her mother slaved over. I had three servings because it was so good. Then I caught Conrad cleaning the glass pan out with his finger before it got placed in the dishwasher and the scene shouldn’t have been as funny as it was when I chuckled to myself about it before sneaking out of the house to go to YN’s for one last night.

Being back in Boston feels strange. More strange than all the other summers, probably because without really saying it, all of us knew, in one way or another, that that summer was the last. The last one we would all share together. Mom says the doctors have told her she has less than a year. 

I shake off the thought as I continue staring at YN as she drives forward.

“Don’t you have to get to school, too?”

Quickly, I scan the time hanging on the top of my phone. “Yeah, in like, fifteen.” 

“Then get a move on, Fishie. Don’t be late on your first day.”

I salute her and hop to my feet. YN laughs and continues driving. I place my phone on the kitchen counter then dig through the refrigerator for the lunch Mom packed for me last night. I told her she didn’t have to, especially since she and Dad spent the weekend helping Conrad move into his dorm room, but she was insistent, said she wanted things to be normal even though they weren’t, when they would never be again. 

“Guess what my mom packed me for lunch?”

“What?”

I lift the tupperware high above me and check. “Two slices of pizza from last night’s dinner and a pasta salad.”

“Fantastico!” 

Her terrible Italian accent makes me laugh as I grab my backpack and shove my lunch inside. Then I grab my phone again as I go to the door to put on my shoes. 

“Jere, I’m almost at school so I’m gonna go, okay?” 

I nod, then realize she can’t see me. I pick up the phone and smile at her. “Okay. Talk to you later?” 

“Yeah. I’ll text you.” YN seems to stop at a red light and gives me her full attention for a moment. “Tell Susannah I love her.” 

My heart burns. I take a breath. I need to joke my way out of this before I start crying on my way to the first day of school. “What about me?”

“Well, you already know it.”

“Know what?” 

YN, again, rolls her eyes good-naturedly but then she smiles, too. The smile I love most. “I love you, Jeremiah Fisher, and I always will. Now have a good first day of senior year.”

“The last school year I’m spending without you, by the way.”

YN smirks, and it’s fond, sweet in a way which promises something even sweeter. “We’ll see.”

After she clicks off, I text Mom to let her know I’m going to school. I know she won’t see it until noon, since she needs the sleep, but the less I make her worry, the more there is a chance to keep her with me just a little while longer.

. . . 

OCTOBER

True to my word, I fork over more than a hundred dollars on clothing and makeup for my Halloween costume to make it the best one I have ever worn. When YN first lays eyes on me, she is elated and jumps into my arms to kiss me so hard that we very nearly topple over. Everyone at the bus stop stares at us, but we don’t really care. We never have. 

After YN finds out the lengths I went to make her nerdy Star Wars dream come true, she gets a little quiet and tells me I didn’t have to. Except when I look at her own costume, I know she put in the effort, too. She even has a gun that looks more real than plastic. We don’t say it, but we know it, we know why we put in the effort and that’s enough. 

We end up going to a party my friend, Tag, is throwing at his house. His parents let him host and left him the house and their car then dipped to hang out with their own friends. Tag says he promised them no more than ten people maximum but when YN and I show up to a house full of teenagers and possible college students, we know that to be a lie. 

Almost everyone from school is here – from freshmen to seniors. We fill up the whole house. There is a massive stereo in the backyard and everyone is dancing to the mixes our school DJ, Andy, puts together. He has a dream of touring the world someday. He’s been chasing it since middle school. When we apply to colleges next month, I know he won’t be participating. 

We throw back a few drinks first. I introduce YN to everyone who doesn’t know her, and re-introduce her to others as my girlfriend. We get the typical ‘ooo’s’ and ‘I knew it’s’ and though it makes YN blush, the last thing she does is put space between us when I keep her close to my side. If anything, her hold on me is as tight as mine on hers, as if some part of us is terrified of letting the other go. 

