#and he's so self-centered because he's going through a lot of pain that as a teenage kid no one seems to really relate with

[tearsoftime0086]

I was talking about this to a friend a few weeks ago, but I love how Kamille basically starts and ends Zeta Gundam with the same motive - righting a wrong - but the way he internalizes it shows how much he's grown (spoilers below).

Like, when he goes awol and steals the MK II, he's solely in it to pay back the MP who physically assaulted him (which also I could go into a whole other conversation about... dude why did you turn back around when a gundam crashed into the military facility???? anyway). He wants to get revenge for being looked down on, from being toyed around with by the officers on the sidelines. It's a very self-centered and almost egotistical drive.

By the time he's fighting Scirocco however, the rationale is different. Yes, he's still calling out Scirocco for doing much of the same as the MP - watching from the sidelines, messing with people - but Kamille's a changed man. He's now a formal pilot, but he's also learned to love and to lose people, and he's learned that he has the potential to be something more for them. And so he couches this intent in the framework of "sacrificing his life" for it - for a bigger cause, for the people who he cares about.

Until it swallows him whole.

[syluscore]

Workplace Romance

~ID! Leon Kennedy x fem! Reader~

Word count: 7213

Content warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, non-con, dub-con, serial killers, murder, leon's a major asshole and mean to reader, lots of arguing, confrontation, drugging, kidnapping, use of shock collar, degrading, pet names, serious bodily harm, forced self-harm, crawling, descriptions of blood/pain/body mutation, forced blowjob, cum swallowing, piss, reader pisses self, removal of an appendage/body part, capital punishment, death row, lethal injection, masturbation, very little comfort, no happy ending

the content warnings are a mess, but i think i included everything.

!!!!!!!!MINORS DNI! GHOSTKENNEDY IS STRICTLY 18+!!!!!!!

Agent Leon Kennedy. A name you weren’t familiar with until a few weeks ago. Now, he’s the leading cause of all your headaches.

He’s a renowned FBI agent. Not only is he an excellent detective, but an expert in serial killer psychology.

He’s successfully led in the investigations and captures of eight serial killers and helped in the convictions of upwards of a hundred murderers.

He’s spent years studying the minds of serial killers. He can find the smallest bit of information and utilize it to get inside a killer's head. He’s the FBI’s serial killer specialist and if there’s ever a suspected serial killing, the case files land right on his desk.

And that’s what’s brought the two of you together.

You had just made detective at the Raccoon City Police Department, but the training was subpar. Any case that goes through this department is almost guaranteed to go unsolved. It’s not the station's fault, but the lack of funding and resources that has led to its downfall.

You’re up to your neck in cold case files. And crime that needs any sort of investigation is immediately your obligation. You’re a one person department and absolutely set up to fail.

When the FBI finally shows interest in the series of murders taking place throughout the city, you’re honestly relieved. Anything to ease your heavy workload. But it all changes when you meet him.

Agent Leon fucking Kennedy.

He’s a cocky bastard who undermines your department, which is solely you, constantly. He is unimpressed with the investigative work done on the case and won’t hesitate to insult your abilities as a detective.

And the man is basically untouchable.

He’s the FBI’s golden boy who can do no wrong. Everyone in the station worships the ground he walks on because he’s here to save the town, like a superhero. He’s the best of the best and everyone is expected to tolerate him. No exceptions.

It doesn’t help that he’s absolutely gorgeous. Always looking so well put together, a calculated appearance that never falters. Men and women alike gawk at the man. Whether they want to be with him or be him, you’d be stupid to not acknowledge it. 

A brown fringe cascading around his face. Pretty blue eyes matched with a prominent nose and jaw line, a dimple centered in his chin. Even the stubble lining his jaw is flawless. His eyebrows are knitted together in a permanent scowl. He looks like he despises the world and it makes him that much more enticing.��

And it pisses you off entirely. If he was just some mediocre, average looking man, it’d make hating him so much easier. But of course the jackass is incredible. It makes you wanna pour acid in your eyes just to give you your peace of mind back. Seeing is believing, right?

Without a single break in the case and no solid leads, you’re happy to take a step back from the case. It doesn’t mean you don’t care, but the crime rate in town has been steadily rising and you know you can help better elsewhere.

You walk into the station on what you thought was a typical Tuesday morning. But you’ve barely made it through the front door when you’re met with chaos.

People are running around, coming in and out of the station. The noise level is atrocious and has you wishing you’d caught the fucking plague because it would be less exhausting than this.

You barely make it five paces into the station when one of the coworkers you actually bother with appears at your side.

“It never stops, does it?” Jill says breathlessly.

You shake your head before replying, “What’s going on now?”

“Wait, you don’t know? Shouldn’t you be the first to know, actually?” She stops dead in her tracks, which in result causes you also to abruptly stop.

“Considering I don’t know what you’re talking about, I have no idea.” You cross your arms over your chest and turn to face her.

She sighs and places her hands on her hips. “They found another body early this morning. Everything matches up with the previous ones, so it’s basically confirmed to be one of his.”

“Another body? This will be his tenth fucking kill.”

“Thank God we got the FBI on it then?” Jill quirks an eyebrow at you, causing you to roll your eyes in response.

Jill is one of the few people seemingly in the world to not care for Leon’s bullshit. She can’t stand the man and isn’t afraid to voice it. She’s your number one defender and isn’t shy about arguing with the dreaded FBI agent.

“Maybe he’ll finally be good for something other than making my life a living Hell.”

Jill reaches out and squeezes your shoulder as she shakes her head. “But at what cost? Let’s hope the sweet, tender boy can magically solve the case and fuck back off to wherever he flew in from.”

Another coworker comes up and pulls Jill away from you. As she marches away behind the man, she turns and waves at you. You hate that you instantly wave back, but it’s Jill. You’ll look like a dork over and over for her sake.

You lower your hand and sigh, but before you can even begin walking again, a presence takes shape beside you.

“What are you doing?” An unmistakable snarky voice calls out to you. Your muscles instantly tense up in his presence, like your body is physically rejecting him and his aura.

You scoff as you begin walking again. “None of your business, Leon.”

You’re annoyed when Leon meets your big strides, keeping up with you pace for pace. You both remain silent as you quickly arrive at your office door.

You go to close the door behind you, but Leon pushes past, welcoming himself into your office. You’re frozen in place for a second in your confusion, but you quickly snap out of it and sink into your desk chair.

“What’s up?” You fold your arms over your chest and lean back in your chair. Being around Leon is exhausting and you can already feel this conversation draining you.

Leon doesn’t take a seat, instead choosing to stand tall above your desk, looking down at you.

“None of your business.” Leon mocks you in a shrill voice. 

“What’s up?” His eyes meet yours, locking in an intense stare.

���You need to address me properly. Agent Kennedy, not Leon.”

You furrow your eyebrows at the sudden authority in his voice. When he doesn’t speak up again, it prompts you to instead.

“Okay. But I would appreciate it if you addressed me properly too, Agent Kennedy.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

You quirk your head to the side, shocked by the pure audacity of this man. The audacity to demand respect when he can’t even give it. It’s infuriating.

“Well, Leon, I don’t appreciate being disrespected in my own-“

“Earn it.”

You shake your head in exasperation at his interruption. Yes. Infuriating is the best word to describe this man.

“What?” You release a heavy sigh, already exhausted from the few words exchanged.

“Respect is earned. Earn respect and you will receive it.”

“You haven’t earned-“

“I’m the FBI’s best asset when it comes to convicting serial killers, not to mention all of the side work I’ve done in homicide prevention and precaution. I’ve earned goddamn respect and I expect it, no exceptions.”

He slams his hands down on your desk, causing you to jump, your chair screeching across the floor as you put more space between you two.

Your voice is shaking as you throw your hands up in the air, “Fuck! Okay! Sorry, Agent Kennedy.”

He gives you a final death glare before backing up and causally stuffing his hands into the pockets of his slacks. It remains silent as you two stare across the room at each other.

“Anyways, I needed to talk to you.” He finally sits in the chair and your shoulders visibly relax. You hate yourself for being so visibly nervous in his presence currently, but it was out of your control.

“What about?”

He clears his throat. “I don’t like it anymore than you do, but my bosses have instructed me to take you under my wing. Teach you what I know. And it’s my obligation to follow those orders and I think it’s in your best interest to do so as well. It would be very beneficial to you.”

Your eyes fall closed as you barely manage to hold back a groan. Your head falls back, scalp connecting with the back of your chair.

“You just made detective, correct?”

You sigh and look back up at him, “Yeah. Not even a month ago.”

“Then let me help you. There’s no one here to train you on how to be a good detective, a good investigator. I know a thing or two. You just have to let me help you. Also, it’ll be better on my conscience if I leave here confident in this station's sole detective.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I’m being serious. I have a lot to teach and you have a lot to learn. You’d be stupid to not take full advantage of this opportunity.”

You remain silent, lost in your own thoughts. You were confident with your abilities as a detective. Confident with your capability to solve cases, but he has the experience that you don’t. But he’s also Leon Kennedy and that alone is almost enough to make you say fuck no.

“How many people have died at the hands of this killer? That we know of so far.”

“9 I believe.”

“10 after the discovery this morning. And there could be more we don’t know about. You don’t wanna solve this case? Wanna bring this sick fuck to justice?”

“Well, of course-“

“Then work with me. How many more innocent people need to die?”

You release a heavy sigh. “Alright, alright. We have a deal or whatever.”

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Weeks have passed and Leon’s arrogance has only gotten worse.

The belittling, the undermining, just everything he does has you raging. You’ve given up on helping with the investigation because anything you do is scrutinized. You found a solid piece of evidence that could have easily been looked into, but he rejected it and told you to disregard it.

No matter how hard he tries to make you feel like it, you’re not an idiot. You’re a great detective and nothing about this situation is right. His behavior, his attitude, his methods of operation are all suspicious as hell, so how could you not look into him?

You’re not exactly sure what you were looking for. Maybe a sign that he was taking credit for work he didn’t actually do? Or maybe a sign of him planting evidence?

Why couldn’t you have just minded your goddamn business?

You’re the only two left in the station, working late on the case. To say things are tense is a fucking understatement if you’ve ever heard one. 

“Can I ask you a question, (Reader)?” 

Your head shoots up from your computer screen. The way he says your name has chills running down your spine, has you struggling to swallow. 

“Um, yeah. What’s your question?” 

His elbows are on the table, his chin resting on the backs of his clasped hands. “Did you find what you were looking for?” His tone is accusatory and it confuses you.

“I’m not sure I know what you mean?” 

“Don’t play stupid.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Why were you looking into me?” He brings his hands down to the table and leans in closer to your side of the table. “Did you find what you were looking for?” 

Your heart is in your throat as you struggle to find the words to explain yourself. “What kind of detective would I be if I didn’t?”

He snickers. “Answering a question with a question. Classic. But I’m not interested in beating around the fucking bush, so how about you just tell me what you were looking for.” 

You take a deep breath before straightening your spine and feigning a confidence you definitely don’t feel. “Okay. You’re suspicious as fuck. And I don’t trust you. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“And what did you find?” He snaps at you. You don’t understand why he’s taking such offense to a detective doing detective work? He didn’t anticipate this? 

“Nothing. I didn’t find anything.”

“And do you still have your suspicions about me?”

“Yes.” You answer his questioning immediately. You’re not sure what compels you to do so, but your mouth moves faster than your mind. “I still don’t understand why you act the way you do.”

He looks away from you, pulling a file out of his briefcase and flipping through the papers inside of it. “What were you hoping to find?”

“I-” you’re once again stumbling over your words. No one has ever made you so nervous, no one has ever triggered your flight or fight as much as he does. Alarms are constantly going off in your head about him and you hate it. “I just wanted some answers.”

“Then fucking ask.” He slams the folder shut and tosses it down the table. “Ask me your questions. Don’t be a baby about it, going behind my back to find them. You’re a big girl. If you want answers, come and get them.”

“Why are you such a dick?”

“Because I can be. Next question.”

“You’re infuriating.”

“That’s not a question.”

“Obviously.”

“We’re getting nowhere. Nevermind.”

“Wait!” You yell at him, reaching out and grabbing his wrist as he goes to stand up. “I’m sorry. You just piss me off.”

He pulls his wrist from your grasp with a disgusted look, but he doesn’t get up from his chair. He stares at you silently, which means he wants you to speak up. He’s so fucking entitled, you have to refrain from going off on him for the billionith time. 

“Why do you brush me off constantly? I bring you solid, concrete leads and you treat them like they’re nothing. You’re leaving so many loose ends. We’re not any closer to solving this case. Why?”

He hums at you like your question is invalid. You don’t know what you expected. Of course he was just going to be a prick like he always is. 

“That’s your perspective on it. A false perspective, but one nonetheless.”

“What does that mean?” The offense is obvious in your voice. More belittling, more brushing off your valid concerns. Of course. Of fucking course.

“Because I’ve followed every last lead and every little piece of evidence. It’s not my fault you can’t keep up.”

“Bullshit!” You’re both surprised at your outburst. You can’t hold it back anymore. You can’t stand the lying and fucking diversions anymore. “I’ve been watching you, Leon. I haven’t seen you investigate shit. You pick and choose where you pay attention. This is the FBI’s very best? It’s fucking pathetic.”

He keeps his expression blank and neutral. “Anything else?”

“Yes, actually. I’m trying to figure out what the fuck it is you do that’s so fucking incredible that you’ve solved so many cases. Are you taking credit for other people’s work? Are you planting evidence? That’s the only thing that makes sense. You’re an opportunist. It’s like you’re just silently waiting to find the perfect person to blame. Is that it? You frame people to make yourself look better? What is it?”

Your voice is desperate and it’s genuinely embarrassing. But you are desperate. And you don’t wanna sit by anymore, not with the terrible suspicions constantly plaguing your exhausted mind. 

“You think I’m covering up for serial killers? You realize how crazy that sounds, right?”

“Oh, shut the fuck up. It’s not that fucking farfetched.”

“Why would I do that?”

You let out a noise of frustration, “I don’t know! To make yourself look better? Everyone worships you for the work you’ve done. Maybe it’s for the praise and glory, to stroke your ego.”

He smirks at you and it only enrages you more. 

“You told me to ask you questions!” you yell at him, “Now give me fucking answers!”

“I don’t give a shit what people think. You think I would cover up for serial killers to make myself look better? That’s stupid.”

“Then maybe you have another reason!”

“Like?”

“I don’t fucking know! For all I know, you’re the serial killer and you just frame people to cover your own ass. Your job would be the perfect guise wouldn’t it?” It’s just word vomit pouring from your mouth at this point, but something about what you’ve said has Leon jumping to his feet.

Before you even have time to react, he’s leapt across the table. His hand wraps around your neck, pushing you back in your chair until you go crashing to the floor. You cry out in pain as your skull connects with the ground.

Your vision is fuzzy from the impact, but you slowly blink your eyes until they focus back in on Leon’s body hovering over yours. With the grip he has on your throat, you can’t speak. All you can do is look up at him and the unhinged expression on his face.

Leon shifts and there’s a sudden sharp, burning pain in your neck. Your arms shoot up and your fingers connect with the syringe in your neck. Your eyes widen in fear.

“Good detective work, baby. You’ve figured it out. Congratulations! You found your guy!” His smile is huge and combined with his crazy eyes, has you shaking beneath him.

The muscles in your body quickly start to tingle as you lose control of them, slowly going limp beneath him.

“Goodnight.” Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you pass out.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

You’re awake, your eyes are open but your brain still isn’t able to process anything. You stare blankly as you try to actually wake up. The room is a blur and you can hear a voice calling out to you, but you can’t make out what it’s saying.

Sudden white hot pain has your consciousness finally catching up with you. You’re gasping for air as you finally take in your surroundings. 

The room is dirty, trash littering the floor around you. The only object in the room is a chair on the other side of the room.

“Good morning. Thought that’d wake you up.”

You push yourself up into a sitting position as Leon appears in front of you. He gently pats your head causing you to cower away from him, but he just laughs at you and walks over to the chair. Every step he takes makes a loud crunching sound as his shoes connect with the debris covering the floor. The only cleared spot is the space surrounding you, just enough for your body to lay in.

You try to speak, but all you can manage to do is cough. Leon sits leisurely in his chair as you struggle through your coughing fit.

The second it passes, while you’re still gasping for air, you call out to him, “Wha-what are you doing? What do you want?”

“Crawl to me.”

You look at him like he’s insane, and in all honesty he is, but he only smirks at the look you’re giving him. He leans back in his chair so casually, legs spread open as his left hand dangles between them. It pisses you off that he looks so good like this. Maybe if he hadn’t just kidnapped you, you would be more willing to appreciate how good the view definitely is.

“I said, crawl to me.” His voice is filled with venom as he points to the ground between his legs. He cannot be fucking serious right now.

You look at the stretch of floor between you two. It’s littered with broken glass and who knows what else. It’s obviously been intentionally spread around. This house may be old and abandoned, but the sharp shards are too clean and perfect to have been sitting here long at all. 

He wants you to crawl through shattered glass on your hands and knees to him. Kidnapping you wasn’t enough. Having complete control isn’t enough, he has to exercise it.

“Leon…” you struggle to find the right words, because what are you supposed to say? It’s obvious that you don’t want to crawl across this fucking floor. “Please don’t make me-”

You gasp as your body goes tense from a sudden, unfamiliar pain. It feels like several wasps just stung your neck, and as quick as it hits, it’s gone. 

Your muscles finally loosen and your hands shoot up to your neck, feeling some sort of rough fabric with a rectangular plastic box at the front of your throat.

“What the fuck is this?” Your voice is strained, still panting as you try to recover from the pain.

He chuckles at you. “You will address me as sir and you will crawl to me.”

Your fingers are still fiddling with the device strapped to your throat, trying to find some way to take it off. But it’s complicated not being able to see what you’re doing. Just when you think you might be able to slip a finger under the tight, firm fabric, the pain comes back.

The stinging pain is more intense this time and longer. You’re about to collapse, unable to keep yourself in a sitting position, when the pain once again subsides. 

You can’t stop the tears pouring down your cheeks, body still shaking and in shock from the intensity of the pain to your neck.

“Now. Stop fucking with your collar and crawl to me.” 

Your head shoots up to him at his choice of words. “Collar?”

He licks his lips while a look of amusement lights up his face. “Yes, dumb little bunny. A shock collar. To help you behave.”

The hand that’s been lazily lying between his legs flips around to reveal the remote in his palm. Your eyes widen as your pain riddled brain slowly catches up to the present. A fucking shock collar. He put a shock collar on you like you’re some fucking dog.

“Crawl. To. Me. Now.” He spits out angrily, his tone sending chills down your spine.

When you don’t make any movement, he makes a big show of fiddling with the remote. Taunting you, warning you. 

You let out a heavy sigh. “Okay, shit okay. I’ll crawl to you.” 

“Crawl to who?”

You push yourself up on your knees and lightly bring your palms to the ground, gently sitting them over top of the shattered glass. “You, sir. I’m going to crawl to you, sir.”

He relaxes in his chair once again at your answer, seemingly pleased with it. “Go on then. What’re you waiting for?” 

You take a few deep breaths, attempting to will yourself to move forward. You know you have to do this, but you can’t seem to bring yourself to make the first move.

“Unless you need some more motivation. We could make good use of that collar.”

Your eyes shoot up and look up at him pleadingly, “Please, no.”

“Then fucking move.”

Leon’s patience is completely gone and you don’t want to see what other lengths he’s willing to go to to punish you. 

You reach out with your right hand and your right knee slowly follows. You hiss out as your skin connects with some of the shards.

“That’s it, being such a good girl right now.”

Your breathing stops for a moment as a blush creeps up your neck at the praise. You’re so mad at yourself for your body’s reaction to his words. This is already fucking humiliating, how much worse can it get?

You move your left hand forward, breathing through the pain as it connects with the floor and your left knee follows. You’re going slow, being careful not to cut yourself up worse by being hasty. 

You move your right hand carefully, blood already spilling from the cuts and onto the glass covered floor. It’s making shards stick to your skin and making everything that much more slippery. 

Your right knee connects with the floor, right as the stinging pain returns to your throat. The sudden shock has you digging your knees, hands, and toes in the floor, heightening the pain you were already in.

The pain in your neck is once again gone and you’re left shaking and sobbing as blood puddles around your hands and knees.

“You know how to crawl. Go faster before you piss me off.”

You don’t know why you’re surprised he wants you to crawl faster, causing worse damage to your body. Of course he does. Why would you ever expect to be granted mercy?

You take a deep breath and squeeze your eyes shut tightly. At least you won’t have to see the glass you’re crawling into.

You’re still crawling fairly slowly, but a lot faster compared to your previous pace. You’re whining and groaning in pain and you feel the glass embedded deeply in your skin connect with even more glass. Your lower legs and toes are dragging glass behind you.

You feel the burning pain throughout your hands and legs, but you focus on moving your body forward. 

“Open your eyes.”

You ignore his demands. You’re doing what he’s asking of you and he has the audacity to ask for even more.

“Look at me when you crawl to me. I will not tell you again. Unless you’d like another… shock of encouragement.”

You raise your chin up from your chest and shakily look up at him, opening your eyes. He smiles at you for listening to him and you wanna rip his fucking face off.

Your heart sinks when you realize you’ve only crawled half way so far. The pain is absolutely nauseating and you’re choking down the bile that keeps rising in your throat. 

You begin crawling once again, vision blurry from the tears that are continuously falling.

All you feel is the agonizing pain as you force yourself to Leon’s blurry figure. You’re on the verge of passing out from the pain when you finally place yourself between his legs.

He runs his fingers through your tangled hair, almost soothingly. And you want so badly to jerk your head away, to run from his movements, but you can’t help but give yourself over to the gentle touch. His comfort somehow pulls you back down to Earth from your pain induced robotic state.

“Show me your hands, bunny.”

You go to push yourself up but red hot pain rages through your hands and knees, causing you to scream out in pain. Your body goes to collapse from the sheer exertion, but Leon is quick to catch you, steadying you and forcing you on your knees with your wrists in his hands.

You’re shaking as the glass embedded into your knees is forced deeper into your skin beneath your newly distributed weight. You take deep breaths as you adjust to the new level of pain. Bile fills your mouth, but you’re able to force it back down, the burning sensation of it only adding to your misery.

Your eyes open again after shutting in response to the pain. Your vision clears and you find Leon studying your destroyed hands.

Blood is still oozing from your countless wounds, shards of glass sticking out of your palms and fingers. Your hands and forearms are covered in blood, you can barely see your skin tone through the mess. Your hands are unrecognizable. 

He tsks as he continues to look over them. “These are useless to me now. Shame.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion at his words, not sure what the implications of his words are. He releases your wrists and you let your hands fall limply into your lap. When his hands move to his belt and he starts unbuckling it, you gasp and try to move away from him but are instantly met with sharp shooting pains in your legs from your injuries.

You’re stuck in place and there’s nothing you can do about it. Anything you could possibly need to do will require Leon’s help. Just how he planned it. 

Rope, duct tape, or any other typical restraints are so boring. Glass being embedded into your skin as you sit in your own blood? Now, that’s new and fascinating. You’re a cute little test subject for his vile thoughts and ideas.

