#a classic case of wanting to get the pain over with rather than live in fear of it

[hey-that-hurt]

Another contract au thing

At first when Beetlejuice is allowed back into the house, the Maitlands avoid Beetlejuice. Charles backs them up and orders Beetlejuice to stay out of the attic. Eventually they start willingly spending time around him, communicating that they won’t order him around, but they expect him to respect their boundaries. After a bit they even revoke Charles’ order and let him come into the attic, though they expect him to ask permission.

The Maitlands are the safest people in the house for Beetlejuice to be around. They don’t give him orders, and will revoke orders upon request if they don’t think they’re going to step on anyone’s toes by doing so.

Beetlejuice does his best to comply for a while, but eventually the stress of his whole situation starts to wear on him and he starts to feel irritated about the Maitlands, too.

The Maitlands, he thinks, want to avoid the guilt of ordering him around directly while still reaping the benefits. What’s the difference between their requests and everyone else’s orders if he has to obey them all the same?

Angry about their hypocrisy (and maybe they really are being hypocritical, I’m not really sure yet. At the very least they’re complicit), he reverts to his behavior from the musical and then some. He goes out of his way to harass them and make them uncomfortable, giving them as little peace as he possibly can. When they ask him to stop, he tells them to make him.

Eventually Barbara has had enough and does, finally, order him to stop harassing them, and tells him to stay out of the attic for a while so they can have some space.

Finally, Beetlejuice is satisfied. Once again, he got the perfect Maitlands to snap.

He goes to the roof and feels sick, gnashes his teeth and curls into a ball and wants to claw at his skin, but he doesn’t cry. He hasn’t felt capable of crying for a long, long time.

[lucy-and-rebecca]

Let's talk about Fairy Tail women.

A while ago I came across an ... interesting post that can be summarised as 'fanservice is bad and hence all the female characters are written badly'. I've seen a lot of takes alonge these lines.

I've said it a million times, I don't like the fanservice in fairy tail but claiming that the fanservice automatically makes the writing of the female characters bad is a very shallow way of looking at the story. The over sexualization of the female characters is only one criteria we should consider while discussing how female characters are handled in the story. Unfortunately most of the time that ends up being the only criteria. I also think a lot of the times this is used as an excuse to hate on the female characters in fairy tail.

So here are some of my reasons as to why I absolutely love the way fairy tail women are written.

Flipping the damsel in distress trope.

During the phantom lord arc Lucy is kidnapped and Natsu went out to save her. A very classic setting for the damsel in distress trope. What makes this moment different is Lucy, the princess stuck in a tower, decided to jump. That moment is so important for her character. Lucy chose to jump because the alternative was having to return home to her abusive father and she jumped because she knew Natsu would catch her. That scene both simultaneously showed the audiance how much Lucy dreaded going back to her father's house and how much faith she had in her guildmate. That scene wasn't there to show Natsu saving her, that moment was there to flesh out Lucy's character.

They Unfridged Lisanna.

Fridged girlfriend/wife is a trope where the female lover of the male protagonist is killed, sometimes even before the story begins and the sole purpose that female character serves is to be a source of angst for the male protagonist. Lisanna was almost that. But she was brought back. Even before that she wasn't just limited to being Natsu's source of angst. She was Mira and Elfman's sister. I don't particularly like Lisanna but she's alive and she's living her life with the people she loves. That will always be a positive thing.

Self sacrifice is bad actually.

A lot of times, especially for female characters self sacrifice is presented as a virtue. It's presented as a selfless noble thing. During tower of heaven arc, Erza learnt that that's wrong. she realised she's loved and wanted. She learnt that her life matters and the people who love her would be miserable without her and nothing good will come from her death. She learnt that self sacrifice will only lead to pain for everyone she loves.

Passing bechdel test in the most unexpected situations.

In case you don't know the criteria for passing the bechdel test are, two named female characters talking to each other about someone other than a man. This test is mainly for movies but we can apply it to tv shows, anime and manga by seeing how often it passes the bachdel test rather than if it passes it. Like how someone did for Doctor Who. (I am genuinely tempted to do this for fairy tail anime.)

Anyway getting to the point, you would think that's very easy to achieve and yet so many stories fail at it so very often. While this test is by no means a sure shot way of measuring how feminist something is, I do think a show with a lot of important female characters who have good relationship with one another will pass the bechdel test a lot more frequently compared to a show that doesn't.

Fairy tail passes the backdel test somewhat frequently, sometimes in unexpected ways.

At first we are lead to believe that Erza and Kagura are connected because of Jellal and Simon. So it's only natural that they will talk about those two men during their fight. And yet their fight during grand magic games passes the bechdel test. Because their relationship goes beyond those two men. Erza knew Kagura from their childhood and she wanted their relationship to be defined by that rather than anything else. Erza didn't tell Kagura how she should feel. She understood and respected Kagura's feeling. All she wanted was for Kagura see her as her own person. The reason why this scene managed to pass the bechdel test was because despite everything Erza and Kagura's relationship is not defined by the men in their lives.

Women with power

Time and time again fairy tail has portrayed women wielding immense power. Fairy tail has also portrayed women in position of power. Hisui didn't just remain a princess, she became a queen. Fairy tail was founded by a woman. Dragon Slayer magic was invented by a woman. Characters like Urtear and Brandish are unmatched in power. Powerful women in fairy tail feel powerful, they don't feel power for a woman or power despite being a woman, they feel powerful.

Future Lucy died in her own arms.

Future Lucy is a characters who went through unimaginable pain and suffering and ended up dying. But she died to protect her past self. She died in her own arms and made the past version of herself promise her that she will fight for their future. Even though we know that our Lucy is perfectly fine that scene hits like a truck. Natsu in that moment remembers how happy Lucy was when she got her guild mark. That's a painful memory in that moment because future Lucy has lost everything. She has lost her guild along with her guild mark. Natsu and everyone else there is sad and angry because future Lucy deserved to happy and that happiness was stolen from her. Even when it comes to showing Natsu's pain it's entirely selfless. Even after all the pain she went through in the end she was at peace and the story made sure we knew that. Future Lucy is one of the few characters who dies in fairy tail and like all the other deaths in fairy tail this too is meaningful. Fairy tail would never kill of a character, let alone a female character for shock value.

Power of friendship but like siriously.

From Erza and Mira's childhood rivery to Lucy and Brandish's current rivery, to Wendy and Chelia's relationship that's two steps away from blossoming into romance fairy tail has so many complex relationships between it's female characters. It is so hard to put into words. I absolutely adore the relationships fairy tail women have with each other. They are sweet, bitter, silly, loving and everything else that you could possibly imagine. While not all, most of their relationship are also build on their own without a male character being involved. What I mean by that very often we will see two female characters being friends because their boyfriends are friends or because they had a crush on the same guy but they put aside their differences or the girlfriend and sister of a male character becoming friends. Those examples exists in fairy tail too but they are just so rare. And because we have so many dynamics between the female characters those type of relationship don't stand out.

[morimementa]

@thefirstghosthunter I've got the next part of the Detective Void story ready! Please let me know how you like it!

TW: Pregnancy, Mpreg, Some squick/mild body horror. I don't know if accelerated pregnancy counts as body horror, but better safe than sorry.

Detective Void sat up, letting his feet hang off the edge of the bed.  He took the hotel’s notepad and golf pencil off the tray where the phone was kept. Assuming the classic note taking position, he began.

“For starters, what facility were you kept in?”

“I know it was an underwater facility,” You answered. Yes, you thought to yourself, it had been underwater…

And you hadn’t been the only person they’d experimented on. There had been another woman with you. She’d gotten far worse than you. While you looked the same as you ever did, she’d been transformed completely. She’d become something like a pink tiger mermaid. Just thinking about it left a bitter taste on your tongue. You couldn’t stop them, why couldn’t you have stopped them?!

But in a way, her transformation was the thing that saved you both. When you managed to escape your cell and free her, your combined power had been enough to ensure your escape. She’d swum you back to shore and delivered you to Heron. When you’d woken up in government custody, they said they hadn’t seen any such creature. It was a bittersweet thing; she was free as well, but she could never live among people again….

You trailed off, realizing that you’d talked longer than you’d meant to. When you looked back at Void, his expression was compassionate.

“I think you have a right to be angry.” Void paused his writing long enough to look at you. “What they did was inexcusable.”

You laughed humorlessly. “Thanks. That…That actually means a lot.”

Void put his pen down and massaged his temple. You sat up, concerned.

“Detective? Are you in pain?”

“No, no, it’s just,” He rubbed the back of his neck again. “I’ve had a lot of extra work on my plate lately. This is the time of year when anomalies are more common. Kind of feels like I’m trying to stop the tide with a bucket.”

“I’m sorry.” Your voice trembled. “I don’t mean to upset you.”

“You’re not upsetting me,” he said gently. “I’m grateful you’re able to help.”

It was too hard to look him in the eyes at that point. You focused all your attention on the floor beneath you. For a few minutes, all you could hear was the sound of him writing.

“Did you catch the names of any of the personnel?” He asked. You shook your head. “They all used pseudonyms around me.”

He pondered this for a minute. “If you don’t mind me asking, have you told anyone else about what you went through?”

You felt a lump growing in your throat. “Who would believe me?”

“I do,” You felt his hand on your shoulder, keeping you in the present. “You’re not the first person I’ve talked to that went through something like this. It helps to have people around you who understand.”

You covered his hand with yours. You wanted him to keep touching you. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I get that now. It’s…It’s been really rough going at it alone.”

He squeezed your shoulder. “Believe me, I get it. I’m lucky to have Kris. Do you,” He cleared his throat. “What will you do when this case is over?”

Rather than skipping, your heart was now pounding in your chest. He had no way of knowing what unstable ground he was treading on. You dropped your gaze to your lap and bit your lip.

“Actually, I-.”

“Aaah!” Your head shot up in time to see him fall back into the pillows, grabbing his stomach. “Void!” You clambered over the mattress to help him.

“It’s happening again,” He let out a moan. You choked back a yelp of your own as you saw his stomach swell, widening the gaps between his fingers. Your heart sank with dread. You could hear him trying to steady his breathing, but it was proving to be difficult.

“Do you want to be touched?” You asked. He nodded. You squeezed his shoulder again, trying to ground him like a lightning rod against the pain.

Void gasped. “Could…Could you…” He took your hand and moved it to his belly. You took the hint.  He rolled onto his back, allowing you to get closer to him. As he gripped the sheets with enough strength to tear them, you placed your hands on his stomach and began rubbing in slow circles. The skin beneath your palms was taut, like his muscles were contracting. You flinched as you felt it hit another growth spurt. It scared you to think of something growing inside him, especially something that didn’t belong there. This was only a taste of what was to come. You were dreading it almost as much as he was.

At last, his stomach muscles relaxed and granted him peace.

“Detective?” You called. His eyes were still shut, but he raised one arm and offered a shaky thumbs up. You sighed with relief. Scooting closer, you worked one arm underneath his shoulders and helped him into a sitting position. He leaned against you, sighing softly. You itched to ask him how he was feeling, but you could sense he needed quiet at the moment. You kept your arm around him while he caught his breath, supporting you both. It took a few minutes of disconcerting silence before he could hold his own weight again. He pulled away from you, wavering but upright. You noticed how tense he seemed, back tight with pain.

You broke the silence first. “You know, if you’re comfortable with it, I have a few tricks to alleviate your discomfort.”

Void glanced down at the bump ruefully. “I’d be eager to hear them.”

You thought back to your brief time with Mr. ****. Normal painkillers had had no effect, but you’d been able to counteract the discomfort with physical contact.

“Would you like a backrub?” Void looked at you with disbelief. “If you think that’ll help.” He shuffled around, exposing his back to you. You got the feeling the act of turning away made him uncomfortable. His posture hinted at apprehension. Maybe he wasn’t used to trusting people. Was it the pain that made him more willing to acquiesce, or had your venting helped him drop his guard?

Having gotten his permission, you began. The first thing you did was drag your knuckles down his back, avoiding his spine. You were surprised when he shivered a bit.

“Should I stop?”

“No,” He whispered, voice catching. “Keep going.”

You continued for a few more minutes. Once he’d sufficiently loosened up, you changed tactics. You began pressing your thumbs into his shoulder blades, making first wide than smaller circles. You’d underestimated just how stiff he was. Considering his choice of careers, it was no surprise. It made you wonder who he’d been before he fell headlong into the world of anomalies. Or, indeed, if he’d ever been out of that world. The supernatural tended to catch people off guard; sneaking up on them like a predator on its prey. What had been his catalyst?

 It was a miracle he’d been open with you. He’d said he had a partner; it could be they were friends. You had to admit, you were jealous. It’d been years since you had anything resembling a friend.

Void rolled his shoulders, leaning into your ministrations. Now that you’d worked some of the knots out, he was slowly starting to relax. You peered over his shoulder, sneaking a look at the-well, the baby bump. It had rounded out significantly in just the past hour. He was maybe in the second “trimester”. Would he get lucky and have a shorter ordeal than the salaryman?

You ducked back before he could catch you staring and turned your attention to the massage. When you pushed your fists into the soft spots on his back, he let out a relieved sigh.

“Oh, that’s much better.”

You rolled your fists, and his back arched with contentment. “Were you a massage therapist in your old life?” He asked.

You laughed. “I was a cashier. I learned the basics when my mom started getting backpain from her factory job. It really came in handy when I worked at *****’* craft store. All that standing was murder on us.”

“I’d ask if chasing anomalies is easier, but I think I already know the answer.”

You ran your thumbs up his lower spine. “I don’t enjoy hunting down ghosts like some lost member of the Scooby Gang, but at least they don’t try to force you to accept expired coupons.”

Void made a choking sound. For a second, you thought you’d done something wrong, but you realized he was laughing. He bent forward, doubled over with mirth.

“A ghost with expired coupons!” He guffawed. “That’s rich!”

A look of bafflement crossed your face. You hadn’t thought it was that funny. Of course, he could have just really needed a reason to laugh, to release the pent-up stress. Or the supernatural pregnancy was messing with his emotions. You waited for him to compose himself.

“I haven’t laughed like that in ages,” he wiped a tear from one eye. “I do owe you an apology for making light of your struggles.”

Suddenly shy, you ducked your head. “Aw, it’s ok. I’m glad I could cheer you up.”

Some of the unspoken tension that had been filling up the room dissipated. Void rotated his neck, posture now more relaxed.

“If this had to happen, I’m glad you were there to mitigate it,” He admitted.

You patted his back. “I’m happy to help.”

[donald4spiderman]

can i request a fic where the reader gets an injury from being in the field and doesn’t have clearance to fly so she is forced to stay back with penelope while spencer is worrying his ass off and lecturing pen on what to do? maybe with a love confession at the end?

Worth The Risk

masterlist

Summary: Spencer let’s a secret slip during a worried rant about Reader’s injuries.

Pairing: SR x GN!BAU!Reader

Category: Fluff!!!!

Warnings: mentions of gunshot wound, fighting, broken bones, injured!reader, and spencer being so cute he is the cutest

-

It’s your first day back at the BAU in two weeks, and you couldn’t be more excited.

After an unfortunate scuffle with an unsub, resulting in two fractured ribs and a gunshot wound through your shoulder, Hotch ordered you to stay home for a minimum of two weeks.

You hated nothing more than being away from the BAU. Your job encompasses your whole life— you’re basically empty without it. You also fear loneliness. Being alone, in your plain apartment, for two weeks— you’d drive yourself insane after the first day.

Fortunately, Spencer announced that he’d be by your side every second he was available. At first, you were grateful that your best friend (and crush... not that you’d ever admit it) was going to be spending time with you.

But one night, he showed up at your door holding two large duffel bags in his hands.

“I’m staying with you for the next two weeks.”

You were puzzled, but let the genius in anyways. Apparently, Spencer requested two weeks off from work so he could take care of you. And according to him, Hotch thought it was an excellent idea.

He spent every moment being your best friend, nurse, chef, and entertainer. It was fun for the most part, but eventually, Spencer turned into a badgering caretaker.

“No! You shouldn’t be standing up so much! You wound will reopen!”

“Stop moving your arm! I’ll feed you!”

“No TV after midnight! Your body needs sleep to regenerate.”

You resented him, and his rules, and how much you wanted to kiss his stupid little face despite all of it. ‘Cause let’s face it, the most challenging part of living with Spencer for two weeks was the fact that you could hardly contain your feelings for him.

So, once your two weeks of bed rest finally finished, you were practically crawling to get back to Quantico (with Spencer following closely behind).

.

You’re unsure of what to expect when you returned to work. And by that, you mean you don’t know how big of a party Penelope Garcia will throw.

Your suspicions are confirmed as confetti is tossed through the air, signaling and celebrating you and Spencer’s return.

“Welcome back!” Penelope shouts, sprinting over in her bright pink Louboutins. “I missed you both so, so much! (Y/N) mostly, but you too, Spencer.”

Spencer rolls his eyes, suppressing his smile. “Oh, thank you, Garcia.” You chuckle at his sarcasm.

“Ugh, it is so good to be back.” You sigh. “Especially since living with Spencer is like having a doctor and a drill sergeant wrapped into one.”

You hear him gasp in offense towards your left. “I am not a drill sergeant.”

“Oh, please. You wouldn’t even let me feed myself— with my good arm!” You raise your left arm and shoulder, causing everyone else to laugh.

“W-Whatever. I’d rather have you hate me than have your injury heal any bit slower.”

“Aw, I could never hate you.” You pull him into your side, ruffling his hair despite his whining.

“How cute.” Penelope gushes, clasping her hands in awe at the sight of you two.

“Hardly.” You scoff, making your way to drop your things off on your desk.

Hotch emerges from his offices, clearing his throat. “(Y/N), Spencer, great to have you back.” He flashes you both a straight smile— classic Hotch. “And you know I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but we have a case.”

Emily and Morgan let out loud groans, but you smile. “Ooh, Hotch! Where are we going?”

You might as well be jumping up and down, so it pains Hotch to deliver this second piece of information. “Actually, (Y/N)... You’re not going anywhere.”

“I’m sorry— what?”

“You’re working the case from Quantico. The rest of us are headed to Cleveland, Ohio.”

Your brows knit together, and you toss your hands up in frustration. “Hotch! You said nothing about me not being cleared for the field.”

“I know. But I believe it’s in your best interest not to engage in physical activity for the next week.” He mutters.

You’re visibly upset. “Fine. But only one week, right?”

“You have my word. We’ll brief in the round table room, but you’ll stay back and work in Garcia's office.”

That puts a smile on your face.

“Yay! I get the beautiful (Y/N) (Y/L/N) all to myself!” Penelope squeals.

Morgan chuckles, “Try not to be too jealous, pretty boy.”

Spencer blushes and looks in the opposite direction nervously.

“Alright,” Hotch exclaims. “Let’s get started.”

.

You and Penelope bid goodbye to the rest of the team before making your way back to her office. It’s homey and decorated with the cutest stuffed animals— it’s a shame you don’t spend more time in here.

“You know, I don’t think I’d be nearly as happy if I were stuck here with anyone but you.”

Your words seem to put a genuine smile on her face. “You are so sweet. But don’t let Spencer hear you say that.”

You raise a brow, “Why is everyone acting so weird about Spencer and me?”

She shrugs, “We figured the two of you would be dating by now. Two weeks spent crammed in your tiny little apartment together— I bet you could feel the sexual tension brewing!”

“Garcia!” You groan, leaning back into your chair. “Stop it. Nothing is going on between Spencer and me. We're just best friends.”

“For now... for now.”

You chuckle, dismissing her antics. The two of you run some scans through her data systems, and you work on crafting some sort of a loose profile.

The phone rings, and Penelope claps with enthusiasm.

“It’s the rest of the crime fighters. I’m sure your Spencer will be so excited to hear your voice.”

Before you can object, she clicks the answer button with the back of her glitter gel pen. “Office of Penelope Garcia and (Y/N) (Y/L/N). To whom do we owe the pleasure?”

“H-Hi.” Spencer stammers over the phone. You figured Hotch would be the one to call, asking Penelope to run for IDs based off of new perimeters. “It’s Spencer.”

“We know.” You hope they can’t hear your smile through the phone. Despite being stuck with him and his rules for two weeks, you still loved the sound of his voice. “What’s up? Found anything new?”

“Uhh, no, n-not yet. I just wanted to check on you.”

“Spencer.” You scold. “You left thirteen minutes ago. That’s not nearly enough time for my wound to tear back open.”

“Hey, you never know. You could’ve... I don’t know... reached forward— or back— too hard. If you crane your neck too far to the opposite side, it could stretch the tissue—“

“Thank you, Spencer,” Penelope interjects. “But (Y/N) is completely and totally fine under the care of Penelope Garcia, MD. I won’t let her out of my sight.”

“Just... make sure she’s not in any pain. If your ribs start to bother you take 400 milligrams of Ibuprofen every four hours.” He states.

Penelope groans, “Spencer, (Y/N) will be fine. She’s a grown woman. I’m sure she knows her body well enough not to let her ribs crack open and her shoulder fall off. Do you not trust me?”

“No! No!” Spencer corrects. “I trust you, Garcia. But, I just— we can’t let anything bad happen to her.”

“I’m right here, guys.” You deadpan. “And I can take care of myself, thank you very much.”

Spencer sighs, “I know, (Y/N). I just wouldn’t want you to be in any pain or discomfort because of your injuries. I know how much getting shot sucks, and I can’t handle someone I’m in love with being in pain.”

Silence settles over everyone.

“You’re in love with me?” You whisper, far too shocked to care that your entire team is listening in on your conversation, and that your behavior is far too inappropriate for an agent working on a murder investigation.

“What? When did I say that.” His voice cracks mid-sentence. “I-I never said that.”

“Yes, you did.” You mutter. “You said you’re in love with me.”

“I-I don’t— I’m sorry.” You hear his embarrassment and anxiety through the phone. Knowing Spencer, he’s probably praying for the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

You shake your head, biting your lower lip. “Don’t be sorry. I’m not mad.”