Andy gets everyone dancing with an old-school mix and it’s fun being in the circle with everyone cheering and laughing. We take a lot of pictures, too, with a few going up on the ‘gram the moment we take them. YN hides her face in my neck for most of them but I don’t mind. Being camera shy is something that I find cute about her. The only time she isn’t is when I’m behind the camera.

YN has a tipsy smile on her face as she listens to one of the football guys tell a – in his words – hilarious story about the time he slept with three different college girls all within the same month.

I tickle my fingers on her side and teasingly ask, “Hey, wanna see my light saber?” As her brows rise cartoonishly, I laugh and pull her away to show her the addition to my Anakin Skywalker costume. I swing it around in the air while YN turns beet red. “Cool, huh?” 

“I-I thought–” 

“Get your mind out of the gutter, Daisy,” I tease, then wink just to see her blush deepen. I love when she blushes, especially when it’s for me. 

Slowly, an expression I’ve never seen before passes over her features, crawls into the crevices of her skin, then lays there ready for me to contemplate it. Then, in an opposite fashion, YN grabs my hand and drags me away, through the crowds of high schoolers and possibly some college kids, until we’re on the first few steps of the basement. There’s a light flickering periodically below but no one is present. 

I look at her quizzically. “What’s up?”

Her eyes darken, and she peers back at me seemingly in a trance. On the step, YN takes a step closer, her familiar perfume clouding my senses. Her gaze flickers down to my lips, impatient and hungry. “I want you.” 

“W-Wait… right now?” She nods then tilts her head towards the small living room set-up on the basement floor. A flash of excitement burns through me. I grab her hand. “Okay, let’s go.” 

Despite the fact that neither of us bothered to lock the door before we tore into one another, YN doesn’t hold back her sounds at all. A few times, I have to clamp my hand down on her mouth out of fear. The way she is now, only a few months after the first time we did this, is different, in the sexiest way imaginable. If we weren’t at a party full of people talking and dancing just a floor above us, I wouldn’t make her hold back any noise at all. 

Back upstairs a short while later, YN stands by the basement door running her fingers through her hair to get the knots out. Even though we tried our hardest not to make any noise, I didn’t hold back on messing up her hair. To me, she looked hot as fuck this way, but I knew she was a little embarrassed by what people might think. 

Penny, from my algebra class, walks past us. She takes one look at YN and me and asks, “What happened to you?” 

YN doesn’t miss a beat. “My boyfriend brought his light saber.” 

I choke on a laugh, hiding it behind my hand as Penny hoots with laughter, nodding as she walks off, probably to gossip. I throw my arm around YN’s waist and hug her to myself, laying a kiss on her cheek. 

“Wanna ditch and go trick-or-treating?”

The first few houses are awesome. We get so much candy that it fills up three quarters of our bags. YN claims it’s enough and maybe we should turn back and go home, watch that new horror movie with my mom, but I convince her to hit one more house before we do. 

It’s a ginormous place, bigger than my house, and has a Lexus and Porsche in the driveway. The lawn decorations are out of this world, too, with a huge lit-up skeleton which beckons us closer with a robotic finger and about a thousand mini pumpkins. It’s, without a doubt, the best decorated place on the street. 

We walk up the doorway with giggles, avoiding the fog machine and the little kids running past us. When we get to the door, there is a man there. He has black hair, round eyes, and glasses from another millennia, except, he doesn’t look older than thirty-five. He has a bowl of candy in his arms – all full-size bars.

“Oh my God, jackpot!” YN squeals, grabbing my forearm and rushing us up to him. As soon as we get close enough, she cheers, “Hi! Happy Halloween!” 

The man stares her up and down, and it pisses me off. He’s staring, scrutinising, and being completely apparent about it. Mom always taught me that staring at people was wrong because it could make them uncomfortable. Seeing this guy do it and watching YN’s beautiful smile slowly fade away, I understand that. 

Finally, he comments, “Aren’t you two a little old to be trick-or-treating?” 