He slides the zipper down his pants and you finally look down at what he’s doing. 

What the fuck? He’s hard, not just hard, but really fucking hard and about to pull his dick out right in your face.

Your throat is raw from your previous wailing so your words come out scratchy. “What, what are you doing?”

“Oh, baby… Look how hard you’ve made my cock. It’s only fair that you let me cream that tight, hot throat in return.”

“What?”

“Oh don’t be such a fucking prude.” He rolls his eyes as he stands before you, sliding his pants and boxers down just enough for his cock to pop out, his tip poking your lips. You attempt to pull your head back, but his hand is quick to grab onto your hair and push your face into his cock. You’re frantically trying to turn your face away from him, but it only has him gripping your hair impossibly tighter.

“Now, now. You don’t need another shock of encouragement do you?”

“N-no. Please.”

“Then start sucking. And don’t try anything smart because I am more than happy to shock your annoying little ass again.”

Before you can even prepare yourself, he’s pressing his fingers into your cheeks and forcing your mouth open, immediately shoving his cock into the back of your throat. You’re instantly gagging. And you’re already so close to throwing up that you’re certain you’re going to puke all over this man's dick.

“See, princess? You don’t want me to do it my way. So fucking behave and don’t stop until I’m creaming that fucking mouth.”

He pulls his dick out and you’re immediately running your tongue up and down his tip. You’re ready to do anything to keep him from choking you like that again. 

“Make me cum in less than two minutes and maybe I’ll consider sparing you.”

You suck his tip into your wet mouth, the taste of his precum flooding your taste buds.

“There ya go. You’re so hot, all dirty and bloody for me. Fuck, I’m gonna cum so fast. Pretty bunny has such a good mouth when she’s not running it.” He chuckles at his own words as you quickly bob your mouth up and down on his dick.

“Just like that. You ready to taste me, baby? Need to cream this throat.”  He speaks quickly as he starts to thrust, meeting every bob of your head. His grip in your hair tightens as his hips still and he holds his tip against the back of your throat.

You resist the urge to gag and cough as you feel his cum fill your throat. You think he’ll never be done when he finally pulls himself from your mouth and stuffs his cock back in his pants. He refastens his belt and turns to walk away, but stops and looks down at you.

“Here.” He grabs your shoulder, causing you to gasp, as he pushes you down to the floor, until you’re laying on your back. “I’ll spare you.”

And then he’s quickly leaving the house, confident that you’re not going anywhere anytime fast. You realize you’re in less pain being off your hands and knees and breathe a sigh of relief. Your weight is distributed better over the glass, so your back and legs only tingle and sting slightly.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

You’re not sure how much time passes as you drift in and out of sleep, but when the front door finally opens, you can’t mask your excitement at Leon finally returning.

“Leon?” You call out in a happy, relieved voice.

“Hi, bunny. How are you doing?” His tone is lighter than you’ve ever heard it before and it fills you with hope.

“I’m gonna piss my pants, can you take me to the bathroom?” The back of your legs are getting badly cut up because you can’t keep your body still as your bladder throbs and aches.

“Sweetheart, you’re so silly.”

His tone is mocking. “What?” You're obviously confused and it has him shaking his head.

“That’s not my problem.”

“I can’t get up.” You whine out, praying he’ll give in and help you.

“I know,” he coos at you, “You’re gonna have to just piss yourself then. But don’t worry, I’ll stay here and watch.”

“What?” 

“It hurts, doesn’t it?”

“Yes. It hurts so much.”

“And you know exactly what will relieve you of that pain don’t you?”

“But I can’t get myself up.”

“That’s too bad.”

You’re so fucking confused. You don’t understand what his game is here. It has to be about control, the humiliation it’ll bring you. You squeeze your eyes shut tightly and try your best to pretend this isn’t happening, but the pain is only getting worse and worse.

“Bunny… Just relax. You’ll feel better if you just relax.”

“Fuck no, Leon. No fucking way.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes!” You open your eyes and give him a dirty look. “I’m not going to lay on the floor in my own blood and piss! What’s wrong with you?”

He smiles as he shakes his head, “You don’t have a choice, baby.”

You don’t know what to say to him. What can you say? Beg for his help? Hope he actually cares? It’s all so useless. You find yourself squeezing your eyes shut and clenching every muscle in your body. This is so stupid, so fucking stupid.

“You really want my help?” Leon breaks the silence, pulling you from your thoughts.

You look up at him once again, “Please.”

“Okay, I’ll help you.” You breathe a sigh of relief. He’s going to help you, there’s some sort of hope. If he can find it in himself to help you now, maybe you’ll be okay. Maybe everything will fall into place.

He reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out a familiar remote. Your eyes widen in shock, realizing what he’s about to do. “Wait, Leon, don’t-”

But you aren’t even able to finish your statement before the shocks are shooting into your body and every muscle tenses up in resistance. A few seconds feel like minutes before the pain stops and your body goes limp on the ground. Every muscle in your body softens.

Before you can even process what’s happening, before your mind even comes back to yourself, you register a warmth growing on your thighs and ass. The warmth spreads further as you come back to yourself.

The second you realize what’s happening, you wish you’d remained oblivious. You try to stop it, but your body is so weakened that you have no more control. 

You lay on the floor in your dried blood mixing with your hot piss. You’re no longer peeing, but the humiliation has tears welling up in your eyes.

The liquid starts to cool quickly in the chilly air and it has you shivering on the floor. It has you wishing you were dead.

Suddenly, Leon’s petting your head and hushing you. “You’re a good girl, you know that? Did such a good job for me.”

Your eyes dart up to his face. “What?”

“So pretty like this. All wet and helpless.” Your thighs clench together at the praise, furthering your humiliation. Leon notices immediately and smirks down at you. “Let’s get you to bed, shall we?”

You whine as he lifts you in his arms. You’re slack in his arms because of the extensive injuries to your body. You feel your piss soaked body pressed against him and knowing your piss is getting on him makes you wanna vomit.

But that’s not the only thing you feel. This time it’s a lot less surprising, but doesn’t make things make any more sense. His erection pressed against your ass and you don’t have the energy to point it out or try to push yourself away from it.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Thankfully, not a whole lot of glass is embedded in the skin of your back, so you can happily lay in the blankets piled on top of the mattress without causing yourself any more pain.

You lay with your arms against your sides, avoiding making contact with your hands. Every time you look at your hands, your stomach twists and turns at the deformed skin. They’re cut to shit and glass shards stick out haphazardly all throughout the skin.

“Are you comfortable?” Leon asks as he runs a cold, wet washcloth across your forehead.

“As comfortable as I can be.”

“Good, good.” Leon gets up and walks across the room. You let your eyes fall shut, your body crying out for blissful sleep.

You hear Leon’s footsteps approach your bedside, not bothering to open your eyes. You’re not even sure you could open your eyes if you wanted to.

“Baby, keep your eyes shut for me, alright?” You nod as he softly caresses your cheek, pushing your hair from your face. 

“Can you stick your tongue out for me? I got a surprise for you.” You hum in response, too tired to question him. But you couldn’t help the hope growing in your stomach at the thought he might finally give you some water or food.

You lol your tongue out as far as you can and feel him grab it with his thumb and pointer finger. He grips it tightly. You’re not sure why he’s doing it, but once again, you’re too exhausted to question him or resist it.

“This will be quick.” 

You make a “huh” sound as best as you can with your tongue in its current position, and that’s when you hear a disgusting snip sound followed by squelching. 

You start screaming as excruciating pain sets in. Your screams are cut short as you start choking on your own blood, the liquid pouring from the wound and slipping down your throat.

Leon grabs you by the back of your neck and pulls you into a sitting position, allowing the blood to pour down your chin rather than your throat. Your body is shaking from the pain, you’re on the verge of passing out, feeling the darkness creeping up on you, awaiting to consume you completely.

“There you go, baby. I got rid of the thing that causes you the most trouble. You’re perfect now.”

Your tears pour down your face, mixing with the blood coming from your mouth. You look down at the bedspread in front of you and the sight of your severed tongue has your vision going foggy. You let out one final cry before passing out from the pain and blood loss.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

It’s been fourteen years, but you still remember it like it was yesterday. You relive those events every fucking day of your miserable existence. It doesn’t help that you have optimal time to think about it in your small prison cell on death row.

Of course he handed you over to the police with some elaborate story on how he found you out and when he confronted you, you went crazy and mutilated yourself. And of course, you can’t properly defend yourself, considering he took your fucking tongue. You could write out your claims of innocence over and over, but how could you possibly convey it with words alone?

Leon framed you for all of the murders. Planted all the evidence at your apartment and in your car, “finding” all the overlooked leads in your office. It was a pretty open and shut case. Took the jury less than an hour to find you guilty and for you to get sentenced to death.

Tomorrow’s the day. You’ll finally get the lethal injection and be free from your own personal purgatory. You’re confined to a prison cell by yourself 24/7 considering if you show your face outside of it, other inmates are instantly on you. You’re America’s most brutal female serial killer, how could they not want to kill you?

It’d be too easy if the prison would just let the other inmates go through with it. Just put you out of your misery and throw your body into the prison’s graveyard. But no. No amount of suffering will ever be enough to pay for “your” crimes.

You hate yourself. You look at your unrecognizable, mutilated hands and all you can do is sigh as you slip one down between your spread thighs to relieve the ache you feel between them.

In your line of work, you were well aware that trauma could cross wires in your brain. You can’t control your trauma responses. But the fact that your pussy is always soaking wet when you think about his dick in your mouth and the praising words he spoke to you is torture in itself.

You try to think of anything else, anything else at all. Even when your fantasies don’t revolve around that man, you can’t get yourself off without thinking of what he did to you. 

As you lay in bed, shirt stuffed between your teeth to silence your sounds, you feel your climax grow closer and closer and his face above you is all you can see. And no matter how many times you go over it with yourself, telling yourself it’s a trauma response, you know the truth. You know that deep down you loved what he did to you and the only thing that makes you so angry is the fact that he put you here.

Here in this cold, lonely cell to waste away for the rest of your days. Leaving you with a heart, soul, and cunt that aches for him. You know what he’s done and you hate it, but you can’t bring yourself to hate him.

And as your wetness runs down your fingers, coating your palm in the proof of exactly what he does to you, all you can think about is that fucking day. You’re going to die tomorrow and here you are touching yourself to the man that put you here.

Your orgasm tears through you, leaving you a shaking and shivering mess in your threadbear sheets on your paper thin cot. It’d be so much easier to hate him, but you have the curse of hating yourself instead. 

Tomorrow you will die and pay for your crimes. And maybe the crimes you’ll be dying for aren’t yours, but you still deserve to pay for being so fucked in the head. So you’re happy, almost giddy to be dying tomorrow. 

Maybe you’ve gone mad, or maybe you were always mad to begin with and it took him coming along to pull it out of you. Either way, not like it fucking matters. You’ll still be dead and he’ll still be a free man. But you caught the killer and for that, you’ll always be a good fucking detective. 

~masterlist~

[purple-writer8]

I Can Do It With a Broken Heart - ACOTAR

Eris x Rhysand’s Sister (Reader)

“I cry a lot but I am so productive. It’s an art.”

warnings: toxic man implied, abused eris, emotionally unavailable eris, depressed reader, broken up mates, angst

968 words

Masterlist :)

"Yes, I went to Day and reported the findings to Helion. Then to Thesan." You reported to your High Lord and Lady. Rhysand looked more than pleased, and Feyre could only gape at you in awe. 

"You did all that in a day?" She asked in shock, admiration gleaming in her eyes for you. You nodded, a tired smile adorning your face, "and the ball is all set for tonight." 

Feyre gaped along with her mate, they could hardly believe it. "You are a blessing, a real fucking blessing. Thank you, so much... you will get more than a hefty bonus in your next payment." Rhysand grinned, dark talons caressing your mind in a soothing way. 

You rolled your eyes at your brother, then asked, "why do you two always act like I'm some kind of miracle fae?" 

They glanced at each other, then back at you, and then pity overtook both their stares. You know why. You were supposed to be heartbroken, as you had just ended your betrothal to Eris Vanserra. The two of you were mates, but the abuse he had suffered from his father and the toxic familiar dynamics he had grown up in, made him less than emotionally unavailable. 

He was unable to communicate what he felt, all he could do was share his feelings through your bond. But that was not enough, not when he had commitment issues and acted like an ass to your family. The bond was strong, but your self-respect was stronger.  Especially when you knew what you were worth, being the Night Court's High Lord's sister and Princess of Velaris. 

"What happened with Eris... at the last ball... it was bad..." Feyre trailed, not wanting to exactly mention what had happened. It was fucking painful for you, you had broken your engagement in front of everyone. "And I saw you crying last night... and this morning before your mission..." she added. 

"I cry a lot, but I am still very productive. I can do my work with a broken heart." You replied with a simple shrug, much to Rhysand's dismay. You had always been like that, had always hidden your feelings and done your work even when you were breaking down.

“You’re a real tough kid.” He said softly, violet eyes eyeing you closely, “you complete all your missions seamlessly. You are an example to follow.” 

You chuckled dryly, “yeah, yeah, I am the best. Can I go get ready for tonight? I got the most beautiful dress and I want to try it on.” With that, the couple simply nodded and excused you. 

They were right to be impressed. You wanted to die, and yet— you were ready to shine that night, like every other night. 

Ready to show everyone lies. 

-

The ball in the House of Wind went off without a problem, and like every other night-- you were the center of attention. The gown you wore was magnificent, the light reflected off you in a majestic manner, almost as if you wore liquid starlight in your frame. You stood at the side of the bar with Azriel, watching as everyone arrived, sipping on a tall glass of champagne. You knew Eris was coming, you needed to drink before seeing him. 

"You look pretty," the shadowsinger said in a stoic manner, hazel eyes traveling up and down your frame swiftly. You smirked into your glass, "as do you." 

"Have you spoken to him?" He asked, and you knew he referred to Eris. Azriel cared, and he showed it, having known you since the moment you had been born-- he was protective of you. Especially because he loathed Eris with all his being. 

"Please, he avoids me like I am faebane," you snorted, the alcohol working its magic on you already. And you were grateful for it, because you almost choked when your eyes met the red - haired male that had once promised he would love you for his whole life. What a short life. 

You felt Azriel's eyes on you, his shadows coiling around your ankles in support as you watched Eris strut into the ball as if he owned it. He commanded the room, but that was normal. He was a magnetic force of a male. You looked at Azriel, seeking shelter in his hazel eyes-- the mating bond was tugging you to Eris, his presence was like a fire roaring inside your heart. 

You were about to break down, so you hit the dance floor. Dragging your sister-in-law from her seat next to your brother, you danced and danced. Feyre and you were always a force to be reckoned with when you partied together, and that night was no exception. You both were grinning as you danced, twirling about the Hall as if you were made of starlight. 

The crowd of fae chanted and cheered for you, and you could feel the pieces of your heart shattering on the floor. It was always like that. You were miserable, and no one even knew. You laughed as you danced with Feyre, as if you couldn't feel your mate's heartbreak from across the room. "Eris looks like he wants to die," Feyre whispered as if she could read your mind. 

"Yeah, but if I try to talk to him, he avoids me like I have fae plague," you snickered, your eyes finding the heir of Autumn. As soon as your eyes found his, they were looking away from you, as if he hadn't been watching you dance. You wanted to die, but instead you twirled and grinned as if you were having the time of your life. 

"Then let me talk to him," the High Lady offered, and you stopped your dancing, giving her a stern look. 

"I can handle my shit, Feyre." 

-

Author’s note:

This will probably have a part two because i love eris and i want him to be happy. Also ttpd has me in my feels soooooo probs a lot of angst coming ehfuhihoiqhioghhrueiuifio3iij4rijj

Taglist: @mybestfriendmademe @lilah-asteria @sheblogs

[peterman-spideyparker]

Halo (Matt Murdock x fem!Reader)

Author’s Note: Howdy, folks! In my slow sift through and re-editing process of fics on my laptop and in my notebooks, I've re-come across this fic. It's probably been written for, what, a year and a half? Two years? and I've waffled on it because I didn't know if I should post it. It's a continuation of Angel, but if you've read it and want to stay sitting in the angst, you can. It's still angst, but, it might make you feel better? Idk. I cried writing it and then every time I've re-read it, and I think id I tried to write more, I'd be a vicious cycle of tears. Not my best editing, but. Enjoy!

Summary: Matt is grieving your loss hard even months after your death. It's like a non-stop film reel in his mind. He's wracked with despair, and ready to submit when his angel comes to his rescue.

Warnings: ANGST (dead dove, do not eat), talk of death, wounds (stab wound, gunshot wound, blood--canon typical violence), a lot of crying, hurt comfort?, Matt has a lot of self hatred in this from guilt

Other Characters: Father Lantom, Foggy Nelson

Word Count: 1,635

Everything is too loud and too quiet at once. It’s been like that for the last couple of months since you died. His surroundings have been simultaneously amplified and dampened. He doesn’t know how to function. He hasn’t been able to figure out what life means without you. He doesn't feel as if he's living anymore.

Matt can feel when Father Lantom sits down next to him. He's been coming to church more often, as if his desperate prayers will change the past and bring you back to him. He can feel every last bit of the polyblend fibers in Father Lantom's black clothes, but it just feels like static to him. An indistinct haze. But even for as hazy as it is, for as much sensation as it is, it just makes Matt feel more numb. He tunes out Father Lantom’s words, and only when he feels his hand on his back does Matt actually pay attention to what his priest is saying.

“I was playing pool with a man once—a unique fellow with an insightful mind,” the priest starts with a breath. “He imparted words to me that were so incredibly wise it made a priest speechless. It was a simple question: ‘What is grief, if not love preserving?' As I let that sink in, he continued. He said that all those feelings—the anger, the sadness, even the hollowness, everything that brings a person to tears—that is all the unspoken love that you still have for someone. It’s a good thing, Matthew. Love . . . Love isn’t something you switch on and off like a lamp. It’s shouldn’t be—if it is, it isn’t love.”

Matt sits in the pew, his heart heavy, hurting, and crumbling.

“I keep thinking I’m going to find her at home,” Matt finally sniffles, his voice trembling. “I keep hoping that this is a nightmare and I’m going to wake up and we’ll be in bed and she’ll hold me the way she does after I have a bad dream. That she’ll make every bad thing I’m feeling go away.”

Father Lantom puts a careful hand in Matt’s back, and it’s enough to have him break down. 

“I miss her so much,” Matt weeps in the empty church. “I-I can’t—I don’t know what to do.”

“Matthew . . .”

“She died in my arms,” he sobs. “I couldn’t—I should’ve—I need her. I’m lost without her.”

Father Lantom knows there’s nothing more to say as Matt lets his grief take center stage, feeling the pain course over him in violent wave after violent wave rather than pushing it down. 

This is it, he thinks. This is where he dies, on some random rooftop.

And you know what? He couldn’t care less. Being a lawyer, fighting this fight, day and night, it’s pointless. How can he try helping others when he couldn’t help the person he cared about most? When she, dying in his arms, was comforting him? This is what he deserves—it’s better than what he deserves, he thinks. This is a relatively clean death—a little bullet hole in his flesh. You were all but sliced in two. He deserves to be torn to bits for what he let happen to you . . . He deserves so much worse. But, as he lays there, bleeding out, all he can thing about is how he never deserved you. How you would have been so much better off without him.

How you’d be alive had the two of you never met.

“Matty?” he hears a gentle voice say. “Matty, I’m gonna help you sit up.”

No . . . This isn’t happening. The voice, he knows it. He thought he’d never hear it again. 

(Y/N). 

“God, you’re heavy,” you grunt as you help him sit upright, a careful, warm hand over where he was shot as the other is firm on his back. 

“Wha—Huh?” he starts to groan, panic quickly starting to bubble. 

“Matt, calm down, it’s okay,” you urge. “I’m here, angel, don’t worry. You’re okay.”

He sputters your name in disbelief. “Is that really you?”

He feels how your fingers run through his hair and down to a loving grip on his forearm. 

“Hey, Matty.”

“Sweetheart, wha—?”

“Matt, I know it’s a lot. I know. But it’s okay. I’m right here.”

“H-How?” he asks with tears in his eyes. “How?”

He listens to you let out a sigh, how your brows furrow, trying to find the best answer to his question. “Divine intervention?”

“Y-You died, (Y/N).” He smells the salt of your tears in the air. “You died in my arms. Why didn’t you hold on?” 

“I tried,” you tell him. “I wanted to. You were so scared Matt. God, I—.” You sniffle and bite your lip, a tear rolling down your cheek. “I would give anything to forget the pain on your face, Matty. But then I wouldn’t have been able to see my favorite person.” You wipe the tears away from his cheeks. “Matty, I’m not gone. I’m with you always, you know that, right?”

“I couldn’t save you.”

“You saved the city and the world from a frightening reality. You’ve done it so many times, angel.”

“That doesn’t change what I failed to do.”

“Forever the Catholic—full of guilt.” You cup his cheek with your hand. “Matty, look at me. You are the best thing in the world that ever happened to me, you understand that? You made me feel so loved, so cherished, so safe, and so valued. I never felt more myself than being with you. Everything that you made me feel . . . Matt, that’s love. That’s what love is, what it does, and what it feels like. And I’m sorry I couldn’t stay longer to have you realize that and feel the same.”

“I did, sweetheart, I felt it.” 

“Then you need to remember that feeling and let it guide you. I want you to be happy, Matt. I don’t want you to be sad forever. I can’t have that.”

“I miss you so much. I don’t think that’s ever going to stop.”

“It’s only a beautiful thing. It’s all the unexpressed love. We never get enough time with each other, Matt. But the best part of it is, Matt? We’re going to see each other again. It’s gonna be a while, but when we do?” Matt can taste the salt in your tears. “Be there as much as possible for one another, Matt. Okay? Don’t shut people out, don’t push them away because you want to protect them or because you don’t feel like you deserve happiness, because you will mourn that time you lost. Open up your heart again. It’s one of the most beautiful things you can share.”

“I don’t want to leave you,” he cries as he holds onto you. “I don’t want to go back.”

“You know you don’t mean that.”

“I can’t . . . I miss waking up next to you. It keeps getting harder. It’s all crushing in on me.” He sniffles. “The apartment is loosing your smell.”

Tears roll down your cheeks at his distress. “Matt . . .”  you soothe. “I miss you more than I can say. There are absolutely no words in any language to tell you how much my heart hurts that I’m not physically with you every day.”

“Then let me stay. Don’t make me go back. Please let me stay here with you.”

“I can’t make that decision. If . . . Matty, I know you know that you’re not finished on Earth.”

“Angel . . .”

“Matty?” you say softly. “Can you open your eyes for me?”

Tears stream down his face as he looks at you, his pupils locking onto yours for the first time. His hand carefully cups your cheek, afraid to touch you—like you’ll disappear. He gently touches your hair next, tucking it behind your ear before his thumb traces over your nose and cheek, finally brushing against your lips.

“(Y/N)?” he croaks.

“Hi, Matty.”

Holding your face in his hands, he leans in for the kiss of a lifetime, pouring every ounce of love he has into in.

