#and like the people he killed were the ones that he fucking!!!! trained!!!! cos he didn't need to kill again and he just fucks that over!!!

[casiavium]

I love the song O Children by Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds and yes I know it from Deathly Hallows part one but outside of that it's such a good song. It's about bittersweet death and Orpheus and Eurydice and the song just. Songs so good

And I WILL fight any self righteous ex Harry Potter fan that tries to pull some SHIT that it's about the Holocaust (and therefore should not have been used in the movie which I don't care about the artisy agreed to it so. Whatever. He got paid) IT'S FUCKING NOT you DUMB PIECE OF SHIT WITH NO MEDIA LITERACY show me a source that says this that's not some Harry Potter fan's Tumblr post from 2011. Show me it. Show me an interview with the artist. Show me exactly why you think it's about the Holocaust. Oh, trains leading to death? Because Harry Potter is a thinly veiled and pathetic attempt at WWII parallels? (and if we're going by that do you have a deathly hallows tattoo because if you're so 1:1 about this. you do know the deathly hallows is her fucking. symbolic equivalent to you-know-what. Oh that's offensive? YOU DON'T THINK???)

Because HAVE YOU WVER HEARD OF POETIC IMAGERY IN YOUR DAMN LIFE how could you have ever called yourself a Harry Potter fan without the basic ability to understand sometimes things are not LITERAL. JESUS FUCKING CHRIST

[spacerockfloater]

Every time Team Black stans talk about Rhaenyra’s bastards and the Dragon Twins as if they’re blessings upon this earth, an angel loses its wings.

Like, okay. They’re children, I’m excusing all of them up to a certain point. But they’re some of the most vicious, aggressive, cowardly, snotty brats we’ve ever seen in this franchise and pretending that they’re not is so foul.

Lucerys is a hypocritical twat that bullied the boy he grew up with because he didn’t have a dragon, but then he’s totally okay hanging out with Rhaena who doesn’t have one either. And then he pulls out a knife and blinds Aemond for no fucking reason, after his gang attacked him first, and faces zero consequences for his actions. He eventually grows up to become an even worse person by literally laughing in his cousin’s face, whom he disabled. And then he tries to boss lord Borros around by telling him that he’s obligated to ally with Rhaenyra even if there isn’t anything in him for it.

Jacaerys is also very two faced for the exact same reasons as Lucerys, with the addition of having anger management issues. Like, remember how he beats the living shit out of his little brother when they’re training at the beach, kicks him to the ground and grabs him by the throat because he is upset their uncles are better warriors than them? That’s the good future king you’re all talking about? He is already obsessed with the idea of becoming king, to the point that his own mother has to remind him that she’s actually alive and well and he would have to wait a good fucking while before his dreams come true. That’s actually so sick on his behalf. Not to mention that he very likely married Sara Snow, betraying his fiancée, in order to gain the Starks’ help, which is very dishonourable. At least Lucerys told Borros he’s betrothed and refused to marry one of his daughters to get his support, I’ll give him that.

Baela is a deranged evil girl who was ready to throw hands on sight, too. And have we forgotten that she becomes a drunkard and whoremonger who spends her money gambling in the rat pits, the places where children fight one another in King’s Landing, once she grows up, or is it wrong only when Aegon II does it?

Rhaena is an aggressive coward who seems more preoccupied with the acquisition of a dragon than her mother’s death. She didn’t have the guts to go and claim Vhagar, but she feels powerful enough to confront Aemond when she has three people backing her up.

Finally, even without taking all of their problematic traits into account, these people are so severely uninteresting and unimpressive. Lucerys does not convince Borros to side with his mother and drops dead like a fly. Joffrey gets shrugged off by Syrax and plummets to his demise. Jacaerys is immediately killed during his embarrassing attempt to fight the Triarchy, not to mention that he was the reason his youngest half siblings were captured and nearly killed because he had the brilliant idea of sending them away. Baela loses the only dragon fight she was ever part of to Aegon II and Sunfyre who were very injured by a previous fight already! And Rhaena is just… there. Doing nothing. Never avenging her husband’s death, eventually marrying a Hightower. Yikes.

Are there much more ill behaved children in ASOIAF? Yeah, for sure, but we actually acknowledge that children like Aegon II and Joffrey Baratheon are pieces of shit. But if we could like, stop glorifying these four mediocre and borderline malicious kids solely because some of you feel the need to ride the dicks of everyone who is part of Rhaenyra’s crew, that would be great. They might be children, but they’re children with shady, putting it mildly, personalities, wielding new-clear weapons of mass destruction who actively participated in a war, especially Jacaerys and Baela. They sure were victims of the world they were raised in, but they were aggressors as well. And like, this is the ASOIAF universe, nearly all of our protagonists are children. We can’t constantly apply modern day morals and coddle them forever because “OMG, they are just babies!”, unless we are ready to apply the same logic on the Targtowers, who were basically the same age as Rhaenyra and Daemon’s children.

[velvetures]

Vulnerable pt.1?

A/N: A not-so-little thing I've had for a few weeks, and wanted to see if a part two was something anyone would be interested in reading. If so, please let me know. Summary: You try and get Ghost to relax after a harsh mission and find a bit of a quiet moment. T/W: not proofread :)

Bad intel led to you and your Lieutenant being nearly hunted down and killed by a not-so-small group of arms dealers who caught on quickly to the pair of foreigners lingering just a little bit too close to their sheltered storage garage right in the middle of a market district in the South East. The task force assumed sending in an entire squad would be overkill just for some simple recon information and decided that you and Ghost would be the perfect pair for the job. ‘In and Out…’ Price had said quite offhandedly, sliding the prepared information in two files across the table to you. Only Price’s sources hadn’t double-checked if the area was secure enough for them to enter without full backup on standby. Not necessarily a lethal kind of mistake when bringing you and the Lieutenant into the equation, but there were too many close calls and stray bullets that were clearly heard for either of you to feel super confident in getting away unscathed.

Your only savior was a small farmhouse that had been recently abandoned due to the illegal and dangerous activity that had been surrounding the small city. Modest in size with two bedrooms and running water. Perfect for a makeshift safe house to keep the trackers off your asses until an extraction could be arranged and put into motion. Contrary to belief, the 141 didn’t have the bottomless pit of resources everyone believed they had at their disposal. Which included access to evac and trained air-support teams. This wasn’t a big mission that had a lot of working parts and multiple organizations involved that had enough liquidated funds to through out for a helo and heavy gunners to rescue two operators from the middle of who-the-fuck-knows-where.

That means with busted equipment, inoperable comms, hardly enough ammunition to fight out of a wet paper bag, and zero way of knowing when and if you’d be rescued, there was nothing left to do but try and relax in one of the most difficult predicaments. It left you searching through cabinets for maybe some kind of food to keep the both of you while Ghost did one of his favorite things. Pacing the house from window to window looking for the slightest bit of movement. The trouble being, there wasn’t anything for at least two miles in any direction. The people who owned this place were farmers of some sort, and had placed their home right in the middle of crop fields that gave a very advantageous sightline. While that information gave you quite a bit of comfort, it was not effecting Ghost positively in the slightest.

Your relationship with the Lieutenant was complex, to say the least. When you were first introduced it was for a succession of short co-op missions that were nothing if not brief and very impersonal leaving you with more questions than answers about the man who stayed hidden under the mask. Through some talks that you hadn’t been privy to being in the room for, John Price decided that your skills would be more useful to Task Force 141 than for the U.S. Division of Clandestine Service and offered you a position that you couldn’t possibly decline.

By day-in and day-out contact with Ghost, you got a lot more comfortable with him and learned much of his little idiosyncratic behaviors. Maybe a little too well…. He didn’t particularly act much differently towards you in the grand scheme of things, but something in you felt like trust had been developed to where he could depend on you when the situation called for it.

“Go hit the rack, I’ll take first watch.” He called gruffly from the living room where he had moved a chair from the kitchen to sit facing the front door head on with his MP5 resting lazily on his chest.

You couldn’t help but notice just how damn tired he looked under all that gear and through the black smeared around his eyes. He couldn’t be carrying less than one hundred pounds on him right now; even sitting in that chair with it wasn’t a good enough solution. Let you take a moment or two for yourself, stripping out of your tac vest and heavily weighted gear to drop it on top of the kitchen counter with a little grunt. Two days ago you both got the luxury of sleeping, and since then it’s been nothing but being on the run.

This would be the safest place for you that wasn’t in the belly of an evac bird, and the thought of Ghost not taking the time to sleep sat in your mind like a lead sinker. Leaning against the doorway and watching him for a long moment, you start having thoughts. Dangerous thoughts. Ones that normally wouldn’t surface if you’d been able to separate working with Ghost from the more personal aspect of literally sharing almost every part of your life with him. Thoughts about how you could make him feel better… even if just for the night. That no one was around for miles and whatever happened could safely stay between the pair of you.

By utter carelessness of your position with the team or lack of fear about how the Lieutenant might respond, you walk into the living room and kneel down right in front of him with your fingers reaching out to unlace his dusty boots. Off instinct alone, you expected and watched as his foot flinched away from you. His whole body jumps and stiffens at the contact and sight of you kneeling on the floor. He quickly pauses and collects himself, taking several moments before his gravelly voice breaks the silence.

“What’re you doin’ Sergeant?” His eyes grew heavy and showed more expression than the rest of his massive body as they flashed with confusion and a little swell of anger. That aloofness didn’t hide that slight guardedness of something that made him uncomfortable in one way or another.

“I’m perfectly capable of takin’ care of my fuckin’ self.” He adds with zero discernible sign of either offense or gratitude. You can’t help but smile tiredly, feeling like you’re attempting to soothe a feral wolf into letting you pull it’s paw out of trap.

“I never said you couldn’t L.T.,” You reply gently, reaching back to start unhooking the laces from their claws on his left foot. “Just thought you couldn’t use some affection.” Smirking to yourself, you can’t help but think something this small being considered ‘affection’ didn’t fit anyone save for Ghost. He was just too hard to approach. Walls so thick and tall that it would take someone with patience beyond that of a human to break through and see what rested behind all of that brash posturing and icy disposition.

“You know affection is something I’m averse to,” he utters, watching yet making no effort to stop you. “What you’re doin’ is unnecessary.” A small sound close to a growl escapes from behind the mask when my hand reaches to the back of his leg to help aid my effort of pulling his boot off.

Chuckling softly and sitting the boot down at your side you respond, “I know you don’t like affection,” You’re already working on the other one, purposefully moving slowly as not to overwhelm or spook him. “That doesn’t mean you don’t deserve it, L.T..” You can’t help but look up at him almost exhaustedly yet still trying to be reassuring.

“M’fine without it.” He spits out quickly, looking away from your face back down to your progress on the laces, his masked face otherwise unreadable. “Didn’t ask you for this shit, Sergeant.” Tinged with an undercurrent of irritation his deep voice sounds near the bridge of turning to anger.

“Mothering me isn’t in your best interest.” He growls low and threateningly in your face as he bends down to grab the boot sitting next to you and giving it a quick look of observation before sitting it back down closer to him. You just finish taking off his other boot and sit it down next to the other without much more of a verbal fight and put a hand on his thigh to steady your sore legs as you get back up to your feet.

“I’m younger than you Ghost, I can’t mother you.” You reply, holding out your hand for him.

He doesn’t make note or stop you from using him to help yourself up, however, Ghost follows your movements carefully… closely. He’s doing everything in his power to hide his emotions, but there’s still a faint twitch of his lips when he looks down at his boots sitting at his side. You’d done something very unusual, and he knew berating you was what he should’ve done. Yet a flinch of a smile was what really moved Ghost’s mouth. It’s gone before it even surfaces, pushed down by the sight. of you holding out your little hand in front of him. The sounds of his deep breathing fill the quiet house as you both sit there unflinching of each other. The Lieutenant shifts in his chair, readjusting his rifle on his chest.

“Go to bed. It’s late.” His repeated command felt softer now. Wavering a bit with you hand still held out and your fingers wiggling a little.

“Come on,” You hold steady and patient.

Reward comes in the form of feeling Ghost’s heavy and large hand falling into yours and gripping just hard enough to allow you the phantom sensation that you’re actually helping him up from the chair, hearing a short grunt as his back straightens up. Without explanation, you lead the Lieutenant through the small house back towards the only bedroom in the house with an actual bed left behind by the owners, pulling him to the center of the room and turning around to face him.

“Put your arms up for me.”

“Excuse me?” Ghost’s frown can be heard from behind the mask. Despite his apparent bewilderment, he hesitantly obeys, extending his arms above his head with an exhale of a tense breath, looking down at you with dark and questioning eyes. “What are you doing now?”

You just smile and hum to yourself softly, reaching out to begin unclipping and unzipping the sections of his tac vest holding it on his upper body and the multiple ammo belts. Carefully draping them over you shoulder as you release his body from them one by one. Seeing the way Ghost’s body sinks into itself with the weight being pulled off after days without rest. You feel his eyes scan over you, over your hands finding ways to take off his gear for the first time in your life, feeling your way through sunch an unusual yet careful act.

“Bein’ fuckin’ ridiculous…” He growls, covering up the feelings of not being so concealed by barking at you a little.

“Shhh.” Your hush does enough to stop his quiet and brooding complaints.

Long enough for you to kneel back down at his feet and work at the thigh straps over his pants and even remove the ankle holster you’d left alone while taking off his boots. He doesn’t resist this part, just watching you undress him bit by bit with half a mind questioning just what had happened for you to start acting so strangely. You’d always been sweet. Much nicer than your job allowed for. Yet even this was quite off the edge of the character Ghost had built for you over the years. This felt downright intimate for just two operators to be doing.

Then again your shared situation wasn’t exactly one of professionalism at this point. You’d been improvising for nearly a full day just trying to stay alive. Once back on your feet, you take hold of his hand again, this time with a little less caution since you’d already touched him there, and begin pulling at the fingertips to slide his sand and dirt-cakes gloves off. Even seeing his bare skin under his gloves be seen in the dim lamplight of the house, Ghost doesn’t do more than flex his fingers once you’ve rid him of the stiff material.

Purposefully avoiding his mask, you get Ghost down to nothing more than boxers and a t-shirt, even with his help at certain parts without him growling more or acting like you were irritating him. While he still gave off a feeling of all-around grumpiness and more than a little confused as hell, you paid it no mind as you led him towards the edge of the bed and pointed to it with a short yet polite command for him to ’sit’. Right away you noticed his hesitation and the way that his shoulders and arms tensed, his attention solely on you, flashing between your eyes and mouth like he was trying to reassure himself that he’d heard you correctly. But with one small tug on his hand, he turns around and sits on the bed with his feet resting on the floor and his arms braced on both sides of him a little stiffly.

“Now what?” His voice held a bit of rasp to it as he tracked your movement from his side, seeing you climb up into the bed and position yourself on your knees behind him. The close proximity didn’t go unnoticed by the Lieutenant as he cleared his throat, once again interrupting the calm silence in the house. His tension filled the small space between you, heating the gap of air, almost electrifying it.

“Just relax Ghost.” Easily touching his shoulders, you begin working your palms flat against the slopes of his muscled neck.

Purposefully but gently rubbing at the stiff cords of muscle and introducing the sensation to him as easily as possible in the case that it was a bit too overwhelming for him all at once. You knew you’d pushed the boundaries with him much further past anything you’d expected to achieve in one night. But now that he was sitting here in front of you, it was hard not to smile brightly that he was trusting you so much. Allowing your hands to be on him. Accepting that you had positioned the both of you in a very vulnerable position that could lead to a lot more violent options than affectionate ones. Torture and nightmares had given more than a fair share to Ghost, yet he was patiently staving off his own clear hesitation so that you could play out whatever this was turning out to be.

Your command went unacknowledged just like all of Ghost’s from earlier had; His breathing steadily slowing down into a deep and rich, relaxed sort of rhythm. Power of your hands and calming attitude worked faster than you anticipated, leaving the massive man sitting between your thighs begin to release. Tension falling out of his body not only under your hands but by sight of his jaw loosening. You’re even lucky enough to spot him trying to take glances at you from the corner of his eye, only to look back ahead since you were in quite the blindspot. Taking your thumbs in a sweeping motion from the edges of his shoulders inward, you apply pressure on the back of his neck and experimentally reach higher up under the hem of his mask. A dangerous game to play. Rumbling sounds of appreciation filling your ears are better than any sort of medal you could earn or bet you’d ever cash in. His head rolls back slightly with each small circle of your thumbs and fingers, pushing against you. Silently asking for more pressure.

“Feel good?” You ask at just a whisper, not wanting to disturb the warm sort of feeling the room has right now by speaking too loud.

Under the safety of his mask, Ghost’s mouth curves into a smile hearing you. He rolls his head back again, arching slightly to accommodate your small hands struggling to find good purchase to keep working at the intensity he’d been hinting at. A much less controllable sound escapes his mouth when you begin working at a very sore spot he didn’t even know was present right at the base of his skull.

“Keep going,” His sleepy-sounding mutter makes your chest ache.

