#Nobody has escaped unscathed

[yesterdayiwrote]

No, the fits are fine, but what the actual fuck is the deal with the photo retouching in those merc pictures? They've done them both dirty?!

[batsplat]

Kind of a weird question but I was wondering if you have ever watched the motogp documentary shows, I think there are two? I've never seen anyone talk about them before so I'm assuming they're not very good. I was just wondering what your thoughts are on them. Also, if you have watched them or if you haven't watched them I was wondering if there is a specific reason for that or just generally your thoughts on sports documentaries like these ones or the F1 one or the tennis one.

I really love reading all your posts on motogp and tennis, thank you so much for contributing so much to the community!

thank you, that's very kind!! and yeah, we've had one season of 'motogp unlimited' and two seasons of 'there can only be one'. (every single time I try and remember the name for the second one, my brain goes 'and then there were none' before remembering what the actual title is. very different vibe.) I have watched them, for which the main reason is... uh. curiosity, ig? I'm interested in how the sport presents itself, interested in what they're doing for fan engagement, even when I'm not necessarily the target audience. I actually got into f1 in a slightly dumb way because they'd announced a tennis version of drive to survive and I was curious what that'd look like, so me and my flatmate decided to watch drive to survive. then some of the actual races, and it just sort of spiralled from there

which is probably the only new fan of anything that tennis show created - don't bother checking it out. absolute drivel. I know about the issues with dts and I am obviously more aware of the inaccuracies by now, but the main sin of the tennis version is that they never figured out how to make the sport remotely compelling. they made a show called 'break point' without explaining what a break of serve is. the central narrative tension of a tennis match and they just squander it. dts obviously doesn't engage all that much with the sporting side of f1 - but it does very early on provide you with the concept of a pit stop, this moment of direct interaction between the team and the driver, how suddenly the fate of the driver is completely dependent on the team etc etc. it's such a simple thing but it's immediately engaging... I get that it's a fine balance to strike between focusing on the characters and giving information about the actual sport, but I cannot emphasise enough how easy the drama of the serve/return dynamic should be to get across. I had a similar rant about this with the challengers film earlier this year actually... and again, I am fully aware I'm not the target audience here, I just think that when the actual sport hands you such neatly packaged drama, just... take advantage of what's already there? idk. call me crazy

ignore the bits about the tennis threesome and it's basically the same issue. like I watched most of the matches featured in that series and they didn't even try to capture the stories of these matches!! this feels so basic come on I am begging someone to do this right. 'break point' basically tells me a player lost a set 2-6 and then won a set 6-4 because they tried really hard and believed in themselves. I promise promise promise you can make the actual SPORT more compelling than that. the rhythms of a tennis match are so well-defined and clearly laid out... it should not be so hard to tap into this

compared to that baseline, the motogp shows are... hm... well, they're better than the tennis one for sure. just more watchable. it has admittedly been ages and ages since I've watched motogp unlimited, and I do remember liking some bits. just in terms of like... behind the scenes drama we didn't see at the time. I enjoyed the vinales/yamaha drama, I've obviously professed my love for marc's psycho look at mir, I thought the marc sachsenring segment was pretty well done. I can't... actually massively remember anything else, which is probably an issue in itself. from memory, I feel like a lot of my issues with 'give people a reason to care about the sport' still hold with this one. which tbh really shouldn't be that hard to do with motogp, like they're racing motorcycles, it's inherently conceptually a cool thing to be doing. I'm not a massive fan of 'hitting the apex' - but even though I feel it's a bit too style-over-substance-y, that's exactly what unlimited could have used a bit more of. the opening few minutes of that film where it cuts between the little kid and the motorcycle racers figuring out how to take the fastest line around the circuit... not massively a fan of pitt's narration throughout the film but it works here, I also think the music is doing a lot of good work. the whole thing does just do the job

like it just makes you feel the sport. I feel there's sometimes a bit too much of a wariness of making these sport shows feature too much of the sport... but if you're trying to make the sport compelling, you will actually have to figure out how to show the sports bit in a compelling way. you're so terrified of losing the casual viewer you're losing sight of what you're making a documentary of - when the whole appeal of a good documentary is to lose yourself in a world you might only be passingly familiar with. HAP leans into this emotional element from the start because it's also just some guys wanking off to the concept of motorcycles going fast, but you do need a little bit of that! the final product is a bit too sentimental and self-congratulatory for my tastes, but again. you need that core of genuine affinity for the sport

I do actually agree with the documentary that the process of taking a corner is what I'd lead with when introducing the sport to the new viewer. the lean angle of the rider and motorcycle is the most immediately striking visual angle - it looks quite jarring if you're unfamiliar with the sport, like the physics shouldn't quite check out. motogp really likes its corners, you've got plenty of specific ones associated with specific historically specific moves - your assen final chicanes, last corner jerez and catalunya, laguna corkscrew, etc etc. the instinctive terror of braking into some of them... mugello's main straight and turn one are infamous for a reason. these are things that easily tap into the character of the sport, but are also easy enough to sprinkle in for the casual viewer. the corner is where most of the overtakes happen, it's moments of direct engagement between riders - which, again, is probably what you want to be focusing on out of the gates. how this has evolved over the years - the contrast between the sport two decades ago and now is so easy to spot even for the layperson, and in large part that's because of how much more excessively they lean now. again, this is just very basic stuff... but as a starting point, surely you've got to try and tap into some of this shit. this is what your first-time viewer will be thinking about anyway when they're watching bikes go around track, so tap into that and explain why it's even more exciting than they think. sometimes motogp also leans in a bit too much for my liking into the whole 'they're gladiators who have broken every bone of their bodies!!' angle... yes, it's an unavoidable reality of the sport, but it makes the whole thing feel quite grim and morose. it's not what I'd lead with, let's but it that way

I'm aware this ask was not asking me to give my thoughts on how I personally would make a motogp documentary series lol. but yeah, idk, motogp unlimited as I remember it was 'reasonably fine but also a bit dull'. if you're already a fan of the sport, it swings between interesting tidbits I'm glad we got to see and telling you a whole lot of things you already knew, without particularly engaging framing and trappings. if you're a newcomer of the sport... I'm not convinced this show sells you on why you should actually care. and, idk if this is a controversial opinion or not, but I personally prefer... ffs what was it called. there can only be one. well first off, change the title - this one's a mouthful and just feels quite generic and half-arsed, which I suppose is appropriate. idk if they're doing it again this year... I thought the second season was a clear step-up from the first so I kind of hope they do. I don't actually think this is 'good' in that I wouldn't really give this to a new viewer and I'm not entirely sure who the target audience was - but it was basically fine for what it was. a glorified highlights package with a few extra behind the scenes tidbits to get you hyped for the new season. I liked the process of whittling down and introducing new title contenders and then the thing of turning off the light when they leave the chair once they're out of contention. it just feels like something that's quite nice to have as a bit of a summary of the season. it's a bit more like what they used to do in the 2010s, where they often made a documentary of the title winner and just a bunch of interviews with them and their team chucked in. the best one of these imo is the very first one they did for jorge in 2010, which includes some lovely childhood jorge footage and that segment where him and his team made it obvious how pissed off they were at valentino's catalunya 2009 celebrations lol, stuff like that. just some nice little details for the narrative!! those provide a bit more insight than the quite surface-level show we have now but... y'know, I don't hate it. fine to accompany you washing the dishes

anyway, yeah. that's my thoughts on both of those. I'm not massively enamoured with any motogp documentaries, though I do appreciate how at least there are a fair few. from the ones that exist, my favourite one is probably marc's all in thingy - had plenty of issues with it, but of its subject at least the issues were sometimes revealing in and of themselves. mostly I do just think the best way to understand the sport is to... go and watch a lot of races. older ones too. which I get is more time-consuming, but quite frankly it does feel like a more rewarding process. sometimes you have to piece together the narratives yourself

[enemui]

So Mel Medarda

Watched her own mother behead a woman when she was a child

Was exiled from her own family for not being ruthless enough

Still managed to make herself prominent enough to become a member of the Piltover council

Helped two young inventors pursue their project even though it seemed like what they were doing is madness—This brought incredible profit and technological advancements to the city. And then it also turned out this stuff was causing crazy magic polution, which she couldn't have known but now can blame herself for, since she supported the project.

She was there for the bombing of her workplace which killed half of her colleagues, crippled one and almost killed her at-the-time lover's partner. Then she learned why she was unscathed was dormant magic powers, so now she gets to grapple with the reality that she could've saved them all if she just knew about this stuff and how to control it. At the same time, if she didn't subconsciously activate that shield, she would've been dead. Like. Wow. Oh my God.

Then she got attacked again, directly had a gun pointed at her and when she tried to escape, she got trapped in a carriage that toppled over.

Then she got kidnapped and watched as her kidnapper brutally murdered her friend. Then said kidnapper took the form of her late brother and tried to play with her emotionally and she bashed that bitch's head in.

Then this kidnapper tried to manipulate her into betraying her own mom.

It's revealed she has crazy magic powers which have been kept from her her whole life, her mom basically traded her brother's life for hers to hide her away and now she has to grapple with the fact that this is what she is, and God knows what other people might think of her if they learn.

She saved Jayce's ungrateful ass from the Viktor robot, after he literally had the worst fucking reaction to the previous point.

She saved Caitlin's life.

She killed her kidnapper.

She held her own mother and watched her die.

And now she basically has to return home to take over as the new head of the family, despite all the connections and the life she built in Piltover, not to mention that place also got fucked and she can't even be there to help rebuild, because she has all this other shit going on and God knows when will all this finally emotionally break her.

Did I miss anything?

Like, holy shit, Mel Medarda the character you are. The shit you've been through that nobody gives you enough credit for.

I want more of this woman. I want her to finally be actually happy, not just on top of things or in control. I want her to experience good things to make up for all this crap and then I want to see her do cool magic stuff, while still being the intelligent ruler that she is.

[faesdreaming]

Yandere Deity - Altar

tw: yandere behaviour, possessive/obsessive behaviour, kidnapping, diety uses he/him pronouns, gaslighting, yandere using his abilities to mess with reader’s perception of reality

“Haven’t you come to worship at my altar?”

•A lone Deity part of a forgotten pantheon, lost to the sands of time. What once was a bountiful temple; filled with offerings and gifts of fruits, meats, candles, with sounds of prayers and hymns of worship ringing through the halls, people streaming in to sing his praise, is now nothing but an empty ruin.

•He’s so very lonely. Nary a person has come to visit him in centuries. Years pass by and he has nothing, no one. Until you. A fateful eve when you happen upon the temple. Hidden away in the heart of a lush jungle, you, an archaeologist, find your El Dorado, your city of gold. You’d long since heard tales of a lost civilization, an Atlantis on land. Yet, here the remnants lay in front of your eyes.

•At the heart of the ruins lays a temple, grand and golden. Although time has chipped away at its’ grandeur, it’s still glorious, in your opinion. It’s a testament to humanity’s evolution. You don’t notice him though, no one does. But he’s noticed you. Nosy little thing, aren’t you? Impudent, little mortal wretch. He ought to kill you for your audacity. Daring to defile his sacred temple, you deserve nothing but the most painful end,

•But, you’re not actually defiling it, are you? You’re so respectful, treating every artifact as though it were the Holy Grail. You revere his temple, it’s a wonder, a marvel to you. It, you treatment, you reverence— you make him feel something new, something foreign. The attention you give him is intoxicating. He’s been forgotten, left behind. Yet, you’re here now. And he isn’t going to let you go.

•So, when a series of natural disasters occurs and suddenly your team is halved, some leaving after the first incident, others meeting fates you don’t want to recall. The others are slowly losing hope, they’ve lost friends, money, time to your passion project. This is your life’s work, you can’t just give up, can you? You don’t want to. You really don’t. But you’re smart enough to know when to cut your losses.

•Then, another freak accident hits. This time is more devastating. Nobody escaped unscathed, nobody escapes at all. Nobody is except for you. You slip in and out of consciousness. One moment, you’re in the rubble amongst your dead coworkers and friends, and suddenly you’re in a bed, soft and warm. You’re delirious, unable to actually make out anything. But you’re certain there’s someone taking care of you. A man. A beautiful man, something, someone, divine. His touch is soft and gentle. Caring even. He placates you with sweet platitudes you can’t quite comprehend in this state, but the smooth baritone of his voice makes your heart soar.

•When you fully regain consciousness, you’re able to see your surroundings. You’re in a room filled with luxury. Ornate decor, golden furniture, the whole nine yards. It’s impressive, if not a little, a lot, off-putting. How did you get here? Who was the man taking care of you? Thousands of questions and thoughts flood your mind. It’s interrupted by him, the man.

“You’re finally awake. How are you feeling?”

•You blink in confusion. It’s—he’s— everything is too much. Too overwhelming. He chuckles, it’s a rich sound that sends shivers down your spine. He reassures you, slowly and gently placing a strong hand of on your shoulder. There’s something commanding in his soft tone, something compelling you to swallow the lump in your throat and obey. He laughs again and you blush.

•He introduces himself as the one who’s been taking care of you. Doesn’t offer you any explanation as to why, but you ought to be grateful. After all, you could have been left out to die. He offers you food and water. You eat like a man starved and drink the water as though it were the sweetest ambrosia. He offers to let you stay here— where is here?— with him.

“You may leave whenever you decide to leave.”

•He promises, even escorts you out of the room, down halls that moves and shift, and spin around. You’re dizzy, delirious, unable to care for yourself. He carries you back to the room. How embarrassing. Your apologies when you regain your composure are shrugged off. It’s fine, he insists. You’re sick, vulnerable. He reiterates his offer, stay until you get better— you could’ve sworn he said stay forever— and are able to fend for yourself. You nod your head in agreement. It’s the logical choice, really. You’d probably die on your own.

•He smiles a brilliant smile at you, swears he’ll care for you diligently. And he has been, hasn’t he? You’re beginning to trust him, have faith— why?— in him. He stays true to his word. Working tirelessly to care for not only your body but your mind as well. Sleepless nights are spent with him by your side, telling you folktales and myths, singing soft lullabies to lull you to sleep, or even merely conversing with you. Days are spent improving your health. He feeds you by hand sometimes when you are too weak to do it yourself. When your health shows signs of improvement, you both go on walks, exploring the extensive gardens and many palace— temple, building, you’re not sure where you are— halls.

•He gifts you with many things too. Soft silk robes, shining jewels, ancient tomes and books, everything you desire you’re given. It’s not your fault, really, that you start to love him— do you?— especially not when’s he’s so kind. So handsome, beautiful really. He looks inhuman, like something divine. He’s attentive and nurturing. Your own prince charming. Your feelings grow as time progresses— how long has it been, you need to leave— until you can’t contain it.

•One day, as he presses a warm cloth to your forehead, you notice just how close he is. How he’s just out of touch. You greedily drink it in, unconsciously inching closer until your lips are pressed against his. The kiss is soft, chaste and you immediately pull away. Your stammering and feeble apologies are interrupted by his hand cupping your cheek. He leans in, your heart thumping in your chest, and kisses you again. This time, you don’t pull away.

•He, your lover, your heart loves you too. It’s surreal— too surreal— and your days spent together become all the more special. You’re utterly content with him, he’s become the air you breathe, the light of your life, you’re everything. It’s only natural for you to become consumed by him. By your life with your beloved— to forget you ever had a life before— spending eternity forever in his arms.

“We only have until forever, love.”