“H-How . . .? I don't . . . You’re more beautiful than I could have ever imagined,” he sniffles as he moves to rest his forehead against mine. “God . . . You’re just . . . You’re here. You’re perfect.”

“Those are some super senses, huh?” you joke with a wet chuckle as you rest your foreheads on one another.

“I love you so much, (Y/N). I love you more than you’ll ever know.”

“Pull through for me, Matt,” you plea. “You’re not done yet, my angel. I know you’re not.”

“You’re gonna be with me, huh?”

“Forever and always, every step of the way. And hey—I better not see you again until it’s your time. Actually your time.”

“Promise,” he says with a soft smile, holding your face in his hands as he looks at you with tears in his eyes, desperately trying to memorize every last detail in your face.

“Love you, angel.”

“Love you more.”

He feels the burning, piercing pain in his ribs before anything else. Then, it’s the dried blood on his skin. Foggy’s muttering to himself in the kitchen about how he needs to find better friends that don’t dress up and prance around at night in ways that bring them two steps away from death.

When Matt’s eyes flutter open into a darkness he’s become accustomed to, tears begin to sting at his eyes as a fresh, strong whiff of your scent hits his nose in his apartment as if you’re walking by him like you’d done so many times before.

Forever and always.

While it hurts, Matt knows from that point on things will start to get a little easier. You're here with him, after all.

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[david-talks-sw]

What's 'Star Wars' about?

A while ago I got an 'Ask' that concluded with "what is Star Wars about, if not the Jedi, right?" And weirdly enough... I have to disagree.

I mean... to me? Yes. Star Wars is about the Jedi. A Jedi-less, Sith-less, lightsaber-less Star Wars movie or series will struggle to get me on board (which is why I was surprised that I loved Andor so much).

But if you read everything George Lucas said, if you think about the Jedi's place in his two trilogies... they're not front and center, right?

Sure, there's Luke Skywalker... but he's a learner, in the Original Trilogy. Same goes for Anakin Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi, in the Prequels. They're going through character arcs.

Otherwise, the Jedi are either used as mentors to the protagonist...

... or to deliver exposition...

... but they're mostly vectors Lucas uses to present his thesis.

Functionally-speaking, the Jedi are important in that they embody the Buddhist philosophies the movie's themes are based on.

But when it comes to the plot, they're secondary. That's because the the themes of these films are bigger than the Jedi themselves.

So the question becomes... what's are the themes?

The primary goal of the Star Wars films is to inspire kids to start thinking outside the box and teach them a set of values and psychological motifs that have been passed down through mythology and fairy tales.

These values can be summed up in the dichotomy between greed and compassion / selfishness and selflessness / pleasure and joy.

We all have both aspects and need to strike a balance between the two. After all, being greedy ultimately comes from fear and being afraid can happen to all of us. Problem is, unchecked fear can lead to anger, hate and a whole lot of suffering.

The more selfish you are, the more you want things and the more you're afraid that you'll lose everything you have, you'll get angry when someone tries to take it and that will hurt everyone around you.

In other words, fear is the path to the tempting/addictive Dark Side.

Thus, seeing as we'll be inevitably tempted by the Dark Side and give in at some point (because nobody's perfect), we should aim to be as selfless and compassionate as possible for our own good... but also for the greater good, because we're all connected to a life energy. You can call it Qi or God; in Star Wars it's known as the Force.

As such, we all form a symbiotic circle and working with that in mind is better than putting ourselves first and draining from everything and everyone around us.

But we also need to be careful because there will be people who give in to that selfish side and will try to control everything. When the time comes, we must stand up for what's right.

So that's Lucas' thesis.

If I had to sum them up, the six movies illustrate it as follows:

The Prequel Trilogy is about the consequences of greed, explored through Anakin on a smaller scale and the Senate on a larger one.

The Original Trilogy shows the triumph of compassion, through Luke, Leia & Han and the Rebellion's fight against the Empire.

Lucas talked about it multiple times, the Prequels are about how Anakin becomes Darth Vader and how the Republic becomes the Empire, and in both those cases, it happens because they're greedy.

The Senate is greedy in the more classical sense. They could give a shit about "symbiosis", no they're taking bribes, letting corporations dictate policy, using loopholes to keep themselves in power and halting any meaningful progress out of fear that the new status quo will conflict with their own self-serving goals.

Anakin's greed manifests in a different way. He turns to the Dark Side because of his attachment. He wants to stop Padmé from dying... but not because he wants to save her, rather he wants to save himself from feeling the pain of loss again and will do anything to not have to live without her, her own wishes and the natural cycle of life and death be damned.

In both cases, they cave under pressure orchestrated by Palpatine, but nobody puts a gun to their head. They make a deliberate choice that comes from a selfish place, and neither one takes personal responsibility for it, they blame others, the Separatists in the case of the Senate and the Jedi in Anakin's case.

The Republic becomes an Empire with thunderous applause, betraying the people it was meant to protect.

And when faced between doing something he knows is right and giving in to his selfish desires...

... Anakin elects to do the latter, thus betraying his family and leaving the Force in darkness.

These selfish choices impact the galaxy as a whole, including the only characters in the trilogy who were doing their best to be compassionate and live in symbiosis: the Jedi, Padmé and Bail.

These champions of the Light Side are stuck playing catch-up or helplessly witnessing the events unfold, throughout the trilogy. They're playing by the rules and Palpatine uses this to his advantage.

Thus, as the galaxy tears itself apart because of Palpatine's manipulations, the Jedi and Bail are ignored and gradually weakened until they're either rendered irrelevant or killed.

A new order is born, one built on blood, lies and greed: the Empire.

But a new hope remains.

While before, the Jedi and people like Bail stood alone as everything around them became willfully corrupt... now, a Rebellion inspired by their legacy has banded together to overthrow the current order. But they don't fight for power or personal glory, they fight for altruistic, compassionate reasons. There's a sense of general responsibility that moves them, they're all doing their part.

On a larger scale, we focus on the Rebels, who are tired of seeing people suffer and decided this needs to stop. They have gone from being passive, to proactive.

On a more personal scale, we see the evolution of Luke, from naive farmer to a hero, and guess what? More and more selfish people - like Han or Lando - are inspired to join the Rebellion, after seeing the exploits of Luke, Leia, or even Ben.

It all culminates in the final film, wherein:

The Rebels band together with the Ewoks - literal teddy bears whom the Empire, in their arrogance, never even considered to be a threat - to destroy the Second Death Star and free the galaxy from imperial tyranny.

At the same time, Emperor Palpatine pressures Luke, who is tempted by the Dark Side like his father was.

But instead of giving in to his selfish desire to kill Darth Vader for all the horrors he's done...

... he finds the strength to rise above it, instead showing compassion for his father, which, in turn, inspires Anakin to do the same.

He faces a choice, like he did in Palpatine's office, two decades prior...

... and this time he chooses right.

Children teach you compassion. Anakin lets go of his fear and anger, and saves his son at the cost of his own life, finally bringing balance back to the Force.

Good triumphed over evil. Its champions achieved victory by being selfless, hopeful and fighting together / helping each other.

And that's it, that's how the movies thematically tie together.

As you can see, the Jedi aren't that directly impactful on the overall plot, because it revolves around Anakin, Luke and the respective factions/institutions around them.

But what the Jedi do bring to the table is their ability to teach and inspire others, both in-universe and out. They're spiritually impactful.

The Jedi are the epitome of compassion, and it's partially through them that George Lucas teaches his values to the audience.

[majorbaby]

it takes a conscious effort to break your patterns of consumption and unlearn the notion beauty, interiority, diverse ways of existence aren't exclusive to whiteness or maleness. part of that isn't your fault. certain music is played on the radio, certain shows survive cancellation no matter what, certain people seem to be able to commit the worst possible acts against other human beings and are excused on account of their creative genius. others are selectively punished, with good reason sure, but still, selectively.

now more than ever it's easier to immerse yourself in art made by people outside of the mainstream. reading lists, free resources, playlists... all this stuff is more accessible than ever, but you've got to make an effort to give it a try. it's black history month, the recs are pouring in, go have a look. or take a chance on something absolutely no one has recommended anywhere and if you find something you like, rec it to someone else because the likelihood is they haven't heard of it.

tracy chapman's "fast car" is one of eleven songs that appears on her self-titled debut album. can you name the second hit single from it? if you're american and you fell anywhere left of center as of the 2016 election, it should be on the tip of your tongue if you were engaged in your country's politics at the time, regardless of your level of actual investment in the system. if not, the next time you're doing a task you need both hands with, washing the dishes, having dinner, doing your makeup, put that album on.

there's a post with over 100K notes on here that i see all the time of bruce springsteen and clarence clemons kissing. there's a part of that that is immediately meaningful to many if you're lgbtq, and a part that is harder for non-black lgbtq people to feel the weight of. but it is worth trying to do and was part of the reason why they kissed so often in the first place. clarence clemons was from norfolk, virginia. he released multiple albums outside of his work with the e street band. they may not be for you, but give them a try.

give enough music, or movies, or books that aren't a part of the approved canon a try, and there's no way you won't find something you don't feel as passionate about as you do about springsteen, siken, the beatles, what have you.

james baldwin was a prolific artist. see if you can't find something of his you like more than giovanni's room.

immerse yourself in ringo sheena, who mitski cites as one of her influences.

if you have difficulty paying attention to music you don't recognize, (i get it) make a playlist that alternates tracks you know and love with brand new tracks. start small. 5 faves of all time, 5 you're going to try out. you won't like everything, but you might find yourself looking forward to 6 songs instead of 5 eventually.

for movies, pick an actor whose performance you loved in something and explore their work. last year i picked whoopi goldberg, also a prolific artist, with a vast body of work that's pretty accessible as a result of her constant, intentional effort.

if you're an artist yourself, you can only stand to improve by getting to know your fellow artists better. so expand your notion of what art is. you can do it for free in lots of cases, and you're spending that time listening to music or reading or watching movies or series anyway, what have you got to lose?

anti-racism sometimes means engaging in real-world narratives of pain endured by brown and black people. that pain permeates much of our art, but we're just as three-dimensional as everybody else, and every aspect of our experiences come through in our work. you know that already, because what else is happening when you indulge in various genres. for everything you love or enjoy, there's a brown or black person who's doing something along those lines, in many cases, those genres wouldn't exist in their current form without the influence of our communities, some more than others, depending on where you're from. you can actually keep one foot inside your comfort zone and dip your toe into something else. that choice is both a joy and a luxury.

[sunriseseance]

Promo Theory Brain Dump

I Have Thoughts and now I am making that other people's problem.

GENERAL THOUGHTS: I think this season is going to center around the fact that you cannot just paint over the cockroaches in your life and have them go away. They got rid of their powers, they have lives to live, and by all rights they should be happy. They're not, and it's because their trauma still exists, and they are still the Hargreeves (even if they do not want to be). I think being without their marigolds is killing them. I think the universe is probably tearing itself apart in some way or another. I think that's why this mysterious subway exists. They CANNOT escape their pain, they have to actually face it. Which is why I think their powers come back wrong/weird/better when they do get them back. Will they end up in the original timeline? Who knows. But I think they are going to have to actually, materially confront their shitty father and the shit they've gone through in order to save the world. What will that look like? I don't know, but it seems they have a ways to go given that they are still DOING SHIT WITH HIM!!! I am excited to see, and to hear any thoughts y'all may have. Ok, theories under the readmore.

One last trip to the moon 🌚:

Luther....@anglophile-rin said stripper and that was my first thought as well. HE's got the ones in his pants, he's covering his crotch, he's holding the umbrella in a kind of salacious way. We see the one dollar bills, he is number one, and he is outweighing his space helmet full of cash. Why? It's a deliberate choice that they did not have to make. He sits on a lot of sitting surfaces very normally. They chose for the balance to be off, which I think means it matters. I think it is about internal balance, or perhaps self worth. He is figuring out that he is more than the moon trip, finally unpacking it (as it seems this season is circling back to a lot of life and trauma from season one). I think there is also something to the fact that they used the moon with the face. Personifying it. And maybe he's a stripper.

One last slice and dice 🔪

Diego is split between two worlds. He has the boxes on his left (packaged up, and mirroring both the box in Lila's and his emoji from the first set of promos). Interesting that the Umbrella is also on his On the left, but it is closed (indicating no current need for it). He only has a knife that he is holding by the blade in his right hand (which makes sense to me). He is harming himself and turning his back on his family and closure by choosing the "right" thing. This is probably the most brilliant one IMO. I wish I knew what the boxes were about more specifically. Interesting that in Lila's, the boxes have baby bottles.

One last starring role 🎬

STARRING ROLE I KNEW IT. Allison is the answer to it all. She kept her marigold, and she caused all of this (one way or another), and she is miserable, and she has to fix it. She got herself the limelight and she HATED it (more circling back to season 1), just like she hates this world. The detergent is interesting to me. It feels... quaint compared to international superstardom. It also feels domestic, except that it is her face on a bottle that would be in a domestic space, not her. Just her image. I do think the bottles are for Ray and Claire. She did all this for them, and she has to do it again. I think she will be back to stardom, but I think this is more about her being the key. I think she will have to play a part. The first episode is clearly named for her, "The Unbearable Tragedy of Getting What You Want" is literally the story of her life. She has to fix this.

Also she looks so fuckin cute I love her so much.

One last Cleanse 👻

Klaus knows shit we don't. As @bisexuallilapitts pointed out, Episode 4 is called "The Cleanse" and is about how the world needs cleansing (with sage, not with soap. I wonder if his cleanliness thing ties into Allison's detergent at all). It seems clear to me that he is aware of something and it is terrifying him. In the trailer we see him hung upside down in what looks like a shitty motel (s1 anyone?), and we see him performing a seance, and we see him with his fucked up You Look Like Death tat. Interesting, also, that cleanse and clean are linguistically tied. That would also echo his s1 arc, esp if some part of this is related to Dave (like the gas mask, maybe?). Germophobia/agoraphobia are one thing, a gas mask is a whole other fucking ballgame. I think he is having visions, and that he is going to want to fix this (for selfish reasons), and that as the prince of death he will have a unique part to play in righting wrongs. In addition, the bubble wrap looks more like someone trying to dispose of a body than someone trying to protect themself. Note that he has the ghost emoji again, instead of the sponge (and his goodbye tat). He has to face his new fears and his new troubles, and the old ones as well. I am interested in the fact that he is standing far to the left (farthest of all, in fact!) if we work with the theory that right is heroism/trauma and left is healing, I think that makes sense. I also think he fits into that first ep title perfectly. I want to know what he knows. Whatever his arc is, it will be tragic and wacky and insane and important. Glad to see some color on him.

One last time jump 💼

Okay so those are commission files, and his emoji is the briefcase instead of the hour glass. Five is finally going to deal with his commission trauma. He got the world safe, now it is time to reckon with what that means. He's also all the way to the right, with the umbrella and the files to his left. The files are open, but the umbrella is closed. I think this will have to do with closure. Five has to work through his past (literally) and find peace. More echoes of s1.

One last fight 💀

Christmas lights???? OK???? This is the one I am far and away least confident abt. The skull is, I think, a triple meaning. We are going to find out how Ben died (referenced in s1 as the thing that really tore the family apart), but this Ben is also a killer, and their Ben is dead. That I get. We also know that this Ben felt really sad about not getting to be with the Boys for the bachelor party, about not getting to be a part of things, and we know he got arrested. Christmas is a time for a lot of stuff, but it is absolutely a time for family. That is the only meaning I can derive from that.

One last chance to save the world 🎻

Viktor has nothing to his right, and the umbrella comfortably in his left hand. He also, from the trailer, seemed the most well adjusted to this new life (makes sense, given his old life). He has his bar rag on his person, and he has his closure and his family in his left hand. He looks relaxed, and content. What is left, then? Well, finally righting his wrongs. "The End of the Beginning" is the name of the final episode, which subverts the first season's finale title. He saves the world this time, with his violin (thank you emoji), to bring it all back around again. Closure. Peace. I think his arc will be about accepting those powers back so he can do what he always needed to do. I also REALLLLY hope they address the book, as long as they are bringing back season 1. That said, I am so happy for him.

One last disguise 👠

Oh fuck! Baby bottles in a box, a map of the multiverse, and the umbrella to her left, her far right. Her emoji is a red shoe (the handler), and her caption references a job she does not want to be fuckin doing!!! She wants her family, she wants her life, but she has to don the shoes in order to save those things. I imagine her arc will be tied with Five's intricately (and Diego's ofc). " I wonder why she was sobbing in the trailer. Has to be something there, right? She wasn't in season one, but she was all red shoes in s2, so I am counting that as her callback. She has to unpack what the Handler did to her, and what kind of person she wants to be moving forward. She started that work, but hasn't ended it.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAND FINALLY

One last family reunion 🧐

His item is the marigolds and his emoji is the monocle (do we finally get to learn the secrets? Will Kracken go diving to find the monocle he dropped in the water in s1? Find out in 43 days lol). Clearly, he still has power over his kids, power that they will need to take from him and dismantle in order to heal. Ominous and disgusting as hell that he literally has their essences hostage. I think that their powers are their history, are their trauma, so they have to have them back in order to move forward. IDK what his arc will be, except finally finally finally getting what is coming to them.

Okay parting thoughts. Of course it is releasing on 8/8. There are 8 Hargreeves now. Of course they released this 43 days before the show. 43 children. It is interesting that the numbers change based on who is in the picture. I realy do think this is the season of healing and coming to terms with what happened to you. I think this is the season of finding peace, and taking it. I think this is the season of family and friends and love. I am so excited for this season I love you all so much mwah mwah tell me what you think tell me your theories say hi!!!

[dilutedconfusion]

Lost Star

Eustass Kid x F!Reader (Part 2) Real World AU

Sexy smexy horrible gut wrenching angst.

Summary: You and Kid get to have a bittersweet phone call about why you haven’t been seeing much of him lately. Kid knows why and its eating at him from the inside out. Yet you’re still lost in a forest during winter, drunk off your ass. Kids a liar and a lover. You’re a lover and loser. Something bad is going to happen. But for now lets read about Kid crying <3

Warnings: None???

Word Count: 3.6k

Part 1 Part 2

Tags: @aynfp @shamblespirate @likeeliterallywtf @tulipps-maehem @tremendoushorsepatrolgoth

Between the silence and the sound of Kids revved up car you stuffed your body inside yourself. Weaving your bone-cold arms textured with goosebumps through the sleeves of your jacket to meet your center. You shoved your head below the collar as well, effectively using the warmth of your heart guided into your breasts to make a somewhat efficient self-heating system. Putting the call on speaker mode and getting at least one percent warmer.

“I feel like a turtle…” You mumbled softly, a growling pain rousing your stomach. A hearty burp of old tequila shots bubbling in your throat.

Kid had gone awkwardly silent. He told you he would never hang up in your time of need but as you listened to him shove his gear into drive, the loud echoing of the underground parking lot whirring endlessly, you couldn’t help but feel more alone than ever.

It doesn’t help that I’m in a forest alone.

“Kid? Did you hear me? I said I feel like a turtle.” You repeated, hoping and praying to hear his voice again. You couldn’t get enough of it right now. If he wanted to recite the entire dictionary you would’ve let him. As long as you got to listen to his rasp deep voice drift you back into comfort.

Or drift me back to anywhere safe really…but I’d prefer to be safe with him.

“I heard ya. It was stupid so I didn’t respond.” You heard the soft click of his tongue just trying to sound annoyed like he always did. Like you were nothing but a bother and he didn’t know why he was friends with you in the first place. “I should be getting compensation for dealing with your ass I swear to god.”

He shifted his phone on its stand sitting idly on the dash. The profile picture of you flipping off the camera followed by the words “Little Shit” as your profile name stared back at him. His eyes unconsciously gliding to look at it despite the road ahead. Making him wish he hadn’t used that picture for your profile in the first place.

When I see her she isn’t going to look like that. Probably half frozen and crying if I take too long.

His annoyance wasn’t as pungent as it usually was. You could hear how he softly scratched his hair on the other end. Leading you to believe he wasn’t being serious because he never made fun of you to hurt you. But you couldn’t help but frown regardless.

“Don’t say that.” Your voice was soft and breathy. Floating up towards Kid in his truck. The roads were quiet and empty late at night. Kid lived in a big city but he was driving towards the rural south. He just had to hop onto the freeway, the warm streetlights hung like stars guiding him. Pressing on the gas a bit more fervently than the authorities would like. His truck roaring in response.

“Don’t be a baby. I’m serious Y/N I’m not letting you do something like this again. I’ll fucking lock you in your own house. Handcuff you to the goddamn radiator if I have to.” What once was worry was now turning into frustration. He couldn’t believe this was happening. Couldn’t believe that you of all people had done something as stupid as this.

Y/N’s lost in a forest drunk. Y/N’s lost in a forest drunk at night.

A little part of him wanted to scream. Wanted you to stop acting drunk even if you were and take this seriously for just a moment. He was worried and it felt like you couldn’t care less about your safety.

“Kid don’t say that. I don’t need you to baby me. You’ve never babied me before. I just…fucked up this time.” You chewed over your dry and chapped lips. The bright light of your screen fills up the small cloth cave you reside in. Trying desperately not to pay attention to the forest sounds around you along with the coldness of your ass against the ground.

Kid could nearly feel the guilt in your voice. Like the sharp edge of a knife delicately lacing at your own throat. Willing to cut out the wound of a problem that was you. It was disgusting. Kid didn’t want to hear it, but he couldn’t handle it. Not right now.

“Oh, you fucked up but so did every single one of those so-called friends at that party. If I ever catch you hanging around those small dick and brained sons of bitches again I’m fucking popping their eyes out.” His thick fingers clenched around the steering wheel a bit tighter. Amber eyes flickering into his mirrors to see nothing but the road and the lights of buildings behind him.

He felt twitchy. Like one jerk of the hand or one sound too loud could send him overboard. But the problem was he didn’t know what he would fall into if he did go overboard.

She went to a goddamn party alone. She put herself in danger. Why...why the hell would she do that?

“Their eyeballs? Eww, that's icky Kid. I only knew 3 people there anyway and it's not like I asked them to baby me. They didn’t expect it.” The sudden yet expectant sound of your voice threw Kid’s mind out of its spiral. Your voice sounded stupid. As if it was pitched up too high and taking a bit too long to find the right words. He listened to the slight flutter of your breath. The chatter indicating the sudden shaking of your spine.

She’s cold. Kid’s steering wheel groaned and squeaked in response. Nearly snapping it in half as he made a wide turn onto the freeway entrance ramp. “Well I didn’t expect to have to go on a rescue mission tonight but here we are.” He let out a huff of air, checking his mirrors with narrowed eyes before merging on.

Not another car in sight as he shifted into 5th gear, bringing his car up to a rolling 90 as quick as he intended to. “If I was there I would’ve watched ya. Keep you on a 10-foot leash just to make sure you and you’re dumbass don’t get hurt.”

“You wanna leash me? That’s kinda kinky Kid.”

Kids eyes instantly rolled so hard he could have sprained something. “Oh fucking hell be quiet.” He heard your small little giggle. That quick shake in your chest was so warm it made his permanent frown disappear for only a moment. “I can see your shit-eating grin from here asshole.” Another rouse of your laughter came from the other end of the call. That hard exterior of his cracking under the pressure of that stupid laugh again for the millionth time.