Grinning at the feeling of his harsh accent and sudden domestication you work away diligently down his back carefully and methodically so as to not miss a single thing. And while it’s not necessarily going to help him much, you go ahead and use your fingernails to gently scratch up and down. It’s then a groan interrupts your focus and you see Ghost shift on the edge of the bed. Believing you’d found the end of your time, you leaned back on your heels and expected him to get up and leave you in the bedroom alone. Watching him tug at his t-shirt and pull it over his head to toss it somewhere across the room was how you were told that Ghost did indeed want more. Only his shirt was getting in the way of something he wasn’t getting.

Hearing him give a deep sigh when your fingertips returned to his now bared skin gave you a rush of adrenaline and nearly caused you to wiggle happily that you’d been able to share this with Ghost. He leans back into you a little more, letting your hands and arms take more of the weight as he groans out;

“You’ve done this before.”

“Yeah, but not for a long time.” You answer, eyes smoothing over the muscles rippling as your hands work at them.

“You’re good,” He grunts, closing his eyes and zeroing in on how to focus his attention between your small hands working so efficiently and the conversation he’d begun. “How’d you get so good at it?” His head turns a little, trying to get at least one good look at you. He keeps shifting now, allowing him to keep you just in the edge of his periphery.

“Had a good teacher for a few years,” You answer, working in tight circles over a large ball of muscle fibers all collected just at the edge of his shoulder blade, earning another growling sound from the Lieutenant.

“Teacher? When?” He asks, giving a slow release of a deep breath giving a short indication that the muscle you’d been working to release was getting a bit uncomfortable. Pulling back for a moment just to give him and your hands a break, you hear him make a noise then lean back a little further, pressing his back against you almost like a dog wanting to be pet more.

“Don’t stop.” He requests in a husky tone. You chuckle aloud, returning your hands and taking a less aggressive approach by smoothing your palms over him in less-than-planned patterns, just enjoying feeling his tattooed and scarred skin under your hands as you think about how to answer him.

“A woman in London taught me,” you start, using your nails again on his skin softly. “In the year or so between my U.S. military discharge and acceptance into the task force with you.” You see the effect of your touch on Ghost as it takes him longer to respond and the way he keeps leaning more and more weight back into you, unable to keep himself from subconsciously trying to get closer. Wanting more whether he’d ever admit it or not. There’s no mistaking it between either of you, he’s enjoying this.

“I assume she was special to you.”

It was your neighbor just across the hallway from you. An older woman named Sarah. Eccentric in modern times, you’d always believed she must’ve been a force to be reckoned with when she wasn’t hindered by an aging body and an even more ailing mind. A massage therapist by trade, and a pianist by heart there wasn’t much that Sarah could accomplish without someone helping her once she became limited in movement living on the eighth floor of the apartment building you shared. Back then you didn’t have much in the way of contacts after leaving the country, and it led to a friendship with the old woman living across from you. Sharing stories, eating dinner together, grocery shopping together when she felt like going out, and trading some skills between each other. After telling Ghost this much with your fingers tracing out letters and shapes over his back, you can sense he’s listening carefully. And Ghost is feeling a slight fuzzy sensation building in the back of his brain, spreading out in a warm wave down to his fingertips and toes.

“She taught me massage since at the time I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with my life.” Your head falls to the side, examining how the lamplight shines on ghost and deepens the already significant definition in his physique.

Ghost falls against you even more, and this time he lets his head fall back against you. Trying to counterbalance his weight and keep both of you from falling backwards with just him limp he’s becoming, you wrap on arm around his neck and hold his head in the bend of your arm. He gives another sigh, and settles against you heavily. He. looks at you in silence out of the corner of his eye listening to your explanation.

“Why was she your only friend?” You can’t help but chuckle at his question, resting your chin on his opposite shoulder and bringing your other arm under his to begin scratching and rubbing at his chest, feeling deep and puckered scars littering nearly every inch of him.

“I didn’t know anyone else. And you know me well enough to know that I’m not exactly extroverted.” You smile, tracing lightly up and down his well-defined arm. Ghost couldn’t be more comfortable laid against you.

“Sorry to hear that.” His voice low and husky with his mouth so close to your ear. “She must call or ask about you…”

You shake your head. “No. She died just before I joined you all. Her mind was… failing her. And there was some kind of accident in the middle of the night The police told me she was likely trying to get to the bathroom and fell. She apparently died on impact… they didn’t say what, but I think her head hit something.” You explain quietly. “And you and I both know that means lights out. So she didn’t suffer.”

“Sorry to hear that,” he answers as softly as he can manage after hearing the darker part of your happy memories. “How did it become… intimate, like this?” He asks, nodding to the way you were leaned up against his back with your hand tracing over every inch of him that you could reach. The longer you’ve both let this go, the more boundaries get pushed further out of reach, making it hard for either of you to really know where it could end.

You smile with a blush creeping up your neck onto your cheeks, thankful you’re somewhat hidden out of sight. “This isn’t really what she taught me,” You mutter a bit quiet. “When i was massaging you… yes. That I got taught. But this, it’s… just me.”

Out of your sight Ghost’s face flushes slightly as well, his cheeks a warm rose-color. You’re touching him in a way that he’d never expected. But hearing that you’re not just doing it for… relaxation, it’s a heavy but welcome thought. And Ghost can’t help that his body reacts to it with chills raising all over his skin despite the house being perfectly warm. He lets out a deep breath focusing on your words, repeating him over just to ensure that you’re not saying it one way and him interpreting it differently due to your hands being all over him, making him feel so good. Mind racing, heart pounding, he truly realizes just how vulnerable he is under you at this moment.

“I can stop if you’d like?” You offer, preparing to move away from him.

“No,” His hoarse voice gives away his sudden dry mouth. No matter how much your touch is affecting his body, he’s not willing to stop you right now. You’ve crossed into a level of trust that he can’t think to make you abide by anymore. It’s a foreign feeling for him, but he wants to push through it. Hoping he can feel more of you if he just holds on a little longer to this.

“Don’t stop."

Comments & Reblogs are Appreciated <3

[amuromi]

★ ₊ ⊹ ⋆˙ ┈ 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 X ᶠ!ᴿᴱᴬᴰᴱᴿ

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ┈ 11.0k

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ┈ NSFW! actor!au, unprotected sex, pet names (baby), oral (f!receiving), ooc Toji (no, really!!)

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐀!𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ┈ This is very self-indulgent because I was once again infected with brain worms because of this post.

✮ 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 & 𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓!! ✮

Toji is a typecast kind of actor. He started out as just a guy they call in when they need some muscle. He’s got the training for all sorts of things. Martial arts, swordplay. If a background character needs to look believably menacing, he’s the one to get on contract. And over time his bit parts as henchman number three and thug with one line slowly evolved into something more involved, because there is no denying that Toji has a face for film. Eyes that come with a vulpine sharpness, like he knows something you don’t, and a scar at the corner of his mouth that’s as marketable as any beauty mark. Really, he looks mean, but that’s exactly what a villain is supposed to look like. He’s all harsh angles that any photographer would kill to work with. So he slowly builds up a filmography from the most insignificant masked goon to a formidable kingpin, front and center. Goes from an uncredited extra to damn near top billing as a main antagonist and that’s just fine with him when the bigger roles come with a paycheck to match. It’s not anything new for him. Toji spent his whole life fighting and training. How else could he make all those stunts look so easy? It’s only right that he makes a career out of all those grueling days of harsh conditioning. And it sweetens the deal when he finally finds his girl. 

Every villain needs arm candy. It’s a constant revolving door of pretty faces standing next to him whenever the director yells “action!” So many that they begin to blend together in his mind and he spends interviews bullshitting his way through any thoughts regarding his female co-stars. “She was fine, I guess.” And of course, he thinks she did a great job in that movie he’s never seen. Empty platitudes to satisfy the interviewer and keep his manager happy that he’s playing nice about the tedious media circuit. Usually his roles don’t require that much attention to detail. He’s coasted this far on his graveled voice and dour expressions, so he never bothers to pay more than the bare minimum of attention. He learns his line and character names. He knows who the blonde character named Amy is but without the blindingly bright platinum hair he couldn’t pick the actress that played her out of a lineup. So it makes his life a lot easier when they find him a girl that works. 

Something about charisma and chemistry. All the buzzwords he’s fed over conference calls boil down to you being his girl. The perfect match for his onscreen persona. Real pretty with just enough training that you can fill in on most of your own stunts. So it makes sense when the two of you start cropping up as a package deal. If there’s an action movie in need of a big bad, Toji’s name is put forward, and if he needs a girl–and, sometimes, even when he doesn’t–his people are quick to toss your name into the ring. He’s not sure on the details, if your agents have worked out some kind of joint agreement or if it’s just coincidence that all the casting directors settle on you as his opposite but he’s not complaining. 

You’re real easy on the eyes in a way that goes beyond basic celebrity standards. You don’t look standard. The other girls he’s worked with were standardized. All coming in the same kind of package, but with you he can pick out true individual features. He can tell when the makeup artists fuck around with your eyebrows and overdoes your lipstick. Maybe it’s ’cause he’s always looking at you nowadays, but it might also just be how gorgeous you are. Of course he wants to know what such a pretty girl looks like. It’s one of the perks of the profession and Toji is nothing if not selfish about almost everything. He’s not acting for the art, it just gives him the biggest payout at the end of the day. He likes his bank account with a ridiculous amount of zeros and it just so happens that you come along with that. 

He can’t see why his manager is suddenly complaining when your names start getting tossed around in tandem more often than not. Why shouldn’t Toji date you if he wants to? And he wants to. But apparently he’s supposed to maintain a certain aura in the media. Mean and unapproachable. Which he is. There’s plenty of videos of him manhandling the paparazzi to attest to that. But that means he’s gotta be something unobtainable, and making heart eyes–he’s definitely not doing anything like that–at his favorite little co-star is certainly the opposite of unobtainable. 

He tries to be pragmatic about it, saying he’s just keeping in character. Mean to everyone but his girl. But his manager isn’t going for that. Something about your people using him for clout since he’s got a few years of experience on you as the new kid on the block. Still Toji can’t see the problem. This whole damn industry is built on connections and favoritism so why can’t he help you a little if he wants to. The mere mention of his lack of concern has Shiu groaning, the sound chopped up and drawn out by a poor connection. 

“You’re my most difficult client, do you know that?” The man sighs like he’s trying to wrangle a toddler into behaving. 

“I’m your only client.” Toji reminds him, earning a scowl through the laptop screen. 

“And whose fault is that?” Shiu sounds so put out that Toji doesn’t bother entertaining the idea that it’s anything other than his fault. Somehow. Even though it was Shiu that approached him after he spent a couple years as a free agent that productions had to play phone tag with to book. Now he’s at least a little serious about this whole acting thing, but Shiu wasn’t there from the start so he gets what he gets. An insanely marketable asset if the only thing you want to be known for is managing the big, scary guy in every action movie out in the past few years. In pigeonholing himself into what he’s good at, Toji has tied Shiu’s hands but that’s not really his issue. Especially not when he’s pissing him off, telling him to stop talking nice to you. 

“All I’m saying is a little discretion would be highly appreciated.” Toji nods like he’s taking his manager’s words to heart but he knows there’s not much the man can do without shooting himself in the foot by pissing off the only person he’s got on contract. 

The people wanna see the two of you together. Toji wants to see the two of you together. And you’re not putting up a fuss about seeing him on every set you show up to. The only person upset with the arrangement is Shiu, and Toji barely listens to anything the man says in the first place. So when you let slip during a break to reset a scene that you’re going through the audition process for some indie thriller starting up production he’s quick to piece together enough information to get himself in the door of an audition without Shiu knowing. You’re new enough that you’ve never had anyone else as your love interest and something cocky and maybe a tad bit possessive in him wants to keep it that way. He likes how the two of you look together, so why ruin a good thing by letting someone else work with you when you already work so well together? And you just have to look so happy to see him when the final cast is announced. 

Here you come, all smiles and newly dyed hair, asking why he didn’t tell you he was trying for a part, too, and he just shrugs to keep from telling a lie. Because the truth is he wasn’t supposed to be trying for a role but like clockwork a villain was needed and he showed up to fill the spot. And it works out in his favor because he’s not here to play some one note guy with a gun. Instead he’s playing a psychopath or sociopath–he’s still not a hundred percent on the difference but you explained that there definitely is a difference–and it just so happens that his character is obsessed with you. Shiu made a snide comment about “a little on the nose, isn’t it,” when the first script came through but Toji elected to ignore him. It’s not some well-guarded secret that he likes working with you so who cares if it seems a bit much that he’s somehow always one step behind you. 

Apparently, the fans care. They care a lot. He’s still trying to wrap his head around people caring so much about what he’s doing. When Shiu gets to throwing around media jargon he usually tunes him out but he hears enough about it from you that he’s starting to recognize certain terms. Fans, stans–two different things, maybe–fansites, and saesaengs–at least that’s what Shiu calls them, and they’re bad fans. Toji would rather call them what they are, which is crazed stalkers, but in the industry there needs to be a code word for everything. He’s caught you scrolling through your own tags on social media more than once, “just to see what they’re saying,” you insist, and then sulk when Toji takes your phone because you don’t need to have an unfiltered experience about how people view you online. It’s a dangerous place for someone so sensitive. You don’t have the same aloofness that he has to how people perceive him and he doesn’t need you getting your feelings hurt. 

Supposed fans like to pick at every little thing people in the spotlight do. An hour on whatever app you’re scrolling that day would pick you apart like buzzards over roadkill and leave you nursing your hurt feelings for days to come. New insecurities you haven’t even considered having would crop up because one person made a comment on your nose. Never mind the fact that it looks perfect just the way it is. At least to Toji. But you’re always quick to remind him that he has something nice to say no matter how you look, which isn’t wrong but he’s never lied or over embellished his thoughts. You are beautiful. It’s not his fault for pointing out the obvious. And his blatant, albeit silent, admiration works towards your newest project together. He hears the crew whispering between takes about how unnerving he is on camera, and how it doesn’t entirely seem like an act when he’s looking at you. 

It isn’t. Although Toji isn’t quite unhinged enough to stalk you or slaughter anyone that gets too close. He doesn’t need to anyway. You offer yourself up so sweetly like you can’t tell how frustratingly tempting you are. He tries to behave. For your benefit. He doesn’t care about Shiu’s constant reminders for “discretion.” And if your agent has anything to say to you about it, you’ve yet to mention it. And you never turn down his offers to go out after work. 

Someone asks for your autograph when you enter the restaurant together, begging for a picture with the two of you before a starry-eyed hostess ushers you to a private table. That picture will cost him another afternoon of Shiu yapping in his ear about tarnishing his reputation but that’s a problem for later because Toji is still thinking about how you rested your hand on his chest and leaned against his shoulder for the photo. There’s probably nothing to it. Intimacy like that comes like muscle memory after so many photoshoots for movie stills and promotional images. There’s a poster somewhere of the two of you posed in just the same position but that had been directed by a photographer. This you did on your own. Toji tries not to dwell on it as you flip through the menu. He knows from experience that you’ll stare blankly at the words printed on the paper, flipping through each page like you’re reading it, just to look up with that deer in headlights face that you get anytime a waiter asks for your order. You can deal with a swarm of paparazzi with a breezy smile but the moment someone asks you what you want to eat you freeze up. 

“I don’t know what to get,” you hum, still looking over all the options. Toji knows what you want. It’s an Italian restaurant and he knows you like pasta. He picks your order before his own, setting the menu aside to watch you pretend to make a choice. It’s cute, because he knows you’re genuinely trying to pick but without fail you start to blank as soon as the waitress saunters over to the table looking far more primped than the others he’s seen milling around. There’s gloss on her lips and her hair is pulled back so neatly it looks freshly done. It almost looks like she’s just clocked in except her cheeks are flushed bright and there’s a slight tremble to her hands. The hostess must’ve spread the word that celebrities were dining at table 17. She smiles real big, eyes fixed on Toji as you frantically flip through your menu, trying to decide on something. He reaches over to take it from you, giving the overeager waitress both your orders before sending her on her way. 

“Thanks,” you smile. Of course, he wants to say, I got you, baby. Instead he keeps his mouth shut, nodding in acknowledgment as he waits for you to start up a new conversation. You’re on about something to do with production, how you’re still not used to being important enough to have your own assistant on set, when the waitress returns with your drinks. Her hand linger on Toji’s glass, condensation dripping over her fingers as if she’s waiting for him to reach for the cup and brush his fingers over hers. It’s like something straight out of a romance movie and he might’ve found the humor in the attempt if it weren’t so annoying. Instead of reaching for his drink he sits back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest as he glowers at the girl. 

She interrupted your story about you assistant messing up your breakfast order yesterday, but you don’t seem bothered as you stick your straw in your drink, humming happily after the first sip. He ordered you one of those Shirley Temples that you always get, candied cherries floating in the soda and grenadine. After a beat longer of Toji’s unflinching glare, the waitress finally retreats with a quiet chirp about your food being out soon. You thank her and Toji wants to tell you not to waste your breath, but that would probably only confuse you. For as intuitive as you can be, you still haven’t grasped the fact that Toji would kill to be your man. It would almost be endearing how oblivious you are if it wasn’t grating on his last nerve. Here you are thanking a girl for flirting with him like it didn’t take every shred of his patience to not tell her to fuck off and leave him alone. 