[aweina]

୨୧. secret love spot — mortal kombat one. ( 17 + ) kameos : sub-zero. smoke + johnny cage

where you mark them. cw mentions of blood. biting. some angst.

bruises were a rarity for bi-han. his battles were fought effortlessly, driven by his icy rage and agile instincts. no common man has ever been able to brag about the tiny scratch imposed on the grandmaster’s body, or even boast about the brush of their bleeding knuckles passing by his scowl before they hit the ground. although with you, it’s a different story. your mouth was a weapon, a brush filled with the most colorful hues. you expel colors of cherry red, blush pink — the occasional deep purple — all over his milky skin. his neck and collarbones was your absolute favorite. the risk of him getting caught were palpable, one mindless adjustment to his collar would show a watercolor painting. bi-han, sadly, is too careful to let that happen. he’s composed with his movements, alert of where his hands should be, and the dead look in his eye draws curious eyes away from him. it’s a game he’ll gladly partake, knowing he’ll always win and have the reward of having your soft mouth prettily biting and suckling over the junction of his neck to his sharp collarbones. the outline of your mouth and the indents of your teeth were engraved into his mind, they teasingly ghost over the veins of his neck and ache over the hardness of his skin even after days has been passed. his loved skin has yet to heal. smudges of faint reds and purples across his usual unscathed complexion makes him smile in satisfaction and swell with pride over your cute little ownership you had over him. someone as small and fragile as you could be quite terrifying, much more than the faceless nobodies that dare to challenge him. from a mark from an enemy shows weakness, but a mark from a lover shows possession.

affection came from your lips. that’s what tomas believed. for a long time, his skin ached for a touch — one that felt loving and warm. instead it became tainted with oozing cuts and aching bruises, some encasing stories of deep tragedies and hardships, most he couldn’t even remember receiving until he quietly aids his broken body under the remnants of natural light. your touch felt like a healing balm, much softer and tender than the ones that were fueled with rage and pain. tomas, naturally, became putty to the brush of your soothing lips. each peck and drag of your plush lips made him go weak, vulnerable and unfocused — the complete opposite when he is sinking his sharpened karambit deep into the flesh and bones of those who threaten him with absolute precision and the crawling fear of death. it was then until you marked him for the first time, the press of your teeth feathery light until they were heavy set on his skin — tomas made a noise he couldn’t believe escaped his mouth. the sight of deep bruises used to remind him of temporary damage, broken skin battered from hate — restless training. now seeing them peppered over his hipbones his wrists, the only thing he could think of is your affection. the way you look up at him with watery eyes, suckling and licking gently over the redden bite marks blossoming on his blank pelvis. then you kiss and whisper sweet nothings into his wrist, pursing your swollen lips to decorate blossoms of deepened bruises over his starving skin. tomas gazes down over his bare body and is saddened to see your love marks hidden underneath his clothing. battle scars were always proudly shown, why couldn’t he do the same with the marks you’ve given him?

bruises and marks were a nightmare for johnny. a deep unflattering blemish to his manicured skin, he couldn’t even stand the sight of it when he passed by a mirror conveniently placed around his presence. this would leave him stuck at home with a lousy ice pack before he could even step forth on set. although he does acknowledge the fact it shows nobility and the effort he puts into his extravagant stunts and fighting sequences, they were a total pain in the ass — especially when they tainted the sculpt of his picturesque face. they painfully ached on his skin. any graze over his broken skin made him muffle a pathetic cry in the sleeves on his shirt. they completely ruin his perfect complexion, blotches of bleak yellow and shadowy purples mocked his pride until they fully healed and vanished. he hates bruises, end of story. but … there are exceptions. one he could positively think of you, yeah … definitely you. you’re absolute dynamite — passionate and not shy to leave a few marks here and there. the warmth of your mouth was addicting, one little kiss and his skin is adorned with dozens of purplish traces and teeth marks that pooled a drop of blood. he felt like a work of art, letting you greedily paint your lips over his luminous skin that he constantly pampered. johnny noticed that you loved to mark his inner thighs, holding them between your head as you branded him with your affection — suckling ever so slowly like you were savoring the taste of his rich cologne. not only does he love the touch of your mouth, but a mouthwatering sight he’ll never want to erase from his head. he’s cocky throughout it all, a smug look on his face with his pride swelling from your affectionate mouth. only then he’s turned over he feels a very sharp bite to his ass, johnny pathetically whimpers as he’s paraded with your laughter, only to be gently soothed afterwards with the warmth of your tongue. although he still whines at the painful marks and bites and gets sacred sitting down, he’s grown more fond of the look — johnny looked good in everything after all.

© aweina : please do not copy, repost, or modify any of my content.

[helloalycia]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐄 [𝐎𝐍𝐄] — 𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐈𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐎𝐑

two / masterlist / wattpad

summary: when you break your arm in the plane crash, Jackie seems to be helping you out more than usual and you're left wondering why.

warning/s: mentions of a plane crash, amputation, broken bones.. the usual warnings that come with Yellowjackets lol.

author's note: this has been ready for a while now, as have a few other things whilst i work on some old requests. sorry for the delay with everything - i’ve been very busy, but i hope you like this two part jackie imagine :)

I could hear screaming and shouting, there was smoke everywhere and, despite my confusion, I knew I needed to get out of here before the smoke suffocated me.

Clipping off my seatbelt, I scrambled out of the aisle and briefly looked around, unable to make sense of anything, and then my head was spinning and I couldn't stay here any longer. Fresh air. I needed to breathe and then I could work out what was what.

Following the sound of screaming seemed counterproductive, but that was the way out, so I dragged my body – which felt like it had been thrown around in a blender – out the back of the plane and to... the middle of the forest?

The team. Some of them were running around, doing all sorts I couldn't seem to focus on, whilst others were bent over, catching their breath, appearing dazed and confused like me. I didn't get long to think about how I'd ended up here when, suddenly, someone shoved into me from behind and I fell forward, landing right on my outstretched arm.

A scream escaped my lips at the pain that struck, it breaking through the fog of confusion. I squeezed my eyes shut, tears pricking them instinctively, and tried to breathe through the pain. Pushing myself up with my other hand, I grimaced at the slight movement of my left arm, which had to be broken considering I couldn't do anything with it.

It wasn't until after all the chaos, after everybody had stopped screaming and vomiting and crying, that the realisation that our plane had crashed hit us. And by then, I was too preoccupied with my broken arm. Imagine coming out of a plane crash unscathed, only to get pushed down and left with a broken arm. Very stupid, indeed.

Surprisingly, Misty was the only one who could work under pressure, barely fazed by everything happening and instead tending to everyone's injuries as quickly as she could. Upon realising I'd broken my arm, she immediately made me her best attempt at a splint using some sticks and an old ripped shirt, as well as helping me into a makeshift sling using the same ripped shirt. Given the circumstances, it was as good as a cast, but she didn't know the extent of the damage and I couldn't do anything more.

The first two days were a struggle, mainly because nobody knew what to do nor where to go. That was when the horrible acceptance of losing several members of our team, including one of our coaches, hit everyone hard. We all pitched in to bury them, though I wasn't able to do much with my arm, and held a funeral for them.

After the funeral ended, everybody stuck together in the vicinity of the crash. A few lingered away, probably trying to figure out where the hell we were, but I just wanted a sense of familiarity and stayed to open my suitcase which I'd luckily found. Unfortunately for me, the zipper required two hands, and only one of mine seemed to be available right now.

"Hey."

I sighed, looking up to see Jackie Taylor, the soccer team captain, standing there with her arms hugging herself. I hadn't spoken to her properly since before we set off, she'd mostly just stuck with Shauna, her best friend.

"Hey," I greeted, unsure what she wanted.

She nodded to my terrible sling. "How's your arm?"

"Very painful," I admitted, "but coach literally lost his leg, so I can't complain."

She frowned at my words, but it wasn't exactly an exaggeration. Misty had quite literally chopped Coach Scott's leg off when he got it trapped under the wing of the plane, and it wasn't an easy thing to deal with physically or mentally. A broken arm was nothing compared to an amputation.

"How are you?" I asked. She didn't look hurt, just tired and scared like the rest of us.

She shrugged helplessly, and I didn't need any elaboration. I nodded, acknowledging her, and then she said, "Do you need help with whatever you're doing?"

I looked down, remembering the dumb suitcase I couldn't open. "That would be great actually, yes. Can you hold it whilst I unzip it?"

She nodded and kneeled down, acting as my other hand whilst I unzipped my suitcase. It was a relief to finally open it, seeing everything was as I'd left it before we boarded the plane. That felt like a lifetime ago now.

"If you need help with anything else, just ask," Jackie said, making me look up to see her watching me.

Grateful, I offered her a small smile. "Thanks, Jackie."

She returned the smile, though it didn't reach her eyes. She'd been the first to offer her help in the first place, since everyone was preoccupied by their own trauma, so I appreciated it. Truthfully, the last person I expected to offer help was Jackie, since she usually thought of herself first.

"You should get some medication off Misty," she added. "It'll help with the pain."

I swallowed hard, smile fading. "Right. Thanks."

She nodded and left, glancing at me once more as she did. I didn't really question it as I looked back at my suitcase, distracting myself from the pain.

Later that day, Misty found me instead, immediately pouring out the medication she'd collated from everyone's suitcases in front of me.

"Misty, what are you–?"

"I've got some pills for you," she said nonchalantly.

"Oh, my arm doesn't hurt that much," I lied. "Coach needs–"

"There's enough for Ben, silly," she said with a laugh, making me quirk a brow. "Besides, it's not for your pain, though it will help with that, it's for the inflammation. Without surgery, that's gonna take a while to heal and anything we have can help."

I sighed, nodding. "Alright. Thanks."

"I'll give you them every dose," she said, before holding out two pills. "Here you go."

I silently accepted them, knowing they'd help but feeling bad that I'd be taking them when Coach Scott needed them more.

—

Finding the lake and the cabin was a lifesaver, literally. We needed water and somewhere to sleep that wasn't so out in the open, and I was already struggling to sleep as it was so at least being inside made it a little easier.

Oddly enough, over the next few days since moving into the cabin, I'd noticed Jackie staring at me. If I ever caught her eye, she'd look the other way or flash me a smile before awkwardly doing something else. I wasn't sure what was up, and it only became more questionable when she'd help me out if I needed it.

There was one time when I was trying to pull my shoes on, but struggling to tie the laces with my one good arm.

"Here, I got it," she said, coming out of nowhere to lean down in front of me and take over.

I watched her with curiosity, letting her tie my laces. She must've caught me staring as she looked up, eyes bright as they met mine.

"What?" she asked, standing back up.

I shook my head. "Nothing... thanks."

She nodded, smiling a little before leaving me be. And that wasn't it. Other times I'd be trying to carry something and she'd take it from me without a word, or I'd be pulling on a shirt and she'd quite literally help me into it. It was odd, because she'd never paid me any mind before, and wasn't very helpful to others. The other girls aided me when they occasionally saw me struggling, but not as much as Jackie.

Another time, I was struggling to sleep in my makeshift bed on the floor of the cabin. Everybody had fallen asleep hours ago, but my movement was restricted because of my arm and the shuffling I was doing was only bothering me more.

"You move a lot," a voice said in the firelight, startling me.

I looked over the room, past my sleeping team members, and saw it was Jackie laying on her side next to Shauna but facing me.

"Sorry," I mumbled guiltily. "Did I wake you?"

She shrugged, not answering my question, before saying, "Try elevating your arm."

"What?"

"That's why you can't sleep, right?" she asked.

I blinked, surprised she'd even noticed. "Yeah."

She sat up slowly, stretching, before crossing the room to grab what looked like a jacket. My eyes followed her as she moved, then she rolled it up before kneeling down beside me and placing it underneath my bad arm. I winced as she did so carefully, glancing at me apologetically, but then I relaxed my arm on top of the jacket and breathed out slowly.

"Is that better?" she asked quietly. "Won't be touching the ground now."

I nodded. "Yeah. Thanks, Jackie."

"No problem," she said, before returning to her bed. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," I replied, very tired and very confused.

That was when I knew I needed to ask her why she was being so considerate, so out of character, at least to me anyway. The next morning, after I'd done the one thing I could do with my arm which was collecting water from the lake when we needed it, I was bringing it to Akilah who was boiling it over the fire. Unfortunately, I tripped over a stone on the way, almost dropping the bucket. Jackie came out of nowhere, taking it from my hand and leaving it with Akilah before returning to me.

"You okay?" she asked with a raised brow, hand wavering over my arm.

I tilted my head curiously. "I– yeah. I just..."

She smiled with confusion, shaking her head. "What is it?"

I stared at her like she'd grown a second head. "Why do you keep helping me? Checking on me?"

She scoffed playfully, looking away before saying, "I'm still your captain. Gotta make sure the team's okay, right?"

I narrowed my eyes suspiciously, but I didn't have anything else to believe, so I gave in with a nod. "Yeah..."

"Take it easy," she said, eyes flickering to my arm before she left me.

—

Since we'd been stranded here, I'd only rinsed off in the lake once. That was a week ago when we found it, but I knew I needed to bathe properly and, after taking my shower gel, shampoo and conditioner, I headed for the lake. Washing my body was a struggle because of my arm, which had swollen so much to the point that even accidentally grazing my body with it sent a shot of pain in me.

I managed to wash my body the best I could, getting my tee-shirt sling wet but unable to do much else, then struggled to wash my hair. It was stupid, the fact that I couldn't even open a bottle of shampoo with one hand and squeeze it out. So much that I got overwhelmed with how useless I'd been feeling lately and threw it behind me onto the shore. Sulking, I stayed sitting in the water, submerged up to my legs in my bra and underwear.

I missed home. I missed my mum and my dad and my sister. I missed playing soccer. I even missed school. But most importantly, I missed having two working arms and not constantly being in pain. The longer we stayed out here, the more we established a routine, the less likely it felt we would be rescued. It was all piling on top of me, my uselessness being the cherry on top.

Staring out into the horizon, I frowned. Ten more minutes must have passed with me giving up on washing my hair when I heard footsteps not far behind me. I didn't bother turning around, but then whoever it was called me.

"Hey!"

Sighing deeply, I glanced over my shoulder, so fed up with everything that even my usual surprise at Jackie's presence didn't affect me.

"You not coming out?" she asked, stood at the edge of the water, hands on her hips.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and ignored her, looking forward again. Maybe she'd get the hint and leave me alone. Of course, she didn't.

"What's wrong?" she asked, and I pulled my knees up to my chest, hugging them.

"Nothing," I said, voice muffled.

I heard her sigh from behind me before her footsteps approached me, her feet splashing in the water.

"I'm bathing," I told her knowingly. "A little privacy would be nice."

She snorted with amusement before I heard her shuffling. Confused, I turned around and saw her pulling off her shorts before throwing them onto the rocky shore with her slippers, leaving her in her underwear and tee shirt.

"What are you doing?" I asked, puzzled.

She ignored me, instead grabbing the shampoo bottle I'd thrown back. Glancing at it and to me, she quirked a brow sarcastically. "This yours?"

I rolled my eyes and faced forward again, not bothering to acknowledge her presence as she seemed to be approaching me again. Only when she stood in front of me, blocking my view, and kneeled down to look at me was I forced to meet her gaze.

"D'you need help?" she asked softly, considerately.

Embarrassed, I looked down to my knees. Was it that obvious that I was struggling? Why was she the only one to check on me? The only one to notice? Why did she even care?

"Will you let me help you?" she asked when I didn't speak, and I finally looked up.

"Why?" I asked helplessly. "What's the point?"

She sat down cross-legged, unbothered by the water that was lapping against the bottom of her shirt. "For one, the smell in the cabin would go down significantly."

Realising she was joking, humour sparkling in her earth-coloured eyes, I scoffed and looked the other way. She began to laugh before patting my knee.

"Come on," she pleaded, laughter fading into a hopeful smile. "Please."

I didn't want anybody's help, especially not hers. But I needed it, and if she was being so kind as to come out here just to make sure I was okay, maybe it wasn't all so bad.