Maybe she’s okay. She’s cracking jokes but…she always does that when she’s down.

You wiped the small tears out of the corners of your eyes. Pressing your legs closer to your chest as quick burst of wind breezed past you. “So basically what you’re saying is you wish you would’ve come to this party with me? That woulda been swell. I’ve missed you a lot lately. They even played some of our songs.” You recalled the night with a mix of sullen worry and unbridled passion. Remembering how you danced horribly only to catch yourself looking around for a man who wasn’t even there. A vision of him stuck in your peripheral vision like a dreamy visage.

Kid took a moment to respond. Opening his mouth just to close it again before his eyes twitched from the weird feeling growing in his chest. “I don’t have time to be messing around with a bunch of people I don’t care about and neither do you. You’re not a fucking party animal Y/N. I’ve seen your shy ass freeze up anytime some rando tries to flirt with ya.”

Though your voice was sweet, Kids was harsh. There was nothing he could do but spit out everything as if it tasted horrible. She needs to cut this shit out. One more ‘I missed you’ and I'm going to pop a blood vessel.

“Kid, I keep telling you that they weren’t flirting. I don’t know what people think they're doing but it ain’t flirting. Or at least it doesn’t feel like it.” A small wave of relief fell over him when you chose to talk about the flirting thing. A valid misdirection from the obvious elephant in the room.

“It doesn’t feel like it because you double-guess everything people say to you. I’m supposed to be the ‘emotionally unperceptive wall of a man’ or whatever you call me. Not you.”

You rolled your eyes at that. Chewing your lips with a smile and staring at his contact information on your screen. Nothing but a tulip emoji as his name and a picture of him dead asleep with a dick drawn on his face.

“Well, don't you know me so well?” Kid could basically see the sassy tilt of your head as you said that. Staring at him with those vivacious eyes that made his stomach turn into knots.

“I do.” He said simply, nodding his head and puffing out his chest for no one to see. It was instinctual at this point. Putting on a show of confidence for you just to laugh and make fun of him.

“Which sorta makes me think you’re not so unperceptive huh?”

Kid backed off on his confidence show almost immediately. Swallowing hard he stared at the road ahead of him. What once was 4 lanes of a highway became 2. Giving him a sign that he was getting closer to you. “Well sorry I know my friend so well. I’ll make sure to forget everything you say to me like I used to.”

His own words nearly soccer-punched him in the gut. Remembering how he was when he first met you. You were just some girl he had to sit next to during one of his general classes in college. He barely even remembered your name no matter how many times you talked to him. He’d roll his eyes and stare off into space. You’re string of words seemingly endless no matter how much he pushed you away. Then after being separated by schedules, he ended up walking in on you working the register at his favorite music shop. Lined with records and CDs he found himself going back to that shop for more than just good music.

“You really were such an ass.” Your voice was a lot quieter as you spoke. A semi-unconscious haze of nostalgia bubbling around in your head. Kid knew what he did was wrong. In fact, he went home after finally having a genuine conversation with you to cuss himself out in the mirror. He had never told you that. How much he regretted not having you in his life a lot earlier than he did.

But Kid didn’t tell you a lot of things.

Like the dangerous extent of the illegal scams he’d run at his mechanic shop. Or the sleepless nights he’d get worried about everything and sometimes even you.

Kid wasn’t a mirror. He wasn’t reflecting exactly what he was like he should be. Instead, he was distorted. His lack of arm and scars not from a bad car accident but the result of all those shoot-outs and fights he’d been in. His guns and knives littered all over his body yet hidden so he didn’t scare you. His hands and chest covered in warm blood just to be washed off until his skin burned before you’d come and see him. His absence in that mirror, in your life, a sign that maybe he didn’t care and never did. But again, Kid knew if he was anything he was definitely a liar.

“I know and I already apologized.”

Yet that’ll never be good enough. Kid could feel his jaw tightening. His head cursed to be heavy with guilt as it hung on his shoulders.

“Well, I still remember you ignoring me. What happened was a strike of luck anyway. Gosh, I nearly hid in the back when you first walked into my job because I didn’t want to get friend-blocked again.” You were happy as you said that thankfully. If you could see his face you wouldn’t have been.

Well, I’m glad you didn’t give up on me but maybe that's just me being selfish. Kid couldn’t manage to say that out loud. Leaving you hanging on your words as you listened to him silently drive. It felt awkward as if you had said something wrong. Something to piss him off. Your mind scattering and eyes flickering to find something else to talk about. Something to keep him from ignoring you like he used to.

“Ya know my phone background is of us at that concert from last year. The one where I did your makeup all cool.” You mumbled softly, popping your head out of your jacket to check on your surroundings. You pressed the small button on the side of your phone. Your lock screen popping up with a picture of you and Kid side by side in a sea of people. The photo slightly blurry from the two of you jumping up and down while the stage of performers stood in the back.

“I remember that,” Kid mumbled his voice a bit more horse than before. He could nearly see the red lights, dark eyeshadow, and big grins of that night. But what was once sweet now felt distinctly bitter.

“I swear if you hadn’t been there I would’ve gotten trampled in that pit. I’m not small by any means but you give me the scary dog privileges I need.” You let out a chuckle that nearly tore at Kid's heart. His chest getting tighter and his throat dry.

Kid. This is not the time. Stop thinking about it and just drive. He had no idea why this was affecting him so badly. He’s been living with the idea that he needed to let you go for months. It haunted him any time you managed to creep up into his mind. But he never once felt like this.

I'm tired. It’s late. She’s out there and alone. I'm just being delusional.

“I’m not your fucking guard dog.” Was all he could say or maybe that was all he was good at. Complaining whenever you said stupid shit instead of saying what was really on his mind.

“Oh hell yeah you are. That and my best friend. We drank and ate like 2 big ass pizzas together on your couch. Killer nearly knocked us upside the head cause we wouldn’t go to sleep. You kept making me laugh so hard my fucking ribs hurt. Plus I swear I was shitting nothing but grease for like 2 days after that.” You let out a weak laugh, head and heart swirling in a warm sweet remembrance.

Kid could envision that night as if it was happening now. You in those loose pants and a tank top. Hair messy from all the head banging. You sat beside him on the couch while you both played video games until the sun came up. The colorful glow of the TV on your skin now shiny from washing off all your makeup. The way you always managed to smile when you looked at him.

I’m going crazy.

“Didn’t need to know that last part but yeah…it was nice. Maybe…we should do that again.” Kid couldn’t stop his mouth from saying something stupid. He couldn’t lie like he always did. It was all he was good for but now? Well, right now he was hoping you’d forget everything he’s saying.

The minute he said that you felt yourself light up. As if all that worry in your heart had disappeared within an instant. “Really? You actually wanna go to another concert with me? I basically had to beg you last time. Plus you know I...haven’t seen much of you lately.” You were downright cheery over the simple fact that he wanted to see you again. To see you at all.

I’m just hurting her. I can’t. I won’t.

“You...know I’ve been busy but y-yes I could maybe go to another concert with you. So quit making a big deal out of it.”

Goddamn it Kid what the hell?! I can’t go to a concert with her! Why the hell am I lying? He ground his teeth together. Trying to let out an exasperated yet silent sigh. His eyes slowly became foggy as he drove. Though he couldn’t tell if it was out of guilt or because you lit up the second he mentioned seeing you again.

Is she really...that desperate to see me?

“Well, I’m glad because I don’t think I could live without ya. I’ve been hanging out with a bunch of nobodies in your absence. But clearly I’ve gotten really reliant on torturing you with my presence. You’re like…my favorite person in the world after all.”

No. Kid inhaled sharply through his teeth. What once was foggy now became a pool of tears in his eyes. All the muscles in his broken chest contracted. Holding himself back from letting out a wry whimper of pain.

“Oh, you’ll f-find somebody.” Kid couldn’t help but stutter as he spoke. His voice surprisingly normal but his breath hitching uncontrollably. Wiping his eyes with the back of his hand as he shook it off. Hoping and praying you were too drunk to notice through the phone.

“But that somebody wouldn’t be you and I want to be with you.”

You sounded so innocent. So pure and unfiltered as you spoke. As if you meant that from the bottom of your heart. That honesty you held was something only you could do. Kid wanted to be mean. Kid wanted to give you a reason to hate him. But he never could.

He was terminally unsuccessful and it was killing him on the inside. So once again silence was in only answer.

“Kid...when you get here will you give me a big hug? I’m shivering and I don’t know what to do about it.” You broke through that silence again. Wondering why he seemed to hate it when you praised him.

Does he…really hate it that I care about him so much? You sniffled softly through your nose. A creeping wetness in your eyes from either the breeze or something much more delicate. Your soft eyes fluttering between the forest and the low light of your phone. You hadn’t necessarily noticed the pain Kid was in. Far too worried about the silence that he kept creating between you too. As if you were annoying him once again.

Does he…hate me?

Kid could tell that he upset you. All that joy you had was seemingly sucked right out of you. His crying stalled into just a complete exhaustion. Mind wandering to anywhere else but here. “Do...Do some jumping jacks or whatever I don’t know. I’m not going to be there until a bit so just…” He trailed off, checking the time on his dash. It was taking him a bit longer than he thought to get there. No matter how fast he went it didn’t seem fast enough. His eyes caught the passing by 45 mph signs in his headlamps. But of course, he wasn’t going to follow it.

If I hit a deer, I hit a deer. If I get pulled over, I get pulled over. But I’m not stopping till I get to her. That thought pushed him forward, forcing himself to focus on something else other than the pain in his heart.

“But if I do jumping jacks I might barf. You won’t hug me if I smell like barf. I need to be in peak hugging condition.” Your voice came out in a whiny complaint. Your limbs becoming noticeably more and more numb. The huddling not doing much as the wind started to pick up until it howled ominously. You closed your eyes softly for a moment, feeling a bout of sleepiness on you. A wet dampness seeped into your clothes as you felt a bone-rattling chill crawl inside your chest.

“I’ll still fucking hug you. I’ll probably have to carry your clumsy ass back to the car anyways. So if you’re going to barf do it before I get there.” Kids annoyance was only a mask for his worry. He could tell you were getting tired. He could tell he didn’t have much time left.

What…what happens if I don’t make it in time? It was cold. No snow on the ground but winter regardless. A warmer day followed by a crippling cold night.

“What if I get barf in my hair though? I need someone to hold it up.”

A vision of you shivering with blue-tinted skin, chapped lips stinging from the pile of barf next to you, and tears slipping past your eyes came to Kid's mind. He felt his heart lunge so much he coughed spastically. Rubbing over the skin above his heart and lungs before he spoke.

“Y/N…just please don’t barf and please stay warm. I’ll be there soon.” His voice was weak but reassuring. A testament to his utter desperation and hope that this would end well.

He pressed down on the gas even harder. Pushing his car to its limits as he sped down the bumpy road.

Nothing was going to stop him from saving you. Not his stupid feelings and not any other distraction that might come his way.

A rather large drop of slushy water smacked into his windshield. Followed by a distant but bright strike of lightning splitting the sky.

His eyes flickered between the fading light and yet another splash of water hitting the glass. His blood going cold as the loud rumbling of thunder echoed in his ears.

Oh no.

A/N: Okay so I realize that the whole ‘Kid being a mechanic and also doing bad things and worrying about y/n’s safety’ has been done many times before. I love that shit and I eat it up everytime. But this is my take on it and though it’s only a small sliver of their story, I hope it holds just as many emotions. I think there is only going to be one or maybe 2 more chapters after this? It really depends on how much I write in the next go but either way SHIT IS HITTING THE FAN. It’s going to get worse and then downright despicable. I apologize in advance.

[erimeows]

Self Conscious (NSFW)

Spring in Konoha has never truly existed. While today is the first day of the season, more than anything, it still feels like summer. It’s nothing new to Kakashi Hatake, who has lived in the village his entire life. He’s traveled enough to have experienced other climates, but he’s not too bothered by the ten month long stretches of blistering heat followed by only two months of pleasantly warm weather before it gets uncomfortably hot again. 

He lets out a sigh of relief when he walks into his apartment. The cool air washes over his sweaty skin as he shuts and locks the front door behind him.

Kakashi hears familiar footsteps against the wooden floor and looks to see you turning the corner from the hallway. 

“Hey, sweetie, how did physical therapy go?” You question.

“Fine enough,” Kakashi answers, then sighs. “Boring as always.”

Kakashi walks past you towards your shared bedroom. You follow close behind. He can’t help but notice that you’re wearing a tank top and shorts. He wants to tear them right off of you. However, there’s just one thing stopping him.

A healing hip.

Of all things… Roughly two months ago, he broke his hip on a mission. While incredibly painful and inconvenient, it didn’t require any surgery after Sakura worked on him, which he’s grateful for. What he’s not so grateful for are the weekly physical therapy sessions and the list of restrictions Tsunade has given him to follow while he heals; drink plenty of water, eat only healthy food, rest lots, and worst of all, no strenuous physical activity. 

What that means is no training, and worst of all for you and Kakashi, no sex.

Sure, the two of you can get off in other ways�� But Kakashi misses it. As he watches you absentmindedly staring at yourself in the tall bedroom mirror, he wants it more than ever- wants you more than ever. He’s been wanting you so bad that he’s tried to seduce you a few times since the injury regardless of the restrictions he was given by medical personnel. Unsurprisingly, you care too much about him healing properly to let him have his way with you when he still has another month to go before he’s cleared to do anything. 

He sits on the edge of the bed and takes his shoes off, his one visible eye still trained on you. The straps of the tank top you’re wearing slide off of your shoulders. He can see the outline of your breasts and the stiff peaks of your hard nipples through the thin material of the shirt as the chill from the air conditioner blows over your bedroom. Your shorts tightly grip your hips and ride up to show your thighs.

“I’m glad it seems like you’re recovering well,” You grin and walk towards Kakashi so you can sit next to him. “I’m looking forward to next month when you’ll get your medical restrictions lifted.”

“Yeah, me too,” Kakashi looks you up and down before pulling his mask to let it fall loosely around his neck and wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you closer to him. “Come sit in my lap, pretty girl.”

You don’t hesitate- because just like Kakashi, the last two months have left you starved for touch- because even with kissing and cuddling and holding hands, the intimacy of sex is something that the two of you have missed desperately. 

You climb into Kakashi’s lap and put your knees on either side of his hips before leaning in and capturing his lips with your own. Kakashi kisses you back and tilts his head to deepen the connection. Your hands move up and down his body like they’re not sure where they want to go. Kakashi ends up grabbing them and pulling them until they’re gently resting on his neck, your small fingers wrapped around the pale skin, settled but not squeezing.

“Fuck, Kakashi,” You gasp, grinding your short-clad heat down against his stiffening cock and threading your soft fingers through his silver hair.

“I want you,” Kakashi breathes and practically tears your shorts from your body. There’s already a damp patch in the center of your white underwear as he circles your clit through the thin cloth with his fingers and uses his other hand to pull at your tank top. “Please, I need it. Let me have you.”

“You know we can’t,” You argue and break away from him to get off the bed. “You have to heal, Kakashi. Believe me- I want you, too, but I’d hate for two months of physical therapy and recovery on your end to be for nothing.”

Kakashi leans back onto the bed and huffs, his dick rock hard and aching for relief. His eyes flutter shut. 

“Okay.”

“I’m, uh,” You turn your back to Kakashi and go to the small drawer of your dresser to grab a vibrator. Then, you walk over to his side of the bed, press a kiss to his head, and start to walk the other direction. “I’ll just go take care of myself in the bathroom real quick.”

Kakashi sighs again. For the past two months, aside from the occasional oral, you two have hardly done anything- and any time you get yourself off, it’s either in another room or when he’s not home. At first, Kakashi didn’t mind too much, but he can’t help being curious… The two of you have been together for five years and you’ve never masturbated in front of him. Is it weird? He isn’t sure, as you’re his first serious romantic relationship. To him, though, it definitely feels weird. He’s even jerked off in front of you a few times and never thought anything of it.

You, however… Seem to be self conscious about it. 

Maybe he’s the weird one?

“Hey, (y/n),” Kakashi stops you by grabbing your hand.

You startle just slightly before turning to look back at him.

“Hm?” You hum.

“How come you never masturbate in front of me?”

“...Huh?” You tilt your head, a big blush taking over your (s/c) cheeks.

“I think you heard me.”

“Well, I guess I just-” You pause, refusing to look at Kakashi. “I don’t know, I never thought about it before.”

“Yeah?”

Silence… And not the comfortable kind that’s bound to happen between two people who have been together for five years. It’s the uncomfortable kind, the kind that happens when the two of you have an argument or an awkward discussion such as this. To Kakashi, sex isn’t awkward. With you, it never has been. Apparently, though, this aspect of it is awkward to you. The awkwardness is so palpable that Kakashi swears he can smell it in the air as you stammer over your words.

“I guess… I just feel like it’s weird?”

“Do you think it’s weird when I do it in front of you?”

“Well, no, but…”

“But what?”

“You know, with you looking the way you do, of course I wouldn’t mind,” You start to ramble. Your eyes dart between the bedsheets and the hardwood floors. “But you have the figure of a shinobi, and obviously, I don’t, so… I can’t help but be a little self conscious.”

“That’s all?” Kakashi asks, a small smile taking over his face. “I thought I’d done something or… Something. I don’t know.”

“No, you didn’t do anything. Don’t worry about it.”

You turn to walk away again, but before you can, Kakashi speaks up.

“Wait,” Upon hearing his voice, you stop to listen. “It’s important for you to know that I love you, and I’m still really attracted to you despite everything that’s been going on lately. You don’t ever need to be self conscious around me.”

“Oh… Well, that’s sweet of you to say, Kakashi.”

“It’s not me being sweet- it’s true. You’re beautiful,” Kakashi praises you, but he’s not an idiot. He can tell you don’t believe it; that you think he’s just trying to be nice or spare your feelings. Even after years of being with you, he has yet to make sense of why you’re so quick to brush off compliments. “I’ve never in my life wanted another ninja the way I want you.”

“Thank you,” You say with a sheepish smile. “You’re the best at making me feel better, but do you uh… Want me to…?”

“Want you to what?” Kakashi questions, raising an eyebrow. 

“Get myself off in front of you… Like you said,” You answer.

“Oh,” Kakashi blinks, then rushes to give you a good response before you get embarrassed and retract your offer. “Uh, yeah. I think I’d like it if you did, but you don’t have to if you’re not comfortable.”

“Okay,” You nod. “I think I’d like to try it soon.”

“Alright, but there’s really no pressure. You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to, and if we do decide to do it, you can stop at any time, and we can pretend it never happened.”

“Alright,” You say, but still, turn to the master bathroom with your vibrator in hand. “I’ll be right back… We can shower together after, okay?”

“Yeah… Sure.”

When you disappear into the other room, Kakashi sighs and pulls his pants down, wrapping a hand around the base of his length.

‘Another night of this… God, I miss her.’

~

The next day, while Kakashi is at a doctor’s appointment, you go on a shopping spree with some of your friends; Anko, Shizune, Kurenai, and Iruka. Your job as Anbu’s record keeper doesn’t pay an exorbitant amount, but it’s enough for you to comfortably support yourself and still be able to buy nice things, especially since you split your bills with Kakashi these days following his moving in with you.

So, when you pass by the nicest clothing store in Konoha’s shopping district and notice a beautiful (f/c) lingerie set on display in the window, you stop and look at it. 

The price is reasonable enough. It’s on sale, too.

You think back to last night; to that make out session with Kakashi and the awkward conversation that ensued. Maybe it would be nice for you to dress up for him since it’s been a couple months… You read something like that in one of his books once; the woman dresses up in a sexy outfit and sprawls out on the bed for the man to come home to. That seems right up his alley. Why not do it?

It’s a thought that makes you giddy at first, but then the doubt starts to creep into the back of your mind. What if it doesn’t look good on you? What if Kakashi’s turned off by it, or think it’s a stupid idea since the two of you can’t have sex right now? You want to try to please yourself in front of him like he mentioned… You’re just so terrified of him being unimpressed with you that you’re not sure if you can bring yourself to do it, even though he said he’d like it if you would.

You look around at your friends. They’re all shinobi with cut, perfect bodies, just like Kakashi. Beautifully slim waists, toned muscles, long legs, and so much talent. At times like this, you wonder why Kakashi is with a civilian record keeper like you instead of a beautiful kunoichi. You’re a good person, and you certainly don’t think you’re hideous or anything, but it’s difficult to maintain good self-esteem when you feel like you’re constantly surrounded by women who are more gorgeous than you.

Your eyes flicker to the lingerie set once more. You think about how you would look in it, versus how someone like Lady Tsunade would look in it… Obviously, a huge difference.

You’re not ridiculously out of shape- it’s impossible to be when you’re dating someone like Kakashi. Sadly, though, you don’t see yourself as a beautiful kunoichi either.

You frown.

What to do…

Kurenai interrupts your thoughts as she places a soft hand on your shoulder and speaks to you.

“What’s wrong, (y/n)?”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” You give a dismissive wave with one hand. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Are you sure? It looks like there’s something on your mind.”

“It’s a bit silly, but… I want that lingerie set that’s on display.”

“Do you not have enough money for it?” Kurenai questions and stops to look at the display as well. Your cheeks burn red as the rest of the group notices and stops as well to gawk at the lacy garment. “I could pick it up for you.”

“Oh, no you don’t, Kurenai! You have a whole kid to take care of,” Anko objects and points to baby Mirai, who’s currently in Kurenai’s arms, babbling at the woman and trying to pull at her dark hair. “I’ll buy it for you, (y/n)!”

“No, no. As the most senior of the group and Lady Tsunade’s personal assistant, I make the most money out of all of us, so I should pay for it,” Shizune inserts herself into the conversation as well and reaches into her pockets to pull out a thick leather wallet.

“Why don’t I buy it?” Iruka offers.

“On a teacher’s salary?” Kurenai says with a quirked eyebrow, shaking her head. “I don’t think so, Iruka.”

“Hey, guys, I appreciate you all trying to help, but I have more than enough money to buy it,” You offer a nervous laugh, then stare at the ground, too embarrassed to meet the curious gazes of your friends. “That’s not the problem.”

“Then what is it?” Iruka turns his head to you and asks.

“I’m just scared it won’t look good on me.”

“You only live once,” Anko argues. “Go buy it or I’m buying it for you!”

“Yeah,” Kurenai agrees. “You’re beautiful, (y/n). (f/c) is a nice color on you, too, so I’m sure it’ll look great.”

“Okay, then… I guess I’ll go ahead and buy it for myself.”

Peer pressured by your friends, you trudge into the store and quickly buy yourself the set- even if you’re convinced you’ll never have the bravery to put it on in front of your lover. 

~

Later that night, you find yourself standing in front of the mirror with tears in your eyes. Kakashi is out with Guy, Asuma, Genma, and Ebisu, doing God knows what- though that’s not the problem.

Rather, the problem is the lingerie set you bought from that store earlier. You’re standing in front of your bedroom mirror with pretty makeup on your face, a sparkly choker around your neck, and your hair done. You look good from the neck up, but the lingerie isn’t working; the bra, the panties, the garters, the matching thigh highs… None of it works. Your sex toys are on the bed, waiting to be used. 