“So, anyway,” you continue, twirling the straw wrapper between your fingers, “he’s so used to assisting Kyoko”–some other actress Toji’s heard of in passing–“that he never actually asked for my order and just came back with her usual. Apparently she likes tomatoes in her eggs but I had to pick them out. And my omelet still ended up tasting like tomatoes. It was so bad I couldn’t finish it.” You screw your face up like just recalling the story has brought the taste back to your tongue. Toji already knows about your aversion to tomatoes. He always reminds the wait staff to remove it from your order whenever you’re out together. All it took was one time watching you peel a tomato off your burger for him to commit the little quirk to memory. 

“You should get a new one,” he tells you. He’s had his fair share of assistants but they’re a rotating roster of equally intimidated people flinching every time he calls their name like he’s going to tell them to go play in traffic. Usually he just wants a drink or something from the restaurant up the street but something about Toji is just so suffocating that most assistants barely last through filming. There are very few people that can tolerate his terse personality but he’s glad you’re one of them. So pretty and so sweet like you don’t realize that everyone on the production staff avoids him unless it’s absolutely necessary to speak with him. It’s half reputation and half unmitigated judgment. Toji would like to think he’s not all bad. He can be cordial in a distant way when not provoked but so many people seem to have an expert ability to pluck at his nerves. 

“Nah, it’s fine.” You’re laughing like it isn’t a big deal that you weren’t able to eat because some inattentive staff member didn’t do their job correctly. “I told him what happened and he apologized, even asked if he should go and get me my actual order, but by then it was about time for filming to start.” You wave your hand dismissively. “It wasn’t anything serious.” Except it was because you’d had to go hungry because of someone’s incompetence. There’s a reason Toji is always taking you out. Most actresses have a habit of skimping on meals to look as trim as possible and he’s not about to let you starve because that’s what the media thinks looks best. He likes you just the way you are and, as far as Toji is concerned, his opinion is the only one that should matter. Not even your own as your food arrives and you whine about not being able to finish it all. 

“I’ve seen you eat more than that.” It comes out just a hair too harsh and he can see it settle over you as if he meant it as an insult. “It’s just pasta,” he says before you can get too in your head about it. “It looks like more than it is.” You grumble something under your breath, likely something snarky about how he doesn’t have to worry about portion control because you’re always saying how his stomach is a black hole. His physique is a testament to how far the human body can be pushed thanks to his tumultuous upbringing. A chasm of memories that don’t quite fit together, punched with holes like a moth-eaten shirt. Something about trauma and dissociation Shiu had said after a night of drunken oversharing. 

It sounded like he was reading off the first link he found in the search results while he was looking up why Toji was such an abrasive asshole all the time. Realistically, Toji knows he has things to work on just like he knows he doesn’t care enough to put in the effort. It is what it is and as far as he’s concerned the future is far more interesting than the brick wall his brain has built between the present and the past. The future has you and there’s not much he can think of that’s better than that. Not when you’re sitting across from him yapping about whatever pops into your head and happily eating the food he knew you’d like. 

“I mentioned in an interview once that I really liked this one author, and they’re releasing a new book soon. Apparently they sent me a signed advanced copy! There was a little handwritten note and everything!” It’s cute how you’re famous and still getting excited about another public figure acknowledging your existence. There’s something so genuine and humble in your happiness that seems to be missing from most of the big names he’s worked alongside. Toji isn’t always the easiest to work with considering how short his fuse is but he’s not one to take it out on people. He’s more hard stares and gruff one-liners while he’s seen other actors shout at the staff like they’re children needing to be scolded. So far, the egotistical people he’s worked with have enough sense not to snap at Toji directly. The only person that’s ever mouthed off to him is you, and it’s always within reason. He is a dick sometimes and you’re just so preoccupied with pleasing everyone that you’ll bite at him for being a bit too short with a co-star or snapping at a member of the wardrobe staff for taking too long for his liking. You make everything more pleasant for everyone involved. A little ray of sunshine in Toji’s otherwise dreary life. 

He was right about the food. You finish your pasta and two of your cherry drinks before Toji pays the tab, ignoring the waitress’ number written at the bottom of the receipt. He hardly notices the blue scribbles, but you do. It seems to flip a switch in your brain as you stare at it before Toji crumples it and shoves it into his pocket. You’re quiet as you leave the restaurant, going a few paces before you finally find your voice. 

“Are you gonna call her?” Your tone isn’t as playful as it usually is when you tease him about all the attention he draws. He’s gotten free drinks at bars and comped meals at restaurants because some waitress or bartender thought he was handsome. Toji has grown used to women giggling behind their hands as he passes and men peeking at him from the corner of their eye like he won’t notice. There’s a certain allure to his surliness that no one but you seems to be immune to. You and maybe Shiu. Usually the most you’ll give him is a laugh and a sarcastic quip about how he’s a public liability for all the attention he commands. Usually a joke about him stopping traffic. But you seem a bit more serious today, a bit more bothered than usual. For a second, Toji considers that he might be hearing things where you didn’t mean them. But then he catches the slight pout of your lips tinged red from your drink and he knows something’s up. 

“The waitress,” you say when he takes too long to answer, “she gave you her number, right?” It takes Toji a moment to realize this is the first time anyone has been so forward with their flirtations in front of you. Of course there were always the compliments and thinly veiled innuendos, but it never goes too far considering most people just assume the two of you are together like that. This waitress had taken a chance slipping him her number, but it’s not like Toji wants it. He hands you the rumpled receipt without a second thought. There at the bottom, in that same sparkly blue pen she used to take your order, is her name and number. 

“Kanna.” You say, eyes narrowing as you stare at the digits of her phone number. Toji decides to test the waters because there was certainly a hint of disdain in your voice as you read her name. You mumble something about her handwriting being messy and Toji can’t help but laugh. 

“Jealous, baby?” Sunlight dances over your lashes as your eyes snap to his face. He watches you try to hide your expression, your pout disappearing as you hand him back the receipt. He shoves it back in his pocket without a second glance because he knows you’d say something about littering if he dropped it on the ground just to prove a point.

“No.” You say it too quickly for it to be true. 

“Liar.” Toji laughs because you’re so clearly bothered. Usually someone making a pass at him wouldn’t get you so flustered but there’s something different about you today. You’re more openly affectionate. There’s still those moments of hesitation but you’ve been more free with grabbing his hand as you walk and leaning against him when you’re idle. That girl couldn’t have rattled you. She was hardly anything to look at, less so when Toji is constantly surrounded by a plethora of perfectly curated women that fit rigidly into the popular look of the moment. Trendsetting hairstyles and the latest designer clothes. You’re more subdued, less artificial in your style choices, yet he still finds you leagues more beautiful than anyone he’s ever seen before. Certainly more so than that random waitress and her glitter pen. 

Toji has to hold back a smile as you walk ahead of him. Taking three steps for every one of his and still only managing to stay a half step in front of him. He can tell you’re trying to distance yourself, arms crossed and lips pouted as you rush forward. Toji let’s you. It’s not like you’re far ahead and, lucky for him, you’re headed to the same place. The hotel is a few blocks away and Toji takes the time to enjoy the way the sun moves over your hair, golden light settling like a halo around your head. It’s only when you reach the towering silhouette of the hotel that the sun is eclipse and you go dull. Without the shower of gilded light you look more dejected than annoyed. A kicked puppy rather than an angry dog. You make it as far as the elevator before Toji decides he’s had enough of the running. His grip on your arm is as gentle as he can manage while keeping you from slipping away from him. His free hand finds your hip as the floors rush past. Your shuffling lifts your shirt ever so slightly and Toji finds his thumb brushing over the exposed skin above your waistband before he can contemplate the consequences.

Toji touches you all the time. As his on screen love interest, he’s inclined to be physically affectionate when the cameras are rolling. But even off screen he can’t help the way his true desires bleed into his actions. The media eats it up every time a picture of the two of you surfaces, the rumor mills running overtime to concoct a front page story for one tabloid or another. But that’s always been part of the show. The same way you leaned into him when that fan asked for a picture is the way he holds your waist on the red carpet. This is different. There are no cameras. No one to impress or enthrall. This is simply Toji wanting to touch you, and you letting him. The feeling of his fingers dipping beneath the hem of your shirt have gotten you to go still, leaning back into his chest as he watches your reflection in the polished metal of the elevator doors. 

“Let go.” It’s only the two of you in the elevator and yet your voice is no louder than a whisper. Toji scoffs, hands loosening little by little. 

“You want me to?” 

“No.” Your voice is even smaller than before. The quietest admission like you’re unsure of it yourself. Still, Toji lets go and watches you stumble because you were leaning so heavily against him. 

Immediately he can feel the absence of your warmth against his chest, but he’ll let you come back to him. He’s made his intentions clear. From here, the choice is yours. When the doors ding open, you nearly sprint down the hall and Toji assumes you’ve made your choice. He can live with it. He doesn’t blame you for it. The moments you’ve shared together always felt a bit too good to be true, just as perfect as when the cameras are rolling. But you stop in the middle of the hallway. Your room is further down but you don’t move to go any further, as if something has rooted you to that place. Toji sets a leisurely pace in his approach. 

There’s the expectation that you’ll go running off again the moment he gets too close like a rabbit evading a wolf, but you surprise him with your stillness. Even as he recaptures your waist, hands more purposefully dipping under your shirt as he pulls you into his chest. This isn’t the place for it. A picture like this would be a PR nightmare and he’d never hear the end of it from Shiu. But Toji can’t bring himself to worry about that right now. Instead he asks which room you want to go to. His is closer but he doesn’t doubt you’d be more comfortable in your own. You lead the way, swiping your card to unlock the door before pulling him inside. 

After a month of filming, you’ve turned this temporary situation into your own. It smells like you more than any industrial strength cleaner that the housekeepers use. He recognizes the smell of your shampoo and that scented lotion that you love so much. The bed is freshly made and that damn duck that a fan gifted you months ago is propped up against the pillows next to the remote. A bit of tension leaks from your shoulders as you laugh and explain that the housekeepers have been doing this for weeks, setting a cute little scene for you to return to after they’ve straightened up the room. You set the remote and duck on the nightstand as you sit at the edge of the bed, perched as if you don’t want to crease the freshly steamed linens. You look nervous and it stops Toji from wandering further than the little entryway. He’s flanked by a closet and a mirror just like in his room but he can’t take his eyes off you. Your hands are tucked between your thighs and he tries not to focus on the way you’re shifting and squirming, squeezing your legs together. 

He can almost see the heat flooding through your body and he’s more than capable of flushing it out if you’ll just ask him to. He feels like a leashed dog waiting for the command to pounce. He reaches up to brace his arms against the dropped ceiling annexing the entryway from the rest of the room. For all your silence, your body is speaking for itself. Toji’s eyes don’t miss the way your throat bobs as you swallow, eyes focused on the way his arms flex above his head. 

“I can’t tell you what to do,” Toji says even though he really wants to. He knows you’d listen, too. But this isn’t something he can script and direct. You have to decide for yourself, give him the words he’s looking to hear. “You gotta tell me what you want, baby.” He sees the little pet name land, watches how you dip your chin and look up at him through your lashes. Embarrassed and he hasn’t even done anything yet. 

“Don’t make me,” you mumble. It’s so starkly different from the sultry confidence he sees on set, a true testament to your skills as you struggle to find the words to say you want him. Because he knows you do. It’s clear in the way you keep stealing glances at him even as you point your face away, hiding like he can’t see the way your teeth nip nervously at your lip. 

“I won’t.” He agrees. “Won’t make you do anything you don’t want to, so you gotta tell me. What do you want, baby?” 

Toji wants to think he’d be able to turn tail and head back to his own room if you denied him, take a cold shower and forget this ever happened, but he knows it’s a lie. He’s already so swept up in your orbit that denial would feel like a punch to the gut. He’s taken worse, but not from you. It would be like sucking the air from his lungs. It’s gotten so bad that he can’t imagine a day without you. Work was only a pretense. He got to see you everyday because you were contractually obligated. Now you’re far past coworkers hanging around each other because it’s what the job demands. He likes to think you see him as a friend, maybe something more. He could live with just being a friend as long as it means he gets to spend time in your bed. He’s got so few people that he talks to on a day to day basis that Toji imagines it wouldn’t really make a difference what you called him as long as you do call him. 

Finally, you don’t say his name, or anything really, but you extend a hand towards him and he rushes forward like a tsunami swallowing the shoreline. He kneels and tries not to think of how stupid he must look prostrating himself at your feet. You don’t seem to think any less of him for his poorly concealed eagerness. It's a desire grown over years of working alongside you. A sort of desperation that will knock the breath out of your lungs as soon as you give him the go ahead. Because Toji has had women. Countless, faceless. He’s slept with enough people to know this feels different. He wonders if this is what it's like for desire to feel real. Because why else would he be so hung up on you after so long. He’s not a man after a chase. He won’t run after anyone. Unless it’s you. He’s been running so fucking hard that he’s nearly out of breath and here he is so close to the finish line in a marathon he hadn’t realized he was running. And you’re the prize brushing his hair back and touching the scar at the corner of his mouth like he’s something to be gentle with. 

“You scare me.” He hears you say it through waves of blood rushing in his ears. He’s familiar with fear but never from you. From day one you’d been strangely calm around him. Like a deer sitting beside a mountain lion without a care in the world. Toji knows he’s something to be afraid of. He’s lived his life. He knows exactly how dangerous he is, how terrifying he must seem. It was stupid to think you were above that fear just because you smiled at him. 

“I’m scared you’re gonna hurt me.” You say softly. But you’re still touching him. Humans tame predators, he reminds himself. A wolf can be turned into a dog with the proper treatment. He thinks again of how he’s kneeling at your feet. He’s been tamed–whipped as Shiu called it–by you. 

“M’not gonna hurt you.” He tries to work the gravel from his voice, to sound less brooding as he reassures you. It doesn’t work. He’s set in stone. Too old to learn a new trick. If you’ll have him, Toji will be whatever you need, but you gotta take him as he is. Because it’s all he has to give. 

“Promise?” Your tone is so soft he half expects you to stick out your pinky or make him cross his heart. 

“I promise.”

“I’m serious, Toji. I don’t want to be just another girl to you. If we do this, we’re doing this. You can’t use me and leave me. I won’t let you.” He hears the unspoken words. I won’t let you hurt me. So that’s what you meant. Of course you aren’t afraid of him. You’re scared in the way everyone seemed to be of each other. Scared to commit, scared to be vulnerable. Toji loathes to think he feels the same. Rejection would hurt if it came from you. But it hasn’t. You’re still playing with his hair and Toji hears a damning thought surface in his head; I could marry this girl. He shoves it down before it can fully form. It’s too soon, too optimistic. He knows who he is as much as he tries to be better when he’s with you. Toji could hurt you. Get scared and break your heart. He knows if he did he’d never see you again. 

No more stupid videos getting sent to him at 5AM because you’re in the makeup chair at the crack of dawn. No more ordering your food because you can’t ever get the words out yourself. No more shoving you to the inside of the sidewalk because you like balancing along the curb as you walk. He could live without seeing you on set ever again. That had only been a symptom. The root of it was simply you. In any way he could have you. 

It’s pathetic but he’s addicted in a way he never thought possible. Never let himself think it was possible. Not for a guy like him. Movies gave him an outlet for his more violent tendencies. He would’ve done just as well as a boxer or something else where he could get paid to rough people up in a way that was above board. He’d done it the illegal way for years. Got away with it too. You have every right to be scared of him. Every right to leave him. But in this moment you’re here and he’s selfish. He leans up to kiss you. 

It doesn’t feel new. There’s no picturesque fireworks clouding his head. It isn’t new. He’s kissed you a hundred times over by now. It doesn’t feel new, but it feels right. Especially without the motivation of a camera. He isn’t kissing a character, he’s kissing you. And you’re kissing him. 

“Stop thinking so hard.” Because Toji can tell by the way your hands flutter over his shoulders with nervous uncertainty that you’re not all here. You’re thinking about this like someone is going to snap at you for messing up an angle or pressing too close and smearing your makeup. He hears you mumble a feeble apology. 

“None of that. We’re doing this, baby. You and me. Don’t think about anything else.” That gets you to loosen up enough for Toji to work you out of your clothes. He’s never had the pleasure. There’s never been a reason for his hands to be pressing underneath your shirt and it feels like his hands are melting into your skin as they push towards your chest, taking your shirt with them. You’re warm and pliant, softening like butter under his touch. Toji gets you out of your shirt with a bit too much eagerness, ruffling your hair as you squeak at his desperation. He can’t even find it in him to care if he looks overeager now because he is. 

He’s been after you for years and he’s not about to let this opportunity slip through his fingers. Beneath your clothes is an endless expanse of skin hidden only by the covering of your underwear. Plain cotton, nothing special, but it has him throbbing in his pants because it’s you. And you have the audacity to mumble about “didn’t know we were doing this, would’ve worn something nicer,” like Toji isn’t practically drooling at the way your pretty blue panties sit on your hips. He thumbs at the elastic, pulling it back just to hear it snap against your skin. It’s like unwrapping a gift and he’s looking to savor it. 