“You’re not?”

You let out an airy chuckle. “Of course not; I’m in love with you too, Spencer.”

You glance over to Penelope, whose palm is slapped over her mouth in pure excitement. You hear gasps coming from the other side of the phone as well.

“I’ll talk to you when you get back, okay.” You’re surprisingly calm despite your biggest dream coming true, mainly because everyone else is listening. “And please, do not call me unless you have new information about the case.”

Spencer gulps, “Y-yeah, the case, the case.”

You nod, “Okay... we’re going to go now. Goodbye, Spencer.”

“B-Bye, (Y/N).” He stutters.

With a shaky hand, you click the end call button on the phone, finally letting out a nervous breath you’d been holding for the entirety of the conversation.

“Oh my god!” Penelope screams, jumping up and out of her seat. “Dreams do come true! Oh my god! This is amazing. You and Spencer— Oh my god!”

“Relax, Garcia.” You shake your head in amusement. “You can celebrate when they finish the case.”

“Because then you and Spencer will talk and finally get together and then get married and have the smartest, toughest, most adorable babies ever. They’ll get the tough from you, obviously.”

You place a hand on her shoulder. “Calm down. You have all the time in the world to be happy for me and Spencer.”

She nods, pointing her finger at you. “I can celebrate this forever?”

“Sure.” You shrug.

If anything, you’d be celebrating with her too— because Spencer fucking Reid in love with you.

Getting shot was totally worth it.

-

a/n: i decided that i liked this sm that i would add a proper summary and description and shit so i could actually call it a oneshot instead of a blurb bc it was already a fucking long you’re welcome

[yurimother]

LGBTQ Manga Review — Alter Ego

An Unexpected and Enjoyable Turn of the Lesbian Best Friend Trope

As some of my supporters over on Patreon will know, I recently put out a deep dive into the character Yaya from Strawberry Panic. In it, I discussed her role in the series as fulfilling the lesbian best friend trope. This archetype, a character who surfers for loving the protagonist, comes in various forms and is a staple of current Yuri and Yuri adjacent media. However, I thought it might be worth examining a work that entirely revolves around the lesbian best friend, Ana C. Sánchez's Alter Ego. This Spanish manga was recently released by Tokyopop earlier this year under their Love X Love and international women of manga line. I was eager to see what Sánchez did with the classic Yuri concepts in this energetic one-shot.

I mentioned that the best friend is usually a supporting character interacting with the protagonist, but in the case of Alter Ego, she is the main character. University student Noel is in love with her best friend and classmate Elena. However, she has never been able to voice that love before. She has always contented herself with being close to Elena. However, now that Elena has a new boyfriend, Noel's chances to be intimate with her friend are dwindling. When Elena's other best friend, a writer named June, moves to town and begins living next to Noel, it is too much for the girl to bear.

The basic premise of this series is well established and easy to grasp. The story focuses less on Noel reconciling her feelings for Elena, as other unrequited love Yuri stories have in the past. Instead, the manga follows her struggle to deal with the changing reality of her friendship with Elena. While the two used to be solitary companions, the addition of Elena's boyfriend and June clearly has Noel feeling insecure and fearful. These feelings manifest in some truly toxic behavior, including shouting at her friend and generally acting selfishly. Noel's behavior makes it challenging to enjoy and root for her. However, to Alter Ego's credits, the actions are always treated as inappropriate and not played for cuteness or laughs. Much of Noel's struggles involve her guilt over her treatment of Elena. Unfortunately, although she makes some steps to make reparations, the single-volume work is too short to accommodate a complete personality swap, so Alter Ego is trapped between a rock and a hard place or making a likable character and keeping proper pacing.

Speaking of the story's pacing, it is relatively strong. Particularly in the first half of the story, the plot slowly moves forward as the stakes for Noel are established and escalated. As June enters the story, she appropriately disrupts the rhythm Sánchez set up while still keeping the progress constant. Through the chapters, we slowly begin to learn more about this young writer, and the focus of the story smoothly transitions from Noel and Elena to Noel and June. Alter Ego does a great job at helping readers discover elements of June's personality and history alongside Noel, thanks to the latter's perception and naturally building a relationship with June.

Here is where we get to the central Yuri element of the story, June and Noel's relationship. For (minor spoilers ahead), it turns out that both girls love Elena. This shared affection and their different perspectives of it drive the girls together. While Noel predominantly acts selfishly and controlling, June is the type of lesbian best friend that just wants to see the other happy, to sacrifice her own desire to know the one she loves is content. June imparts these principles onto Noel to mixed results, as discussed earlier, but the direction the work aims is clear, and the logic follows for both girls.

June and Noel's mutual love for Elena, the person who brought them together in the first place, becomes the foundation for their relationship. It is a rather fun twist on the lesbian best friend trope as the two girls begin hanging out together and share their interests outside of Elena. As one would expect, there is a fair bit of angst, a confession, and at the end, they are together. Unfortunately, while the premise that got them there is a fun manipulation of the lesbian best friend trope, the romance's path is predictable with the rushed resolution you would expect of a one-shot. However, the execution is pretty smooth, and except for Noel, particularly at the start of the story, its characters are likable enough to carry to drama and romance.

Sánchez's artwork is above average. I particularly enjoyed her attention to the character's outfits and designs. The settings are unremarkable but do not distract from the work's overall quality, and the background characters add a lot to make the world of Alter Ego full. The more emotional scenes are illustrated well, with Noel's pain and frustration being especially apparent. However, there are a few flaws and inconsistencies. Occasionally, especially in comedic moments, the art drifts a little closer to the moe edge and dips noticeably in quality. The character designs overall, while I enjoyed them, look a little younger than I would have expected. I honestly thought they were high school students until the work explicitly states that June is 24. Alter Ego already feels like an angsty high school Yuri romance despite its characters, and the art did little to help that feeling.

Alter Ego is an enjoyable single-volume Yuri drama. Sánchez did an admirable job creating a compelling story and characters, and her play on unrequited love is exciting and enthralling. While it does little new, Alter Ego is a highly polished manga with flawed characters, interesting relationships, and superb storytelling. There are also some fantastic art inserts at the start of the manga and a few vibrant color pages that stuck in my mind longer than most similar volumes have. I recommend Alter Ego for a solid afternoon Summer read and am eager to continue following its creator to see what else she does. Thank you, Tokyopop, for bringing this international manga to English audiences.

Special thanks to translation Nanette McGuinness, Editor Lena Atanassova, and the rest of the team at Tokyopop for their excellent work on Alter Ego.

Ratings: Story – 7 Characters – 6 Art – 7 LGBTQ – 6 Sexual Content – 2 Final – 6

Check out Alter Ego in English digitally and in print today: https://amzn.to/3jFruf1

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[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

A Deafened Bard (Stephen Strange x Female!Reader) pt. 2

Doctor Strange and y/n confide their tragic backstories in one another. Y/n struggles with her feelings for him.

Trigger warnings: abusive parenting, use of firearms, discussion of death and grief, mention of alcoholism

"On the outside, always looking in

Will I ever be more than I've always been?

Cause I'm tap, tap, tapping on the glass-"

You stopped yourself before you could indulgently belt out the titular lyric.

"Ew, why was I singing that?" You muttered to yourself. "I don't even like that song." 

You knew, subconsciously, that it was because you were trying to avoid what you really wanted to sing. For the first time ever, you had an audience. Someone was paying attention. 

"Love of my life, you've hurt me-"

"Oh, come on, butterfingers." He interrupted. "Love of my Life by Freddie Mercury. Give me something hard." 

"I wasn't aware it was classic rock trivia night." 

"Then why were you staring straight at me while singing?" He smirked. 

"Was I?" You cocked your head, expertly deflecting his implication. "I'm so spaced out I don't even know where I'm looking." 

"It's Freddie Mercury." He insisted.

"Uh, yes and no." You corrected, drawing on your encyclopedic knowledge of Queen from one particularly weird summer in high school. "While Freddie Mercury wrote the song, it was recorded on a Night at the Opera. Which was accredited to the whole band." 

"That's a nitpick," he shook his head. "I'm still right." 

You couldn't wear your heart on your sleeve anymore. You could only distract him with 70s glam rock trivia for so long before he started to notice a pattern. Although a sappy love song was in your heart, you sang the anthem of the depressed theater kid. 

You were staring straight at him, though. But who wouldn't? You studied his features only for artistic inspiration. His sharp jaw and high, high cheekbones were… inspiring. 

You couldn't lie to yourself. You fell and fell hard.

"Butterfingers!" Master Strange called out from the other side of the sanctum. "I need you!" 

You dropped your pencil and pushed yourself out from the chair. "Coming!" 

You followed the voice into his chambers. This was a new development, you thought. Out of respect for his privacy, you'd never dared to snoop around in his bedroom. But this was practically a written invitation. 

The room was spotless. Not a book or a scrap of paper out of place. Nor was there much to look at at all. A handful of picture frames, some magazines from when he was a surgeon, all featuring himself on the cover. 

"Butterfingers!" He called again, as if he knew you were about to snoop.

"I'm here!" You yelled back, eyes wandering around the room. "What do you need?" 

"I left my watch somewhere in the library!" He sounded disproportionately panicked for what was just a minor inconvenience. "I need you to go get it for me." 

"What does it look like?" You asked. 

"It's a $27,000 watch." He snapped impatiently. "It looks like one." 

"Jesus." You cursed.

"Don't give me that shit, [F/N]." He ordered, slamming his fist down against the sink. "Just do what you're goddamn told." 

"Alright, alright!" You put your hands up. "Fine, I'll get it." 

You hurried down the stairs and into the library. On the floor between his favorite chair and a stack of musty old books was a slim, silvery watch with a plain black band.

You picked it up and examined it. Apart from the price tag, was there really any reason for him to be so worried about it? He knew exactly where he left it. Did he have reason to believe it wouldn't be there when he returned? 

All you needed to do was flip it over to get your answer. You read the inscription on the back. 

Time will tell how much I love you -- Christine 

You should have known that his massive ego wouldn’t keep the women away forever. Hell, it certainly didn’t deter you. Much uglier douchebags have gotten far prettier girlfriends than they deserved.

You closed your fingers around the watch and sighed. The fantasy you created for yourself, of slowly, deliberately earning his love was shattered. Christine already beat you to it, it seemed. You tried to smother the part of you that resented this person for her exclusive right to Master Strange's affections. You didn't know her, but you loathed her. And you felt filthy for it.

With a heavy heart, you brought the stupid, criminally expensive little timepiece back to its rightful owner. 

"Here's your all-important watch, master." You mumbled, placing it on the bedside table. 

"I know I told you I would give you space to question things," He said, swiping it from the table and expertly affixing it around his wrist. "But I'd really appreciate it if you didn't question this." 

You tried to sound as non-passive-aggressive as you could. You attempted a more forgiving tone, but you couldn't hide your hurt. "It's fine. I don't care." 

"I didn't mean to get short with you, [F/N]." His voice softened. "I'm sorry. But this watch-" 

"It's fine." You cut him off, peering at the floor. 

"It was a gift." He finished anyway. 

You felt the lump in your throat rising. You knew what the watch represented and you wanted to smash it to pieces. Along with the sting of rejection, you felt the sting of tears in your eyes. "I know. I saw the engraving."

"She died two years ago." He lowered his head. 

Suddenly, all your ill will towards this woman turned into guilt. 

"I'm sorry to hear that." You said. "I can't imagine what it's like to lose someone who loved you so much." 

"She had agreed to come to a speaking engagement with me. As a second chance, and-" Pain wrapped his voice. He closed his hand tightly around the watch and held it close to his chest. "Have you ever been in love before, [F/N]?"

From the way your heart ached, and how easily the thought of never being with him made you cry, you knew the answer. You'd been avoiding speaking it into being thus far, but you couldn't lie to yourself anymore.

"Yes." You whispered. 

"You'll learn soon enough." He muttered. "It only brings more suffering." 

The tears finally breached and you tried to blink them away. You didn't know what emotion was causing them: guilt, shame, contempt, anger, sadness-- they were all present.

"Master Strange, I-" you stuttered, tripping over your breath. "I respect what you've gone through, I really do, but it's not fair to take it out on me." 

"You're right." He conceded. "I'm sorry. Please, go get some sleep.”

You nodded. “Right.” 

You slept as late as you could get away with the next morning. In apprentice terms, that only meant sleeping until eight thirty. Your dailies could wait an extra hour while you laid in bed, feeling like garbage. 

You stumbled down the spiral staircase in your pajamas. No bra, no makeup and no effort. You didn’t even run a brush through your hair. Why try, you thought. Why make an effort for the man who would never see you as anything but the help? 

When you saw the piano, though, you did a full 180.

In the living area was a French cherry baby grand piano that definitely was not there before. You certainly would have noticed it before. You placed your phone on the counter and approached the new addition. 

As if the memories were woven into the very muscles and ligaments of your fingers, you ran down a few octaves of C Major. The keys were smooth as porcelain and the sound that emanated from the instrument was next to heavenly. 

A bright orange post-it note was stuck to the music rack. 

“Love of my Life”, Queen, A Night at the Opera. 1975 

Was this a request, or an admission of wrong? Whatever the case, it made you smile. 

"You weren't being entirely honest with me, Butterfingers." He said, randomly materializing behind you. 

You turned around on the piano bench and looked up at him. "What was I not honest about?" 

"I'm so glad you asked." He sat down on the bench next to you, phone in hand. "Because when you said you used to play piano, you didn't specify you were actually a student prodigy." 

Sure enough, on his phone, he was scrolling through your Instagram. Dozens of videos of a much younger [F/N] playing hundreds of different songs, singing with too many vocal runs and doing so with the entire content of her soul behind the music. 

"Student prodigy is a bit strong." You turned your head to hide your blush. 

He scrolled up and found a picture of a young, zit-faced teenage [F/N] holding an acceptance letter. "Last I checked, Juilliard doesn't give full-ride scholarships to just anyone." 

You covered your face with your hands, smothering an embarrassed smile. "God, please. I'd rather you'd found my OnlyFans." 

He raised his eyebrows. "As tempting as that sounds, I'd still rather hear your explanation on this. Why did you give up on something you loved?"

You looked at him in surprise. "You really want to know?" 

"Well, I told you mine." He playfully nudged you in the side. 

You took a deep breath in. "Well, it was about two years ago, now-”

"Cheers to you, [F/N]!" Your best friend Holly raised her glass of champagne in your direction. "Juilliard ain't gonna know what hit ‘em."

"I'll drink to that." You said, bring your own flute up to your lips and taking a swig. You wretched in disgust as the vile liquid ran down your throat. "Or maybe I won't."

"You're gonna have to get used to it." Holly nudged you with her elbow. "I think most professional musicians are alcoholics."

You narrowed your eyes at her. "I don't think that's right."

"Is too." She smirked. "Conductors are mad strict. Abusive even. Drive musicians to drink all the time."

You laughed. "Is everything you know about the world of music from Whiplash?"

"And The Perfection." She added.

"Thank you, Holly." You said, attempting to take another sip of champagne, purely for dramatic effect. "Very cool."

You felt a pair of hands on your shoulders. "Hi, Holly. Enjoying the party?"

Holly took a step back. "Hey, Mrs. [L/N]. Yeah, it's great."

"I hope you don't mind," Your mom said, her fake nice voice eeking through her clenched teeth. "I need to borrow [F/N] for a few minutes."

Holly's face fell. "Sure. I'll catch up with you later, [F/N]."

Your mother tugged you off to the side. With a stressed huff, she began. "Jason is out in the fields with his ROTC friends."

"And what do you want me to do about that?" You asked, knowing her drunk self couldn't read your sarcastic tone.

"Could you go get him and bring him home?" She said, squeezing your upper arm.

"Are you kidding?" You spat.

"[F/N], he's drunk." She scolded. "Do you want him to get another strike on his record?"

"I don't care." You mumbled under your breath. "Have him call an uber. Hell, let him sleep it off in the field. Not my problem."

"You know what he's like when he's drunk." She rationalized. "He gets rowdy. It had better be you."

You tensed up. "No. Holly and I are going to the French Quarter. I don't have time to babysit Jason."

"Just pick him up on your way there?" She pleaded. "It won't take long."

You knew this wasn't going to stop. "Fine, but this is the last time."

You were both dressed far too well to be trekking through the swampy ass nowhere when you should have been fucking your way through the French Quarter. Luckily for your evening plans, all you needed to do was follow the sound of gunshots.

You slammed the car door shut and Holly followed suit. Finding him was the easy part. The hard part was hauling his drunk ass back home.

"Fun's over, shithead." You announced, heels sinking into the sod as you spoke. You didn't have much trouble projecting over the gunfire and getting their attention.

"Shit, [F/N]?" Jason sputtered, so drunk he could barely keep his head straight.

"Holy shit, I didn't even recognize you in that dress." One of his dumb fuck friends added. He jabbed Jason in the side. "Why didn't you tell me your sister's hot?"

"Buster, I-'' You clenched your teeth. "I don't care if you live or die, but my mom needs me to bring Jason home."

"If you get in the car now, we won't have to use the chloroform." Holly added.

Jason scratched the back of his head with the barrel of his gun, then pointed it at you. "You're gonna have to make me."

"Jesus fucking Christ!" You exclaimed, hitting the deck. "What the fuck, Jason!?"

Jason and his dumbass friends laughed. "You should have seen the look on your face, [F/N]!"

"Put down the fucking gun-" You seethed. "And get in the fucking car."

He lowered the gun and looked like he was going to concede. Just when you thought he would cooperate, he stuck it up again. He keeled over in a fit of laughter when you and Holly panicked again.

"Look at them!" He shouted. "They're so fucking scared!"

You knew out in the middle of the swamp, nobody could hear you scream. So you used it to your advantage.

"Jason, you're going in the car, or under it." You raised your voice. "I will mow your drunk ass down like eight day old roadkill right here in this field and you will be LUCKY if anyone finds your bloated, shit-covered remains before the crocodiles get a whiff of you."

That seemed to get his attention.

"Sorry, boys." He pouted. "You heard her."

He had to 'get you' one final time, though. Only that time, the gun went off. Just centimeters from your ear. You clutched the side of your head, trying to drown out the deafening ringing with your screams.

You vaguely remembered Holly pistol-whipping Jason before loading you into the car to drive you to the hospital, leaving him desolate and drunk in the field.

"It was a one-in-a-million shot." The otolaryngologist tried not to sound impressed at what was clearly some kind of anomaly very few got to witness in a medical career. "When the bullet fired, the gunpowder traveled down your ear canal, burning the cells of your auditory nervous system and... singing your eardrum... clean off."

Your eyes widened. "Off?!"

The doctor lowered her head. "I'm sorry, Miss [L/N]. I'm afraid you'll never return to full hearing again."

You didn't want to kill the messenger. You knew she was only doing her job. "Are you fucking kidding me?!"

"If we could do a tympanoplasty, which, given the condition of the drum, is unlikely-" she began. "There would still be no way to fully repair the hair cells along the ear canal."

You took deep breaths to try and quell your simmering rage. "I'm leaving for Juilliard in three months."

"Hearing aid technology has improved significantly over the last decade." She said, a somewhat hopeful upturn in her voice.

That was when your mother decided to join in on the conversation. "Oh, we can't afford that."

You thought you were going to crush your teeth into bits from how tightly your jaw was clenched in fury. "Take it out of Jason's college fund, then."

"Oh, [F/N]." She said as if you had just told the funniest joke imaginable. "Please. That wouldn't be fair to Jason."

"You can afford to send that blithering idiot to the Citadel." You hissed. "You can afford to buy me a hearing aid so I can play piano."

"Beethoven was entirely deaf." Your mom pointed out. "And he became the greatest composer of all time. It's really just mind over matter, sweetie-"

"Sure, that makes perfect sense!" You plastered on a deranged smile, feeling driven to the brink of madness. "I can repair my destroyed eardrum with the power of positive thinking! Jason gets thirty-five thousand dollars a year to play soldier, but I have to just use my imagination."

She covered her face with her hands as if she was being attacked and went into kicked-puppy mode. "Don't be mad at Jason, [F/N]. He didn't mean to hurt you-"

"Fuck this." You said, releasing all your tension in those two words. "Fuck all of this. I'm tired of you defending that chauvinist asshole. The next time you see me will be when one of us is dead."

"Where are you going?!" She wailed.

You snatched your purse from the table and threw it over your shoulder. "I'm moving out."

“Disgraced at age nineteen?" Master Strange said, leaning back on the piano. "Let me guess, you turned to alcohol to cope?"

"You'd think, but actually no." You shook your head. The tone of the conversation had taken a sharp left turn from sadness to dry, apathetic amusement. "I probably would have if I could have afforded it."

"You missed out." He said. "Drinking a whole bottle of eighty year old scotch was definitely the highlight of my grieving period."

You'd never joined the clauses 'Master Strange' and 'drunk off his ass' in the same sentence before then. It was an odd mental picture for sure. One you needed to see to believe.

"I got desperate." You admitted. "Luckily, New Orleans had a lot to offer someone like me, so I didn't have to go far to find people claiming to have answers. But it was all essential oils, incense, binaural beats-"

"I'm sorry," he cut in. "What kind of dickhead suggests binaural beats to someone with only one functioning ear?"

You threw up your hands. "Right? Doesn't make sense. Anyway, I came across a woman named Mistress Fantina and she pointed me in the right direction. How to heal my body through control of my spirit."

He looked at you with that fascination of the human body characteristic of those in the medical field. "It worked, I assume?"

"I figured it out." You shrugged. "But I got so invested in the Mystic Arts that I forgot all about Juilliard. Became a full-time student. Ever since, I never once thought about returning to my old life."

"I suppose if I'd discovered this world because I had lost, say, my ability to perform surgery, it would be hard to leave it behind and return to the operating room." He thought out loud. Sighing, he closed his hand over his watch. "But no matter how medical science evolves, you can't reverse death."