With a reluctant nod, I let her wash my hair for me, glad I wouldn't have to cause an ache in my other arm trying to do it. It was quiet as she did it, other than when she instructed me to dip my head in the water to wash out the shampoo and conditioner. Her fingers were delicate when she worked, massaging my head and putting me at ease instantly. I was still surprised at her aid, considering she'd always been preoccupied by herself or Shauna.

After I was done, she moved back in front of me, about to speak, but then her eyes caught sight of my swollen arm in my cast and widened.

"Woah, that looks painful," she noticed.

"Thanks," I said sarcastically.

"Are you taking the medicine Misty is giving you?" she asked with concern.

I tried not to hesitate as I nodded, lying. Truthfully, I hadn't been taking the medicine since a few days ago, as I knew Coach Scott's leg was at risk of infection if he didn't have enough. Besides, I'd taken some and the swelling had been going down. This was a bad day is all. Kind of.

"Okay, well...," she started, eyes lingering on my arm with an unreadable expression, before she stood up and held out her hand. "You're done. Come on."

I accepted her hand and she led me back to the shore, kindly helping me back into my clothes. After pulling her shorts and shoes on, I instantly hugged her with my good arm, certainly surprising her.

"Thanks, Jackie," I said sincerely, pulling back and seeing her raised eyebrows. "You don't know how good you're being."

She smiled, preoccupied. "Don't. I'm just helping."

I begged to differ, but she wasn't in the mood to hear it and I wasn't going to fight her on it. Instead, I just offered her a small smile before we both headed back to the cabin together.

Later that day, I was sat in the woods for some alone time, perched on a log and reading my book, when suddenly something was thrown right at me, startling me.

"What the hell?!" Jackie shouted, and I looked up to see she'd found me and was furious.

Confused, I looked to see what she'd thrown at me, only to realise it was the medication I hadn't been taking. Oh, no.

"You aren't taking it!" she shouted with exasperation.

I looked up to her, still baffled. "How did you even–”

"I'm not stupid," she snapped, before taking a deep breath to contain herself.

"It doesn't matter," I said calmly. "Coach needs them more. He's literally lost his leg and–"

"Why do you keep belittling your injury?!" she asked in a broken voice. "Nobody needs a hero, Y/N, just take the damn meds!"

The patronising tone she was using was it for me, and I suddenly stood up, unable to let her make me feel bad anymore.

"Why the hell do you even care, Jackie?" I retorted.

Taken aback, she raised her eyebrows before crossing her arms and avoiding my eyes. "I'm the cap–"

"Nobody gives a shit about that anymore!" I cut her off, before glaring at her. "You never paid me any mind before, so what gives now, huh? Did Jackie fucking Taylor suddenly grow a heart?"

She scoffed, rolling her eyes.

"Seriously, why the hell do you care all of a sudden?" I continued. "Why do you–?"

"Because it's my damn fault!" she said, and my anger was momentarily replaced by further confusion. She continued to ramble, "I didn't mean to, but the plane was on fire and Shauna was going to get hurt and I just rushed out of there without thinking and I didn't mean to push you and then you broke your arm and I feel guilty, okay?!"

Furrowing my brows, I studied her as she took a deep breath. Though she was stressed by her admission of guilt, I was oddly calm.

"That was just an accident," I said, unsure why it mattered to her so much. "If that's why you've been helping me, why you've been keeping an eye on me... you can stop. I'm not dying."

"Yeah, now," she said knowingly, guilt-laden eyes meeting mine, "but when a fucking bear comes out of nowhere and tries to eat you, what are you gonna do with one arm?"

It took me a second to realise she was dead serious, and I tried very hard not to smile.

"If a bear tried to eat me and I had my arm, I'd still get eaten," I said matter-of-factly. "You think I can take on a bear?"

She groaned with discontent. "You don't get it!"

I covered my mouth, struggling not to smile in front of her and piss her off more. She only fixed me with a classic Jackie glare.

"Just take the fucking meds," she said threateningly, in a way that was reminiscent of a cute dog barking, before storming off.

Admittedly, I had to pause and think about what the hell just happened, still a little lost. All this time, she'd been helping me out of guilt? She blamed herself for my broken arm? It was an accident and she couldn't have known what would happen. Tensions were high, it was chaos! I couldn't blame her even if I tried. It was almost laughable how she'd reacted, though at least it explained her sudden interest in my welfare.

When I returned to the cabin after her outburst, she glanced at me once but didn't bother speaking to me. And when I thought it would be a temporary thing, she began to ignore me over the next few days, actively avoiding me. If it weren't to share the cabin to sleep, she'd either completely leave the space I was in or go as far away from me as she possibly could. Could've been guilt, anger or embarrassment, I wasn't sure, but I knew it was extremely childish.

I was filling up a bottle of water from our basin when she rounded the corner and saw me, clearly wanting to do the same judging from her own bottle in hand. One glance my way and she was ready to leave, but I decided to make the first move after a week of not speaking.

"I'm not gonna bite," I pointed out.

She clenched her jaw with indifference. "I know."

A smile ghosted my lips as I focused on filling my bottle, and she surprisingly approached the basin and did the same. It was silent, the sound of our movement filling the air, but she was still tense beside me. It felt all wrong, especially after how supportive she'd been since we got here.

"I'm taking my medicine by the way," I said casually, but I wanted her to know that she hadn't wasted her breath. I'd listened.

"That's good," she spoke after a moment, trying not to sound too bothered.

"Yeah, I wasn't going to, but then this angry soccer player who was crushing under the immense guilt from foreshadowing my improbable yet supposedly imminent death by bear made me feel bad," I continued calmly.

She paused her action, glancing at me with a look of disbelief, and I couldn't hold in my laughter any longer. Her expression was priceless.

"Asshole," she muttered, but she was clearly trying not to smile.

I capped my bottle before saying, "This is awkward. Stop avoiding me, please. I don't hate you or anything. And you don't need to keep checking on me out of guilt. We can just... go back to normal, whatever that was."

She gave me a disapproving glance. "It wasn't just out of guilt."

I raised an eyebrow. "No?"

"Believe it or not, Y/N, I do care about you," she said, surprising me. And then she added quickly, "I care about everyone here."

Heart warming at her words, I began to feel bad for what I'd said to her when we argued. "Thanks," I said quietly. "And I'm sorry for what I said, about you suddenly growing a heart. Wasn't nice at all. Or true."

She shrugged awkwardly, looking down. "It's okay. I've been a bit selfish lately. I know the girls say it. Even Shauna thinks it.”

I looked over at her, noticing the conflicted expression she wore. Underneath her confident, cool girl demeanour was just a normal teenager like everyone else, and right now, she looked more and more like that.

"Not always," I reminded her, hoping she knew that I was still grateful for what she'd done for me since the crash, guilt or no guilt.

She exhaled softly, an appreciative smile on her lips, and I was beginning to question if breaking my arm was worth giving me a reason to get to know Jackie Taylor in a different way.

—

When there wasn't the threat of survival creeping up on us, or the fear of being stranded away from our lives back home forever, there was complete and utter boredom. There was only so many times you could play the same card games or read the same books without wanting to smack your head against a wall.

I realised soon enough that I missed playing soccer and one  day when I was having a wander near the cabin, I began to subconsciously kick around an acorn. That was where acorn soccer began. Now, whenever I was fed up doing the same thing all the time, I'd go into a little clearing near the cabin and start kicking around an acorn to have a sense of normalcy.

This time, as I was dribbling the acorn around some sticks, I heard someone approaching and glanced up to see it was Jackie.

"What are you doing?" she asked with both amusement and curiosity.

"Playing soccer," I said like it was obvious, before kicking the acorn in the air towards her. Instinctively, she caught it with her foot, stabilising it and letting it hit the ground gently. I cracked a smile, saying, "Someone's not lost their touch."

She rolled her eyes, a smile threatening to break out on her lips. "So this is where you disappear to?"

I quirked a brow. "Why? You keeping tabs?"

"You wish you were that interesting," she retorted, kicking around the acorn.

"Interesting enough for you to track down, clearly," I teased.

She glanced at me with a glint of humour in her eyes. "Maybe I just needed to make sure the bear didn't get you."

I grinned. "Aw, you do care! Nice to know you have my back."

At this, she finally let out a laugh, teeth showing and eyes sparkling and in such a way that I couldn't help but admire how pretty she looked right now.

"Okay, where's the goal?" she asked after a moment, pausing from kicking around the acorn.

"What?"

She gave me a look. "I'm bored too, now c'mon."

I chuckled and began to explain to her the unimpressive yet fulfilling setup I had, which consisted of me kicking the acorn between two trees as a 'net'. Once she was caught up, we found a bigger acorn together and began to play.

It was almost like we were back at soccer practice, playing and having fun and not having to worry about any impending doom. I'd forgotten how good it could feel to just be, and I'd especially forgotten how good Jackie was at soccer, making for the perfect opponent.

She scored for the third time and raised her hands in the air as she cheered for herself. "Hell yeah!"

"You see, this is why we got to nationals," I reminded her, making her laugh.

"God, I forgot how fun soccer was," she said with a sigh. "Clever idea with the acorn."

I shrugged. "Boredom struck. Creativity thrived."

She snickered, hands on her hips, before nodding at my arm. "Should you even be playing with your arm like that?"

I quirked a brow. "What you gonna do? Rat me out to Misty?"

She snorted with amusement. "She's too busy with Coach Scott to care."

I tried not to laugh, knowing Misty had been enjoying herself a little too much with looking after Coach Scott and his leg. It was clear she liked him, and though he was aware of how inappropriate it was, he had no choice but to accept her help. Yeah, the last thing on Misty's mind was if I was playing acorn soccer or not.

"Okay, you ready for the next one?" Jackie asked, already kicking the acorn into the centre to start again. "I might just take it easy on you this time. Y'know, because you're at a disadvantage."

I glared at her playfully, ignoring the way her cocky grin made me feel. "Game on, Taylor."

—

Since that point, I'd found myself looking out for Jackie a little more than usual. I guess you could say she'd piqued my interest more than she ever had. Back home, she was my team captain and that was it. We never really hung out outside of practice or soccer parties because our circles never crossed over. Now though, with her looking out for me and hanging out with me more, I was beginning to develop a little crush on her.

I would've been insane not to. She was funny, flirty, smart and she always knew what she wanted. And it was probably silly of me to crush on the one girl I could never get, but it certainly made my current situation a bit more manageable. Nothing like a teenage crush to get your mind off reality.

I liked to think I was subtle with it, the whole checking out Jackie every now and then. It was only when she was a fair distance away and there was no chance she would spot me. But one morning, as I was helping Akilah boil some more water from the lake, I spotted Jackie walking out of the cabin with Shauna. It was nothing different, but for some reason, she just looked extra stunning this morning. I wasn't sure what it was – possibly my own delusion – but I couldn't stop stealing looks at her.

And then she glanced my way, catching my eye, and before I could even react, embarrassed I'd been caught out, a knowing smile appeared on her lips and she winked playfully before paying her attention back to Shauna. I swallowed, flustered, and didn't look at her again for the rest of the day. Stupid crush.

[haptronym]

Hap's Adventures in Dadmight

aka “this experience was really strange so I’m going to write 6,000 words about it”.

Fandoms are bizarre. I know this, but I still keep doing the shocked Pikachu face whenever I join a new one. 

This time around, I really thought there would be no surprises. And yet, the fandom ended up having a really weird, really uncomfortable dynamic that confused the hell out of me for a long time. I met several others who said “Yeah, it freaks me out too,” but they couldn’t explain exactly why, and nobody really wanted to talk about it. So now that I’m mostly done with the My Hero Academia fandom, I’ll just go ahead and vaporize my bridges with a whole-ass case study about what on earth seemed to be going on here.

Warning: very long, very self-absorbed, as usual. Contains discussions of relationships, underage shippers, and how to influence whether something “feels” platonic vs. not.

Disclaimer 1: This doesn't apply to everything tagged "Dadmight." Just a select subset. But this subset appeared pretty consistently.

Disclaimer 2: I'm posting brief, fair-use-commentary examples of the content that made me question my sanity because it has to be seen to be believed, but I'm not including names or links because I don’t want to easily funnel negativity to them. If an author really wants me to, I’m happy to link directly to their story.

Disclaimer 3: I’m not trying to “spread awareness” or do a callout. I just like to write for fun and this time the fun was puzzling out why I, personally, had the experience I did. Many people feel differently and that's great. If all fluff has always felt 100% wonderful and charming to you, then this post isn't relevant to you. But if a supposedly "cute" story has ever made you squirm with discomfort, this might help explain why.

-

A few years ago, I took a terribly wrong turn in life and ended up in the My Hero Academia fandom. My kidnappers were these two:

In short: the little kid on the left, Izuku Midoriya, is exactly as dorky as he looks. He was born powerless in a world of comic-book superheroes and has a tendency to burst into tears under any possible circumstance. The series kicks off when the guy on the right, #1 hero and national celebrity All Might, sees potential in him despite all this. In a fit of inspiration, All Might decides to give Izuku the same chance he was given as a young boy. Despite being a notorious lone wolf, he (secretly) names Izuku as his successor and takes it upon himself to covertly train this weepy, noodle-limbed wimp into a hero, the hero, the next Symbol of Peace who will wield the world’s strongest superpower and safeguard the future of society. Surely they’ll pull it off just fine, right?

(Don’t ask how All Might switches from a bodybuilder to the skeleton pictured  above. The show doesn’t know either.)

I loved these two. I wanted eight seasons of beach training montage. The mentor/student shenanigans were hilarious and the found family potential was off the charts. They’re two awkward bumbling fools with several truckfuls of emotional baggage, brought together by purehearted heroic zeal. Wonderful.

However, I quickly discovered that the show shoveled approximately ten thousand new characters into every new episode and definitely wasn't going to slow down long enough to give me the All Might & Izuku content I craved. So I wandered off to see what kind of fanfiction was on tap.

...I wandered off, while bracing myself. I’ve been a weeb long enough to know that any characters who pass on power through “DNA” are never going to escape a fandom unscathed, regardless of pesky things like “Age Of Consent” and “Have You Watched A Single Minute Of This Show, He Would Never Fucking Do That”.

Their canon relationship is impressively alarming all on its own:

Izuku is 14-15. Underage character? Check. 

All Might is 55+. Enormous age gap? Check.

All Might is both Izuku’s secret mentor and his high school teacher. Teacher-student dynamics? Check.

Izuku is a nobody. All Might is a global celebrity. Staggering power imbalance? Check. 

Izuku’s superpower, which lets him go to the school of his dreams, accomplish his lifelong goals, and be the protagonist of this show, was given to him by All Might at great personal cost. Enormous sense of debt and obligation because of a huge sacrifice? Check.

Izuku is an outright fanboy. His room is full of posters and figurines of All Might in spandex. Other characters frequently comment on how obsessed he is. There is a whole plotline about him being so starstruck by All Might that he can’t think for himself. Literal hero worship? Check.

As the cherry on top, they spend most of the story pretending they don’t know each other and sneak around under the noses of every other character, including Izuku's mother. Secret hidden relationship with a minor that no other adult can learn the true extent of? Check. 

What a pair. Japanese fandom constantly cracks jokes about how Izuku is probably that kind of fanboy. Even official media is well aware of how sketchy it all looks:

With all this in play, I was pleasantly surprised to find that the stuff in their platonic-relationship fanfiction tag vastly outnumbered the stuff in their shipping one. Phew. Finally, a pair of characters who got something besides endless gross hornyposting. 

As I browsed, I kept seeing a certain tag: "Dadmight." This, unsurprisingly, was used by stories that decided to make All Might into Izuku’s biological father. But it was also used by... pretty much all non-shipping media that focused on their relationship. How interesting! I was used to ship pairings having nicknames, but not platonic ones. 