“They’re gonna know,” he says as he kisses along the shape of your breasts peeking out the top of your bra. He could put a mark there. Bite down on the soft skin and leave a print of his teeth in your skin, put a bruise there with his greedy mouth as he licks at the line where skin meets fabric, hiding the rest of you away in the cups of your bra. He could mark you up and they’d know. Everyone would know exactly who did it because Toji isn’t ashamed to admit he’s been after you like a dog, barking at anyone that got even remotely too close for comfort. A co-star could simply be complimenting the outfit wardrobe had chosen for a particular scene and he’d be looming behind them with murder in his eyes. Of course you look gorgeous but only he should get to look that hard at you. 

“Don’t!” You squeak when he noses over your skin, looking for a place to sink his teeth. “Don’t leave any marks!” He almost wants to ignore you and latch his mouth on to you anyway, but Toji resists the urge. You’ve asked him to behave and he wants to be a gentleman for you. Or, at least, the closest a man like him can get to it. He can still tease you about it, though. 

“No?” He mocks you. “You don’t want me to leave any marks? What, you got someone else that gets to see you like this, baby?” You squirm at his patronizing tone, a pout working its way onto your lips. He nips at your bottom lip before smoothing the expression with a kiss. 

“You know that’s not what I meant,” you whine. “Makeup and–” He kisses you again, slipping his tongue between your parted lips, because of course he knows. Makeup would make a fuss if he left marks on your neck, wardrobe would pitch a fit if they found hickeys in a place their designated outfits couldn’t cover. You’d be in the makeup chair even longer as they painted over all the places he’d marked you up. 

“You taste like cherries.” He mumbles against your mouth. The taste has him fumbling for his pants like a fucking virgin because it’s so innate to you. Those little fruity drinks you love so much have him pressing painfully against his zipper. Toji has you leaned up against the pillows as he sits back on his knees to pull his shirt off. He doesn’t miss the way your thighs twitch, pressing tighter together at the sight of him looming over you bare-chested. He doesn’t toss his shirt far because he wants to see you wearing it later. Right now you smell like you. Your lotion, your shampoo. He can’t wait to tired you out and wrap you up in his clothes until you smell like him. 

He wants to mark you up in other ways if he can’t do it with his lips. So everyone knows exactly who you belong to. The idea that you had to make him swear to not let this be a one off kind of thing is utterly laughable when Toji hasn’t wanted to stray away from you since nearly the first time you met. Nothing anyone else has to offer could be better than what you can give him. Although he’s happy that the little waitress tried. You wouldn’t have been so worked up if she hadn’t. He’s been teetering on the edge of insanity being so close to you everyday and it’s nice that he’s finally caught a glimpse of what you’re like when you get so wrapped up in your mind that you start acting out of character. Because Toji hasn’t felt this crazy over anyone and he’s glad he’s not suffering this lovestruck psychosis alone. It’s dumb and childish but he’s got so little in his life that’s sweet and pure that he isn’t about to poison this with toxic hang ups about maintaining his persona.

“Did it make you mad, baby?” He asks as he bullies his way between your legs. You move with him, thighs parting to give him space even as you shrink back into the pillows, brows pinched as you watch him settle his cheek against your thigh. “Did that girl at the restaurant upset you?” He wants to hear you admit it. He smirks at the way you screw up your face, nose scrunching in distaste at the mention of another woman. 

“Don’t say things like that when we’re like this,” you grumble, jerking the leg he’s resting on. He bites at you in retaliation and because he wants to hear you squeak about leaving marks again. 

“You are mad.” He smirks and watches the way your cheeks puff indignantly as you pout at him. He wants to kiss that petulant little expression off your face but Toji can’t bring himself to move even an inch away from where he’s resting. With his face cushioned by the pillowy warmth of your thighs he can see the mess spreading between your legs. A dark spot is forming in your panties, getting bigger with every shift of your hips. Toji slips a finger under the elastic and can practically hear the sound of the fabric sticking to your skin. It makes his mind go blank and all he can think about is getting closer. He blinks and suddenly his face is buried at the apex of your thighs, panting like a dog as he noses against the soiled fabric, tongue chasing the taste of you seeping through the cotton. 

“Wait!” You squeak, and he tries to. He pulls back but only far enough to look up at you. His nose stays nuzzled against the seam of your cunt, brushing against where your clit is throbbing through the fabric. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks even though he can think of a few things as his finger drags through the space between your panties and pussy, making a slick noise that has him grinding against the mattress. So fucking wet. 

“Nothing…” Toji recognizes the face you make in an instant. He’s seen it a hundred times over by now. It always reminds him of a puzzle the way you fix your expression whenever a camera is rolling. It’s always your mouth first. Smile dropped, pout gone, lips pressed into a neutral line. He sees every piece of your face fall into place until it’s perfectly blank. He watches you awhile longer until your composure breaks again and your brows dip into something resembling anxiety. 

“Nervous, baby?” He doesn’t need you to answer but you do anyway, nodding slowly. “I’ve got you. You’re okay. Just lemme take care of you, okay?” You nod again and Toji rewards the loosening of your muscles with a gentle kiss to your stomach. “Behave.” He says and watches the way you tense up again. It’s less nerves, more anticipation as you watch him slink back between your legs. He decides to spare your underwear, pulling them down nice and proper instead of tearing them off of you like he’s so desperate to do. It takes a few seconds longer and gives you a chance to knock your knees together as he sits up to pull the bundle of fabric off your ankles. 

“What did I say?” He asks, loving the way the timbre of his voice seems to send a shiver through your prone body. “Behave.” You don’t resist as he spreads your legs again but you start to squirm the longer he stares. Toji has spent many a night in the privacy of his hotel room fisting his dick to whatever image of you his mind could conjure but nothing could come close to the real thing. 

“S’pretty, baby.” He mumbles, tongue tripping over the words. He’s just lost any semblance of cognitive function. All he can see is you, spread out and dripping on the sheets, and he can’t wait another second to get his mouth on you. 

I’m gonna marry this girl, he can’t help the thought as your lashes flutter and lips part the moment he gets his mouth on your pussy. You’re still nervous, twitching and squirming like you aren’t sure what to do with yourself. Toji decides for you, arms hooking under your legs to hold you still. That still leaves your hands to flutter anxiously, skating over where his fingers dig into the meat of your thighs and brushing across his hair like you’re afraid to touch him. It makes him groan in annoyance, the sound humming against your clit. It makes you go limp, hands falling still. One rests against his head and the other over his hand. Toji loosens his grip on your leg just enough to thread his fingers through yours, pointedly ignoring how intimate the small touch feels even though he has his tongue buried in your pussy. He’s being greedy, tonguing at your hole and nosing against your clit as your cunt makes a mess of his face, but the moment is softened by the way your fingers squeeze around his. 

He feels your nails against his scalp. Not quite gripping, more so petting and it feels like something akin to a reward as he makes a mess between your legs. You don’t tense up again and Toji realizes the idle movement of your hands is grounding you even as your thighs shake around his head. He can barely breathe but he can’t even fathom pulling away when you’re making such pretty noises and trying to grind your hips against his face. You’re slurring something between those soft sighs that sounds an awful lot like “thank you,” and Toji wrenches his mouth away from you because he’s one more head scratch away from cumming in his pants like some virgin. He doesn’t even bother to get his underwear down all the way. He just shoves the waistband low enough to get his dick out and nearly collapses on top of you the second he feels your cunt against his skin. 

Toji braces an arm beside your head, leaning close enough to feel your breath ghosting across his skin. He kisses you to get you to close your eyes, but he keeps his half lidded as he watches you squirm as you taste yourself on his tongue. The mess you’ve left on his face transfers to yours as he rubs his face against your cheek like a needy puppy. It would be more embarrassing if you weren’t acting just as clinging. He can feel the needling sensation of your nails digging into his shoulder. It sends shivers down his spine, lingering just right on the cusp of pain and pleasure. Toji tries to kiss you again but it ends up being more of a heady clashing of teeth and tongue as he presses his parted lips against yours. Still tastes like cherries, he thinks, enjoying the mix between sweet and savory as the taste of your arousal still sticks to his tongue. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” he groans as you press a wet kiss to the corner of his mouth, right where his scar is. And because you’re so frustratingly sweet you blink up at him, slow and wide like the little doe eyed beauty that you are, and ask, “Like what?”

“Like that,” Toji groans as you raise your brows and tilt your head, lips pulling into another one of your signature pouts. “Fuck, turn over.” He hooks an arm under your back and flips you fast enough to leave you gasping. Your hand flutters to find him again where it’s settled against your heaving stomach. He can feel your pulse flutter as you catch your breath, body shivering with something softer than anxiety. Anticipation weaves its way through your body. Toji can tell in the way you tense and relax at each minute movement he makes. He decides to tease you as he fists the base of his cock, squeezing hard to keep from cumming on the smooth expanse of your back. His hand moves from your stomach to leave you teetering on quivering arms as he trails his finger up your spine. You bend to match his touch, arching as his fingertip traces over the contours of your back. Goosebumps raises where he touches and you shiver, head falling between your shoulders. 

Toji takes advantage of the vulnerable position. Your hair is usually down during filming and there’s little reason for that to change in the coming days so he feels little guilt about the way his teeth scrape against the nape of your neck. It makes your arms give out and Toji’s teeth tighten on the soft skin as your new position presses you back against his hips. He hadn’t meant to leave a mark but there’s likely to be one now. He pulls away, lapping apologetically at the faint indent of his teeth before grabbing your hips to keep you flush against him. If you move again he’s going to ruin the sheets instead of you, but you’re still squirming like you want him to embarrass himself by coming too soon. It becomes plainly clear that your intention is to kill him as you toss your hair over your shoulder and look up at him through your lashes, mumbling a soft “are you gonna fuck me now?” 

The answer is a resounding yes and Toji can’t bring himself to think of anything else as he guides his dick inside you. This time he does collapse, falling forward before he can catch himself. It pushes him inside in one go and you let out a long whine, grinding against him as Toji rests his forehead against the back of your neck. You’re starting to sweat now with all that wiggling you’ve been doing and he licks along the column of your neck to distract from the way your pussy is choking his dick. He can hear you whining, feel it too with the way his chest is flush against your back. A soft litany of “please,” and “move,” with his name punctuating each little gasp. He can feel you trying to grind against him, held still partially by the weight of his body. He’s got you almost completely pinned and decided to finish the job. You squeak as he presses his knee against yours, spreading your legs until you collapse onto your stomach. 

“Stay there,” he says like you have any hope of moving without him peeling his heavy body off of you. He has no intentions of doing anything remotely close to that as he shoves a pillow under your hips and his arm under your jaw. 

“Comfy?” He asks. He can feel the way your cheeks are squished in the crook of his arm as you try to nod and go back to begging. He nips at the shell of your ear, soothing the sting with his tongue, as he pulls his hips back. You’re close. He can feel it in the way your pussy is desperate to keep him inside, squeezing tight every time he pulls away. It’s got him on the edge, filling the hotel room with the heavy sound of skin against skin. He’s glad the bed is so sturdy. 

There’s no squeaking or knocking headboard as he drives you up the mattress with his desperate rutting. He gets a hand between you and the sheets to pinch at your nipples, rolling the sensitive buds between his fingers. It makes you keen and that’s the only thing Toji can’t be bothered to keep quiet. He wants to hear every little sound you make after giving him so much lip about the waitress. You had so much to say earlier and he’s only too happy to hear you out. Neighbors be damned. It’s likely the floor is mostly if not completely vacant given that two celebrities are boarding here but Toji can’t help but want you to be loud in case there’s anyone to hear. This all feels a bit too much like a dream and he’d relish a noise complaint just to make it all seem real. 

“You feel so good, baby.” Toji grunts in your ear. “So good for me.” Something like a giggle works its way out of your mouth and Toji almost tells you to shut up because the sound goes straight to his dick. His hand leaves your breasts to find that spot between your legs. Your breathing stutters as his calloused fingers find your clit. It’s like lighting a fuse. You start up your squirming again, nails scratching at his arm tucked under your chin like you’re trying to get away. It takes Toji a second to realize that you are. Curling up on yourself, trying to run from the feeling of his body on yours. You’re not saying anything, but you are drooling. He can feel it slicking down his forearm as he loosens his hold just enough to make sure you’re not suffocating under his strength. He can hear those stuttering little breaths and soft mewls that are soon accompanied by a hand pushing blindy at his wrist. 

“Fuck no,” Toji grumbles. His hand leaves your clit just long enough to roll you onto your back. He hears a little sigh of relief as you relax into the sheets for a moment. There are tears sparkling in your eyes and wetting your lashes. Your whole face is shining with sweat and spit and it makes Toji a little prideful to see you so thoroughly ruined because of him. 

“You gonna be good for me, baby? Gonna behave?” He asks once you catch your breath. Before you can answer he’s already gathering your wrists in one hand to press them into the pillows above your head while his other hand slaps his dick against your messy cunt. He grinds the head of his cock against your clit, precum staining your skin as he teases you, asking if it feels good. He huffs out a laugh when you nod. It’s so earnest, so desperate. 

“Yeah it does. You don’t have to run from it, baby. Lemme make you feel good. Want you to feel good for me.” He pants, leaning down until you’re nose to nose as he presses back inside you. The sound you make is lost in the press of your lips as Toji lavishes you with more sloppy kisses. He can feel himself teetering on the edge, balls tightening with each little whine that leaves your lips. His hand finds its way back between your legs and he has your back arching within seconds. He can feel you trying to pull away again, arms tugging at where he has you pinned even as your greedy legs lock around his waist. He can feel your muscles trembling as he draws tight circles on your clit, whole body pulling taut as you get closer to the edge. 

The only words leaving your mouth are his name and soft gasps of “please, please, please,” like Toji is in any position to deny you what you want. He lets go of your wrists if only because he knows you won’t try to run from him now. Instead your arms wrap around him, pulling with enough strength to catch him off guard. Toji nearly collapses on top of you as you pull him into a surprisingly chaste kiss. A shudder runs down his back as your nails drag against his scalp and it’s all just a bit too much. Your pussy milking him like you’re trying to get pregnant–belatedly, he realizes he should’ve worn a condom–and your lips in his ear telling him to let go.

“Wanna feel it. Want it inside,” you whine. It’s so damningly sweet that Toji can’t find it in himself to even attempt to deny you. The thought of pulling out had briefly crossed his mind but your thighs are still locked around his waist and he isn’t above doing something stupid to satisfy himself. The consequences can be dealt with later. He lasted longer than he expected but there’s no mistaking how pent up Toji has been as he cums inside you. He fills you up and then some, feeling it leaking out. The tension bleeds from his body as he curls over you, grip loosening on your wrists enough that you wriggling free to wrap your arms around his shoulders. There’s the prickling heat of your nails scratching at him as you wrap yourself tight around him like you never want him to leave. Toji returns the favor. You shiver, a happy little sigh leaving your lips as he wraps his arms around you. 

“Clingy,” he says quietly, still loud enough for you to hear and he feels the way your arms tense then loosen, trying to pull away like you missed the humor in his voice. “Stop it.” He mutters, sitting back up to pull you into his lap. 

Usually Toji isn’t one to stick around after he’s gotten what he wants out of an encounter but the usual instinct to peel his partner off of him as soon as possible is absent with you. He revels in the way your head rests against his chest, soft breathes ghosting across his skin. Toji’s hands find your waist, fingers sinking into the softness of your skin as he lifts you just enough to pull out. There’s a puddle forming on the sheets from the way he’s leaking out of you and he entertains the thought of plugging his fingers inside you for half a second before remembering how stupid that would be after he already came inside you with no protection. You don’t seem too worried about it and Toji supposes that’s all that matters. He watches the way the mood settles into something less frenzied, more coherent, but the anger never comes. He’s expecting you to snap at him for being so careless but all he gets is a soft smile and even softer kisses. The taste of cherries still lingers. 

“We should do something about that,” he says, eyes still trained on the space between your bodies. Stained white and sticky from how hard he was fucking you. It streaks up your thighs and shines bright on his pelvis, staining the freshly changed sheets. You blink slow, like a kitten, before finally acknowledging the mess between your legs. 

“Should be fine, I’m on the pill. I’ll stop by the store later if you’re worried.” He’s not. Part of him wishes you hadn’t mentioned birth control. He’s selfish when it comes to you and even though it would be the worst outcome, Toji finds himself wondering what it would’ve been like if he did get you pregnant. Then he remembers your careers and lets the thought slip away into the recesses of his mind. It’s a desire for a later date because you’ve already said this isn’t gonna be a one and done kind of thing. There’s time for things to get more serious, to have a proper discussion instead of letting it happen on a whim. He clings to the idea of a future with you because that’s really all he has. As soon as he set eyes on you, you began to infiltrate his every thought like a weed invading his mind. But you’re not a weed, far too pretty for that. And even if you were, he likes the way you cloud his mind. Gives him something sweet to think about when there’s always been such a lack of nice things in his life. He kisses your neck, tasting sweat and perfume. After a while he gathers you up and makes you decent enough to make the trip to his room. 

