#SO IT TURNS OUT I HAVE A LOT OF THOUGHTS ABOUT THIS ACTUALLY

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Heritance

There's not much left for Tim in his parents' wills. Or, well, not much by his standards - the rest of the family, barring Bruce and Damian, think he is absolutely loaded and too full of himself to care. Which is maybe a little bit true; receiving about a dozen properties across the world, a trust fund and a wide collection of artifacts that his parents have accumulated through years of their archeological escapades is a lot by middle class standards.

But Tim knows how much money Drakes actually had, and a few old houses and an assembly of junk seems like not much in comparison.

In any case, it's all rather useless in Tim's position. He has no interest in traveling aside from when he has to for a mission, and he couldn't give less shits about archeology even if he tried. The trust fund is fine, he guesses, but it's not like he needs it, what with being the CEO of Wayne Enterprises and one of the Wayne Wards.

So, as morbid as it is, the best reaction he can muster at his inheritance is a shrug and a mention in his mile-long list of 'things I need to figure out when I have time'. Which basically means he'll maybe get to it when he's old and retired, and not any sooner, because Tim Drake the CEO and Red Robin the vigilante are both very, very busy people who never have time.

Naturally, his life has other plans, and it's only two or three months later that Tim finds himself breaking through the balcony window of his own apartment in Praha.

It's at that moment, when he's lying on top of a soft persian rug, surrounded by glass shards and wondering if this move was enough to lose his tail that he realizes his inheritance might be slightly more than just a few properties and some boxes with old things.

Because, through his own heavy breathing, he hears a thoughtful, slightly sarcastic voice from inside the room, "I guess the door was too hard to figure out for you, wasn't it."

He sits up, turning his head so sharply it almost snaps. His eyes immediately fall on a boy not much older than him, sitting with one leg thrown over the other on the dark red couch near the wall. He looks like he clearly belongs here: white, vintage collar shirt and black, high-waist trousers, a silver ring on his thumb that looks too old to have been bought in this century, dark raven hair and perfect porcelain skin.

And he is reading a newspaper. Like a slightly bleeding costumed guy in a domino mask breaking the window and falling onto the carpet is just another Tuesday.

Hold on, this is Tim's house! He double-checked the address, there's no mistake!

"Who are you?" He demands, frowning, as his hands reach to the birdarangs out of habit.

"Keeper of Doors," the boy answers, not looking up and flipping the page, "And you're the Drakes' heir, I assume."

Tim blinks. The response provides no actual answers, it only creates more questions. "What doors?" He asks because the rest of the points can most likely be addressed later. Like the issue of his busted secret identity, right.

The boy sighs and closes the newspaper, folding it in half and uncrossing his legs to sit a bit straighter. "Doors, capital 'D'. The ones that lead everywhere you want."

"The what?.." Tim repeats, dumbfounded and lost in this unexpected nonsense. The boy gives him a truly unimpressed look, his eyebrow twitching. Then, he stands up - Tim's fingers close around the birdarang again - and steps towards the nearest door, grabbing the handle. His feet make absolutely no sound.

"Drake manor," the boy announces and pushes the door open. He doesn't step through, however, instead just standing in the doorway and turning back to Tim, gesturing for him to look.

Tim does.

Seeing the familiar hall, the one he's seen so many times, the one he walked through every day before he moved out, makes him realize a few things at once. One, he needs to revise the list of houses he inherited since it looks like they are not just properties but a map of teleportation points, most likely. Two, his parents knew full well he didn't need the trust fund, it wasn't for him, it was probably for this boy, who may or may not be the, well, gatekeeper. Three, if the first part of his inheritance turned out to be this, he is going to need to call in Zatanna to sort through the collection of his parents' artifacts lest something turns out to be actually cursed in there.

Four, he's been staring at the boy and gaping like a fish for longer than its socially acceptable.

"...What's your name?" He asks, suddenly conscious about the fact he was kind of rude before. The boy snorts, a ghost of a smile on his lips as he closes the door back.

"Danny," he introduces and snaps his fingers. The glass shards around Tim move all at once, rising from the ground and going back towards the window, like a reversed video recording. A second later, the balcony window looks as good as new, not a crack in the glass. "And you?"

"Red Ro-" Tim starts, but then pauses. Fuck it, he might as well, "Tim."

Danny waves his hand in the air, like snatching something out of nowhere, and, just like that, there's a box that looks suspiciously like a first-aid kit in his hands.

"Nice to meet you, Tim. Now, get over here and stop ruining my carpet with your blood."

[captainclickycat]

Whoops turns out I have Further Thoughts on this.

So, here's the thing. We could argue a lot about whether or not characters in horror films make stupid decisions and how it depends on the individual film and what have you all day long. And I'm sure we could come up with a few examples on either side of the argument.

But I think there's a broader point here which is that when people say "what if there was a horror movie that featured a convenient and straightforward way for the characters to get out of trouble without making any sacrifices along the way, so they did that and were fine, the end", and especially when they present this as some kind of refreshing new take on the genre...

Well, aside from the fact that this would make for a very boring and disappointing story for anyone who actually wanted to watch a horror film, it has the same energy as those people who are presented with moral dilemmas as a thought exercise and get fixated on "what if there was a way to stop the trolley and save all six people" "what if you could replace the Omelas kid with a robot" and so on. It's a copout, and it really does come off more like they're balking at the idea that suffering is sometimes unavoidable, that sometimes there are no easy answers and any decision you make comes at a cost.

It reminds me of this other post that was going round a decade or so ago, where the title was something like "horror movies for our generation" and the gist of the whole thing was essentially "if millennials were in a horror movie scenario we'd be able to fix everything and save ourselves straight away because we're so smart and progressive and have the best resources!" (Which to add a bit of extra context was clearly pushing back against a lot of the "millennials are stupid children who don't know how to do anything" think piece discourse that was floating around at the time) and a lot of people in the notes (possibly even including me, at the time) going "omg I need this!! I'd watch the shit out of this!!" which, when you think about it, is really weird when you acknowledge that the scenarios being described were essentially just "what if something that claimed to be a horror story actually just had no plot."

The idea of a horror story where the characters make sensible, realistic, understandable decisions is potentially a great premise (and again, there are plenty of existing horror stories that already meet that criteria.) Crucially, though, that can't be enough to get them out of trouble, at least not instantaneously.

If you could avoid getting lost in the scary woods just by using your trusty functioning gps tracker, there would be no story. So in an actual horror story, the gps wouldn't work, or it would be hijacked by some sinister entity and end up landing the characters right back where they started, or lead them further into danger. The characters happen to have the exact right combination of personalities and skillsets to instantly defeat the monster and go home? Well, first of all that's just dumb luck, and second of all that can't work right away either. There would be a different monster that they can't defeat so easily, or they simply don't have enough information or opportunity for most of the story to be able to actually use their collective skills against it. You managed to evade the killer and get out of the creepy log cabin unharmed? Congratulations. Your best friend is still in there, though, and they might be injured. Are you comfortable leaving them behind and hoping they can fend for themself while you get away? What if it's your child? Sometimes the "stupid" decision is the one you wouldn't be able to live with yourself if you didn't make.

I'm going to give the "cozy romance" person props because at least they're honest about the fact that they don't actually want a horror story, and at least the story they're proposing would actually have a plot, just not a horror one. I can see where their thought process was going; there is something cool about the idea of a secret secondary plot going on in the background that the protagonist managed to narrowly avoid, that we can put the pieces together about if we pay close enough attention. (It's not the best example, there are undoubtedly better ones, but it reminds me a bit of Shaun of the Dead where we get these hints that there's a doppelgänger squad running around in the background, and it seems like just a one-off joke until one of them shows up at the end with the military in tow.)

But the thing about that example and a lot of the other ones is that there's eventually a payoff. Ultimately it does affect the protagonists in some way, even if it's sometimes a subtle way. And there's something sort of weird, and just a little jarring, about the idea of reading a story where you're sort of vaguely aware that horrible things are happening to some poor bastard in the background, and your only takeaway from that is supposed to be "oh well, sucks to be them. Let's continue to enjoy watching these Sensible people kiss! Yay!" Apart from maybe being a cool sort of easter egg, what exactly is the point of this subplot, besides imparting the profoundly unsatisfying message of "you can easily avoid danger and have a wonderful life if you're just smart and sensible enough!" when that's so often and so tragically untrue in real life.

And that's why I feel like this would be a much better premise if the horror eventually caught up with the protagonist. Because sorry folks, but escaping the genre unscathed is too easy and too unsatisfying. It has to at least be a challenge, or there's no story worth reading.

You can't just replace the Omelas kid with a robot.

people are so mean about horror movie victims like. sorry but if i had gone to a cabin in the woods with my friends as a teenager you couldn't have stopped us from reading aloud from the evil tome. how were they supposed to know the ancient curse was real they're like 17

[secondbeatsongs]

Food Crime: Frosty the Slawman

so a while ago, I saw this photo going around on tumblr:

at first, I thought this was photoshopped. I mean, "welcome new man in your life"? that feels like a translation error, or someone being silly on purpose.

but guess what! turns out, Frosty Slaw Man is real!

and soon...he will be mine. let's get cooking

(full disclosure: I crafted this snowman and took notes about it over a year ago. and then, like with many things in my life, I forgot about him, and let him drift into the ADHD void of Things I'm Not Currently Staring At, where object permanence is tentative and largely unrealized.

but here we are! and here he is: the slaw man. it's time to share him with you, so that you can suffer as I have suffered, and/or rejoice in my gelatin creation!)

so this recipe photo originally came from Mid-Century Menu (archive link), a blog that seems like one after my own heart, and which once tried to make the Slaw Man (with not much success; but we'll get back to that)! but it's not just that blog that has copies of this ad. I also found it on reddit, and in a few different places on ebay!

lookit that guy! he's a real guy!

both the reddit post and some of the ebay listings say that this is from 1963 (though I haven't been able to figure out which magazines it was printed in, to confirm this for myself). but in looking this up, I discovered something else fun! there's another version of this ad!

Best Foods is what Hellmann's stuff is called on the west coast, and the "this is no place for second best" thing makes a lot more sense when you consider that the ad was probably made for Best Foods first, and then just reused and rebranded for the east coast

the more you know!

anyway the benefit of finding this alternate ad is that the scan on this image is a lot clearer, and so the recipe is more readable! and in looking at it, I've realized something important:

when Mid-Century Menu tried this recipe, they got an ingredient amount wrong.

when they made their beloved Slaw Man, they had the water amount written down as 1/4 cup, but looking at this scan up close, it is actually 3/4 cup of water! something that might make a significant difference, considering we're working with gelatin!

(there's also another change I want to make compared to what they did, when I do this recipe. but we'll get into that in a sec.)

for now: we begin

so. there's no way I'm making a Slaw Man this large. I am just one person, and considering the ingredients of this, I don't think I'm going to be able to consume that much Slaw.

two entire heads of cabbage? three pounds of cottage cheese, a thing that I don't even like to eat? no. that's a bad idea.

so I'm starting small here and making this 1/3 the size of the original:

2 packets of unflavored gelatin 1/4 cup cold water 1 cup mayo 1 tsp salt 1lb cottage cheese 4 cups shredded cabbage

surely this will result in a reasonable amount of Man

...okay, I started chopping the cabbage thinking it would be easier, but I've given up and pulled out a grater. this is much better! and somehow more violent (affectionate)

the recipe says to soften the gelatin in cold water, and then stir over hot water until it's dissolved. I'm going to assume "stir over hot water" means a double boiler, so let's do that

hmmm, the gelatin is very foamy? it’s melted, but the bottom of the pot feels really....sticky

okay. after a couple minutes more and no change, I’m calling this good enough.

so one thing that others who have attempted this recipe have not taken into consideration is the cottage cheese. you see, the others used normal cottage cheese, but the recipe says to use "cottage cheese, cream style"

I’ll be real, I’m not 100% what that means, since we don’t have that here. but I can take an educated guess! so let’s blend the cottage cheese!

(with an immersion blender. I am not willing to wash an actual blender because of this)

mmm, yes. very smooth

...actually. why isn't all cottage cheese like this? the thing I hate about cottage cheese is the texture, so why isn't it all smooth and creamy like this?? I could eat this!!

a new discovery is made every day in this house.

okay, time to start mixing things together.

ah, frosty. I opened a whole new thing of mayo for you! do you feel special?

(I'd make a "pre-dinner snack?" joke, but sometimes I think I'm the only one that remembers Regular Ordinary Swedish Meal Time)

okay, the mayo, cottage cheese, and salt have been added to the gelatin. but as this cools, the texture is getting...hmm. less than appealing.

lastly: the cabbage

oh. oh this is not very nice

next it says to pack the "salad" into a one pound container, and two six-cup bowls, but since I made this recipe so much smaller, I'm going to uhhhh. uh. find some bowls that seem like they'd be correct...snowman? proportions?

ah. this bowl is too big.

hey, these'll work!

now I just have to let them chill for a while, and continue another day.

(edit from current!me: ahhh oh my god I forgot this was pretty soon after we adopted Jackie! look at these cat pics that I took while I was food crime-ing!

look at them having their little interactions! Knuckles was trying so hard to be friends with her! I love them)

hello! two days later and we are ready to assemble the slawman. and my sibling has started referring to him as "frosty: attorney at slaw", so that's fun.

I've done a thing where, as these set, I flipped them around in the bowl so that hopefully they'd be more round. we'll see if they actually stay like this.

I have also made some decorations for him out of peppers, olives, and carrots!

let's build our boy

oh he's so heavy. and wobbly

no no no he almost fell over!!

okay. he's fine. but more skewers were needed.

and...okay. he is complete.

behold!

gaze upon my beautiful man!

(he is not structurally sound! he wobbles unsteadily as I rotate him! there are already cracks forming in the gelatin around where his arms are! don't worry about it!)

 now it's time to stab him

and...to devour him

this tastes like...a bland coleslaw? and not even that. it's just sort of a salty, cottage cheese-y cabbage. the ingredients don't combine to become something greater, they simply...sit there. like this.

and the texture is...mmm. it's not a jello kind of texture, but it is a bit squashy in a way that's mildly strange.

it's very creamy once it softens in your mouth.

...I don't like this!

and look! taking just that one chunk from him was enough to destabilize him entirely :(

RIP frosty. now I just have to see if I can eat all of you before you go bad.

(note from current!me: I could not.

 I ate maybe half of him over the course of many days, often adding other stuff to him to try to add some flavor: bacon, frozen peas, cheese, etc. but even with that, I just couldn't stomach him.

after a while I stuck what was left of him in the freezer, hoping that maybe I'd find the will to consume the rest of him some other day.

do you know what a frozen-and-then-thawed mixture of cabbage, cottage cheese, mayo, and gelatin looks and tastes like?

bad. the answer is: bad.

I threw him out pretty quickly after thawing him.

do not try this recipe at home)

[organic-bloodbath]

Knife Princess

Chishiya x Reader

Summary: You're Niragi's little sister, and he's not happy of Chishiya's interest on you. When the final game starts and you get hurt, Chishiya takes care of you.

Warnings: 18+ smut, lots of blood ig.

A/N: I was writing a Chishiya request but realised half way i needed to write a prequel for that first lmao. So, this will have more parts coming up ✨️

♤♡♧◇

During your time at the Beach, Chishiya became intrigued by you. He analyzed your movements when you weren't watching - atleast he thought you didn't notice him.

He could see that men eyed you while you were laying by the pool in your bikinis, but nobody dared to approach you. Everyone knew you were Niragi's sister and that terrified the shit out of them.

Why? Because Niragi seemed to be a little overprotective of you. If he could see even one pair of male eyes thirsting over you, Niragi wouldn't hesitate to beat them up. People here had seen that happen several times. Some men thought they'd get away with a little bit of flirting, but Niragi seemed to have eyes everywhere at any times.