YN looks the man dead in the eye, undeterred despite the loss of her smile. “Aren’t you a little young to be so cranky?” Then she smacks on her sweetest smile, brighter than the one before, and nods to his bowl of candy. “I’ll take the Skittles, please.” Warily, he hands it to her, seemingly confused by her retaliation. “And for my boyfriend, a Mars bar.” He hands it to me just as uneasily. We’re about to leave when YN reaches out and grabs a Kit-Kat, too, right from the bowl. The man is shaken but YN is the complete opposite. She shoots him another smile. “For compensation.”

The adrenaline rush that seems to course through YN’s system passes into me and we race down the steps, running towards my car parked on the end of the road. As soon as we’re close enough, I push her up against the passenger door, dropping my bag of candy without a care as the urge to kiss her forever takes over. YN giggles, murmuring something about how “absolutely anything turns you on,” and I have half a mind to tell her it’s her, just her, which does so.

We drive home with the heater on blast, our teeth chattering from the intensity of October rolling into November. YN has her feet tucked under her, and periodically feeds me red, orange, and yellow Skittles. As we’re turning into my street, I bite down on the pad of her index finger and she curses me out as I bark out a genuine laugh. 

Mom throws open the door and smiles at us from the porch while we’re still lugging our candy bags and YN’s backpack out of the backseat. Though, as soon as the two most important women in my life catch sight of each other, I’m left to bring everything in myself as YN launches herself at my mother in a hug even bigger than the one she gave me. 

“Where’s Con?” 

The question spills out of me as soon as I’m inside. Mom brings her attention away from YN to give me a small smile. It doesn’t reach her eyes, and it instantly makes me regret asking. 

Conrad promised he would come down for the weekend. His midterm exams aren’t until November 4th, so Mom was really excited to see him for a bit before he locked himself in his dorm and studied away for hours and days. 

“He couldn’t make it,” Mom replies.

YN finds my eyes but I try in earnest not to reveal even a drop of the ire pumping in my veins. I pull out my phone and text my brother, asking him where he is. Of course, it goes unread, which isn’t surprising, but it ticks me off all the same. I think about calling him but Mom catches my attention with a suggestion. 

“Who’s joining me for Carrie?”

. . . 

NOVEMBER

“Yeah, Mom, I know. I know. I’ll get it done. Chill.” 

All week, Mom has been hounding my ass about college applications. The deadlines for the colleges we decided on are due between tomorrow and next week. There are approximately five I’m applying to. I thought three would be enough, but Mom and Dad took that to mean that I wasn’t nearly as interested in getting into a post-secondary institution as they hoped, so now I’m stuck with five options and the only one I truly care about is Fraiser Mont – the college YN has her heart set on. 

I’ve been researching it since September when YN mentioned it for the first time. They have a variety of different programs which are interesting enough, a hockey team, and the campus is less than an hour away from my house. I’d be a shoo-in if not for the fact that my GPA is less than stellar. So I’m stuck with two options: either go to a different school or convince the admissions department that I’m worth attending their school despite my lack of intelligence. 

Dad said he can speak to the admissions coordinator on my behalf, see if there’s any other monetary way of getting in, but I turned him down because YN would hate me if she knew I pulled strings to get in. Even though she herself was worried about if she would or not, I knew she would, in the end. I read her admissions essay – I suck at English but I knew that what I was reading was a work of art. And with her GPA, there’s no way they’d pass her up.

So, I have to get in. I just have to. I meant it when I told her this year would be the last one I would spend without her. Sometimes, I feel like I need her like water or air. Like I can’t live without her. We’ve gone all these years without each other during the school months, but I don’t want to imagine more time apart. I can’t bear it. Not anymore. Maybe my Mom dying from cancer, my father being scarce as possible at home, and my brother going days without replying to my texts has something to do with it, but I don’t want to think about that. 

I’m at my desk, staring out the window, hoping that I can finish this essay today and get it edited by Dad’s co-worker’s daughter who’s an English teacher, when my phone buzzes with an incoming text. 

Daisy: hey, jere-bear

Daisy: whatcha doin

I smile, picking up my phone, and for a little while, I forget the stress on my shoulders and clawing erratically at my heart. 