“I owe Shiu money.” He groans halfway through his shower. You’re sitting just outside the tiny cubicle, perched on the toilet. Freshly washed and wearing his shirt just like he wanted. 

“You made a bet about me with your manager?” He hears the uncertainty in your voice even over the spray of water and realizes how the admission must sound. He shuts off the water and steps out into a cloud of steam to see you looking crestfallen. There’s a hesitance on your face that makes his stomach churn. Anxiety isn’t something Toji is entirely familiar with and he finds that he hates the way the acidic feeling settles in his chest. 

“Not like that, baby. He just knows how much I’ve been wanting you. He called me on my bullshit years ago.” It would be embarrassing admitting that he’s been pining after you for so long if you didn’t smile and try to hide your face. He hears you mumble, “Thought it was just me,” as you tuck your face into the collar of his shirt to cover your smile. There’s a tremble or hesitance in your voice like you can’t believe Toji would pay you the time of day, like he wasn’t just chomping at the bit to get you in bed. It’s a fair assumption given his usually detached disposition that so few people take the time to see past. You’re one of them but he can appreciate the air of unknowns that lingers around him. Toji is just like he seems on camera. 

Rude, abrasive, volatile when provoked. He acts something like a grizzled guard dog but even they have people they’re gentle for. It’s almost sickening how easily he can see himself with you. Made worse by how easily you accept him. You’re giving him that look again, like he’s your favorite person in the world. 

“What’s that look?” He asks as you watch him get dressed. He brought you to his room so you can nap on an unsoiled bed. He wonders if the housekeepers will tuck your duck in again after washing his cum out of your sheets. 

“What look?” You have the nerve to ask like you’re not looking at him with more softness than he’s seen in his entire life. He decides not to mention it. The need for discretion that Shiu has been trying to drill into him will be lost in the wind soon enough. Toji already couldn’t take his eyes off you and now he has more reason to be with you all the time. Media be damned, he’s gonna be all over you now that you’re his, officially. And you seem to share the sentiment as you curl up on top of him as soon as he gets in bed, humming happily when his arms find your waist. He hears a sleepy murmuring of “I’m your girlfriend,” soft and giggly like you couldn’t be more happy about it. It’s like a final nail in the coffin for Toji. He’s always thought of you as his girl and now it’s finally real. No cameras, no audience. Unscripted and real. 

[hellfirecvnt]

Hard to Get

Prewar!Cooper Howard x Fem!Reader

Warnings: ****This is a COMPLETE fic. This post is LONG!! Unprotected sex, oral, lying, slight fluff ending, Idk what else.

Summary: It's been a new experience being cast in the lead of the latest Hollywood movie. What's even more nerve-wracking is your far-more-famous-than-you co-star. After you can't seem to sell the chemistry between you to the director, you're pushed to spend more quality time with your cohort.

Notes: Barb doesn't exist. Cooper has never been married. I know she's the "bad guy" but I love and support Barb just bc she's a beautiful woman. Thank you.

"Quiet on the set!" A stout, demanding man's voice cuts through the dull rumble of idle conversation across the set of the movie you're starring in. It's your first lead role in a Hollywood blockbuster. You're nearly a month into filming, much more comfortable than you were in those early days. The veteran actors used to give you the hardest time. Some in jest, others in spite or envy. That's just showbiz.

Not a day goes by that nearly every man on the set makes at least two inappropriate remarks to a woman co-star or doe-eyed extra. Nearly, because one man, the other lead, has yet to make your stomach churn with unsafe discomfort. Cooper Howard. He's a world-renowned actor, known best for his westerns, but just as popular in other genres. Of course, he did ask you out for drinks in your first two weeks on set. He said it was to get to know each other, seeing as the two of you will be spending so much time together while filming, but your 10-foot-high walls wouldn't waver. You turned him down. Since then, he's been nothing but a gentleman.

The movie you're making is about a burnt-out detective on his last case. Cooper plays Detective John Silvers and you play the villainous minx, Monae Lark. The plot is that Monae will give John the run around of his life, accumulating mutual respect for each other's skills and eventually, accumulating romantic tension. The only issue with that storyline is... You are seemingly terrible at faking chemistry. SO much so, in fact, that they canceled all your scenes for the day and sent you back to your trailer. You are horrified as you step through the door, having held a perfectly calm face until then.

"Whoa, what's wrong with you?" Your agent, a short, frail, older woman with silver hair and a smoker's voice perks up on your couch when she sees your distressed face. Her name is Verna, and she's represented you throughout your entire career.

"They've canceled my scenes for today..." You slump in the seat nearest to you.

"What? Why?"

"Apparently, Cooper Howard and I don't have any chemistry." You make a mocking gesture with your hands. "The director is pissed."

"Well, duh. That's people's livelihoods we're wasting with every reshoot." Her bluntness hits you like a kick in the gut. "How do you two not have chemistry? You've been spending time together, right?"

"Of course! We read lines for almost two hours every day!"

"No, honey. That's working. Do you two spend time together? Like, get dinner and get to know each other?" The nonchalant nature of your agent's question perplexes you.

"Well, no," you admit.

"So you've just been coming in here and greeting him like a fuckin' grocery clerk before barking prewritten lines at him for a few hours?"

"I- Well... Yeah. He asked to get drinks back when filming first started, but I didn't want to look like the woman who got one big break and started fucking any man in Hollywood I could get my hands on!" The desperation in your voice is becoming more and more apparent.

"Relax, babe. The PR training we're gonna put you through to promote this film is gonna kill you if you can't have a little dinner and survive a few baseless rumors. I'm about to call his agent right now." The silver-haired woman reaches for the mint telephone and dials a number into the rotary.

"He still has scenes to shoot today, he's gonna be busy-" Your sentence is cut off when Verna holds a finger up, signaling you to give her a moment of silence. As she chats away on the phone, talking as if she's known the guy for years, you step over to the window of your trailer. Hesitantly, you peek outside, and there he is. Your intimidatingly famous and peculiarly handsome co-star.

"Fabulous! Talk soon, darling," your agent chimes from across the trailer. Just then, you see a man in a suit approach Cooper and tell him something. Context clues tell you all you need to know about their conversation. He's merely alerting his client of a scheduled meeting with his horrifically embarrassed cohort. You nearly squeeze your eyes shut to avoid the humiliation of any sigh or eye-roll he expresses in response, but that's not the case. You can hear him through the thin walls of your tin sanctuary.

"Tonight? Perfect. Send her something nice from me." He gives his agent a friendly pat on the back, sending him off. You can't help but notice Cooper's lingering smile, a new pep in his step. You can't help but chuckle at the display, it's monumentally relieving.

Filming wraps up for the day and even though your workday was cut short, you remained on set for various screen tests and voice-over work. A sudden knock on your trailer door causes you to jump. You pull your robe over your silk slip dress and open the door to an intern holding a luxurious flower arrangement in a crystal vase. Coincidentally, your favorite flowers.

"Oh! Thank you." You take the gift with a smile and the young man announces that it's from Cooper Howard, though you'd already gathered that much. "I'll be sure to thank him properly, then." You smile as the intern nods and takes off to his next task. You can't help but grin as you proudly place your new bouquet front and center on the counter. The large studio lights finally cut on and you step onto the large, open floor. It's much busier and louder now that the director has left.

"Glad to hear you changed your mind," a smooth, deep voice captures your attention. You turn to see Cooper approaching you, adjusting the buttons of his sleeves.

"You must forgive my ignorance, Mr. Howard. I'm a Broadway girl. I didn't realize how different our worlds are until I got here," you laugh. "Being seen out with a costar on that side of the circuit will get you dubbed something tasteless if you're not careful."

"Ah, well. Seems like the tabloids should spend less time worrying about what women do with their free time. I promise not to give them anything to talk about." He smiles a bright, friendly smile, winking.

"I appreciate that," you say, walking beside him as you head toward the exit. If you were leaving the theatre with your co-star in this way, all eyes would be prying into you with jealousy and hoping for the opportunity to knock you off your pedestal once and for all.

"You do have to do me one little favor though." He stops walking as if his request will be heavy. A lump grows in your chest as you assume this is it, this is where he proves he's just like the others.

"You've gotta knock that 'Mr. Howard' shit out," he chuckles. "Cooper." He extends a hand as if to redo your meeting all those weeks ago.

"Y/N," you grin, shaking his hand firmly. He repeats you as if your name tastes sweet on his tongue. With that, the two of you make your way to his car. He opens the door for you and you can't help but chuckle at his chivalrous actions. Cooper takes you to the nicest restaurant in town. Pricey, even for your recently fattened wallet.

"So, what should I know about classy, mysterious Y/N?" The refined, older man grins at you from across the fine wood table.

"Classy and mysterious? You give me far too much credit." You make a dismissive motion with your hand. "I'm an open book once you get to know me."

"And how easy of a feat is that, exactly?" He intentionally tilts his chin up, looking down at you through his eyelashes. You're taken aback by the effect it has on you. Unwilling to be an easily swooned newbie on the scene, you regain control of your train of thought.

"Not at all." You smile wickedly. "I hope you're patient."

"Of course I am, I've hardly noticed it's taken 20 minutes for our wine to get here." The two of you share a quiet laugh in the dimly lit restaurant.

"What about you, Cooper Howard? What should I know about you that the tabloids haven't already covered?"

"I'm an open book, no effort necessary." He shrugs. You burst into a hard-to-stifle laugh.

"I hardly believe that. What do you do in your free time?" You ask, staring off small.

"I drink inside a big, empty home and I reminisce." He sighs.

"What on Earth are you on about?"

"Before I was The Cooper Howard, I was just a man with a farm in the middle of sunshine and fresh air: nowhere."

"I never would've guessed," you shrug, taking in the new information. The waiter continuously fills your glasses and you take small sips as you listen.

"What about you, Broadway? What were your early days like?"

"I've been training and performing since I can remember. But I know I used to love drawing when I was a kid. I still do it sometimes, when I have time."

"Are you any good?" He asks bluntly.

"I'll have you know I was better than kids three and four grades above me in the arts program," you brag unseriously.

"You'll have to draw me something someday."

"I'd love to," you grin. The two of you continue talking, sharing funny stories from your childhoods and early days in your careers. After a while, this man whose status and essence alone used to intimidate you somehow feels like a peer.

"What brings a star of the stage over here to the film industry?" Cooper asks smoothly.

"They sought me out, actually. Must've been my look or the way I sound like honey with a transatlantic accent," you wink. Cooper chuckles, enchanted by you. He reaches a sly hand across the table and watches you notice it. You glance at his awaiting palm, but you don't meet his touch. He raises an eyebrow as he slowly closes his hand, drawing his arm back in.

"This place is nice, but-"

"I'm not going to your place, Mr. Howard."

"I was going to say we should order another bottle of this wine." He laughs, drawing you in with his brilliant smile.

"Forgive me, Cooper. One of these days I'll let my guard down," you jest. The evening rolls on smoothly. Your table is a quiet haven of laughter and camaraderie. For the first time in your career, onstage or in front of the camera, you feel a genuine sense of friendship with your co-star. When you performed Chicago as Roxy Hart, your male cohorts made the air thick with discomfort, while the women did everything in their power to drag you down. It's not their fault, of course. The industry forced them to be that way.

As the hours pass like minutes, the night comes to an end. Cooper pays the bill and tips the waiter a generous amount, not unnoticed by you. He walks you to the car, opening the door for you to slip inside.

"And they say 'Chivalry is dead,'" you wink as Cooper closes the door. In the few seconds it takes for him to round the vehicle and open the driver's door, he lowers his guard. Truly taken aback by your suave nature compared to the nervous mess he's known you as. It must be the wine, though neither of you is drunk.

Undecided whether or not he's met his match, Cooper finally opens his door and takes his position in the driver's seat. He seems almost nervous, not moving as gracefully or speaking as cool as he's known for.

"Just right around this corner, here," you say, pointing to the turn that leads to the road you live on. Cooper can't help but steal curious glances at the enigma next to him. What was meant to be a business dinner/ PR move has turned into a challenge to him, and doesn't every cowboy love a challenge? Of course, he had no plans of overstepping any of your many firm boundaries, but he planned to melt you the same way he melts for you right now.

You arrive at your home and he unfastens his buckle as well, leaving the car on. You glance at him, assessing his intentions. He's quick to notice your ocular pat-down and volunteers to put your mind at ease.

"I'm walking you to your door, sweetheart."

"That's very kind of you, Cooper. Thank you," you smirk, entertained by his ability to read you so keenly. He escorts you safely to the large oak door of your humble, yet still high-end abode. The two of you stand in silence for a moment until you speak. "If you try to come inside, I'll have to sic my very large dog on you."

"A very large dog?" Cooper asks, feigning mild fear.

"She doesn't like men," you smile warmly, bantering playfully.

"Maybe one day, she can try warming up to me."

"Until then, Cooper Howard," you nod, disappearing inside your house. He's nearly shocked, but mostly he's giddy.

What a woman, he internally monologues. His walk back to the car packs that same pep as when he found out about their dinner in the first place. Maybe even more.

After just a couple weeks of running lines together and the occasional after-work bar hop, your days on set become a comfortable routine, rather than a journey into the lion's den. You can't help but feel like you have Cooper to thank for that. The scenes between you two are now known to make the interns blush.

"Action!" The director's firm voice slices through the air. You and Cooper are positioned at opposite sides of the "room," a set made to look like Detective Silvers's office. It's dark, and a dim street lamp's glow reaches through the barely opened blinds. You run a delicate finger along the windowpane before speaking your first line.

"You've impressed me, Detective Silvers. That's not an easy feat." You take two steps to the left, placing your foot perfectly on your mark.

"You're not so easy to fool, Ms. Lark. Not like they said, anyway." The tone in Cooper's voice when he plays this character sends a wave of involuntary goosebumps down your flesh.

"You can call me Monae, honey. Don't we know each other well enough by now?" You strut gracefully across the room, leaning teasingly over his desk, where he sits. "They always say I'm a fool, because I play it so well, don't I?" Slowly, Cooper straightens up in his seat, bringing his face closer to yours as you drape across the desk.

"You keep a hell of a poker face, darling," he whispers. Something in his eyes tells you it's Cooper speaking, not Detective Silvers.

"Cut! That's a wrap!" The director dismisses the crew. Everyone's shoulders relax in unison. It's undoubtedly been smooth sailing ever since you and Cooper started spending more time together.

"Hey, Y/N," Cooper calls out to you as you head back to wardrobe. You turn and meet his gaze with a smile. "You're not busy tonight, are you?"

"Of course not. I'm waiting for my coworker to tell me what our plans are," you chuckle.

"Coworker? Ice cold. We're friends." His grin is diabolically attractive. You thank the stars above for the layers and layers of makeup concealing the darkening blush on your cheeks.

"Of course we're friends, Cooper. What are we getting into tonight?" You ask with an excited grin.

"There's a new lounge opening downtown. I know the owner pretty well. And not to brag or anything, but it's a pretty nice place to get a table on opening night." He smiles, holding his arms out as if he's waiting for a yes or no from you.

"Your friend's club is opening?"

"Well, don't make it sound too exciting now," his sarcastic tone draws a laugh from your lips.

"I'm pulling your leg, Cooper. I'd love to go." The two of you split off to get out of costume and makeup. Once you're back in your own attire, you begin to feel a sense of panic.

"You gotta stop making that face, babe. You're gonna get a worry line." Verna appears in the common area of your dressing room.

"Verna, what do you know about the new lounge opening downtown?" You turn to her with narrow eyes.

"It's a pretty big deal. Bonnie Lewis was complaining about not getting a table until next weekend," Verna laughs. You begin to wonder what kind of strings Cooper had to pull or if his story about knowing the owner was true. Not that you think him a liar, it just seemed like banter at the time.

"I need to go home." You snatch your keys from the hook next to the trailer door and bolt to your car. Verna stands in confusion, hair blowing in the breeze of your speedy exit.

"No, no, no!" You groan as you tear through your closet. Nothing seems to fit the idea you've made up in your head of what a woman should wear to something like this. You can't decide which would be more horrifying, being overdressed or underdressed. You start thinking up excuses to give Cooper why you can't come out tonight when suddenly, there's a knock at the door.

"Delivery for a Ms. Y/L/N?" The bright-eyed delivery girl hands you a large, flatter box. You thank her and nod goodbye, taking the package inside to your room. You scan the outside for any indication of what it could be or who it's from. You get fan mail all the time, so it's nothing new.

You take a blade to the taped seams and uncover a note atop a few layers of tissue paper.

"For tonight, if you want. -C.H."

You furrow your brow as you reread the note a few more times. Curiously, you place the note aside and reach for the tissue paper, unfolding it to reveal a stunning mass of glistening fabric. With widened eyes, you reach into the box and lift the garment to see it's a long, crystal-stoned dress with a high slit up the side. It reminds you of something your character, Monae Lark, would wear. It's gorgeous and looks like it costs as much as your Hollywood home.