One day, Chishiya watched you, sitting by the edge of the pool once again in your yellow bikinis, legs tangling in the water to cool yourself down. You were enjoying the sun, black sunglasses resting on the bridge of your nose. You weren't aware of his gaze, you had no idea how his eyes lingered on your skin. Atleast, that's what he thought.

Chishiya turned around just for a moment to leave, and suddenly you had appeared right behind him.

"You like what you see, hm?" you asked and put your hands on your hips. Chishiya stayed silent, an amused look on his face as he turned around to face you. "I've seen you looking at me, you know," you smirked and bit your lip. "You're not as sneaky as you think you are."

"Is that so?" Chishiya hummed.

"Mhm. A lady like me has grown eyes on her back too," you said proudly.

"I see," Chishiya said, intrigued once more. "So, tell me. Why do you wear boots at the pool?"

Chishiya had noticed that you always had the same leather boots on, while most people wore sandals or were just bare foot.

You only smiled and tilted your head, slowly stepping closer to him so you could reach to put your hands on his shoulders. You leaned so close to his face that you were only inches away from him, and he could feel your minty breath when you whispered: "You'll have to take them off and find out."

And then, only with a smile and a wink you let go of him and turned around, leaving him to stand there by himself to go back inside.

Chishiya wasn't sure if he only imagined it, but it felt like you swayed your hips more dramatically than usual as you knew that he would watch you walking away. If your plan was to not let Chishiya's eyes leave your body - you succeeded with that.

"Careful," Kuina said next to Chishiya. "Don't let Niragi see that you were checking his sister out."

"I wasn't checking her out," Chishiya denied, but he knew that it was a lie. He knew that he'd be dead if Niragi found out even about his thoughts on you, but Chishiya also knew that you were a woman with your own choices.

"Mhm, whatever you say," Kuina said, a hint of worry in her voice.

♤♡♧◇

After your short talk by the pool, it took only two more days to get Chishiya to take you into his bedroom and push you on his bed.

You knew that with right words, you could get any man that you wanted. Not every man could be seduced with the same methods, however, so you needed a little time to calculate what kind of person you were dealing with. You let men flirt with you here, even though you didn't plan to actually do anything with them, but you knew it pissed off Niragi and you enjoyed that.

Of course you wouldn't sleep with everyone here, though, you did have quite high standards and a specific taste and none of the men at the Beach had raised your curiosity enough.

Until you met Chishiya. He stood out from the crowd, usually staying mostly by himself or with a limited one to two people. You wanted to get to know him. No, you needed to get to know him. Maybe not emotionally yet, but atleast physically.

Truthfully, you hadn't had sex in months, you needed it much more than you had thought. Chishiya sucked all the stress and worry off you with his touch which gave you pleasure, even if it was only for a moment.

Right now, Chishiya had you pinned on the bed under him, holding your hands above your head and planting kisses around your neck and collarbones. You didn't know how he managed to find all the sweet spots which made you go insane already on your first time together, but he did nevertheless.

He untied the top of your bikini and threw it away, not caring where it would land. He took off his shirt as well to stay fair with you.

He peppered kisses all around your body as he slowly crawled back, until his head was located between your legs. He pulled the bottom of your bikini off, seeing now every part of your body. It didn't take long for him to rub your clit and push his fingers inside, starting to explore your vagina with different movements.

"Oh, fuck," you gasped. He moved his hand away for a moment but you quickly stopped him by grabbing his hair. "Wait, can you- can you do that again?"

Chishiya smirked. "Do what again?" he asked. "This?"

You arched your back as Chishiya pushed his fingers back inside you, curling his fingers just in the right angle like he had done earlier. You had to grab the bedsheets into your fists to stay still.

When he pushed himself inside you, you felt like this was what you had needed the most during your time at the Beach. During all the games.

Sleeping with him was something you felt like you had needed for years. He was the perfect balance of both rough and gentle in the best way possible to give you pleasure in its highest form.

You had no idea how much time passed while you were trapped between his body and the mattress, you were in complete ecstasy and you never wanted him stop what he was doing.

You were sure your body would be full of marks he had created on your body and you'd have to show it off to everyone, but right now, right at that moment, you didn't care about anything besides you and him.

♤♡♧◇

"What's that?" Niragi asked next morning and stepped closer to you, looking at the bruises on your neck, trying to hide themselves behind you hair. He grabbed your hair and yanked it back to see your neck better. "Are those hickeys? Who made those?"

"What is it for you?" you spat. "You can do whatever you want with whoever and so can i."

Niragi narrowed his eyes for your attitude.

"Who," Niragi growled with a low voice, finger pressing on one of the many bruises, his dark eyes directly on yours, "made that?"

You just grinned smugly.

"Try to guess," you challenged him.

♤♡♧◇

"You fucked my sister?!" Niragi shouted louder than ever before. Chishiya jumped back when he saw Niragi storming towards him, pointing his rifle towards Chishiya.

"Well, to my defense, she came to me," he said, lifting his hands up to surrender and trying to ignore the rifle, inches from his face.

"Out of all the girls here, dozens of them, you just had to choose her?!"

"Niragi, we're-"

Niragi put his gun down and instead grabbed Chishiya by his shirt and slammed him against the wall. Chishiya winced a little when the back of his head hit hard on the wall but otherwise he kept his regular pokerface.

"What should i do with you now, hm?" Niragi asked. "Shoot you dead right here right now or take a knife and carve little marks on your skin before shooting you. Any last wishes?"

He took a knife from his pocket, pressing the tip against Chishiya's cheek, a little too close to his left eye.

"Did you want to get a revenge on me? I thought we were buddies, man."

"Listen," Chishiya chuckled nervously in Niragi's tight grip. "Just let me down and we'll-"

"I know she's pretty, obviously, it's in our genes," Niragi interrupted, not caring to listen to Chishiya's defense. "But atleast talk about it before to me, man. Don't just go and screw her like that."

"So, if i had asked you for your blessing to sleep with your sister, you would have been okay with that?"

The anger rose back to Niragi's eyes. Chishiya was basically throwing more fuel into the fire flaming inside Niragi.

"Niragi, what are you doing?" you shouted from the end of the hallway before Niragi would be able go put a bullet in Chishiya's skull, walking towards the two guys with long steps. "Let go of him this instant."

"Or what?" Niragi asked. "You'll stab me over this guy?"

"If i have to," you said and crossed your arms against your chest.

"You can't be serious-"

You pulled a knife from your boot and pointed it at him.

"Let. Him. Down." You gritted your teeth, the same kind of anger in your eyes as in Niragi's. "Or you'll lose an ear."

Niragi huffed and let Chishiya go, coming towards you.

"Seriously, Y/N?" he whispered to you. "Him?"

"Mind your own damn business," you spat.

Eventually, Niragi left, but he wasn't in a good mood. At all. You hadn't seen him that angry in a while. You didn't lash out at him like that because he was threatening specifically Chishiya, no. You were just tired of Niragi constantly meddling into your business with men over and over again. Whenever you'd have a single hickey on your neck, and Niragi saw that, he'd immediately lose his temper for someone touching you - as witnessed here. It had been the exact same back at home before ending up to this world, but back then he only had his fists and not a gun. You had tried to make him quit it so many times but he wasn't having it.

You let out a frustrated groan, and Chishiya walked towards you now that Niragi had disappeared.

"So, you always carry knives with you wherever you go?" Chishiya asked, hands in the pockets of his white hoodie and an amused smirk on his face. "That's why you wear boots even with a swimsuit?"

"Shouldn't everyone carry a weapon with them?" you asked seriously, raising an eyebrow. "You never know when you need to defend yourself."

"Fair," Chishiya admitted.

You stepped right in front of Chishiya and put your hand behind his neck, slowly caressing his shoulder.

"Want to have a round two in my room tonight?" you asked, clicking your tongue.

"I'm not sure if i want to lose my right eye for that," Chishiya smirked, still feeling the cold blade against his cheek.

"Niragi's not the boss of me," you said and rolled your eyes. "I'm not some little kid that needs to be protected."

"Oh i can definitely see that," Chishiya agreed and nodded.

"So, my room tonight." You put your finger on hips lips. "Don't make me wait too long, hm?"

♤♡♧◇

The fire was flaming high outside, waiting for corpses to be thrown in there.

When the 10 of Hearts game started and Aguni's men were slaughtering people left and right, you only sat back and watched the shitshow. You knew Niragi would never allow anyone to touch you so you weren't afraid of being accused of being the witch and getting thrown into the fire.

That was, as long as he was there to witness it, and right now he wasn't. Still, you didn't stress about the game nearly as much as the others there.

You had no idea what Chishiya and others were doing, but right now you really, really just craved for a snack and was heading towards your room.

However, before you managed to get any further, someone grabbed you by your hair and yanked you towards them, causing you to let out a small cry for the pain on your scalp.

"Ha! Maybe she's the witch!" a man, who you didn't know at all, shouted at your face, spit flying on your cheekbone. "Let's burn her!"

One more guy joined him to drag you towards the place where the fire was located. But they weren't able to get very far.

You managed to get free yourself from their grip, then reached for your boots and took the two knives out of them. You didn't hesitate a moment longer as you threw the knives towards the two men, the blades digging deep into the men's necks.

You had practiced throwing knives for the past decade - as a nice little hobby of yours.

The men fell on their knees, and you kicked them on their chest, causing them to fall on their backs. You leaned down to remove the knives from their throats, leaving them to bleed out on the carpet. You wiped the blood on the men's shirts, then putting the knives back into your boots and continued your way towards you room.

As you walked through the corridor, you didn't notice two pairs of eyes watching you behind a corner.

"Well, i sure wouldn't want to anger her," Kuina mumbled. She was in shock how such a small girl was able to take down two grown men at that speed.

"She managed to surprise me too," Chishiya admitted, arms crossed on his chest. And very few people did surprise him anymore, both Kuina and Chishiya himself knew that. "Although, she's related to Niragi, so i don't know if i should have been surprised."

♤♡♧◇

A little later, you were leaning against one of the pillars on the 3rd floor, watching Aguni beat up Arisu with all his strength. You felt another presence join you, but you didn't need to turn your head to see who it was.

"Enjoying the show?" Chishiya asked.

"It's like watching a violent theatre play with real blood."

"Mhm," Chishiya hummed. "Hearts games are brutal but this is definitely something else."

"It's kind of entertaining how insane people can go during the Hearts games," you commented and turned your head towards Chishiya. "Did you ever suspect me as the witch?"

Chishiya eyed you for a moment.

"You could have pulled it off," he admitted. "With those knives and all."

"Aw, i'm touched," you smiled, hand on your chest. "If i was proven to be the witch, would you have been able to burn me in the fire?"

"Well," Chishiya started slowly and turned his face back to the crowd downstairs. "Everyone just wants to survive and get out of here, right?"

You didn't say anything back, only followed the events happening two floors down.

After everything had finally started to calm down, the fire suddenly spread and Niragi stepped inside, looking like he had been thrown into the fire too but got out before turning into complete ash.

"Oh, shit," you mumbled.

Niragi started to shoot in every direction possible with his rifle, not caring who he hit with the bullets. He wanted everyone here to die, that was for sure. He shot not only vertically everywhere, also up in different angles.

That meant, also right into your direction. Chishiya pulled you back, but just a second too late. You felt burning pain on your right shoulder and right after your leg, blood starting to pour out of the wounds. You stumbled backwards, but Chishiya managed to catch you and held you up by your waist.

His eyes widened when he saw your shoulder being painted red, as well as your leg.

"This just isn't my day, is it?" you chuckled, trying to ignore the pain radiating through your arm and make fun of the situation.

Chishiya didn't have much time to start patching you up right now, you had to leave this place as soon as possible to get to safety.

"Wait a moment, i'll be right back," he said and left you there on your own for a moment, running to the room where you had previously been. For a minute you were afraid he had actually left you here to bleed out, not wanting to deal with your injuries.

Chishiya grabbed a first aid kid, towel and brought them with him as he hurried back to you as fast as he was possibly able to run.

"Hold these," he said and gave you the kit and the towel, then scooping you in his arms. He knew he couldn't run very fast carrying you, but it would be faster than dragging you by his side.

It didn't take too long for people to burn the witch and finish the game just before the time would run down to zero. You had finally passed the last game.

As you sat outside and watched the mansion burn down among all the other survivors, Chishiya was by your side sewing the bullet wound shut with a needle and thread. The bullet had exited your body on the back, so Chishiya was more than thankful that he wouldn't need to start operating on you any deeper.

You had started to look pale and feel dizzy for all the blood loss, but you managed to stay conscious. He had wrapped the towel tightly around your leg. It had been white, but was now dyed half red.

"Shiya..." you mumbled, but he didn't lift his face towards you, only concentrated on stitching you up. "I promise i'm not getting hurt on purpose just to get you to touch me."

Your words did amuse Chishiya and you could see a slight smirk on his face.

"Good, because i don't have any more supplies to left to treat your wounds," Chishiya said and cut the thread off, leaving you with clean stitches on your skin. He finally looked into your eyes, looking serious and worried. "Let me know immediately if the stitches open and you start bleeding again, got it?"

"Are you like a doctor or something?" you smiled and bit your lip.

"Something like that," he answered, and you could see a little smile on his lips as well.

"I've never slept with a doctor before," you admitted. "Before the Beach, i mean."

"Was it on your to-do list?"

"Might have been," you said. "Along with a firefighter, of course."

"Too bad we didn't have firefighters at the Beach," Chishiya concluded. "Would have saved us a lot of trouble. Or if there was, they clearly failed their job miserably."

"Perhaps," you said slowly. "I would have still chosen a doctor first though."

"Hm, really?" Chishiya wondered. "Good to know. So, your type is men who can save you from trouble?"

"I'm not a damsel in distress," you scoffed, coming off as offended and a bit too defensive.

"And still i did have to carry you out of there," Chishiya pointed out.

"Shut up," you said and gently hit him on his shoulder.

"You'll promise to take it slow with your arm and leg, okay?" he stated seriously.

"Of course, doctor," you teased and bit your lip. "How can i ever repay you for taking such a good care of me?"

"I have a few things in my mind, but i think we should go somewhere private first," Chishiya reminded and sat next to you, putting his hand around your waist for a moment.

"Why aren't we already leaving then?" you asked and brushed your finger against his collarbone, right by the zipper of his hoodie.

"Tempting, but i'd rather have you rest for a moment," Chishiya said and pulled you tighter against his body, whispering right into your ear: "But don't worry, i'll make sure to find us some time alone."

His hot breath against your ear sent chills down your spine.

♤♡♧◇

A/N: I'll have update for the Child of Hearts too at some point no worries, just have to figure out some scenes for it and shape it a lil bit 🫶🏻

[connorsui]

UNLIMITED ACCESS!

This was wonderfully requested by my beloved @madam8 who gave me such a beautiful idea for a sylus date and I couldn't let go of it until I completed it 😭😭🩷🩷 like it's so cute that even when I was studying I kept thinking of new ways to end the fic or new scenes to add into it. --- it was ...AAUGH- my heart ...tho I do apologize for how long this one took out ur girl was busy trying not to fail classes 💀💀 ...lol 💅🏻

p.s if you see my corpse surrounded by flowers anywhere you can blame it on this ask ✨️ I LOVE IT

It started, as most things with Sylus did, with...

extravagance.

He had a habit of planning nights that felt more like events—private rooftops overlooking the shimmering city skyline, candlelit dinners in places that required reservations months in advance, evenings where the very sky seemed to bend to his will.

Luxurious. Impeccable. Always grand.

And while you loved those moments—loved him—there was something else you had been craving lately.

Something... simpler.

So one evening, as he idly twirled a glass of dark liquor between his fingers and casually mentioned taking you to a private villa on an island, you leaned into his space, resting your chin on your palm, and asked—

"Why don’t we do something more…plain? Just for the day—I mean."