. . .

DECEMBER

The cold air is frigid on my skin as YN and I skate around and around downtown. We’ve been here for more than an hour now with the sun dipping away behind us. 

I love being on the ice. More than I have ever enjoyed being on the field. There is just something about it that makes me want to throw on my skates and spend as much time as possible skating around, the ice beneath my feet. 

I haven’t told Dad yet, but Mom and I went to Fraiser Mont last weekend to talk to the varsity hockey coach about letting me play for the school team next September. He said that because I was a late addition, I would have to come out to practices starting in July before the official try-outs in September. I told him I was willing to put in the work if there was any possibility that I could finally play hockey. 

“Hey,” YN asks, alerting me to her voice and the fact that I’m not alone in my bedroom with my thoughts, “what are you thinking about?”

I take her gloved hand in mine and bring her into me. I move some hair out of her eyes then fix her green hat before I answer. “I need to talk to my dad about hockey.”

“You haven’t told him yet?” 

“No.” I look away for a second. “He’s not gonna like it.” 

YN pinches my cheek. “He’ll just have to deal. You’re doing this for you. Not him.”

“Still… Fisher men play football. Not hockey.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t change tradition.” YN wraps her arms around me in a hug then brings us face-to-face. Her face that I’m obsessed with has the telltale signs of a smile about to blossom upon it. “I have a surprise for you.”

“Another one?” 

“I’m not a boring girlfriend, Fishie,” she teases, pecking the tip of my nose. “Especially not on your birthday.” With that, she untangles herself from me and skates towards the edge where our bag is. “Come on!” 

On the road, YN stays utterly mum about where we’re going. Her hands on the steering wheel are determined, though, so at least I know we’re on a time constraint. 

Being downtown, especially on a Saturday night, YN rolls her eyes and mumbles curses towards a number of other drivers from the comfort of my car. There’s just so many of them, and quite a few seem to be heading in the same direction as us. When we pass by McLaughry Road, I start making guesses about where we’re headed. 

“Are we going to the art gallery?” 

“Nope.” 

“The science centre?”

“Nah.” 

“The…” What else is there? “Wait… the concert hall?” 

YN giggles. “Ding, ding, ding! We have a winner!” 

I lay back against my seat and grin. I know without even asking what this is about. Though, I find myself asking anyway. “Who’s concert?”

YN nods towards the glove box. I pull it open to see she’s placed a small box in there – the exact same box I used to give her Jonas Brothers’ concert tickets when we were thirteen. Excitedly, I throw it open to see two black and red tickets. I pick them up and scan the title. 

The Pentoglome Theatre Presents: Chase Atlantic - Live in Concert

“No way,” I start laughing, glancing at her in the driver’s seat in awe. “How’d you get these?”

“By using three different devices – all at the same time.” 

I lean across the middle console to kiss her cheek. I’d kiss her mouth if she wasn’t crossing a green light. A slow, easy grin spreads across her mouth, lifting her cheeks cheerfully. A part of me thinks we – and everyone else on the road – are lucky she’s in the driver’s seat and not me because I know we wouldn’t be crossing another streetlight right now if we were. 

The theatre is alight with a thunderous crowd, buttery popcorn, the scent of beer, and a buzz of excitement. YN tucks her hand into mine and lets me drag us through the hundreds of bodies until we find a spot we like. I wrap my arms around her from the back as the show starts, kissing her cheek relentlessly just to see her giggle. I’ll never tell her but her laugh alone is better than the performance we’re about to see. 

When the band comes out, we throw our arms up in the air and scream along with everyone else in the venue. The moment the first few chords of Into It start, the crowd goes wild. We all sing-along, word for word, with so much enthusiasm that the ground shakes beneath our feet. I don’t even notice when I lose myself to the music, not even when YN pulls out her phone to record me with bright eyes and red cheeks. 

Halfway through the show, as the band is performing Falling, I remember our summer, and how much I wanted to kiss her when we were driving home one night. Back then, I had to hold back. We both did. Because we were hiding, lying to ourselves that we didn’t love each other the way we did – the way we do, and always will. And even though I can’t change the past, I know I have every power imaginable to pick my present. 