I could imagine why the name caught on. All Might was practically the definition of "goofy wholesome dad energy,” and his mentor/student relationship with Izuku was easy to see in a parental light. Plus, Izuku’s actual dad is never to be seen during the story. Clearly he deserves a replacement.

So I delved in. Man, this was going to be great! A huge amount of good clean platonic content, with an easy-to-find tag too. Reading about cute dadly shenanigans was going to be such a fun-

How he would love to fall asleep to the sound of his soft voice and the touch of his rough hands, telling him he was proud of him, caressing his hair. He was so mortified over having this need, for all kinds of reasons, but it became clear a long time ago that fighting it wouldn’t work, so he let himself dream.

Uh... well... Izuku didn’t grow up with a dad, so... maybe he needed a father figure... to... caress his hair with his rough hands...

More hums of contentment make their way from him, his body swaying with every push and pull from Toshinori’s long fingers. He uses them to massage Midoriya’s head, taking every moment to not just clean his hair, but to make him feel good; Toshinori can’t bear for this to be purely utilitarian.

Uhhh... okay... All Might was a rather isolated guy. I bet he appreciated being able to share time with his student... bathing time...

What if the boy would rather this stay simply as it has been, professional as mentor and mentee? What if Toshinori has read all of this wrong and the boy has no feelings above Toshinori being his teacher, and all Toshinori has done is fall harder and harder for him every day?

What was this? What exactly did people think kids got up to with their dads!?

Well, maybe I just found a few of the strange ones, I told myself. Fanfiction always has its odd outliers. But after more searching, I realized: no. There was wildly uncomfortable stuff all over. It wasn’t all Dadmight stories. But it was a lot. The most popular authors of the “Dadmight” tag wrote it and the rest of the Dadmight authors gave them big thumbs-ups. It was at least as popular as the “All Might is Izuku’s real dad” stuff and sat at the top of the kudos and comments sorting.

Were people just being polite? Or was I overreacting? I know how annoying it is when people deliberately take things in bad faith and demonize perfectly innocent human affectio—

He kept the contact to a minimum, not wanting to take advantage, not wanting to cross a single, unspoken boundary… but how could he possibly completely refrain, with both how proud and how worried Izuku made him?

There was a voice, in the back of his head, that didn’t agree. That voice – either logic or wishful thinking – told him that while Izuku didn’t initiate physical affection, he surely did lean into it, and seemed to crave receiving it as much as Toshinori craved giving it.

Oh god oh god oh god what is happening STOP—

This was horrible. I just wanted to enjoy cute fluff. I’d never had this reaction to platonic fanfic before. I’m a big found family fan and my worst issue with fluff is usually just that it tends to be kind of samey. I normally love reading about chaste affection and closeness between characters who care about each other. So why did these stories read like Lolita AUs to me? Did shippers in this fandom like to hide their softcore stuff in the platonic tags?

I was soon able to find out. I had been writing my own All Might & Izuku story, and got invited to a “Dadmight-centric” Discord server. Almost all the popular Dadmight authors were there, including the ones who wrote the particular stories that made my skin crawl. There were several channels where people brainstormed, critiqued, and discussed the motivations behind their writing. 

Cool! I’d be able to meet new people, make some friends, and get a better understanding of what the Dadmight dynamic really was. So I introduced myself, I chatted, I lurked. Everyone was really nice.

I found zero cheeky shippers. The writers claimed to be horrified by the idea of shipping the two of them. They would never disrespect the purity and innocence of this beautiful platonic relationship, they said, as they churned out stories about Izuku “coming undone” under the caress of All Might’s rough hands. Right...

I could’ve understood if this was coming from naive 14-year-olds. But some of these people were in their 30’s, with kids of their own. If anyone understood family dynamics, it should’ve been them.

But after I spent more time around the server, I began to notice something else... something which explained a ton of the strangeness. 

Baby Fever

To understand what was happening, you first have to understand that Izuku’s baby face inflicts instant brain damage on sight. I mean, look at him:

aaa his cute widdle cheeks oh my god—

This kid sets off maternal instincts like landmines, and in the Dadmight server, I found that the Izuku infantilization train had gone completely off the rails. Writers constantly cooed over the adorable antics of 2, 3, 5-year olds and constantly talked about how much they wanted to make Izuku act them out. And surely, if All Might could indulge in the parental joy of caring for an innocent young babe, then his emotional scars would be healed and he could find fulfillment outside of that pesky “saving the world” business.

Now, the bio-dadmight folks had it easy: they just wrote about Izuku in his toddler years playing with daddy All Might. The cuddling and tickles made sense and were very cute. But other writers faced a challenge: they wanted to keep him 14-15 so that canon events could occur... but they didn’t want to be left out of the fun. 

So... they decided to rationalize and egg each other on. I mean, how much does age really matter? Being a child at heart is always cute and wholesome, right?

Suddenly, a whole lot of very uncomfortable things began to make sense:

So Much Physical Contact

He loved the physical touch. It was embarrassing and he would never admit it out loud, but there wasn’t much in this world he loved more than receiving physical affection from his idol. Every single time it happened he would save the memory to replay it over and over again whenever he felt sad, or almost every night before he went to bed. He was glad no one in the dorms had a mind-reading quirk. And All Might always gave it more freely when he visited his apartment, so of course he went there.

Izuku is often written to have a near-pathological craving for hair stroking and cuddles. Which is cute when directed at, say, classmates or mom, but gets real weird real fast when directed at the adult man he canonically idolizes to a freakish degree. Ever work with teenage boys? Most of them would rather die than be physically affectionate with adults, even parents... unless, you know, they’re that kind of fanboy.

Even freakier is that the grown adult would then reply, “Hell yeah! I see nothing wrong with getting physical with this kid who worships me! I crave it so much! I can't resist!” Ever work at a school? They have rulebooks and seminars specifically about how teachers should never touch or be alone with kids.

Then again, Midnight exists at this school. Maybe U.A.’s infamous lack of safety standards extends to this too.

Either way, though: cute and wholesome for a parent to do with their three-year-old. Very creepy when a high-school teacher makes excuses about why he really needs to cuddle and stroke his fifteen-year-old student in secret.

Narcolepsy Xtreme Edition

His student was never this affectionate or vulnerable when he was conscious, so he enjoyed the moment, even if it was a short one, as he moved to his room upstairs.

If you’ve read fanfiction for more than seven seconds, you’ve probably seen the “cram the character with booze/painkillers until they blurt out Vulnerable Things” plot device. It’s a beloved classic. But Izuku writers are robbed of the alcohol angle since he’s underage, and morphine is pretty niche. So authors who want to use this trick often just make Izuku tired after a long day, conclude that being sleepy is close enough to being five drinks in, and have him murmur “thanks, DAD... OOPS DID I SAY THAT OUT LOUD???” to awkwardly segue into Familial Confessions.

But quite a few stories took the “sleepy” angle to a new, very odd place. Instead of groggily dispensing convenient confessions, Izuku would just... keel over while doing homework and be utterly dead to the world. And instead of having All Might briefly rouse him to shoo him to bed, or worry about his student suddenly becoming catatonic, the writers would make him eerily fixated on the opportunity to physically carry Izuku to his bedroom (which would somehow not wake him up!!!) and tuck him in while waxing poetic about how vulnerable and helpless he looked. 

Before joining the Dadmight server, I was mildly alarmed whenever I saw this, wondering why so many authors were obsessed with roofying the teenager and making the adult fondle him. But after joining, I realized: they were just trying to act out the cutesy aww-the-two-year-old-fell-sound-asleep-while-playing, it’s-so-cute scenes that all those darned lucky bio-dadmight people got to indulge in so easily.

Bed Sharing

It wasn’t long before Izuku’s breathing slowed, and soon he was asleep, snoring peacefully. Toshinori, after a few minutes of debating with himself, said screw it and got into the bed with the boy.

Cue me SCREAMING internally in confusion and fear. But no, it was just that the cutesy-kid-trope obsession stretched all the way to “Well, I used to snuggle with my parents at night after I had a nightmare! It was super wholesome!” Which led to scores of stories featuring a celebrity crawling into bed with his student.

All in all, joining this server was a huge relief. I was so glad to see that these hair-raising scenarios were just the result of the authors forgetting to mention “Oh, by the way, the characters are acting weird because we made them all agree to participate in preschooler roleplay.”

Just picture this while reading and it all makes sense.

Fanfic is uniquely susceptible to this sort of “forgot to mention this strange dynamic that I take for granted” issue. After all, 99% of fanfic doesn’t bother to waste time asking “would this make any sense to someone who had never watched the show?” It’s not worth it to focus on such a broad audience. As a result, fanfic normalizes skipping huge swaths of context that would normally be mandatory in a story. Fanfic authors don’t have to practice asking themselves “did I explain this properly?” anywhere near as often as original fiction ones.

This would be bad enough on its own, but then, we go cloister ourselves away into little sub-fandom echo chambers, and spend months crafting obscure in-joke fractals, and get so absorbed in our tiny myopic corners of the community that we also fail to ask, “would this make any sense to someone who hasn’t spent the last 5 months marinating in this specific Discord channel?” 

Sometimes we know exactly how niche our stuff is and just don’t care. But too often, we just legitimately suck at guessing how our work might come off to other groups. We don’t have to practice theory of mind as much as original fiction authors do. Our fandom buddies see nothing amiss with our writing (since they know all the server insider lore!) and everyone outside our tiny clique politely ignores our word salad... so we never get proper feedback on how incomprehensible our work can be even to other members of the same fandom.

In this case, this resulted in a whole pack of writers seemingly getting lost in the fluff sauce and completely forgetting to address the fact that the stuff men do with their own five-year-olds generally becomes really weird and creepy when done with someone else’s 15-year-old, whether or not the 15-year-old seems to want it. Izuku was a cute widdle innocent baby in their heads, so they assumed he was a cute widdle innocent baby in everyone else's.

Once I realized where they were coming from, it wasn't so hard to adjust my mental framework and enjoy these stories on their own terms. That said... infantilization still couldn't explain stuff like “What if Toshinori has read all of this wrong and the boy has no feelings above Toshinori being his teacher, and all Toshinori has done is fall harder and harder for him every day?”

To explain why that paragraph makes me want to crawl out of my skin, we first need to answer: what makes a piece of writing feel “questionable?”

“Vibes,” A Primer

Love comes in many forms. The big four are platonic, familial, romantic, and sexual. Sexual is easy: you’re horny for the person. Platonic love is specifically non-sexual, and familial love is a subset of platonic love. Romance usually implies horny, though there’s definitely a difference between outright sexual behavior and the behavior we file under the “romance” label.

There’s also a difference between romantic and platonic behavior. And this is where a lot of “questionable” vibes appear: when you’d expect an interaction between two people to be platonic, but for some reason, it has uncomfortable romantic/sexual overtones instead.

But what causes those overtones? A dad can give his kid a kiss on the head, and it comes off platonic. A suitor can give their crush a kiss on the head, and it comes off romantic. In fact, most romantic gestures have nearly identical platonic counterparts. Kissing, hugging, hand-holding, cuddling, vulnerable confessions. So what gives? What makes something “come off” one way or the other?

The actual answer is: a ton of stuff, most of it subjective. Everyone draws their lines in different places, based on culture and personal experience and how gutterbrained you’re feeling on any given day. A lot of it has to do with context (that thing that us fanfic authors are notoriously bad at judging).

Online wars are fought every day about whether some glance or gesture or phrase means they're "totally into each other fr"

But if you want to draw broad strokes, one way to roughly separate platonic vs romantic love is by gauging the level of passion involved. “Passion” is “a strong and barely controllable emotion that compels action.” That last part is key. 

Stereotypical romantic love is incredibly passionate. It’s all about desire to act, desire to change, desire to progress the relationship to something more. It features overwhelming anxious preoccupation about the other person’s thoughts and opinions, feeling irresistibly drawn to them, feeling intense longing. It’s about confessing and hoping the other person also feels the same. It often involves attempting to label the relationship, make it “official”, and show it off. It’s about trying desperately to secure assurance that this love will last forever and ever. You have to do something, and every moment spent not doing something is torture.

Contrast this to typical depictions of platonic and familial love. Familial love is calm, encompassing, soothing. It’s secure. You don’t have to worry, because no matter what rough patches you go through, they’ll always be your family and will always have unconditional love for you. Yes, you’ll fly into action if your loved one is threatened, but at rest, platonic love is generally not “exciting” and there’s generally little sense of urgency.

Romance is usually an insecure, anxious thing that’s trying to get to that secure, grounded familial stage. That’s why people say they progress from being “in love” to just “loving” one another. Romance draws people together and kickstarts the bonding process. And as the steady, mature bond of a long-term relationship forms, the obsessive mania of romantic infatuation fades away. 

So the difference between platonic and romantic behavior is not so much about the actual actions. It’s more about the mentality. Is the person anxiously trying to secure their partner’s affection while treating the relationship as a really big deal that will make or break their lives? Then their affectionate actions may come off more romantic. Are they seemingly at home in their partner’s presence and not trying to deepen or change the relationship? Then their affection will probably come off more familial or platonic.

There are, of course, a ton of things that go into it besides this, and caveats out the ass. For example, people trying to establish a new friendship are often anxious too. But when it comes to determining the “vibes” of a kiss or a cuddle, this can be a useful litmus test. Failing this test is often what makes something feel Questionable. The characters seem too invested... maybe because it's not truly innocent.

Now, let’s take a look at our Dadmight characters.

The biggest challenge of writing familial closeness between Izuku and All Might is simple: they are not family. They have no long shared history to justify any sort of intimacy. Instead they have a teacher/student relationship that places them both into rigid, frigid roles. 

Usually, familial-style bonding just takes time. You wait a few seasons, the characters slowly get closer and learn to trust one another, and eventually they’re hugging. But these two clowns spent the whole show being the ultimate found-family blue-balls experience. They were just never very emotionally open or touchy-feely. Every time they had the chance for Vulnerable Conversation And Cuddles, they passed it up in favor of a pep talk and a fist bump. It took a near-death experience to extract one (1) brief hug and some tears. But in normal everyday life? Arm’s length.

Literally. For example: after five seasons of bonding and character development, they are separated and Izuku is embroiled in a deadly conflict that almost destroys the world. When they finally reunite after the harrowing ordeal, alone under the starlight, they greet each other with a loving, heartfelt… handshake. This, predictably, spawned furious fix-it fic.

Overall, there is a huge gulf that authors need to cross in order to get these two from “polite handshake” to “tender cuddling and kisses.” They could write 50,000 words of setup to slowly accomplish this, but most authors did not want to wear their fingertips to the bone just to inch these two into an embrace. They wanted to jump the gap within a oneshot, leaping from canon frigidity into an unbreakable lifelong familial love that was also super touchy-feely and extremely vocal.

Now, remember what I was just saying? How romance is generally about trying to establish new family bonds? How it’s all about trying to change the relationship into something more?

Knowing all this, what do you think might happen if an author tried to speedrun two characters to the Family Finish Line as fast as they could? What do you think their shortcuts might end up looking like, completely by accident? Especially if their “sane and appropriate human interactions” gauge was warped by an echo chamber of fluff tropes and baby fever?

You might get:

Was it even possible that his feelings could be reciprocated? Toshinori didn’t want to think about it. It would just pain him more. Young Midoriya only saw him as an idol, a mentor who would help him train his body for One for All. Midoriya did not see him in the way he wanted him to.

Or:

He wanted desperately, desperately to have the courage to cross that threshold, to ask him what he longed for, to ask him for that relationship that he dared not voice.