Sylus stilled slightly, red eyes flickering toward you, waiting.

"Don’t get me wrong, I love our dates," you continued, "but I think it’d be nice to just do something fun. Silly, even. Maybe a little childish?"

A playful smile curled at your lips.

"Just… something where you don’t have to rent out an entire skyline to impress me."

He raised a brow, surprised. "You wish for something plain?"

You grinned. "Exactly. So let’s just have a normal date. Like—oh! What about an amusement park? Or an arcade? Or the fair!"

Sylus exhaled through his nose, setting his glass down with a measured movement. "Your ideas are enjoyable… I wouldn't mind indulging in them."

"Yeah! It’ll be fun, I promise. We can see what rides you like, if you’ll actually tolerate roller coasters, or if you’re one of those people who insists they’re too predictable." You smirked. "Oh, and you have to try winning me something from one of those carnival games."

He regarded you with that ever-neutral gaze, quiet and considering, before finally murmuring—

"For you, I wouldn’t mind fulfilling that request."

You smiled, pressing a playful kiss to his cheek, already excited for whatever simple, carefree date he would plan.

Or so you thought.

Because somehow—somehow—things escalated.

Instead of just buying tickets like a normal person, Sylus had decided the best course of action was to…

Buy. The. Entire. Damn. Park.

Your favorite amusement park, to be exact.

And now here you stood at the entrance, staring up at the massive sign that should have been buzzing with families, groups of friends, and screaming children running past in excitement.

Instead, it was silent.

The ticket booths? Closed. The parking lot? Void of life.

The only people here were you, Sylus, and the staff, who stood patiently, waiting only for the two of you.

You turned to him slowly, your brain still buffering.

"Sylus… I—when I said I wanted a fun day with you… this isn’t exactly what I had in mind."

Sylus, as usual, looked completely unbothered. "Did I get the wrong park?"

You blinked. "…No, but—Sylus, what—" You gestured at the empty surroundings, struggling to form a coherent thought. "You didn’t have to—How did you even do this?"

He tilted his head, as if you had asked a genuinely confusing question. "I bought it."

You took a deep breath. "No, I know that, but why?"

Sylus blinked at you, expression calm yet calculating, like he was trying to gauge whether you were actually upset.

"Would you prefer a different one? I can acquire another if this one isn’t to your liking."

You choked. "Acquire—Sylus, I meant let’s just have a normal day at the park! With other people! Like… buying tickets, not—not monopolizing an entire amusement park for us!"

He hummed thoughtfully. "That would be inconvenient. I don’t like crowds."

Your brain short-circuited. "Okay, fair, but I’m not even sure how to react to this." You ran a hand down your face, staring at the vast, empty park. "Do I just… accept this? Should I ask you to sell it back? Is it even going to open to normal people when we're not here?"

Sylus exhaled softly, fingers curling beneath your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. His red eyes, sharp yet steady, held an intensity that made your breath hitch.

"I wanted you to have the best experience," he murmured, his voice low, deliberate—like he was peeling back the layers of his thoughts just for you. "No interruptions. No strangers ruining our time. No one else pulling your attention away."

His thumb ghosted along your jaw, his touch as careful as it was possessive.

"I wanted today to be ours. Every moment, every ride, every second—only for us."

Your heart squeezed at the weight of his words.

Sylus was always confident, always in control—but this was different. This wasn’t about power or extravagance.

This was about ...you.

He had done this for you.

Damn him.

Damn him and his ability to turn something so ridiculous into something that made your heart melt.

You sighed, pressing your fingers against your temples before looking up at him again. "You really don’t do things halfway, huh?"

His lips twitched, almost smirking. "Would you expect anything less?"

You huffed, shaking your head. "Not at all."

His hand slipped from your chin to your wrist, fingers curling around it as he tugged you toward the entrance.

"Then let’s stop worrying about it and enjoy it as much as we can."

You let him pull you forward, your brain still catching up to the fact that this was happening. That you were about to experience an amusement park that was literally all yours for the day.

And honestly?

You weren’t going to complain.

But as you walked in, something felt... strange.

The park was…alive?

Despite the complete absence of other guests, the workers were still here—acting as if today was a completely normal day.

Vendors stood at their booths, flipping burgers, making cotton candy, lining up pretzels under warming lamps. The game stalls were manned, workers casually leaning against counters, ready to hand out prizes.

The park’s parade performers were still marching down the street. A princess in a poofy dress waved at you. Mascot characters moved in synchronized greetings, despite the fact that no one was here but you.

It was… surreal.

Sylus squeezed your hand as you slowed to take it all in. "I told them to proceed as usual. It would’ve been eerie if everything was frozen."

You turned to him. "So… it’s like the park is still running, but we’re the only ones who get to experience it?"

He nodded. "Yes. Don’t you think it’s better this way?"

You inhaled deeply, looking around again.

Sylus watched you carefully, his sharp eyes scanning your face. "Are you alright?"

You hesitated, then let out a quiet laugh.

“Of course! I mean—” You hesitated again, glancing around as your expression softened. “It’s nothing wrong, I promise! I love that you did this, I do, but…” You exhaled, running a hand through your hair before looking up at him again.

“I just—I wanted this day to be special not just for us entirely, but to have a moment together surrounded by everyone and everything.” Your voice was gentle, thoughtful. “The chatter, the energy, the crowds moving past us. The chaos of it all.”

You shrugged, a little sheepish. “I know you don’t like being around too many people, and I love that you wanted to make this day perfect for me, but part of what makes an amusement park so special is the shared experience, y’know? That feeling of being one in a sea of people, laughing together, screaming on rides, getting bumped into by kids running past, standing too close in lines because there's no choice…”

Your words trailed off as you searched his gaze, unsure how he’d react.

For a moment, Sylus didn’t say anything. His red eyes remained locked onto yours, unreadable, but there was something contemplative in the way his fingers idly traced over your knuckles, as if considering your words carefully.

Then, finally, he exhaled through his nose—slow and measured, his grip loosening ever so slightly.

“…I see...I- ” His voice was as calm as ever, but there was a shift in his tone.

He glanced around, taking in the completely empty pathways, the stalls with no customers, the parade performing for no one but you two. The sight of the workers, stationed and waiting, but missing the usual life of the park.

Sylus was pragmatic. He saw a problem, he solved it. Simple. To him, the best way to ensure you had an amazing day was to remove all obstacles—the crowds, the noise, the inconvenience of waiting in lines or dealing with other people.

But now, as he watched you, something seemed to click.

“…Would you like me to open the park?”

Your eyes widened. “Wait—you mean, like, right now?”

He nodded once. “If it would make you happy.”

Your heart stuttered. "Sylus—I didn’t say all that just to guilt you into—”

He raised a brow. “It’s not about guilt. You wanted to share this moment with people and I took that possibility from you” He pulled out his phone as if he could undo an entire park shutdown with a single call—which, knowing him, he probably could.

You stared at him, then let out a disbelieving laugh, reaching to stop his hand before he could dial. “Okay, hold on, let’s think about this rationally—”

Sylus merely looked at you, waiting for what you were bound to say next.

You exhaled, lacing your fingers with his properly. “Look, it’s okay. I love what you did, and I will enjoy this day with you.” You squeezed his hand. “I just needed a moment to process it, that’s all.”

Sylus was silent for a moment, his red eyes scanning your face as if committing every little twitch of emotion to memory. Then, his gaze flickered past you, landing on a nearby booth.

A teddy bear stand.

Without a word, he turned, gently tugging you along by the hand.

You blinked in surprise. “Wait—where are we—?”

He stopped in front of the booth, staring at the rows of stuffed bears lined up in varying sizes, from tiny keychains to ones nearly as tall as you. His jaw was set, unreadable, but his grip around your hand was firm.

“Sylus?” You tilted your head at him, watching as he eyed the game—a classic ring toss setup.

“I failed to give you what you really wanted,” he murmured, almost to himself. “You should at least receive something in return.”

Your chest tightened at the way he said it.

Soft, but laced with frustration.

Like he was genuinely bothered that his attempt to make you happy had missed the mark.

“Sylus…” You squeezed his hand, stepping closer. “You don’t have to win me anything—”

He ignored that, already rolling up his sleeves with practiced ease. His focus was entirely on the game now, eyes narrowing slightly as he studied the distance, the weight of the rings stacked beside the booth’s attendant.

Your lips parted in disbelief.

Sylus said nothing, simply holding his hand out for the rings. The worker—completely unphased, as if watching an overpowered, absurdly rich man win rigged carnival games was just another part of the job—wordlessly handed them over.

You sighed, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. "Sylus, you really don’t have to—”

The first ring landed perfectly on the bottle.

Your mouth snapped shut.

Another.

And another.

Without missing a single shot.

The worker gave a small, almost-impressed nod. “Pick your prize.”

Sylus turned to you, expectant.

You stared between him and the game, caught between laughter and disbelief. “This your way of an apology gift?

“And would that change anything if I said yes?”

“Sylus –”

You huffed, shaking your head before pointing to one of the bigger teddy bears—one with a white soft, plush face and an oversized red ribbon around its neck.

Sylus retrieved it without hesitation, turning to face you fully as he held it out.

“ you sure you didn't have me in mind? ” he said simply.

You giggled at him, your fingers curling around the soft fabric as you accepted the gift. “mayyybee”

It wasn’t about the bear. It wasn’t about the game.

It was him.

Sylus, who never half-assed anything. Who overthought in ways you weren’t always aware of. Who, despite his arrogance, still hated feeling like he had let you down.

Your heart squeezed painfully.

“…You’re too much at times” you murmured, hugging the teddy bear to your chest.

He exhaled, shaking his head. “Says the one getting emotional over a stuffed animal.”

You shot him a playful glare, but when he reached out, brushing his fingers against your wrist, you softened.

“....Still,Thank you, for everything-- I mean” you murmured.

Sylus didn’t say anything, but his grip lingered—just for a second—not thinking of letting you go.

But as you continued walking, you caught the way his fingers brushed against his phone once more, a brief flicker of thought crossing his expression.

You narrowed your eyes. “Sylus.”

“Hm?”

“You’re not secretly opening the park back up again ….behind my back…are you?”

His lips curled, amused. “...perhaps”

[concenecxere]

this is so beautifully put. i mean gorgeous. i am not caught up so i am effectively spoiling myself but funnily enough i actually tried to talk to my mother about this while watching s1 bc at the same time i'd been reading a chapter of this book about compulsory sexuality (refusing compulsory sexuality: a black asexual lens on our sex-obsessed culture by sherronda j brown) which really encouraged this exploration for me. like so much of what stood out to me was the direct comparison of innie marks interrogation of his own creation being spurred on whilst dealing with integrating helly into the severed floor (and the loss of petey) vs his sister on the outside having her first child. helly r is almost a petulant child to him at first, an inconvenience to the order of things although necessary for their workplace function at lumon (like ops gf said, just like helena mark as her boss almost resents the freedom with which helly is defiant), until of course he really reconciles the severity and the lengths she goes to and turns inward and wonders why he never stopped to question it all himself. so we see these motivations for reproduction in direct contrast -- in the story of mark the final goal of his reproduction is productivity (by separating himself from his trauma), versus devon and rickan taking an approach to reproduction "more virtuously" by comparison (like excited for the journey of raising a unique human being). now this is the point where i realized i was talking to my mother and didnt really have my thoughts wrapped around it and wanted to begin that type of conversation with more nuance and the conversation naturally returned back to the show.

but! back to the book by sherronda j brown -- it has a whole chapter on productivity, partially tackling how capitalism incorporates productivity into nuclear family making which kind of effectively pulls the magic out of the point of a family. a child is not something that you can utilize/form for some present/later convenience, they're a human being with their own unique ambitions and the beauty of parenthood is often watching them discover that etc etc. but capitalism looks to control family making as it is a method of economic stimulation. again this requires a lot of nuance, because since we are so embedded in capitalism in some ways you have no choice but to be implicit even if you are aware, and you can be doing this wether you realize it or not. i also want to be sure i acknowledge that i am by no means an expert on this i just felt emboldened to get into it here. alongside those examples given by the amazing prev posts/tags this is illustrated in real life by how so many people are realizing using children as a contingency plan for who'll take care of you when you age or like expecting grandchildren from your own children. like its absolutely not a bad thing to want these things but assuming no matter how you treat your children that its their responsibility to fulfill that for you is bull -- and objectively to expect this is not even always guaranteed biologically for several reasons but i digress. a child is their own person worthy of respect and if you don't give it to them they don't/shouldn't owe you present or future compliance (again theres nuance, even in severance given the outies varying levels of awareness of/care about their innies treatment) but capitalism is a part of perpetuating this. as so many now realize if you are surrounded by real true community confirmed elder care and the opportunity to be a grandparent-like mentor is/should be available without nuclear family to fulfill it. the power of found family and all that beautiful stuff! particularly when imagined with a queer lens. but capitalism has taught us intentionally that all of this should come from the heteronormative nuclear family and is only valid when derived from a heteronormative nuclear family in order to isolate us from one another and sell us these opportunities in other ways for their own gain. anyways i've danced all around it myself but brown says the following far more concisely in their amazing book (which i look forward to finishing).

"anxiety about the sex recession among young people is also anxiety about an accompanying decrease in marriage, nuclear family making, and home ownership. all of these things are intimately related and impact our economy, especially because they are so easily capitalized on. those invested in the capitalist system work to convince us that these are necessary parts of life and that participation in them makes us more mature adults and 'productive' members of society... therefore, cisheterosexual sex itself becomes a means of productivity because it is understood to ultimately lead to marriage, procreation, and nuclear families, all of which are integral to patriarchal and white supremactist capitalist systems."

its so remarkably layered i would love to pick the brains of the writers about it all!! lumon offering severance and the creation of an innie as this amazing way to free themselves from the monotony of a job or like the weight of the outside world on their work. but of course this job is necessitated by the capitalist society they exist within and the thing that drives them all to severance is what capitalism forces them to believe they have wrong with themselves or have to achieve to be successful. so then when they create their innie, or "have their child" as it were, and the child demands more love than you ever thought you were allowed the capitalism worm in your brain has already prepped you to place the blame on the child and not realize the system is what has it all wrong. and even if you do understand the systems driven you to this point the cost that you've paid for being compliant all this time is this life you now get to watch your child live.

my gf said something sooo insane about helly the other day and i cannot stop thinking about it. she was like. helena and helly’s relationship is almost maternal. the way helena created helly as an extension of herself, to serve her interests, to try and impress her own family. she scolds helly, talks down to her like a child. “i understand you’re unhappy with the life you’ve been given” “i am a person, you are not”. the way she envies and resents helly’s freedom. the way she feels entitled to helly’s life and is now living vicariously through her in the most literal sense. what if you created life and now they’re experiencing the things you’ve always wanted for yourself. what if you created life and they were flawed and loud and demanding and they were loved more than you’ve ever been. and you hated them for it. the mother/daughterisms are insane my girlfriend is insane

[loverboysturn]

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ cinderella!reader has a spontaneous moment of bravery but it all comes crashing down quickly

angsty. i’m sorry in advance!!!! this lowkey made me so sad to write lol :(

find all writings for this au here. asks & requests always open :)

you could do this, you had to do this.

your heart was pounding as you stared over at chris across the campus parking lot, he was standing alone which was a rare sight for him to not have someone by his side. this was your moment and you had finally had enough of hiding from him, you had fallen in love with him and a spontaneous rush of confidence taking over you was telling you that you now needed to do something about it.

you had thought about it so many times, how you would eventually confess everything to him, what you would say and how he would react. the idea of confessing everything to him, finally revealing yourself, had consumed your thoughts for months. and now, somehow, you were here, you couldn’t believe you were going to do this and you knew if your best friend was here she would tell you to stop, but she wasn’t and you didn’t have time for second thoughts. you had to go now, before you stopped yourself.

you started walking towards him, your legs moving before your mind could catch up.

as you reached chris, he looked up catching eye contact with you instantly. his gaze softening as he notices you in front of him. he pulled his earphones out from his ears and a smile snuck onto his lips.