I set my hand on YN’s waist and tug her into me. Although she’s a little startled, her eyes are full of that same fondness I adore. Her hands fall against my chest, and she says, “Hey.” 

“Hi,” I say back just before I dip my head down and bring her lips into a kiss I’ll never get tired of giving. And when she smiles into it, I know she shares the same feeling.

And you keep on falling, baby, figure it out. 

. . . 

JANUARY

“Jeremiah!” My Mom’s booming voice raises the hair on my arms as I’m laying in bed killing zombies. I sit up and run to my door, worried that she’s fallen sick or needs an ambulance. I checked on her an hour ago and she was fine, on the phone with a friend with her book half-finished next to a cup of oolong tea. Dad’s been pushing her to drink it, multiple cups a day, ever since he read an article about how it’s good for breast cancer patients. Mom smiles and drinks it for him, to appease him even though they’re hardly married anymore. “Jeremiah, come down here!” 

I take the steps two at a time, bounding down the staircase in a flurry of emotions and intrigue. At the bottom, I find my mother by the bannister holding up a giant, red and white envelope with Fraiser Mont’s emblem encrusted on the front. I tear my eyes away from it for a second to stare at her. Mom grins, and even though her eyes are more sunken in and her skin is losing its radiance, she still looks like Mom and she’s so happy that I know, even without looking, that whatever’s in there is a positive thing. 

I pull my phone out of my pocket and call YN, following Mom to the breakfast table where she and I take our seats. YN picks up the call and easily, her face falls into view. She’s wearing a face mask, one of those jelly ones she loves, and asks me what happened. 

Mom holds up the envelope to the camera. I grin as YN rips off her mask and cramps closer to the screen. Her big, brown eyes take up the whole thing, which makes Mom chuckle while my nerves start ringing. YN received her acceptance a few days ago and we celebrated over FaceTime. I wonder if we can go for round two now. 

Mom pushes the envelope towards me. My hands shake as I rip off the circular sticker. Inside, the contents provided are a single, folded letter printed on thick, white paper, a program brochure, and a small packet of stickers with the university’s name and mascot – an otter – on them. 

I start to open the letter then stop. I look at Mom then at my girlfriend. I’ve never felt more stressed than right at this moment. “If I don’t get in…” 

“You will,” Mom cuts in, patting my hand lovingly. Her touch is warm despite the fragility of her skin and the bones peeking out. It hurts to look at her sometimes, the way she is now. Her weight is nearly half of what it was in the summer. “You have to believe you will, Jere.” 

I swallow then nod. I snatch a glance at YN who smiles back at me like she believes it, too. With newfound courage, I flip the letter open and begin to read out loud. 

“Dear Mr. Jeremiah Fisher,” I breathe out, slow and forcing myself not to read ahead, lest the disappointment come too early, “on behalf of our esteemed institution, Fraiser Mont is delighted to–” YN lets out a squeal of delight before I finish reading whilst my mother throws her arms around me in a tight hug. I start shaking but with Mom holding me the way she is, I know I won’t be falling off this chair. I swallow twice before continuing. “– offer you admission to the Class of 2016. It is our pleasure to invite you to join our illustrious college which will set you firm on the path to future success. Congratulations!” 

Mom kisses the top of my head repeatedly. “Oh, my darling boy! I’m so proud of you! So proud!” 

I hug her back with equal enthusiasm while YN pretends she isn’t wiping her tears away on FaceTime. I grab my phone and grin at her. 

“Can’t get rid of me now, Daisy.” 

YN mirrors my grin, and just like all the other moments I've spent with her, I see my whole life ahead of me by her side. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

[monaluisa]

More on historical Spamano???