With how insecure you’re feeling right now, you’re sure you’ll end up taking all of this off- including the matching (f/c) nail polish, shoving the sex toys in the back in their designated drawer, showering, and crying yourself to sleep before Kakashi even makes it home. 

“Ugh, this is stupid. Why did I even do this?” You groan, unsatisfied with how the lingerie contours your body. Even though it’s your size, it doesn’t fit quite right. You hate the way it makes your butt look, it’s a little too tight around your hips, and the bra just sucks. No wonder it was on sale… You huff and take the choker off, then start to wipe the makeup from your face when you feel a set of large hands on your waist. The makeup wipe and choker both fall to the floor as you gasp in surprise. You glance at the mirror to see Kakashi standing behind you. “Kakashi! I didn’t hear you come in! When did you get home?”

“Hey, pretty girl,” Kakashi greets you and rests his chin on your shoulder. He completely ignores your question in favor of trailing his hands up and down your exposed body. “What’s all this for?”

“I, um…” With Kakashi appearing so suddenly, you feel caught off guard and are unsure of what to do, even as Kakashi spins you around and pulls you close to his chest.

“Did you dress up just for me?”

“Well, yeah, but it doesn’t look the way I wanted.”

“What do you mean? It looks great,” Kakashi drags his mask down his face and leans down to whisper into your ear at the same time he grabs your ass. “How nice to come home to this after the day I’ve had.”

“Yeah? Did you have a rough day?”

“It was just long. As much as I love them, going out with those guys can be so exhausting sometimes, especially after a doctor’s appointment… I’m really pent up because I just couldn’t stop thinking about you… And about last night,” Kakashi gestures back to the bed with a knowing smirk. “I see your toys out on the bed. Was that your plan?”

You blush from your head to the middle of your chest at Kakashi’s words. You were hoping to get changed and erase any evidence of your plan before he got home, but he actually seems… Pleased?

“Well, um-”

“It’s a simple question, (y/n),” Kakashi reaches for your chin and gently tilts it up to make you meet his gaze. “Give me a yes or no answer.”

“...Yes,” You whisper back.

“You were gonna surprise me, hm? What a good girl.”

“Y-Yeah,” You stutter. You’re unsure of where to put your hands, so you place them on Kakashi’s shoulders as you press a kiss against his neck. “Sorry I didn't finish getting ready before you got here.”

“Are you serious right now? Don’t apologize to me for this,” Kakashi laughs, then quickly shifts. His voice drops in pitch and lust glazes over his one visible eye. “Now, get on the bed.”

“Okay.”

You rush to follow Kakashi’s order so fast that you nearly trip over your own feet. You sit on the bed and crawl back with Kakashi following close behind.

“I know it’s been hard for you since I had my injury. Thank you for being so patient, but I don’t want you to have to keep waiting up on me, even if we can’t have sex for a little longer,” Kakashi reaches forward and rests a hand on your cheek, caressing you so tenderly that it makes your heart throb. “I want… To see and help make you feel good.”

“Kakashi, I don’t think it’s such a good idea-” You object, gesturing to his hip, but Kakashi simply shakes his head and sits beside you.

“I won’t do anything crazy, alright?” Kakashi argues as he hurriedly sheds his clothes. His forehead protector, dark blue undershirt, matching pants, face mask, and boxers are all thrown to the floor with haste. When Kakashi looks back at you, the intensity in his eyes has you swallowing a nervous lump in your throat that you didn’t even know was there in the first place. “I don’t think I can handle another night of you disappearing into the bathroom when I’m right here, dying to take care of you.”

“Then… What do you want me to do?”

“Show me how you like to touch yourself.”

And it’s a little awkward. Part of you is tempted to say no, to get embarrassed and back down, to retreat into the bathroom again. But when you look up at Kakashi’s eyes to see how excited he looks, you remember that he thinks you’re beautiful; that he wants this, wants you.

“Okay.”

You scoot back onto the bed, lay your head on the pillow, sprawl out, and reach between your legs with both hands. Your fingers on one hand toy with your clit, while the fingers on the other hand circle your slick entrance. Kakashi grabs your vibrator for you, turns it on, and pushes it into the hand in front of your clit. You take the gesture for what it is and rub your clit with the tip of the vibrator. A low noise leaves your lips as you tilt your head back and close your eyes.

“Look at me,” Kakashi commands, much to your embarrassment. You open your eyes and look up at his face with a pout. Pleasure starts to rumble low in your body like a base. “Good girl… Are you embarrassed?”

“A little,” You answer, but spread your legs a little more and start to fuck yourself with your fingers at a steady pace. 

“Don’t be,” Kakashi says as he grabs his dick by the base and works it until it’s fully hard. Your mouth waters- you wish he would just fuck you, but you know you can’t. “You’re so beautiful, especially like this… Do you see how hard I am for you right now?”

“Y-Yeah,” You breathe out, because you do. Kakashi’s cock is red and stiff, with precum at the tip and veins lining the length of it. “Want it inside me…”

“That’s too bad.”

Kakashi lightly smacks at your wrist, so you slide your fingers out of your pussy and look at him with curious eyes. He doesn’t speak to you, instead laying down, snuggling into your side, and moving a hand between your legs. He fills you back up immediately by sliding two fingers into your heat. The two are quickly followed by a third before he starts fucking you with them so deeply that the action draws a high-pitched moan from between your lips, which is quickly muffled by Kakashi kissing you.

It’s different from regular sex, or even just Kakashi eating you out. You’re used to his face squished between your thighs, buried in your neck, or staring at your back as he has you bent over; not right next to yours, staring, watching.

The noise in the room only contributes to your arousal; the wet squelch that comes from Kakashi’s digits pistoning into you, the low buzz from your vibrator against your clit, the hums and moans from Kakashi as he quickly moves his hand over his dick. A dribble of precum drips down onto your thighs, and you rub them together in excitement for what’s to come.

With Kakashi hitting your sweet spot and kissing you like he’s starving for you, you’re right on the edge, but there’s something stopping you from cumming like this. Your eyes flutter open and meet Kakashi’s. The tomoe in his Sharingan swirl; a sign that he’s trying to record this moment for himself. You realize that it’s the anxiety. A mental block. You’re so self conscious about being watched that it’s keeping you from finishing, because what if you make a weird face? Or a noise that turns him off?

You break away from Kakashi’s kisses to let out a frustrated groan.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know, I’m-” You huff, dying for release. “I’m super nervous and it’s- it’s making me take way longer than I usually do to finish like this… I’m sorry if I’m taking too long.”

“Stop. You’re not taking too long at all,” Kakashi scolds you as he continues to pump his cock with one hand and thrust his fingers in and out of you with the other. “If you want to be good for me, you’ll cum, and I don’t care how long it takes... You can take all night if you want, pretty girl. It’s not that different from sex, okay? Take your time.”

You don’t do anything in response except to let out a needy whine, which seems to please Kakashi, who alternates between kissing your neck and tits. His approval- the lack of judgment, the admiration, the utter love and adoration- is what sends you over the edge as you dial your vibrator to the highest setting and arch your back. You cum with a loud cry and fall flat onto the bed. 

Your legs tremble and shake as you pull your vibrator away from your clit and jerk away from Kakashi’s fingers. He’s kind enough to gently slide them out as he paints your thighs white with his cum, his face buried in your neck and your name leaving his lips like it’s a mantra. You pull him close and press a kiss into his sweat-dampened hair. Your eyes flutter open and shut as Kakashi continues to kiss at your neck, worshiping you even after the both of you have finished.

“Kakashi?” You start.

“Hm?” He hums and pulls away from your neck to glance up at you with one charcoal eye and one ruby red one. “What is it, (y/n)?”

“Did you really like that, or did you only want to do it because you thought I’d like it? You know, since we haven’t been able to have sex?”

“Mah, you always overthink everything,” Kakashi grumbles and sits straight up on the bed. “I did it because I thought you’d like it and because I knew I’d like it. It’s like I said before; you’re beautiful. Can you blame me for wanting to watch you a bit?”

Even with Kakashi’s sweet words, you can’t help feeling self conscious… But tonight has made you feel a little better. You don’t know how to respond, so instead, you reach for Kakashi’s hand and hold it within your own.

“Why don’t we go shower and change the sheets?” You ask, gesturing to the wet spots on the bed from what the two of you have just done. “We’re kind of a mess.”

“Sure,” Kakashi answers, standing up and heading towards the bathroom. Before he enters the room, he turns to look at you over his shoulder. “But don’t be surprised if a shower leads to a round two.”

With that, he’s gone into the bathroom, and you can’t help but laugh as you get up and follow after him.

[lady-phasma]

I want to write a lestat fic so bad I’m practically foaming at the mouth!! I want to do his character justice though. Would you spare some lestat characterization tips mayhaps?

Hi anon! I am so unbelievably flattered that you came to me. I'm sorry that it has taken me so long to reply. Would you like ✏️ anon if you come back?

I hope I answer this well. He is my oldest, dearest blorbo so I'm going to answer with series and book (head)canon, so there are some pretty hefty spoilers below the cut.

Characterization tips....

When in doubt, go bigger and more French! Do you doubt something you're writing for him is believable? You're probably wrong. This guy found Atlantis in canon. He has flown into the sun, switched bodies with a human, and met the literal, actual Devil.

Would he realistically flirt in your scenario? Yes. But what if...? Yes. He will always flirt. Always.

But on a more serious note, Lestat is very vain because he is incredibly powerful yet insecure. He can cause a lot of damage and is his own worst enemy. The embodiment of chaos.

Anne didn't christen him The Brat Prince for no reason at all. He not only pouts when he doesn't get what he wants, he often pouts when he gets exactly what he wants. He is rarely satisfied and once a mystery is solved or an objective obtained he's ready to move on.

Something that makes him particularly appealing to me has always been his contrasts, how he can be so self-centered and horrible, but love so openly and deeply. If he loves someone he would die for them, as long as he looked good doing it. He can hate and love the same person in the same moment and still give them everything he has. But, he will always try to be a step ahead to have his own safety net because trust isn't his thing.

Lestat has such an odd mix of confidence and insecurity. He never once questioned why the Queen of the vampires would be enamored with him. Of course she would be. But even during all of his drama with Akasha he pined for Louis. Many of his exploits are to get the attention of someone who isn't giving him enough at the moment.

I'm going to do a deep TVL dive real quick because this is the foundation of who he is for me. The Wolfkiller. He was embarrassed at being "poor" aristocracy and the one warm coat he had was the one the villagers made for him from the wolf pelt. He wasn't proud of that event, but that coat meant more to him than they could possibly imagine.

Also, he loves dogs. Seriously, if you need to write him having a pet dog, go for it. Especially mastiffs and boucherons (book and series canon).

I don't particularly like the word "flamboyant" for him, but he is. He is performative. Rarely does he do anything that isn't thoroughly thought through if someone is watching. He is equally impetuous if it looks good.

Lastly, some emotional characterization. He hates to appear vulnerable, but is constantly vulnerable. It's almost as if he doesn't know how to mask that part of him. His desperation to be part of the Italian acting troupe was obvious almost to the point of being a pathetic fanboy. He can't help but be incredibly earnest. Even if it causes him pain or embarrassment.

The Father of Lies, the Brat Prince, Wolfkiller, Lelio... Lestat is all of these things. That's what has always made him such a rich character. He can be serious, but Anne's description of him through Armand might be my favorite: he must make a gutter theatrical out of stubbing his toe.

God forbid no one was around to witness the pain and suffering he endured from such a tragic event. affectionately

I didn't go into anything romance or shipped based on purpose so feel free to let me know it that's what you meant and I missed the mark.

[butchcarmy]

ALEXITHYMIA CH 3: nightmares, pepto, and fire

Roommate AU: Carmy Berzatto x Reader (R18)

ao3 link ch 1 ch 2 ch 4

Chapter Rating: M (7.9k)

Chapter Summary: Carmy can't run from how he feels anymore. His dreams, his conversations with his coworkers and friends, everything is forcing him to face reality. Upon being pushed to his limits, he will finally have to start to speak the truth.

content tags: wet dreams, repressed carmy (as per usual), self deprecation, mental illness

A/N: Carmy gets a wet dream AND a nightmare this chapter! I'm putting him through the ringer babes… I had a lot of fun with the drama, interactions, and imagery this time. Also fun fact, this is the end of what I refer to as "Act 1" in my notes! Act 1 consists of repressed Carmy to the max, barely even acknowledging his feelings… but that's gonna change after this chapter :) enjoy!

After a torturous day at work, one that makes his limbs feel like lead, Carmy is more than relieved to see the door to his apartment. 

Surprisingly, though, it swings open without him even touching it. He's too tired to think twice about it. He steps inside, and the first thing he sees is his roommate. They're dressed exclusively in a black apron, just like they were that other night.

“Hi, Carmy,” they say quietly, and their makeup is messy and dark just like that night they were trashed. He remembers how he felt the first time he saw them like that, because he feels it now. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” he hears himself saying. 

They walk up to him, and suddenly, they're on top of him. Their hands press gently against his tense shoulders. His back hits his bed, pillows under his neck. 

“You snooped through my stuff, didn't you?” Their hands move behind them to drop their apron, revealing skin, skin, and more skin. It goes on forever. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles half-heartedly, distracted by their nakedness. 

“Hm. I don't think you're all that sorry, but…that's okay.” They drag their hand down the center of his chest, slowly, teasingly, lovingly. “I wanted you to see.”

A bottle of lube materializes in their hand. 

“You did?”

“I did,” they whisper. They uncap the lube with a low pop, and suddenly, their skin is shiny with it. Carmy runs his hand down their chest, squeezing, and it's slippery to the touch. “You wanna see what I like to do with this?”

“Please,” he whispers back, breathless, desperate for it. They smile, and it doesn't quite look like them. Heat circles in his gut nonetheless. 

“You're so sweet,” they say quietly. “I love that about you.”

He can't respond, not with the way they're touching him. Not that he can come up with a response to that. The pleasure is like fire under his skin, hot, alive, and painful.

“Don't say that,” he pleads, and it feels so good. 

“Why not? It's how I really feel about you.”

Their mouth is on his neck now. He can barely breathe. A part of him worries that there's gonna be lipstick marks he'll have to get off again, but he honestly couldn't care less. He'll go to work covered in lipstick marks if he has to. 

“Shut up,” he tries again, but it's even weaker this time. 

I'm gonna end up hurting you, he wants to say, but he can't.

“Don't you like how good I can make you feel?” They lean up to seal their lips against his, and smoke fills his mouth. He takes it in like water. The high hits him immediately, along with the spike in pleasure.

“I'm close,” he whispers, bucking against their hand.

“Me too.” They straddle his waist then, a playful look in their eye. “I know just the thing…”

Just as they go to unbutton his jeans, an alarm screams into his ear, and his eyes fly open to see his bedroom ceiling. 

Stunned, he slams his hand down to shut up his alarm. He lays there in the silence, slowly processing everything. From the moment he woke up, his heart's been racing.

He moves to sit up, get a sip of water, and that's when he feels how sticky his boxers feel. 

“Motherfucker,” he mutters under his breath. He doesn't even have any water on his nightstand, and he just came in his sleep for the first time since highschool. “Shit.”

The shame is too much. He has to sit there for several more minutes in silence before getting himself clean. 

There are no words to express the emotion he feels as he changes his boxers and wipes himself down. It's a strange mixture of guilt, shock, and lingering arousal. He needs to make sure he doesn't think about it at work unless he wants to walk around with an obvious bulge in his pants. 

You need to head into work so you can stop thinking about it, he tells himself, to which he agrees.

He does his best not to think about it on his way to work, which only garners minimal success. In other words, it's a spectacular failure. It's a miracle he doesn't clock in with a poorly concealed boner, but there are other factors. 

For one, his nausea. It crept up on him soon after waking up, and it looks like it's here to stay. It's fine, though, because he's used to his stomach being fucked. His brain is on fire and so is the rest of his body—just as usual. He'll just take some pepto when he gets to work.

Except that when he reaches for it on the bathroom shelf, there is no pepto bottle. That's when he remembers the way he chugged the rest of it the week before. So the nausea remains.

When he arrives, the comments about the lipstick mark being gone is unavoidable. His irritation is also naturally unavoidable. His sour mood does him no favors. However, in a twisted sort of luck, he realizes they're behind on far too many things, and he hones in, focuses on nothing else. Everyone else is too swamped with work to keep up the teasing. 

The lunch rush is expectedly awful, especially with the swelling tensions in the kitchen. Everyone gets through it with minimal screaming. 

Staying busy is supposed to help. Keeping himself occupied is supposed to help, but the moment the lunch rush ends, the nausea hits him at full blast.

“You look like shit,” Richie kindly tells him. A ‘fuck off’ sits on the tip of Carmy's tongue, but so does the feeling of bile, rising in his throat. “Wow, you really are sick, aren't you?” He remarks at Carmy's lack of response. 

In as little words as possible, Carmy relays to everyone he'll be in his office. 

He keeps the lights off and the door cracked as he falls back onto his chair. The world around him seems to settle like sand. It's been a while since he's dealt with nausea this bad. He counts that as a blessing in itself. 

The darkness and the quiet is nice. It relaxes his body. On the flipside, though, there's no noise to overpower the thoughts he's running from. 

He closes his eyes, and he sees imprints of his dream. He feels their mouth on his neck, their voice in his ear, their hand on his—

Carmy slaps a hand on his forehead. Then, he sighs, dragging it slowly down his face. His stomach twists inward into itself. 

He thinks about seeing his reflection in the mirror last night. His skin was free from the lipstick mark that everyone was relentlessly teasing him about. And yet, he was struck with a profound sense of disappointment. 

You liked seeing it there, a voice somewhere hidden in him whispers. 

Carmy really feels like throwing up now. 

He settles in the darkness for a while longer until a notification lights up his screen, briefly illuminating the room with a low white light. 

His first instinct is to groan and flip his phone face down, which he follows about halfway through until he sees the contact name. 

The text message is from the person haunting his dreams and his waking life. 

- hey thinking abt cooking chicken and rice tonite or something. u want some??

Just when he was able to get a break from thinking about them. Just like that, they're orbiting his brain again. 

Visions of them jacking him off aside, he's unsure what to say. He doubts he's gonna be able to get anything down today. This isn't the first time something like this has happened on his end.

> maybe tmrw, stomach is fucked today. ill take leftovers if u make some

- oh no :( feel better man. u got medicine?

> no but its ok, ill take some after work

- but thats so far away!

He can't help but smile, even if looking at the screen isn’t making his nausea any better.

> ill be ok. ill make it

He’ll make it because he has to. No one else is gonna run the place for him. That’s a part of what makes him stand up, take in a breath, and return to the kitchen. The other part is the familiar distant sound of arguing. He slips his phone in his back pocket, stands up, and gets back to work. No matter how begrudgingly it may be.     

A number of problems quickly make themselves clear to him. First, the toilet’s busted again. Two, the plumber won’t be here for another three days. Three, the cash register isn’t working. Four, the meat order got delayed. Carmy doesn’t even wanna start worrying about that last one yet with how awful it’s gonna be.

“When is Fak gonna get here?” Carmy asks Richie. They’re stationed at the front, taking the lack of customers while they can.

“He said he'd be here soon.” Richie's fucking with the aforementioned cash register. Carmy’s leaning against the counter, watching him aggressively jam receipt paper into the machine out of the corner of his eye. It's refusing to print receipts again. “He said to tell you to not get your hopes up. He's not a plumber.”

“I know, but he's got the best chance of fixing the thing.”

“I'm telling ya, if you just let me fuck around with it—”

“You don't know how to fix a toilet by watching youtube tutorials,” Carmy mutters.

“So you wanna have to keep going across the street to take a piss?”

“Cousin—this is my restaurant, not your goddamn apartment—”

“Alright, then be my fuckin’ guest—”

He's so in the middle of arguing that he doesn't even hear the bell on the door ring when it opens. 

“Look, Fak's gonna be here in a couple minutes,” Carmy says, pinching his eyebrows together, “and then you can fight it out like alphas or whatever the fuck you were saying. Okay? God—”

When he straightens up, pushing himself off the counter and turning back towards the front, the last person he expected to see stands right in front of him.

They've got this bashful smile on their face, and their cheeks are flushed from the cold. Their hair sticks out from their beanie in a way that Carmy insists is not cute at all. Not one bit, not even the way it's messy when they yank it off. 

He also insists to himself that the color on their cheeks doesn't remind him of his dream. Not at all. Not even a little bit. No way. No matter how much the visuals are rampaging in his brain. 

“I was sorta worried I wasn't in the right place,” they admit. 

“What're you doing here?” Carmy blurts out, even though he immediately recognizes it for how rude it is. 

“Uh—” Nerves flash across their face. They hold up a little paper bag. “Sorry for just showing up, I just wanted to bring you some things.”

“No—don't apologize, I shouldn't have just…” He trails off, unable to find the words. He studies the bag in their hand. “Sorry. What did you bring?” He asks, softer this time. 

“I know this might be a bit much,” they clarify nervously. They walk up the counter and set the bag down before him. “It's just, you were saying that you weren't feeling well, and I was in the area doing some shopping…”

Carmy reaches inside and pulls out several things. The items reveal themselves to be a small, green bottle of papaya pills, a little bag of ginger candies, and most importantly, a bottle of bubblegum pink pepto bismol.

As he stares at the items, a tiny flower blossoms in his chest.

“You really didn't have to get all this,” he says softly after a beat of silence. He stares at the items for a moment longer before looking up at them. There's an odd feeling in his chest. 

“I wanted to. Seriously.” They still look oddly bashful, and it's captivating. “I mean, you helped me out a ton the other night, so…”

“You didn't owe me anything.” 

“Then consider it a gift.” Their smile so effortlessly dazzles him. “Unless I can't give you gifts?”

“Yeah—I mean, no, you—” Carmy fails to stifle a quiet laugh at how ridiculous he sounds. They so easily fluster him. “Thank you,” he says finally, remembering himself. “This is…really nice.”

“I hope it helps,” they reply, and he tells himself the color on their cheeks is still from the cold. He tells himself that they're the one that looked into his eyes first, so it's okay for him to look back. “If you end up not liking it or needing it, though, it’s fine. Do whatever you want with it.”

“No, I appreciate it. Thank you,” he says again. 

They're beautiful, he thinks all of a sudden, and the thought is so potent he can't hide from it for a single second. His anxiety tells him that they're gonna hear his thoughts if he keeps thinking so loudly. The bliss of tracing his eyes over their features is worth it. He's not sure if he feels any less nauseous, staring at their darling face like this, but he can't deny he likes the way this feels. His chest aches.

Then, the obnoxious noise of someone clearing their throat reminds him that they're not alone. 

“Cousin.” Carmy's head whips around. How could he forget that Richie was right there? It's incredible how silent Richie could be when he wants to. “You gonna introduce us?”

“Shit, right, uh—” Carmy fumbles, making a hand motion with no words to match. “This is my cousin Richie. And Richie, this is, uh, my roommate.”