You let the quiet linger for a moment.

[i-write-boop-spoops]

Steven Stone Fluff Alphabet

To go along with my NSFW Alphabet, I decided to do some fluff for my favourite rock nerd. Hope you enjoy!

A = Activities (what do they like to do with their s/o? how do they spend their free time?)

He loves being outside with you, going for hikes, walks and sea swims. Likes to learn with you too, wandering around museums and discovering new things about science, history and culture.

He probably won’t take you mining unless you’re really into it, it can be quite tedious and dangerous, but he loves when you help him polish stones, or help make them into decorations or jewellery.

He has a soft spot for lazy days where you two are draped across his couch watching trashy reality TV shows and fun, animated films

B = Beauty (what do they admire about their s/o? what do they think is beautiful about them?)

Likes how kind and caring you are, not only to him, but to his Pokemon and almost everyone else.

He thinks you’re beautiful in every way, but he in particular thinks your eyes sparkle like the rarest, most precious gem he has ever seen.

C = Comfort (how do they help their s/o when they feel down? what makes them feel better?)

Steven is a little oblivious, so you might have to tell him that you’re down, but as soon as he knows, it’s his mission to cheer you up! Lots of kisses and cuddles, your favourite meals delivered, a shoulder to cry on, an ear to listen. If you’re sad due to an insecurity, he will wax poetic about how amazing that part of you is to him.

If you’re very stressed due to work or school, and you finally have time off, he’s going to whisk you away to a sun-drenched beach in Alola, the finest room in Hotel Richissime in Lumiouse, or his gorgeous villa by the Batte Zone in Sinnoh (provided he hasn’t given it to some ten-year-old yet lol) to help you unwind and enjoy yourself.

When he’s down, he needs reassurance, and lots of physical affection. He might also throw himself into his work/hobbies to an extreme degree, skipping meals and sleeping little, so you’ll have to ensure he gets fed and a good few hours of sleep until he starts feeling better.

D = Dreams (how do they picture their future with their s/o and in general?)

He would love a little family with you, a couple kids running around, maybe in Mossdeep, but he’s down with moving inland, or to your home region if you’re not from Hoenn, if you would prefer.

He definitely dreams about kissing you goodbye and ruffling his kiddos’ hair before he goes to work. Since his mother died when he was so young, he never really got to experience the classic nuclear family, so he longs to provide it to his own children.

He’d like to go back to college too, get his Masters and maybe PhD in Geology and work in that field. He really does not want to be involved with the Devon Corporation, so he hopes he can work with it as little as possible

E = Equal (are they the dominant one in the relationship or are they rather passive?)

I would say your relationship is equal for the most part, the only thing that tips the scales in Steven’s favour is his wealth and connections. He can get you things or into places that you, as a regular person, wouldn’t be able to at all otherwise.

He doesn’t hold this over your head, he finds people who do that rather gross, and he’s not your sugar daddy either. He does spoil you sometimes, but that’s just one way he expresses his fondness for you.

F = Fight (how quick are they to forgive their s/o? what are they like in an argument? who says sorry first?)

Steven is a reasonable man, so I think once he’s calmed down and thought about it more, he’s ready to forgive you if you’re sorry, Now, this all depends on the nature of why you were in the wrong, if that’s the case. He will let small things slide, and is willing to compromise on bigger things, but if you do something like cheat on him, he will never forgive you.

When he is in the wrong though, he will own up to it, your relationship is more important than his pride.

He doesn’t go for cheap shots or low blows, and he only raises his voice if he is really pissed. If this is before you live together, and the fight occurs at his house, he will get you to leave, but makes sure you get home safe.

G = Gifts (what kind of things do they gift to their s/o? are they spontaneous or do they stick to special events like anniversaries?)

So. Many. Rocks.

Seriously, your shelves will be filled with amethyst clusters and pretty pebbles. Some of this rocks will be jewels encrusted in some stellar accessories.

Beyond that, he’ll get you things he thinks you might need. Complaining about your coffee maker? He’s just gotten you a top of the line model with a prepaid subscription to receive new pods full of expensive Kalosian coffee every month for the next five years. Need a new bag? He’ll have one that costs double your rent shipped to you by the end of the day.

His gifts are expensive and high quality, but he does not buy you them for the sake of flaunting wealth. He just thinks you’d like them.

H = Heart Eyes (what are they like in love? is it obvious to others? how do they express their love? do they brag about their s/o to others?)

Steven feels like nothing can bother him. His smile is wider and his eyes sparkle whenever he thinks of you. He compliments you all the time and gives you lots of tender kisses and touches, spoils you a bit too. He doesn’t really brag, he thinks your amazingness stands for itself.

I = Impression (what first attracted them to their s/o? how accurate was their first impression to how their s/o actually is?)

He just thought you were very pretty when you first met, very sweet and cute. Evidently he was correct :)

J = Jealousy (do they get jealous easily? how do they deal with it?)

Steven rarely gets jealous. He’s not an arrogant guy in any way really, but he is confident in himself and in your relationship.

Things like money, power or status don’t threaten him, but appearance, particularity musculature, does. Steven’s quite the lean, slim guy, and sometimes he thinks he might not be strong or masculine enough for you, no matter how much you disagree. It honestly made him hurt a little when you jokingly called Leon, the Galar champion, a himbo.

When he is jealous, he gets a little stiff, he frowns, he holds onto you a little tighter if you’re around the person who makes him jealous. When he’s alone, he laments about it.

K = Kiss (are they a good kisser? what was their first kiss like? where do they kiss the most?)

Steven is a suave, smooth kisser, each kiss makes you feel like you’re the most precious thing in the world.

Your first kiss with him felt right, he gently cupped your cheeks and kissed you slowly in a manner that portrayed exactly how he felt about you.

He likes to kiss your cheek and forehead, and sometimes your knuckles if he’s holding your hand.

L = Little Things (what are the little things they love about their s/o? are they attentive?)

He loves how kind you are, loves how you treat his Pokémon like each one is the cutest ever, even if they are decidedly not cute. He likes how you look after him, making sure he sleeps and eats, showing up to his house randomly with treats or just to visit him. He really appreciates it.

M = Marriage (do they want to get married? how do they propose? what would the wedding be like?)

Making you his spouse would make him so happy!

His proposal would be very intimate, a night time picnic, either stargazing, watching fireworks or a meteor shower. He’d turn to you, with a soft smile, and tell you exactly how much you mean to him, and how much he loves you. Then, he would take out a small velvet box and ask you to marry him. The ring would be jaw-droppingly ornate, with your favourite gem in the middle.

The wedding would be intimate too, very swanky, with geode centrepieces and formal attire. He’d ultimately like to hold it in somewhere like Reflection Cave, but he’s down to hold it in a castle or hotel otherwise, with nice gardens of course.

N = Nicknames (what do they call their s/o? what do they get called?)

He calls you sweetheart, darling, love, my gem.

You call him Stevie, babe and dreamboat. Sometimes rock nerd or dork if he’s going on about geology.

O = Open (do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? is it easy for them to share?)

He’s pretty open, once you two have been together for a good while. He trusts you enough to tell you his insecurities and darkest thoughts, like how he feels burdened by the weight of his responsibilities, how his strained relationship with his father affects him, or how he still has trauma regarding the loss of his mother.

Just make sure to give him a big hug after he tells you, ok?

P = Pancakes (are they a good cook? how often do they cook for their s/o? breakfast in bed or fancy dinner dates?)

Steven cannot cook to save his life. He never needed to learn, they had a personal chef at home when he was growing up, and when he was older he would go out for food or get it delivered all the time. This continues when you get together, he always insists on paying.

That being said, he’s definitely up to learn, especially if you teach him, or if you can’t cook either, he’d love to learn with you.

Q = Quirk (a random quality/ability that is beneficial to their relationship.)

Steven has a super gentle, super careful touch, which means he gives the most amazing scalp massages. You have no choice but to melt when his fingers are caressing your head.

R = Romance (how romantic are they? are they cliché or creative?)

Extremely romantic, more elegant than corny. He wants you to know how beautiful and amazing you are, and he wants to put in effort to prove that point.

S = Sleep (who falls asleep first? do they need their s/o close to them? do they have any bad habits?)

You do usually, he likes to watch you snooze before he falls asleep. He likes to have you close to him, but he can sleep without you just fine, not waking up next to you is really more of a pain to him.

For bad habits? Steven has a tendency to lose track of time and go to bed very late. It can be frustrating when you need a good cuddle before bed, and when you have to deal with a barely-conscious, sometimes grouchy Steven in the morning.  

T = Thrill (do they need to spice up their relationship with new things or do they stick to a routine? how often do they do new things?)

If Steven wants to go somewhere or do something, he does because he has the luxury to. So when it comes to new experiences, like visiting somewhere new, trying a new activity, and you both want to go there or try it, he will have it organised straight away.

He only really has a routine when league business is in full swing, and when he is no longer champion, anything goes. Though if you have a routine, he will work around it.

U = Unity (did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? what traits do they share?)

Steven, due to his wealth and connections, had a habit of dropping everything to go on trips or rock-hunting whenever he felt like, which was detrimental to many of his relationships, mainly because he wouldn’t notify people before he left.

You, however, have taught him the importance of taking other people’s feelings and opinions into account. You’re so attentive with him, and in turn, he learns how to do just that with all the important people in his life.

You’re both kind people, who care deeply about each other and Pokemon

V = Value (how important is their relationship to them? what is it worth compared to other things in their life?)

At the beginning, the relationship is just a luxury for him, something he enjoys, but not something he needs in his life. But the longer you two are together, the more important you and your needs become to him.

You definitely become his point of focus, your happiness is his goal. He doesn’t stop engaging in his hobbies and interests, but he does do so in a manner that disrupts your relationship the least.

You are his rock, the love of his life, and he puts you before everything.

W = Wild Card (a random fluff headcanon.)

Cried while drunk at his Bachelor Party because he just really wanted to be married to you already and he could not understand why he had to wait to do so.

X = XOXO (do they like to kiss and cuddle? are they upfront about their relationship or rather shy when in public?)

Steven is quite affectionate at home, lots of soft kisses, hugs and long cuddles.

In public, his displays of affection are very elegant and appropriate. He wants you to know he loves you and finds you beautiful, even when in public. He likes to hold your hand, or rest his on your hip or the small of your back.

Will kiss your lips as a greeting or to say goodbye, but will mostly stick to occasionally kissing your cheek or forehead when you’re out.

Y = Yearning (how do they cope when they spend time away from their s/o? do they miss their s/o?)

Steven really starts missing you when there’s no way you can be together, like when he’s abroad and/or working. Usually during these times, he texts frequently and calls you at least once a day, provided he’s not stuck in some cave. He likes to gaze fondly at pictures of you, planning how he’ll make it up to you when you reunite

Z = Zoo (do they have pets? do they want some in the future?)-

Of course! He is/was a champion after all, so he has his pokemon team, plus some random beldum floating around. You treat his like your own, and vice versa, so it’s a very happy household.

[simpsiren]

mark lee x reader

description. Over the years of being a close friend of Mark Lee, I realised that my platonic love for him slowly began to develop into a feeling far beyond the love of a friend; it’s just simply what happens when you love someone.

genre. FLUFF! JUST FLUFFY FLUFF! your classic best friends to lovers!au

word count. 2.8k~

warnings. nonee

a/n. hellooo! adding onto this series, i really wanted to do this song by day6 because its just so sweet and romantic cjdndndn

“It was a hard day wasn’t it?

It hurts my heart just looking at you

There’s not much I can do for you except being next to you, I’m sorry.”

I laid down on the couch in pure silence, the noise coming from the clock above me ticked ever so softly as the seconds passed that turned to minutes, that turned to hours as I waited for Mark to come home.

He offered me to stay at his place for the weekend. Well actually I invited myself over since I have always done that and he doesn’t mind. He’d always welcome me. I came here in the afternoon, his keys hidden under the welcome rug outside his apartment. I didn’t go out. I knew he was about to come home from work, but I got worried when I looked at the time on my lockscreen. “One in the morning? Where are you markie...” I couldn’t help but mumble under my breath.

Mark wasn’t one to get home late. Except for when he’s drunk. But he wouldn’t be out drinking if he wasn’t with me or his other friends. He would’ve texted me before he drank as well. it was out of the ordinary for him to not be home yet, which was why I stood up from the couch and frantically started pacing back and forth from one end of the living room to the other, thinking if I should go out and search for him.

“Fucking hell.” I gave up, refusing to stay put. I grabbed whatever belongings I could, which was only my wallet and shoved it into my sweatpants. Before I could reach my hand out for the doorknob, the door swung open, revealing Mark.

I looked at his figure. He’s extremely tired. His posture was terrible with his slouched body, his eyes looked like they were about to close at any second, his face was droopy and it felt like he could collapse if he doesn’t make a run for the bed.

“Mark! Where were you?!” I half-shouted, moving myself to the side to make way for Mark to come in. He dragged himself, feet sliding against the floor with each step. I closed the door for him. I watched as he made his way to the closest most comfortable spot, which was the couch.

He dropped himself onto it, his face planted against the pillow. He didn’t even bother moving his body to get comfortable. He just laid there. Sighing, I walked up to him, bending down on my knees and tapping his shoulder lightly. “Mark... Are you drunk?” I whispered, seeing his body moving up and down as he breathed.

Mark groaned, turning his body so that his back was against the couch. He grabbed a random pillow and hugged it tightly, his face digging into it. My heart softened at the act, but it also made it ache as I noticed just how tired he looked. I began to wonder what happened at work, or anything that happened for him to end up like this. He’s so worn out physically that it just somehow pained me to look at him.

I didn’t want to ask. I didn’t want to bother him for an explanation. Instead, I brought my hand up warily to his hair, threading my fingers through his black locks and patting his head as he slowly fell asleep. His eyes were closed, but I couldn’t tell if he was just closing his eyes or was he actually asleep. I assumed the latter.

I stared at him, when I hoped that he finally slept so that he wouldn’t think that I’m weird for watching him sleep. His figure made him look small and fragile, innocent and sweet, which he was. He was everything that’s bright and soft and loving. And that’s what I liked about him.

I decided to sleep next to him on the floor, my head resting on his arm. I felt bad. I didn’t know what to do. How to be there for him, how to help lift off some burden or the things that’s made him end up in such a state. I’d do anything to make his life lighter. Isn’t that what a best friend should do? Sadly, I could only be here for him. Just like this, next to him. Despite thinking that it wouldn’t even help, I’d still do it, since I just liked having his presence next to me.

“You’re so beautiful when you smile

So whenever I see you’ve lost your smile

I want to give it back to you

Whatever it takes.”

The next morning, I was the first to wake up. Just like last night, I stared at his sleeping figure. It calmed my heart seeing out peacefully at sleep he was. I smiled softly. Slowly but surely, I lifted a finger up, tracing his features in the air, the urge of wanting to touch his face was there, but I couldn’t. I didn’t want to wake him.

I stood up and went to make a simple breakfast. Toasted bread with butter. I made two in case Mark wakes up so I wouldn’t have to make him wait while I make another. I went back to the living room, sitting down on the floor again and turning on the tv to watch Netflix. I lowered the volume, considerate of the sleeping Mark behind me.

As I munched on the toast and watched the show will full concentration, I was immediately alerted when I felt something weighted on my left shoulder. I turned lightly, seeing Mark’s head resting. His eyes were still closed. Shocked, I couldn’t help but flinched, which sent Mark’s eyes flying open and making contact with mine. “What?” He whispered.

“Good morning to you.” I breathed out, trying not to freak out at the fact that Mark’s face was so close to him as I faced forward instantly to continue watching the show. “Sorry about last night. Coming home late I mean.” Mark said, his morning voice tone shining through. Another thing I liked about Mark. He used to call me first thing in the morning sometimes, I liked hearing his voice. But to have it this close to my ear, I really had to stop my urge of screaming and jumping out of my skin.

“You had me worried sick.” I said, my words muffled as I chewed on my food. Mark exhaled, his breathe warming up a part of my skin that sent a shock all over my body. “Last night was rough, physically and mentally.”

“Work?” I felt his head lifting off my shoulder as I heard him moving his body so that he’s sitting normally. I turned around, waiting for his answer. I noticed how his eyes got gloomy, a looked I didn’t see on him for a long time. It was only for a split second. It disappeared as quickly as it appeared. “That. And other things you don’t have to worry about.” Mark smiled softly, reaching forward to grab the other toast and taking a bite.

I finished mine, I rested my head on the palm of my hand as I leaned against the table. “Don’t lie.” I simply stated. I knew that he knew that I knew him well. I knew when he’s feeling down, when something’s out of place. He could never lie to me. He’s terrible at it. With a defeated sigh, he brought his hand with the toast down to his thigh.

“It’s just... Rose. I saw her cheating on me.” Mark muttered, looking down and fiddling with the hem on his white shirt. Now this, this thing, Mark in front of me, I felt a piece of my heart falling off. It broke me, seeing Mark without his smile, not hearing his laughter. It’s like the happy switch on him turned off and now he’s under the weather. I know he’d probably be standing in the rain pathetically if he could.

“I told you she wasn’t trustable.” I replied, not wanting to have that i-told-you-so tone to it. I didn’t like Rose. She’s always bossing Mark around, she’d force him to agree with her though I knew very well that Mark was uncomfortable. I didn’t like how Mark simply followed her, thinking it was love when really, it was abuse and manipulation.

“Thanks. I got your advice stabbed in my back now.” Mark ran a hand through his messy hair, strands falling back down to his face, some covering his eyes.

On instinct, I brought a hand up to sweep away the strands off his eyes, making him look up at him. I held his face in my hand, feeling his cold skin against my warmth. “Let’s go out. We can forget about her. We can go wherever you want. How’s that sound?” I put on a smile, one that I hope will cheer him up somehow. He responded, a light chuckle escaping his lips.

“You’re seriously the only one that can make my day.”

Thank you, but why wouldn’t you consider me any more than a friend? Is what I would reply, but I kept silent. Like I said and promised, I’d so anything for Mark Lee, whether he sees it as a gesture of a friend, or perhaps a potential lover. I don’t care what he thinks of me. I just want him to be happy, even if it meant sacrificing my unsaid feelings for him.

“I want to be hurt rather than letting you be hurt

I don’t want you to get hurt ever again.”

We came back home from running around the whole city. Going to parks, shopping malls for window shopping, did a photoshoot, and ended the way on the beach, walking at the shoreline as the sun sets. We got home at night, Mark stretched his arm over his head. “Today was so fun!” He shouted as he placed the take out that we got from the beach onto the kitchen counter. His giggles echoed as he made his way to the living room, which of course made me smile to myself like a dummy.

I chuckled, the day being recalled in my mind like scenes from a movie tape. It felt like any other day to be honest. But I guess it felt more special and serene since we didn’t experience such a day in a long time due to our separate lives interfering with our time together.

“I’m glad that you’re back to normal.” I said, unpacking the take out and throwing the plastic bags. I brought it to the living room where Mark sat down. I took the space next to him, not bothering to leave a gap between us.

Mark leaned forward to grab the coke can, opening it to take a sip and exhaling after. “I wouldn’t say she’s completely off my mind. But your plan definitely made me feel a whole lot better.” Mark suddenly laid his head on my shoulder, his soft hair brushing my skin. I shivered at the touch.

“All I can say is don’t let yourself fall in love with someone like her again. I don’t want you to end up like last night. I would take your spot if I could, so you wouldn’t suffer. But don’t be stupid.” I gave a firm advice. Like a child heeding his mother’s words, he nodded agreeably. “Got it, maam.”

“But who will ever treat me like you?”

“What do you mean?”

“They say I should find someone like my best friend. But no one does it like you do.”

I didn’t give a reply. His sentence resonated in my head. No one does it like me, Mark claimed. So why wouldn’t he even look at me as a woman?

“Loving someone

More than I can take

It’s so strange

When you love someone.”

Mark and I ended up falling asleep on the couch. I jolted awake suddenly. I searched for my phone which was hidden under a pillow, looking at the time and realising it was two in the morning. I looked over to Mark, who again was peacefully sleeping on my shoulder. All I could see was his fluffy hair. I sighed quietly as I examined him.

The more I look at him, the more I fell in love. I didn’t even have to see his face for the memories of us to come crashing at me like big waves against my heart. Though I never want to admit, and though I never thought that I even could feel this way, I whispered softly. “I think I’m in love with you, Mark Lee.”

“I want to be helpful even just a little bit

I want to be your resting place

If you think of me on a busy day

I’ll do my best to comfort you.”

The next morning, I woke up. Mark was gone. And I knew he went for work since I don’t work of Mondays like he does. I went along with my day, Mark’s laptop on my lap as I looked through my work emails and got some work done for the day.

Late afternoon, I got bored. Absentmindedly, my feet took me to Mark’s room. The first thing that caught my eye was his guitar. It leaned against the bed. I didn’t know why, but I had the sudden urge to take it to the living room. I walked up and grabbed it, forgetting the weight of it from not holding it for a long time now (though it wasn’t even that heavy).

I sat back down on the living room couch. I propped the guitar on my lap, one hand placed on the top part of the guitar while my other hovered over the strings. I forgot how to play to the guitar. Mark used to teach me. It was one of the few ways I got Mark to sit so close to me and to just have that bit his touch that I absolutely adored.

I pulled on one string, the sound ringing through my ears. I strummed on the guitar, not exactly caring about playing an actual song. My mind took me back to when Mark taught me how to play. It’s like I could feel his fingers on mine as he would scold, laugh and giggle with everything I do to the guitar. He would play me songs, he even sang. I could fall asleep every time I heard him play. His grey hoodie, thin glasses, messy black hair. The transparency of him; a feature I’ll always indulge myself with.

It was now seven. And at around seven thirty, the door opened. Mark walked in with his black suit and tie, his hair pushed back with hair gel though now it looked slightly messy. “How was work?” I asked, adverting my focus from the guitar and to him.