Okay idk how much sense this will make because that post came to me in a burst of realization and I haven’t explored Spain very thoroughly before (my speciality as a fic writer is the Ancient Mediterranean and pre-Italian Unification OCs) But there are two contexts in which I’ve discussed Spain:

The first is in “Sons of Naught”, a fic set immediately after Third Punic War, wherein Rome enslaves all of Carthage’s living descendants. Primarily, this fic focuses on my Tuscany OC taking pity on my Tunisia OC, but as Romulus is discussing his plans for his newly enslaved nations with Tunisia, this exchange occurs:

Africanus grew pale. “And what of Sakar—” he caught himself before he finished, and masking his anxiety, continued, “What of Antonius?”

“Oh, worry not, Africanus. I have no designs for him such as those you think. Recall that your father started these wars in Sicily. When we fought at Messana, my men found an infant there, who was Sicily immortal, and my own blood.

“Bearing that in mind, I declare that Antonius be given to Lovinus as an attendant.”

Lovinus looked at Antonius. Antonius looked at Lovinus. Neither spoke; it was neither’s place to do so when Romulus did.

Because Lovino’s existence is connected to the start of the Punic Wars (and because, as per a previous paragraph in the fic, Spain and Portugal are too young to really be useful as slaves) Romulus kind of just hands Antonio over for Lovino to deal with, something that Lovino must have relished.

Antonio was, for all intents and purposes, living proof that Lovino’s success as a nation was guaranteed, because Romulus was an empire who could not only kill other nations like Carthage or Etruria, but actually enslave them, something that’s implied to be especially cruel on Romulus’ part, since the enslavement will only end either when Romulus falls from power or the enslaved nations die for real.

And as we all know, Rome did fall, and Romulus’ death was a pivotal moment for both Lovino and Antonio. Everyone Romulus had enslaved in “Sons of Naught” (except for my Sardinia OC) ransacked the house and escaped to the lands they represented, knowing that Lovino was too powerless to claim ownership of them any more.

As far as Lovino goes as a character, his entire identity was constructed around being Romulus’ heir—if he has no great empire to inherit, he is nothing. The playing field has been leveled, and he has to start from scratch the same way Carthage’s orphaned descendants must. Only for Sicily, though powerful, to be conquered time and time again. Only for Feliciano (who I hc as Venice prior to unification) to totally eclipse him in wealth and trade.

And only, of course, for Lovino to end up a servant in Spain as Antonio becomes the next big power in Europe. Now, until my dying breath, I’m gonna stumble around Chibitalia because there’s no way the Italy bros specifically were as young during this period as they’re shown in the show, but I do believe that Lovino’s physical growth (his age) stunted for a while during this period. Not a good sign for a nation. (see HRE staying a child for centuries before slowly and painfully perma-dying.)

Which brings me to the second example of me talking about Spain in my fics: in “A Sicut Erat”, in which my Sardinia OC reflecting on his life and downfall while he dies at the end of WW2, there’s this section about Spain’s golden age:

And in the mansion in Zaragoza, Lovinus, then called Lovino, had been humiliated once again.

“As his grandfather renamed ourselves,” Antonio explained to Nicola in the light of the fire one night, “I have renamed him and his brother both. They bear the Spanish name Vargas.”

And how miserable time had made Lovino! Sicily had amassed wealth and power, but the boy had aged only a few human years since the last time Nicola had seen him. Lovino burned with shame wherever he went, muttering curses as he swept the floors, retorting Antonio’s every word with a biting tongue. From time to time, he was struck by fits of St. Vitus’ dance, knocking over vases and tripping over his own feet, and secretly, in the pits of the night, Nicola prayed that it meant he would see the boy’s death.

Those were the days when Spain ruled the seas, and so it seemed, the world. A slave of Rome had risen to the same level as him, if not greater: so much was the gold from the New World that its glisten became dull! The merchant ships of Genoa, who had conquered Sardinia, and Venice, Romulus’ rich and happy grandson, became powerless in the face of the brave new world that formed in the West!