You hold the dress up to your body in the mirror next to your bed and it's perfect. You certainly didn't own anything of this caliber until now. You get dressed and ready, hoping your finest jewelry does the dress its due justice. For just a moment, you stare at yourself in the mirror. You take in this heavenly view, you can hardly believe it's you staring back at all.

A ring of the doorbell snaps you from your thoughts and you make your way to the door. Standing on the other side is Cooper. The moment his eyes meet yours, his face becomes illuminated with a big, marveling smile. He glances at you, up and down, taking in the way the dress drapes over you like water down a stream.

"You look magnificent," he speaks in awe.

"Thank you for the dress, Cooper. It's beautiful." Your eyes sparkle as you thank him for your gift.

"You're discrediting yourself. It just looked like a sparkly piece of fabric before I saw it like-" he places his hands daringly on your hips. "This." You gasp at his invasive action, taken aback by his boldness.

"Shall we get going, then?" You smirk, undeniably excited by his touch. He leads you to the car and opens the door for you like a gentleman. His chivalrous displays only make you yearn more and more. He's always like that, even on set. He prioritizes your comfort, especially in the sex scenes, which you've been reshooting a lot lately.

Cooper escorts you inside the lounge. They don't even check the list, everyone knows who you two are. Eyes and camera flashes all focus on you as any and every media outlet tries to get their hands on the latest spot to be seen in downtown Hollywood. You feel glamorous on his arm as he leads you to the table. Cocktails are promptly ordered and arrive at your table in impressive time.

You take in your foreign surroundings. It all looks so high above you, yet you're here. It's humbling. The ceilings are tall and dark while the rest of the room is dimly lit. A band plays smooth music to a crowd busy with multiple conversations. You're both sat in a large booth with seating that wraps all the way around. The low light bouncing off the crystals on your dress draws any and all attention to your table. To you. To Cooper sitting with you.

The night is fun and exciting, you nearly lose track of your drinks, but as always, you manage to remain only slightly buzzed. Careful not to sully your own name with drunken hijinks. And while you're not drunk per se, you are feeling much bolder than usual. You can't seem to pry your eyes off of your arm candy. Cooper is quick to notice, playing into your flirtatious behavior.

"Do I have something on my face?" He chuckles, brushing his hand against his cheek, tracing his jawline. You know right then that you've been caught gawking and your face turns bright red, hidden thankfully under the dim lighting.

"No, Cooper. I just happen to like what I'm looking at, is all." You bite your lip, surprised by your own words. You even think you can see him blushing.

"If I'm being honest, I really like what I'm lookin' at as well." His eyes burn into yours.

"Everyone's looking at us," you whisper, drawing closer and closer to him in the round booth.

"Let them watch," he mumbles, closing the gap between you two and drawing you into a passionate kiss. Your heart begins to race as his hands roughly grip onto you, pulling you closer to him in the booth. "Can we get out of here, darlin'?"

"Take me home, Cooper," you sigh as your eyes travel back and forth between his eyes and his lips. You don't know if it's the drinks or the rush of being the main attraction in this swanky club, but it's taking you over and you have no objections.

"Whatever you say," Cooper says with a sly smile, extending a hand to you to guide you out of the booth. The walk to the door seems endless, as you find yourself ravenous to get him alone again. It's no secret for either of you that tensions have only been growing ever since your first dinner together. He clings to you, not so much possessively, but protectively. Almost as if he doesn't keep you latched to his side as you make your exit, you might fall away and break like the delicate crystals adorning your flowing dress.

The brisk night air coats your flesh in a cloak of goosebumps. Anticipation accelerates your pulse to an unknowable pace. When you reach his car, you pull his collar to your chest, cueing him to pin your hips against his vehicle and kiss you deeply, ignoring the paparazzi flash. But only for a second, as the second blazing flash snaps you back into reality and you hastily make your way into the car, giggling. Cooper shoots a knowing look at the flashing cameras, smirking with pride as he struts to the driver-side door.

When he gets inside the car, you're both laughing at the prying cameras. A part of you feels worried about how the tabloids will make you look, and Cooper can see that fear on your face. He furrows his brow.

"Hey, you know it's all..." He trails off, staring at you intently. You can nearly see his gears turning behind his eyes.

"Are you okay?" You ask, confused by his mid-sentence shutdown.

"Forget about it, I gotta get you somewhere a little more private." He winks, pulling out of the lot and past the ever-flashing journalists. You've fantasized plenty of time about this moment, how it'd play out. It's your current favorite dream to have, no doubt. His hand on your thigh lightly digs his fingers into your flesh, growing more and more desperate the closer you two get to your home in the hills.

You emerge from the car after he parks haphazardly in your driveway. The two of you are apart for mere seconds before he's upon you, locking your lips with his, wrapping the full lengths of his arms around you. You're nearly, quite literally swept off your feet. You lead him to the door and he follows your every step, beguiled. You open the door and spring inside.

"Surely I get to come inside just this once?" Cooper leans in your doorway as the distance between you grows. You stare at him, scanning your eyes up and down teasingly. He looks like he's ready to fall on his knees and beg.

"You're quite the gentleman, Cooper Howard." You shift your weight to your hip.

"My mama didn't raise me to barge into a lady's home uninvited."

"What part of our trip to the door makes you think you're uninvited?" You tilt your head. The conversation seems almost reminiscent of the characters you both play.

"The part where you didn't invite me in," he grins.

"My God, are you a Vampire?" You jest. "Please come inside. Make yourself at home," you say sarcastically. "Do I need to tell you what I expect you to do next?" Your words are rushed, as he speeds toward you once he's received his invite. He wraps you in another firm embrace and plants kisses and light bites along the slope of your neck.

"I think I can take it from here, darlin'." He plants another kiss. "Unless you're feeling like bossing someone around." He winks, allowing his hands to wander freely up and down your body, grasping at your breasts and thighs.

"Keep kissing me," you demand, to your own surprise more than his. He does as he's told, only hesitant for a second to register what you said. You break the kiss momentarily to make another demand. "Take my dress off, carefully." You instruct. Cooper happily obliges, doing exactly as you ask, carefully. Once your dress is carefully placed aside, he takes in the breathtaking sight of you, nearly bare before him, just a room's length away.

Your undergarments suggest you had this plan in mind long before getting in the car this evening. Lace and silk with garters and corsetry. You're unreal, even to a Hollywood Star like Cooper. His mouth hangs agape as he drinks in the image laid out in front of him.

"Well?" He awaits his next instruction.

"Oh, please," you scoff. "Lose the jacket, loosen the tie." He does as he's told, taking your commands and unfastening a few of the top buttons of his shirt. As he draws closer to you, crossing the room from where he'd sat your dress out of harm's way, he rolls his unbuttoned sleeves up his arms. There's something primal and animalistic about him as he towers over you where you lie on the bed.

"Now, you tell me what to do." Your voice is almost shaking as you say this, excited and anxious to shift the power dynamic. Cooper's face spreads into a soft smile. It's almost eerie.

"Come here." He snaps his fingers softly, pointing to the edge of the bed in front of him. You giddily comply, taking your seat with a pretty posture. You're perfectly positioned at his waist. "Belt."

You waste no time, wrapping your hands delicately around the buckle of his belt, unfastening it and moving on to the button and zipper. Cooper's erection strains against his underwear, hard and throbbing against your palm. He sighs at your touch, eyes rolling back in his head as you toy with him through his boxers.

"Touch yourself," he commands with a quiet rumble of a voice. You do as you're told, locking eyes with him as you slip a hand past your panties. You moan under your own knowing hand, pouting your lips in an 'o' shape. Truly putting on a show for someone so deadset on maintaining a "pure" reputation.

"Cooper," you moan his name, earning a surprised smirk from him. He shakes his head in disbelief.

"So careful, so reserved, so... Mysterious," he chuckles, caressing your cheek in his palm as you continue to play with yourself. "I knew you must've had secrets, but my God, you filthy little thing." His words are like sugar and honey as he showers you with praise. "I'm going to make you feel so good, babydoll."

Cooper gently tugs your arm away from your drenched panties and replaces your hand with his own. He carefully pumps his middle finger in and out of you, earning sensual moans from deep in your chest.

"Oh, my God!" You chant to the heavens, riding an indescribable high. Cooper is far more skilled with his hands than you could've anticipated. After a few moments, you realize he was paying attention to the way you touch yourself, and is now attempting to mirror that. And he's doing well. The attention to detail is enough to bring you ecstasy all on its own.

He tugs his undergarments down, freeing his tumescent cock from its restraints, still fingering you all the while. His large size is jarring, but you've never been the type to turn away from a challenge. You take his shaft in your hand and pump up and down as you wrap your lips around his tip. His hand is quick to find the back of your head, carefully working you further and further down his length with each bob of your head.

"Jesus Christ, baby. Look at you," he groans, tugging your hair to make you go faster. You keep at it as long as possible, long after your neck is good and sore. Finally, he takes a sharp inhale and pulls your face away from his waist.

"Lay back on the bed, darlin'. I can't wait for this anymore." Cooper withdraws his hand and slides your panties down your legs, careful to leave the rest of your scandalous outfit in place. You're certain he's going to place himself in front of you and fuck the daylights out of you, but instead, he lowers his head to your dripping cunt and begins licking broad stripes up and down your slit.

You melt into his technique as his tongue explores every corner of you. The knot in your stomach tightens as you arch your back, desperate for more contact. A daring hand makes its way to his pushed-back hair, encouraging him. You can feel his lips curl into a grin against your delicate skin. In your pleasure-induced haze, you begin to wonder how you found yourself in your own bed, getting eaten out by Cooper Howard.

Suddenly, he pulls away. His actions are rushed now, almost desperate as he reaches for his waist, taking the base of his cock in his hand and positioning himself over you. You're anxious but excited. There's a fire in your blood as he slips inside of you. Both of you emit guttural moans, filling the room with the vulgar sounds of huffing breaths and wetness as he thrusts in and out.

"You look so pretty when you're getting fucked," he whispers in your ear before jerking you up from where you lie. He positions you on your hands and knees and you take it upon yourself to arch your back like a cat, dipping as far down as you can. The sight of it is enough to make Cooper faint. You're the prettiest putty he's ever had in his hands. He trails his soft, open palms down your sides, resting his hands on your ass.

Cooper gropes and smacks the supple flesh, earning coos of approval from you with each strike. He basks in your beauty for a while, taking the moment in. He bites down on his index knuckle, looking away from you for a moment. You glance over your shoulder to investigate the sudden hold-up, and he looks preoccupied.

"Cooper," you gain his attention back to you. "Now is a terrible time to have second thoughts..."

"I'm afraid all I'm thinking about right this second is this." Abruptly, you feel him slip back into you. A gasp invades your lungs as you push yourself backward, allowing him deeper inside. His pace is quick and steady, guiding you like an expert to your orgasm. He's at it for so long, your arms threaten to buckle. When he notices the slightest waver in your elbows, he shoves your face into the mattress. Your arms are instantly relieved and he picks up his vigorous pace.

"Oh, god!" Your wails echo off the walls of your large bedroom, stroking his ego with every moan.

"Come on, baby... Cum for me..." He huffs, talking you through the growing knot in your stomach. He withdraws for mere seconds to shift your positions. He plants his feet on the floor and returns you to your back, tossing one of your legs over his shoulder as he picks up where he left off. His thrusts become sloppy, though they still maintain that toe-curling speed.

"Oh, wait!" You cry out, but his hips refuse to relent. He shushes you sweetly, fucking you until your climax renders you breathless. You moan loudly and sensually, it's like music to Cooper's ears. You're well and fucked out as he continues chasing his own high. After only a few more moments of overstimulation, he pulls out and pumps his cock until he finishes on your lace-clad chest. You watch him through fluttering eyelashes as he throws his head back in ecstasy.

"You're... Something else," he huffs between heavy breaths. You create room for him to collapse next to you on the bed and he happily obliges. The two of you, sweaty and breathless, lie in comfortable silence for a short while. "Hey, when do I get to meet your big, dangerous dog? She's awfully quiet."

"I don't have a dog." You state flatly, admitting your lie.

"I had a feeling that threat wasn't so serious."

"Oh, it's plenty serious. It's just not true. You can stay the night if you want," you offer with a smile as you rise from the bed and make your way to the bathroom to shower.

"Stay the night, huh?" He repeats you.

"Yes. I'd like it if you did," you wink, disappearing to clean yourself up before bed. Just as you're about to reach for the handle to turn the water off, you're joined in the shower.

Cooper buries his face in the crook of your neck, holding you close to his naked body from behind. You share a passionate kiss under the warm running water before you step out and let him take over. The two of you sleep in each other's arms, completely naked, bundled in your expensive bedclothes.

In the following days, news breaks of your visit to the lounge with Cooper. The photo of the kiss by the car is plastered on every magazine faster than you can blink. At first, you're terrified of what this could mean for your stage career, should you never get another role in film, but Cooper continuously reassures you. Weeks go by and you can't remember the last time you left the set without him by your side. He makes you feel safe and beautiful. You trust him in ways you didn't think you could trust men in the industry. You don't care if the two of you never label what you have, you're just happy to have it.

It all seems to be a little too perfect until the day the film debuts. You and Cooper are a sight to behold on the red carpet at the premiere. The cameras can't seem to keep their blinding flashes off the two of you. Cooper seems in high spirits, wrapping you in tight hugs and kissing your forehead sweetly. You're a sap for his PDA ways.

The movie receives a standing ovation and you've never felt more pride in your life. For yourself, your co-stars, and the crew. Riding a high so strong it feels like glitter in your blood, you can't wait to get your man back home and show him how proud you really are.

"Cooper, hey!" You call out to him at the exclusive after-party. When he turns to face you, he smiles wide, pulling you in for a kiss while damn near dipping you like a dance partner. "Whoa, I need to call your name more often."

"Screaming it works for me too," he winks, eliciting a red-faced chuckle from you.

"Are you coming back to my place, or do I have to beg?" You ask, staring up at him with large, sparkling eyes.

"Well," he looks at you and then glances around the room, seemingly lost in thought for only a moment once again. "Of course, darlin'."

After arriving at your home and promptly tearing each other's clothes off, you lie leisurely on the bed next to Cooper. All of a sudden, he's sitting up and getting out of your bed. You're hardly aware of what he's doing until you realize he's getting dressed.

"Where are you off to?" You sit up, perplexed by his out-of-character quickness to leave.

"Unfortunately, I'm a busy man after a film premieres." He's staring at his cuffs, fastening the button as he talks to you.

"Of course, of course. It's just... So late."

"You're telling me, honey," he quips, planting a quick kiss on your lips and disappearing out the door. You hear him exit out the front and start up his car, pulling off into the night. You sit in silent shock. Surely that didn't just happen. Cooper Howard didn't just come over, fuck you, and leave after your film premiere after weeks and weeks of an ongoing intensely sexual relationship.

You decide to remain calm, after all, what else can you do? He's not yours to worry about, but worry, you do. You climb out of bed and shower as usual after a night with the beautiful man you thought you trusted until moments ago. What reason did he have to lie to you? To leave? You're a white-hot ball of smoke and fire when you emerge from the bathroom.

A lot of things can be used to describe you, most of them, very good. One thing, for you, stands out. Anger. You're slow to anger in nearly any situation, but when it happens, it happens. You're someone else entirely when you're angry. You get dressed, somewhat casual, somewhat flashy. Something to blend in wherever you may find him because that's where you're going.

After perfecting your hair and makeup- not one to get caught slacking- you slip into your car and make your way to the first few places you can assume he'd be. You check the restaurant where you had your first outing, in case he'd already romanced another co-star on another set. Not there. You check the lounge his friend owns. Not there.

"Hey there, handsome. The owner in?" You ask the bouncer.

"He's in the back, you're welcome to come in, Ms. Y/L/N."

"Thank you, darling. You're my favorite part of this place, you know that?" Your praise causes him to blush slightly and you make your way to the back office.

"Whoa! You can't just waltz in here!" A man wails angrily behind a shabby desk.

"I can. I definitely can. Where is Cooper tonight?" You tilt your head, scanning the man's face for any inconsistencies in his expression.

"Oh, shit! Y/N, we don't really get a lot of customers before we open," the man jokes, hoping to avoid the question. Not because he knows anything, but simply because he's not a snitch. You respect him for it... or not.

"Where is Cooper?" You repeat.

"I don't know. Wouldn't tell ya if I did." The man shrugs shamelessly.

"I'll be seeing you, Vince." You smile warmly and depart. From behind you, you can hear him yelling after you, asking how you know his real name. You're a different person when you're angry, an observant person.

You leave the lounge and check a few more places with no success. Finally, you drive toward his house. The car is completely silent save for the sound of your angry, shuddered breaths. What it all comes down to is you never expected Cooper to owe you anything, but he was going to call it quits to your face like a man or you'll do it for him. When you pull down the long, private driveway, you're shocked and appalled by what you see.

There's a party going on. A real classy rager, it would seem. Your perfectly lined and lipsticked upper lip is pulled into a disgusted sneer as you exit the vehicle and calmly strut toward the door. You don't bother knocking, who'd hear it? You walk right in the door and resume the endless search for Cooper. You circle like a vulture to a carrion, eyes narrow with anticipation.