Mark plopped onto the couch next to me. “Brain deteriorating. Mentally and physically draining. Why did I even get this job?” Mark groaned and complained, running a hand down his face. I chuckled and punched his arm lightly. “You told me it’s because of the money.”

“Yeah well I’m starting to regret that I used to think money is everything.”

Mark snaked his around me, pulling me into his embrace. I was completely shocked and confused as to why he’s suddenly being so clingy. I liked it yes, but I never thought he’d grow attached to me in this manner. It made my heart race and my face heating up.

“Why are you-”

“Just... Let me hug you for awhile, please. You just make me feel at peace that’s all.” Mark whispered, digging his head into the crook of my neck as the two of us just sat there in silence, admiring each other’s presence.

“Mind playing something?” Mark asked. I chuckled lightly, giving a gentle smile. “I play like shit.”

“It’s fine.”

Comfortable silence filled the room for a moment. I wasn’t sure how to feel. I could already feel my cheeks burning and probably blushing a light pink. I gulped.

“Since when were you like this?” I questioned curiously. Mark looked up at me, his face looking as cute and indulging as ever. “Since I liked you?” He replied in a cheeky manner. My eyes widened. “Wait what-”

“Shush. I wanna sleep.” Mark pulled me closer to him. I looked down and saw that he’s closing his eyes with a light smile on his face. I couldn’t believe it. Mark likes me after all this time...? “Play me something to sleep.”

“Why?”

“I like you, _____.”

I didn’t reply, wanting that to be the last thing I heard from Mark before he changed his mind. Slowly, I strummed on the guitar, trying my hardest to make it sound decent. Mark giggled softly and gave up, his hands traced from my arms and to my hands, his head still on my shoulder with his eyes closed. He guided my fingers with each strum ever so carefully.

“I like you.”

[asleepinawell]

Book Recs

I was gonna do one of these at the end of the year, but I’ve somehow managed to read 26 books this year already (12 novellas, 14 novels), almost all featuring queer authors and/or characters so this is already a long list.

Note: There’s a few on here I was kind of meh about, but in most of those cases it was a ��book might be good but it’s not for me so i’ll mention it to put it on people’s radar anyway’ type of thing. Insert the usual necessary tumblr disclaimer about all of this being only my opinion and your opinions are valid too etc etc.

In order of when I read them:

Princess Floralinda and the Forty-Flight Tower by Tamsyn Muir - Fantasy novella from the author of gideon the ninth that’s a twist on the classic princess trapped in a tower waiting for a prince story. Quite fun. (novella)

The Monster of Elendhaven by Jennifer Giesbrecht - Dark fantasy about revenge and magic. m/m couple but like I said it’s pretty dark and twisted all around so definitely not a happy queer romantic story. My opinion was interesting premise that could have been executed better and probably should have been a full novel to embellish on the world building potential. (novella)

A Memory Called Empire & A Desolation Called Peace - Arkady Martine - Probably tied with murderbot as the best things I read this year. Scifi, f/f couple, wonderfully done exploration of what it means to fall in love with a culture that is destroying your own. More of the many queer anti-imperialist books that have come out recently and certainly some of the best. The second one is a direct continuation of the first. (2 novels)

The Tyrant Baru Cormorant - Seth Dickinson - This is the third in the Baru Cormorant series (The Masquerade) and was my favorite so far. The second and third book were originally one book that got split I believe and the second book didn’t stand alone as well (though was still great), but the third book really made up for that. Dark fantasy world starring a queer woc whose country and culture is destroyed by the imperial forces of that world colonizing and assimilating them. She vows revenge and decides to work her way up within her enemy’s ranks to enact it from within and bring an empire to ruins. Really really fascinating study of so many different aspects of our own world and the systems which enable and allow bigotry and how bigoted and violent narratives are used to control minorities. This is definitely a darker series and I was particularly impressed with some of the commentary on the racism prevalent in non-intersectional feminism as depicted through a fantasy world. Can’t wait for the last one to come out! (3 novels, 1 forthcoming)

The Murderbot Diaries - Martha Wells - There’s six of them--5 novella and a novel--and the first is All Systems Red. Told from the point of view of a self-aware droid/android that is rented out by a corporation to provide protection in a dystopian capitalist hellhole future that isn’t that unlike our current capitalist dystopia but is in space. Muderbot hacked the chip that controlled it and instead of going rogue just wants to be left alone to watch its favorite tv shows. Murderbot is painfully relatable and the books are both funny and poignant. Highly recommended. (5 novellas and a novel).

Winter’s Orbit - Everina Maxwell - This was a m/m romance novel with a scifi backdrop of royal intrigue. Generally I’m more into scifi with a queer relationship in the background than vice versa, so it wasn’t my favorite, BUT I think it was still well written and someone looking for more of the romance angle would enjoy it. Has all your favorite romance tropes in it, especially the yearning. (novel)

The Divine Cities - Robert Jackson Bennett - Three book series. I’m very conflicted about this one. Set in a fantasy world where an enslaved nation overthrew the country enslaving them and now rules over them. It’s a story of what happens after the triumphant victory and within that it’s also a murder mystery tied into the dying magic of the conquered nation. It also has a six foot something naked oily viking man fist fight a cthulhu in a frozen river. The second book was by far my favorite, mostly due to the main character being brilliant. My conflict comes from the fact I don’t feel like the story treated its women and queer characters well. Like it had really great characters but it didn’t do great by them overall. That and the third book didn’t live up to the first two. But still definitely worth a read, can’t stress enough how cool some of the world building was. (3 novels)

Into the Drowning Deep - Mira Grant - This might be the only one on here I disliked. It’s got a doomed boat voyage and creepy underwater terror and monsters and a super diverse cast of characters, but I just didn’t enjoy the writing style. While having a diverse cast is great, there were a lot of moments where it felt like characters were pausing to explain things about themselves that felt like a tumblr post rather than a normal conversation you might have while actively being hunted by monsters. I also bounced off all the characters. But a lot of people seem to have liked it so if you’re into horror and want a book with a f/f main couple then maybe you’ll enjoy it. (novel)

Dead Djinn Universe - P. Djèlí Clark - Around the early 1900′s, a man in Egypt discovers a way to access another world and bring Djinn and mysterious clockwork beings called Angels through. As a result, Egypt tells the British to get fucked and Cairo becomes one of the most powerful cities in the world. So Egypt, magic, djinn, a steampunk-ish vibe, oh and the main character is a butch queer woman who enjoys wearing dapper suits and looking fabulous while she investigates supernatural events. Her girlfriend is also mysterious and badass. And she has a cat. There’s three novella (one of which technically might be considered a short story) and then the first novel. You should absolutely read the novellas first (A Dead Djinn in Cairo, The Angel of Khan el-Khalili, The Haunting of Tram Car 015). Super fun and imaginative series. (3 novellas and a novel, more forthcoming)

River of Teeth & Taste of Marrow - Sarah Gailey - From the book description

“In the early 20th Century, the United States government concocted a plan to import hippopotamuses into the marshlands of Louisiana to be bred and slaughtered as an alternative meat source. This is true. Other true things about hippos: they are savage, they are fast, and their jaws can snap a man in two. This was a terrible plan.”

Queer hippo riders!!!! Very much a western but with hippos. Main couple included a non-binary character. Loved the first one. The second one I was more meh about due to one of the characters I was supposed to like having obnoxious man pain that a woman had to take the brunt of the whole time. Also there were less hippos. But queer hippo riders! Definitely read the first one, and they’re both novellas so no reason not to read the second as well. (2 novellas)

A Psalm for the Wild-Built - Becky Chambers - I may be the only person who hasn’t read the long way to a small angry planet at this point, but I did grab her new novella and I loved it. It made me want to go sit out in the woods and feel peaceful. The world it’s set in feels like a peaceful post-apocalypse...or diverted apocalypse maybe. Humans built robots and robots gained sentience, but instead of rebelling they just up and left and went into the wilderness with a promise that the humans wouldn’t follow them.The remaining human society reshaped itself into something new and peaceful. It’s the story of a monk who leaves their habitual monking duties to go be a tea monk and then later wanders into the wilderness and becomes the first human in ages to meet a robot. Very sad there’s no fan art yet. (novella, more forthcoming)

The March North - Graydon Saunders - This was such a weird book that I’m not sure how to explain it. The prose style is hard to get used to and I suspect a lot of people will bounce off it in the first chapter. There’s no third person pronouns used at all and important events get mentioned once in passing and if you blink you’ll miss them. Set on a world where magic is extremely common to the point that rivers sometimes run with blood or fire and the local weeds are something out of a horror movie and most of the world is run by powerful sorcerer dictators, one country banded together (with the help of a few powerful sorcerers who were tired of all the bullshit) to form a free country where powerful sorcerers wouldn’t rule and the small magics of every day folks could be combined to work together. The story revolves around a Captain of the military force on the border who one day has three very powerful sorcerers sent to them by the main government with the hint that just maybe there’s about to be a big invasion (there is) with the implication of take these guys and go deal with this. The world building is extremely complex and very cool...when you can actually understand what the fuck is going on. There is also a murder sheep named Eustace who breathes fire and eats just about everything and is a Very Good Boy and belongs to the most terrifying sorcerer in the world who appears as a little old grandma with knitting. It had one of the most epic badass and wonderfully grotesque battles I’ve ever read. But yeah, it is not what I would call easy reading. Opinions may vary wildly. I did also read the second one (A Succession of Bad Days) in the series which was easier to follow and had a lot more details about the world, but overall I was more meh about it despite some cool aspects. The chapters and chapters of the extreme details of building a house that made up half the novel just weren’t my thing. (novels).

The Space Between Worlds - Micaiah Johnson - In this world parallels universes exist and we’ve discovered how to travel between them, but the catch is you can only go to worlds where the ‘you’ there is already dead. This turns into an uncomfortable look at who would be the people most likely to have died on many worlds and how things like class and race would fit into that and what we would actually use this ability for (if you guessed stealing resources and the stock market you’d be correct). The main character is a queer woc who travels between worlds with the assistance of her handler (another queer woc) who she has the hots for. She accidentally stumbles on a whole lot of mess and conspiracy and gets swept up in that. Really enjoyed it. (novel)

Witchmark - C.L. Polk - Fantasy world reminiscent of Victorian England (I think?) where a young man with magical gifts runs away from his powerful family to avoid being exploited by them. He joins the army and fights in a war and comes home to try and live a quiet life as a doctor, but a murder pulls him into a larger mystery that upturns his life. Also he’s extremely gay and there’s a prevalent m/m romance. This one was a fun-but-not-mind-blowing one for me. (novel, 2 more in the series I haven’t read)

The Priory of the Orange Tree - Samantha Shannon - This was one of those that everyone loved but I couldn’t get into for some reason. I tried twice and only got about halfway through the second time. It’s got dragons and queer ladies and fantasy world and all the things I like, but I wasn’t that invested in the main story (which included the f/f couple) and was more interested in the smaller story about a woman trying to become a dragon rider. There are few things that beat out a lady and her dragon friend story for me and that was the storyline that felt neglected and took a different turn right when we got to the part I’d been waiting for. But, I know a lot of people whose reading opinions I respect who loved it, and if you like epic fantasy with dragons and queens and treachery and pirates and queer characters then I’d say you should definitely give it a try. (novel)

Bonus: I didn’t read these series this year, but if you haven’t read them yet, you should.

Imperial Radch (Ancillary Justice) - Ann Leckie - Spaceship AI stuck in a human body out for revenge for their former captain, but that summary does not come close to doing it justice. Another one examining imperialism and also gender and race.(3 novels)

Kushiel's Legacy Series - Jacqueline Carey - This is two series, six books total, and starts with Kushiel's Dart. Alternate universe Renaissance-y Europe in a fantastical world where sex isn't shameful and sex workers are respected and prized. Lots of political intrigue and mystery. A lot of BDSM and kinky stuff too (the main character is a sexual masochist, oh and also bi!). I first read this series when I was fifteen or sixteen and it definitely made a big impression on me. Same author also wrote the Santa Olivia series which I’d also recommend. (6 novels)

The Locked Tomb (Gideon the Ninth) - Tamsyn Muir - I mean, if you follow me, you know. If you don’t follow me you still probably know. I’d have felt remiss to have left them off though. Lesbian Necormancers in Space. Memes! Skeletons! Biceps! Go read them. (2 novels, 2 forthcoming, 1 short story)

Books On My To Read List:

Fireheart Tiger - Aliette de Bodard

The Order of the Pure Moon Reflected in Water - Zen Cho

Black Sun - Rebecca Roanhorse

This Is How You Lose the TIme War - Amal El-Mohtar and Max Gladstone

Ninefox Gambit - Yoon Ha Lee

Also, if anyone has any recs for scifi/fantasy books starring queer men (not necessarily having to do with a queer relationship) and written by queer men I’d love them. There’s a lot written by women, and some of them are great, but I’d love to read a story about queer men from their own perspective.

[sisterspooky1013]

Only One Choice, Part 2, Chapter 8

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

Saturday at 5:00, she’s standing outside Mulder’s apartment door. When he’d proposed watching a movie, she questioned whether that was the best idea. She doesn’t have any particular reason for trying to hold off on things getting more physical, other than the lingering subconscious belief that nice girls don’t take their pants off before there’s a ring on their finger. That’s never a policy she’s stuck to in the past, but it still feels like they should wait a bit. Maybe it’s what happened before, their previous indiscretion, that makes her feel compelled to take things slow. Regardless of the motivation, spending time alone at one of their apartments is a surefire way to end up ditching her plans, along with her clothes.

Speaking of clothes, she’s worn jeans and a T-shirt, decidedly more casual than their last date. She’s also put on a black lace bra and matching boy short panties underneath, just in case. She has no intention of Mulder seeing her underwear, but on the off chance she changes her mind, she’d hate for him to see her granny panties. She also shaved her legs and her bikini line, just in case. Taking a deep breath and promising herself she will exercise exceptional self control, she knocks.

When he answers, she instantly feels her resolve falter. He’s wearing jeans and a white T shirt, bare feet, and a beaming smile. He immediately steps forward and slips his arms around her waist, pulling her close and kissing her like she’s just returned from sea. He smells clean and masculine, the stubble on his chin scraping her cheek and summoning a groan from her throat, which she successfully stifles. Finally he pulls back, looking at her with soft, affectionate eyes.

“Hey,” he says with a little smirk, and she smiles at him like they’ve just shared a secret.

“Hi,” she replies, resting her palms on his upper arms.

“Sorry to accost you before you’ve even gotten inside,” he says sheepishly, his arms still wrapped around her, “I’ve been waiting all week to do that.”

She chuckles and he releases her, slipping his hand into hers and leading her into the living room. When they enter, Priscilla stands from her place on the couch and arches her back with a meow, then paces excitedly with her eyes trained on Scully.

“Hi Priscilla,” she greets the cat, sitting on the couch where Priscilla climbs right into her lap and starts purring noisily. Scully laughs and runs her hand from Priscilla’s head down to her tail, smiling as the cat closes her eyes contentedly and drool drips from the corner of her mouth.

“She missed you,” Mulder says as he looks on, smiling with his hands crossed over his chest. “She doesn’t drool for just anyone.”

“I missed her too,” Scully says to Priscilla, then turns to look at Mulder with a soft smile. “I missed both of you.”

They hold eye contact for a beat, then he looks away, walking towards the kitchen. “I was just going to order pizza, if that’s okay.”

“Sounds perfect,” she replies, looking around. Not much has changed since she was last here, though he’s hung a couple new things up on the walls.

“What do you like on your pizza?” he calls from the kitchen.

“Surprise me,” she replies. She’s not a very picky eater and can’t think of any topping that would be a dealbreaker.

“I like your style,” he says in response, and she can hear the smile in his voice.

There is the muffled sound of him calling the order in, then he returns with a beer in each hand.

“I rented two movies,” he says as he sits down close beside her, their thighs touching. “Take your pick between Twister, or Mars Attacks.”

“I saw Twister in the theater when it came out, but I can’t say that I’ve seen, nor did I ever intend to see, Mars Attacks,” she replies with a knowing smile, taking the open beer he holds out to her.

“You gotta see it, Scully, it’s an instant classic,” he says with a tone that she can’t pin down as facetious or not.

“I guess we better watch it then,” she says with an equally ambiguous tone.

———

Six empty beer bottles are lined up along the far end of the coffee table, a pizza box sitting open in front of them. Mulder is lying with his head propped up on the arm rest of the couch, one foot on the floor and the other stretched out in front of him. Scully is lying on her stomach against his chest, her cheek resting on his pectoral and her arms wrapped around his rib cage. It was a slow progression towards them ending up fully entwined like this, her belly pressed against his groin, and he has one eye on the TV and the rest of his attention concentrated on not getting hard.

The movie, which is even more campy and stupid than he remembered, is nearly over, and he hopes she doesn’t hop up and leave right away. Looking down over the crown of her autumnal head and along the narrow expanse of her back, he sees a sliver of skin exposed between her jeans and T-shirt and his cock stirs. He slides the hand that had been resting in the middle of her back lower until his fingertips meet with her bare skin and she shifts a tiny bit, but not uncomfortably. Slowly, causally, while keeping his eyes on the screen, he begins to trace his fingers in slow circles on her lower back. Her skin is unbelievably soft, supple and warm. As his movements continue, he increases the size of his circles, inching her T-shirt up higher to expose more skin, and she pulls in a deep breath and holds it for a moment before she lets it out slowly, concluding with a sound that’s almost like a hiss. She shifts again and her stomach rubs against the swelling lump of his erection, pronounced enough now that she may be able to feel it. He dips the tips of his fingers under the waist of her jeans, running them from one hip to the other, and she lifts her head, propping her chin on his chest and looking up at him. Her expression is unreadable; she definitely isn’t upset, but she’s not smiling, either.

“Your skin is so soft,” he offers, as though it were an excuse for why he’s touching her, as though it would not be enough to say he’s doing it simply because he wants to.

She shimmies up until they’re nose to nose, the friction sending a jolt to his groin, and he resists the urge to thrust up against her.

“I moisturize,” she says plainly, her breath hot against his lips smelling like hops and garlic.

She drags her lips over his softly, side to side, then kisses him fully with a contented sigh. His hands find the small of her back and push up underneath her T-shirt, sliding over more of that silky softness, and he does thrust up against her, though gently.

They kiss slowly, in no rush, his hands cupping her ass and gliding down her sides, up into her hair and then back again. Her own arms are tucked up underneath her, propping her up as she kisses him, though she shifts her pelvis against his erection gratuitously, not in any way pretending that it’s not intentional.

“Mmmmm, Mulder,” she hums into his mouth, flicking at his tongue with her own and then sucking on his lower lip.

“Hmm?” he asks in response, gripping her ass and pulling her firmly against his groin as he pushes it against her.

“I don’t think we should have sex. Not yet,” she croons into his ear, pulling the lobe between her teeth gently.

“Okay, of course, whatever you’re comfortable with,” he answers back with a pained groan, his body not on the same page as his brain. “If you want to stop, let’s stop.”

“I didn’t say I wanted to stop,” she replies, kissing down the side of his neck until she comes to the place where it meets his shoulder. “I just said I don’t want to have sex. There are a lot of things we can do that aren’t sex.” She slips her arm free from beneath her torso, snaking it down between them and rubbing it firmly over his aching hard-on.

“Jesus Christ,” he hisses, flexing his hips wildly as he seeks more contact.

She brings her lips back to meet his, peppering small kisses as she strokes him over his jeans.

“How about,” she begins breathily, “one of us keeps our clothes on.”

“Okay,” he responds, sliding his hands around her hips to find the button of her jeans.

She laughs a little and sits up on her knees between his thighs, just out of reach.

“I was thinking maybe I would keep my clothes on,” she says in a playful tone, though her expression is bashful.

“Oh,” he answers dumbly, trying to piece together what she’s saying. When her hands go to the fly of his jeans he sits up. “Wait, one second, why me?”

She tilts her head with a curious furrowed brow. “This may be the first time in recorded history that a man has objected to receiving rather than giving.”

He cocks his own head at her, mirroring her confusion. “I think you’ve been hanging around the wrong men.”

After a beat, they both break out into ironic smiles, realizing what they are arguing over. She leans forward, crawling up to kiss him.

“If we were keeping score, which we are not, I would say I owe you one, Mulder.”

No matter that it was nine months ago, she’s referring to the one and only other time they’ve done more than kiss. She’s not wrong, but he doesn’t care. He loves making women come; it’s practically a hobby.

He wants to object, but she already has his fly open, her tiny hand slipping underneath his boxers and gliding down the length of him. He groans and she kisses him again, stroking him slowly in the narrow space beneath his stiff jeans. She sits up and tugs at the waistband and he lifts his hips to help her before pulling his T-Shirt off over his head. Within fifteen seconds he’s naked, his ass sinking into the warmed leather of the couch and Scully’s hot little hand cradling his balls.

“Can you take your shirt off?” he asks hopefully, “is that allowed?”

She smiles at him. “Let me consult the commissioner,” she says, then glances up and to the side. “Commissioner says yes,” she finishes, pulling her shirt over her head and revealing a black lace bra, her modest breasts pushed up deliciously within its cups. He feels his cock lurch in response and he reaches up to pull her on top of him, deftly unhooking the clasp and chucking the bra across the room.

She sits up again, perched between his thighs topless, and lazily slides her hand up and down over his length. He stares slack jawed at her pale pink nipples, hardened into rose buds in the cool air of the room, and she gives him a devilish little grin before bending at the waist and taking him in her mouth. The wet heat of her is sudden and jarring, so overwhelming that he closes his eyes against the flashes of white hot pleasure as his hips buck uncontrollably.