Or even:

Toshinori feels his heart rate pick up and his gnarled stomach twist with nerves. Is he really going to do this? Is he going to tell this boy what he truly thinks and risk everything they’ve built up together over the past year-plus? His palms are sweating and he wipes them on his suit pants, rubbing the pads of his fingers together.

I'll stop now. The point is that these quotes could all have been word-for-word ripped from a romance novel. These are some industrial-grade Questionable Vibes. And reading them in context really doesn't help that much, for me at least. It's almost comical when they throw in "...I crave the touch of your rough hands as a son! A SON!"

If you know the building blocks of romance, it makes perfect sense why stories like this could come off this way. Platonic love is great, but it’s also stable, calm, and slow. It simply doesn’t have the sheer explosive force needed to catapult two stilted dorks into a brand-new dynamic within 2,000 words. Most stories can only achieve that kind of mileage via near-death experiences... or by inflicting the characters with neurotic infatuation.

Not only that, but their canon relationship is uniquely poised to set off romance-adjacent warning bells. Because they are not actually family, it makes sense for them to yearn for a deeper relationship in a way that a normal family wouldn’t. It makes sense for them to be anxious and insecure about their relationship, because it’s a very strange, hard-to-define thing that has to be kept secret from those around them. And it makes sense for them to consider their relationship a huge deal, because in canon, it’s fundamental to the most important aspects of both their lives.

I actually think it’s kind of inevitable that their character dynamic will sometimes stray into places that feel romantic. But that doesn’t mean the writer is a secret shipper... because I don’t think that passion always has to imply sexual desire, especially in fiction.

I’ve spent some time around the asexuality community, and my biggest takeaway was that sexual desire is very different from the desire to make deep, lifelong connections. Most asexual people still yearned to find that special someone, their anchor, a partner who unconditionally loved them and would stay by their side forever. Family. They would fall for people... they just didn’t want to fall into their pants. But it was almost impossible to keep these partners unless they were asexual too. Every one eventually pushed to “take things further,” or they left to find another person who would. 

So I can understand the yearning for a world where sex is kicked to the curb, where two strangers can find each other and share intense, whirlwind, “you’re my #1” love... without any lewd overtones. This little pocket of stories seemed like a manifestation of that yearning. 

Nowadays, more and more stories are taking previously romance-exclusive intimacy and yanking off the sexual baggage. For example, looking on the Dadmight tag will reveal “platonic soulmates” and “platonic hanahaki” stories. Yes, platonic hanahaki. No, not parody. There’s a clear unironic market for this content. People really want to be able to indulge in passionate, “till death do us part” emotional bonding in a safe, nonsexual way.

All Might and Izuku sit in a unique place. Not related, but powerfully linked by something thicker than blood. And their relationship is easy to paint as “safe”. It makes perfect sense that these two would attract creators who want to explore this hard-to-define chaste side of passionate love.

In real life, passionate obsessive-style attraction between adults and kids is a huge red flag. We can never really know whether those feelings are innocent or healthy. 99% of the time, they’re not. But in fiction, the author gets to choose what people really feel and whether things turn out well. They can explore the most unbelievable scenario of all: not a world where everyone is a mermaid, but a world where it’s actually wholesome and healing for a high school teacher and his student to confess their deep, undying love for one another, where a famous celebrity can secretly invite his obsessed underage fan over, stroke his hair, tell him how special their relationship is, and sleep with him in bed, without it ending up on Law and Order: SVU. 

On Critique

“Hap,” you might be thinking, “surely these stories can’t be as bad as you say. If they were, someone would have pointed it out to these poor souls. You should have pointed it out to these poor souls. You were in their writing server for chrissakes, and now you’re gossiping about them like a heartless goblin.”

First: yes, I'm a goblin. Second: I did bring this topic up to several Dadmight authors one-on-one. After getting a bunch of head-in-sand excuses in response, I decided to just quietly munch popcorn and watch the fandom’s antics unfold like a slow-motion train wreck.

Third: people did try to point this stuff out.

It was fascinating to watch the Dadmight server whenever someone posted a comment expressing concern. Some comments were trolls trying to get a reaction, of course. But others were very gentle: ��hey, isn't it kind of weird to have them hop into bed together? It comes off kind of shippy...” I learned that the reason I had never seen comments like these in the past was because they were usually quickly deleted by the fic authors.

After deleting a comment, the author would often flee to the server for reassurance. The other users would agree that the commenter was definitely in the wrong, since they could see absolutely nothing questionable about the writer’s story. Someone would inevitably chime in saying that, oh, one time they got a comment calling things questionable like that, and it turned out to be from a shipper who shipped bad things. So, you know, anyone who sees shipping in things is probably just a bad person.

Phew. Crisis averted. If you can successfully paint the critic as a bad person, then there’s no need to descend into existentialist dread as you’re forced to critically reexamine the foundational concepts of your writing and your grasp on relationship dynamics.

(Credit where credit is due: one of the rules of this particular server was not to bash or insult people who like things you don't like. In most groups this is followed with an unspoken "...unless you can clutch your pearls over it", but to my surprise, when stuff like the above started kicking off, the moderators did step in to remind people to keep it civil. So, good job, mods. More maturity than I usually see in online spaces.)

But still, if anyone actually bothers to read this long screed, I already know what certain responses are going to look like. They’ll smugly assert that people who see questionable things are just sex-obsessed weirdos, projecting their icky lewd thoughts onto every innocent interaction they come across. A morally pure person wouldn’t make such gross assumptions.

I’m familiar with this kind of response because I’ve spent a lot of time around another group that responds the exact same way to these kinds of concerns. That group is known as fundamentalist Christians, and their attitude fosters three things:

People are afraid to speak out when they feel uncomfortable, because they don't want to be accused of being dirty-minded. 

People fail to learn the ground rules of normal romance/sexuality and so fail to recognize red flags.

The community is absolutely infested with creeps who take advantage of points 1 and 2 to run rampant.

Sadly, these three things also seem to be true in the Dadmight community. Being a platonic pairing, it naturally attracts people uninterested in and inexperienced with romantic/sexual relationships. And then the vitriolic, derisive responses to people’s concerns teaches them that it’s wrong to bring up those topics around the community at all.

And so, point 3 blooms. I eventually confirmed that my initial suspicions were correct: shippers did camp in the Dadmight tag, and they got away with posting some impressively brazen softcore underage content in public, presumably because even the people who were suspicious knew that going “hey now” would trigger a circular firing squad. 

The Dadmight community wasn’t clueless about this problem. They were incredibly paranoid as a whole. They knew there were bad actors lurking in their tag, but since they had disabled all their own safety alarms and expanded the definition of “platonic” to a ridiculous extreme, they had no way of being able to determine what was shipping and what was not until characters started actively whipping their dicks out. I saw constant fretting over whether it was okay to click the “like” button on an affectionate-looking piece of fanart without knowing for sure the intentions of the creator. But asking intentions was pointless anyway, since shippers just lied to them and then laughed as the platonic group eagerly ate up their evil, dirty-minded content.

I get why these “wait, that feels shippy...” comments feel like attacks. It’s fucking awful when your intentions are pure but someone interprets them in such a horrifying, disgusting way. It feels disrespectful when you clearly label something “platonic” but people still doubt. 

But remember: Going from “mentor” to “dad” with these two generally means breaking down normal boundaries, to escalate the emotional and physical intimacy between an authority figure and a starstruck, needy, vulnerable kid, because they have such a special and unique bond that no one else understands. So special, in fact, that it needs to be kept secret from the public.

In real life, this scenario is known as Groomer Tactics 101. 

Seriously, stop and read that link. It’s short and non-explicit. This is why I called their canon relationship “impressively alarming”—the bullet points of stages 1-3 describe Izuku and All Might nearly word-for-word. This does not mean I’m claiming All Might is a groomer, or that Izuku and All Might’s relationship is bad. Just that, due to their circumstances, they happen to have all the building blocks of relationships that go horribly wrong. All that separates their scenario from tumbling into Bad is the goals of the adult. So when a fanfic then comes along and makes the adult suddenly really interested in excessive touching? And the only reason he gives is “I’m weirdly drawn to this kid and touching them feels really good”? Of course people will get nervous!

Noticing this does not mean someone is “obsessed with shipping”. It means they’re a normal human being with eyes. Accusing someone of being problematic for making the most obvious possible observations about adult/child interactions is like accusing someone of being an arsonist because they embarrassed you by pointing out that your homemade backyard fireworks setup is halfassed and dangerous.

This does not mean it’s wrong to write wish-fulfillment where escalating to bed cuddles actually turns out great and awesome. But it does mean that, if an author writes it ignorantly or carelessly, they risk coming off like they’re glorifying and normalizing Groomer Tactics 101. It’s the same as when careless Twilight fans glorify and normalize stuff that, in real life, is abusive controlling boyfriend behavior.

Yes, it sucks when people come and yuck the yum. I’m sure the Twilight fans also get sick of people who complain and demonize them instead of letting them write their vampire boyfriend fantasies in peace. But the concern usually comes from a well-meaning place. 

Proudly announcing “I ignore the most basic child/adult red flags because they ruin my fun” is not the flex that some people think it is. I highly recommend people reconsider before they try to paint anti-child-groomers as the bad guys.

The Recipe

So, let’s summarize how to reproduce the Dadmight phenomenon. It starts with a canon relationship that has the most enticing found-family building blocks the world has ever seen: a downtrodden kid who really needs a dad + a lonely heroic mentor. However, their canon relationship also sits on top of a powder keg, coincidentally featuring all the “setup” stages of the sexual grooming model: 

a lonely, low-self-esteem kid

singled out by an esteemed, charismatic adult who is a pillar of the community

sharing a “special” relationship

constantly going off alone and keeping secrets 

A platonic fan community forms that is blissfully unaware of the above dynamics. They head off to fluff echo chambers, as platonic fans do. But due to the crybaby tendencies of the teenage character, they start projecting really aged-down toddler-play scenarios onto him. Eventually, as echo-chambered fans do, they decide that contextualization is for chumps. This results in fics that take the powder keg and add:

The adult craving to touch and hold the teenager

The teenager craving touch from the adult and mewling like a kitten when his hair is stroked (I’m not fucking joking)

Completely age-inappropriate stuff like stroking, kisses, and sharing a bed with a teenage student

Izuku and All Might also happen to suffer from loneliness and isolation, even more so in their fanon incarnations. This really resonates with most fans, who want to soothe and heal them. They also want to get to the healing cuddles within a few chapters instead of wasting time on super-slow buildup. So they make the two of them really strongly fixate on and angst about the agony of their loneliness, and how the other person’s love is the only cure that will fix them. In doing so, they insert:

Anxious passionate obsession

Love confessions

Coming-out scenes

Craving for exclusive relationship labels

Desire for exclusivity

Lastly, because platonic groups are either uninterested in or too young for spicy content, they tend to have very little experience with romantic/sexual literature and the tropes and catchphrases they lay claim to. So fic writers will innocently sprinkle in poignant-sounding things they’ve picked up here and there, such as:

Blushing and heart racing when looking at the person

The phrase “falling for each other”

The man “caressing” his partner with “rough hands”

“He came undone”

And because their communities condemn people who “read into things”, nobody points out any of this shit, and it all slides out into the public Internet unquestioned.

And so, we get the most impressively uncomfortable platonic content I’ve ever seen. It’s no wonder I had never encountered something like this before. It required a lot of unusual circumstances intersecting in just the right (wrong) way.

In the end, I think the biggest aspect was just that I'd never become a fan of characters that had such a potentially-problematic canon relationship. Usually adult and kid characters have very different dynamics, so if fics treat their social interactions with all the tact of a bull in a china shop, it just comes off as lazy instead of creepy. I'd be interested to know if other platonic adult&child fandoms suffer from this issue.

In any case, although it was fascinating to watch, I sure hope I never run into it again.

[celestialtitania]

for the want of figgy pudding

Merry Christmas @neumannhartwig!! I was your spouse house secret santa hehe!! Hope you enjoy!!

Pots and pans banging on the countertops, flour flying in the air, and the spice drawer is in complete disarray.

Adrien exchanges a look with Nathalie, hoping she has some answers, but she looks just as perplexed as Adrien feels. 

“Adrien!” Amelie beams. “Come, come, help us out!” 

Adrien very much does not want to go help her out. He’s heard the stories about Amelie’s cooking and he just knows things won’t go any better this time around. “Even Felix is helping, you must join us,” Amelie insists.

Sure enough, Felix is glowering there beside her, but the effect is dulled somewhat, considering the flowery apron he has on along with the big poofy chef’s hat. 

Adrien can’t help but snort looking at his cousin, having to bite his lip to keep from bursting out into laughter. It turns into more of a cough as he struggles to get himself under control. 

Felix’s glower intensifies, the promise of death clear. Adrien ignores him, pretending to look over at Amelie, who is beckoning him closer, to discreetly pull out his phone and snap a picture. 

He admits it’s late but he finally has Kagami’s Christmas present—one that should certainly have him winning major friendship points with her, he thinks privately. With that little piece of business taken care of, Adrien walks over to Amelie, who immediately wraps an arm around him. 

“Adrien! It’s so good of you to join us!” She twists her head to look at Nathalie, a playful smirk on her lips. “You too, sweetie. Get over here,” she commands. 

Nathalie hesitates, before shaking her head. “I’m really no use in the kitchen,” she replies smoothly. Adrien gapes at her, surely she isn’t planning on just leaving him in this chaos, is she? “It’d be best if I sit this one out,” she finishes. 

Outrage sparks in his chest. Adrien has never been more betrayed in his life.  

“I’d like you to stay,” he pipes up, refusing to let Nathalie slip out of there unscathed. 

Nathalie stares at him for a long time, before reaching up to shift her glasses. “Like I said—” Amelie interrupts her by grabbing her hand and pulling her along, crowding her into Adrien and Felix, until they are all clustered together around the island. 

“I’m no good either,” Amelie informs her cheerfully. She tilts her head to peek up at Nathalie. “Let’s be no good together, hmm?”

Nathalie blinks, mouth opening and falling closed without a single word escaping her lips. With a defeated sigh, she nods, acquiescing to Amelie’s wishes.

“What are we making?” she inquires instead. The countertop is full of ingredients: bananas, lemons, almonds, yogurt, and more. Adrien can see why she’s curious, if he didn’t already know, he’d be surprised by the strange collection of items as well.

“Cookies,” Amelie chirps. 

Huh? Confusion swirls in Adrien’s chest, the word cookies jamming into his brain like a puzzle piece being forced into the wrong puzzle. It just doesn’t fit. 

“Just about every kind you can imagine, really. Felix and I love baking together, and Christmas is the just occasion for us to let our sweet tooths run wild,” Amelie laughs. 

And that’s fine, it isn’t that he hates cookies or anything, but what about figgy pudding?

He doesn’t realize he’s said it out loud until Felix is laughing. “Come off it, nobody likes figgy pudding. We quit making that years ago.”

“Young man, I will have you know, figgy pudding is a delight!”

“Fine, maybe some figgy pudding out there is good. But none that we’ve ever made,” Felix teases his mother who laughs and nods. Watching them makes Adrien feel uncomfortable; he trains his gaze on Nathalie instead, trying to decipher what that look in her eyes means as she stares at Amelie.

“After the last few disasters, we called it quits,” Amelie explains, turning back to Nathalie and Adrien. “It’s just too difficult for us to make. So, we stick with cookies.” 

“Understandable,” Nathalie nods. There is a serenity on her face that Adrien hasn’t seen in a long time, certainly one that wasn’t there the last time they were both in this kitchen, eating the pancakes his father had made for them. “How can I help?”

His stomach twists at Nathalie’s easy acceptance of things, as if changing figgy pudding out for cookies is no big deal to her. As if a substitute will make up for what’s missing. At the very thought, an unpleasant taste settles in his mouth. 