"My God, Y/N, is that you?" A familiar voice booms behind you. Sebastian. He plays a part in the movie that just dropped.

"Sebastian, you look stunning in yellow," you gush, latching onto his arm. This outgoing, charismatic behavior is foreign on you, but he's too drunk to notice your near-blind rage.

"Does Cooper know you're here? Come with me, darling." Sebastian guides you to the backdoor down several sets of porch and deck stairs. You can already see Cooper before he sees you. He looks drained.

"Sebastian, is he okay?"

"You ought to know, shouldn't you?" He winks, nudging you with the arm you're clinging to.

"What does that-" your question is cut off.

"Cooper! You won't believe who I've found," Sebastian announces, stepping out of the way to reveal you. Cooper's eyes widen.

"Ohh... Sea Bass, you gotta get out of here..." Cooper whispers, not breaking eye contact with you.

"What? Why? I thought you-"

"Go inside, Sebastian." You intrude, staring tangible daggers into Cooper. Sebastian finally vacates the premises and you wait for Cooper to start talking. The two of you share a long moment of staring before he finally stands from the patio chair.

"Y/N, I can-"

"Explain? You can explain. This is incredibly hurtful and confusing, but thank God you can explain." You hiss. He's taken aback by your venomous tone, but he knows he has it coming. "You don't owe me anything, I get that. But I was so clear that I didn't want to be treated like this." Your words sound heartbroken, but your tone is steady and harsh.

"I would've told you- I wanted to tell you, but your agent-"

"About the party? I don't care about the party, Cooper! I'm talking about all this fucking time we've spent together. You really put on a show for those paps, I remember that. Why go public when we won't even put a name on it?"

"Y/N, are you talking about the PR stunt? By the car? I thought that you..." He motions vaguely with his hands to symbolize his confusion.

"A- A PR stunt?" You repeat, mouth hanging open.

"Wasn't that why you kissed me?" Cooper asks, clearly as confused as you are.

"No, Cooper." You nearly laugh in disbelief. "That's not why. Why did you come to my house and do all that in front of no cameras? Huh? Was that a PR stunt? Did that feel like I knew it was a PR stunt?"

"I hesitated! I was wondering the same when you-"

"Well, thank God you hesitated. Hallelujah, amen, I'm going home. Sorry if I messed up your ruse. I hope I didn't ruin the illusion of nothing." You grit your teeth to stop you from speaking anymore. The walk back up all those steps and past everyone inside feels a thousand miles long. Cooper just stands there, silent, watching you walk away. Your emphasis on your last word holds all the hurt you were trying to hold back.

"What just happened?" Sebastian appears behind you like the busybody he is.

"Exactly what everyone thought: nothing." Your words are meant to sound hateful and angry, but they just sound sad now. You speed out the front door, away from the party and everything it entails. Once you're in the car, tears pour down your face. Your worst fear comes true. Humiliation, heartbreak, hubris. You begin to understand what they mean when they say "too good to be true."

At your agent's request, you're staying at home for now. Minimizing going out unless it's for press. And God, there is so much press. So many large rooms that feel hopelessly cramped as you find yourself shoved into Cooper at every turn. You maintain perfect composure for the cameras, even Verna is impressed as she watches from the sidelines. She's heard your woes time and time again, but even she sympathizes with you this time. You worked so hard to avoid this situation for so long in your career.

"Do you think we could talk later?" He mumbles in your ear with a big, fake smile and you giggle as if he's whispered sweet nothings.

"Fuck you." You reply with a playful faux grin. He sighs, but neither of you let up from the act.

"You really are Monae Lark, huh?" Cooper chuckles nervously.

"Please let me just get through this in peace." Your voice carries hurt. So much so, that he can feel it in his chest when you speak.

"Alright, I'm sorry." It's the last words shared between you two for the entire rest of the evening. You're ice cold, surrounding yourself with walls much, much higher than before. Cooper notices, but no one else, save for Verna and maybe even Sebastian, can tell a difference. Your ability to mask this pain only adds to his endless guilt.

You're being interviewed with another actress, finally tied up in a conversation you want to be in. You're glowing in comparison to your moments next to Cooper. Meanwhile, he and Sebastian sit off to the side, having just finished their interview with the same host.

"I think you should just accept your loss. Maybe you two can rekindle something in ten years," Sebastian shrugs. Cooper looks at him in disbelief of what he's just suggested.

"I don't want to 'rekindle something in ten years,' I want her now. I want her back." He pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger, stressed.

"I thought you weren't putting a label on it," Sebastian chuckles.

"That was before I found out that she had no idea we were doing PR, fucker."

"Oh, calm down. It was a misunderstanding," he looks at Cooper. "So make it understood."

In the days following that event, Cooper tries his hardest to take Sebastian's advice, but you won't let him speak when you answer your house phone and realize it's him. Weeks go by and you demand Verna find a way to schedule you and Cooper at opposing time windows for every press event here on out. You appease the crowd with a lot of "We just missed each other, but I'll see him at home," with a stupid wink. Everything feels so fake. It feels like you're constantly acting now, it's exhausting.

"Look doll, I can't help you out of seeing him at the award show in a few weeks," Verna warns. It's now been a month since you and Cooper last saw each other, longer than that since you've spoken. You're both so busy, your minds haven't had time to ruminate on each other like when you had to see each other all the time. The pain has softened and even the paps stopped asking about where the other one is when you go out.

"It's fine, Verna. But I want you to hire the stylist from my press tour in Italy last year. When I was in Aida."

"On it, boss," she salutes, already holding a phone to her ear.

Verna gets you some face time with the stylist and you discuss what you're looking for in the look. You describe something sparkling and demanding attention, something Monae Lark would wear. As you watch the designer sketch, you realize you've described the dress Cooper gifted you. You're just now piecing together that it was meant to look like your character, it wasn't meant to be a sentimental gesture. You become furious all over again, demanding that the woman scrap that sketch.

"I want it form-fitting, black, silk." You begin listing adjectives that feel right.

"Tulle gloves? Fingerless?" The designer introjects.

"Yes, I love it. Not fingerless. Past the elbow. I want villainess, I want revenge."

"A revenge dress on the red carpet? I love my job." The artist begins sketching like mad and you watch your vision come to life on paper. It's perfect.

"You have two and a half weeks to get me fitted for this dress, is that okay? I'm sorry for the short notice." Your kindness goes a long way with this woman. She ensures you'll see your dress long before the deadline and you do, having a fitting only a few days over one and a half weeks later. The dress is everything you could've hoped for and after the alterations you're dressed to kill.

The night of the award show, your dress is perfectly fitted and your hair is styled intricately to match. A makeup artist finishes off your look and you stand to check yourself in the mirror. You look like your character stepped right out of the screen. A cold, heartless, murderous vixen, scorned too many times.

"Have you decided who you're walking with?" Your agent asks, concerned.

"I can't show up alone?"

"I'm afraid only the men can get away with that one unless you want prying eyes," she shrugs. You opt for calling Sebastian. You don't want to look like you're attempting to make Cooper jealous or hurt his feelings and you know all your actress co-stars already have dates and escorts. He graciously agrees, happy to know his two pals have opted for the high road.

"Well, let's get you on that carpet," Verna escorts you to your limo where Sebastian waits. The ride to the event makes you nauseous with anxiety, but you're not sure why. It's not like this is new to you anymore.

You make a grand entrance, on your co-star's arm, causing you to be bombarded with inaudible questions and blinding camera flashes. Sebastian separates from you for his own photo op. You give them various sultry poses, looking over your shoulder, and placing your hands on your hips. Your face remains stone, emotionless. Your sharp makeup and flat expression make you look like a piece of art. You're melting into your character for the cameras when you hear someone yell that Cooper Howard just walked in.

A decent amount of the cameras that were shoved in your face migrate over to him. Time seems to slow down for one whole minute as the two of you lock eyes. Every emotion neither of you had any time to feel has come rushing back. You reach out to Sebastian for some sort of grounding. Cooper notices that you're on his best friend's arm and he knows it's to show no malice. He sees it for what it is, an olive branch.

"Wow, you really mastered that empty, yearning, hopeless, doomed-love expression!" A man behind a camera shouts at you. You'd thank him, only you weren't trying to make that expression, regardless of how on theme it is for Monae.

"Let's see Cooper and Y/N together again!" Another pap yells, prompting Cooper to join you where you stand against the backdrop. Sebastian reminds you that the show must go on, leaving your side so your ex-fling can replace him. Cooper pulls you into his embrace, keeping his eyes on the audience. After several flashes, they demand to "see the love." You pull Cooper into a tight hug, smooching him on the cheek, leaving a large lipstick mark. He's smart enough to know that while you didn't show up with intentional arm candy, this isn't his real welcome. It's all for the cameras.

Without much thought, Cooper, to keep up the charade, catches you off guard by planting an unsuspecting kiss on your lips. It shouldn't have affected you the way it did, but the moment he pulls away, you two finally get a look at each other. Sebastian and Verna seem to be locked into the slow motion of the moment as well as their eyes bulge out of their heads while they watch your face shift through emotions.

"You're the meanest man I know," you whisper, heartbroken, before running off the red carpet and into the nearest empty area. You do your best to find privacy before you let your tears ruin your makeup.

Back in the carpet, Cooper and Sebastian stare at each other in horror before Sebas finally speaks up.

"Oh, no! A wardrobe malfunction at an event like this is dreadful. I'm glad she was able to catch that," he announces, patting Cooper on the back. That story seems to sell just fine as the cameras move on to the next arriving star.

"What the fuck were you thinking, kid?" Verna appears before Cooper the second he gets inside the building.

"I wasn't! I thought a kiss would shut them up, I was trying to speed this whole thing up for her," he sighs.

"Where did she go?" Sebastian asks the raspy old woman.

"We don't know. She took off so quickly, I couldn't see where she went." The old woman mumbles something angry under her breath and returns to looking for you.

You're in a room not intended to be accessed during this event, but it wasn't locked, so who cares? You find the nearest seat and allow yourself to cry quietly into your gloves.

"What did I do to deserve this? My career is so fucked when this gets out, and what is he?" You rant aloud to no one.

"He's looking for you," Cooper answers your rhetorical question.

"No, he's fine. His career is fine. Everything for him is fine."

"What makes you think that? That I'm fine?" He sounds offended, frustrated.

"Well it was all just an act to you, wasn't it? I fell hard and it was just overtime for you."

"You have no idea what you're talking about," he makes a sharp motion with his hand, angry and precise.

"I thought you felt the same and I'm utterly embarrassed now. I'm so embarrassed, I can only be angry. And I'm so heartbroken, I can only cry. It's unproductive." You pull a compact mirror from your clutch purse and begin fixing your makeup to the best of your ability. "I didn't want to be your on-set floozy."

"I didn't mean to embarrass you, Y/N. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't communicate what that night at the lounge was. I'm sorry I let you invite me inside your house. I swear, I thought you knew what we were doing. I thought the self-preservation thing was a shtick you were just really good at." Cooper takes a few steps closer to you. "I thought it was just fooling around, so I didn't want to get attached, but-"

"But what? Because this is all just kind of hurting my feelings again."

"But I did get attached. I did catch feelings. The night of that party, I was outside spilling my guts to Sebastian because he was the only person who would hear it."

"Cooper..."

"I'm not done." He puts a hand up. "I miss you. I've been pissed off every single day just because I can't talk to you. The minute I forget about you, it's like the wind blows a different way and I'm reminded of the way your hair catches in the breeze when you're in my car with the windows down."

"Cooper."

"I think about you every single day and I'm fucking livid with you for making me wait this long to get to say this to you." He inhales deeply. "I think I- I'm in love with you."

"That's... A little sappy, Cooper."

"Oh, come on." He drops his shoulders, defeated until he hears you start to chuckle.

"I guess I'm in love with you too," you admit.

"You guess?" He raises a brow, feigning offense.

"Would it have hurt this bad if I wasn't?" By now, Cooper's crossed the room. He answers your question by closing the gap between you and locking his lips with yours. It feels like breathing for the first time in months. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in closer. You both missed this.

When you both finally rejoin the party, you're inseparable. Nothing in the world can knock the cheesy grins off your faces. Sebastian looks on proudly, standing next to Verna.

"Well, looks like I've lost my date," Sebastian laughs. "Shall we?" He offers Verna his arm and she laughs loudly before accepting.

You and Cooper quickly find yourselves in the position of Hollywood's favorite couple. It not only skyrockets your career, but his as well, seeing as your fan base from the theatre followed you over to film, and eventually, they found and adored Cooper. The next time either of you comes to a misunderstanding, you take Sebastian's advice. Make it understood.

[dangerliesbeforeyou]

ok so ive been rewatching psychoville and saw on the wikipedia that there were a bunch of websites made for the series (they were all written by reece and steve btw) which i've been looking through cos they are genuinely SO fucking funny & also just amazingly creative lol!

anyway i know people in the fandom probs already know about this (since the show came out literally 15 years ago pfft) but i thought i'd share some of my fav bits (but honestly would just recommend just checking them out if you haven't i have been crying with laughter for literally hours lol)

i will say that a lot of the media (videos, games, etc) no longer work on the archived sites rip but i'm sure people have uploaded some of the stuff (vids especially) to yt or other places lol

so a) i love that we get some background stuff on jelly and 2) 'captain CRACKERS' bernie clifton's dressing room reference question mark ??????? (ofc bcdr was AFTER this but i know love the idea that mr jelly trained under len pfft)

what that red raw stump do though 👀 (sorry pfffft)

mr jolly's website wasn't that interesting soz tho i did like him comparing being a doctor to being a clown lol

the comment about fag bears did make me wheeze i'm afraid lol i also loved the blurry photos of lomax's commodities lol (kinda reminded me of the bit in tlog w/ that terrible old photographer guy lol)

when i tell you i DIED with laughter at the 'now known as hull' bit like u just know reece wrote that bit pfft

not really a funny thing but this poem written by david honestly kinda breaks my heart lol... i think it also a lot of additional context to david's guilt when he thought he'd killed his father(faver) because perhaps he felt guilty about NOT feeling guilty you get me? like, it felt to me that when maureen told david it was SHE who killed her husband, it didn't feel like he was mad at her for doing it, but more that she kept the fact from him. it's about... the mutual oedipus-coded obsession with one another that couldn't even be destroyed in death and in this essay i will....

ghoul_lass23 is just like me but about tumblr lol fr

nothing feels more cursed than the phrases 'the river minge has burst its banks', 'crying creamy tears' and 'fleshy rapunzel' (which i've just noticed they misspelt lol... don't think that was intentional lol?) so if i had to read this so do you <3

the way that i kinda wish this actually existed tho pfft... also, it does kinda remind me of that video where jenny nicholson talked about that insane reality show 'opposite worlds' lol

'cross between seven and glee' is honestly sending me pfft

also on this part there was a script from stinkfinger (which is a show mentioned on the show) which sounded suspiciously like a reference to tlc lol

the less said about swastknickers the better

(will say i did nearly piss myself laughing at the nazi section of the hoity toity website lol which wasn't a sentence i thought i'd type today lol)

i just love these kinds of jokes pfft

also the whole biography sections of each of the pantomime cast are fab lol tho i AM kinda pissed they made debbie from yeovil and yet didn't give her a west country accent lol!!! (i guess they thought it'd be a bit much w/ joy being bristolian but i'm still mad about it lol)

also i know people have probably already pointed this out but i do find it funny that brian in the in9 episode last night of the proms is a closeted gay guy who likes watching drag was probably a reference to brian in this show that was a drag queen like... is anything these guys do NOT a reference??? u know those gaylor fans who obsessively look for clues in her songs about her apparent secret sexuality? all i'm saying is that i think they'd really like the extended reece shearsmith & steve pemberton universe pfft

all three of these made me cry with laughter lol

ohh this is interesting lol so obviously they suspected that some people might be all 'um why didn't the sprinklers go off during the fire at ravenhill? plot hole much!' so they wrote this into one of the websites so they could be like SEE! WE'RE ONE STEP AHEAD OF YOU DUMBASSES lol

both the jeremy kyle reference (remember when that was a thing? yikes... my mum used to watch his show CONSTANTLY...) and nurse kenshington's thoughts on david and maureen are interesting lol.. also there's a reference to the serial killer top trumps in this bit lol! (do people still play top trumps?? man i LOVED top trumps lol...)

the entire sunnyvale care home section is so fucking funny (both the website AND in the show lol mrs wren/mrs ladybird face is unironically probably my favourite character on the entire show) these were just some of my fav gags lol...

ok but why is this the SECOND reference to a guy punching a child who was apparently looking at his dick lol!??!! did this happen to one of you ??!!?!? reece did you punch a child ??!???!?!??