Oh, how he's dreaded saying those words for reasons he will see in just a matter of seconds. 

“So you're the roommate!” Richie makes a big show of it, eyebrows raised in dramatic shock. 

“Yeah, that's me.” They shrug. “Nice to meet you.” 

“Likewise. Can't believe you're roomin’ with this guy,” Richie says, slapping a hand on Carmy's shoulder. It is promptly shoved off. “Carmen's not an easy guy to be around, I know.”

“Oh, not at all! He's a great roommate.” Carmy feels the tips of his ears growing warm. 

“Really?” Richie gives him a skeptical look. “Who would've guessed.”

“Fuck off,” Carmy snaps, but the way he mumbles makes it lack any intensity. 

They don’t stay for long. Something about needing to run some more errands. A part of Carmy wants to keep them there somehow, although there’s no logical reason for that. If anything, the faster they’re out, the better. It gives Richie less time to say something scathing that ruins their perception of Carmy. 

Not that you need any help fucking yourself over, Carmy thinks to himself distantly. 

“Well, I hope the stuff helps.” They readjust their beanie on their head, pulling it over their ears. “I’ll see you at home?” 

“Yeah, I’ll see you,” he replies. “Thanks again.” 

“No problem. Bye!”

They wave to him and Richie as they leave. As soon as the bell above the door rings and they’re out of sight, Carmy feels Richie’s eyes on him. 

Actually, he feels a number of eyes on him. 

He turns around to see his fellow chefs peeking over the deli counter, standing in a row like a line of matryoshka dolls. They freeze when they see him, but they don’t make any move to run away. Absolutely remorseless. 

“Back to your stations, chefs,” Carmy scolds them, but his meak words are quickly overtaken by noise. 

“If the two of you aren’t dating, then what the fuck is this?” Richie picks up the paper bag full of medicine. “That was some sappy shit the two of you were pulling!”

“The two of you? What the fuck did I do?” Carmy spits back. 

“What the fuck did I do,” Richie imitates, rolling his eyes. “Fuckin’ goo-goo eyes over here wants to know what the fuck he was doing.” Carmy snatches the bag out of his hand.

“You were makin’ goo-goo eyes at them,” Marcus agrees. His elbows are propped up on the glass counter. 

“And if they’re bringing you medicine, it’s serious,” Tina adds with a sly grin. 

“There’s nothing to be serious about,” Carmy insists. He feels like a broken record. “We’re just friends.”

“Friends that kiss each other,” Sydney comments. “Right. Of course.” 

“We don’t—I’ve never—” He’s a tea kettle, and the lid on him is starting to rattle. “Chefs—”

“Cousin, loosen up already. Why you always gotta make shit so serious?” Richie throws an arm around his shoulder, but Carmy shoves it off. 

“Because this shit is none of your fuckin’ business. That goes for all of you!” Carmy whips around, gesturing accusingly with his hand at the line of chefs. “Get back to work! Now!”

A sad chorus of “Yes, chef” resounds, and everyone despondently trickles back to their stations. All except for Richie, who is not a chef. 

“They’re obviously into you,” Richie tries, and Carmy’s glare could burn two perfect circles into his face. 

“Drop it,” he hisses. 

“Why’re you always like this?”

“Like what?”

“Like a little bitch? You’re a pussy, Carmen. That’s what you are. A pussy—”

“You have no fucking clue what you’re talking about.”

“No. Y’know what? I actually do have a clue, because I know you, Berzatto. You act like all that shit’s above you, but it’s not. And I’m tryin’ to do you a favor—”

“A favor? What fucking favor?” 

“I’m trying to help you get a fucking clue! That’s what! Because you’re too dense to see what’s right in front of you!”

“Richie, I happen to be doing just fine without your help. I don’t need whatever the fuck you think helping me is!”

“Then explain this to me. Explain this little thing to me, Carmen fucking Berzatto. You and Claire—”

“Richie. Don’t.”

“That could’ve been a good thing. A great thing. The two of you—”

“I told you—”

“You were obviously into each other, and yet—”

“Shut the fuck up, you piece of shit!” 

There’s a rage threatening to spew out of him, lava coursing under his skin and in his head. Richie’s looking at him like he knows he’s right, but he’s not. He’s not right about Carmy. He’s not right about anything. Not about any of this. 

“Fak is on the scene! What is up, guys?” 

With comedic (or arguably tragic) timing, Fak bursts through the front door with his heavy tool bag on one hand. Carmy and Richie’s heads both snap to him when he arrives. Fak freezes in his steps. 

“Fak,” Carmy says. 

“Finally,” Richie mutters. “Slow ass.” 

“Uh…I’m getting the impression I shouldn’t be here right now. Should I be here right now?” Fak takes a step back towards the door. 

“Yes, I really need you to look at the toilet,” Carmy says. Richie is uncharacteristically quiet, but Carmy can’t stand to look at him. 

“If you say so.” Fak shrugs. “What’s the damage?” 

“Mild to severe, depending on how you look at it,” is Carmy’s dry response. 

The rest of the day, Carmy operates on autopilot. When he finally remembers to open the bottle of pepto, nausea surges in him at the sight of it. He manages to force it down. Miraculously, the toilet gets fixed, and even more miraculously, no one mentions the roommate again. Not even Richie. Although Carmy does sense how badly he wants to bring it up again. 

His stomach continues its incessant rampage throughout the rest of the day. Despite improving since the pepto, it’s still generally upset. This nausea leads him back to his care package again and again throughout the rest of the day. 

The ginger candies have a sharp flavor, maybe even a bit too much, but the sharpness grounds him. It also does admittedly dim the nausea. He wonders why he’s never bothered to keep him on his person. 

“Chef?” Carmy’s cleaning his station when he hears Syd next to him. It could only be her, anyway—the sun has set, and everyone else has gone home for the day. He perks his head up to see her concerned expression. 

“Chef,” he acknowledges back. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she says quickly. “Nothing wrong with me, I mean. I was actually wondering if, uh, you were okay?”

“Me?” The question surprises him. “Uh, yeah. I’m okay. Stomach’s better, so…”

“Oh, good.” She nods. “Stuff your roommate gave you working?”

“Yeah. It is.” He rolls the candy around on his tongue. “Hand me my knife?”

“Yeah.” She slides it over to him. “And, uh, I just wanted to say—I don’t mean to be nosy. I really don’t. Earlier, everyone was just gathered over the counter, and—”

“It’s fine.”

“I just wanted to see what the commotion was about—”

“Really, it’s fine,” he repeats, firmly. “They’re just like that, anyway.”

“I—Okay. Okay.” She exhales. “It’s just—y’know. I don’t wanna be an ass. I just…”

“You weren’t. You’re not.”

“I’m just…wondering about one thing.”

“...Yeah?”

“Why have you never invited them to family?”

“Family?” This question surprises him even more than the last. “Well, family’s for…family. Just the workers.”

“I mean, yeah. But, like, sometimes it’s not, right? Like, you let Marcus’ roommate come last week.”

“Marcus was on family anyway.”

“Sure. Right. You let me bring my friend recently, though.”

“You wanted to show her where you worked, didn’t you?” 

“And Fak has family with us almost, like, all the time.”

“Fak is Fak,” Carmy reasons, and Sydney can’t argue with that. 

“I don’t mean to be an ass,” she repeats. “I’m just curious.”

Right, he thinks. She asked a question. Why have I never brought them to family?

He’s never even considered it before. Bringing them to family. It’s not a habit to bring outsiders in, for lack of better wording, but it’s not necessarily off-limits, either. He doesn’t actually  mind when others bring people in. He trusts them not to bring in anyone stupid. Mostly. As for himself…

He’s never had anyone in his life to bring before. Ever. 

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “I guess I just never thought about it.”

“Huh.”

“Wouldn’t it be…weird?”

“Why would it be weird?”

“I don’t know,” he says again, “I just…I just thought…” He sighs. “I didn’t wanna deal with Richie, but…”

“Little too late for that,” Sydney notes in amusement. 

“Little too late,” he echoes. 

“Well. I was just curious. Sorry if that was weird.”

“Why would it be weird?” He jokes, imitating her from earlier. 

“Shut up,” she shoots back with a grin. “You know what I mean.”

“It’s fine. It’s not weird.” He pauses for a moment, thinking about Richie. “Everyone else is an ass about it. Not you, though.”

“I try.” She grins. “I…I think everyone just gets excited because…it’s different. Seeing you with someone else like that.”

“Mm.” Carmy nods, and then pauses again. Lets it sink in. “Do I…” I shouldn’t ask this, he thinks, but he’s already started. It’s too late. “...Do I act differently?”

“Around them? Yeah. A little.”

“...” Carmy straightens up, taking a step back from his station. This is starting to feel weird. Really weird. “I do?”

“Kinda. You just seem…calmer, I think.” Sydney’s expression seems uncomfortable. “I dunno.”

“No, it’s fine. It was a dumb thing to ask.” Carmy’s making the executive decision to stop talking about this. “I gotta stay and sort through some stuff in the office, but you should head out for the night.”

“What, can’t afford to pay me overtime?” Sydney teases. Carmy rolls his eyes. 

“Partially,” he jokes back, although it’s not much of a joke. 

Nevertheless, it is almost 10 pm, so Sydney does indeed head out for the night. The whole place is eerily silent without anyone else there. There’s the sound of the rattling AC unit, noisy plumbing, and passing cars, but there’s a distinct lack of sizzling pans, knives against cutting boards, and shouting. It just feels strange, is all. 

Carmy barely remembers to replace the bottle of pepto in the bathroom before heading out. He puts the new bottle there on the shelf, and as he stares at it standing there, he considers putting other gifts there too. 

He returns to his office where the small bag of ginger candies and bottle of papaya pills sits. They’re seated on the corner of his desk. He goes to grab them, but for some reason, he doesn’t. They look like they belong there. 

Then consider it a gift, he remembers them saying earlier. Unless I can’t give you gifts? If you end up not liking it or needing it, though, it’s fine. Do whatever you want with it, he hears them saying again.

A certain possessiveness grips him then.

It was a gift, he tells himself. For me. No one else.

He decides to leave the candies and pills on his desk. Those will be just for him. 

When he finally gets home, it’s almost 12 am. He does his best to open the door carefully, but it’s as squeaky as ever. 

He’s greeted with a surprising, although not unusual sight. His roommate is curled up into a sleep ball on the couch, snuggled into the pillows and blankets. The tv is playing some youtube video essay about lost media from the early 2000s. All the lights in the apartment are off, leaving the only source of illumination to be the tv screen. 

Carmy carefully moves to turn the tv off. After he does, he turns to see if he’s woken them up. He hasn’t. They’re still in deep sleep. Very deep sleep, rather, with how they’re lightly snoring.  

That familiar ache he gets in his chest when he sees them makes itself known. It’s the ache that pulls him in, forcing him to sit on the floor next to the couch. It’s something beyond his will that makes him gaze at their peacefully sleeping face. 

His eyes trace their features like he was earlier when they stopped by The Beef, except this time, much more unabashedly. He takes note of the faint blemishes on their cheeks, the loose strands of hair in their face. The squish of their cheek against the pillows. 

Cute, he thinks to himself, not for the first time, and he’s too tired to push the feeling away. 

You’re different around them, he hears Sydney saying. Calmer.

I don’t know about that, he thinks. He absentmindedly brings a hand to brush their loose hairs out of their face. I don’t know how I feel when I’m around you. 

A part of him wonders if he should wake them up. The part of him that wins is the part that doesn’t want to disturb the peaceful look on their face. He wouldn’t want to upset them. 

He trudges into his bed instead, flopping wearily onto his mattress. It’s been a taxing day, right down to the moment he woke up this morning. His mind and body were both in shambles, and now, he’s exhausted.  

As he falls asleep, he distantly hopes for a dreamless night. 

. . . . .

“Where’s the olive oil? The pan’s heated. I need to start cooking the beef.”

Carmy stands before a pristine stainless steel pan. Next to him on the counter sits stuffed beef carefully wrapped in twine—beef braciole. 

“Guys,” he repeats, annoyed. “Guys, have you seen the olive oil?”

He turns to see Michael and his roommate sitting at a kitchen island. They’re both opening cans of San Marzano tomatoes, although it’s definitely not a two person job. 

“We haven’t seen it, Carmen,” Michael says. “Anyway, like I was saying—you should’ve seen his face. Really! When I told him I couldn’t work at the restaurant, it’s like I told him our dog died or something.”

“What I wouldn’t give to see that,” his roommate remarks, snickering and shaking their head. “Such a baby.”

Next to them, Carmy spots the bottle of olive oil. With a scowl, he snatches it. 

“Hurry up on those tomatoes, guys, I’m gonna need it real soon,” he reminds them, irritation growing. 

With the bottom of the pan coated in olive oil, he carefully places the beef into the pan. The sizzle is strangely whistle-like and high pitched. He inhales, searching for the smell of cooking meat and garlic, but he can’t seem to smell anything at all. 

“Did he cry?” They ask. 

“No, but he looked like he was going to,” Michael sneers, and the two of them are laughing again. 

“You wouldn’t wanna work with a guy like Carmy, anyway.”

“Exactly. Exactly. He doesn’t really get it, y’know. How much of a colossal fuck-up he is. I can see it in him, though. I didn’t have the heart to tell him then.”

“That’s okay. I don’t blame you. He probably wouldn’t have been able to handle it.”

“He has no idea! And he thinks he’s fooling everyone so well, but the thing is—”

“He’s not.”

“He’s not! He’s really not.”

“Chefs, I need the tomato puree. Hand it over,” Carmy interrupts abruptly. When there’s no response, he turns around. They haven’t even opened one can of tomatoes yet. “Are you two fucking serious?”

They look at him, eyes wide, and then they’re laughing so hard they’re crying. They’re doubled over the counter, cackling and kicking their feet. 

“You’re too easy to fuck with, Carmen,” Michael gets out between chuckles. “You’ve always been like that.”

Carmy ignores him and reaches for a can of tomatoes. 

“Give me the fucking can opener,” Carmy snaps.

“Oh, you won’t need it,” his roommate answers.

As soon as Carmy grabs a can, it explodes in his face.

Puréed San Marzano tomatoes fill his hand and drip from his hair into his eyes. He steps back, staggered from the red explosion. Somehow it got all over him and  not on anything else.

“Fucking shit!” He wipes his eyes, and that’s when he remembers the beef. He rushes back to the pan. It needs tomato purée now. He lets the splattered tomato drip from his hands into the pan, filling it with sauce. It sizzles and smells like smoke.

“I could always see you for who you really were, y’know. I always knew,” Michael goes on. “I could always see it.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Carmy snaps. The growing anxiety in his stomach is tightening his body and ejecting the words out. “What the actual fuck are you talking about?”

“He’s saying that you’re just not a good person. That’s all,” his roommate reasons. Carmy tries to keep his eyes focused on the beef, hastily spooning tomato over it. The pan’s still filling with puree. It’s overflowing. “You’re just the sort of person who will never change. Once broken, always broken, y’know what I mean?”

“If you’re not going to help, then fucking leave!” Carmy snaps, finally. He whirls around and wipes all the cans onto the floor. They explode in glorious unison, staining the floors red. “Just get out and stop getting in my fucking way!”

“But you don’t want me to leave, do you?”

“I don’t care what you do, I just need to finish this—“

“No, you care. You care if I like or hate you. You care if I stay or leave. You care about me, Carmy. You really care about me.”

“I don’t fucking care about you. I never have, and I never will.”

The beef’s burning on the pan. It’s all burning.

“Oh, Carmy…” Their arms are wrapped around his torso, squeezing him in a gentle hug. “It’s too late for you to say that sort of thing. Not anymore.”

All of a sudden, there’s a gush of wetness that soaks through his shirt. He pulls back, and their mouth is oozing tomato puree. In an instant, Carmy knows they’re dying.

“Fuck,” Carmy curses. “Fuck!”

“This is what happens,” they say, gargling through mouthfuls of puree.

“Why?” He asks.

“Because it’s you,” they answer, and Carmy wakes up.

He wakes up stumbling back from the stove by someone pulling on his shirt. The stove has pots and pans filled with flaming frozen food. He can feel the blazing heat against his skin. The orange flames are flicking off the steel pans and arch towards the ceiling, reaching. As Carmy stumbles back, he falls to the floor, barely managing to steady himself with the palms of his hands.

There’s the familiar sound of the fire extinguisher, spraying out into the base of the fire. Propped up on his elbows, Carmy watches the fire shrink with a thumping heart. His heartbeat marches in time with the tune of the fire alarm, piercing and high-pitched throughout the apartment. 

Carmy finally takes notes of his roommate, looking about as distressed as someone who just woke up to a fire in their own home. Their hair sticks up in several different directions as if they just woke up, which they…probably did. With a displeased grunt, they march over to the window to slam it open. The cloudy smoke compacted near the ceiling begins to trickle out. 

“Fucking hell,” they mutter under their breath, coughing from the smoke. They turn around to look at Carmy, expression twisted with stress. “Dude. What was that?”

“I,” Carmy starts, but the words just won’t come. He tries to move to get up, but his legs aren’t moving. 

“Carmy. Hey.” They lean down next to him, staring him in the eyes. He still doesn’t respond. “Carmen!” They snap, and he jolts. 

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he gets out. They help him up, wrapping his hand in theirs and yanking him upwards. 

“We should step outside while the smoke clears.” They cough as they move to grab their coat. 

“It’ll be fine, it’ll be gone in a couple minutes,” Carmy hears himself saying. He’s met with a blank stare. 

“So this has happened to you before?” They open their mouth, as if they’re about to say something else, but they shake their head. “No, we’re not staying in here. We may smoke everyday, but this isn’t good for us. C’mon.” 

He doesn’t quite feel his body moving as he grabs his wool jacket. He doesn’t feel it as he walks down the stairs, not even when he steps outside and the chilled night air whips at his face. He feels far, far away. 

After leaving the awful song of the fire alarm, the quiet of the night is uncharacteristically loud. If he listens closely, though, he can pick out the sound of their fire alarm, distantly ringing. Or maybe that’s just his tinnitus. 

The clicking sound of a lighter is what recenters him. He looks to his side to see them shakily holding a lighter up to their cigarette. After a couple more sparks, the flame lights.

They take a slow pull of it before wordlessly handing it to him. An olive branch of sorts. He takes it. They let the pool of smoke sit in their mouth, and then they exhale with a heavy, heavy sigh. 

“What happened back there, man?” They ask quietly. “That was…” They sigh again. “That scared the shit out of me,” they whisper, and that’s what makes it all finally settle in. 

Fuck, Carmy realizes with a pang. The realization starts in the pit of his stomach and drops lower and lower. Feeling returns to his body, and he feels cold inside and out. I really fucked up.

He can just imagine it—him, dead on his feet, sleepwalking into the kitchen. Grabbing the frozen food out of the freezer and turning the stove on high. Cooking nonsensically with plastic-wrapped chicken breasts and frozen peas. Too fucking asleep to stop the fire from starting, to stop the fire alarm that woke up his sleeping roommate on the couch.

“I used to sleepwalk, sometimes. When I was at culinary school,” he clarifies nervously. Shame douses him, coating him evenly like oil on a pan. “Or, sleepcook, I guess.”

He passes the cigarette back to them. They take it. 

“Shit,” they mutter. “Never heard of anyone doin’ that before.” 

“...Yeah. Me neither.”

The two of them are silent for a while before they speak again. 

“Carmy—why didn’t you tell me? That you—” They laugh dryly, full of irritation. He doesn’t like seeing anger on their face, hearing it in their voice. He doesn’t know if he’s ever heard them sound like this before. “That you’re prone to cooking in your sleep? Don’t you think that’s something I should know? As your roommate?”

“I—I didn’t mean to hide it,” he protests, even though he did.

“We could’ve really gotten hurt, y’know.”

“You’re right, I know, it’s just—it hadn’t happened in so long, so I just thought that I had, that I was…”

I thought I was getting better, he wants to say, but it’s stuck in his throat. It won’t come out. As per usual, he can’t get the words out. 

It always stays the same. 

“...” Strangely enough, their face  softens. “Must’ve been scary the first time.”

“What?” He wasn’t expecting their anger to dissipate so easily.

“The first time you caught yourself cooking your sleep. Were they all like this? With the fire and stuff?”

“Yeah. All the fire and stuff,” he confirms bitterly. A beat of silence. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you. You shouldn’t have had to…put out a fire I made.”

“It’s okay. I mean, it’s not okay you almost burned our place down, but…” The end of the cigarette sizzles, bright and orange as they inhale. “It’s not like you did it on purpose, did you?” 

“Of course not,” he rushes to say, “I would never—”

“I’m just kidding with you,” they laugh. They exchange the cigarette again. “I know you didn’t.”

Impossible, Carmy thinks all of a sudden. The nicotine usually calms him, except not today. Not right now. This is impossible.

“I thought you were mad at me,” Carmy blurts out. He can’t compute seeing a smile on their face right now. 

“I am,” they say calmly. 

“Then why? Why are you—” There’s static in his head, fuzz filling his mouth. “Why aren’t you—you should be—fucking, I don’t know—why aren’t you yelling?”

“Do you want me to be shouting at you?” 

“No! I don’t want that, I just—I just don���t understand.” There’s blood rushing in his ears. “I fucked up, so just—just get it over with already!” 

“I—get what over with?”

“Just tell me that I’m a worthless piece of shit and that you were wrong for ever seeing anything good in me,” he spits out. His eyes feel hot. He doesn’t know where all these words are coming from. “I know you want to say it, so just get it over with. Please.”

A moment of silence, broken by the drive by of a car.

“...Is that really how you think I see you?”

“How could you not?” He laughs bitterly, shakes his head. Images of Michael flash in his head. “I’ve just somehow managed to convince you that I’m worth your time. I don’t know how, but…” Frustration surges inside of him. “But now you know,” he says, finally. 

So this is how it ends, he thinks to himself. I knew it couldn’t last. Nothing ever lasts. 

We’ll call it The Bear, he hears himself saying. Michael and him at Christmas. The drawing he made of the restaurant. 

Michael’s dead, he hears Sugar sobbing over the phone. Her voice is crackly and broken through the speakers. Please come home. Please.

You didn’t even show up for your brother fuckin’ funeral, he hears Richie screaming. Your own fucking brother, Carmen! What the ever living fuck is wrong with you?

This is great, Carmy, Michael says softly to him, the gifted drawing of their restaurant in his hands. The house is on fire. There's so much fire. Thank you.

They don’t say anything for a while, opting to instead smoke their cigarette and stare distantly across the street. When they finally turn to look at him, their gaze pierces him. It’s that look that strips him bare, lays his soul out open for them to pick apart. 

“You’re allowed to mess up on onions,” they say. 

“...What?” Is all he can think to reply. 

“When I was drunk, you told me about how you dropped some onions.”

“No, I remember, I just—why are you saying that now?”

“Because this fire is the same.” They tap the ash off their cigarette, the gray dust shattering in the wind. “People make mistakes, Carmy. It’s okay.”

“This is a lot worse than spilling some onions,” he reasons weakly. They just shrug. 

“Objectively speaking, sure. I can’t deny that. But that’s not really what I’m trying to say…” They hesitate. “Can I speak plainly?”