She plants her palms on his hip bones to hold him steady and moves up and down at a slow pace, her tongue sliding along the underside of his cock until the head is at her lips, where she swirls it around in a circular motion that makes him see stars. He opens his eyes, watching her through the curtain of her hair as his shaft disappears into her hot little mouth, the pink peaks of her nipples becoming visible at regular intervals. She tilts her chin up slightly and looks at him, meeting his eye before she lowers herself further than she had before, and he feels his head hit the soft flesh at the back of her throat before he slips just a little further, pressing into her pharynx. He stiffens and groans, the sensation different and somehow explicit, like he’s somewhere he’s not supposed to be. His hands hover near the sides of her head, gripping at air as he resists the urge to touch her, to control her movements. When one of them brushes against her scalp, she reaches up and takes it, pressing it into her hair and granting permission. He threads his other hand into her tresses and lets them glide with her as she moves up and down. Her fingernails scrape gently over the papery skin of his scrotum and he feels a tightening, coiling sensation that means he’s close. He lets his head fall back and enjoys the incredible feeling of her tongue hot and wet, her lips firm, her hands gentle. When he’s approaching the point of release, he lifts his head and whispers hoarsely, “Scully, I’m gonna come,” and removes his hands from her head so she can pull away.

She does not pull away.

Instead, she doubles her efforts, sliding up and down fast and firm, squeezing his balls gently and sucking hard on the upstrokes. Wanting to make sure she still has the opportunity to pull away, he tells her again, “fuck, I’m coming,” and she keeps right on pace as an explosion echoes from his balls through his cock, waves of release stealing his breath as he goes rigid and then falls apart in a cascade of expletives, returning his hands to grab a fistful of her hair as she swallows him down, slowing but continuing her movements until he’s soft and no longer throbbing.

She crawls up his body, gently resting against him with her chin on his chest, her breasts pressed against his bare skin, and waits for him to return to Earth. Finally, he settles his gaze on her, on those earnest blue eyes and that pink mouth that he now knows holds the secrets of the universe. He feels like he could cry, so instead he makes a lame joke.

“Did it hurt?” he asks, running his hands over her bare back.

She gives him a quizzical but amused expression. “The blow job?” she asks incredulously.

“No, when you fell from Heaven.”

She rolls her eyes and suppresses a smile as Priscilla springs unannounced from the floor and lands right on Scully’s jeans-clad ass, kneading the flesh a little before curling up for a snooze.

Scully laughs gently, not wanting to disturb the cat. “Is this a thing cats do?” she asks amusedly.

“Not really, you just have a great ass, I can’t hardly blame her,” he responds, and she smiles at the compliment. “You can’t leave now, we’re stuck like this,” he adds. “Priscilla can sleep forever, we may die here.”

Scully shrugs, sighing contentedly. “But what a way to go.”

[dialovers-translations]

Diabolik Twitter ー Carla Tsukinami [2020 Compilation]

–> This post includes all tweets posted on the official Rejet Twitter account for Carla Tsukinami (@DialoverCarlaT) in 2020.

Shuu l Reiji l Ayato l Kanato l Laito l Subaru l Ruki l Kou l Yuma l Azusa l Shin l Kino

February 14, 2020 (Valentine’s Day)

> What a bothersome lot. I’ll blow all of you away at once.

> When it comes to these things, it’s quality over quantity.

> One precious thing. Obtaining that is more important, don’t you think?

March 14, 2020 (White Day)

> An uncommon guest has come to visit.

> Guess I shall give these ‘marsh mallow’ things Kanato gifted me to Shin.

–> This took me a while to figure out, but Carla wrote he received 魔種麻呂 from Kanato, which isn’t an existing word in Japanese at all. However, when you look at the individual readings of each character, they are pronounced as ‘ma-shu-ma-ro’ or マッシュマロー, the Japanese word for ‘marshmallow’. I guess Carla does not know what a marshmallow is. xD

> I do not know which magic creature has been put into these things. So until I identify them, it seems wise not to eat them.

–> The ‘ma’ character in Carla’s unique spelling of the word ‘marshmallow’ means ‘magic’ on its own, hence why he thinks they’re made from magic beasts living in the Demon World.

> Oi, you. Come closer.

> I heard that today you are supposed to return the favor of last month’s festivity. Following said tradition, I shall thank you as well.

> You are a woman worthy of becoming the bride of a Founder. However, that is not all. You are also a woman I personally do not wish to lose. I am grateful towards the fate that brought us together. Furthermore, I shall fulfill my own duty as well. I vow to protect you, no matter what awaits us in the future.

April 1, 2020 (April Fools)

> Moon March 🌙 E-shop opened

ll Cured dry ham ll

From today onwards, we shall start selling farm fresh and Founder-approached cured dry ham. We can ensure the delivery of high quality products to your doorstep. Only those capable of grasping its value, should press the purchase button.

April 30, 2020

> Come here. We do not get to enjoy such a peaceful time together very often. I shall dote on you plenty to make up for all the lost time. 

> Tell me. Go ahead and explain to me what lovers usually do when together in their room.

May 28, 2020 (Birthday)

> How puzzling. Why do you seem so happy, when it is my birthday being celebrated? However, it is not a bad thing. It appears I can get a sense of fulfillment from seeing you try so hard for my sake. In that case, scoot over. I want to feel you close to me. I want to confirm that you are most definitely by my side by touching you directly.

June 26, 2020

> I cannot believe you are asking me to play the role of a teacher. It seems like you do not quite comprehend your own position.

> Again? Watch your step carefully. How many times must I repeat myself?

June 27, 2020

> You could have simply gone to bed before me.

July 7, 2020 (Tanabata)

> I wish to come across a new art gallery.

July 22, 2020

> I am surprised you are still conscious.

> I forced my fangs inside your flesh. It would have not have been strange for you to faint from the pain.

> Seems like you have become capable of accepting any and all stimuli. When you give me such a commendable reaction, I cannot help but want to ‘dote’ on you even more.

> This time, I will give you something you are always craving for...Exactly, pleasure.

> I shall love you more profoundly.

July 27, 2020

> Dry cured ham represents despair and sadness?

> Why?

August 31, 2020

> The buzzing of cicadas makes for a rather elegant tune.

> Shin. Prepare a watermelon at once.

October 16, 2020

> On my way to the museum, I ran into a certain young man. He was a *

--> In the original Tweet, his sentence cuts off mid-way as well.

> He was a court painter who specializes in portraits. I had him paint my picture, but ultimately, I did not feel very satisfied with the end result.

> My face is not buried that deep inside my scarf. Why did he have to exaggerate it such an extend? For one, a portrait usually takes several days to finish, yet the painter in question finished it in just mere seconds. One should take their time painting a picture of me.

> It truly is a shame, but it seems like his skill level has decreased over time.

October 22, 2020 (DL x Mayla Classic)

> Oi, you. Why are you spacing out in the hallway?

> Aah, Shin said that…? I see.

> In that case, I might have a clue. Follow me.

> Take a look at those stairs.

> Amongst the Wolf Familiars, there’s one which has a bad habit of leaving all shiny objects he stumbles upon on the staircase like that.

> I assume Shin hid the gift in the underground dungeon, hoping you would find it after being ordered to clean the place. However, it was taken away by the Familiar before that, ruining Shin’s plans.

> He should have simply handed it to you. Shin is still quite immature as well, taking such a roundabout approach and then getting upset.

> Oh well, I suppose it is fine. Either way, you should take it.

> This is our gift. From here on out, you should always keep them on you, so they do not get stolen by the Familiar again.

October 31, 2020 (Halloween)

> Trick or Treat...is truly ridiculous. There is no reason to choose one or the other. I shall get my hands on all things I desire. Well then, go ahead and submit your everything to me.

November 11, 2020

> Today calls for a celebration.

> It is ‘cured ham day’. There is not a single day in the whole year worth celebrating more.

> I suppose I should have Shin prepare a few extra legs.*

-> I was really confused by this tweet at first because when I looked up the word 原木, it translates as ‘timber’. However, apparently it is also used to refer to the whole legs of dried ham which come on a wooden stand. 

December 18, 2020

> Why are you making such a face? ...The cold? I see, I suppose humans already show the first signs of hypothermia at this temperature. I cannot simply stand and watch in silence as you continue to freeze. Well then, let me prepare you a cup of hot tea. Let us get warm together.

December 19, 2020

> Woman. This one. Order this one. I desire this drink, its crimson color is vibrant, yet somewhat reminiscent of the dark as well. However, please do not get the wrong idea. I do not feel attracted to it due to its strong resemblance to blood. Any blood other than yours holds no value. Of course, you are special and irreplaceable to me as a person as well.

December 24, 2020 (Christmas)

> Are you enjoying yourself? No, I am not criticizing you for your behavior. When I see you in high spirits, even I get a pleasant feeling inside. I feel like I can sympathize with humans who get excited about Christmas a little better now.

[babbushka]

It’s All Worthwhile

Lawyer!Kylo Ren x Reader

3k, mostly fluff based off the song Baby It’s Cold Outside, with some NSFW (vanilla sex [PIV, lots of kissing])

Available on AO3

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

It’s snowing gently, when the last of the guests leave through the door of Kylo’s penthouse apartment. You can see the flurries passing across the great big windows that span across the living room, Manhattan a glow of golden lights. Windows, traffic and the little illuminating bulbs on the bridges twinkle in the dark, evening finally turned to night. Though it may be dark out in the world beyond these windows, inside Kylo’s apartment is comfortably lit and cozy.

Decorative lamps and of course the flame of the candles in the large menorah on the mantle fill the living room with a warm orange glow, one that has you hating the thought of leaving. But it was Kylo’s apartment, and you didn’t want to overstay your welcome, so you push yourself off the couch and make your way to the foyer where Kylo is closing the door behind the last of his guests.

He turns towards you, looking painfully handsome. It was a work party, upscale and exclusive for the top lawyers in his circle. Why Kylo decided to host the Hanukkah celebration at his place rather than the office he holds in the Freedom Tower was obvious – he had a damn good apartment and you could tell he was eager to show it off, to impress.

As much as you hated to admit it, you were impressed.

“I’m really glad you came, you know.” Kylo approaches you, leans up against the wall of the hallway.

He took off his suit jacket, loosened his tie. There was something about the more casual appearance that make you blink quickly, remembering that this was your greatest rival, your biggest enemy. He wasn’t handsome, he was a pain in your ass…or so you keep reminding yourself half-heartedly.

“It was a great party, I’m exhausted.” You lie, “I should probably head out.”

“You don’t have to.” Kylo’s eyes are hopeful, especially as he doesn’t even spare a glance to the giant windows before trying to come up with the excuse of, “I mean, well, look at this weather.”

There is nothing in your body that tells you to leave, and everything that is screaming at you to stay. One look at Kylo, and you can read in his body language that he doesn’t want you to go either, and that’s a comfort. Still though, he is on the other side, he’s on the rival team, he’s your competition. Did you have strong feelings for him? Of course! But…

But lately it was becoming harder and harder to figure out exactly what those feelings were. You had been convinced in the beginning that it was hatred – because damn Kylo really managed to piss you off sometimes – but now, now you’re not so sure.

“I really can't stay.” You say slowly, carefully, hoping hoping hoping that he’ll pick up the game you want to play.

Maybe both of you can get what you want without having to admit to it.

Maybe, just maybe, neither of you have to wear your hearts on your sleeve.

“But baby…it's cold outside.” Kylo catches on immediately, a great big grin slowly spreading across his face.

He approaches you, rolls the sleeves of his dress shirt up over his forearms. The act is so casual, and yet your eyes are drawn to it instantly, unable to look away from the thick cords of muscle that flex as his hands reach for you. You’re all alone now, just the two of you, no one is around to see if maybe you should kiss, if maybe you should allow Kylo to hold you close.

“I’ve got to go away.” You allow him despite the words, allow him to slip an arm around your waist, pulling your bodies together.

“But baby, it's cold outside.” He shakes his head, biting at the inside of his cheek. He wants you desperately, wants you more than he’s ever wanted anything in his life. You are the first and only person to ever match him so well on so many levels, it’s absolutely intoxicating.

“This evening has been – ” You start, pulling away from him, finding your pulse beginning to race, your lungs beginning to squeeze as you hold your breath. You were so sure he would kiss you just then, but then he hadn’t, so away you go, just another step in the dance.

“I was hoping you'd drop in – ” Kylo talks at the same time as you, the two of you always did have a problem with interrupting one another, he hated that about you. He loves it.

“ – So very nice.” You begin to search for your gloves, taking a real long time, surely they haven’t gone too far. Maybe you spot them over by the long couch, and maybe you ignore that, maybe they weren’t yours after all.

“ – I'll hold your hands they're just like ice!” Kylo’s fingers twine through yours as he grasps your hand, spins you around and pulls you close to him once more.

His eyes are brown and sparkling in the warm glow, his chin tucked in to look at you properly. He had a good couple inches on you, even with your heels on, and you find that you don’t mind craning your neck up to bite back a smile at him, not one bit.

“My secretary will start to worry,” You say, licking your lips, your eyes on his mouth. They flick back up to his gaze, and he notices, of course he notices.

Kylo leans in, presses his forehead against yours, your noses rubbing together.

“Beautiful watch you're wearing…” He murmurs, turning your hand in his so he can see the diamonds catch the light. You’re so elegant, everything about you makes him sweat in his Louboutins.

“So really I'd better scurry.” You tilt your chin up a little, just barely a little, your bottom lip catching his ever so briefly. It’s not a kiss, not really – someone could come back in, couldn’t they? Maybe one of his friends forgot something behind, maybe someone was watching from a building across the way, maybe --

“Beautiful, please don't hurry.” Kylo brushes his lips back against yours, his eyes slipping closed, hand cupping your jaw, your cheek.

Beautiful? That was a first, your heart leaps in your chest. Kylo had called you a lot of things over the years that you have been butting heads together, how strange that this time, with your foreheads literally touching, he calls you something so sweet?

“…Well maybe just a half a drink more?” You finally start to show your cards, finally start to give him some proper leeway that he can take and run with.

And run with he does – he steps away from you abruptly, clapping his hands together once with excitement, already making his way to the elaborate home-bar that he has set up. The bartender he hired for the party is long gone, but Kylo knows his way around his spirits.

“Put some music on while I pour.” He gives you a cheeky grin, and you have to hide your face in your hands, chuckling out your happiness.

He could be such a jackass sometimes, but he could also be so incredibly thoughtful and charming and funny and smart and – oh no, you can practically feel yourself falling for him. You find that maybe, you don’t necessarily dislike the sensation of the butterflies in your stomach, as you step out of your heels to be more comfortable, and go over to the smart speaker mounted to the wall.

The baby grand piano sits comfortably in the corner of the great room, a few guests having taken a turn on the ivory keys, and you think that maybe one day you’d like to hear Kylo play. For now, the speaker will have to do, as you select a seasonally classical playlist of soft romantic music that immediately resonates through the room.

Kylo offers you a cocktail, and much to your surprise, there’s no alcoholic taste to it at all. You appreciate that, appreciate him not pressuring you to get tipsy or anything. Kylo wants you for you, wants you to be with him because you want to be with him. Still, you give him a bit of a hard time, even as he wraps one arm around your waist, the two of you slow dancing to the music.

“You know, the neighbors might think…” You raise a brow at him, and that makes him laugh out loud – he doesn’t have any neighbors, certainly not any that would matter. He’s all alone up here in this beautiful box in the sky.

Well, not entirely alone.

“Baby it's bad out there.” Kylo just shakes his head, giving you a spin that has you nearly missing your footing, the two of you giggling over the silliness of it all.

“Say what's in this drink?” You tease, knowing full well there’s nothing in it at all other than some sprite and pomegranate juice.

“Don’t joke like that.” Kylo stops moving entirely, grasps your jaw in his big hand and gets your attention with a scowl. You smile, both an apology and an understanding, not wanting to have caused him any offense. He rubs his thumb across your lip, the crease between his brows already slipping away, “In any case, you’ll never get a cab out there.”

That has you laughing again, just the realization of what you’re doing.

You’re in Kylo’s apartment, just the two of you, and you’re having fun. No yelling, no arguments, no name calling or temper tantrums for once, and it’s so nice. Now why couldn’t he be this agreeable all the time, you can’t help but wonder?

I wish I knew how, You think, casting a gaze over to the menorah that’s starting to burn down to nothing, to break this spell.

 Her eyes are like starlight now, Kylo thinks, regarding you softly, watching you watch the candles. He walks away from you and blows them out the rest of the way, not wanting his apartment to burn down if he leaves them unattended – and he was getting tired of staying in the living room.

He wants you in his bed, if you’ll allow him that privilege, if you want it too. Only if you want it, but fuck does he.

“I'll take your hat, your hair looks swell.” Kylo offers, holding a hand out for the beret that’s fastened to your head with a couple pins. He wants to touch your hair, wants to card his fingers through it, wants to caress and kiss and fuck you, if you’ll let him.

“I ought to say no no no, sir – ” You duck your head, unpinning the beret anyway, shaking your hair out from underneath it. Trying not to think about the possibility of hat-hair, you hand him the beret, his big hands folding it gently, resting it on the big glass coffee table.

“Mind if I move in closer?” Kylo steps out of his dress shoes, leaves them right there on the plush rug in the living room.

“—But maybe just a cigarette more.” You grin, taking his hand when he extends it to you.

“Never had such a blizzard before!” Kylo beams, practically pulls you up the stairs, leading you down the hallway to the master bedroom.

You don’t have much time to really look at any of the furnishings, but it’s neat and clean and well kept, the sheets crisp, everything varying shades of white and cream. Finally finally finally, Kylo surges forward to kiss you, his hands on your face, your neck, wanting you everywhere, wanting his hands on you everywhere too.

Kissing Kylo was always everything you thought it would be, you think as your hands fumble with your outfit, trying to get your clothes off and away. You and Kylo had had sex before, hard angry fucks in offices behind closed doors – but never anything like this. Never these soft laughs and gentle groans as Kylo helps get you naked, wanting not a single stitch of clothing on either of you.

Once your body is exposed to the slight chill of the air, you shuffle yourself under the covers of Kylo’s pristinely made bed. It’s a silent signal for him, one that tells him you’re spending the night, you’re not going to get out from under these blankets and sheets once you’re in them. Kylo reads you loud and clear, and practically trips over himself to get naked too.

He crawls under the covers with you too, and immediately you roll to face him, to get as far into his space as you possibly can. His hands grasp your face again, kissing you and kissing you and kissing you some more, sucking on your lips, your tongue, swallowing you whole. His hands move all over you, grasping at your body, wanting to feel every inch of you.

You throw a leg over his hip, his hard cock brushing against your stomach. It’s hot and throbbing, you wonder how desperate for you he must’ve been all evening. Kylo lowers one of his hands to your pussy and thrusts a couple of his thick fingers up inside you, stretching you just enough to take him, kissing you, breathing hard. Your head sinks into his soft plush pillows, and your body opens for him, especially as he rolls over on top of you. Legs falling apart, Kylo thrusts his cock into your wanting cunt with ease, the two of you letting out a moan when he finally bottoms out.

You’re both electrified by this, both wanting it, having wanted it all evening – wanted it for years. But that was a scary thought, so you stick to something safer like just tonight. The way he was such an effortless host, champagne glass in hand, laughing and smiling with ease at his guests, the way everyone was comfortable and not a single person had a single complaint was so sexy to you.

You had no idea, how could you have, but he threw the party for you.

Just for you.

Kylo grunts into the crook of your neck as your legs wrap around his waist, his arms caging you under his body as his cock rocks in and out of you, feeling too good, feeling right. It just feels right being here, and if he were to ask you, you know you’d agree.

“I got to – oh don’t stop – get home.” Still, the game isn’t over yet, there isn’t a clear winner, not yet.

Was it you? Or was it him? You both wanted the same thing for once, were both on the same side, what a Hanukkah miracle that was!

“But baby you'd fucking freeze out there.” Kylo pants as he speeds his hips up, watching the way your breasts bounce from the effort, from the sheer momentum of his thrusts. He shifts up enough to grasp the headboard for leverage, and your back arches up into his touch, mouth falling open and eyes pinched shut as you take the pleasure he so eagerly gives you.

“So lend me your coat – yes!” You’ve got so much spirit, so much stubborn strength, Kylo can’t help but laugh at your remark. You always have to have the last word, don’t you?

“No way, it's up to your knees out there.” Well, so does Kylo, and he smacks your thigh a little, watches as the flesh jiggles for him, your pussy soaking wet and velvety and tight around his cock, wanting nothing more than to come deep in you, claim you as his and let you claim him as yours.

“Look, you've really been great – ” You stumble and bumble and hiccup around the words as your toes curl, chest heaving, pleasure washing over you in waves and waves, “– Oh fuck, please?

“How do you do this to me?” Kylo groans out, dropping down back to your neck, worrying the skin there as his hips rut against yours, shallow thrusts with his cock practically buried in your hot pussy, not wanting to be anywhere else other than right here.

“There's bound to b-be talk tomorrow…” You moan, pinching at your nipples, trying to get some more friction as your orgasm builds builds builds, Kylo moving the whole bed, the entire mattress shifting on the supports.

“Think of my life long sorrow – ” Kylo grunts, thrusts growing erratic as he gets closer, pushing into you deeper, harder, faster, more more more until your whole body shakes and rattles and trembles.

“Oh – oh yes, yesyesyes right there Kylo!!” You’re loud, practically shouting out his name, the word echoing and bouncing around the ceiling.

“ – If you caught pneumonia and died, ohhh fuck.” He comes then, hearing his name on your lips, on your tongue, that frantic beating of his heart making him dizzy, making him sweat. He can feel his come spreading through you and your body goes limp under him, star-fishing out on his mattress.

You’ve got a big blissed out smile on your face, and Kylo thinks that as much of a fucking thorn in his side you are, he’d do anything to keep that smile there.

Not that he’d ever tell you that. You were rivals, after all.

“Hey Kylo?” You pant, wiping the sweat away from your brow.