Now, the whole renaming thing was just me trying to make the Italy Bro’s Spanish surname make sense 😭 but in another sense, this passage shows that the tables have turned. Antonio is now Romulus, Lovino is now Antonio, and with a new world quite literally opening up for the powers of Europe to imperialize, it seems like Lovino is just…doomed. Trade is shifting from the Mediterranean to the Atlantic. A new Roman Empire can never rise again, least of all under Lovino, and to him, promised a world that collapsed under his feet, that’s a fate worse than death.

But that’s not the end of the story either! Spain declines around the 18th century, and Sicily in the 19th as Lovino gets screwed over by Italian Unification (read Brutus and Achilles if you want more insight into this and other aspects of Lovino’s character 👀) but they’re both still alive, and they’re still the people they always were. They have always been bound together for some reason or another, and because neither is nearly as powerful as they once were, they are also now even.

Idk if that made sense, but there’s a lot of twists and turns in their lives that make for a compelling relationship between the two. Not even in a shipping way, necessarily. Add in their conflicting personalities though and oooooooh baby that’s good stuff.

I need to get a life lol

[starbeltconstellation]

omg hiiiiii! i’ve been loving your fic since forever, and melanie is one of my favorite characters. i’ve always been curious about where you got the inspiration for her. every time i re-read the fic, i find something new that makes me fall in love with her even more.

i really appreciate how you don’t make her a mary sue, which is something i’ve sadly come across a lot in this fandom. her flaws feel very human, and she behaves in a way that most of us would. yet, you write her in a way that she doesn’t seem like just another fragile character. she has depth and strength that make her stand out. 💕💕💕

Hello! 😊💕❤️👋

Ahhhh, thank you so very much for the ask, dear anon! 😭❤️❤️❤️🥹 It’s soooo sweet. I always have wished more readers would hop on over to leave their thoughts. Maybe it would give me a little bit more of that sweet dopamine motivation. 😩😂 Lol.

As always when I hear this, I’m SOOOO happy that you love Melanie so much. 😭💕😁 It literally means the WORLD to me that so many people relate to a character I’ve written. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside, and then I think: “huh, maybe my writing isn’t half bad. 😌” 😂

It’s sooo cool to know you reread my fic often! 😭💕💕❤️❤️💕❤️ I’d love to read a comment whenever you do, just so I can go “agshsvhwbshvs!!! 😭” as a thank you for your kindness to read my little old work. Haha.

I’ll put the rest of my answer under a read more:

I’m so happy Mel doesn’t come across as a Mary Sue! ❤️ That was one of my worst fears, so it was REALLY important to me to try and flesh her out and give her an arc separate from Anakin. And the biggest part of that is The Shopkeeper, because it means Melanie has her OWN antagonist to deal with, just as Palpatine is Anakin’s antagonist. This was important because—just as I didn’t want Anakin to take away from MELANIE’S character arc—I in turn also didn’t want Melanie to take away from ANAKIN’S character arc. He IS still The Chosen One, after all.

That fact is really important, as Mel kind of brings up if you’ve read my latest chapter. 👀 Because it’s SO important to acknowledge how important Anakin is to the narrative and in the fate of the galaxy—specifically BECAUSE that gives him agency in his choices. Yes, there are factors such as his horrible past as a slave which fucks up his mind, but still: at the end of the day, Anakin wasn’t mind controlled. HE made those choices, and the galaxy all suffered for years because of it—because he was too selfish to change. Until Luke came along, that is. And while it’s a bittersweet feeling to say you can always change your mind, I WILL be exploring some in this fic how Anakin’s choice at the end of ROTJ is basically… selfless/selfish all at once. 😭🫣😬 (the Anakin stans gonna get me for this one. Lol. 😂).

Basically, his choice to save Luke is selfless, because he saves Luke knowing that he’ll die doing it, and won’t be around to spend time with his son. He has no clue Obi-Wan is gonna hop in last minute and speed run teaching Anakin how to become a Force ghost in the final seconds before eternal nothingness. And yet—at the same TIME—the action is selfish, specifically BECAUSE Anakin would ONLY do this for Luke. His SON. His BLOOD. But would he do it for anyone else? Like—idk—Han Solo? 😭🤷‍♀️ HELL no.