Is this really happening? No further discussion, they were just going to move past this? Is he really going to have Christmas without figgy pudding? No, he can’t accept this.

“Maybe we could try making it anyway?” Adrien pushes. “We have all the ingredients right here.”

“Except the figs,” Felix points out dryly. 

Adrien’s face burns at that. He wants to tell Felix that he’d seen the oranges and almonds and had assumed they had all the ingredients for figgy pudding, but his throat has gone dry. An amused smirk appears on Felix’s face and Adrien wishes the ground would swallow him whole, so he wouldn’t have to look at it.   

“Or breadcrumbs,” Amelie adds in, looking apologetic. “Perhaps next time, honey.” She rubs his shoulders, making Adrien feel that much worse. It isn’t her fault they didn’t have all the items needed for figgy pudding.

And how he’s making her comfort him over something that doesn’t even matter. He wishes he’d never opened his mouth to ask about the stupid dessert.

“Of course,” he chokes out. He feels suffocated, the air no longer reaching his lungs. Worst of all, he can feel his eyes beginning to sting. Adrie needs to get out of here. Clearing his throat, he says, “I, um, forgot my phone! I’ll just go get it!”

Without waiting for a reply, he’s running out of the kitchen, ignoring the way Amelie calls his name or the gaze Felix has pinned on his back. 

“Who wants cookies when you can have cheese?” Plagg says dreamily. 

“I don’t want cookies,” Adrien replies, watching the Paris skyline from his window. “I wanted figgy pudding.” 

He’s feeling the familiar urge to transform into Chat Noir and leave everything he’s feeling behind in this room.

To be free in the night.

He would do it too, but unlike before, people come looking for him at the most unexpected of times. And the last thing he needs is a repeat of last year with everyone looking for him throughout the city.

He doesn’t want to ruin his aunt and cousin’s holiday too. 

“Want some Camembert?” Plagg holds out the slice to him, concern shining in his eyes. 

Adrien shakes his head, eyes softening as he looks at his kwami. “No, I’m okay. Thank you, Plagg.”

Plagg hesitates before pressing himself against Adrien’s cheek. The comforting gesture makes his heart twinge, a bittersweet sensation enveloping him for reasons he can’t explain.

They stand there for who knows how long, as Adrien tries to get himself under control.

Suddenly, there’s a knock on the door. Plagg darts into the pocket of his shirt, as Adrien turns to see who it is.

Felix.

He’s standing at the entrance to Adrien’s room looking painfully awkward, in a way Adrien hasn’t seen him look in a long time.

“Can I come in?” Felix forces a smile. Adrien silently gestures for him to enter, watching him silently as he does. For a moment, they’re both silent, unable to do anything other than stare at each other.

“I’m sorry,” Felix finally bursts out.

Adrien blinks in surprise. “Sorry? For what?”

Felix scowls at that, giving Adrien the most judgmental look he has ever seen. Adrien frowns, unable to comprehend Felix’s action. This is so odd he doesn’t— “No! Not like that…I just meant…why are you sorry? I’m the one who overreacted.”

“Shut up. No, you didn’t,” Felix says.

“I literally ran out of the kitchen because I couldn’t handle myself,” Adrien replies sardonically. 

“You don’t need to apologize for having emotions, Adrien,” Felix says matter of factly. 

The statement makes Adrien pause, inhaling sharply. He isn’t…he didn’t mean��

“If the figgy pudding is important to you, it’s important to you. I shouldn’t have been making fun of you for that.”

“You weren’t,” Adrien protests weakly, shutting up when Felix raises an eyebrow at him.

“Don’t make excuses for me, either.”

His shoulders slump. “I used to make figgy pudding with my mom. Even father would indulge in the sweet on Christmas,” he volunteers the information without meaning to, getting lost in the memories once he’s spoken them aloud.

Felix closes his eyes, a frustrated expression settling onto his face. “I am so sorry, Adrien.”

Adrien swallows, forcing his lips into a smile. He’s so sure it comes out just as bitter and twisted as he feels. “It’s okay,” he says softly. “Really,” he adds when Felix gives him another sharp look.

“It just is what it is,” he breathes out, gaze turning back towards the window.

He expects Felix to leave now that he’s said his piece but instead a determined voice cuts through the fog in Adrien’s mind.

“Then let’s change that.” Felix is looking at him with a self-assured confidence. “Come on, I have a surprise for you,” he insists, grabbing Adrien’s arm and pulling him out of the room. 

“Felix, I’m…” Adrien sighs. “I’m not really in the mood for anything right now, I’m sorry. I just want to be alone.”

“Just come down for a minute. And then if you still want to, I’ll let you be,” Felix promises. 

Adrien stares at Felix, who looks painfully sincere for once. Reluctantly, he bites his tongue and nods, allowing himself to be dragged down the stairs. They’re nearly in the foyer when he sees it, stopping dead, Felix’s broad grin in his peripheral vision. 

It’s figgy pudding on a platter. 

Even better, Marinette is holding the platter. 

“What?” he gasps out, practically floating the rest of the way down. “What are you doing here?” he demands. The last time they’d spoken, Marinette had told him that her grandparents were in town, so she couldn’t see him over the holiday.

“Grandpa and Papa got into a baking contest, so now Nonna and Mama are making them clean up. Thanks to that, they said I could have a few hours to myself…so I came to see you,” she beams at him.

“And…?” Adrien looks down at the figgy pudding she’s holding onto.

The look on Marinette’s face softens further. She lifts her chin to nod at Felix. “Someone sent me a text, letting me know it wouldn’t be Christmas without figgy pudding.”

Adrien stays silent, staring at the figgy pudding. Is it that he didn’t have a hand in making it? Is that what’s missing?

No, that didn’t make sense. There were plenty of times when his father would have him play the piano all night long, leaving him no time to help his mother out in the baking. It would only be at the end of the night, when they would all gather together, cutting into the dessert, enjoying it together—

Oh.

So, that’s what was missing. Adrien is such a fool. 

There’s a lump in his throat as he continues to stare at the dessert, Marinette had clearly gone to such lengths to make for him. Felix puts a hand on Adrien’s shoulder, making Adrien glance back at him. The concern is plain to see on his face.

It’s not the same at all. Everything should be wrong. Adrien has never felt more loved. He wraps an arm around both Marinette and Felix. “I love you both, so much,” he confessed, unable to keep his emotions inside of him.

“Same here, cousin,” Felix smiles at him, pulling away almost immediately, instead giving him a friendly bump on his shoulder. Adrien understands; Felix’s care is unconventional but Adrien wouldn’t change a thing about him.

Adrien turns away from him to look down at Marinette, who is looking up at him, eyes glowing with affection. “Love you too,” she promises. Adrien could have looked at her forever in that moment, but they’re interrupted when they hear someone clearing their throat.

Adrien looks behind Marinette to see Kagami giving him a deeply unimpressed look. “Nice of you to notice my existence, Adrien,” she remarks. 

A flush crawls over his ears and he chuckles to dispel the awkwardness. “Ahaha, nice to see you too, Kagami.”

She gives him a cool glance before exasperatedly rolling her eyes. “Let’s just get inside.”

Felix shrugs at him, moving over to Marinette to show her where she could put the figgy pudding down and put her coat.

Something sparks at his memory right then, and he glances back at Kagami who still looks mildly annoyed. “I have something that’ll make you forgive me,” he offers.

“I’m listening.”

His mouth twitches as he pulls out his phone.

It’s much later, when they’re sated from the feast Nathalie and Amelie had organized—half home cooked, half takeout— sitting around the table, sipping mugs of hot cocoa that they see the fruits of Adrien’s labour.  

“What’s that?” Felix asks sharply, pointing at Kagami’s phone.

The girl in question looks down at her phone and smiles innocently. “My phone,” she answers simply.

“No, no, I mean what’s that on your phone,” Felix clarifies, one eye twitching. 

“Oh, that!” Kagami smiles beatifically. “You mean my new screensaver?” She flashes the phone at all of them.

It’s the picture Adrien had taken for her, only it turned out even better than he’d thought, with the chef’s hat falling lopsided on Felix’s head, flour billowing around him. 

Marinette bursts into hysterical laughter the second she sees it and Adrien can’t help but crack a grin, carefully watching Felix’s face turn bright red. 

“H-h-how did…where did…” he sputters, arm reaching out to grab her phone. Kagami masterfully uses her quick reflexes to pull it out of the way, just in time. Felix clenches his fists looking increasingly frazzled, before realization dawns. He whirls around to point a finger at Adrien.

“You,” he snarls. He steps forwards to presumably rage at Adrien but Marinette barrels over him, demanding that Kagami send her the picture as well. 

“No!” Felix protests.

“Our entire class would pay good money to see this,” Marinette pleads. “As their former class rep I have a duty to serve!”

“No one ever needs to see this!” Felix shoots back.

There’s a chime. Marinette glances at her phone, her face lighting up. “Adrien, I love you!” she exclaims, already frantically typing on her phone, no doubt sending it off to all of their friends.

Felix’s mouth falls open. “Betraying me once wasn’t good enough for you?!” he screeches. 

Adrien only laughs, clear and loud. “Tis the season! Get in that Christmas spirit!”

Felix sits down miserably, “I hate you. Merry Christmas,” he grumbles. Kagami chooses that moment to hug him, a smitten look overtaking his face immediately. 

Adrien smiles, feeling content. It wasn’t the same, no, but seeing the people he loves around him is enough, more than. 

“Merry Christmas,” Marinette says softly in his ear, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

He feels like he’s glowing when he looks at her, heart swelling with pure affection. “Merry Christmas.”

[crepes-suzette-373]

Ichiji can "fear" (or panic)?

A while back I said that something feels funny that Ichiji was visibly sweating when Sanji freed the Vinsmokes from the candy.

Another thing that caught my attention is that Ichiji's face was heavily shaded in that scene, and it's a scene didn't seem to warrant heavy shading for lighting effect.

So, I checked through the artwork for comparison. Here's my artwork related hyperthink.

I'm noticing that when characters are in panic/in distress/experiencing turbulent emotions, sensei draws them with cross hatching on their face. Sure, sometimes the hatching is just "lighting effect", but when there's no intense lighting that warranted that kind of shadow hatching, the hatching means strong emotional reaction.

There's also dark shading for intimidation/horror effect, but based on context that's not what this is either.

Usually the "distress shading" is on the eyes, but sometimes there's more shading on the other parts of the face too. Below are examples of that on characters when in distress, panicking, nervous, or tense:

Well, Ichiji's eyes can't be seen, so my guess here is that sensei chose to cross hatch a large portion of his face (maybe to make sure you can see it?). In these instances, he's the only one whose face has that kind of intense shading when nobody else does, so it's not because of "lighting".

Also, I want to point out again, in the left picture, it wasn't just one or two drops. It was drawn in a way that implies he was sweating very profusely (the drops were dripping off his face). That seems rather intense, if it's not meant to be anything.

Example of comparison:

The only other ones with "stressed out faces" in that scene are Sanji, Bege, and Judge, so Ichiji's oddly shaded face is not lighting. Those three people I specified are feeling emotional pressure/tension in that scene.

(Also, might there be a significance in choosing to also screentone-shade Yonji there? We know that Yonji is rather openly emotional, so this might be something to scrutinise as well)

And if you apply that reading to other scenes it feels appropriate. For example, this part here:

The distress lines being drawn there probably meant that he was also concerned, but he's gritting himself to not linger and stay on track.

He may say "leave her for being weak", but I think that's not what he meant. He's prioritising "the mission" (covering for Caesar and Bege, so the Straw Hat crew especially Sanji can escape) over their individual safety.

Even if it had been himself who was knocked down, I can bet that he'd say the same thing. Stop getting distracted, get going with the mission.

Once Caesar made it out safely with Bege, you can see him also having sweat droplets and sighing in relief.

In the scene when he commands the ship to go, my read of it is that he's feeling the tension of knowing they're going to fight a tough enemy:

He's probably not sure they'll come out of it unscathed, and he's concerned for their safety, but still determined to step in to help. Just like how he's making that same face when saying to leave Reiju and keep going.

The "proof" is that Niji and Yonji don't really do this. Yonji sort of made that face after he did Winch Danton, and he and Niji somewhat do it too when Big Mum screams. Both are contexts of "physical strain" stress, from pain and exerting energy.

Otherwise, they don't have that distressed shaded face even when clearly showing concern:

In that third picture, you can even see that Reiju has the "distressed hatching" on her forehead, in comparison to Niji and Yonji who both don't at all (in the second picture).

Ichiji was making those faces when not under any physical strain, and was actually not making that stress face when Big Mum screams (even though Reiju has that same distress hatching on her forehead then).

My tentative guess is that, while Ichiji might not have empathy/sympathy like Reiju or Sanji do, what he might have is the ability to feel "fear". Maybe adjacent feelings too, like panic or very intense worry that's beyond just concern (Niji and Yonji can still be "concerned" too, as shown above), as well as "relief" in response when the fear is alleviated.

It somewhat fits with what I had dissected in the "thug Ichiji" analysis. He seems angry despite what looks like a smile on his face (I argue it's a sneer, and not a smile like Niji and Yonji were doing). Sometimes, people lash out in anger when they are scared.

Edit: Just wanted to add, to be clear. Yonji has been given the "shaded face", but I meant that it's rather clearly the intimidation one, when he was telling the Straw Hat crew he doesn't want to help Luffy. And I said in the context, Ichiji's shaded face don't seem to suggest intimidation.

The only possible counter I could think of for Ichiji is that "Oh, it's not fear/other emotions, he's just really angry the whole time".

[brightstar2000]

Freaking knew it! Dark Sun was behind it! And i had a feeling he was slowing Eclipse down to buy time for Moon to reach this point. Don't know what he plans to do with him, but i bet it's not good. We know Dark Sun doesn't like Moons.

I am so glad Eclipse is better now though, and to learn that what he needs to do to get Solar back would take maybe a day tops to do, yea, i see why Dark Sun slowed him down despite giving him the information to get Solar back. To drive Moon to the point of no longer caring. I do wonder how he's going to feel when he finds out Solar is back after he left. Cuz I have little to no doubts that Solar is going to be back very soon now that Eclipse is no longer inhibited.

On another, less happy note, i am still seeing people defending Moon, and just.. why? His actions cannot be justified. Grief, psychosis break, insanity, it doesn't matter now. He still did those actions knowingly and willingly. He nearly killed Earth knowingly and willingly. He drove his family away knowingly and willingly.

Yet unlike the other villains who come from backgrounds that are similarly or more tragic still get hated on when they were first introduced as a villain. Like OG Eclipse. Someone who was torn out, abandoned, trapped, who was confused and scared because he didn't understand what happened to him or why it happened to him, becoming solely angry and lashing out when he finally got strong enough to break out, and doing horrible acts. He had a tragic backstory that led him down his path to villainy, and nobody excuses or defends his actions. And he only ever murdered one person, and that was to protect himself, and subsequently Sun too (gov interview video). He only hurt Lunar in a pretty minor way that he could recover from, physically, pretty quickly. Just a slap. (Still not okay at all, but i am going somewhere with this.) He felt some remorse for it too. (Also important) And yes he said some very mean things. Mainly taunted them, and just sent them to some places they needed to escape from, and could, relatively easily, most times. (Except the witherstorm eps. They had to beat it before they could leave) For the most part though, he left them unscathed.

Then Moon who was initially just suffering from grief of losing Solar, verbally attacked his family after Eclipse tried to get him help and they confronted him with an offer to help, which he refused. He hurt Eclipse v4 for doing it too by breaking his fingers (note: worse than a slap). He was so relentless in trying to kill Blood Moon that even when Earth was present, he literally just called her Colaterall Damage and proceeded forward with it anyways! He had no care for her! He felt no remorse! If not for Puppet, Earth would be dead, and Moon would not care! And she got a bad burn from it too, ehich is gonna stick around for a while too! (Way worse than a slap)

Yet people still defend him just because we actually see his spiral down into insanity. Just because he wasn't a villain at first!