“Please,” Carmy begs. 

Two cars whiz by before they speak again. 

“I can’t change how you see yourself,” they start. “I’m the same way. I think almost everyone is. I know I can’t make you less hard on yourself. If anything, that’s part of what made you into such an incredible chef.” They exhale shakily. “But this…with me…I don’t want it to push me away.”

“...I don’t want you to get hurt,” he confesses, messily. This isn’t like him, but he can’t seem to stop talking. I care about you too much, he thinks painfully.  

“It’s impossible to go through life without hurting others. Look—I consider you a friend, Carmy. A good friend. And I thought you felt the same, but…”

“I do,” he interrupts urgently. “You’re one of the closest friends I have,” he confesses, and their smile is beautiful. 

…I didn’t mean to say all that, he thinks, startled by himself. That was supposed to be, “I think of you as a friend, too.” 

“Then fuck up some onions. You don’t have to be a perfect person. No one can be, and I don’t want you to be. Besides—I’m not stupid. You’re not tricking me about anything. I’m pretty good at making sound judgments of people.”

“I didn’t mean to insinuate that you were stupid,” he says quietly. 

“I know you didn’t.” They keep being gentle, so gentle. 

“I…I’m not used to this,” he admits, finally. He needs to be honest with them, regardless if saying the truth is  like coughing up glass. “You're a good person. Really good. More than I'm used to, to be honest. I think…I think a part of me doesn't wanna believe it.”

“Oh.” Their pink cheeks could very well be from the cold, or from something else. “I—well. Thank you. That's nice to hear. But, ah, do you think I have some dark alter ego or something?”

“No, not like that. It’s just—there’s always another shoe, isn’t there?”

“Another shoe…” They hum. “Yeah. Unless there isn’t.”

“That’d be a first,” he says, and they laugh. 

“True enough.” The distant sound of the train. “I'm not a perfect person, Carmy.”

“I know. I don't expect that.”

“Then stop expecting it from yourself.”

“...” He blinks, staggered by their bluntness. A million arguments begin and die on the tip of his tongue, but all of them feel as cheap as the last. He knows they're right, and there's not much room for argument there. “I'll try,” he says finally with a nod. It's all he can say.

“I say it like it's an easy thing to do. I know it's not.” Their smile is knowing, rueful. “I certainly haven't gotten over it myself.”

“You also…?” The implication lays silent in the air. They nod. “I’m sorry for starting a fire,” he apologizes again, because he feels like he has to. “And for…freaking out.”

“You are forgiven. But you don’t need to apologize for, like, having emotions. That’s fucked up.” They let out an abrupt bark of a laugh, and it makes him laugh, too. “Is it, like, a stress thing? The sleepcooking?”

You’re worthless, he suddenly hears a familiar voice saying. The head chef. You’d be better off dead. You don't deserve any of this.

“Usually,” he says simply. “I can’t really…predict when it’s gonna happen, though.”

“Unfortunate. I guess it’d be too easy if you could see it coming.” They put out their cigarette on the back of their lighter, flicking off the ash. “How are you doing now?”

“I’m fine,” he responds  instantly, all on instinct. “I’m…better,” he amends, and they look happy with that. “I should be asking you that. Are you alright?”

“Not gonna lie, it was pretty scary, but I’m okay. I can look back at it as a bonding experience.”

“A bonding experience,” Carmy mutters, half out of amusement and half out of disbelief. “I guess you’re not totally wrong.”

“Nobody got hurt, right? And next time, I'll be ready.”

“There shouldn't be a next time.”

“No, I suppose not. But there might be, and that's okay.”

“But—“ He stops. “I'm sorry.”

“I know.” They pat his back. 

“Do you wanna come to family tomorrow?” He blurts out. 

“Huh?” They say, which is a pretty reasonable response. “I mean, probably. What is it?”

“Right, sorry. It's, uh, a thing we do everyday at work. One of the chefs cooks dinner for everyone, and we eat together. It's a way to, ah…have everyone get along, I guess.”

“Oh, cool!”

“And I'll be the one cooking tomorrow,” he adds hastily. God, why is this so embarrassing? “So. Yeah. If you wanna come, then…”

“You mean I get to have your cooking? Of course I wanna come,” they reply, their expression brightening. Carmy's stomach twists inward, giddy. “Oh my god, yeah. As long as it's not weird that I'm there?”

“Not weird,” he promises. “We bring people all the time. Not too many, of course.”

Except for me, he thinks. I barely even eat family enough as it is, let alone ever bringing everyone. You're the only one.

“Okay. Okay!” They make a pleased noise, stepping excitedly in place. “Then I accept. What time should I come?”

“We eat before opening, so come in around 2. The door should be open.”

“Sounds good.” They stop then, fixing him with a puzzled, amused look. “You're not just doing this because of what just happened, are you? Although I guess it'd be cool if you were—”

“I'm not, I'm not. I just…wanted to.” He's not being very convincing. To be fair, it's only half of a lie. “But I will. Make this up to you, I mean.”

“I'm just teasing. You don’t have to, but I won’t stop you. And…thanks for inviting me, I'm looking forward to it.” They yawn suddenly, eyes scrunching shut. “Think we're good to head back in now?”

“Probably, yeah.” He checks his phone. It's 1 AM. “Sorry for keeping you up.”

“It's fine, really. Besides, I did this to you the other night. And, uh—Carmy?”

“...Yeah?”

“I'm really glad you think of me as a friend,” they say, and it sounds like a confession. “I feel super lucky to have a roommate that I can call my friend, too. I…just wanted to say that. 

There are countless unspoken sentiments that Carmy wishes he had the courage, the faith to say. I didn't know how important you were going to become to me, for instance. I don't know if I can go without your company anymore. I’m not sure if I've ever liked someone so much, and that terrifies me. I never wanted to admit how much I like you.

It's too much, far too much to say aloud, but at least, finally, he can admit it to himself.

It does not always have to stay the same.

“I feel really lucky, too,” Carmy says instead, and the words come easy, easier than they ever have before.

~

@zorrasucia

[yougavemeyourheartyouknow]

On thin ice (Hockey player! Miguel O’Hara x Figure skater! Fem! Reader)

A/N: Im very excited for this series, apologies now for If Miguel is ooc and if the terminology and sports talk is wrong. If you’re experienced in either sport and wanted to lmk if I got something wrong, I’m open ears. This is mostly self indulgent brain rot tho. Enjoy :).

(Y/N)- Your name, (N/N)- Nickname.

Swearing, yelling, a lot of me trying to explain moves, I’m not good at these lol. Not completely proofread so sorry for typos or grammatical errors. Not a ton of reader and Miguel interact, mostly just set up. Story takes place in a college setting.

Word count: 1.8k

Series Masterlist

Chapter 1: Have you got color in your cheeks?

—

“Nope, nope try it again.”

“Ughhh…”

“I don’t wanna hear it. Again.”

For the- god you’ve lost count- you go back into starting position for the move right before for the lift, you and your skating partner are currently been worked to the bone by your coach. It felt like by the time you both will develop hypothermia before you get off the ice. Your ice skating partner, Logan, throws his head back in frustration as your coach starts to put the music back to the same spot it’s been starting at for the last half hour. She was having you both do a routine to the swan lake theme (overplayed we know, but did she still find a way to make the coreo beautiful? Of course.) and she was having you do a very “simple” sequence, starting by doing twizzles together before having Logan lift you over his head in a crucifix lift. Simple enough right? wrong. Because your lovely coach is convinced that in over to win first to enter regionals, Logan have to immediately go into a hydroblade around you, while you does a single camel spin in the middle of the rink, as soon as he is done putting you down from the lift. Although you’ve mastered the moves all individually, putting them all together was difficult.

You were too focused on trying to mentally prepare yourself to attempt and fail the sequence again to noticed a group making their way through the double doors that separated the rink to the rest of the building. Taking a deep breath before you and Logan both made your way to just slightly left from the center of the rink, your coach starts the music as you and Logan began to twirl in sync with one another in almost perfect timing. Almost.

“Logan! You’re twirling too fast! You’re ahead of the music and your partner!” Calls out coach Kavinsky.

As you both stop going the tizzlers, you turn your body so you’re now facing Logan as you circle around the end of the rink before turning back around and slowing slightly so you were next to each other, Logan bending down slightly to put one hand on the back of you knee, his other arm wrapping around the front of your waist, your hands quickly traveling to his shoulders.

“(Y/N), you need to shift more of your weight to your left foot for an easier take off!” She yelled out again. Your brows furrowed together as you attempt to shift your weight over a bit more to your left foot as you squeezed Logan’s shoulders slightly. But unfortunately, your partner misinterpreted you shifting your weight and the squeezing as your cue for the lift, causing him to lift you too early before you to properly shift your weight.

“Shit- (N/N)! You good!!” Logan asked concerned as the music stopped, you’re back now flat of the ice as you let out a small grunt of pain from the slip and the fall. “Ugh… yup…yup…” you replied through gritted teeth, ignoring the ache from your back as you slowly move to your hands and knees.

“Damn! How’d you two fuck up that badly?” A voice asked before a laugh, no, multiple laughs fill the room. You shot your head in the direction of the taunt to glare at whoever made the comment as Logan helps you off the floor.

Why weren’t you surprised?

“O’Hara. Shut it.” The couch of the hockey team scolded his star player. Miguel fucking O’Hara. Captain and star player of The Spiders, your university’s hockey team. The man was nothing but 6 feet and 9 inches of pure muscle. You would honestly have found him attractive if he wasn’t such a fucking dick.

“You act like your touch shit, but I bet if you didn’t have 25 pounds of padding on and fell on your back, you wouldn’t think it’s so funny.” Logan hissed, causing Miguel to roll his eyes and scoff in response, adjusting the helmet under his arm with the hand that was also holding his hockey stick. The other hockey players trying to stifle their laughing, so they don’t get chewed out as well.

“It’s not my fault that the ice princess can’t handle a small fall.”

“Miguel.”

“It’s not my fault that you’ve developed some brain damage from being slammed into the boards one too many times.”

“Logan.”

“Well atleast-“ before the rest of the insult can fully come out from Miguel’s lips, the hockey coach, coach Turner, interrupts him. “MIGUEL O’HARA. YOU FINISH THAT SENTENCE AND YOU’LL BE BENCHED FROM THE NEXT GAME.” He roared, causing the cocky smirk to instantly drop from the hockey player’s face, your coach then turned to Logan. “You too. You’re one more remark from no ice time for the next week.” She scolded, causing your partner to huff and grumbled under his breath.

“Alright…I’ll stop, but they needa get off the ice, they’re 15 minutes over their time. They’re messing with our practice schedule.” Miguel said to Turner as he points at you and Logan with his hockey stick, his coach letting out a sigh as he turns to yours. “He’s right, you aren’t the only one trying to get wins. You’ve been digging into our ice time.” Coach turner says, crossing his arms, his clipboard in one hand. Coach Kavinsky let out a heavy sigh, as she rubbed her hand over her pale face. “Alright…let me just have them do it one more time then we’ll get off.”

The hockey team loudly groan at her sentence, causing you to roll your eyes at their dramatics, “hockey players…” you mumbled under your breath to Logan, who just nodded in agreement. Now it was Coach Turner’s turn to let out a heavy sigh. “Fine. You get one- and I mean one more go, then after that we need the rink.” The man grumble as he began to rub his temple.

“But coach-“ one of the hockey players that you didn’t know the name of (so all but Miguel) was starting to object but cut himself off when Turner turned to glare daggers in his direction, causing him to just clear his throat instead. Coach Kavinsky just turn to you and Logan, wasting no time to tell you to go back into the same spot from were you’ve been stuck on.

“It feels like we’re stuck in a time loop.” You joked with a small grin as you both skate back to being slightly to the left of the middle of the rink. Logan letting out a snort as he followed you. “We better not fuck this up again, we’ve got an audience.” Logan said as he nodded to we’re the hockey team was impatiently waiting. You just shrugged, waiting for the music to start again, “We got this.” You sent him a confident smile before continuing.

“You promise not to drop me again?” You asked with a playful smile, obviously joking as you start positioning your feet to start the twizzlers again, Logan following your movements closely after.

“Only a fool would drop a girl like you.” He teased before the music started, both of you beginning to spin shortly after. You know he was only joking, you both knew there weren’t anything between you too that was more then a platonic friendship/skating partnership.

You don’t know if the impact from the fall was messing with your vision, but you swore that you saw Miguel’s hand twitch into a fist for a spit second after Logan’s reply.

“Good! Better Logan!” Your coach praised as Logan’s twizzlers were more in sync with yours this time. Once you were done spinning, you followed the same steps to prepare for the lift, this time your footing was actually correct and you were ready for when Logan spins you over his shoulder, you letting go of said shoulders once your stomach was securely on his shoulder, as the song crescendos. Bringing your arms up and straightening them out to your side, your upper body in the shape of a cross (hence the name of the move being crucifix lift) and you couldn’t help but smirk when you say some of the hockey players, especially Miguel’s, impressed reactions. It doesn’t help that you know that most of them would never admit that they were impressed.

As Logan spun around the rink once with you in the air, before flipping you back down onto the ice the same way he flipped you up. “Shit this is the part we always fuck up.” You thought as your blades touch the ice again once Logan reaches the middle of the rink, his hands leaving your body as soon as you were stable on the ground again. Before quickly gliding a bit more towards the outer edge of the rink, you took in a steady breath as your eyebrows scrunched together subconsciously in concentration. Miguel couldn’t help but notice and thought it was adorable, before quickly shaking the thought away.

Part of the reason you both always got this part wrong was, because one would either start too early or too late, making the speeds of both moves looked rush and sloppy rather then sharp and contrasted. As Logan start to lower himself into the hydroblade, you began to do the camel spin.

“Beautiful!” Coach Kavinsky praised as she stop the music. And you almost wanted to fall to your knees and cry from relief, and you probably would have if the hockey team and their coach wasn’t 20 feet away, watching your every move. So instead you skated up to Logan and engulfed him in a hug, your partner instantly returning it. What you couldn’t see because your face was being buried into Logan’s chest was Miguel’s face turn to a scowl for a split second, his hand twitching into a first again, before both going back to their neutral state in the blink of an eye.

“We still need to clean it up, don’t get too excited.” She added as you and Logan pulled apart and began to exit the rink, a huge smile on both your faces. As soon as you were off the ice, the hockey team quickly rushed to get on and set up their nets on both ends of the rink. You didn’t pay them any mind though as you put your guards on your skates, and were starting to make your way to the girl’s locker room before you felt a hand gently grab your wrist to stop you. At first you were expecting it to be Logan’s, but theses hands were much larger than his.

“That was actually quite impressive, ice princess.” You didn’t need to turn around to know who’s talking, but when you felt the hand release you, you couldn’t help but turn around anyways. Seeing Miguel walk away from you to head to the rink, and you didn’t need to see his face to know that he probably had a cocky smirk spread on his lips. You didn’t need to admit that the shiver you felt run down your back came from his hush, low tone as he spoke and not the coldness from ac blasting to keep the ice solid.

“Did…did he just compliment you?” Logan whispered as he came closer and raised his brow at you. If you knew one thing about the hockey player, is that he never, ever said one positive about or to you (or Logan for that matter) since you’ve known him.

“I- yeah he did…”

“That’s…interesting…”

“Very.”

[13as07]

Hanahaki Disease

(Shino Aburame)

[Art work is not mine! Credit to imoimo00000]

Requested by: Myself

Word Count: 3,878

Warnings and/or Pre-Notes:

“Hanahaki Disease is a fictional disease in which the victim coughs up flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love. It ends when the beloved returns their feelings or when the victim dies. It can be cured through surgical removal, but when the infection is removed, the victim's romantic feelings for their love also disappear.”

Mentions of Mental Illness (Depression, Anxiety and Bipolar Disorders)

———————————————————————

     My eyes trail after Shino who's slipping out the door. Today is another day of him leaving without giving me my goodbye kiss. Not that anyone is counting, because I'm not counting. Who cares if Shino has forgotten to kiss me goodbye every day this month? Who cares if he's started month two of the forgotten kiss? Not me.

He's a very busy man. He's one of the teachers at the Academy, he has a lot of clan matters to attend to, not to mention he's started his training to take over as chief for his dad. So who cares if he doesn't remember to kiss me, even if it's only five seconds of his day?

It would be selfish of me if I threw a hissy fit over something so small. Shino is mentoring the next generation of Shinobis. Shino is taking care of his people and their needs. Shino is starting his path to take over the clan. His father is almost sixty, eventually, he's going to want to retire. It would be self-centered of me to start a fight because Shino is too busy taking care of the community.

     Besides, when Shino has free time he'll spend it with me. Who cares if it's been weeks since we've been on a date? Who cares if it's been a couple of months since we've been physically? Who cares that the only time I see him anymore is five minutes in the morning and the occasional nights that he wakes me up sneaking into bed? Not me, that's who.

     I knew what I was signing up for. He lives a busy life and so do I. That's the life of a Shinobi, I shouldn't be surprised we don't have a lot of time together. Shino is a pillar of our community. I know that.

But it only takes five seconds. A peck and then he can leave. Not to mention he's done it for years. Why isn't he doing it anymore? Has he forgotten? Or has he been choosing not to kiss me? There's no way Shino has forgotten, he never forgets anything, so it has to be a willing choice right? Why doesn't he want to kiss me anymore? Have we lost our spark? Is Shino over our relationship? Does he see me as another task instead of his partner? Is that why he isn't kissing me? Or maybe he just doesn't -

The thought gets cut off by a pain in my chest. My hand shoots up, rubbing my chest to try and work out the pain. Instead of working out the nest of aches, my rubbing brews a cough.

The sound of my lungs trying to loosen the pain ripples through my rib cage, making the empty apartment echo with the sound. The more I cough the more pain flutters through my chest.

My eyes snap closed as another string of coughs rips from my chest. Tears prickle my eyes as my lungs pound against my ribs.

As the third round of coughing starts, something in my chest shifts. As I cough, the loosening feelings continue, something smooth shooting out every time another wheeze is forced from my lungs. It hurts every time a chunk of whatever flies out, leaving behind a burning feeling in my lungs. Like a new scab wound is being ripped into my airway.

By the time I'm done coughing, my throat feels raw and my chest feels like it's on fire. I tip my head backward, resting it on the chair I've been sitting on. My breath is shaky and uneven as I try to catch it, the oxygen rolling over the imaginary wounds as I suck it in. It feels like licks of fire running down my throat.

After a few deep breaths, the pain has subsided and my breathing is back in check. Maybe I'm getting sick. I should ask Shino about it, he's a medicine expert courtesy of his clan.

A threat of another cough fit bubbles in my chest, making me clear my throat in hopes of forcing it down.

When I successfully manage to avoid another round of wheezing, I lift my head back up, snapping my eyes open so I can start my day. As my eyes open, I'm met with a small pile of petals littered across the kitchen table and the floor underneath it.

     The petals are wide and curved at the end. The soft yellow of them is dotted with speckles of blood, making my nerves tingle. Those weren't there before I coughed but there's no way... I did not cough up flower petals. That's impossible... It's not... It's not the Hanahaki Disease.

     Shino loves me, I know he loves me. Right? So what if he's been a little busy? So what if we haven't had much time together recently... any time together recently? He's just a little busy. I know Shino loves me, he loves me... Right?

                      ———————————

     I can feel another petal trying to wheeze its way out as I walk up the stairs back home. Sakura's words roll around my head as I climb the steps to my front door.

     "It's a mental state of mind in a physical form. The personification of your thoughts. Go home and stop stressing about Shino so much and it should fix itself."

     Sakura's words were meant in good light but at the moment it doesn't seem like that, or feel like that since I'm winded from climbing a flight of stairs. Another round of coughing is threatened in my lungs, the feeling of the ignored cough slamming against my rib cage as I refuse to give in.

     My hand shakes as I dig my keys out of my pocket and struggle to get the door unlocked and opened. When I finally do manage to get the door open, I leave it swung wide and dash towards the trash. My head hangs in it, hands on my knees as I cough into the can.

     The growing familiarity of petals being ripped from my lungs fills my chest, the yellow lilies coated in my blood spilling into the trash as I cough them up.

     By the time a flower or two is released, the fluttering of my lungs settles, leaving me to catch my breath again. My eyes scan the trash, the tears now coating my sights making it a little difficult to make out the proof of my disease.

     Shino loves me. He loves me. I know he loves me... or do I? If I knew he loved me I wouldn't be in this situation.

     "Stop stressing about Shino so much."

     Sakura's voice rings in my head again, helping me calm my breathing down.  My eyes scan over the petals once more before I climb to my feet. I'll take a nap, that should help. No coughing, no Shino, no worrying about his love for me or lack thereof recently. It's just a bump in the road, just my anxiety getting the better of me. I'll beat this disease in no time because Shino loves me... unless he doesn't...

                       ———————————

     Panic is not real, it is an imaginary emotion, and it's nothing more than an adrenaline rush. My shallow breath is nothing but adrenaline. The ringing in my ears is adrenaline. It's not even adrenaline, it is the sound of my blood moving quicker because my breaths are moving quicker because my adrenaline has been heightened by Sakura.

By Sakura who stopped by the school on her lunch break. Who 'accidentally' left my Bumble Bee's papers from her visit to the hospital today. Who doesn't understand the meaning of Doctor-Patient Confidentiality. Who took the risk of getting fired to tell me I've been neglecting my Bumble Bee so much that flowers are growing in her lungs because I am lacking as a romantic partner.

I'm well versed in the knowledge of the Hanahaki Disease. After all, one in five people will experience it during their lifetime. The chances of someone I know having the disease or getting it is quite high.

Not to mention being from a medical clan means I should be well versed in top diseases and disorders. I know the symptoms, I know the signs. I would have seen them. I would have noticed.

I pay very close attention to my Bumble Bee's health, especially when it comes to the Hanahaki disease. People suffering from depression, anxiety, bipolar disorders, or a mix of them are more likely to get it, and my Bumble Bee falls into that category. I would have noticed.

I know I've been busy but I still see her for... for a few minutes every morning and... and when I get home before midnight... which happens... once a week if I'm lucky...

My heart rate increases at the thought. Maybe I wouldn't have noticed. No, no I would have. I... I would have.

Panic - no, panic isn't real. It's just unchecked adrenaline. My adrenaline is in check, I am in control of it. But the front door being wide open with Bumble Bee's keys still hanging in the lock makes it very difficult to keep my adrenaline in check. The trash bag full of lily petals and her blood doesn't either.

"Bumble Bee?" I call, scanning for any signs that something happened. I can never be too sure that it's not a trap. "Bumble?" I call again, making slow steps toward our open bedroom door.

My adrenaline drops at the sight of her in bed. She looks pink, probably a fever forming from her body trying to respond to the flowers blooming in her chest. Her breaths are raspy, oxygen struggling to fill her lungs because of the lilies. More petals float around the room, littering our bedding and the carpet.

It would have been a pretty sight if it wasn't for the blood droplets decorating the yellow flowers. It's fitting, the yellowing of the petals. It's almost a bumblebee yellow. Bumblebee yellow for my Bumble Bee.