And honestly… I fr don’t know if he’d do it for Leia either. 😬🥶🫣 Low key, I truly think half the reason Luke got through to Anakin was through his sheer blind faith/loyalty in him that his father would turn it around at the last moment (and hey! He WAS right. 🤷‍♀️). But LEIA wasn’t sunshine incarnate like Luke. Leia HATED Anakin as Darth Vader. Anakin also TORTURED Leia canonically and also held her back while Tarkin blew up her planet and basically shrugged his shoulders like—“what can ya do, ya know? 🤷‍♀️🤪🤪”, so I’m FAIRLY certain Leia wouldn’t be begging Anakin to change/have such blind faith in him like Luke did. So—switch it around where Leia is the one being killed with lightning—and SHE doesn’t call out for her father. Because SHE truly doesn’t BELIEVE he can change like Luke could.

Can you TRULY see Anakin still making the same choice he did with Luke in ROTJ? 😬 Because, honestly? I can’t. 🥶🤷‍♀️

But anyway! 😂 This is becoming a little bit of a meta post, so I’ll try to move things back to your original ask.

But yes, it was SO important to me that Melanie had a realistic response to being in the SW universe, because with all the fics I’ve read—NONE of the OC’s actually react in a realistic manner. 😭🤦‍♀️ And so it was important for me to show her disbelief at first, INCLUDING her fear of Anakin. Because yessss, yessss, I know Anakin is fandoms little serial killer blorbo 🙄 (and I respect that! He’s mine too. 😏💓), but Anakin also isn’t REAL to the fans, and can be written any way they want. But for MELANIE, Anakin is now a flesh and blood person who can make his own decisions now… and considering his decisions end up being VERY bad… I do think her terror of him makes sense. 😭🤷‍♀️😂❤️

And it was REALLY important to me that Mel wasn’t just connected to the SW universe through Anakin. SO many OC’s are written without an arc because the whole fic is just about the romance, but when you do that—the OC becomes flat! Ya know? 🤷‍♀️😭 So it was important to me Mel gained other friends in the SW universe, like Ahsoka and the clones and even Yoda and Todo. All of this relates with Mel’s choice with The Shopkeeper 👀 (that I won’t spoil for any new readers who come across this post), because it means that Melanie has grown to care about the people in the SW universe, including what happens to them in the end. 💔😖

And I’m so glad you see the depth and strength to her! 😭❤️💕💕💕 That means a lot. It was certainly a struggle at first, because I obviously wanted her to start out weak and grow stronger and more confident as time passes on—but at the same time—I wanted to show that she has a backbone and a strong moral foundation; ie; she’s can’t turn her back on people she KNOWS she has the power to help (an interesting comparison to Anakin, isn’t it? 👀👀).

As for my inspiration for Melanie? Well, I think I’ve mentioned this before to some of my online friends, but when I first started the process of outlining this story, I just had the thought of—“If I landed in the SW universe, and met Anakin (AKA: Darth fucking Vader 🥶), how would I REALISTICALLY react?”

And ta da! 😁✨💕❤️ There you have it. That’s how Melanie Bains was born. Hehe.

I feel like that’s why so many people love her and relate to her—I first based a lot of Melanie’s reactions on myself and how I thought I’d act in the SW universe—but it honestly makes a lot of sense that everyone else relates to her so much, because Melanie IS basically a stand in for every fan in the SW universe (at least, the general audience fans 😂). When she curses in her head or grumbles at the clones’s antics or cannot shoot a blaster shot in a straight line (at least at first) to save her LIFE—the audience laughs and thinks, “Pfffft, that’s SO me. 😌✨😂”

And I think that’s what makes Melanie’s character so appealing. 😊❤️💕 And I’m VERY excited to show you all her journey on becoming tougher as time in the Clone Wars continues on. 😁❤️

Thank you so very much for the ask, dear anon! 🥺❤️ It truly makes my day. Hehe. 😊❤️✨💕

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To any new readers that stumble across this and are curious enough to check out my fic:

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