“Mhm?” He’s collapsed down on top of you, and he’s half expecting you to tell him to get off, that he’s crushing you, that you can’t breathe and you’re dying and a million other things.

“I’m really glad I came too.” You whisper instead of all of that, and that wasn’t something that Kylo was prepared for, not really.

So he doesn’t say anything at all, grateful that you chose to be here with him, chose to accept his invite, chose to make this entire party worth it.

Because it was worth it, just getting to be with you.

 Oh baby it's cold,

Baby it's cold outside

 (tagging some lawyer!kylo friends, I hope this is alright no pressure to read of course! @safarigirlsp​ @direnightshade​ @barbers-glimmerin-darlin​ @steeevienicks​)

[nitrateglow]

Favorite films discovered in 2020

Well, this year sucked. I did see some good movies though. Some even made after I was born!

Perfect Blue (dir. Satoshi Kon, 1997)

I watch a lot of thrillers and horror movies, but precious few actually unsettle me in any lasting way. This cannot be said of Perfect Blue, which gave me one of the most visceral cinematic experiences of my life. Beyond the brief flashes of bloodletting (you will never look at a screwdriver the same way again), the scariest thing about Perfect Blue might be how the protagonist has both her life and her sense of self threatened by the villains. The movie’s prescience regarding public persona is also incredibly eerie, especially in our age of social media. While anime is seen as a very niche interest (albeit one that has become more mainstream in recent years), I would highly recommend this movie to thriller fans, whether they typically watch anime or not. It’s right up there with the best of Hitchcock or De Palma.

The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly (dir. Sergio Leone, 1966)

Nothing is better than when an iconic movie lives up to the hype. Clint Eastwood, Eli Wallach, and Lee Van Cleef play off of one another perfectly. I was impressed by Wallach as Tuco in particular: his character initially seems like a one-dimensional greedy criminal, but the performance is packed with wonderful moments of humanity. Do I really need to say anything about the direction? Or about the wonderful storyline, which takes on an almost mythic feel in its grandeur? Or that soundtrack?

Die Niebelungen (both movies) (dir. Fritz Lang, 1924)

I did NOT expect to love these movies as much as I did. That they would be dazzlingly gorgeous I never doubted: the medieval world of the story is brought to vivid life through the geometrical mise en scene and detailed costuming. However, the plot itself is so, so riveting, never losing steam over the course of the four hours it takes to watch both movies. The first half is heroic fantasy; the second half involves a revenge plot of almost Shakespearean proportions. This might actually be my favorite silent Fritz Lang movie now.

Muppet Treasure Island (dir. Brian Henson, 1996)

I understand that people have different tastes and all, but how does this movie have such a mixed reception? It’s absolutely hilarious. How could anybody get through the scene with “THA BLACK SPOT AGGHHHHHHH” and not declare this a masterpiece of comedy? And I risk being excommunicated from the Muppet fandom for saying it, but I like this one more than The Great Muppet Caper. It’s probably now my second favorite Muppet movie.

Belle de Jour (dir. Luis Bunuel, 1967)

I confess I’m not terribly fond of “but was it real???” movies. They tend to feel gimmicky more often than not. Belle de Jour is an exception. This is about more than a repressed housewife getting her kicks working as a daytime prostitute. The film delves into victim blaming, trauma, class, and identity-- sure, this sounds academic and dry when I put it that way, but what I’m trying to say is that these are very complicated characters and the blurring of fantasy and reality becomes thought-provoking rather than trite due to that complexity.

Secondhand Lions (dir. Tim McCanlies, 2003)

The term “family movie” is often used as a synonym for “children’s movie.” However, there is an important distinction: children’s movies only appeal to kids, while family movies retain their appeal as one grows up. Secondhand Lions is perhaps a perfect family movie, with a great deal more nuance than one might expect regarding the need for storytelling and its purpose in creating meaning for one’s life. It’s also amazingly cast: Haley Joel Osment is excellent as the juvenile lead, and Michael Caine and Robert Duvall steal the show as Osment’s eccentric uncles.

The Pawnbroker (dir. Sidney Lumet, 1964)

Controversial in its day for depicting frontal nudity, The Pawnbroker shocks today for different reasons. As the top review of the film on IMDB says, we’re used to victims of great atrocities being presented as sympathetic, good people in fiction. Here, Rod Steiger’s Sol Nazerman subverts such a trope: his suffering at the hands of the Nazis has made him a hard, closed-off person, dismissive of his second wife (herself also a survivor of the Holocaust), cold to his friendly assistant, and bitter towards himself. The movie follows Nazerman’s postwar life, vividly presenting his inner pain in a way that is almost too much to bear. Gotta say, Steiger gives one of the best performances I have ever seen in a movie here: he’s so three-dimensional and complex. The emotions on his face are registered with Falconetti-level brilliance.

The Apartment (dir. Billy Wilder, 1960)

While not the most depressing Christmas movie ever, The Apartment certainly puts a good injection of cynicism into the season. I have rarely seen a movie so adept at blending comedy, romance, and satire without feeling tone-deaf. There are a lot of things to praise about The Apartment, but I want to give a special shoutout to the dialogue. “Witty” dialogue that sounds natural is hard to come by-- so often, it just feels smart-assy and strained. Not here.

Anatomy of a Murder (dir. Otto Preminger, 1959)

I’m not big into courtroom dramas, but Anatomy of a Murder is a big exception. Its morally ambiguous characters elevate it from being a mere “whodunit” (or I guess in the case of this movie, “whydunit”), because if there’s something you’re not going to get with this movie, it’s a clear answer as to what happened on the night of the crime. Jimmy Stewart gives one of his least characteristic performances as the cynical lawyer, and is absolutely brilliant. 

Oldboy (dir. Park Chan-Wook, 2003)

Oldboy reminded me a great deal of John Webster’s 17th century tragedy The Duchess of Malfi. Both are gruesome, frightening, and heartbreaking works of art, straddling the line between sensationalism and intelligence, proving the two are not mutually exclusive. It’s both entertaining and difficult to watch. The thought of revisiting it terrifies me but I feel there is so much more to appreciate about the sheer craft on display.

Family Plot (dir. Alfred Hitchcock, 1976)

Family Plot is an enjoyable comedy; you guys are just mean. I know in an ideal world, Hitchcock’s swan song would be a great thriller masterpiece in the vein of Vertigo or Psycho. Family Plot is instead a silly send-up of Hitchcock’s favorite tropes, lampooning everything from the dangerous blonde archetype (with not one but two characters) to complicated MacGuffin plots. You’ll probably demand my film buff card be revoked for my opinion, but to hell with it-- this is my favorite of Hitchcock’s post-Psycho movies.

My Best Girl (dir. Sam Taylor, 1927)

Mary Pickford’s farewell to silent film also happens to be among her best movies. It’s a simple, charming romantic comedy starring her future husband, Charles “Buddy” Rogers. Pickford also gets to play an adult character here, rather than the little girl parts her public demanded she essay even well into her thirties. She and Rogers are sweet together without being diabetes-inducing, and the comedy is often laugh out loud funny. It even mocks a few tropes that anyone who watches enough old movies will recognize and probably dislike-- such as “break his heart to save him!!” (my personal most loathed 1920s/1930s trope).

Parasite (dir. Bong Joon-ho, 2019)

This feels like such a zeitgeist movie. It’s about the gap between the rich and the poor, it’s ironic,  it’s depressing, it’s unpredictable as hell. I don’t like terms like “modern classic,” because by its very definition, a classic can only be deemed as such after a long passage of time, but I have a good feeling Parasite will be considered one of the definitive films of the 2010s in the years to come.

Indiscreet (dir. Stanley Donen, 1958)

Indiscreet often gets criticized for not being Notorious more or less, which is a shame. It’s not SUPPOSED to be-- it’s cinematic souffle and both Ingrid Bergman and Cary Grant elevate that light material with their perfect chemistry and comedic timing. It’s also refreshing to see a rom-com with characters over 40 as the leads-- and the movie does not try to make them seem younger or less mature, making the zany moments all the more hilarious. It’s worth seeing for Cary Grant’s jig (picture above) alone.

The Taking of Pelham One Two Three (dir. Joseph Sargent, 1974)

This movie embodies so much of what I love about 70s cinema: it’s gritty, irreverent, and hard-hitting. It’s both hilarious and suspenseful-- I was tense all throughout the run time. I heard there was a remake and it just seems... so, so pointless when you already have this gem perfect as it is.

They All Laughed (dir. Peter Bogdonavich, 1981)

Bogdonavich’s lesser known homage to 1930s screwball comedy is also a weirdly autumnal movie. Among the last gasps of the New Hollywood movement, it is also marks the final time Audrey Hepburn would star in a theatrical release. The gentle comedy, excellent ensemble cast (John Ritter is the standout), and the mature but short-lived romance between Hepburn and Ben Gazarra’s characters make this a memorably bittersweet gem.

The Palm Beach Story (dir. Preston Sturges, 1942)

Absolutely hilarious. I was watching this with my parents in the room. My mom tends to like old movies while my dad doesn’t, but both of them were laughing aloud at this one. Not much else to say about it, other than I love Joel McCrea the more movies I see him in-- though it’s weird seeing him in comedies since I’m so used to him as a back-breaking man on the edge in The Most Dangerous Game!

Nothing Sacred (dir. William Wellman, 1937)

I tend to associate William Wellman with the pre-code era, so I’ve tried delving more into his post-code work. Nothing Sacred is easily my favorite of those films thus far, mainly for Carole Lombard but also because the story still feels pretty fresh due to the jabs it takes at celebrity worship and moral hypocrisy. For a satire, it’s still very warm towards its characters, even when they’re misbehaving or deluding themselves, so it’s oddly a feel-good film too.

Applause (dir. Rouben Mamoulian, 1929)

I love watching early sound movies, but my inner history nerd tends to enjoy them more than the part of me that, well, craves good, well-made movies. Most early sound films are pure awkward, but there’s always an exception and Applause is one of them. While the plot’s backstage melodrama is nothing special, the way the story is told is super sophisticated and expressive for this period of cinema history, and Helen Morgan makes the figure of the discarded burlesque queen seem truly human and tragic rather than merely sentimental.

Topaz (dir. Alfred Hitchcock, 1969)

Another late Hitchcock everyone but me seems to hate. After suffering through Torn Curtain, I expected Hitchcock’s other cold war thriller was going to be dull as dishwater, but instead I found an understated espionage movie standing in stark contrast to the more popular spy movies of the period. It’ll never be top Hitchcock, of course-- still it was stylish and enjoyable, with some truly haunting moments. I think it deserves more appreciation than it’s been given.

What were your favorite cinematic discoveries in 2020?

[angelharness]

ns/fw tag is junkbox, blacklist that tag if needed

somehow this evolved into. frank getting railed. was just thinking about how there’s virtually no sub frank content and then this happened. gender neutral reader, could be interpreted as a strap-on or otherwise. 

WARNINGS: smoking, brief descriptions of blood

FRANK MORRISON / THE LEGION

When Frank picks you up for your typical Friday routine, he’s tense. More so than usual, enough that you can notice it, despite being so acquainted with his usual taut air. You’ve just come from dinner with Susie and Julie at the only karaoke bar in the area, still a ways from Ormond, cheeks bitten by the cold and the crescents of ice caught on your lashes.  

Stuffed on crisp fries and more than one refill of Shirley Temples, you’re a little groggy and just want to get to his house to pass out in bed, but through your coma-esque fogginess you see Frank’s fingers tighten on the steering wheel. His eyes are almost unfocused, and you feel his dad’s old Ford Mustang begin to veer slightly as he begins down the route to his place.

You’re staring at the highway in front of you, but as the car inches over the dotted white line of the road and reaches well into the next lane over, you grab for Frank; a bad idea, he snaps to reality with a jerk in his shoulders, and the wheels screech and whine when he tears the steering wheel suddenly to the side. You gasp for a moment.

Frank swallows, readjusts his grip, and redraws into the proper lane. You look over at him, worried, and though he glances back fleetingly, his focus still resides elsewhere. 

“Frank, do we need to pull over?” you suggest, somewhat meekly. Frank was never a good driver, liable to concerning cases of road rage, but it’s out of character for him to be so out of focus. As you expected, he takes offense to your comment, as well meaning as it was intended.

“Fuck, I’m fine, okay? Can you just—” His grip tightens further, you can hear the stiff creak of the worn leather furrowing intensely between his fingers.

He twitches when you reach a hand to rub his shoulders. As you graze down his side with a gradually increasing pressure, he jolts beneath his heavy denim jacket. He careens inward, retreating from your touch, but in the moments after, falls back into the space between you two. 

You rub his hip comfortingly; Frank begins to loosen up, though his hands remain rigid, defined by furrowed veins across his straining knuckles. Your hand rests on his thigh, where you rub gentle circles. He tightens up again once more, then finally relaxes, and though there is no audible indication you can feel an exhale of relief as his limbs unstrain. 

He slouches back into the driver’s seat chair, but you still see him spare you glances, less frantic but still with meaning.

It’s been a period of fluctuating silence now. Only taking his eyes off the road to struggle open the center console, retrieving a suspiciously brown box of his favorite Classic Filter Kings cigarettes, he rummages further for his lighter but resigns his attempts, the unlit cigar fixed between his fingers as he returns to the wheel.

“What’s wrong, Frankie?” you push. Your hand moves inward on his thigh. You can’t tell if it’s a gasp, but his mouth snaps open then shuts just as quickly, eyelids fluttering in fluster. 

“Can we talk about it when we get back to my place?” he replies. His voice comes out smaller. 

When you pull up in front of his foster parents house, the sprawling display of Christmas lights across neighbor’s lawns projects in smears of color down the windows of the Ford Mustang. His house is dark, an unfitting, unwelcoming silhouette between the neighborhood's jolly spectacles. Its windows stare back like dark, unfeeling eyes.

Frank draws into the empty driveway. His parents are always out at night, though you never borrowed to ask, thankful for its convenience. He alluded to them being out of town this weekend, though. 

As Frank is now newly-nineteen, they don’t especially care much for whatever pursuits he undergoes in the privacy of his room, as long as that means he isn’t out late and getting into trouble with the law (which still makes up all of his time otherwise). You’d barely talked to them at all, actually—when Frank first brought you home, of course with the intention of sex, they hadn’t said anything at all, despite his foster mom spotting you as he rushed you up the stairs to his room. 

He practically kicked you out afterward, just in time for dinner, which you guess had saved you from any uncomfortable introductions. You would rather not spend an awkward evening at the dinner table, shifting under the judgemental, wordless glares of his parents. 

The car doors slam and the two of you trudge up the driveway to the door. Despite his parents' evident indifference, he’d always insist on entering from the back door closest to the stairs when they were home to ensure as minimal confrontation as possible. It’s in their absence that he hurries inside, eagerly pulling you along, breath heavier in cold plumes of crisp winter air. 

The door shuts, he flips on the living room lights, a sad Christmas tree blinking to life wearily in the corner by the front window. 

“The usual?” you start with a slight smile. Sex was never routine, actually, but you can tell when he needs to destress. Your relationship, never technically made official but by all other means definite, started with a teen-aged, carnal fiercoity. These escapades mellowed out and became sparser in your months together, now your time is spent in a more intimate, personal affection. To an outsider (such as Joey), they might think that that flame has lessened, but in fact you prefer the genuine romance that has developed in sex’s absence. 

He’s rolling the cigarette anxiously between his fingers, gaze fixed elsewhere. 

Frank is not shy. He feels so rawly and with a strengthness that wards off those who have not developed the acquired taste of his intensity. 

Here, though, in the doorway of his house, breathing deep first, then shallow, he is small. 

“In the car,” Frank mutters. His brows lower, frustration forming between his eyes. It’s an incomplete sentence but said with finality. He wants you to figure it out.

In the car.

You step forward and slide your hand down his arm. 

“Frankie?” you say, and while it is said with understanding it comes out teasing. He parts his lips. He grabs your shoulders and pulls you into a vigorous kiss. Parting for desperate breaths but still so fervent. It’s not the intensity you are familiar with. It is, in some aspect, resigned, from a place of surrender. He’s warm, despite the December night you’ve entered from. 

You’re starting up the stairs even as his hands clench at the fabric of your shirt. There’s the cold slide of zippers as you shed your jackets and stumble into his room. Blind, preoccupied with heavy kisses, he swats at the doorway to his room, finding the end of his door and slamming it shut after you. 

The lights come on next. His room is as messy as usual; what clothes he couldn’t manage to cram into his drawers he’s instead kicked under the bed. It smells of old weed, never a smell you would get used to. His collection of army and pocket knives remain perhaps the most organized aspect of his room, mounted on his bedroom wall in a thick frame. Torn magazine pages are plastered about on the wall; various models in bikinis, and though a joke (he claims), it’s still the subject of teasing from Julie. 

Frank tugs you along, falling back into his bed, guiding you to straddle him. His face is so red. He looks away, worrying his lip between his teeth.

“Please,” he manages.

It’s the first time you’ve heard that from him, in any context. It’s so bizarre you nearly laugh, but this is also just so rare of an experience you don’t want to risk embarrassing him, in which case surely this occurrence would never present itself again. 

He’d always been the one in control. Perhaps steered by his own collecting frustration, he fucks roughly and uncaringly. That is not to say he’s ever hurt you, but he’s never entirely there in the moment. He’s there for the feeling, but his mind is so many places at once you’ve never felt so alone in an inherently mutual act. His intensity carries over into his hands and touches, strokes which barely pass as such. Bruises and scratches are expected, though they heal fine enough on their own. Biting, too, wherever on your neck he can sink his teeth into it while fucking you. 

Your hands must be cold, or he’s just nervous (both, you decide), as the muscles in his chest twitch when you run your fingers firmly down his bare chest. There are plenty of scars, varying in color, in recency. Old, faded scars juxtaposed by those more recent and a painful red. There are dark bruises up his forearms where he scratches subconsciously when anxious. You kiss up the bruises there, caring, sweet, but intensifying when you rise to meet his lips.    

Frank was never treated kindly. Beyond that, he never opened himself up to kindness; paranoid by a history ridden so distinctly with hurt and mistreatment from those expected to care for him. 

In your time with him you’ve slowly introduced intimacy. Genuine intimacy, loving kisses and compassionate touches. You like to think he’s calmed down over the years. You see that in your time alone, where he’s come to allow himself to relax and trust you, your intentions, your love for him, but you never see it otherwise. With others, he’s still Frank, still ambitious and self-destructive, careless perhaps in the desire for hurt, for what he thinks is punishment. You wonder how much of it is an act. He keeps it all hidden well behind unyielding eyes.

You run your fingers through his short hair, moving your kisses to his neck. Instinctively, his hands claw at your back, nails sinking in bare skin for security. If he’s so jumpy at just this, you’re not sure if he’d be able to handle much more.

“It’s okay,” you promise, murmuring into the crook of his neck. Somehow, it’s hot, even as snow gathers on the outside ledge of his bedroom window. Your skin is pricked with goosebumps but your neck burns up to your cheeks. 

He says your name, eyes squeezed shut, a shy request for more. The kisses on his neck escalate, and you graze your teeth on the sensitive flesh experimentally. He pulls you closer. More. You sink your teeth in. Dark blood beads around the marks, and when you retract you gently dab away the red. More bites, he yelps shortly but his breath becomes distinguished and desperate. He’s still pulling at you.

“Is this ok?” you pause to ask. He nods his head and moves impatiently beneath you. 

He usually is relatively silent when you do get around to fucking, and in the times when he’s not he rambles on and on, names, some degrading and others loving and some both. Teasing, too, the most relentless teasing.

Seeing him so oddly vulnerable, your hands clasping his wrists to the bedsheets, that almost drunk blush bright across his cheeks. It’s weird, so weird, but it feels incredible, too. 

Pants come off, his boxers you pull down. He’s making the faintest whining, but you can’t tell if it’s out of anticipation or anxiety. You check in again and he responds a little annoyed, urging you on with rising impatience. 

“Fucking christ, come on,” he finally spits, grinding pointlessly against nothing, and yet there’s immediate regret in his eyes when you grip his thigh in warning. His foggy eyes lurch to look down at the hand inching up his inner thigh. Frank is taken aback, but still you feel him move against you, pushing into your touch to ease the burning want even if slightly. You let him go.

He shoves the cigarette on his cluttered dresser, sitting up to stretch past his nightstand, but when he turns back to you you guide him to lay back down. He lays expectantly and swallows his nervousness. You take his cock in your hand. Another taut intake of air and dizzy mumbling. 

“Yeah,” he urges in response to your inaction.

You start at a steady pace but quicken soon enough to meet his impatience. Hearty strokes, he pushes into your touch, needy and hot, the whimpering now very much audible. He jerks his head back across his pillow and looks down at you through half-lidded eyes, a twitch to his lips. You stop to admire the piercings on the underside of his shaft. He snarls, you jerk him sharply and he shuts his mouth with a surprised sound. Faster now, his mumblings evolve into barely restrained moans. 

“Good boy,” you say encouragingly, “Such a good boy.” 

“Fuck. Fuck!” His hands slide from your back, marked with the red imprint of fingers, and instead he tangles the sheets tightly in his fists, twisting them. He’s panting.  

“Oh,” you muse. He groans shakily. “Do you like that? Being called ‘good boy’?”

He can only make a sound in reply. Possibly above admitting it, but when your strokes slow, he nods. You stroke faster.

Internally, you store this revelation in your head to tease him about later. Right now, you find yourself oddly warm at this nickname. 

Again, “Good boy, what a sweet boy.” 

He ruts into your palm and you see the glint of what might be tears stinging his eyes. He’s burning, so flushed, so needy. He relents and falls back into himself. It’s an entirely new intimacy to see him like this.

He releases with an audible shutter, chest heaving an extraordinary amount for such an act. You’ve jerked him off before without a fuss, though again in those moment’s he was still demonstrating complete control, usually with a hand knotted in your hair. Exploring that loss of control you just find so exciting, though. You’re incredibly turned on and possibly more embarrassed than he is. 