“hey,” he says, his voice casual, but kind. “you good?”

“i—i’m—“ your mouth had gone dry and you could feel your hands shaking by your side, but this is it. you were so close, you just had to say it, you had to tell him. “i just came over to sa—“

before you can spit the words out, there’s a new presence to the side of chris.

the head cheerleader, his ex girlfriend.

“well, well, well, if it isn’t diner girl,” she smirks, her hair blowing in the wind, perfect and untouched. she was wearing her cheer uniform, looking immaculately put together, as always.

your stomach drops, and the confidence that had spontaneously rushed over you moments ago had completely disappeared in an instant.

“i didn’t know you two were friends,” she says with a slight tone of subtle sarcasm in her voice, “cute.”

you tried to find your voice to speak up, but your words were completely stuck in your throat, and all you could do was stand there, feeling so small and invisible.

before you could say anything, she spoke up again but this time it was directed to him as she brushed her arm against his, leaning against him. “some of the guys and cheer team are coming over to my place tonight, you’re coming. right?” she tilted her head and fluttered her eyelashes at him. “the guys told me that you wouldn’t miss it.”

“yeah, nate already told me about it. i’ll be there.” he responded to her, the words hitting you like a punch to the gut. he didn’t even hesitate, no second thought to her question.

her eyes flickered over to you, looking you up and down before she turned her attention back to him, “yay, see you tonight, babe.” she says, before strutting away, leaving you two alone again.

chris stands still for a moment, before looking over to you, “sorry about that, are you okay?” he smiles, “what was it you needed?”

you wanted to cry, your chest felt tight and you wanted to run from him… again. the moment you had felt before had gone now.

“actually, it isn’t important, just about the test we have next week.” you lied to him so easily, making your heart ache. “s—sorry that i came and bothered you.”

without waiting for his reply, you turned on your heel and walked away, the feeling of rejection weighing down heavy on your shoulders.

behind you, you could hear chris calling after you, but you didn’t bother to turn back.

what were you thinking?

[rafesbuzzcutseason]

chasing city lights

chapter 11 - flatline

synopsis: you move to new york to start fresh, hoping to find comfort in the city’s atmosphere. that’s when you meet sarah cameron, where she takes you to a concert and you catch sight of the lead band member, rafe cameron. it only takes a moment for you to realize you’re captivated by him. as sarah helps you navigate your new life in the city, you start to get pulled deeper into rafe's world—the music, the fame, the chaos. the more you get to know him, the more you realise that rafe is not just the rock star he seems to be. he’s wrestling with his own demons, and the last thing he needs is someone like you getting close.

masterlist

cw: language

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ ☾. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

after your day with rafe yesterday, the girls had so many questions and you told them everything, down to the song he wrote for you. what you didn't expect however, was that the song was going to be released in a few days time.

"i genuinely can't believe this," sarah started, "i mean him opening up to you? the commincation? the song? where is rafe and what have you done with him." she giggled.

"no y/n i don't think you understand the extent of this. like we've all been friends with rafe for a good 6 years, and i have never seen a girl have this affect on him before."

"guys stop you're making me think i'm some kind of miracle." you laughed with them.

"that's because you are a miracle." cleo joined in.

"so do you think you'll become official soon...?" sarah questioned.

"i don't know, the fans already think we are." you stated.

"the fans are fucking crazy. you'll get used to that i promise. when me and pope started dating everyone went bonkers over it." cleo reassured you.

"i guess so, it's okay i don't mind it, it's just getting used to seeing my face whenever i open twitter." you said. "whatever, we've got a flight to catch." you all finished your last minute packing and made your way into the car that was waiting for you outside the hotel.

part of you was sad to be leaving the state you had made so many memories in, but you knew heading back to new york all together was just the beginning for this new chapter for you and rafe.

once you made it to the airport, you found the rest of the boys who had left earlier as they all entered 'dad mode' and were getting stressed, john b to blame for that.

"finally you're here!" john b began as he saw you walk through the door.

"yeah thought we were gonna have to leave without you." pope said sarcastically.

"enough. we're here now aren't we?" cleo said rhetorically.

"yes ma'am" jj joined in, everyone was in agreement that cleo was the boss of the group.

you made your way to say hi to topper, who was slowly starting to become his usual self again, you assumed him and rafe had a conversation to try and clear the air.

but you eventually made it to rafe, who looked like his was patiently waiting his turn to get your attention, "hey you" he said.

"hey" you replied with a slight blush, "i didn't know you were actually going to release the song." you rushed out.

a look of concern took over him, "do you mind?" he asked worriedly.

"no! no i'm happy" you started, "but the fans are a little crazy."

"yeah i know they are and i should've warned you about that, but the best ones mean no harm and all you can try and do is ignore them." he replied.

"hard to ignore them when they're commenting on everything i post." you quietly said.

"i can say something if it really bothers you, okay?" he softly reached out to give your hand a squeeze.

"okay" you smiled at him, always putting you at ease.

"ok love birds pack it in," jj hollered "i don't think this plane is going to wait for us."

"whatever dude" rafe grinned, "ready?" he turned to you.

"ready."

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ ☾. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

a/n: sorry guys i made this chapter a lot more smau, just as i had the idea to do the thread (which took me ages LAWD) and also wanted to get the song mentioned ! 5 points to anyone who knows the actual song and band🙈

taglist: @hoefordrewstarkey @marleymarleymarleymarley @bee-43 @cherryhoneybabe @skye-44 @drewrry @drewrry  @yesterdaysproblemm @pogueprincesa @dylsdaily @rafeysworldim19 @valyrianflower @kaiparkerwifes @judesgfirl @4urvalidation @chillgal135 @drewstarkeyslover @yesshewrites1@amterasuu@babykhloutofthisworld @blushmimi  @moonywhisp3rs @rafeysworldim19 @marleymarleymarleymarley@sabrina-carpenter-stan-account@vcnillafairy @bambii1i @sammyrenae68 @popou61

[woozinhos]

hii I love ur works smmm!!! can I request mingyu dad au and their child asking for another sibling??

Notes: oh my god she’s back with another fic enjoy guys I know it’s not the best but I’m slowly easing back into it <3

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.

You and Mingyu were sitting together on the couch, enjoying a quiet evening at home when your child walked into the room, looking up at you with an innocent expression on their face.

"Mommy, Daddy?" they asked, his voice soft. Mingyu looked down at them, a smile on his face. "What is it, sweetheart?"

He looked between the two of you before speaking again. "Can I ask you guys a question?" Mingyu chuckled, ruffling the child's hair affectionately. "Of course you can, buddy. What's on your mind?" He hesitated for a moment, looking down at the floor before looking back up at you and Mingyu. "Why don't I have any brothers or sisters?" You and Mingyu exchanged a look, surprised by the question. Mingyu cleared his throat, unsure of how to answer.

"Well, sweetheart," he began, "having a baby is a big responsibility. It takes a lot of time and effort to take care of a baby, and it's not always easy." He nodded, looking up at you with wide eyes. "But I'm a good kid, right? And I would be a good brother, wouldn't I?" Mingyu smiled, touched by his words. "Of course you would, buddy. You're the best kid we could ever ask for. But having a baby is more than just being a good kid. It's about being able to share love and attention with another person." You and Mingyu looked at each other again, a silent conversation passing between you. His request was unexpected, but his words made sense.

"We'll think about it, okay?" you said to him, ruffling their hair like Mingyu had done earlier. "But it's not something we can just decide on a whim. It's a big decision that needs to be thought through carefully." He nodded again, accepting your answer. "Okay," he said, a hint of disappointment in his voice. "Goodnight, Mommy. Goodnight, Daddy."

"Goodnight, sweetheart," you and Mingyu chorused, watching as he left the room. Once he was gone, you turned to Mingyu, a thoughtful expression on your face. "Do you think we should actually consider it?" you asked him. Mingyu sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know," he admitted. "I mean, it's definitely something we need to think about. But we already have so much going on with our work and taking care of our child. Another baby would mean even more responsibility."

You nodded, understanding his concerns. "I know what you mean. But at the same time, I can't help but feel a little guilty.He seems so excited about the idea of having a sibling. Maybe we've been holding off on having more kids for too long." Mingyu looked at you, his expression serious but smirking at the same time. "You're right. We've been so focused on our careers and our own lives that we've kind of neglected the idea of having more kids. Maybe it's time we started thinking about it seriously." You raised an eyebrow at Mingyu's smirk. "What are you thinking?" you asked him, a hint of amusement in your voice.

Mingyu leaned in closer to you, his smirk widening. "I'm thinking that maybe we could have some fun trying to make that decision," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. You felt a shiver run down your spine as his words sent a jolt of excitement through you. "Oh, really?" you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. "And how do you propose we do that?" Mingyu's smirk turned into a mischievous grin as he leaned in even closer, his lips brushing against your ear. "Well, we could start by practicing some...unprotected fun," he whispered, his hand sliding up your thigh.

You let out a soft gasp as his hand continued to move higher, your body already responding to his touch. "Mingyu, we're supposed to be thinking about having another baby, not making one right now," you protested weakly. Mingyu chuckled as he continued to kiss your neck, his lips moving slowly and sensually along your skin. "I know, I know," he murmured between kisses. "But can you blame me for wanting you so badly right now?" You shook your head, giving in to the pleasure that his kisses were causing. "No, I suppose I can't," you admitted, tilting your head to give him better access to your neck.

Mingyu lifted you up into his arms, carrying you to the bedroom with ease. He kicked the door shut behind him and gently placed you on the bed, his eyes dark with desire. As you lay on the bed, Mingyu climbed on top of you, his body pressing against yours. He began to kiss you hungrily, his tongue exploring your mouth as his hands roamed over your body. You responded to his kisses with equal fervor, your arms wrapping around his neck as you pulled him closer. The heat between you was building quickly, and you could feel yourself getting lost in the moment.

Mingyu's hands were impatient as he tore at your clothes, his own shirt quickly joining the pile on the floor. His body was taut and muscular, and you couldn't help but run your hands over his chest and abs. He paused for a moment, his eyes roaming over your exposed skin. "You're so beautiful," he whispered, his voice husky with desire. "I want you so badly." You could feel the heat rising between your legs as his words sent a thrill through you. "I want you too," you murmured, reaching up to pull him down for another kiss.

As he pulled his boxers down, you couldn't help but stare at his impressive size. You felt a wave of anticipation wash over you, your body already eager for what was to come. Mingyu saw the look in your eyes and grinned, knowing exactly what you were thinking. "Someone's eager," he teased, his hands moving down to your hips. "I love it when you look at me like that." You let out a soft moan as he positioned himself, the anticipation almost too much to bear. You could feel his hardness against your entrance, and you couldn't wait for him to enter you.

"Ready?" he asked, his voice a low growl in your ear. You nodded, unable to form words, and he slowly began to push himself inside of you. As he filled you, you gasped and clutched at his back, your nails digging into his skin. The sensation was intense, but it felt so good. You could feel yourself adjusting to his size, your body welcoming him in.

Once he was fully inside of you, he paused for a moment, letting you get used to the feeling. "You feel so good," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "So tight and perfect." You let out a soft moan in response, your hips bucking up against him involuntarily. "Move," you urged him, your voice barely above a whisper. He began to move, slowly at first, but quickly picking up speed. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body, and you found yourself arching your back, pushing against him. As he moved faster, you could feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge. Your moans grew louder, and you clutched at him desperately, needing to hold onto something as the pleasure threatened to overwhelm you.

"Shhh, be quiet," he whispered, his voice low and urgent. "We don't want to wake up our boy." He continued to move inside of you, his pace steady but intense. He knew how close you were, and he wanted to draw it out for as long as possible. You bit your lip, trying to stifle your moans as he continued to drive you towards the edge. You could feel the heat building inside of you, and you knew that you were about to explode. Suddenly, you felt yourself tipping over the edge, your body shaking with pleasure as you climaxed. You clutched at him tightly, your fingers digging into his skin as wave after wave of ecstasy washed over you.

"I'm gonna cum," he groaned, his voice strained. "I want you to take it, all of it."

He continued to thrust, his movements becoming more erratic as he approached his own climax. "You're gonna look so beautiful pregnant," he panted. "My baby inside of you..." He suddenly let out a loud moan, his body shuddering as he released himself inside of you. You could feel the warmth spreading through you, and you knew that he was true to his word.

As he finished, he collapsed on top of you, panting heavily. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close as you both tried to catch your breath. "That was amazing," he whispered, his voice filled with satisfaction. You nodded, still unable to speak. Your body was tingling all over, and you felt like you were floating on air. You could feel his seed still inside of you, and the thought sent a shiver down your spine.

"Our son's got great ideas," he said, his lips brushing against your hair. "We should thank him later."

[coffeeprincessstuff]

A casual date ft. Gojo Satoru

The first time Gojo Satoru walked into the café you work at, you didn’t think much of him.

Sure, he was tall. And ridiculously good-looking. And way too confident for someone ordering the sweetest, most sugar-loaded drink on the menu.

But beyond that? He was just another customer.

Then he kept coming back.

Every few days, like clockwork, he strolled in—always in dark sunglasses, always with that smug grin, always ordering something absurdly sweet. At first, you thought he just really liked the drinks. But then you started noticing things.

Like how he always showed up when your shift started.

Or how he lingered at the counter, trying to make conversation with you when the café was empty.

Or how he never seemed in a rush to leave, even when he had his order in hand.

“You know, for someone who supposedly has the most important “secret” job ever, you have way too much free time,” you remarked one evening, sliding his usual drink across the counter.

Gojo grinned, tapping the side of his cup. “You don’t know that. Maybe I’m incredibly busy, but I make time for the things that matter.”

“Right, and that ‘thing’ just happens to be overpriced matcha lattes full of whipped cream?”

“Exactly,” he said with a wink.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hold back a small smile.

Gojo watched you for a beat, then suddenly said, “Hey, you free tonight?”

You paused and turned back to him, narrowing your eyes at him. “Why?”

“Wow, so suspicious! If you’re free, lets go out.” he said.

Your brows furrowed in confusion and said, “Wait. Are you asking me on a date?”

Gojo smirked, not even missing a beat. “I mean, can’t I ask my favorite barista out on a date?”

You raised an eyebrow. “I’m your only barista here. You literally ignore everyone else who tries to take your order.”

“That’s because they don’t make my drinks with the same love,” he said, smirking.

You gave him a flat look. “Love? Babe, I don’t even know you that well.”

“Tragic. But I can change that. One date. Just humor me.”

You sighed, staring at him for a long moment. “Fine. But only because I’m tired of you hitting on me at my work.”

Gojo beamed, grabbing his drink. “Oh, this is gonna be so fun. I know just the place. Meet me after your shift.”

—————————————————————————

You should’ve known Gojo’s idea of “just the place” wouldn’t be a normal restaurant.

Instead, he took you to a quiet little food stall in an alleyway—a small, cozy spot lit by dim lanterns, with rickety stools and the scent of freshly grilled food filling the air.

Honestly? You kind of loved it.

“Didn’t expect this, huh?” Gojo grinned as he plopped down across from you.

“Not at all. I thought you’d drag me somewhere flashy.”

“Please. That’d be too predictable,” he said, leaning back. “Besides, Yakitori here’s amazing.”

And he wasn’t wrong.

The two of you ordered a ridiculous amount of food, and Gojo—unsurprisingly—had zero shame about eating half of it in record time.

“You eat like you’re in a competition,” you remarked, watching as he popped another skewer into his mouth.

He grinned. “What! can’t handle a guy with a big appetite?”

You smirked. “I can handle a lot of things.”

Gojo paused, then let out a low whistle. “Oh? Now that’s interesting.”

You rolled your eyes. “You know, I don’t think you actually care about dating.”