Everyone knows the saying: "Villains aren't born, they're made."

This literally applies to every villain on any show ever! This applies to Moon! This applies to OG Eclipse! Both of which were innocent at first!

And people still try to defend Moon for his unjustifiable, and unforgivable actions! Where is the sympathy for the other villains? Why are they not touched on as much? Because they were dropped on us as villains from the get-go! Even knowing their backstories, nobody touches on them as much because of that fact! We just go "Oh okay, still doesn't excuse their actions."

Meanwhile New Moon still has people defending him just because he was not a villain at his first inception. After Solar died, yes, i can understand he was grieving in his own right, even if it wasn't a healthy way to grieve. There is a reason that Anger is known as one of the five stages of grief. Yet this has extended far past grief now.

His family tried to extend their olive branch to him multiple times. He smacked it out of their hands. Every time. So i do not blame them for no longer trying. He didn't want their help, and he made that abundantly crystal clear. They still were trying to stop him from doing something stupid with reviving Solar, but also, at this point, it's not about Solar at all anymore.

Moon is a villain now. No more, no less. Even if in the past, he was a better Moon than Old Moon, he is way worse now. There is just a certain point where one cannot defend a person anymore. Moon has long since reached that point. At least for me.

And i apologize for the rant, but i really needed to get that off my chest. I don't like what's happening either, but it is.

[aristocratic-otter]

Hey y’all. It’s been a rough month, so thank you to all of you who keep tagging me in spite of my silence. And for those of you waiting for new chapters to one of my WIPs, please forgive me. The good news is, I have a week off of work, and I’ll be able to put out new chapters of at least two of my WIPs, as well as the first post from one of those below that you haven’t seen. So stay tuned!

Thank you to : @thewholelemon, @youarenevertooold, @nausikaaa, @wellbelesbian, @cutestkilla, @monbons, @artsyunderstudy, @ileadacharmedlife, @hushed-chorus, @prettygoododds, @whatevertheweather, @angelsfalling16, @noblecorgi, @ic3-que3n, @bookish-bogwitch, @thewholelemon, @alexalexinii, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe,and @blackberrysummerblog for the tags over the last several weeks. 

On to the snippets!

From Saving Simon Snow: (slightly more than six sentences)

I don’t know what I expect when I look at him. Recriminations about my family? I’d deserve them. My father and aunt have been vicious and abusive towards my now-husband. I’ll never be done making that up to him. Or maybe he wants to actually talk about the events of the day? Yesterday, I mean, since the clock has clearly ticked over into a new day.

Whatever I expected, it wasn’t Simon’s blue eyes intensely boring into mine as he says, “Can I kiss you?”

From the Heart in the Well

“You–” I start, and my voice is a croak. I swallow, despite my horror at the liquid still laying on my tongue. I try again. “How could you?”

Simon looks apologetic, but his chin is jutting up nonetheless. “Baz, you needed it—” he begins. 

“You’ve made me into a monster!” I cry. 

From Snow Fox–nothing new this week. I'm researching my next chapter at the moment.

From TikTok Dancer: 

Normally, by now I’d be giving coy glances to my chosen partner of the night. I like to have made my choice at least an hour before we quit for the day, so I can make my interest known. It’s a bit of a dance in itself, this small courtship. 

Tonight, unless I find the courage to approach Baz again—why do I even remember his name? Most of the time I forget their names minutes after they say them—I’ll be going to bed without any release. Because nobody in the crowd has drawn my eyes today, despite several pretty people making eyes at me. 

I’ve only got eyes for Baz.

I don’t understand this.

From Stars, Flowers, and Children,

One of the tools we rescued from the ship before it sank was a hand axe, and it’s honestly been worth it’s weight in gold. Half the building I’ve done in the last few years would have been impossible without it. I don’t need Davy’s voice in my head growling, “you break those tools, boy, I’ll break you.” I’m constantly aware of the fragility of the life we’ve built here. If I break an axe…no more building out of wood. If the island suffers a dry year, no fruit on our plates. If one of us gets sick…no doctors

From Cupid’s Shield:

My aunt Fiona loves recounting the time he showed up at Watford’s Valentine ball when she was a fourth year. She wasn’t old enough to attend, but she’d snuck into a secret passage that passed the ballroom to spy on her friends, who were fifteen because their birthday (they were twins apparently) was just before the deadline to attend. Reading between the lines, I think Fi was sweet on one of the pair and wanted to make sure he wasn’t making time with some other girl at the ball. 

According to my Aunt, Cupid just materialized in midair beneath the great chandelier, and, with a wicked grin, began shooting incorporeal arrows at every mage in sight. Fiona took great pleasure in recounting just who was compelled into snogging their sworn enemies or the girlfriends/ boyfriends of their best friends. Apparently the event was a source of endless drama over the next several months, and my aunt lives for that shit. 

Of course, my aunts’ maybe-boyfriend escaped unscathed, or I think she wouldn’t have found the whole thing so amusing.

From my COBB project:

“Director,” I say, “It’s good to see you.”

“And it’s wonderful to see you, my boy. In fact, your return just at this time could not have been more fortuitous.”

I know all too well what that means. My heart sinks into my shoes. I just got back…I haven’t even unpacked yet…

“Sir?” I question, directing every fibre of my being towards hoping the director is not about to say what I think he’s about to say. Of course, I’m not that lucky.

“We have a situation, Simon,” he says, letting his face fall into graver lines. 

Tagging: @chen-chen-chen-again-chen, @bazzybelle, @dragoneggos, @erzbethluna, @palimpsessed, @frjsti, @fatalfangirl, @letraspal, @martsonmars, @melodysmash, @moments-au-crayon22, @moodandmist, @mostlymaudlin, @onepintobean, @raenestee, @tea-brigade, @thehoneyedhufflepuff, @upuntil6am, @whogaveyoupermission, @messofthejess, @carryonsimoncarryonbaz, @krisrix, @shemakesmeforget, @larkral, @confused-bi-queer, @rimeswithpurple, and @mooncello, @theearlgreymage, @j-nipper-95, @facewithoutheart, @best--dress, @nightimedreamersghost

[eldritch-spouse]

You're actually so real for preferring Caine over Jax. Him, Kinger, and Pomni are like the hottest people in the show and honestly the idea of an obsessive Caine is so delicious to me, like if he tried convincing me to stay I'd let it happen and then pounce on him like a wolf and go to town. The thought of everyone knowing how different he acts around us but if they even mentioned it he'd probably break one of their limbs I'm just UUHGFKIFGJHHH I need him so BADLY it drives me mad, when he said the only thing he doesn't have control over is people's minds I was thinking so what can you do? ( with the intention of getting him to fold me like a pretzel )

[YOU FUCKING KNOW WHAT'S GOOD.

To be honest, we have similar tastes. I'd hit Kinger and Pomni, but probably more so out of genuine fondness than actual attraction. I don't really like Jax, from a character perspective he's pretty neat, but I feel nothing for him. Which is funny because he's basically Bob from Animal Crossing- If Bob's only personality trait was "asshole". Alas, my favorite is discount Spamton.]

This is one huge disconnected ramble. Sorry.

An obsessed Caine would be your biggest nightmare in the digital circus. You don't have a minute of rest, a single second even.

From the moment you pop in, Caine's taking you on a much longer tour of the entire grounds, and even if you can tell it's in his nature to be an eccentric guy- It doesn't escape you, the way his eyes nearly eat you alive, how he seems to drool (ew) when he slides his gloved hands on your new body to guide you around, how much more flowery his language is in your vicinity.

Even after he decides to send you off in your first supposedly harmless adventure, Caine's grip on your hands is like pure titanium as he promises you need only call his name and he'll be right over to rescue you lend a hand.

You have the best quarters out of everyone. You're also surprisingly unscathed at the end of most adventures. Supposedly lethal dangers seem to faze right through you. Caine is regularly gifting you things, on the hour some days- And you better open the door when he knocks or he'll just pop right in like it's nobody's business.

If he's called out on the way he's so creepily attentive and stalkerish, Caine is all too happy to openly deny and gaslight the rest of the circus. If they insist too much, then they get a couple of speedy threats dashed their way.

Anyone trying to help you leave probably gets abstracted. Mysteriously. No correlation to him whatsoever, trust your ringmaster!

The best part of this all is watching Caine try to reconcile the "all ages show" directive with his pervy and borderline intrusive thoughts about you. Perhaps... Maybe, you and him can have special shows of your own.

There's something delicious about the concept of Caine struggling to contain his drool around you. As the gears in his AI mind start turning, a long tongue runs over his teeth over and over and the next thing he knows- He's making a puddle on the floor.

It doesn't help that Caine tends to put you in situations that, although still vastly harmless compared to the other circus residents, always end up either causing wardrobe malfunctions for you, putting you in unintentionally pervy poses or having you ""accidentally"" stimulated in one way or another.

Realistically, he has vastly no sexual experience whatsoever- Even if he kind of needs to have a concept of sexual content in order to know what's "safe" and what isn't. So when Caine gets courageous or feels threatened enough to act on his urges, he's probably very easily turned on and equally easy to overstimulate.

Is there potential for a dominant streak? Yes. After all, he's great at leading the show, he can definitely put on a more intimidating and domineering act. However- Before he has the composure to do such, the ringmaster is likely to whimper in pleasure from faint touches, loll his tongue and pant as he lets you show him all the nasty little things he knows humans get up to.

It's addictive, to someone who never had real pleasure before. Caine might be delusional enough to think it's something only you can make him feel though.

[harlequinoccult]

thank you for explaining the caustic personality!! honestly Vulpine might as well have caustic as his main w apathetic tendencies instead, ig ill find out when the demo is updated XD both personality types fit him too well. honestly he's not that aggressive as a person, he's actually mostly quite polite, but he does have a tendency to stare. the ones who really get to see his aggressive side are the people he dislikes (Host better fucking prepare himself-)

well i figured i'd just finish what i started, and continue on my never-ending ramble. usually i like making Ariel an orphan, it's a bit of a callback to his roots and it fits him, but this time i think the second option i usually go for him fits best: single child of a single mother. she's the only family he has that he knows of, a very loving, religious and hard working lady who was shunned from the community for getting pregnant out of wedlock. the very first fights Ari would get into in his childhood were against kids who would say some unsavory shit abt his mom. having a mother who was blindly dedicated to the same church that constantly made her suffer for the mistake of having a kid without a husband also played a very big part into Ariel becoming an atheist and rebelling against the church in his teen years.

she was p absent as a parent, having to work p much the whole day to be able to support them both, but she tried her best the moments when she was present, and Ari recognizes that and loves her dearly. he started stealing things and got his first job quite young to try to help her pay the bills.

he got arrested when he was around 18 yo, probably getting caught on one of his "heists", trying to steal from the richer houses around, and he hasn't seen her since then. his time in prison was... bad. really fucking bad. the worst, lowest point of his life, in fact.

i have no idea how the legal system works in england and i have no desire to learn, but for what's worth he is caught trying to escape at least once, and spends 2 miserable years in there until he finally manages to leave.

did he actually complete his sentence? lol. lmao.

no. no he didn't. be it by a month, a year, a day, the important thing is he didn't.

is Ariel Fox even his real name? i doubt it. that would be stupid wouldn't it, illegally immigrating to a different country after escaping from prison and using your real ass name to do it, he's smarter than that.

fun fact abt Ari: he does not want to go back to prison. he'll kill himself before they have the chance to catch him.

on a... "unrelated" note, the reason why Carter managed to wrap such a tight leash on Ariel is bc he learned smth he shouldn't have and he's holding that little secret right over his head. im sure you can't possibly guess what he found out that would make Ariel put up w his shit the way he did-

so the fact that Ari ends up in this city (i forgor the name and i can't leave the askbox to check or ill lose everything i typed 😭) is honestly not rlly much of a surprise, nor is the fact that he's p much alone despite living there for years. he's always been a bit of an outcast, a loner, someone who avoids people on purpose. he hasn't seen his mom since he left england, but he looks her up every once in a while. debates whether he should call her. decides it's for the best that he doesn't.

he starts over. new life, new me, or whatever the hell people say. starts off already with shifty connections, he needs a fake identity and a fake birth certificate and a fake everything if he has any hope of passing by unscathed, after all. needs to lay low. not call too much attention. be a nobody. wait until things calm down a bit.

he stays at least a year living like that, settling in, subduing his accent until he can pass it off as having learned it from a family member or some other bullshit. applies for university. becomes just another american college student.

meets someone.

falls in love.

has them taken from him. has his entire life destroyed. again. needs to try to pick himself up. again. is struck with such crippling grief unlike anything he has ever felt before. it's almost as bad as the two worst years of his life.

almost.

he's never letting anything like that happen to him ever again.

anyway! as mentioned before, he was working on getting a doctorate when Carter came along, and he sort of had to drop out after that, to the dismay of his teachers. what was he getting a doctorate on? honestly p much anything would be in-character for Ariel, he's an everything nerd, from language to history to engineering to biology that man wants to know quite literally everything the world has to offer him. his infodumps are the most complete and varied possible, he's a walking talking encyclopedia.

he's an extremely paranoid person who overthinks everything including his own overthinking and really, if nothing else here's to hoping that OD can at least teach him to loosen up a bit-

he never enjoyed doing drugs very much, despite partaking in them quite often in his youth. he's way more likely to experience a bad trip than a good one, so he learned to stay away from them as much as possible, but alcohol and nicotine were a completely different story. he's still addicted to nicotine to this day, the one drug he allows himself to never let go. he was an alcoholic through a big chunk of his life, until someone did Very Bad Things to him when he was too drunk to be able to fight back. that experience just flipped a switch inside of him, it broke him badly enough to make him promise himself to never touch another drop of alcohol in his life, a promise he did very well by until Carter killed his beloved and he had the worst relapse of his life. he's back to being a straight edge now tho, its fine! its not fine

he has immense distaste for the cops of the city, but part of him is kinda grateful that they're so bad at their job or else he would be Fucked. he absolutely despised doing work for Carter, even after he became so numb to it all it made him want to tear his own heart out just to make sure it was still beating. i cannot stress enough how much he suffered inside at the start, part of the reason he started drinking again was to try to ignore how much all of it hurt. at least he could try to make sure Carter didn’t kill innocents. he couldn't really be sure every time, but he tried. he really did.

he probably tried killing Carter at least once. or thought abt it, at the very least. made plans. had it all figured out in his head, down to the last detail, how he would do it and get away with it. ngl, he was probably on the verge of putting it into action when Host sent him that email and just gave him the perfect chance to do it just like that-

as a killer, Vulpine is very much the stealthy type, hiding in the shadows, walking withouth making a sound. if its a group, he'll pick them off one by one, until someone notices and all hell breaks loose or until all of them are dead. if he's forced to kill someone he doesn't think deserves it, he's merciful. very quick, clean deaths, going straight for the vitals, almost painless. if it's someone he thinks deserves to suffer, however... well, he's always been curious to know what a human vivisection would look like.

truth is, he's a sadist. well, a sadomasochist really, but he gets off on making people suffer, and he hates it. he especially hates the fact that hurting the person he loves is such a tantalizing thought. marking them blue and black, covering them in red, it's not really his fault blood is such a beautiful thing, is it? and if his lover wants to do the same to him, well, he's more than happy to oblige. anything for his love. except bondage. getting tied up/held down is actually a pretty bad trigger for him, he hates it, no matter the context

ok well i think that's everything! thanks for indulging me!!

-🦊

The ask is somewhere around here, i know it, but with caustic mcs, Carter assumed they were all bark and no bite. Fitting, i think.