                         ———————————

     The feeling of arms wrapping around me stirs my sleep, panic quickly taking over me. "Calm down, Bumble Bee," Shino's smooth voice fills my ears, easing the fear that was growing. "It's just me."

     I'm calm for a second or two before a cough brews in my chest, threatening to give way to my developing illness.

     I snap my eyes open, quickly scanning for any petals that might have slipped out as I slept. None fall into view, chilling my nerves again. The last thing Shino needs is to be stressing and worrying about me. Besides, Sakura said it should fix itself if I stop worrying. It's all mental.

     My eyes flicker to the clock, four eleven. "You're home early," I mumble, trying to stay still in Shino's hold. Maybe he forgot about his after-work plans, though I'm not complaining. I'll take any extra time I can get, even if it's only long enough for his forgetfulness to clear up.

     "I know," he answers, crawling into bed. Shino shifts around moving me across the bed as he settles next to me. "I don't feel the best. I am going to take a nap," he mutters, arms tucked around me again to further crush me into his chest.

     Shino's fingertips ghost over my back, crawling across my shirt in different patterns. Soon his head dips down, nose shifting my hair out of the way. The material of his sunglasses rubs against my throat as he buries his head into my neck. He must feel really sick if he didn't take the time to change out of his day clothes before crawling into bed.

     "Do you want me to make you some soup? It'll help you feel better," I ask, going to sit up to climb out of bed. Shino doesn't have time to be sick.

     "No," He answers shortly, tightening his hold on me to pull me back down on the bed before I have the chance to get up. "It's nothing more than a fever. It'll go away after some rest. Rest with me, Bumble Bee."

"Alright," I mumble, curling back up on the mattress. I cuddle against him again, resting my head on his chest as his arms tie themselves around me.

                         ———————————

I can feel the cough brewing in my chest as my eyes flutter open. It's difficult trying to fight the cough down. If I was sure Shino wasn’t still home I’d let it out.

     My chest aches as I roll out of bed, my worries about Shino being sick and not loving me taking its toll on my body. As if my thoughts could talk, the bedroom door creaks open said bug boy poking his head into the room. "Good morning, Bumble Bee."

     "Good morning," I call back, attempting to clear my throat to further push down the cough fit threatening to happen. "You're not even dressed," I point out, eyes jumping from the clock to Shino who's still in his bedclothes. "You're going to be late."

     "One of my coworkers is covering the first hour of my day."

     "Why?" I ask, ducking into the bathroom as the need to cough continues to grow.

     "I did not set my alarm so I woke up late. When I called to let them know they said to take as much time as I need," Shino answers, his voice muffled by the doors and space between us.

     "Well I'm sorry your morning started rough," I call back, raising my voice to make sure he can hear me. The louder volume forces a round of coughs out of me, pain ripping through me as petals flutter out.

     A second, third, and fourth coughing fits fill the bathroom before Shino knocks on the door. "Are you alright, Bumble?"

     I grip the sink, resting my weight against it as I try to catch my breath. "Ya... I'm... I'm alright, Shino," I answer, watery eyes scanning the small room. Three dozen or so petals litter the tiled floor, the before dots of blood now small pools coating the colorfulness.

     "Well alright. Are you ready for breakfast?" He asks, softly knocking on the door.

     "Yes, I'll be out in a second," I tell him, bending down and starting to collect the lilies. My lungs scream in pain as air filters through them, being hunched over to clean up my mess not helping.

Once the mess is cleaned up, petals thrown out and my blood splatters wiped up, I make my way out to the kitchen. The soft sizzling of the stove fills the space, the smell of bacon fighting for space as well. "Shino?"

"Bumble Bee?" He calls back, turning towards me. I swear some of the pain in my chest melts away when he looks at me, eyes uncovered and almost shiny as he takes me in. "I'm making you bacon and eggs. I hope that's alright."

"That's more than alright," I say, sliding over to stand next to him. "But you don't have to. I know you have a busy day, I can finish making myself breakfast."

"I'll finish making your breakfast," Shino mumbles, shifting away so I can't take the spatula from him. "Go sit down."

Reluctantly, I do as I'm told, sliding into a chair at the table. I settle my arms on the table, resting my head on them as I watch Shino cook. The worry of making his day worse swirls around my head, though it melts away when he turns towards me, a soft smile crawling on his face when his eyes meet mine.

It only takes a few more minutes for Shino to finish my breakfast. My plate is set on the table, the man leaning over me to set it down. "Your breakfast, Bumble," he mutters, hands resting on my shoulders as a kiss is pressed into my cheek. "I am going to get dressed, enjoy your food," he adds, kissing my other cheek before he leaves me in the kitchen.

     My eyes flutter over my plate, scanning over the food that has waves of heat rolling off of them. I feel a bit guilty about my disease. How could I believe Shino doesn't love me when he does things like this for me?

     Because this is the first time in almost two months he's paid any attention to me. Because yesterday was the first time in too long that he's been home right after work. Because now that he's feeling better I won't see much of him let alone have any of his attention.

     Another coughing fit rams against my lungs, threatening to spill out as I pick up my fork. I need to keep my thoughts in check, they're only making my illness worse.

     "Stop stressing about Shino so much."

     Sakura's voice rings in my head as a cough wheezes out. My eyes trail after the yellow petal that spills free, watching it slowly float down to the table, settling next to the plate of food Shino made for me. Of course Shino loves me. He just has a lot of things on his plate right now. He loves me... I think.

                         ———————————

My breathing sounds more like hissing as I lean against the Academy wall. Another three dozen or so petals are tangled at my feet, staining the road in the small pools of my blood.

Sakura gave me a doctor’s note to turn in so I could have some time off. A Shinobi that’s coughing up flowers and blood isn’t exactly useful. Hence, me being at the Academy.

I take a couple more swallow breaths, trying not to tempt another coughing attack to form. Once my breathing is settled for the hundredth time today, I push myself off the wall and head inside.

It’s a quick walk to the mission center, but it’s still a peaceful one. The sound of children, teachers, and classrooms buzzing filling the space there. At least until a door slams open.

A blonde boy with bright blue eyes stares at me. Whiskers are stamped into his face as well. Naruto couldn’t deny the kid as his if he tried. “Hello, Lady. Sensei wants you.”

“What?” I ask, taking a peak into the classroom. Shino is standing in front of the desk, glancing at the two of us now and again as he rambles on with his lesson.

“My Sensei wants you. Shino-Sensei. That guy,” the boy says, repeatedly pointing at Shino. “Aren’t you his girlfriend or whatever? You should know who he is. Unless it’s not true. Sensei?!” The boy leaves the door wide open, storming back in as he confronts his teacher about ‘lying’ to him about our relationship.

I slide into the room after the boy, a smile crawling on my face as I watch Shino defend himself in the verbal warfare Naruto’s son is throwing at him. Chocho - the chief’s granddaughter - is waving her hand like crazy at me, trying to catch my attention.

I wave back at her, getting a head tilt towards her teacher and childish kissy faces shot my way. My smile grows as I shift my shoulders up, playing into the clan’s princess’s game. Her nose scrunches up as she pretends to get sick, making me giggle silently. The quiet giggles make my lungs ache, a coughing fit trying to shove its way out of my mouth.

“Please go sit back down Boruto,” Shino grumbles, ducking behind his desk.

“But Sensei! You said anyone that spotted your girlfriend could get a piece of candy!” Naruto’s son - who he totally in character named after himself - whines, staying put in front of Shino’s desk.

Shino sighs, a piece of candy being tossed to the Hokage’s son before his head pops back over his desk. “So you have your kids playing look out today?” I tease, for once pain not bubbling in my chest. It makes me giddy knowing he talks about me to his students.

More giddiness only grows as Shino climbs back to his feet, a vase full of orchids in tow along with a sleek black box. “You didn’t take any missions yesterday so I assumed you would be around today,” he mumbles, walking towards me before leaning the flowers out towards me. “When you stopped in today I wanted to make sure I saw you. I don’t want the children ruining your flowers before I get home.”

His words come out monotone as ever but still manage to make my breathing seem easier. “Thanks, Shino, I appreciate the gestures,” I answer, taking the cooled vase from him. “I’ll let you get back to class. I’ll see you in the morning?”

“You’ll see me tonight.”

“But you told your dad - ”

“I will see you tonight,” Shino cuts me off, handing me the box before softly patting my head. His glasses settle their focus on my face, the dark lens making it impossible to figure out the exact spot they’re focused on. “My father can wait. I want to be with you tonight.” His fingers coast through my hair before a soft pat is placed against my cheek. A soft smile is sent my way before he turns on his heels, Sensei Shino back in control.

I blink a few times, my sights on the purple flowers poking out of the white vase. When my senses filter back in, I wave a quick goodbye to Chocho before leaving the room.

My walk is slower this time, making sure not to spill any water onto the mystery box as I head towards the mission center again.

                         ———————————

My eyes fall down the mirror again, taking in the sundress I’ve put on. The flowy material is what Shino put into the mystery box. The dress is yellow, not my favorite but it fits with the nickname he has given me through our years together.

I figured with the fancy dress and the free time I have, I should try to look nice when he gets home, hence the done hair and light makeup.

“You are perfect,” Shino’s voice fills the room, startling me at the suddenness.

“Thank you.”

“You are beautiful,” he continues, his frame falling into view in the mirror. Shino’s glasses rest on top of his head, giving me the sight of his eyes that are jumping around my body. “We should go to dinner.”

“We should?”

Shino hums a yes, arms settling on my hips and tugging me backward so I’m pressed against him. “You look gorgeous. My partner is gorgeous. It would be a waste not enjoying your beauty,” he mutters, brushing kisses across my neck as his eyes continue to jump over the view of me in the mirror.

“You look lovely. You are exquisite. You are my everything,” Shino continues to drown me in whispered compliments, lips brushing across my jaw now. His hands rub soft circles against my stomach, his fingers nimble as they crawl across my dress. “My everything,” he repeats, nuzzling his nose into my hair.

I let myself relax against him, soaking in Shino’s undivided attention. As he toys with the hem of my dress, a thought filters into my head. I haven’t coughed up any petals since I visited the academy.

[murfpersonalblog]

FrankFreezy on Victim-Blaming in the IWTV Fandom (IWTV 2x1 - 19:09 - 25:34)

If I see or sense something that is problematic...I'm going to say something, and one of those things that led me to this whole thought process of speaking about victim blaming is because my whole thing with Lestat in Season One is like I have said countless times:

I'm judging and speaking on these characters based on what I am seeing in front of me.

And a lot of people have spoiled; a lot of people have hinted; a lot of people have suggested that: "Don't worry, when you get to Season Two everything will make sense!"

And I'm happy for that! I'm happy to grow and evolve...with the story as I go. I'm a patient man, and I'm a man that likes being told I am wrong, in the sense that I'm open to learn, I'm open to embrace new point of views.

However, I'm also a man who calls sh*t when I see it, or calls some kind of characters and behaviors when I see it.

Now, something I want to talk about victim blaming is: If someone SA'd someone, or abused someone, and your first comment or your initial comment is: "Hey man, we need to look deeper into this abuser's past! We need to check out their trauma and what made them do this!" Then I'm going to say something about that, because those things are valid! Mental health is important, and knowing how a character got from Point A to Point B is very valid.

But the part about victim blaming that comes up for me is: Why is the abuser's past or trauma the thing being centered in this moment??? Doesn't it make more sense that the person that is going through it or the person who is abused--their pain, their current trauma that we're seeing Lestat inflict in front of our eyes--should be centered first?!

When that person is cared for and taken care of and understood, yeah, we can run back then we can run back and check out Lestat's past or why this person got from here to here, you know?

...Because if I just got abused, and in the midst of it the first thing I'm hearing people asking is: "Oh, the person that abused me, they've had a hard past, and was hurt, people hurt people!" And all these conversations that comes around trauma, generational trauma? I would feel so neglected and messed up! Because I just went through some traumatic sh*t, and my abuser is being centered!?

...Everyone has been telling me we're just seeing Louis' point of view. Even in Episode 7, Armand told Molloy that "You only know half the story, you're going to apologize when you hear everything." I'm SO eager to hear Lestat's side and everything.... Let let me see all the nuances. And I'm happy to see how it changes my mind and all this.

But...almost every time I am cautioned or I am nudged gently in the "right direction" to look at Lestat's reasons for what he's doing, often times it never comes side-by-side with also empathizing or centering Louis, or the people who are being abused.

Like, I just posted Episode [Four] on YouTube, the episode where Claudia did her first kill [on Charlie], unfortunately, and how Lestat was after it happened. He wasn't very comforting; he forced her to look at the body, and all these things, and that's a child! Vampire or not!... I had some thoughts towards that, I'm like: "Yo, she just went through something very traumatic, and you do this!?"

And there was a bunch of folks that were on the whole: "He was training her to be what she was supposed to to be!"

...She did some self harm at the ending of that episode, and in a lot of those comments, none of...the trauma she's actively going through was centered. It was just more: "So, this is Lestat's reason for doing this;" and it gave me victim blaming vibes a lot.

...Especially with Louis, like: "Oh yeah, he was a flawed man before Lestat changed him. He agreed to it, he consented into it!"

I'm not seeing them being centered in that case. I am seeing justifications for why Lestat is doing that.

....I'm just seeing some thoughts, patterns, that I feel from my POV are like low key problematic.

-- Already LOVE season 2 🧡| Interview With The Vampire 2x1 | Reaction & Commentary - FrankFreezy (19:09 - 25:34)

[shadowcats4]

@freddie-221b Here you go. Hope you enjoy.

This is basically the first idea @phantomlemon348 and I had for our 'Little Alec' fanfiction. And it all evolved from there.

Graphic depictions of violence

In very short: Alec has a bit of a fight with another kid called Paul

Notes:

The paper version has water drops on it to make it look like Alec cried

Charlotte and Paul are made up characters

Alec is 13, Charlotte is 15 and so is Paul

Tuesday 13.05.1982 12:49

It was the twelve o`clock break and you know how the teachers are. As soon as it´s warm they try to get you outside whatever the weather. Although it wasn`t that bad today, only cloudy. I was in my usual spot, just watching like I always do. I felt at the time I had a particularly mardy scowl on my face. But I don’t see the point anyway. My mum always tells me to smile, look friendly. Why bother when there’s nothing to smile about?

Charlotte was with her friends again, talking and laughing. Like usual, Paul went up to her and started chatting her up. I’ve noticed he’s started talking to her more and more lately. He’s new-ish at our school. I’ve heard rumours about him. All the girls think he’s handsome. I can’t stand the sight of his stupid face. I don’t know if they’ll still do, after I finished with him. I watched him lean against, his disgusting, self centered grin on his face. Just like Friday. And on Wednesday. I felt the hate and anger rising inside me again. She obviously didn’t want to talk to him. Last week she`d clearly told him to clear off and leave her alone.

He leaned in to kiss her, but she pushed him away. I felt my fingernails digging into my palms, my teeth grating so hard, my jaw hurt. Before I really knew what I was doing, I`d already started running over. He had her pinned against the wall, still trying to get her to kiss him.

I shoved him hard by the shoulder, pushing him off her. He still had his repulsive cocky smile on his face, when he sneered down at me. He was a head taller and stockier built.

He laughed scornfully, “And what are you-“

And then I wiped the expression straight from his face with a full swing of my arm, my fist into his nose. I heard a satisfying crack as he staggered back, blood gushing out from under his fingers. My knuckles throbbed with the impact. I`ve got a bruise now. I just stood there as shocked as everybody else, realising what I`d done, trying to play it cool in front of Charlotte. Breathing heavily through my mouth. Then I just straightened my uniform and wiped the blood off my hand on my trousers.

Suddenly I was pushed up against the wall. My head hit the brick, sharp pain shooting through me. There was a bright stream of red from his nose across his lips to his chin, dripping on my shirt. He lifted his fist to punch me, and I put my hands up to defend myself, but he got me once, hard on the cheek with his ring. “Hey! Get off!” I heard her voice and shortly felt Paul`s grip loosen around my collar as she tried to pull him off. A blow to the other side, my eyes watering as I saw her over Paul`s shoulder, her friends trying to keep her distanced from the fight.

I felt the blossoming pain and slight blood trickles. I really hadn`t thought this through. He was a lot stronger, and I flailed rather pathetically, attempting to land a few half-hearted punches. Another one to my cheek until I caught his hand, digging my fingernails into his wrist. He pulled my tie tighter and I started choking. He kept shoving me against the wall and I kicked his shins, hard. And I know it hurt because he was limping afterwards.

Mr. Walker pushed us apart, his voce raised and shouting, which he usually didn’t. Paul let go of me and I released his wrist that was slightly bloody. I loosened my tie and gasped in air, rubbing my neck and cracking it to a few alarmed looks from the watching crowd. I ignored them and sneered at Paul who was being held by the scruff of the neck on the other side of Mr. Walker, “See who`s going to fall for your pretty face now.” He tried lunging at me again, but he was held back.

“Smith” Mr. Walker warned sternly.

I noticed he didn’t say anything about my comment. I think he secretly agrees that Paul Smith is a twat. I felt like grinning myself stupid, but the slightest movement of my mouth made the throbbing in my cheek almost unbearable.

There`s something enormously satisfying, knowing I heard his nose crack, he`ll probably have a black eye too. Just like me. He had one of those big chunky rings so the whole right side of my face is blue.

As Mr. Walker led us away, I heard my name from a voice I thought would never address me. I`d recognise her voice anywhere, except maybe in heaven because that`s what it sounded like. I turned to see Charlotte looking at me with concern in her beautiful eyes, but I simply smiled at her. Well, it almost immediately turned into a wince, but she`s the only person worth smiling at in my little world. The only person worth the smile that comes with knowing that she somehow knows my name. I felt my heart swell and flutter in my chest. She knows my name and it was the only thing playing to the throbbing kick drum bass off the pain in my head as we walked to the headmistress` office.

We had to explain what had happened and stuff, witnesses and everything. It was very roughly like a court case on telly. It was actually quite interesting.

I had two things in my favour and two things against me:

• I started the fight • I was acting in defence of Charlotte (who fully supports my claims)

V.S.

• I broke his nose • Paul is considerably older than me and did fight back (more violently) but this could (to a certain extent) be classified as self-defence

Which means I was suspended on the spot for the next three days and got detention for the next two weeks because I was defending someone who was being harassed, but resorted to violence immediately and broke his voice. You will never hear me say that I am sorry. I won`t even think about regretting it because his stupid smug face deserved it.

Paul was suspended too, I wasn`t told how long. They immediately rang up my mum to tell her I`d been in a fight and that I`d been suspended. Of course she wanted to hear it all from me, but I didn`t want to talk about it. Not again. Mainly because my head ached and my cheek hurt and my lips felt swollen when I talked and my heart felt so light compared to my leaden body. I just wanted to be by myself. Nobody, just the beautiful silence of solitude. But if you listen often and close enough, you`ll find even it has a melody. Sometimes it sounds a bit lonely without another voice to join its song, but I`ve got used to that. I welcome its musical attempts and occasionally add my own shaking, sobbing melodies.

I came straight home; kids were staring at me in the hallway already. News like that obviously spreads fast. I just want to say, before you think I`m an arrogant idiot, I forgot to mention it earlier because I was more focused on protecting my face than acting weak. It hurt and yes, I did cry. His eyes were watering too, but I have to say I`d rather have a bruised cheek than a broken nose. I`ve read that they`re extremely painful.

The school nurse gave us each ice to keep down the swelling and I did quite well at keeping myself together. Nobody except Mr. Walker actually asked me how I was though. He had a stern word with me in the hallway and I felt the tears pricking my eyes.

I do think it was a brave thing to do. Brave maybe, but very stupid. Nothing interesting ever happens at school anyway. It`ll be the gossip of the next few days, maybe a week if we`re lucky. It`s better than who asked who out or who fancies who.

I`ve got music turned up loud because no one`s home. Mum`ll tell me to “turn that rubbish shit down” but I`m playing it while I can. My parents don`t understand good music.

I don`t know what I`ll do for the next three days. Same as now, listen to music? Read? I suppose I`m going to get house arrest too, so I can`t even go out anywhere.

All I can hear is the crack of his nose and the pain in my face. The thrill of my heart when I realised she`d said my name. My hot salty tears as I gasped for breath and the bright bloody stream down his broken face. I`m still not sorry, I won`t ever be.

[definitelynotshouting]

i literally can't stop rotating hunger au worldbuilding and lore in my head. forgive me if you've ever touched on this in an ask before, but... re: the existential horror of being a parasite that has the sense of self of the host it ate. if one of grian's friends ever did get taken and used as a watcher larva host. how do you think he would feel about the watcher that came out the other side? would he want to see them as still the same person as his friend, or...?

Ive been staring at this ask since i got it with like. I need you to picture the most comically heartbroken expression right now okay. like this is me reading that and thinking about it in great and terrible detail:

Gods he would be devastated if this ever happened. He knows what thats like. He knows just how much it hurts-- and that its not a hurt that can be quantified, because its just that intense, that scalding, that encompassing of an experience to go through. I think, genuinely, Grian would be so utterly horrified and grief-stricken for whichever friend went through the Watcherification process that it would trump every other potential feeling on the list

But i think, ultimately, he would still view them as his friend, and treat them in the same way. There's a little bit of hypocrisy in Grian's character that i enjoy engaging with while writing him, and a good part of that in hunger au is centered around how he's firmly designated himself as the monster, and everybody else is the victim, and theres no room for nuance because he sucks and theyre the only people who are valid. When in reality, yes he hurt them, yes he did terrible and invasive things, but he did them out of pure survival rather than maliciousness, and that does make a subtle difference. And... hes not the only one who has fucked up, either!! The entire point of hunger au is how everyone has fumbled the bag in various ways and now they're all trying to clean it up together. Its just, yknow, Grian is so wrapped up in his own pain that he cant see those grey areas yet

And the thing is, if one of his friends got Watchered™, so to speak, and was standing in front of him, i think he would treat them with SO much compassion. Theyve been through possibly the worst thing anyone can experience and come out the other side-- at his core, Grian is i think a character who wants to do good, and do good by other people, and in this hypothetical that would translate into a lot of kindness he doesnt usually afford for himself. Honestly i think he'd spend the time trying to show them the ropes, get them set up in a better position than he found himself in, and provide his own fumbling emotional support as best he could, just out of sheer solidarity. Like, he gets it. He's been there. He may as well help out.

And i think he wouldnt even realize how hypocritical he's being until someone else pointed it out to him, about how he treats this friend with so much care but is simultaneously cruel to himself. I dont think he'd know how to handle that-- he's sort of dug himself a rut in the road with the way he thinks about and treats himself, and the cognitive dissonance would be really uncomfortable for him. Ultimately a good thing!!! Growth is often very uncomfortable. But imo Grian has a tendency to run from things like feelings of discomfort, so i think it'd take him a while to reconcile his previous ways of thinking with whats being presented in front of him essentially in the form of a mirror.

So uh. tl;dr: he'd be a little hypocrite about it and would feel a lot more compassionately inclined towards the friend than he does himself, and would try to help them out as best he could. Thank you for the incredible question that has given me the opportunity to rotate this worm at even higher speeds than usual inside my brainpan DKNFEKNDSKDJKDKD