Gojo blinked, then tilted his head, amusement flickering in his expression. “What makes you say that?”

“You’re good at this. Too good. But I don’t think you’re actually trying.”

For a second—just a second—the teasing glint in his eyes dimmed.

Then, he laughed, shaking his head. “Ouch. And here I thought I was being charming.”

“You are charming,” you admitted, meeting his gaze. “But I don’t think you let people get too close to you.”

Gojo exhaled dramatically, resting his chin on one hand. “And here I thought this was a date, not a therapy session.”

You didn’t say anything. Just waited. And maybe that was what caught him off guard.

Because for the first time all night, his smile wasn’t cocky. It wasn’t teasing. It wasn’t the usual performance he put on for the world.

It was just there. Small, thoughtful. And real.

“You might be more fun than I expected,” he said, eyes glinting with something unreadable.

You chuckled and said, “I’m a complete package if you just removed your sunglasses and looked a little bit closer.”

Gojo smirked and said, “Careful, or I might actually start liking you.”

You smirked. “You say that like you haven’t already.”

Gojo chuckled, “Damn. You are good.”

And for the first time in a while you felt like it has been a nice date night.

[hitlikehammers]

Rockstar!Eddie Leaves What He Had With Steve Behind in Hawkins 💔 to Chase His Dreams 🎸

(so why is it that he’s back in Steve’s bed Hawkins every couple months for ‘very pressing reasons’ that are straining Steve’s heart honestly anything but? 🫤❤️‍🩹🥺)

NOTE: this was originally a fill from @eddiemunsonbingo AGES ago, and I’m only bringing it over here NOW because something for the @steddielovemonth is going to be posted soon that is a standalone in its universe, but also very much a sequel to it ♥️

Steve really does try not to think about it in terms of…time.

Maybe that’s foolish. It’s mostly denial. Lots of it isn’t reliable anyway: the score his body keeps isn’t accurate, war-time left over from too many near-misses with a fucking alternate dimension but the popping in his joints and the ringing in his ears and the white hair he pulled out of his scalp and stared blankly at in the sink for a good twenty minutes: those are real things, but they don’t chart the passage of days, of hours, months and fucking years with any real meaning.

It’s been four years. Roughly. Depending on what the start point is. Whether it’s that Spring Break. Whether it’s the first winter. Or the spring after, when Robin begged him to go with her—there’s still time. She still begs, because they still talk given the thread inside them stays tied unbreakable to one another, oblivious to miles between. Maybe it’s measuring from the graduations, the kids—only Erica’s left at Hawkins High, now, though Steve gets calls from the whole bunch of them, Eleven the most, which was maybe surprising, then it’s a good split between Dustin and Will, another surprise. Max calls enough but her calls are calls, with a weight most of the others lack. Lucas’s calls aren’t super frequent but always long, mostly because he talks around the point forever, whatever the point happens to be. Even Mike usually ends up on the other end of the line once a month. It’s…that could be where the time starts from.

Or it could be the summer, that first summer. The one that taught Steve what it was to have a heart just to fucking break it.

Could be that. Impossible to say.

(It’s been 3 years, 7 months, and 14 days. Steve had only counted in retrospect, in the wreckage left behind, because while he’d known there was a deadline in it, to it all, he’d thought he could be enough. That he could change a mind. He’d thought…

Foolish things. Bullshit. Didn’t matter. Could be any fucking date.)

But since the point's come up, and it’s front of Steve’s mind, his least favorite (most favorite) place to find it: he hadn’t expected it. Robin liked to say she saw the signs but. Steve hadn’t watched it happen in slow motion because there wasn’t a single goddamn slow thing about it. Which was…for whatever it was worth, Steve knew falling fast and hard and with everything he was had maybe failed him every time, thus far, but at least he knows that for him?

That means it’s real. He’s all in. He might not be met equal on the other side of the equation—hadn’t been yet, maybe wouldn’t be ever, but he wasn’t having any luck trying to fucking change that fact so, learning to work with what he had was the best he could do. And he had love. He’d never been able to name it to himself so far: not before, and certainly never since. But.

Figuring out the sexuality thing had been a not-bathroom-but-definitely-floor talk on the shitty Family Video carpet sometime around November of ‘85. Slow days, idle comments, and Robin’s suspiciously-but-reliably-gentle-when-the-need-was-dire hand to his shoulder to say no, no: actually wanting to kiss people of any gender wasn’t really…the default Steve had always expected it had to be. How could anyone look at, say, Harrison Ford and not think, oh yeah, I would at least suck his face?

Turned out probably at least half the people on the planet. As in the straight guys and the lesbians. Steve had spent the majority of three days on that disgusting fucking carpet, open to close, popping up to ask Robin if she was sure because what about—

She was sure. And eventually, through a couple of needs for deep breathing and a handful of assurances that it was okay to cry—he appreciated that, but he kept the crying to his room after these long-ass shifts and if Robin stayed for some of those times, that was because she was half his head, half his heart, and she knew what he was going to do sometimes before he did.

They did end up on the floor of his bathroom, a clean one for once, at one point. Maybe because they both held to tradition. Maybe because Steve had largely come to terms with the mindfuck of yet another piece of his world, his self unravelling and rewriting itself, and thought the vodka in his dad’s liquor cabinet was a good way to celebrate. The label was entirely in Russian and Robin had been practicing on hers, said she was pretty sure it was the good shit.

Sometimes you can drink enough of the best shit on an empty stomach, though, and still spew the whole of it up.

Steve sometimes does think he drinks his dad’s best liquor that way on purpose, though. Delightful going down and yeah, it sucks to chuck it up but. The idea that it’s ultimately wasted feels…right.

Anyway: Steve had settled with it all by New Year's, and while he’d hosted the rugrats who could only blabber about their latest campaign with their epic DM, and he’d kissed Robin when the clock turned, well. It felt like a new start, a fresh page.

Something that had the chance at being a good thing.

And nothing much happened in the two-and-a-half-months that followed save for finally catching a glimpse of the D&D god who ran their little club while he was idling in his car to pick up the shitheads, this legendary DM who did not make Steve jealous one tiny bit and who was cool and was edgy and was so fuckin’ cool, Steve, did we tell you got cool he is?! and Steve had said language as monotone as he could before he squinted as out came all the metal and the ink and he’d said your club president dude is Eddie goddamn Munson and he should have kept his mouth shut because the amount of talking that ensued left him with a headache the size of Montana; but.

That was really all that happened until about…mid-March.

Then Spring Break happened.

It could be argued Eddie and Steve grew close enough to pass the acquaintances benchmark, ended up as at least tentative friends on top of necessary battle mates as early as the Upside Down. Whatever reason Eddie gave, he jumped in after Steve. Whatever speech Steve landed on, he didn’t want Dustin orEddie hurt.

It could be argued Steve wasn’t paying attention and didn’t stop in time and landed in the land of Tentative Friends You Wouldn’t Mind Added Benefits With after the…at least after the way Eddie leaned in close and his lips we so red and he called Steve big boy and…

Yeah.

When Steve carries what may or may not be Eddie’s still fucking corpse out of the Upside Down—he can’t tell, every time he tries to check again his own heart's too loud, his own breaths too shaky—but by then, they’re family. Bound in blood. Steve would die for him, like the others. He won’t let him die, if he can fucking help it.

Between him and Max, Steve almost crashes, breaks. Steve’s there when Max’s fingers twitch and he laughs with tears in his eyes and hands over hands and tells her he loves her and he’s sorry and he’s there, tries to talk around the letter he opened and resealed without evidence because Steve knows some tricks too, okay, and her words had broken him but now he could live up to what she thought she was leaving behind, could make sure she had every goddamn thing she thought she was giving up in spades, to roll around in in abundance. He was going to take care of her, whatever she needed. Whatever it took.

Her lips had quirked and the doctors called coincidence, don’t get your hopes up but; Steve knew Max. That was all her.

And there were more tears, he let her fucking feel them; he fucking hoped she’d notice, and remember, and give him so much shit.

Eddie takes longer, pulls out of the woods enough to exhale a few days later, and the way Steve slips out to find the hospital chapel, the only goddamn place he won’t be found by anyone he knows, and bawls his goddamn eyes out?

It’s family, and it’s love because it’s family but…it’s been so quick. It’s been intense, and that probably speeds it along but…

Shit. Shit.

That’s when Steve knows he sets a new goddamn record for himself and falls hard and heavy and stupidin, like, a week and change. Jesus Christ.

It’s in the recovery that they build something though. Something that’s not trauma or terror or the threat of imminent death. Steve spends most of his hours between two hospital rooms listening to progress reports and taking notes and the kids gravitate toward Max—Dustin would have been the outlier but Steve knows he’s not ready, and so he gives his own updates just to his brother when he drives him home after visiting hours—but that means Steve’s Eddie’s most common conversation partner. They talk about bullshit. Steve defends a-ha to the last breath he has. Eddie’s rendered speechless for a second and then frantic when challenged to pick his favorite band. Again when it’s his favorite song, from his favorite band. And again when it’s his favorite song of any song, ever at all. Steve's heart swells in the watching. He’s foolish enough to bask in the glittering of Eddie’s eyes when Steve indulges in talking, scene by scene as guided by the master in the bed beside him, about what his opinions on Star Wars really were. And then guided by no one, just invited to share what his opinions are on the last movie he saw and loved: which was Weird Science, the last movie he watched in a theatre because he and Robin had gone to face their fear or some shit after Starcourt and it was easier than he’d expected. Eddie listens, and nods, and asks if they can rent it when he’s out, before making sure to add  but you should really have a new choice like, eight months later, man, you work at a video store.

Steve was mostly just focused on Eddie more than implying, of his own volition, that he wanted to have a movie night.

Eddie’s released before Max, largely for mobility reasons, so they both go to visit her now. Robin’s put on the night shift when they schedule their movie night and Steve immediately moves to reschedule but she says no, she’s seen it, make Eddie suffer this time. So it’s just them.

They sit closer than they have to, on the couch.

And it’s little things that build from there. Max’s physical therapy is a government secret, like some fancy space-age protocol that has real hopes to put her on her feet again so she needs a ride, and while they could take turns, Steve and Eddie just take turns as to which vehicle they hop into to drive her. They stay when she needs them—not when she asks because she’s Max and she never asks—but it ends up three days a week back and forth and during: together.

And a lot of nights, for a movie or a smoke or a nightmare or a pulled stitch before they’re all taken out: together.

And shifts where Steve doesn’t even bother to bring his own lunch because Eddie Munson, unpredictable and wholly forgetful super-super senior—who Nancy and Hopper and most of all Joyce convinced the School would be finishing his final senior year at home save for tests, and only that once he was cleared by his doctors—that Eddie Munson brought Steve something every single time he worked. A burger, a chili dog, chicken fucking nuggets. A PB&J clearly homemade and cut diagonal.

So yeah. It starts out how it does when Steve’s in trouble. But it builds like…Steve’s never known before.

They kiss in May. Maybe so that it’s not their first, and a total cliche, when Steve kisses him for graduation behind the bleachers.

The sleep together after graduation, high on the thrill of it, and that’s maybe a cliche but Steve could not give a shit less.

And then they're EddieandSteve, only to find out they have been for a while; and this is just something a little deeper, a little bit more.

In ways that mean everything.

Looking back, Steve knows Eddie never minced words about his plan to leave Hawkins in the fall. With a mixtape and a prayer if I have to, Stevie-boy, he’d said once even, and Steve had laughed.

He’d fucking laughed.

So he’d known.

But July bleeds into August and Steve…Steve’s in love, okay, for real in a way that he’s never felt before. Right in a way he’s never felt before. He kinda just…overlooks it. Because Eddie seems to be at least on the same wavelength. Touches him first, reaches for him first: wants him. Looks at him with not just desire or attraction but…something no one’s ever looked at Steve with before.

And so he hopes. More than hopes.

But when Eddie starts packing, Steve can’t breathe.

He buys a set of luggage and goes home to start the same, has half of his not-excessive possessions shoved in when he realizes:

He’s not invited. Eddie’s never asked him to come.

Looking back, he’s afraid he wasted too much of those last weeks. Scared of giving too much away, the hurt from so many sides and the heartache that’s already taking root, but also: the way he clings, but tries not to make it obvious.

Fuck; but of course it was gonna be obvious, and how much energy did he waste, how many opportunities slipped by, because Steve was trying not to give away that Eddie leaving—to get away from a town that hated him, to try and make a real go with his music, to be anywhere without Steve so he could live out the dreams that predated Steve, that Steve had no place in—to try not to give away that all of it; it’d fucking destroy him.

Steve doesn’t know, to this day, how he stood and let Eddie kiss him breathless out the driver-side window, how he waved until Eddie was out of sight. He doesn’t know.

Kind of like he doesn’t know how he fucking keeps doing it.

Eddie throws tapes to every radio station with Van Halen or other top-played bands written on the insert in sharpie like that gives nothing away, and sneaks a demo in every underpaid delivery boy’s hands to record executives as he drives to the West Coast, sends Steve postcards what seems like has to be every goddamn day, filled up with his rambling until there’s no space left, has to draw lines around Steve’s address to make it clear where the damn thing’s going lest it get confused. Like they’re SteveandEddie still. Like only…only the things that changed after graduation are gone.

Steve sobs after about a month of it all, grateful and resentful, hateful and still so goddamn full of love it’s sickening. Literally, it makes him feel nauseous. He…

He keeps every postcard.

When one of them comes to say some idiot in San Francisco accidentally played Corroded Coffin on what’s apparently an important station, and Eddie got a letter in response from one of the labels, he says he’s coming back for the boys, they need to be ready. Steve knows he’s not one of the boys, but.

Eddie wouldn’t have told Steve he was coming if it wouldn’t matter to Steve. And maybe Eddie wasn’t in love with him anymore, maybe never was in love with him.

But he’d be lying if he said he thought Eddie didn’t love him. In a different way. A…you-don’t-get-to-come-with-me-but-I’d-still-want-to-see-you-when-I-stop-back kind of way.

And Steve…Steve’s not a fucking monk or anything. But even Robin doesn’t try to push him when he finally just tells her what he feels, lovesick and pathetic as it is:

I gave everything I had to someone else, and it’d be different if I wanted to back, to give again, but…I don’t.

I don’t want it back, not from him. Not if any part of him, wants to keep any part of it.

And because she’s Robin, she knows he means something else when he says ‘it’. And because she’s Robin? She’d push if she thought it was worth it.

She just holds him, and that’s really the best thing he could ask for.

But it becomes a thing. The boys go with Eddie, and they record new shit to impress...whoever. And they do. They come back for Halloween, because Eddie loves it. The label’s dragging its feet, but they’re not deterred, they’re energized. They come back for Thanksgiving because Wayne loves it—except he doesn’t, Steve knows that, Wayne actually hates trying to make a bird and Eddie had lamented more than once that they ended up with lunchmeat cut into cubes one year when Wayne was particularly frustrated with the process. They go out East, and try a few studios in New York. They come back for Christmas.

Eddie spends most of his time with Steve. Steve doesn’t fucking fight that; wants it…like…

There’s nothing to compare how he wants it to. Nothing exists that fits.

Eddie spends most of the time that he spends with Steve, though?

In Steve’s bed.

And here’s the thing: Steve had a decent amount of experience to compare to, but once they’d fallen into a rhythm, got past the awkward bits, the learning curve? Sex with Eddie had been a goddamn revelation. Not just because he was a man—after he’d left, Steve had forced himself to try, and dispelled that possibility quick as hell—and now?

Now, it’s like they never stopped. Every fucking time, it’s like they never stopped.

Steve’s not surprised in the slightest that he remembers every give and tell of Eddie’s body—of course he goddamn does—but that Eddie doesn’t miss a beat in touching, sucking, licking, worshippingSteve’s? That’s insane. That’s…

Unexpected. Every time it’s unexpected and every time Steve’s shown he wasn’t forgotten when he probably should have been. Eddie’s building a life that doesn’t include him.