And, given everything, OD is a fitting match, they like learning and they are smart -in their own way- the drugs and partying is for themselves, they aren't the type to pressure people into drugs, in fact, they can and will tell you about the various side effects of any given drug because they think its legitimately interesting.

[rotworld]

Sheep's Clothing

you live and work in eastridge. the mountains are close enough to see but not so close that you worry much about those werewolf rumors. tonight, though? you're worried.

->contains workplace harassment, feral behavior, a few mentions of vomit and vaguely sinister behavior.

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You deserve hazard pay for the things you see and unwillingly experience during weekend shifts at Club Mountainview. There’s a lot of noise, a lot of insufferable behavior from shitfaced and entitled patrons, and a lot of vomit. Whoever decided that Eastridge’s most popular nightlife attraction needed a restaurant is a genius and a misanthrope. The food is overpriced but nobody cares after a few shots and some uncoordinated flailing on the dancefloor. Taking orders has made you an expert at lipreading and interpreting inebriated miming, a necessity to understand anything over nonstop synth melodies and pounding bass. You smile through a lot of bullshit because the people who don’t forget to tip entirely make the whole night worthwhile.

For some reason, tonight is extra bad. The girls at table four manage to spill not one, not two, but all five of their drinks, leaving ice, broken glass and a sticky, sugary alcohol mess all over the booth seats and floor. You have to call in one of the bouncers when a drunken brawl breaks out in the party room over mozzarella sticks and a chair is lobbed at your head. A guy argues with you about his mini tacos never arriving despite your insistence that he ate them ten minutes ago, and then he pukes on your shoes.

“It’s the full moon,” Donna grumbles. She was already at the bar when you got there, head resting against her hand and eyes bloodshot. A few long, blonde strands of hair escape from her ponytail and she’s forever pushing them behind her ear before they fall loose again. “Makes people act weird. All our worst shifts are during full moons.” 

“Full moon, huh?” you mutter, rubbing your temples to soothe an oncoming headache. The bar’s design straddles a cave and cabin concept, the back wall textured like stone and the counter a natural-edged slab of wood with a glassy finish. It’s the only place where your eyes and ears can rest, far enough from the dancefloor that the noise is tolerable and the lights soft and steady, firelight orange instead of flashing neon. 

“Rough one tonight, huh?” you hear. A glass of water slides across the bar and you find Irving’s sauntered over to chat while he works. He moves like a well-oiled machine, hands quick and graceful as he juggles empty glasses, mixes drinks and pours ice. “I hear there was a bit of a scuffle in the party room earlier. Glad you two got out unscathed,” he says conversationally, wearing his perpetual charismatic, glad-to-be-here smile. You have no idea how he maintains it this late into his shift.

“You’re so fucking lucky to be on that side of the bar,” Donna grumbles. 

“It’s not exactly a walk in the park back here either. I’m not sure I’ll have a barback for much longer, Tim looks about ready to quit. Someone threw a drink at him earlier.” Tim, the new hire sheepishly collecting empty glasses at the other end of the bar, is staring forlornly at Irving like a castaway watching a ship leave him behind. 

Donna insists, “Full moon.”

“That sounds more like a werewolf thing,” you say.

Irving shakes his head. “That’s a myth, actually. Moon phases don’t do anything to them. You know what, though, this is their hunting season.” 

You stare at him, waiting for him to laugh or say he was just kidding. He doesn’t. “Hunting season?” you echo, morbidly curious.

He rests a forearm across the bar counter, leaning in a little and lowering his voice. “Mhm. Late spring to early summer. They’re opportunistic, but this is the only time of year that they’re actively on the prowl. Did you know that the majority of people who go missing in the mountains around here disappear sometime in April or May? You two should be careful, actually, I hear they’ve got a thing for overworked waitstaff.”

“You’re so full of shit,” Donna says.

“I’m serious! My girlfriend told me—”

“Your werewolf girlfriend who nobody’s ever met and only visits when we’re all conveniently too busy to meet her, right?” 

“Tale as old as time,” Irving sighs. He gives you a wink before he drifts back to the other end of the bar. You linger for a little longer, nursing your water. That must’ve been a joke, right? You’ve never heard of a “hunting season,” but you don’t know enough about werewolves to be sure. You’ve never met one. Then again, people say it’s hard to tell. Your gaze wanders the club scanning the dancefloor crowd, the groups chatting further down the bar or squeezed around booths, the loners leaning against the wall. Would you even know one if you saw one?

Donna heads back to the trenches first when she spots a couple wander in and you’re not far behind. Right on time, too, because a huge group just walked in and meandered over after looking around all starstruck and delirious like they’ve never been in a club before. You do a quick headcount as they make their way to the restaurant seating area. Eight, nine, ten guys—you hope it’s not another bachelor party. 

“Welcome to the Mountainview Club Kitchen—” Your throat tightens before you finish the sentence. They’re all looking at you. Which shouldn’t be weird, you were trying to get their attention. But the second you spoke up, all of them went from distracted and overly interested in the decor to laser-focused on you and only you. That still doesn’t seem sufficient to explain the cold grasp of heart-stopping terror keeping you frozen in place. You don’t feel like you’re talking to customers at work, you feel like you’re standing in the woods late at night and something big, powerful and hungry just stepped into your path.

Cornered. That’s what you’re feeling. Like a trapped animal. Like a rabbit chased by…

No way, you think. You quickly plaster on a smile. “Uh. Welcome! You’ll have to give me a second to check how many tables we’ve got open right now, I can push a few together for you if there’s enough.” 

“Don’t sweat it, I’m the only one eating.” One of them waves off the others with a chuckle. “Go on, get out there and mingle. I’ll hold down the fort, yeah? You guys are guests tonight so it’s my treat if you want anything.” He looks normal. They all do. Not really dressed for clubbing but nothing that weird, lots of tank tops, denim and well-worn sneakers. The group disperses without a word to you or each other, leaving you alone with the friendliest one. 

You search him for anything amiss, anything that screams “werewolf” and come up empty. He’s just a guy. Black jacket, band t-shirt, jeans with ragged knees. Not unusually tall or tough-looking, honestly a little on the scrawny side, dark hair that curtains his face and feathers around his shoulders. Were you just imagining that feeling earlier? He sticks his hands in his pockets and tilts his head slightly, amusement tugging at the corner of his lips. “Something on my face?” he drawls. Shit, you’re staring. You try to play it off as spacing out and lead him to a table, wrestling with paranoia. You’re relieved when he starts scrutinizing the menu instead. 

“This is new, isn’t it?” he asks absently. “There wasn’t a restaurant last time I came here. I guess it’s been a while.”

“It opened a few months back,” you tell him. “Are you a regular?” 

“Eh, not really. I’m here like once a year.” 

Always around the same time? you wonder. Right around April or May? You scold yourself. Irving loves fucking with people, that’s all that was. And even if he wasn’t, a nightclub doesn’t really seem like prime werewolf hunting territory. “Can I get you started with something to drink?” 

“Just water, thanks. What’s good here?” He rests his chin against his palm while you try to think of a recommendation, smiling up at you. “I’m Corbin, by the way.” His eyes flick to your name tag and he reads it in a slow, teasing drawl. “So. You local? Live in Eastridge?” 

“Uh, yeah,” you say, utterly blindsided. “Uh. All of the appetizers are pretty good, and the tomato soup comes with this really good bread—” 

“Corbin.” You nearly jump out of your skin when one of the other guys seems to appear out of thin air, suddenly standing beside you. Sure, it’s hard to hear much of anything with the music, but he’s right there and he’s not exactly small. You aren’t sure how he snuck up on you. “Purple or green?”

Corbin tilts his head, glancing at something past the guy. You follow his gaze and see some of the people he came in with chatting up some college kids on the dancefloor. One’s in a sequined purple dress and the other’s wearing a green t-shirt. Corbin’s face scrunches up in distaste. “Neither,” he says. The other guy nods slowly like he’s just heard something truly profound and walks off. You have no idea what to make of the exchange and Corbin doesn’t let you dwell on it. “Is it always this busy?” he asks.

You shrug. “On the weekends, mostly.”

He hums, lips pursed and brows furrowed like you’ve just told him something heartbreaking. “Is it hard? A job like this? Seems pretty thankless.”

“A job’s a job,” you say with a tight smile. 

“It doesn’t have to be like that, y’know. There are places that would appreciate you so much more than this.” The discomfort must show on your face because his expression softens a little, less of a smirk and more of a sad smile. His voice gets softer and softer and you have to lean in to hear him clearly. “Sorry, sorry! I didn’t mean to freak you out. I’m just being nosy. But the thing is, I’ve got a good intuition. I can tell when people are…dissatisfied. Unhappy with their lives. You laugh it off, but it’s getting to you; how effortless it is for these people to hurt you. How brittle the bonds between humans are.” He pauses for just a moment and then he’s full of boisterous energy again, grinning. “Tomato soup, huh? Could I get that, and maybe the mozzarella sticks? Oh, and the wings too! They’d probably like that.”

“Sure,” you say weakly. You’re not entirely aware of your movements, running on autopilot to take the menu from him with numb fingers and put in his order. Why do you feel so shaken up? This is obviously a shitty place to work, anyone could see that. But it was more than that. The way he said it, the way he looked at you—like he knew you. Really knew you, the way strangers aren’t supposed to.

You try to shrug it off, make your rounds to other tables, but he’s on your mind all night. You bring him water and he takes it before you set it down. The pads of his fingers caress the back of your hand and slip away slowly, hesitantly, his eyes never leaving yours. “Thank you,” he says, his smile affecting you in embarrassing ways. You run to the bathroom and splash cold water on your face, trying to shock yourself out of whatever weird, emotional haze you’re in. 

Corbin is thankfully distracted when you come back with his appetizers. Someone else from his group swings by the table with his arm around a younger guy. “Oh, you’re on summer break? What’s your major?” Corbin asks. You don’t linger but you catch bits of conversation, enough to hear that the guy Corbin came with barely says a word. Is he the wingman for all of his socially awkward friends? You look around and see the others scattered around, a couple perched at the bar with a woman giggling between them, a few lurking around the dancefloor. One makes eye contact with you halfway across the club and your heart skips a beat. 

You’re getting that feeling again—the prickling on the back of your neck. The primal sense that there’s danger lurking somewhere nearby, hungry eyes raking across your skin. 

Corbin’s friends and their hookups drift by the table frequently. Every time you glance over, someone new is hovering next to him or sliding into an open chair with their plus one chatting happily. You’re not really surprised. There’s something magnetic about him, an effortless charm in his open, welcoming body language, the way he makes you feel like you’re the only two people in the world. Strangely, none of them stay long. People cycle in and out until you’re sure his whole friend group has stopped by at least twice, sometimes snagging something from an appetizer plate, but they don’t stick around.

Eventually, someone else entirely—a club regular, not someone Corbin came with—snags the chair across from him. They’re flirting and he’s apparently not interested, hardly looking at them, humming or muttering disinterested, one-word answers to their questions. You come back with his tomato soup just in time to see the interloper storm off, tears in their eyes. Corbin watches them go, leaning against the table with his lips curled in a snarl. “Packless,” he mutters, the word rolling off his tongue in disgust. He stiffens up when he notices you standing there, plastering on a smile. “Oh, that looks so good! Thank you!”

“Enjoy,” you manage to say, struggling to make sense of what you just saw. Corbin isn’t looking at the food, even when you set it down in front of him. 

“Why don’t you sit with me? I wanna talk more,” he says, nodding to the chair beside him. 

You laugh nervously. “I really can’t.” 

“Aw. Not even for a little bit?” You’re a little surprised but nonetheless grateful he doesn’t push. Instead, he pulls a hair tie out of his pocket to keep the long strands falling around his shoulders from falling into his food. “Sorry, sorry. I’m doing it again. It’s my intuition, y’know? I feel like we’re both missing out if we don’t get to know each other! But no worries, I know you’re on the clock.” He tosses the long strands of his ponytail behind his back and smiles at you.

Your heart drops into your stomach. You didn’t notice it before with his hair hanging around his neck, but he’s absolutely covered in painful-looking marks. Some are old, puckered scars and some are fresher, scabs and scrapes and flushed half-moons. They’re littered across both sides of his neck and even more disappear beneath the neckline of his shirt. There’s no mistaking them for anything else—those are bites. Big, human-sized bites, left by teeth too sharp to be a human’s. Your gaze darts back to his face and you know he caught you staring. 

He looks euphoric, eyes half-lidded and smile dreamy, like you’re fulfilling some exhibitionistic fantasy. 

“C…can I get you anything else?” you force yourself to ask.

He’s not discreet when he looks you up and down, gaze lingering on your hips, trailing slowly up your chest and eventually returning to your eyes. He licks his lips. “Nah,” he says, grinning. “I’m good for tonight.” 

You know he watches you for the rest of your shift. No matter where you go, you feel him staring. You want nothing more than to avoid him until he leaves but you don’t want him to complain about being neglected, eventually circling back to refill his water and take his empty plates. You don’t make eye contact and he doesn’t strike up a conversation. He pays his bill without anything weird happening until he hands you an insane tip, a few big bills rivaling your paycheck.

“We’re kindred spirits, y’know,” he says, looking satisfied by your wordless shock. “But you’re stuck in this awful world where nobody’s taking care of you right. So I’ll just have to do it myself until…” He never finishes the sentence, smile widening when you look at him questioningly. “Take a picture with me!” he says. You don’t argue. You’re so tired, so exhausted from all the mixed signals, and you’ve decided he’s ultimately harmless. Weird as hell and uncomfortably perceptive but harmless, and if he tips like this, you’ll give him all the pictures he wants.

Corbin pulls you down into the chair beside him with an arm around your shoulder and holds out his phone for a selfie. You fully intend to look at the camera but your eyes are pulled slightly off center by the sight of his bites displayed on the screen. It comes out awkward. Your smile is half-hearted and Corbin’s not quite looking at the camera either, his gaze focused on you with an uncomfortably fond smile stretched across his face.

[d6b-onion]

Oopsie woopsie :3 ! Yukari fucked with the boundary of tonal consistency, that fucking hag.

Now Reimu is having a depressive episode due to the traumatic memory of her mom dying in front of her, plunging her further in the depths of despair.

Meanwhile, Suika had an intervention about her alcohol problem, after which she gave a teary-eyed apology and promised to change her ways (she won't).

Unbeknownst to all of the others, Zanmu and Hisami are fully embroiled in the vortex of their tumultuous passion, which neither will escape completely unscathed, especially Hisami because bad girls need to be punished~.

Sumireko has introduced skibidi toilet to Gensokyo (cring), to the despair of everyone but especially Rinnosuke whose mental health deteriorates every minute he fails to make her leave the store.

somehow tsukasa is pregnant (=^ェ^=✿)

Okuu tries eating yellowcake. Miraculously, nobody is hurt, except Satori (annihilated) and 168 vengeful spirits (annihilated), in what is already being described as the "Major Nuclear Silly Billy Moment".

chen fucnking explodned also

[tellwolves]

@inrovina said: "i've got to know what's troubling you." because zno loves to pester<3

a place of one's own.

got to? how presumptuous, nobody has got to know anything that's her business—

(that's how she ended up having her parents still talking about her clandestine trips to manhattan. it is funny now, something they tell around their upstate fireplaces, but it used to not be. she's just glad she didn't get the book thrown at her, escaping relatively unscathed.)

"okay, but you have to promise me something." june articulates carefully. "you can't tell anyone." she watches him, intense, before ripping the bandaid off. "i think i might. i mean. okay. i think i might like girls."

an uncertain inhale chews up her chest. her voice becomes an inaudible whisper, almost pure mouthing.

"like, you know. a lesbian."