You both take a moment, his breathing evening out again. You cup his cheek and run a thumb along the frame of his face, rough with scars and bruises. You kiss the light scar that runs through his lip, humming sweetly. He exhales hotly, eyes heavy and half-lidded, murky with lust.

“Fuck me,” he says suddenly. You think for a moment he’s regained his signature brashness, maybe previously lost to emotional exhaustion—no, though. He grinds against your thigh, searching so urgently for relief. You like withholding it, like watching him squirm and sputter for words, to flounder in this new sensation, flustered and aching but also groggy in his own befuddlement. But lost to an overwhelming yearning, he severs contact with the shame he’s constructed to keep him from intimacy and vulnerability, concepts still very new and scary. 

Funny how new emotions manage to be Frank’s greatest, most incapacitating fear; you’d more readily believe he would kill a man before he would ever let himself be emotionally vulnerable. 

“How do you want me to?” you ask. You are incredibly nervous but manage to function with the rush of acute longing thrumming sweetly in your veins. 

“I—I dunno,” he mumbles hotly to the side. The unpatterned fabric of his bed sheets furrows in his clenched fingers. He glares needles at the wall, far too embarrassed to look at you as you move above him.

“What if you just relax and I’ll take control this time?” you offer, dropping the teasing note in your voice. You gently rub his shoulders, unwinding the muscle there, coaxing him into relief, the unclenching of self where he had not realized he had been tensed. He releases a breath, closing his eyes, and says with it, “yeah.”

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” you remind him. He stares at you almost timidly, eyes angled through his blond eyelashes.

Shifting to a fitting angle, you lean in to kiss along his jawline, then taking his face in your hands, kissing up the bridge of his nose, at his chin, at his cheek, at his lips once more. 

He makes a sound beneath you. 

“Mmph.” Though short and exhaled almost bluntly, it’s content. A moan comes after but he silences it, drawing in his bottom lip, squeezing his eyes closed again.

Properly pushing into him, rocking up against him. He squirms briefly and resituates himself before unclenching again and following your slowly building thrusts.

He brings an arm up over himself, to shield the bedroom lights or to avert the further embarrassment of seeing you stare. Frank tucks his face into the junction in his elbow. 

“You don’t have to be so gentle.”

He manages a glance your way. It’s not a dare, not said to badger you or push buttons he knows all too well.

You sink in further and watch his chest hitch, testing broader thrusts. When his breathing normalizes, you push the remaining width deeper, now comfortably situated snug in his hips. You let the both of you adjust, then return thrusting with newly-realized confidence. Moaning, his fingers seize the sheets again and twist them. 

Mumbling incoherently as you fuck into him, he shakes, jerking. You lose yourself in the feeling, tight pleasure in your belly. He encourages you even as his face burns red ear to ear. 

“More,” he asks, and more you give him. It’s almost too much. Like winding up a chain with a crank, the ecstasy tightening his core wrenches him suddenly into undoing; pleasure, striking and raw, racking his body in release. 

If he could have been any redder his face might have well been solid crimson, already stained with pink and a few stray tears. You catch your breath with him, staring at him, beautiful and unraveled. 

You lay down beside him and somewhat hesitantly ask, “Did I do ok?”

“Yeah,” he says with the mildest smile. He still glances away, scrambling to recover his composure before looking at you again. 

Frank cleans up and retrieves a new set of boxers and his discarded pants. From his nightstand he withdraws another pack of cigarettes, this one nearly empty. You give him a look when he reaches for his blocklike lighter, cups his hand carefully around it, and lights the cigarette, taking a long drag. He returns to your side, laying next to you and shifting to allow you to rest your head on his chest.

“Your room’s a fire hazard, Frankie,” you joke. He pinches the cigarette between his fingers, exhaling a gray-white ribbon of smoke. 

He stares at the undecorated bedroom wall across from the bed, the only wall in his room not graffitied in some manner. He seems to contemplate speaking, turning the words over in his mouth with his tongue. 

“It—it felt good,” he admits, and the dark flush reappears at his ears and cheeks.

“Oh?” You scoot closer. “You looked really cute,” you tease, “I wish I could’ve taken a picture.”

You throw an obvious glance over at the clunky camera that he tossed uncaringly onto his desk. It looks virtually unused, but now certain thoughts start a smile across your face.

He shoves you but is smiling. He presses the cigarette into the ashtray behind his bed-side lamp, the smoke eaten suddenly away.

You take the moment to kiss up his neck again. Squirming, he bites back a laugh. You cradle his face with a loving hand, guiding him to look back at you. 

“I love you, Frank,” you remark, suddenly serious. Frank, for a second, looks worried, but is reassured by more kisses on his cheeks. 

“Yeah,” he replies—returning the gesture in his own manner. His lips meet yours, though a moment later you part and laugh, nose wrinkled. "What?” he shoots back, seeming confused. You only shake your head. Smoke just really isn’t a palatable taste. 

Eventually, you pull away and maneuver over him on the bed to stand, snagging your own clothes.

“You leaving?” he asks, and it might be disappointment. You shake your head as you ball up your shirt and pants. “No,” you reply. You push your hair from your face; “I need to wash up.”

“Unless, ah, you want me to leave,” you say, too nervous to turn around and look at him. You were completely prepared for him to kick you out after the fact, an expected conclusion but never one you looked forward to.

There’s no response, despite the shuffling of sheets, then he speaks.

“You can stay if you want to.”

It would sound displeased to anyone else, but you, fluent in his terminology, know it’s a genuine invitation. 

“Can I take a shower first?” you ask with a well-meaning laugh. “Yeah, that would be nice,” he replies. You doubt he meant it, but it came out as an insult, and you cackle back at him. Confused at first, he realizes, opening his mouth to clarify, but you’re the one to speak first.

“So that’s what you think of me, got it,” you joke further. He grabs a pillow out from under him and launches it your way. You retreat from it and take cover in the hallway, still giggling to yourself, and almost prance to the upstairs bathroom.

You look away from your own reflection in the mirror, flustered again, suddenly, by the image of him beneath you still recent in your thoughts. 

God.

[needs-to-stop-looking-at-valves]

Heuj valves, you know what I'm here for, go on. Make us a story dolly >:)

-cursed

Okay, in case you guys haven’t been around for like, the past day or two, let me explain. This is involving Bill Sykes, the villain of the movie ‘Oliver and Company’. Cursed came out of nowhere, showed me this man, and he has LITERALLY kept me up all night last night. I’m tired, majorly horny, and I hate this big, BIG man so much. Let’s go. (Also side note first attempt writing him, I'm trying)

Money. Money was a thing that made the world go round. It was something everyone wanted, something everyone would fight tooth and nail to get. Some people had nothing, and some had far too much. Like Sykes. Sykes had so much money, through brute force, through cunning, through anything and everything unsavory. And with so much money, came with the ability to have SO much power, of which he abused. If he wasn’t taunting people with how much money he had, he was luring more people in with his classic charm. As evil as he was, no one really seemed to see it at the beginning. They saw an older, rather likeable man. It was why no one blinked twice when he walked into the clothes store. If anything, he was welcomed, especially by the man behind the counter.

“Mr.Sykes! Just on time! Ever the punctual man! I got your new suit in!”

“Good, good. You’re one of the few in this city that DOESN’T disappoint me.”

“I should hope not, you’re my best customer! Speaking of, can I be daring enough to offer you a new set of shoes?”

“Wasn’t looking for a new pair, but what the hell.”

Sykes let him be walked to the counter. He JUST so happened to be on the counter next to some lady. Pretty thing, honestly. She somehow didn’t notice him, and pushed a handbag across the counter.

“Hey, I didn’t see a tag on this. Can you check it for me?”

This lady didn’t belong here. This was a real ‘if you had to ask, you can’t afford it’ kinda place. The guy behind the counter gave her a look, before glancing at the bag.

“Twenty nine fifty, miss.”

“Only thirty bucks? Okay-”

She went to dig into her current purse, before he cleared his throat.

“Ma’am, no. I’m saying it's two thousand, nine hundred and fifty dollars.”

“Ah. So when do I get the bull?”

“Pardon?”

“The bull. The one who's giving me this fresh batch of shit."

Sykes had to give her one thing, she had a mouth on her. Sykes sensed a fight, and decided to turn that into his favor.

“Hey, let me pay for the lady here.”

She looked at him, seeming to just now notice his presence. She was reasonably suspicious, and seemed to almost snarl at him.

“I don’t do freebies.”

“Not a freebie. Just thought a pretty lady should have pretty things. If you don’t want it, fine, won’t push it. Really, it’s on me.”

She hesitated, before seeming to put her guard down, pushing the purse back across the counter. He chuckled, swiping his card. This is how you brought the pretty ones in. Buy them something nice and shiny, show them you were a sweet guy. He grabbed his things, and stepped outside with her. She was staring at her purse in fascination, before turning to look at him.

“Thanks a bunch, by the way. Didn’t catch your name.”

“Sykes. Bill Sykes.”

He held his hand out to her, and she accepted the handshake. He took the chance to give her another look over, and realized; yeah. She was worth trapping. He threw his stuff into the car, before turning to look in her direction.

“You have plans for lunch?”

“No, why?”

“Feelin’ generous today. Assuming you can spare me some company.”

She looked hesitant, studying him and his ride. If he wasn’t rich, it would’ve been ‘hell no’. But she was, like many, allured by his obvious, flagrant weath.

“I mean...yeah, sure. Why not?”

Little did she know, she was digging the hole deeper and deeper.

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

It had gotten WAY later into the night than he planned. He had meant to only spare an hour or so, but he found himself taking well into sunset. By the time they left the place, she was hooked, lined, and sinker, laughing and holding onto his arm as they walked back to his car. He opened the passenger side door for her, motioning for her to hop in.

“You want a ride back to your place? You DID have a bit to drink.”

She nodded, getting inside, practically giddy.

“Yeah, I can tell you how to get there, I think.”

“Good, good.”

He shut the door after her, and hopped in himself. He put on his seatbelt, and lit up a cigar. He hadn’t had a good smoke all day, and it felt good to finally get one in. He let her guide him to her house, and made a mental note of just where she lived. The drive was but a simple action, but it was a clever, discreet way of knowing just where to find her. He stopped right in front of her place, put the car in park, and exhaled the smoke into the car’s interior.

“You know, you put me in a real, real good mood. How about I do the same for you?”

She looked at him, confused, before he pulled out his wallet, and brought out a good chunk of cash. THAT sobered her up. Her first instinct was to clearly reach for it, but she stopped herself.

"What...is this for?"

"Spending money. Something for you to play around with, invest in stuff, whatever ya want."

"That’s...lots of money. A...LOT of money. You just carry that with you? You don’t think you’ll get mugged or something?”

“That doesn’t happen. Trust me on that.”

He chuckled. There were attempts, MANY attempts in fact, but...well. Didn’t end well, let’s keep it at that. She looked down at the stack, and he knew she was so close to being in his web. Just one movement of the hand. One moment of indulgence. And she fell for it. She took it from his hand, and counted it in her hand. The more she counted, the more lost she seemed to get, clearly in disbelief.

“Twenty five...t-thousand. That’s seriously how much this is?”

“Right on the dot. Now go on, get outta here. Sure I’ll bump into ya again, Doll.”

When she helped herself out of the car, he chuckled, and pulled out of the driveway. Soon enough made it home, where Roscoe and Desoto looked up at him, clearly wondering where he had been. It WAS a bit past their usual treat time. Fishing some out of his pockets, he tossed them towards his eagerly awaiting pups. He sighed as he sat down at his chair, leaning back a bit, and blowing rolls of smoke into the air.

“You boys ain’t gonna believe today’s catch. A real cute thing, you have no idea. Imma give her the usual week. Desoto.”

He snapped his fingers, and the mutt obeyed promptly, getting out of bed and sitting at his side. He allowed Sykes to run his big, firm hands through his fur, and thumbs rubbing at the tips of his ears. His master seemed VERY pleased by his new catch today, he almost never got special pets like this.

“You guys are gonna love her. Because If I don’t get a bite out of her, you two will.”

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

He waited in his car, headlights off as he awaited her to return from work. He decided to take all this time to get back to some calls, rather than just sit here with his thumbs up his ass. 

“No. No. Swear to god ya bunch of morons- no. Take the teeth out BEFORE ya dump him. So what if he screams? Well ya in the warehouse right? Aight, ya gonna be fine then.”

His associate kept talking on the other line, but Sykes didn’t listen. He was too distracted by his hounds in the back, who were now fully sitting up and looking out the window. His dogs were a pain, but at least they were smart.

“Yeah listen, imma call ya back. Figure it out.”

He then saw her. She was even carrying the same purse he bought her. He waited till she went to her front door, before turning on the headlights, nearly blinding the poor thing. He stepped out of the car, hands out as if he was being welcoming.

“Aye, there ya are doll! Been a while!”

She seemed confused for a minute, but as he stepped closer, it clicked.

“Sykes, right?”

“Yeah, knew ya wouldn’t forget me. I didn’t forget ya in the slightest.”

He walked up to her, and leaned against the door, pinning her between a rock and a hard place. She shrunk a bit, before looking down at the floor. She had dropped her keys. Just before she could make the motion to reach for them, he covered it with the bottom of his shoe. He leaned down, blowing plumes of smoke into her face, making tears swell in her eyes.

“So, where’s my payment?”

“Payment?”

Of course she was confused. They always were. As if money was free in this world. He let the cigar roll in his mouth, before nodding.

“Yeah, my payment. You took a loan from me, doll. I need it back.”

“I didn’t know that was a loan! You didn’t say-”

“Little girl, nothing in this world is free, money included. Now, where is it? If you got it upstairs, I’ll go with ya to get it.”

Her little eyes looked so frantic under his gaze. He just needed to hear those words. Words that from any other mouth, would make him a very unhappy man.

“I...don’t have that kinda money.”

That was all he needed. He grabbed her by her arm, and yanked her to follow. She would’ve made a dash for her keys, had Roscoe not nipped at her heel, forcing her to back away. Turns out two barking dogs made for quite the deterrent. Sure, she struggled, screaming as his hand slapped over her mouth, but that didn’t matter. He managed to pull her away, and nearly threw her into the car. Desoto was a good boy, using those big, pearly whites to keep her there in pure fear.

“Roscoe, fetch.”

Roscoe went for the door, grabbed the keys, and placed them into his master’s hand.

“Good boy. Now get in.”

He waited till his other pup jumped into the back, before he went to the driver’s seat, and locked the doors. He adjusted his rearview mirror, and caught a glimpse of her scared little eyes. Yep. She was already worth every penny.

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

“Don’t look at me like I’m a bad guy, sweetheart. You understand, ain’t nothing free. I fancy myself a good guy, but not good enough to just hand out money like that.”

Roscoe and Desoto circled her like vultures. She didn't even NEED to be tied up like this, he just liked the assurance, and the view. Like a little doe, she was still, powerless, and scared.

"I didn't know-"

"What you don't know, CAN kill you. I'm sorry, I know it ain't fair. But life is like that. Fortunately for you, I'm a very compassionate man. We can discuss methods of payment. Any family money?"

She shook her head, seeming to be a BIT distracted by Roscoe's sharp teeth. He gave a sharp inhale, shaking his head.

"Clearly YOU don't have the money, right? No 'under the sofa' cash?"

Another shake of her head. His fingers tapped against his table, shaking his head in clear disappointment. 

"Oh. I REALLY don't like your options now, Doll. Ya got two choices."

She squirmed a bit, stiffening as Desoto's teeth bared against her. He lifted his hands up a bit, and snapped his fingers. Roscoe followed the command, and dashed right for her, barking and frothing at the mouth. The weight of his body sent her falling, with the chair slamming onto the floor. He pinned her down, barking and covering her face in drool, teeth BARELY missing her own skin. 

Oh how she screamed. How she begged for mercy. How her legs thrashed as she tried in vain to get away. He let her sit there until he was certain there were tears in her eyes. Then he stood up, and slowly walked over to her, heavy footsteps clanking against the hard floor below them. He snapped his fingers, and Roscoe heeled, taking a seat next to his fellow fido. He squatted down to her level, blowing smoke into her already irritated face. He liked crybabies.

"That's option one. I'm assuming you don't want that."

She shook her head, sniffing. He rolled the cigar in his lips, before he lifted her face up with his hand, and pushed her chin down, forcing her mouth to open.

"Option two. You could provide me with a few...services. Then we can forget ALL about the pesky little debt you have with me. You're a pretty little thing, I'd be willing to let you work it off. I mean, you'd survive If I bit you, rather than my boys here. Not to mention if you're sweet 'nuff, I'll un do those pesky ropes of yours."

She clearly thought about it, but her mind was foggy, her eyes hurt, even her lungs felt sore from the second hand smoke. But, just as he suspected, she nodded. A huge grin came over his face, and he held onto the chair, pulling her off the floor.

"Alright sweetheart, let's EARN your freedom here. Open that pretty mouth for me."

He held onto her face as he pulled in, pushing that thick, rich smoke right into her mouth. All while his tongue slid into her mouth, grazing against hers. He took his time, getting a good, firm kiss out of her. He only pulled away when he needed to breathe. She needed it too, starting to fall into a coughing fit. It was cute. He put out his cigar on the ashtray, letting it sit there.

"Mm. You taste good. Damn good."

He undid his belt buckle, and whipped himself out. He turned her face at him, but with a bit of a...heavy hand, he pressed his cock against her face.

It was precious, watching such an innocent face under his thick cock. She whined a bit as he pushed her face into him, nearly smothering her with not only his dick, but his hairy, hairy balls.

"Open up for me Doll, nice and sweet. And don't you bite me. You'll regret it, trust me."

This time she seemed fairly willing, opening her mouth with not much more than a wince. He grabbed onto that pretty, pretty hair of hers, and pulled, really shoving her onto him.

"Oh that's the ticket, honey. Right there. Can feel that little tongue of yours."

He pushed himself fully, and held himself there, till he felt her gag, just like a good girl. He pulled away, watching her pant, lips covered in her own drool, and chest heaving. She was about to speak, before he shoved his balls right into her mouth, head tossed back in content. When was the last time he had his balls sucked by a cute, willing (somewhat anyway) little thing like her? He kept his fat, firm fingers in between her hair, really making a mess of it. Beautiful, poised girls were all swell, but cute, messy girls were such fun playthings. He granted her a bit of mercy, pulling away, while still pumping his cock.

"Mmm. You're a good little girl, ain't ya? Pretty too. I was gonna really put you through the ringer, but you're too damn precious NOT to be opened."

Not needing any scissors, he yanked at the ropes, making them snap under the force of his grip. He lifted her off of the seat, putting her on his desk, and using his big, strong hands to part those nice looking legs of hers. She was clearly hesitant, being felt up by essentially a stranger, but he didn’t care. Long as she didn't fight him, he could give less of a damn. He tore off her skirt, and took a gander of her panties. It was hot, knowing those lacey undergarments were paid for by HIM.

"Cute set here, Doll. Real, real cute stuff."

He took a hold of her ass, and pulled her closer to him, pressing himself right against that nice, cute fabric. With his free hand, he tugged at her shirt. Just because he was hungry, didn't mean he couldn't be a bit refined.

"Shirt, bra, off. Case you wanna keep your outfit in one piece."

He saw her hands tremble, as if she was confused. He gave another tug, and she seemed to finally get the hint, pulling her clothes off. She was worth the wait, honestly. Hell, he was so excited, he took his own shirt off, laying it as carefully as he could off to the side of the desk (it was hard to keep your shit neat when you wanted to be messy). He dug his fingers into her hair again, and yanked her into another kiss, this time really pressing himself against her. It wasn’t just their bank accounts that differed, it seemed. Where she was soft, helpless, he was firm, foreboding against her. He loomed over her, nearly suffocating her with not only his greedy lips, but his large, hairy, heavy frame. He pulled her away for a moment, ignoring the way she winced. He was pretty heavy handed, especially when it came to such a darling looking thing. He started to roll his hips into her, pushing his tip right against her clit. He liked the way she jumped every time, liked the way her toes seemed to curl. 

“You’re gonna handle me REAL well, girlie. I can tell. You’re really just a kitten, ain’t ya?”

His hand cupped at one of her breasts, kneading and pulling at the flesh. He was heavy handed with her, using enough force to make her wince. Not his fault she had a cute pair, with a face to match. He would sit there and play with them till they were nice and raw, but he wasn’t sure his cock would handle this much stalling. He hooked his finger into her underwear, and pulled them off. They were pretty much soaked, and something about that was just so charming to him. He let go of her hair, and groped her pussy, palming at her wet, warm folds. She held onto his hand, writhing under his firm grip. He pulled his hand away, letting her whimper as he checked out just how much she left on his hand. Needy little thing, it seemed. He slapped that hand over her mouth, and pushed himself right inside. You’d think he’d give her just the tip, get her used to his size.

You’d be wrong.

He pushed himself fully inside of her, balls deep, and watched her shake. Not that he blamed her. He was a big guy, afterall. He kept his hand over her mouth, despite how much she clawed at his hand. He held her like that, not moving a single muscle until she decided to settle down. He pulled his hand away, watching as her own drool (along with her own fluids) smeared over her delicate little mouth. She looked at the cock stuff inside of her, before looking at his face. He was expecting some kind of retort, some kind of insult, maybe even a slap to the face, stuff he was used to.

“You’re a terrible, terrible man.”

He opened his mouth to give her a life lesson (one he gave everyone when they barked that at him), when she suddenly flung herself at him, nearly smashing her lips against his own. That...was a first. But he was NOT complaining. He grabbed the back of her head, and returned the kiss with fervor, letting her moan right into his greedy, greedy mouth. Laying her right onto her back, he started to slam himself right into her. He had no idea how his desk supported his weight, especially when he was acting damn near belligerent on his new toy, but god was he glad it did. Especially since his new toy seemed just as excited as he was now, running her hands through his absolute mess of chest hair, and even locking her legs around him, as if she didn’t want him to leave. He parted the kiss, panting huskily against her lips. She moved not an inch, in either obedience, or the fact that his strong, fat hands were still holding the back of her head, as if he was scruffing a mutt.