He’ll only get in the way.

But Steve is selfish and stubborn and maybe it’s often, like almost strangely so, but it’s only a week or two at a go so he tells himself he’s allowed. He tells himself that it felt like making love in the beginning because Steve was in love, and that it still feels exactly the same because Steve…Steve never stopped.

Steve is still just as goddamn in love.

So yeah. Steve sleeps with Eddie and it’s like…it’s like rationed air. He gets a regular taste and he gets to keep breathing.

And it’s okay. Probably more then. Because he gets Eddie—even a little bit. Even just in scraps. When he has Eddie?

He has him, even for moments that were never made to last.

It’s Easter, this time. The band put out their first record in January. It’s doing really well. Eddie’s over the moon. Someone called about a magazine cover for a publication in Cleveland that’s apparently kind of a big deal, Alt..something. Steve will buy every copy in a fucking 100-mile radius. 200 miles. 500—

It’s Easter. Eddie didn’t lament not celebrating it after Spring Break in ‘86 but he’s back every year now. And if it’s just…come to mean something, or maybe did then and circumstances won out against it? Steve will be here. Steve will be comfort and a reprieve or a hot as hell romp with a familiar body, Steve will…

Yeah. Steve will do whatever’s needed. Wanted. Anything.

Pathetic.

But so much better than nothing.

Case in point: they’re both naked, sweat mostly dried, sharing a joint and it’s comfortable. It’s quiet and gentle and put up against sitting alone on a weeknight, not with Eddie?

It’s heaven.

“So when’s the dream happening?”

Steve looks cross-eyed toward his lips; he hasn’t smoked this thing long enough to have heard wrong. He squints up at Eddie, whose chest he’s laid out on, confused. Offers him the smoke but he waves it away.

“The dream?” Steve asks finally, when Eddie doesn’t seem to want to answer on his own.

Eddie looks at him weird. Not weird for its own sake but like: like he’s staring into him, and then like he’s disbelieving, but then also like he’s seeing him for the first time.

That kind of weird.

“Getting the fuck out of here,” Eddie answers like it’s obvious. “White picket fence. Little nuggets.” He spreads his hands as wide as possible without tossing Steve from where he lies. “See the sights.”

And Steve’s response is immediate. Doesn’t even require a thought.

He laughs. Like, ugly-laughs.

“Man,” he shakes his head as he catches his breath, and passes the joint off this time with purpose, not an offer or a choice as he snorts a little; “that’s not the dream.”

When Eddie doesn’t grab the smoke, Steve finally looks up. Eddie…

Eddie looks like what Steve’s always struggled to understand the word ‘poleaxed’ to mean. He thinks it might be this.

He looks…like something stuck him through the gut. Slapped him silly across the face.

“What d’ya mean?” And it’s just three words, one that’s a cheat, and he says it slow enough to take an age.

Steve breathes out, and then, if he’s gonna be honest, and if he has to keep holding the damn thing anyway, decides to take another drag before speaking:

“Figured out what the dream was, inside the dream,” Steve says, wondering if he’ll get away with the vagary; knowing he won’t.

“All we see or seem?” Eddie jokes a little, but it falls flat, his tone eerily kinda…strained but hollow.

“I like poetry.” Steve smiles up at him, soft, and offers the joint again straight to Eddie’s lips. He takes it this time.

“It was about family. It was about stability, not,” Steve shakes his head, stops talking half-assed around the lungful he’s holding, and lets it out slow; “not in a place, fuck, not in a house, but,” a person he doesn’t say, but he hears it in his head; “it was about sharing it.”

And that's it. That’s the simplest, most straightforward truth. Steve doesn’t think there’s anything complicated, or offensive in it. Hard to swallow. Even if he’s come to terms with it. Is mostly at peace with it.

Which is why it’s weird, that Eddie feels suddenly rigid beneath him.

So Steve turns, and braces his hand on Eddie's chest for balance, and frowns when he doesn’t even have to push down to feel the way his heart’s a fucking riot.

“What?” Steve asks, gentle; Eddie’s face is a portrait of conflict, of distress and Steve can’t fucking figure out why, they just came like four times between them and are sharing some very nice Cali weed—they’re nestled close, they’re together, it’s…

Eddie’s quiet, his breath disconcertingly steady for how his pulse pounds, and then he breathes out slow before covering his face:

“I don’t think I can fuck this up any worse than I already have, so,” he mutters, dejected for reasons Steve can’t even guess, then he laughs, humorless, shakes his head:

“Let me try, I guess.”

Steve frowns, uncomprehending, until:

“I’ve been in love with you forever.”

Steve thinks the world stops. His heart does, at least. Suspended. Silent so he doesn’t miss a syllable.

“And I told myself,” Eddie bites at his lip, worries at the bottom swell; “end of that summer, from the very first, I said: don’t ask him to come with you, even if it breaks your heart,” and oh god, oh god after all this time: Steve doesn’t think he’s projecting to hear the genuinely broken heart in those words for just remembering.

“Don’t ask him to settle, you’re not even in the same universe of what he wants,” fuck, what lies Eddie’s saying; did he believe them? Has he always—“what he needs.”

But Eddie is everything he needs, always was, will always be—

“You’ll never have the picket fence. You can’t give him his nuggets. You should never be trusted to park a Winnebago.”

They could have had a shitty studio apartment. They could have had the kids in college. They could have run the BMW until it died, or sold it to put toward a better van for equipment. They could have—

“You’re selfish, Munson, you’re a rat fucking bastard but,” Eddie’s still going, heart still hammering under Steve’s touch even as Eddie swallows hard and fails to smile, looks ill with the attempt like it hurts to try: “you love him too much for that.”

Oh. Oh god.

“It didn’t break my heart, though,” Eddie clears his throat and glances away, to the ceiling, eyes too bright: oh fuck; “broke my goddamn soul,” and a tear falls, and Steve can’t help but wipe it away, and kiss the track. Even just once.

So he does.

“When I saw you again that first time back,” Eddie starts again, voice rougher and shakier as he reaches a hand for Steve’s. “I could have asked the boys to fly out, the execs offered, but,” and this time, the attempt to grin is more successful, like a weight’s lifted from it: “and you smiled at me, it felt like,” and when he shakes his head this time it’s for disbelief, but the kind that comes with awe; “and when we slotted back together like we’d never been apart, it was…”

Eddie’s voice trails, but it cracks at the end—Steve doesn’t know which does more to stop his words.

He’s grateful, relieved, when they come back. He’s powerless but to give when Eddie touches his cheek so gentle and breathes:

“And I had to tell myself again, and again,” he murmurs, stroking Steve’s skin like he’s precious: “you love him too much to take his dream away from him.”

“What did it matter?” Steve can’t help but ask, no malice in it, just the need to understand. “You had your dream, you have—“

They have a contract. They have an album climbing the charts. They’re not just on their way—they’re there. The only next step is to get bigger, and bigger, and—

“Dreams within dreams, wasn’t it?” Eddie murmurs close to Steve’s cheek, where maybe he’s pressing to be close, or maybe he’s hiding a little, so Steve strokes his hair because he can either way and relishes how Eddie leans, melts into it like always. “Inside the dream?”

Steve nods, more to encourage more words. More Eddie.

“Break my dream open and there’s you with me, every step,” Eddie whispers, his lips warm on Steve’s skin. “Break my heart open, same damn thing,” and that causes Steve to shudder, and his heart to pick up now, too. “Both just kinda crumble if you take out the center.”

Steve can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. Wants to. Doesn’t think they’re lies. It’s just, he…

“Those,” Steve tries to speak but his voice cracks; he clears his throat and kicks his lips while he tucks Eddie into his neck, under his chin: “those would be good lyrics.”

“No,” Eddie shakes his head and nuzzles Steve’s throat with the motion and this can’t be happening.

This can’t be happening, can it?

“No, those words were only ever meant just for you.”

And Eddie kisses the pulse point close to his mouth and holds there, like a sentry and a miser, and holy shit.

Holy shit.

“And I don’t know,” Eddie’s saying more, but it’s pitchy, thready, like he’s barely holding the words together at all; “I don’t know if it’s nostalgia, or convenience, or routine,” his voice breaks again and the sob’s in the word when it comes even if it’s not streaming down on his cheeks: “pity,” and no, no, not fucking ever, how—

“I was never your dream then, and I don’t even know if I can be your inside-dream now, and,” Eddie’s rambling, and he does that when he’s desperate, when he’s overwhelmed and overfull with feeling—and Steve knows that. Steve knows that about him.

Steve knows. Better than he knows himself, Steve still knows him.

“I just want the world for you,” Eddie whispers, stroking up and down Steve’s jaw; “my sweetheart. My sunshine,” he smiles so real and soft and Steve melts, like the heart in his chest starts spilling through his ribs, warm and liquid: “you deserve more than the world, more than fuckin’ me and I,” Eddie shakes his head again, more this time like he’s stopping himself, like it’s a defense mechanism and Steve reaches for his cheeks, broad palms on either side to hold him still because…he doesn’t want Eddie to stop.

Ever.

“Did I ruin it?” Eddie breathes, and barely at that, eyes so wide and swimming and oh, god; “did I—"

And Steve can’t help it. He can’t help but kiss him with all he’s got, even if it couldn’t be all Eddie’s worth in all the world. Steve can’t contain all that Eddie’s worth.

But he can give everything, because this is the man who already has it.

“What the hell was I supposed to be to a rockstar?” Steve tries to talk through his own tight throat, his own growing smile, his own threat of tears bubbling close to the surface. “How the fuck was I ever going to measure up, ever do anything but hold you back when you could have—“

“I come back to you, for you,” Eddie answers immediate; it’s not what Steve’s asking but he won’t lie and say he didn’t want to know, at least a little. “The handful of times I’ve tried,” Eddie shakes his head once now, definitive; “I have always left my everything with you.”

The idea that Steve’s spent all this time feeling empty, and hollow, and missing the best of himself where it lived in the man he loved—the idea he was wrong, that they both were so fucking wrong is…insanity.

“I had a bag half packed.”

Steve doesn’t need to explain further. The noise Eddie makes is pure pain.

“Baby,” he nearly croons, falls into Steve somehow closer, wraps him up tighter; “I wanted to kidnap you in the night.”

“I sobbed in my bed after you were out of sight.”

“I pulled over before the town sign, because I couldn’t see the goddamn road.”

And Steve…Steve doesn’t really have a decision to make about what he says next. What dream he wants; always has.

“I never got rid of the luggage.”

And Eddie hears everything he says in those words, because after everything, Eddie Munson knows him, and…yeah.

Steve’s been kissed in a lot of ways before. By this man in particular, even.

But this: if leaving broke Eddie’s soul, if somehow the lack of Steve somehow did that?

This is…this is the body meeting another body, heart to heart and tasting the way a soul slides back in place. It's Eddie’s hands in his hair like hell never let go and he’s happy about the idea; blissful for it, even. It’s—beyond anything Steve’s ever known. So: yeah.

It’s not a decision. It’s just a fucking given.

♥️

🎸also on ao3

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @ajeff855 @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @bookworm0690 @bumblebeecuttlefishes @captain--low @depressed-freak13 @dragoon-ze-great @dreamercec @dreamwatch @dreamy-jeans137 @estrellami-1 @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @gunsknivesandplaid @hiei-harringtonmunson @hbyrde36 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @kimsnooks @live-laugh-love-dietrich @mensch-anthropos-human @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notaqueenakhaleesi @ollyxar @pearynice @perseus-notjackson @pretend-theres-a-name-here

divider credit here

[etz-ashashiyot]

In the wake of the Sandy Hook shooting, there were lots of discussions about meaningful gun control which never came to fruition. And I remember reading it said somewhere that "the conversation on gun control ended with Sandy Hook." Because that was the nightmare scenario, right? That was what advocates were putting out there as a real possibility, a worst case scenario, to shake people out of their selfishness in order to prioritize school children over their desire to feel important and powerful. "What if someone had access to a high-capacity weapon and shot up a bunch of kindergarteners and school teachers?" And people on the other side put this down as fear mongering and unrealistic.

Until it happened.

But the thing is that they were already fine with this nightmare scenario; they just didn't want to admit that to themselves or others yet. Then Sandy Hook happened, and people sent their self-serving thoughts and meaningless prayers instead of putting on their big boy pants and accepting that they were wrong and change was needed to protect kids.

Nothing since that extreme moral failure has materially changed, and thus the conversation was effectively over. There is nothing - no horrifying scenario - too severe for opponents of sane gun control laws to actually budge on this issue. They will prioritize this hobby and power fantasy over everything, including the lives of small children just attending school.

Why am I on about this? Because that's what October 8th was, for Jews. October 7th was the nightmare scenario, but October 8th was when the conversation on the rights of Jews to live and on antisemitism ended. "Social justice activists" ripped down posters of the Bibas children. Previously reputable women's groups denied the mass rapes and never apologized after the fact. Leftists started shrieking about genocide before the victims' blood had even cooled (never mind Israel actually responding militarily). Major news sources and human rights orgs and international legal bodies sided with terrorists over and over and over again. People in academia denied the obvious facts of Jewish history in the Levant. Diaspora Jews who didn't immediately and completely capitulate were forced out of public spaces and advocacy groups - some of which we founded - and those who were allowed to stay were regularly subjected to ideological purity tests. Jewish public spaces and individuals around the world were attacked in "protest" of the actions of a government we have no say in for the crime of not wishing death on half of our global population. People who in the past gleefully jumped on the "punch Nazis!" bandwagon now actively engage in Holocaust inversion, denial, and/or colonization, spitting our trauma back at us because punching someone in their broken arm to "teach them a lesson" is somehow not abuse in their eyes when directed at us.

What will it take?

The question is answered; the conversation is over. The answer is nothing.

There is nothing that is too disgusting or cruel that they will not either turn a blind eye to at best, or actively support. They don't just want us dead. They want us to suffer terribly, and then die. And then they want to kill us again by disrespecting the bodies of our dead, again by erasing our names from our own trauma and history, and again by mutilating the memories of the dead for whatever purpose serves their narrative best. They don't want us to live in the diaspora. They don't want us to live in eretz Yisrael. They don't want us to live; they want us to die horrible deaths and then gibbet our dead who can no longer speak for themselves as puppets for whatever story they want to tell. And this, not even outside of living memory of the Shoah.

It's over. Until there is a true moral reckoning that has so far not happened in 2000+ years, any potential conversation that maybe might have been able to happen in the wake of the Shoah was slaughtered on October 8th and the conversation is done.

Edit: This is not directed at OP, who has been throughout this whole nightmare, the exception that proves the rule. Thank you for caring about us, truly; your support means so much, particularly in light of others' apathy.

Jewish hostages emerge from 16 months of underground captivity emaciated, broken and bewildered, looking for all the world like concentration camp survivors, and the world is silent.

Returned female hostages give graphic and horrifying accounts of sexual assault and torture, and the world is silent.

Antisemitic abuse and hate crime has skyrocketed, Jews are traumatised and terrified and in deep pain, that is celebrated and laughed at, and the world is silent.

THE WORLD IS SILENT.

WHAT WILL IT ACTUALLY TAKE FOR PEOPLE TO GIVE A SHIT??

I just don’t understand. I never will.

[invested-in-your-future]

The Portrayal of DID in Ave Mujica

(I have to preface this by saying that I am approaching this from a narrative writing standpoint and from my own personal delving into psychology overall. The subject topic is complex and the medical knowledge on it is ever-evolving, so if any of my notions are outdated, I am very, so very sorry.)

(I also understand that the topic of trauma and DID might be a triggering experience to some people, so caution is advised.)

(The discussion will also have open spoilers about the show and as such is tagged with spoiler tags.)

If there's one thing I would never expect when watching a music show, it is for it to turn into a deeply introspective psychological drama about flawed characters grappling with anxiety, mental wellness, toxicity and so on.

I did something like this a few times before and I can't help but want to explore and convey my thoughts on the character writing and handling of dissociative identity disorder within this show.

Now, Ave Mujica's predecessor, MYGO (to which Ave Mujica is a sequel), did play with the portrayal of neurodivergent-coded traits and still remains one of the best attempts at that overall, but a lot of that could be written off as subtextual.

So Ave Mujica portraying DID (Dissociative Identity Disorder) in a textual way comes as a surprise.

What's even bigger surprise is the lengths the show goes to make the portrayal feel authentic and how up-to-date the overall knowledge within the writing is.

Now, for starters, some explanation is needed.

What is DID?

Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID) is a type of dissociative disorder that usually develops in early childhood due to traumatic experiences—most often emotional or physical abuse or neglect.

The conditions within the environment lead to a child failing to integrate into a unified identity due to compartmentalizing their trauma and various other facotrs. In layman's terms, "distancing themselves" from their own psychological trauma.

The key aspect to understand is dissociation, a concept that is crucial to DID but NOT limited to it. To quickly explain what dissociation is—to handle specific amounts of stress and trauma, the brain copes with the information via "disconnecting" one's sense of self from perception.

Dissociation is actually a very common reaction to trauma and can manifest in different ways without it being DID (hence dissociative disorders being a whole branch of stuff)—like, for example, dissociative amnesia, where a person might forget selective memories associated with a traumatic event.

Grief tends to sometimes lead to dissociation, especially during the early phases, too.

Another common example is depersonalization, which involves "perceiving yourself as an out-of-body observer," which usually involves an altered perception of time too, with time slowing down or speeding up or the concept of time losing meaning.

Both of those can manifest as part of DID, but can also exist separately—for example, derealization and depersonalization can be symptomatic of PTSD.

DID in itself as a concept is about a person at a young age failing to integrate into "one".

The way a child's growth goes is that the mind reintegrates and parses those their experiences and traumas shaping their identity. Experiencing dissociation doesn't instantly mean DID, because dissociation by itself is a common trauma-parsing mechanism, as I said before. A child can experience trauma, neglect, or abuse without it leading to DID.

In the case of DID, the child fails to integrate, the trauma/abuse/neglect instead leading to compartmentalized elements working together—a system.

It's important to note that trauma doesn't create alters, as it's been thought for a while. It's not something fake or "split" or "created"—the system is all the alters as equally "real"; it's just that alters themselves might have different traits of the identity.

While alters are identities, they aren't necessarily separate people—they are a system. Alters might differ from each other, and have separate memories, and skill sets, but every alter is part of that system. Alters don't appear out of thin air as separate entities and it's better to view a system as an entity comprised of equally real alters functioning together, with the "primary" one (the one that's out for the longest periods) being often called "the host".

Thus, alters can be subtle and almost indistinguishable from the host. And even if they have distinct personality traits, most alters would have an awareness to "fit in" by not standing out, instead internalizing them and trying to mimic the host personality (because it's "normal").

There isn't a secret evil spirit or a ninja assassin living in a person—portrayals like that (ex: the movie "Split") are extremely harmful because they perpetuate a toxic stereotype that just isn't true.

There's no "real personality and fake personalities" and so on. The current understanding of DID is a child at a young age, due to internal and external factors, failing to integrate into a singular identity.

Now depending on how young we talking, the person might have had a personality-before or might not have at the point DID develops, but the concept of "original/core" personalities is currently considered antiquated.

And just like alters aren't "created," they can't "die" either.

Now that this covered basic terminology and information, I can actually discuss about the show itself.

First, let's talk about Mutsumi and her character.

Mutsumi

From the very first appearance in MYGO, the characterization conveys the personality of someone who is stoic, internalizes her emotions, and has trouble communicating with others—her first spoken line in the show is ambiguous.

Mutsumi is a stoic, shy student who had been in a band together with her childhood friend, Sakiko, and three other people. The band imploded after her childhood friend suffered from circumstances she felt she couldn't share with others and disbanded it.

The character is often coerced or influenced by others to do things for them and plays more of the role of an observer.

It becomes quickly obvious that Mutsumi herself is extremely uncomfortable with this role—not only blaming herself for the band's breakup but also feeling awful about her friends' mental well-being afterward.

Meanwhile, Mutsumi's childhood is no better—as a child of a star actress and a famous comedian, Mutsumi didn't have what one could call "a normal childhood.". Her parents had surrounded her with wealth but at the same time had adopted a completely hands-off approach, which led to her feeling neglected and alone. For example, she doesn't even call her mother and father dad/mom/father/mother/etc., instead opting to refer to them by their first names like friends would do. The mother is also enamored with being an actress—for example, one of the things she would offer her daughter's friends visiting would be to watch movies she starred in.

The show makes sure the audience gets a sense of the scale of her home life—a luxurious house filled with servants where her mother is a star rather than a parent.

What's more, due to the circumstances of her parents she's constantly compared to her mother and father and their talents, with expectations placed to follow in their footsteps. This ends up with her feeling like she has nothing of her own in her life—whatever praise or expectation is placed upon her ties to The Star Actress and The Comedian instead of who Mutsumi is as a person.

As a result, she values the bonds she has formed with other people a lot. She cares deeply about her childhood friend (whose family circumstances are the actual reason for the band breakup), and she cares about the one other bandmate who had kept in touch with her (the person who is mainly keeping in touch due to selfish goals though).

So when her friend decides to create a new band, Mutsumi feels responsible to support her and help her.

Unfortunately for her, her friend is going through a lot emotionally, and the entirety of the new band consists of a lot of openly toxic individuals.

Thus she is placed into a situation where she has to juggle the neglect and distance she feels at home, the expectations her suffering friend is placing upon her, the expectations the world has for her due to her parents, and the pressure from being a member of an extremely popular band—a tough deal for someone who from the beginning had trouble expressing herself.

But hey, at least since the band has the whole pseudo-visual-kei thing going for it, she will be able to wear a mask.

Which is where her journey through Ave Mujica starts.

Ave Mujica and DID

The first notable thing we see happen is her struggling with an interview, reinforcing the idea that she has trouble expressing herself.

Ironically, this is another case where someone else ends up speaking over her.

The episode ends with the first notable trigger for her emotional state worsening, which is one of the bandmates going off-script and ruining the whole "secret identity" thing by unmasking them live on stage to an audience of hundreds if not thousands.

Considering her character set-up and her issues and insecurities, this is about the second most terrifying thing to Mutsumi in the entire world.

As the bandmates argue and blame each other over what had happened, the show then proceeds to take time to showcase how the pressure and the stress of what had happened affect her psychologically and emotionally.

This is a character who had been defined by the impostor syndrome caused by the neglect of her parents and comparisons society draws to them due to their fame—essentially getting doxxed live to an audience of hundreds if not more.

The show then dedicates its runtime to showcase how this character is slowly ground down by the building up pressure and anxiety, the dam breaking due to the traumatic experience—especially when she flubs an interview, causing even more tension and pressure.

"Don't speak out; play your role; don't make mistakes; be perfect or people will hate you."

The show makes sure to slowly build tension and highlight the growing anxiety and the increasing levels of dissociation the character experiences from the world around her as she goes through interviews and photoshoots—interactions that only worsen her mental state by anxiously comparing her to her parents or reminding her of the mistakes she made, as numbness overtakes her.

The anxiety, the stress, and the tension within all build to the point of insomnia as the character retreats to the one place she was implied to feel safe in throughout the show—the rehearsal room at home where she would spend time alone playing her guitar.

Because, again, as implied, her parents don't exactly pay any attention to her beyond showering her with wealth, and everyone else views her as an extension of her parents. So for her this is one spot that is truly hers.

And even that spot has now been taken because her mother had offered the whole band to use the rehearsal room. It's no longer just her space.

Depression, anxiety, and insomnia are but a few of the things that both influence and happen as a result of dissociative disorders

The show highlights the character's worsening physical state due to her deteriorating emotional state, to the point that the character has trouble walking down the hallway.

More importantly, the people around her—her band, her parents, her friend—they don't realize that. If anything, they put more pressure on her shoulders, they tell her to not stand out, to play the role to perfection, to not ruin the performance or further ruin the band's reputation.

The pressure and tension build to the point where the show depicts the first on-screen dissociative episode for the character.

Experiencing dissociation from gazing into a mirror is actually pretty common, as is the idea of recognizing your reflection as someone else. It's not limited to DID, however. There are common experiences where people suffering from anxiety might feel a sensation that they are looking at a stranger for example. Gender dysphoria might also elicit a feeling that the reflection is "wrong".

The show also showcases another common DID symptom: losing large chunks of time as the character finds themselves jumping from the changing room to the middle of the scene without knowing how she had gotten there.

The scene also involves the character witnessing(and more importantly, recognizing) multiple of herself. While the most common way for the host personality to perceive alters is auditory, visual perception is also possible, as are all other senses.

The series of visual hallucinations ends with a character making a mistake live on stage and experiencing a complete dissociation as she slumps onto a stage prop chair motionless like a doll with strings cut..

Essentially, this is a moment when no one is in control. The host personality has experienced complete dissociation, but neither the host personality nor any alters are "behind the wheel.".

Now, to this point, the idea is still subtextual (barely) in that the story shows but doesn't tell what is happening.

However, what comes after this grows more and more textual.

The dissociative episode and perceiving multiple of "you" leads to the character experiencing even more vivid hallucinations.

This time, however, the character directly acknowledges and converses with an alter within her mind-space.

Having a healthy and proper way of communication between host and alter(s) is actually crucial to functioning as a healthy system and living with DID.

Most of the conversation, however, happens within mind-space, as the character relives her past experiences and memories as if she were watching them as an observer, with the alter narrating her life's story.

The mindscape is often metaphorical so the alters don't necessarily always appear human, but they always would be "humanlike", because the brain perceives the alter as alive. The form alters might take within the mindscape is often dependent on the kind of trauma a person has suffered.

The story as narrated by the alter establishes the reason behind why the character values playing the guitar so much—because it's something truly hers, something she had learned on her own and something that is in no way "because of her parents".

But she feels like she's not good enough.

She can't be expressive, she has trouble communicating her emotions, and thus her playing skills, while technically perfect, lack that self-expression capability.

She can't make the guitar sing.

And thus due to impostor syndrome, she concludes that being "wrong" somehow is why the bands she gets involved with on her friend's behalf keep breaking up—why her best friend keeps suffering.

A person suffering from anxiety, trauma, and neglect, someone who has issues expressing themselves, would often wrestle with issues of self-hate and depression and Mutsumi is no different there.

Experiencing one's own memories from an outside perspective, as if watching a movie or seeing themselves from outside observing something is once again quite common in terms of DID.

As the toxicity within the band keeps growing and her friend keeps suffering, the character's anxiety and stress build further, the auditory and visual hallucinations intensifying.

Just a reminder that while this goes on and Mutsumi slips in and out of her mindscape, her best friend, her parents, and the whole band are completely unaware of any of this. In their minds, the dissociative episode she had experienced was "her acting out" or "acting" or just being "closed-off".

This is the first case where the alter has a direct and open back-and-forth conversation with the Mutsumi, rather than narrating her life like before.

Alters within a system often end up serving specific purposes—because they are more comfortable doing something the host alter isn't. Sometimes it's a single memory the host can't parse or a personality trait.

The alter in question showcases worry for the host's well-being—A Protector.

The alter represents worry over the character's own well-being and where the current stressful self-destructive path may lead.

(Important Note: I do feel the need to say that alters do not neatly fall into classifications and there's not some "class system" for Alters that is always true. There are many complex reasons for how alters within a system can be and there's a lot still unknown, as is true with the overall human mind. Since alters aren't created or "split", an alter merely providing a specific role doesn't mean they exist solely for that role, as it becomes clear with the case within the show too.)

The alter believes that if Mutsumi stays with the band, she will experience the full brunt of the band imploding and the alter also perceives Sakiko as someone who is not healthy for the character—toxic even.

Mutsumi however reaffirms that she wants to support her friend no matter what, to always be by her side.

Eventually, however, as the days go on, and the band keeps arguing, the character ends up tying together what is happening now with a traumatic event in her past—her best friend's previous band imploding in a similar fashion.

The character draws parallels between the two situations—between two traumatic experiences—which further worsens their wellbeing.

As a side note I do love Dutch-angles and how universal they are in conveying things going wrong somehow or being unsettling.

All of this leads to the final straw—a confrontation with her best friend, where the character ends up being accused of "not being good enough" and "not supporting her like a friend should".

Why can't she smile or talk or be more social?

Now I do feel the need to interject and say that while her friend is completely in the wrong here, things aren't that simple. Sakiko also has her own issues, depression, traumatic experiences, and absolutely horrible life—all of which she is unable to properly parse and thus turns towards alienating everyone who cares for her rather than showing how hurt she is.

This is the final straw, the moment where the anxiety and traumatic experiences build up to the point where the host just wants to escape.

A moment where subconsciously she'd want to turn to the someone for help.

This is also the first time this alter is properly given a name (one of Mutsumi's stage persona, Mortis).

The scene is eerie and haunting, but it has to be—sleeping is as close as the situation can get to ego-death.

(Because, like I mentioned before, parts of a system can't "die".)

Once the stage play starts, both the bandmates and the audience are treated to a performance that is unlike the character's usual self.

Mortis fulfills their role, shielding the host from a traumatic experience, taking it up to themselves to do something the host would suffer trying to do. In this case, it's to pretend everything is fine and play the role her best friend expects her in the band—to smile and to talk and to help keep it together.

From this point on, Mortis is in control.

She smiles, is social, and delivers efficient jokes to lighten up the mood—she pays attention to the wellbeing of other bandmates and is extremely expressive.

It needs to be noted that the bandmates and parents STILL have no clue. The other bandmembers barely knew her for a month so they don't really see anything wrong with the change in how the character behaves. If anything they see it as an improvement.

Mortis is doing everything they can to do what the host was too anxious to—to be a perfect actress, supportive and caring for the band, and nurturing an environment where the band stays together.

There are a few problems, however.

For starters, Mortis doesn't know how to play guitar, at all.

It's a skill and talent the host alter developed and as far as systems go not everyone would have access to the same memories, experiences, or skills and it's possible for alters to develop different skills than the host too.

And second of all, as the one who wants to protect Mutsumi, Mortis feels disdain towards the main source of Mutsumi's anxiety and depression—her childhood friend, Sakiko.

In Mortis's eyes, the dissociative episode the host suffered and the extreme amounts of anxiety and stress are all because of Sakiko.

This comes to a head in a scene where Sakiko, after spending a whole episode feeling uneasy because of how different Mutsumi is now, decides to have a one-on-one talk with her about what's going on.

It's in this scene that the show textually acknowledges DID.

What finally tips her off is that Mortis refers to her differently than Mutsumi would.

This scene also provides a direct affirmation of the fact that parts of a system don't "die"—they might however go dormant and "fall asleep".

As a side note, the scene does contain ominous framing, but it's mainly due to it mainly being from Sakiko's POV. The writing, however, makes it extremely clear Mortis isn't a villain as much as someone protective of Mutsumi and spiteful towards Sakiko due to her neglect of her best friend—and that Mortis isn't entirely wrong to blame Sakiko for this.

This is kind of surprising because that's pretty "new" information as far as the medical topic of DID goes. People used to think alters could die due to a faulty understanding of the idea stemming from the older now debunked theories as I mentioned before.

The reality, however, is, that alters aren't really something "different" nor "created/split"—a system has the same brain, and the same biological functions, which means the brain can't perceive itself as "dead".

DID develops at a young age due to neglect trauma or abuse. It doesn't suddenly happen because of some extremely tragic event as fiction often depicts it (the tragic events however can cause the host to dissociate and push specific trauma onto an existing alter).