“You’re taking me real nice, doll. You feel nice and tight, and you’re feeling me up like you actually like me.”

She didn’t seem to be focusing on his words for a moment, but rather keeping her focus on his big, hairy tummy. Not that he cared, he favored looking at her tits moving in sync with his thrusts. He favored watching the lewdness in her eyes, he favored knowing that her ravenous pussy leaked all over his desk. All of these he favored, over her actually meeting his eyes (Sykes wasn’t a real romance type, case you haven’t guessed). He let her continue her grubby little hands as he lowered his face right to the nape of her neck. He could tell that she liked hearing him talk, given the way she seemed to pull at his hair every time his breath brushed against her ear.

“It’s gonna feel so good when I cum right in you. You’re already handling me so good, you’re already gonna cum yourself. I can see it. I can see it plain as day, you wanna cum on my cock. Even if I’m a bad, bad guy, you want me doll. And that’s SO sweet of ya, really.”

He could tell she was trying to give him a bit of a fight. Just a little bit of one. She had such a mean little scowl about her, as if she refused to let him see her cum. Unfortunately for her, he always took what he wanted. And after just a few more thrusts, after taunting her with his sweet, sweet voice, and after grabbing her so tightly she bruised, she came. She shook something fierce as he fucked her right through it, relishing in her cries of ecstasy. He was used to screams. Screams of mercy, of pain, but hearing one from such a cute little dame cumming for him, it was just so refreshing. She pushed his face away, only to bury her teeth right into his big, meaty neck. Most bites tended to happen on his hand, so feeling it here was just something else. He didn’t have a chance in hell. With a swear under his lips, he came. He forced her to keep still, pumping cum right inside of her. Even as it trickled out of her, he didn’t seem to quit. He wasn’t timing it, but he knew he lasted a damn good minute before he finished.

“Shit.”

Was his only response. A simple, satisfied swear. One that helped ease all the tension in his poor, old body. His stomach rested on hers as he panted, ever so slowly calming down from a damn good high. She was quite a vision herself, covered in sweat and bruises. Pretty thing. She forced herself to swallow, before speaking, wearily.

“We uh...square, right?”

That made him laugh. He shook his head, leaning over to his discarded jacket, and pulling out a cigar. He lit it up, taking a good, deep inhale, right before looking down at her.

“Honey, that was a damn good fuck, really it was. But that was NOT worth twenty five thousand. You still got a bit of work ahead of ya, Doll.”

He watched her wince as he tapped his cigar, letting the ashes fall onto her exposed skin. Yep.

She was a keeper.

[stillness-in-green]

Ahistorical, Absurd, and Unsustainable (Part Four and Conclusion)

An Examination of the Mass Arrest of the Paranormal Liberation Front Introduction and Part One Part Two Part Three

PART FOUR: Thematic Problems

For all that portions of the Western fandom look at the MLA and see Evil Quirk Eugenicists and Hypocritical Ultra-Rich, they had legitimate complaints, and their goals, while overly radical if taken to their logical extremes—see Geten[51]—still offer a way to address a huge number of the problems this society faces. Locking them up and throwing away the key is shutting off one of the most prominent angles on addressing those issues. Consider:

The Problem of Heroics

Quirk-based prejudice is real, and a huge amount of it is based in the hero/villain dichotomy. This isn’t surprising; when you set up a group of people as “heroes,” it follows logically, linguistically, naturally that the people they fight must be villains. Villains are bad, are evil, are black-and-white figures with no motivation worth considering. Toss them in jail; who cares? They earned being in there with their Bad Actions. But that kind of thinking is insidious—it spreads.

If someone looks like a villain, if someone has a bad quirk, they may well be a Bad Seed. And if they aren’t, well, the responsibility is on them to rise above that prejudice, to become better than the people around them think they can be—but no one asks the people around them to maybe stop being so damn prejudicial all the time.

A horrifyingly stark example shows up in Chapter 310, in which a woman is being attacked by a group of three men for no reason save that they think she looks like a villain, so they assume she must be a villain. Her obvious villain trait? She’s a heteromorph—unusually tall, with a vulpine face. That’s it. She’s not dressed in a threatening or antisocial style; she’s not aggressive or angry. She’s just a heteromorph who didn’t go to a shelter right away because she thought things would calm down if she waited it out.

Love Midoriya following this up with, “I bet they were just scared too.” Way to chase an aggression with a micro-aggression there, hero. (Chapter 310)

Of course, tensions are running high right now, higher than would ever be the case under normal circumstances, but even in “normal circumstances,” this uncomfortable bias persists. Consider Class 1-A’s Shoji: Shoji wears a mask because he's a gentle soul who doesn’t want to scare small children, but maybe instead, people should be teaching their kids not to judge by appearances? Then maybe their kids wouldn’t grow up to be the kinds of people who attack others for looking a little scary and not going to sufficient pains to hide it?

As far as bad quirks go, meanwhile, Shinsou is the classic example on the hero side. He was told by classmates, laughingly, that he had a good quirk for a villain; he carries himself at all times like he’s got something to prove. I suspect the only reason he’s at U.A. and not running with the League of Villains is a supportive home life,[52] but either way, people are all too ready to apply a villain label to him based on an ability that was nothing but genetic lottery, and that’s because the existence of heroes defines itself by the existence of villains.

Of course, the otherization of villains and people-who-kind-of-seem-like-they-might-be-villains is only part of the problem. The other and frankly larger issue is the effect that limiting quirk use to heroes-only has on the cultural mindset—heroes, villains, and civilians alike.

Japan in real life fosters a sense of community support so profound that children as young as four can be sent on small errands[53] around the neighborhood, safe in the knowledge that if they need help, they will be able to get that help. It’s far more common for young children to walk or take public transit to school than it is in the U.S. Another example is the country’s enthusiastic embrace of publicly available AED machines, complete with easy-to-understand printed and audio instructions about how to use them on people suffering heart attacks, a movement that has saved the lives of many who might not have otherwise survived long enough for an ambulance to arrive.

In My Hero Academia’s Japan, though?

You wind up with people who don't even particularly want to become heroes enrolling in hero schools anyway because it's the only way they can imagine contributing to society. Uraraka and Gran Torino are obvious examples—Uraraka becoming a hero less because she felt a calling to and more because it seemed like the best way to ameliorate her family’s hardscrabble lot in life; Torino getting a hero license not because he cared about being a hero at all, but because he was in on the One For All situation and needed to be able to use his quirk freely to help fight that secret war.

An even more telling case is that of the main character himself. Midoriya desperately wanted to “save” people, and from all the evidence we have in the early manga, as far as he was concerned, the only way for him to do that was to become a hero. He never even considered e.g. signing up for any volunteer programs around his neighborhood or joining the police. It’s like he never even considered the possibility of helping people via other channels.

And this is a consistent issue! People who don't think that they can become heroes train themselves (and are trained by society) into believing that they are powerless, that it isn’t their responsibility to help when they see trouble, leading to things like Shimura Tenko's “long walk,” where countless people look at a child of five, bloody and alone, and then make the conscious decision to look away, because “a hero will help.”

Hell, it even spills over onto actual heroes, who in the first chapter stand around like chumps waiting for “someone with a better quirk” to come and do something about the sludge villain, because they don’t have the perfect quirk to solve the problem themselves, so they don’t even try.

Of course, even if they did try, it might not be welcomed. Consider cases where people wanted to do good, like Gentle Criminal or Vigilantes' Koichi, but had their road to heroism blocked—this led them to villainy or vigilantism, which in turn can lead to arrest and possible prison time, with all the attendant stigma.

Restricting quirk use to heroes-only has impacts beyond just how it distorts people’s desire to help, too. Evidence in the manga suggests that some people feel a stronger biological drive to use their quirks than others. What options do those people have, then, if their quirks—or their personalities—don’t seem naturally cut out for heroism?

In Tamaki Amajiki’s flashback in Chapter 140, a teacher tells his class, “People make fine use of their quirks at any number of jobs. Being a hero’s not the only option. How will you be useful to society in the future? That’s what we’re here to explore in quirk training.” This is the scene in the manga that most explicitly tells us that other avenues for quirk use exist, but we’re never once shown what those avenues might be. At best, this suggests that those avenues are drastically limited (e.g. only available to those whose quirks are deemed “useful to society”) and/or poorly explained to people in-universe—else why would Uraraka have chosen heroism despite her lack of interest in it if she could have just gotten some kind of job license for her quirk? At worst, it’s an example of Horikoshi throwing in a line that contradicts the surrounding canon. Either way, we’re left with people who feel a strong drive to use their quirks being pressured into heroism or straying into villainy for lack of other acceptable outlets.

All of these issues could be mitigated by less draconian restrictions on quirks—which Destro's followers are the only characters in the manga we've actively seen pushing for, rather than just heard about second-hand—and by not using an ideologically charged word like “heroes” to describe a glorified independent police force. Allowing people to freely use their quirks[54] means fewer people being pushed into a heroics job they're unsuited for, means fewer people being pushed into villainy, means a more rounded view on how quirks can be used, leading to less quirk-based prejudice and less—well, let’s talk some about false dichotomies.

All For Nothing, Nothing For All

Shigaraki stands as a fundamental accusation of the way the hero/civilian dynamic exacerbates the Bystander Effect, making people think of themselves as powerless, while at the same time putting untenable pressure on heroes to be perfect victory machines who don't experience pain or doubt or weakness. He further attests that this dynamic pushes out people who don't fit either category—victim or hero—making them villains. This is one of the fundamental thematic conflicts of the series—is one hero enough? Are heroes themselves enough? What are heroes, what do they fight, and what should they be fighting? Who deserves to be “saved” and what does it mean, anyway, to “save” someone? What happens to the people who aren’t saved? How will the world grapple with the consequences, the resentment, that stem from that failure?

In his work Underground, written to grapple with and criticize the way Japanese media covered the sarin gas attacks, author Murakami Haruki talked about the response to the incident being to call the members of Aum Shinrikyo evil, insane, diseased, other. They were spoken of as a monstrous fringe that could not have been predicted, about which nothing could have been done, rather than examined as bright, well-educated young people who by all accounts ought to have had good futures ahead of them but instead spiraled down into a doomsday cult. Murakami asserted that, because the Japanese public was unwilling to ask how and why that happened, was unwilling to self-examine, the country was locking itself into a repeating cycle. Memorably, he wrote, “Most Japanese seem ready to pack up the whole incident in a trunk labeled THINGS OVER AND DONE WITH,” to describe this resolute incuriosity, the strong aversion to looking into the face of evil and trying to find the humanity within it.

In this post and its follow-up, tumblr user @robotlesbianjavert discusses the problems that stem from that exact tendency as portrayed in My Hero Academia. She says, “Only making decisions that benefit the greater good is not the real solution that the narrative is rooting for. Not so long as it fails to recognize and address the needs of the victims that still come of it.” Hero Society will never stop creating its own villains so long as, every time it fails people, it does nothing but shrug and write off the victims as unavoidable, inevitable sacrifices for the greater good.

I would also like to highlight her point—which I hope she one day posts her own full essay on—about the way All For One and One For All serve as two extreme poles of equally unsustainable visions for society. This dynamic is all over the manga.

There are the characters of AFO and his younger brother themselves, each forever locked in battle to prove the correctness of his own way of thinking, and forever talking past the other even when they’re face to face.

There’s the contrast of heroes, giving their all to help strangers even when it hurts the people they love, with villains, giving their all to help the people they love even when it hurts strangers.

The flaws in the One For All model can be seen in the multilayered ravages it inflicted on All Might physically, emotionally, and socially. Thus, one for all is not always ideal.

The strengths of the All For One model can be seen in a team of heroes and police combining their efforts and will to help one single person—Eri. Nighteye even highlights this with his speech about everyone’s efforts coalescing into Midoriya and helping him to “twist fate.” Thus, all for one is not always about selfishness.

Once you start looking for it, this duality shows up everywhere, and I think—I hope—it’s an angle Horikoshi is conscious of. The obvious solution is that the extremes of this society are all undesirable—that total selflessness and total selfishness are equally unsustainable, and both are, ultimately, damaging. A more holistic approach is needed, yet if a holistic approach is what the manga ultimately proves to be seeking, it makes the mass arrest of the PLF particularly problematic, if it’s allowed to stand unchallenged. You cannot just choose not to see 115,000 dissatisfied people—some way or another, you have to reckon with them, and if you don’t do it in a way that actually helps them address whatever their core problem is, you’re just setting yourself up for more of the same further down the line.

The MLA believed that they were fighting for a just cause, for freedom, for the future. They absolutely had issues—Geten’s words indicate that much—but they were issues that would have been much better addressed by actually challenging them openly, rather than suppressing them. If they couldn’t get society to agree right away that the use of one’s quirk should be as unregulated as the use of one’s hands, maybe they would have accepted a tiered license approach to quirk use as a good starting compromise. If they wanted totally unhindered quirk use, such that people could murder with impunity? Well, that would never have gotten past the House of Representatives, but maybe a bill declaring that crimes committed by quirks should be treated no differently than crimes committed via any other means would have. A weeklong debate on the Diet floor would have stood a much greater chance of e.g. addressing the needs of the quirkless than the MLA alone would have bothered with.

The MLA didn’t get to have that kind of debate. Instead, they ran headfirst into Shigaraki Tomura, who made them far more dangerous. And yet… For all that Shigaraki twisted them, he didn’t change them so much that Re-Destro couldn’t still see the light of his ideals within them. Furthermore, even though the PLF didn’t win the battle we call the War Arc, it may be that they’re well on their way to winning the actual war.

“The Seeds Are Already Sown”

So what did the PLF actually want? Well, we have a few sources on that—Shigaraki’s desire to destroy “everything,” the cloned Re-Destro’s vision of liberation through “order without order,” and so forth. But a very instructive place to look is Hawks’ doomsaying in Chapter 258. While the PLF is a bit too scattered or imprisoned to appreciate it, a shocking number of the things Hawks laid out for the audience have actually come about, even if they didn’t happen exactly as the PLF planned. Consider:

Bring down the status quo by annihilating all heroes. Heroes—a number of whom died the day of the raid—are retiring in mass numbers. As the manga describes it, they are “being put through a sieve.” They certainly haven’t all been annihilated, but the ones remaining are having to do the work with little in the way of thanks or glory—the false heroes Stain spoke of have left the table.

They plan to attack all major cities at once throughout the nation. Gigantomachia stampeded over more than twenty cities in the space of less than an hour. A bunch of them were surely not major cities, but all the same, it was a rampage that caught the heroes almost completely off-guard (because they were all tied up arresting the PLF and didn’t think Machia would be an issue), leading to massive collateral damage and unspeakable loss of life.

With society brought to a lawless standstill… Thanks to AFO’s prison breaks, a bunch of villains are now out there raising hell to their hearts’ content, and there aren’t enough heroes around to always respond in a timely fashion. They’re having to open up schools as shelter zones, evacuating entire cities, which the common people respond to predictably poorly, leading to groups of people who were not previously villainous deciding to take the law into their own hands.

…Re-Destro and the Hearts & Minds Party will storm the political world. In Chapter 297, the less openly fascist guard worries that the remaining factions of the HMP[55] will still be stirring up trouble on the political front, especially given the enormous wave of brand-new complaints about human rights violations that he doubtlessly figured were incoming.

They will distribute weapons and extol the virtues of self-defense, calling it true freedom. Whether Detnerat picked up the pace of its black-market support goods sales, bankrolled Giran doing the same, or some other groups—yakuza, perhaps—stepped up, we already know that there are weapons and support goods circulating throughout society, and that people are using them for self-defense.

These people will throw the world into chaos and enthrone Shigaraki atop the rubble. The second coming of All For One. Far more so than anyone in the PLF would have wanted, this one has come horribly true with the AFO vestige’s possession of Shigaraki.[56]

While it is perhaps karmic that the PLF is in no position to enjoy the fruits of their villainous efforts, it’s striking how much of what they wanted has come about anyway. And how much of this can really be undone or wound back? Complete societal breakdown isn’t the kind of genie you can easily rebottle, and this, I think, is particularly illustrated by the civilians Yo and Tatami encounter in Chapter 307.

I’d like to wind this essay down by zooming in on that encounter somewhat.

The group of people the Ketsubutsu pair encounter in 307 are not nice, but neither are they violent. Having, like so many others, lost faith in heroes to protect them, they want only to protect their hometown and for heroes to leave them be. They’ve fended off a few small-time villain attacks and are bluntly uninterested in cooperating with condescending heroes (an impression Yo is not helping to mitigate) who have done nothing but disappoint them.

The spokesman in particular feels to me like someone who’s suffered a significant personal loss. The shadow over his eyes here is telling. (Chapter 307)

When Muscular shows up, they are 100% ready to put their lives where their mouths are. They are all in the process of charging outside, first to stop their town from suffering more damage, then to back up a hero kid they just got done telling to buzz off. And you know? It’s possible—probable, even!—that Muscular would have murdered every last one of them, and them charging in to fight him would have led to a horrific tragedy, one more to stack atop the pile.

And yet, while the narrative doesn’t allow them to actually assist,[57] neither does it entirely rebuke them, in the end. When all is said and done, the civilians agree to hear Tatami and Yo out, and they help Tatami get Yo inside for medical attention. The leader is a little abashed, but he doesn’t bow his head and admit to being wrong; his group doesn’t meekly submit to being herded to shelter. And that’s because the narrative is—wisely—unwilling to say that they’re wrong.

After all, how could it?

Midoriya Izuku and the jaded civilian's instincts. (Chapters 1 and 307)

For a last comparison, remember that in the first chapter, Midoriya Izuku—quirkless, untrained Midoriya Izuku—dove into a fight he had no way of winning, no way of even affecting. All he was doing was endangering himself and making the sludge villain even harder to target. Still, All Might and the narrative alike praised him for his action, because it was driven by a “desire to save.” In Chapter 307, a group of undertrained civilians witnesses a high school boy being attacked by the highest tier of villain their society knows, a Tartarus escapee, a gleeful and unrepentant serial killer with a devastatingly powerful quirk. Their response is to gather up their weapons and numbers and dive in to try and help. Regardless of the weakness of their quirks, regardless of their lack of training, regardless of the danger to their lives, their instinct is the same as Midoriya’s was back then—“the desire to save.”

How could the narrative possibly tell us that they're wrong?

And if they aren’t wrong, this group of people who are so very close to the vision the PLF had for the world after their revolution, the narrative simply cannot expect to retain the slightest hint of credibility if it tries to tell us that the PLF are worth nothing more than an authorial handwave and the slamming of a cell door.

Conclusion

What we are seeing in the manga now is a society that is fumbling towards a new way. It isn’t perfect; it has a lot of wrinkles to iron out. Yet in some ways, if this is a society that has gone back in time, it is also a society that has a chance to chart a different path forward than it did before, a more inclusive path, a more balanced one. Heroes can still exist in the same way that surgeons and emergency responders exist, but that doesn't mean people throw their first aid kits in the garbage.

People protest that untrained civilians using their quirks leads to collateral damage, and that's true. The same would be true, however, if a nation that relied solely on public transit suddenly faced the total breakdown of that system and found that, if they wanted to get anywhere farther than walking distance, they had to get behind the wheel of a car and drive there themselves with no previous experience handling a motor vehicle. With some basic training, or perhaps a test and associated license that is as ubiquitous as a driver's license, how much of the collateral damage caused by civilians fighting might be reduced? How might people feel more empowered to act when necessary?

I very much want to see that future in the manga. It will feel terribly bitter, however, if the people who always believed in that future the most don’t get to see it themselves.

Bit characters are bit characters, I know. Terrorists in fiction don’t typically get to walk away scot-free. But numbers aren’t just numbers, even in fiction, even when they’re villains. If all Horikoshi wanted was a sufficiently large, scary threat to throw his heroes up against, he should have stuck with mindless Noumu or maniacal robots. He didn’t. He chose to make that threat human. He cannot now choose to dehumanize the threat, just because those humans are no longer convenient to his story.

Or at least, he can’t make me look at his doing so as anything other than appalling—ahistorical, absurd, and unsustainable.

Come back next time for sources and further reading.

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[51] And yes, as always, I do think that Geten-whose-name-means-Apocrypha is a radical, not a reliable barometer for the MLA norm.

[52] Contrasting Toga, the standard-bearer for bad quirks on the villain side.

[53] We don’t know if that practice—so widespread it became the subject of a long-running TV program—survived the Advent and raised crime rate, but if it didn’t, that only further suggests that kids wandering the streets unattended are probably in need of assistance.

[54] Within the same bounds other freedoms exist, e.g. they’re not unduly burdening others.

[55] Small political parties in Japan merge and fragment all the time, particularly in times of crisis, so it’s not surprising that the HMP has some sub-groups. I am somewhat surprised that these factions themselves weren’t dissolved as well, given the heavy-handedness on display everywhere else. This is about the only thing that suggests that the arrests might not be as totally over-the-top as is otherwise implied, though really, if that’s the case, it just brings us back to the problem of all the people who probably slipped the net if the HPSC did opt to undercompensate.

[56] Another enormous thematic issue I have with tossing away the PLF like this is that it renders Shigaraki and the League’s hard-fought victories in My Villain Academia all but meaningless—worse than meaningless, since settling into the villa instead of staying on the run or bunking up with Ujiko wound up losing them Twice—but that’s more a problem with the writing of Shigaraki’s arc than the themes of the series as a whole. Certainly, fumbling Shigaraki’s arc will have a nigh-incomparable impact on the themes of the series as a whole, but there’s time to salvage his situation yet, so I’m crossing my fingers and reserving judgement on that for now.

[57] It should have.