The show, once again, acknowledges that too!

The scene basically spells out that Mutsumi's DID developed at a young age as a result of parental neglect and anxiety. Note that the show doesn't imply Mortis "having been created" ever.

Mortis basically spells out what Mutsumi wouldn't have been able to say—she speaks of the stress the band had caused Mutsumi and how Sakiko's neglect and toxicity ended up causing her to retreat into sleep.

(Once again have to add this: Alters can differ in terms of their thoughts, species, speech patterns, gender orientation, etc. Alters even can have different heart rates, eyesight, and how they respond to allergies.)

Mortis is resolute to protect Mutsumi and her band, but she's also a child—one that can be very blunt in the ways Mutsumi isn't and also naive in the way Mutsumi wouldn't be.

She can't help but detest Sakiko for her toxicity and the trauma it has caused.

She bluntly states that Mutsumi ceding control to Mortis is Sakiko's fault and if Sakiko keeps acting this way instead of actually parsing her problems, Mutsumi might never return.

Mortis isn't merely "a role protecting someone". She is childish and she is, in a way spiteful and she has an opinion about Sakiko that Mutsumi might not agree with.

There's a struggle there because the dissociation between the two alters is too big—there's a lack of communication as once Mutsumi gets to interact with Mortis again, the two are talking past each other.

Mortis is way too focused on what Sakiko had caused and on how it had hurt Mutsumi, while Mutsumi is still ever so focused on how much Sakiko herself is hurting and ignoring her own problems.

It's somewhat common for alters to communicate their memories or experiences with each other via mindspace creating a filing system of sorts as some described it as a computer with a search bar or a cabinet.

The show makes sure to highlight the dissociation currently between Mutsumi and Mortis and the communication between the alters having been strained due to conflicting motives and viewpoints on their mental wellness and how much a person Mutsumi cares about affected it.

The show also doesn't shy away from the problematic treatment of mental wellness in the world and how often it gets sensationalized.

The first major example is the public's reaction to Mutsumi dissociating on the stage—the band is flooded with demands to REPEAT that "performance". In fact multiple show appearances and stuff set that as a condition for the band appearing at all. To the public there's not even an ounce of worry that this was something real—to it couldn't have been anything but acting. Which is actually a common toxic reaction towards systems in the real world. Even within the Ave Mujica tags there were people screaming how "Mutsumi must be just pretending to have it".

Even one of Mutsumi's teammates mistakes her dissociation and Mortis for masterclass acting talent and is STILL haunted and feeling inferior by it even after she KNOWS what actually happened.

The characters also use the outdated term "split personality" when conversing about Mutsumi and Mortis and a majority of the cast doesn't "get" what this is and are way out of their depths—Sakiko blames herself for "having broken" Mutsumi, Umiri and Uika just completely don't care, Nyamu feels insecure and the MYGO cast are also just as out of their depths even though they display far more empathy.

It's a sheer contrast to one character who has no direct connection to Mutsumi but is known for her blunt nature and ends up recognizing both Mutsumi and Mortis as individuals (even asking for the name of each alter when they exchange introductions) and befriending Mortis.

Likewise, when Mutsumi and Mortis end up arguing over their motives and goals and falling down the stairs, the first reactions the onlookers have is to...snap photos and film the situation because it's a famous person and maybe this is some performance too! A completely cold and cruel audience of observes that keeps snapping photos even as another characters desperately begs them not to film this.

And of course, it gets shared and goes viral on social media.

Overall so far the representation of DID and overall mental-wellness issues in Ave Mujica (and MYGO) have been the series highlight and I certainly hope the show continues to treat the subject matter with care and research needed as it further delves into the character.

Another highlight is the variety of issues and insecurities the other main characters are facing—from Sakiko's complex traumatic experiences and implied self-harm tendencies, to Uika's obsession, to Nyamu's insecurities to Umiri's complete emotional disconnect and compartmentalizing to the point others see her as lacking empathy (even though that last scene implies it's not completely true, so we don't really know what's exactly going on there).

Ave Mujica, if it lands, is shaping up to be one of the best shows in a while when it comes to character introspection and psychological themes.

[blubunz]

YAP SESSION 3

— RE chars in general x gn! reader

《MINORS DNI!》

Tags: Sex. Just casual stuff nothing crazy. RE characters includes: Leon , Carlos, Ashley, Jill, Chris, Ada, Luis. Claire is mentioned but I don't write anything horny abt her.

A/N: I have a hunch I'm actually gonna be sick un,, not feeling so great. This is just what j think if it's based on normal stuff like no fucked up messed up situations whatever, just casual lovers making love and what they like.

Consensual.

Ok now that's out of the way, I have some preference in minds, obvi they're purely just my opinions.

Leon is like, the guy who swings with whatever you want. Rough? Yeah. He'll go feral. Gentle? Ok. He'll be so sweet, even moan for you I'd you want to hear them, in which most of the readers in my fic would love. Most of the time it's just you, you, you. Him asking you what you want. Princess treatment or absolutely feral, he doesn't have one in mind, he's just on board with whatever you want and if you don't say anything, he'll ask you what you want anyway while kissing your cheeks so sweetly.

Carlos,, grhfrgrhgrh, he's so bite-able. I think he's the soft type. Like, he can be rough, but most times, he chooses not to if you don't specify anything. He absolutely loves seeing you just getting satisfied and happy, so yes, he'd go rough if that's what you want, just not without you saying. Even when you did something bad, or if you hit him when youre on top, he'd just melt and cradle you in his arms, kissing you, and you two would have some cuddle-fuck session. In my mind, Carlos is very emotional and sentimental in his love life. I can ramble on about the same thing over and over, how he's an absolute king in showering you with too much affection.

Slapping? You're into that, but Carlos is scared of hurting you. Bondage? He doesn't want to see ropes burn into your skin, the only thing should be on your body are his marks and hickies.

So anyways, his biggest turn-on is seeing you getting so, so satisfied. This might make him indulge in overstimulation however, he keeps making you cum and seeing your brain melting after each orgasm. That's right, you don't have to think, just be happy of what Carlos is giving you — pure love and affection.

I don't get much thoughts fron other characters in a sexual way, but I'll think about it like rn. Both Leon and Carlos are hot to me so obvi they're like,, um, long, and,, the first ones I write about.

I think Ashley would be some vanilla stuff, and if you two both try to go into some kinky stuff, things just gets awkward because both of you never really know how to do it professionally, and then you two would just laugh and watch a movie.

Jill is like,, ohmygod,, she's so ourhrorhrirug. The Jill in my mind is like, into the casual stuff, but she prefers handling you as well. She mainly wants to see every once of your reaction so mind you usually sex with Jill will never be a quickie, she doesn't do it slow, but rather she just does a lot of things to finally let you go.

For Claire. No, idk, I never think of her in that way and when i think about it now,nothing comes to mind. I love her character! I just don't associate her with these horny stuff so no.

Chris, big beef guy, I like him too! I think he'd enjoy handling you like Jill. Ok, so he's be like, usually, dominant and rough, hed praise you though, but hes very rough, and he enjoys using his strength to let you know who's in charge. but like, you can put him down no matter how strong you are. One word, one pleading look and you got him all soften up and asking you if you needed anything. Usually, he's never the one to initiate too, he respects you and only fucks you when you want to. If he's horny and you're not then he's holding it in, not even letting you know. If he's not and you are, then, obviously he has the need to satisfy you in every way he could.

Ada is like, I think with how she is in the games, she'd know what you're into by now. You're an open book to her and she can read you. You didn't even have to ask, it's like she knows. It creeps you out honestly, sometimes, at how every time she knows what you need. Maybe she keeps track every month? She knows your kinks too, and when you talk to her, she's like,, "I know,," sometimes she surprises you during sex, turning the usual sex into one imof your kinks. She enjoys seeing you surprised following with the high amount of pleasure that follows suit.

Luis. A bottom.

[asterafroditis]

𐔌 . ⋮ too late to speak .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☓┆Azul Ashengrotto x gn! reader

𓏵 879 words

ᝰ.ᐟ 3rd Person POV, no pronouns used, unestablished relationship with reader, angst, hurt/no comfort

might give this a part 2 with a happy ending if I feel like it or anyone asks (-ω-；) feel free to like, reblog, or comment!

ᝰ.ᐟ masterlist

Azul always knew you were kind.

Not just polite or charming, but truly, genuinely kind. The kind of person who greeted everyone by name, who asked how their day was and actually listened to the answer. The kind of person who saw past his sharp businessman’s smile, his smooth-talking arrogance, and treated him as if he was worth more than just a contract.

But that was just how you were with everyone.

He told himself that, over and over again. That you were just friendly. That there was nothing special about the way you spoke to him, that he was foolish for thinking he meant anything more to you than the next student you happened to befriend.

So he waited.

Waited for a sign. For proof that you might see him the way he saw you. Because Azul Ashengrotto didn’t take risks he couldn’t afford to lose, and losing you—the idea of you rejecting him, looking at him with pity—was something he could never gamble on.

So he said nothing.

And in turn, neither did you.

You used to think Azul would be the one to confess first.

He was strategic, after all—always had a plan, always thought five steps ahead. If he wanted something, he found a way to get it. And for a while, you let yourself believe that maybe, maybe, you were something he wanted, too.

You caught the way he lingered whenever you spoke, how his usually quick-witted tongue tripped over itself when you leaned a little too close. The way his gaze softened when he thought no one was looking.

You noticed it all. And it made your heart race, made your stomach twist in that agonizing, hopeful way.

But Azul never acted. Never said a word.

So, eventually, you convinced yourself you had imagined it.

That if he truly wanted you, he would have done something by now.

That maybe, despite the way you thought he looked at you, despite the way you wanted him to look at you—he never actually felt the same.

But you had to be sure.

So you tested him.

"Azul, I need your help."

He looked up from his ledger, barely registering your words at first. He had spent the past hour going over the Lounge’s weekly earnings, making adjustments, analyzing profit margins—but all of that became meaningless the moment you stepped into his office.

You were smiling. You always smiled.

"Of course," he said smoothly, placing his pen down. "What can I do for you?"

You hesitated, shifting on your feet. That wasn’t like you. You were usually so confident when asking him for favors, teasing him about his endless contracts and over-the-top business plans.

This time, though, you looked... nervous.

"I... well, you know I’ve been spending a lot of time with—" you said a name. Azul barely heard it. His mind had already started ringing, a dull roar drowning out the sound of your voice.

No. No, no, no.

Not that name. Not them.

"I think I like them, Azul," you admitted, fingers gripping the hem of your uniform. "And I—I want to tell them. But I don’t know how to do it without making a fool of myself."

Your heart was pounding. It was humiliating, really, standing here, asking him of all people for help with this.

Because you weren’t just asking for advice. You were waiting. Watching.

For the slightest change in his expression. A flicker of something—anything—that might prove you hadn’t been wrong.

That all those moments weren’t just in your head.

That Azul wanted you.

But Azul didn’t react.

He blinked once, his expression unreadable, and then—he smiled.

The same careful, practiced smile you had seen him use a hundred times before.

"I see," he said, voice perfectly even. "Well, that is quite the dilemma."

A laugh escaped you—light, relieved. That was that, then.

It was never real, was it?

Azul had never liked you the way you liked him.

His throat closed up. His hands curled into fists beneath his desk.

You—you were asking him for advice on how to confess to someone else.

He should’ve seen this coming. He did see this coming, deep down. But he had been too much of a coward to act. Too afraid of rejection to reach for the one thing he wanted more than anything.

And now?

Now you were asking him to help you love someone else.

He couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.

"Azul?" Your voice was so soft, so sweet. So unfair.

He forced himself to smile. To laugh.

To play the part of the perfect, unaffected friend.

And when you beamed at him, oblivious, he knew—he had already lost.

You had your answer.

It stung. More than you wanted to admit.

But at least now you knew.

At least now, you wouldn’t spend another second waiting for something that was never going to come.

You smiled at Azul, one final test, but he didn’t hesitate. He launched into his usual confident spiel, offering you advice like it was nothing. Like he wasn’t crushing your chest with every word.

And for the first time, you really believed him.

Azul didn’t want you.

Not like that.

And if that was the case, then maybe moving on really was the right choice.

[nylloth]

First of all, you're talking about a very specific political critique, while most of the actual criticism has nothing to do with that.

Personally, I know very little about American politics, so I’ve never criticized the show on that basis. The show has its own internal city politics, which were established in the official game lore. I know the official lore, which is why my expectations for this aspect were completely different. This has nothing to do with the real world.

Secondly, my main criticism is about the writing. Arcane didn’t win its writing award.

Here’s what I’m criticizing: the characters have forgotten their own motivations from Season 1. Viktor’s arc is a blatant retcon—his motivation was death, not disease. The show always tackled social issues and inequality, but in Season 2, those themes were erased. The dialogue was drastically reduced. The creators chose the "show through animation, don’t tell" approach, but you can’t use it in every situation—otherwise, we’re just left staring at Caitlyn’s microexpressions. Vi’s dialogue was cut by 60% compared to Season 1. That’s not how good storytelling works.

Is it because of the episode count? No, because Season 1 managed it just fine. Instead, the writers crammed in too many music video sequences, which anyone can interpret however they want, and which often fail to convey the characters' thoughts and relationships.

The pacing is breakneck, making serious decisions feel unearned—especially Viktor’s, which change every five seconds. He becomes a god and loses faith in his vision all in one day.

Jinx’s "revolution" basically didn’t happen.

Pacifist Viktor suddenly decides to team up with Ambessa and considers it the right choice. And Ambessa, a brilliant warrior and strategist (as established in Act 1), agrees to a highly questionable alliance with someone she can't control.

The weapons conflict between Viktor and Jayce, which was a major theme in Season 1, is completely dropped. Why? Because Jayce fell into a pit and broke his leg. As if that somehow helps him understand Viktor, who lived with a disease, was dying from it, and was part of the lower class that no one cared about.

The core dynamics of the show—family relationships and social inequality—shifted to a Marvel-style formula with lots of action and a big bad villain.

See? It’s not about real-world politics. It’s about how it was written.

Moving away from writing: Viktor’s original lore was far more complex and morally engaging. He was never purely evil or just a victim of magical manipulation. Turning him into an "evil god" is an incredibly dull choice. Of course, you might not know this if you haven’t read the original lore.

Caitlyn poisoning the city? Completely brushed aside.

We have two "women in freezer"—Sky and Isha. This is one of the worst, most lazy, and disgusting writing choices. Cheap, especially for Sky, who was already treated this way in Season 1.

Viktor’s time loop raises countless unanswered questions.

Episode 207 is pure fanfiction, eating up screen time for the sake of the Time Bomb ship. It serves no narrative purpose. We don’t even see how Ekko talked Jinx out of suicide. Why? Because it happens off-screen. And ask yourself—why is it off-screen? Because the writers had no actual dialogue for that moment.

Now the most interesting part. I watched the leaks. Dialogues were rewritten and cut at the last moment! This means the writing was incredibly raw. They were re-recording lines just months before release. Sevika’s lines were cut from the final episodes.

And while I can accept Act 1 with all its flaws, Act 3 is a disaster.

As a standalone Marvel-style show? Maybe 8/10. But as Arcane’s second season—compared to Season 1’s writing, storytelling, themes, and character arcs—it’s really bad.

I feel sorry that so many of you aren’t trying to analyze these issues. That you think slowing the show down and staring at the characters’ facial expressions is the right way to understand their shifting motivations. I feel sorry that you don’t see the obvious difference between Season 1 and Season 2. But it’s there. Otherwise, there wouldn’t be so much criticism. And that criticism has nothing to do with real-world politics.

The first season never received this much criticism and for good reason. It was simply better written.

People don't understand that we criticize s2 because we genuinely love s1 and we were disappointed. basically what speaks to us is the grief of losing potential or “what could it be…” it's not the same as being a hater