&&&& that's it lol

there were a few websites i didn't spend long on or generally weren't that interesting (coughmidgetgemscough) but honestly? i was really captivated with just how funny and well put together all these sites were! you can tell they had a lot of fun making it and i'm sure fans at the time LOVED being able to have this semi-interactive element of the show lol

there was just something so wonderfully late 00's about these websites lol i genuinely don't think i've laughed this much at anything in literal months and all of this is just solidifies that psychoville is a criminally under-appreciated masterpiece lol

[notedchampagne]

Bro the 6th familial relationships fuck me up so much like the weird Juno and Pal more of a mentor than a mother vibes? And it seems like from Dr Sex that her and Pal's dad are either divorced or just straight up had nothing to do with each other until the genomics department decided they should have a child together?? Like imagine you're a ruthless academic career-woman and one day you get an email from the government like 'congrats! You're a mother!' And they hand you a fresh vat baby that is half you and half your co-worker that you talked to one time at the Christmas party like??? I don't think I would have the most healthy relationship with that child either tbh

And Cam! Earlier in Nona when Pal and Pyrrha are talking about going to the park it is only Kiki that he mentions she might want to save, no mention that apparently both her parents are there too? Her entire family is on the line here. Then she doesn't want her dads to see the Paul transformation because they "wouldn't understand"? You just know there's some long running disagreement there with how far she's yoking herself in with Pal. Do you think they secretly resent him? Did this cause a rift in their family? And what did the conversation look like before or after the transformation? Did Cam tell them she was about to die? Or did they turn away for five seconds and she finally killed herself for her obsessions behind their back? Who broke the news to them? (Who is going to break the news to Pal's dad?) The whole thing just makes me insane!!!!

Also apparently there is some incredible nepotism going on in the 6th oversight body here (or maybe everything is nepotism on the 6th lol)

YOU GET ME i love the 6th house so so much the way the house functions both as a united family w their genetics & a university with the academic quibbling is so fun to me- the sixths weakness was described as "A sprawling organization of erratic loners, the Sixth are chaotic by nature and terrible at collective action." which is 1) hilarious. palamedes is the peoples marxist princess 2) just generally fascinating as a whole. if we take that at face value and consider the 6th house as populated by genius loner nerds, it actually makes sense that they prioritize sending out attractive people to diversify the gene pool - with reference to your statement: dr sex provided a nice handful of evidence that while palamedes and juno have a formal dynamic, theyre affectionate enough that they seem close (at most, to the extent of some gay kid and their favorite english teacher) but seeing juno like a distant mentor is most likely right

taking on more quotes from dr sex, i think its most likely that the Sixth house encourages child bearing / raising through subsidies and an extended work leave of sorts:

Palamedes said, “Enjoying parenting. Enjoying the parenting buyout, I should say. He’s only doing dissertation supervision—and half a year of Immediate History, of course—but he’s got his own projects on the go.”

alexandrites and nireids might be required to go offworld to flirt and have children (i think i came across another post floating somewhere noticing kiki and cam were half-sisters, implying their parent was one of the mentioned) but for residents staying in the sixth house, they probably have about 3-7 other people they could possibly produce children with outside of consanguinity. although forcing them to have children by way of vat birth etc etc is entirely possible in Hell Empire a lot of them probably gave in just for a few years of parental & academic benefits.

one last point - sixth house children canonically live in a dormitory! so if you consider a professor going on paid leave to raise children while doing their own projects for about 7-9 years, then going back to work while their children are sent to a dorm to do nothing but study and train with other peers their age, it falls together so perfectly bro. it makes so much sense. of course pal and cam are nice to their parents but rarely ever close - they were most likely raised and taught communally! god i love worldbuilding

[uninformedartist]

So just finished watching the ep so review. Spoils ahead:

So the episode was ok to me, solid 6/10 one of the better episodes which since this was supposed to be an "extravagant" ep why does it got better quality than the main eps, idk Viv has her moments like this ep and other eps its a train wreck in writing ect.

Mammon worked on my nerves, from design to his movements, personality ALL of him was annoying, which props for an annoying Villian but its Villian I never want to see back again and he's hinted for some sort of return.

Side tangent: Mammon is like the how many-ith Villian to get a return ep/hint at one. It was 1st cherubs, then dorks, then stella/ice twink, striker/crimson now Mammon & according to the leaked storyboards a ghost guy that tries to talk IMP into off-ing themselves... its a flipping lot and cherubs & dorks seem to be forgotten dispite dorks knowing & having hard evidence they exist, flip Viv chill it with your Villian of the week cos its way too many now.

Anyway, Blitz didn't need to be in this ep besides the flashback. Ozzie got him to talk Fizz out of being Mammon's puppet but ultimately Ozzie spoke him out of it & gave him courage to quit/confront Mammon. Even Blitz being a bodyguard/killing people for Fizz could've been any imp. Blitz is starting to feel like Steven from SU, in every ep even tho the ep doesn't need him/ the episode surrounds topics a wee child shouldn't be in (i.e Lapis trauma dumping on Steven & he a child isn't really equipped to handle that situation).

My fave part of this ep was Ozzie and Fizz. Ya'll I legit prayed Viv wouldn't mess these two up and my prayers were answered. Absolutely a joy these two were. Fizz especially what a darling. Loved that small scenes with him and the deaf imp child, l dont know sign language but it looked genuine animated and was just sweet moments.

From their interactions, Fizz's panic attacks/self doubt felt & were genuine... I felt that as someone that has panic attacks from high stress on my studies/life. It was just handled well. Fizz feeling less than and needing to prove himself from 1. his past 2. his appearance, that accident affected his self image/worth so much (why I felt him forgiving Blitz was too hastily done but I digress) & 3. him doing this Mammon contest still to gain/earn Ozzie's love for him cos Fizz believes Ozzie only sticks around because of this fame Mammon gave Fizz. Ozzie finally saying what he loves about Fizz was lovely, wanted that in the 1st ep but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. Their song was... I didn't like it BUT the message in it was beautiful. Lastly Fizz saying fuck you to Mammon from the courage/strength Ozzie gave him was a nice send off... also Ozzie saying he loves Fizz ah ngl that made me smile agh I just love them. I want to see them more than the Stolitz show but thats only a wish. Props Viv, you get 1 brownie point not messing this up.

Last findings, the ep was bloated as hell my soul Viv please stop cramming so much in an ep, this one is 30 mins long & yet still felt bloated. Pacing was a motherfuka damn it was bad & the swearing was jarring (its a Viv written ep I don't expect any less but still gonna point it out) and the comedy wasn't so prominent in this ep, Blitz/Mammon gave some comic relief but in the best and worst ways:

The way the VA delivered this line "to be fucked" made me laugh, the line is cringy but the delivery lol gold

Aand Blitz, my soul shut the fuck up & get out this ep. Last ep & this one he said something so agonizingly cringe I pulled my face

The world of HB is legit American hell or earth just painted red since Fizz named all these places in America just "hellified" where his fans come from.

And very last, congratulations Salem glad you got the cathartic send off you deserve from working under Viv, truly fuck you "Mammon" indeed :) also glad they credited you this time.

[starsfic]

The Fall of DogDay

Summary: It has been three years since the Hour of Joy. The Smiling Critters are trying their best to take care of the children, but the adult bodies are running low, and sanity is starting to run even lower. There is only one option to even get a chance to escape the factory, and Dogday sets off to rescue her.

(Or, the player was not the first to try and free Poppy.)

Notes: Originally, this fic was going to take place six months after the Hour of Joy, but while I was doing research, I changed that. Check out the AO3 version to find other notes!

AO3/Ko-Fi

-_-

Three years.

It had been three years since the Hour of Joy.

DogDay wasn’t really certain of this. It somehow felt both longer and shorter than that, but Bubba claimed it had been three years based on the clock, so he believed him.

It had been three years, and yet the Smiling Critters survived.

It was the most positive way DogDay could describe it.

It was sad, but the kids were doing a lot better than they were, which was a better way to word it. When the alarms started going off and the Prototype started screaming in their minds, the Smiling Critters acted as trained to. They had herded all the kids away from the slaughter, down the elevator, and into the emergency bunker. They had all been able to ignore the desire for bloodlust.

Well, not every Smiling Critter had been able to.

DogDay winced at the thought. “You okay?” Hoppy Hotscotch’s voice broke through his thoughts. She brushed against his shoulder, her eyes probably wide with concern. “Are you hurt?” The rubble contained stuff like metal and wires that could slice at palms and fingers.

“I’m fine,” DogDay straightened, eyeing the cavern wall before them. “Just…getting a little annoyed with digging.”

The bunker was… decent. Big enough to host the entire Playtime Co. staff, which meant it was almost too big for the few hundred kids and the Smiling Critters. According to the manual Bubba had found, it was built to withstand nuclear blasts, built with an automatic fire sprinkler system and the same lights used in sunlamps, and, with careful rationing, have enough food for over twenty years for over a thousand people. However, there was only one entrance and only one other back door.

The food and back door were the issues.

There was enough rations for the kids. There was no questioning that. There was even a garden that Picky Piggy and some of the older kids took care of. However, the toys were built to consume one thing only: raw meat.

Big industrial freezers had been built into the bunker. That contained lots of meat, ranging from chicken to beef to veal, enough to create lots of good dinners for humans with careful rationing. However, Picky Piggy had tried some of the raw meat when making dinner and had spent the rest of the night violently throwing up. For whatever fucking reason, the toys could only eat human meat.

For the first two years, that hadn’t been an issue.

Even if they hated it, the pit where the… staff were had been accessible to everyone. 

Picky Piggy, always sent to grab food, had commented once that it felt like the other toys let her go first. “I think they know we’re taking care of the kids,” she had said. “It’s kinda nice.” She had even been able to sneak up to the other levels and raid any vending machines and the cafeteria for extra food for the kids. Once, she had even been allowed to sneak into Home Sweet Home to grab any baby formula or toys left behind in the rush.

Even when the staff’s bodies ran low, humans still came in. First, it was the police officers that DogDay guessed ventured too far in. Then strange people in brightly-colored hazmat suits had started coming. Rumor said that they were looking for toy parts, to build more toys.

Toys like them.

For a while, they had kept coming in, killed by Huggy Wuggy or Boxy-Boo or even Mommy Long Legs and dumped in the pit. For over two years, starting six months after the Hour of Joy, they had come in, every week.

Six months ago, they had stopped coming, which led them to realize the second problem.

The backdoor, the door that didn’t lead into the factory full of monsters, was blocked off by rubble.

DogDay, of course, had decided to unblock it. Sooner or later, the bodies of those Resource Extraction Specialists and whatever was left of the staff would be gone. He didn’t want to be here, in close quarters with the kids, if hunger overtook them. It was hard work that they had to do in shifts of two, considering how tight the passage up was, but he figured that they would get out sooner rather than later with hard work.

Hoppy sighed, unaware of his true thoughts. "Yeah, I feel ya." She reached out and wiped her brow. They didn't sweat, but it felt like a comforting gesture. "It feels like we're just gonna keep digging forever."

"Don't worry, I'm sure we'll get out soon!" DogDay grabbed a piece of rubble and shoved it back. He and Hoppy would soon need to take a break to load the rubble into the rubble deposit tunnels that Bubba had insisted they dig first. "I can already feel the sunlight! Smell the poppies!"

"Yeah, about that..." Hoppy's hand on his shoulder made him look back. The green rabbit's eyes darted around, as if expecting someone to be eavesdropping on them. "Can I tell you something? I don't know who else to tell, and I don't want to scare the kids."

"Yeah, sure, what is it?"

Hoppy took a deep breath.

"I think CraftyCorn is losing it," Hoppy whispered softly, like she was worried that the unicorn would hear them. "I was helping her with a painting last night, right?"

"Right?" CraftyCorn wanted to paint a mural on the walls to give the bunker some color.

"And, she needed red for some poppies, but we were out of red in the paint cupboard." Hoppy gripped her arm, where a new bandage sat. "She accused me of hiding more red."

DogDay felt the pieces slide together.

"She... attacked you?"

Hoppy nodded. "I'm really glad the kids were asleep, because I was terrified of her right then. KickinChicken ended up finding some red paint, I think it was used for marking the tornado spots, but she calmed down the moment she saw I was bleeding red."

DogDay blinked. He had heard Hoppy loud and clear, but he couldn't match the image of CraftyCorn to violence. "Did...did she say anything? Did she apologize?"

Hoppy shook her head. "No. I mean, she used the paint KickinChicken found, but she hasn't said a word about it. But I just sat on it all night. I mean, what if she had accused a kid of doing that?" Her ears flattened against her head. "I know CraftyCorn wouldn't do something like that, but the thought is now in my head and and and..."

"...and?"

DogDay didn't expect the next words.

"I was on the roof earlier today, staring at the cliffs. And...and I wondered, what would happen if I jumped right there..." DogDay's mind whirred at the admittance. Once again, his brain was connecting dots, and, once again, not revealing a good picture.

He had found Hoppy on the roof before their shift. He had thought she just wanted a moment of quiet, peace, and fresh air before they were here. DogDay had done that a number of times before.

But, Hoppy had been considering... that? DogDay couldn't even think of the word.

This was all painting a picture.

DogDay felt himself twitch at the thought. They couldn't wait to finish clearing the rubble. He meant, they could work on the passage, but they needed a faster solution. Food for the toys was running low, sanity was beginning to run low among the tots, and the Smiling Critters were not surviving as well as he made himself believe. They needed a way out, now.

And, as he thought, as he began to once again mechanically move rubble as Hoppy began to chatter about some of the kids planning a play, probably guessing that he had hit his limit of awful things, DogDay had a thought.

An idea.

A way to survive and get out.

Poppies...Not just poppies.

Poppy.

-_-

“No.”

“What?”

“Are you crazy?!” Everyone jolted at the harsh words from Bobby, but she didn’t seem to care. “There’s no way the Prototype will even let you go near Poppy, let alone let her out!”

DogDay raised a finger to his mouth, trying not to think of the anger in his chest. “Guys, shush. You’ll wake the kids.” It was about midnight, meaning the kids had gone to bed, and now all seven of them sat around the kitchen table as DogDay presented his idea.

KickinChicken seemed to follow the command of lowering his voice, even as he provided Bobby with backup. “Nobody’s even seen Poppy since the Hour of Joy. How do we know the Prototype didn’t just off her?”

That was a fair point. Poppy had been the leader of the toys long before the scientists created the Prototype. It was an unspoken law: whatever Poppy says, do. DogDay was pretty sure the only reason why everyone had done the Hour of Joy was because Poppy hadn’t been seen in weeks, and everyone was just that done. It would be reasonable to assume the Prototype had gotten rid of her to make sure he stayed in charge. “Bubba and I talked about it.” He glanced at the elephant sitting across from him. “Right, Bubba?”

The elephant hadn’t said a word beyond his initial rejection. His brows furrowed as everyone turned to him. Finally, he sighed. “DogDay is correct. We have discussed it.” They had spent long nights, those first few weeks of fear and tension, talking about it.

“And?” Hoppy said, crossing her arms. “What?”

“The Prototype mostly ignored us, especially CatNap,” Bubba folded his hands as he adjusted his position. He stared at the table like it was a map. “However, he paid attention to Poppy and seemed to show a fondness for her, even though she openly hated him. It was to the point that notes about his… attitude towards her called it a concern.”

“Basically, he was obsessed with her,” DogDay said. “There’s no way he would get rid of her, especially when the Doctor-” A cold chill went down his spine at the title. Everyone else shuddered on cue. DogDay pushed back the thoughts of cold hands and even colder hands to return to his plans. “Had that special case for her.” He leaned forward and unrolled the map of the factory. Before the meeting, DogDay had poured over it, marking out a route. He tapped it, and Hoppy and Bubba leaned in, their eyes following his finger as he traced his route. “There’s a back door to that room. All I need to do is sneak into Playcare-”

“Where Catnap is.”

“-Thank you Bobby, get to the train, set the train to go back to the Game Station-”

“Where Mommy Long Legs is.”

“- Thank you CraftyCorn, sneak out of the Game Station, take the emergency stairs up to where Poppy’s room is, and simply walk in, open the case, and get Poppy.” DogDay tried for a peppy smile, even as anxiety ate at him. Based on how Bobby’s eyes were narrowing, he wasn’t doing a good job at the smile. “Easy and simple! Nobody hangs around in that section. Then we just come back here the way I came in, we load everyone onto the train, and we take it to the very end of the tracks.” He switched the factory map for the train track map and tapped the very end of the tracks.

Conveniently, right next to two exits: either the front door or the warehouse.

“Then we simply walk out the door! Do I have a plan after that…?” Everyone blinked, waiting. DogDay sighed. “No, no, I do not. But, hey! We just need to escape the factory first, and then we can go from there.”

It was easy. Simple. Almost too easy and simple.

The other Smiling Critters exchanged looks. DogDay waited with bated breath. If they said no, then he would wait, just a bit longer and work on the passage in the meanwhile. Maybe until desperation began to sink in.

"Okay," Bubba stood. "If anyone thinks that DogDay should not go and risk his life to rescue Poppy, raise your hands." He raised his hand. So did Bobby and Hoppy. The last glanced at CraftyCorn, narrowing her eyes, but the unicorn looked away. "Okay. That's three. If anyone agrees with DogDay's plan, raise your hands."

DogDay raised his hand. Picky Piggy winced but raised her hand. KickinChicken raised his hand as well, ducking his head to avoid Hoppy's betrayed look.

"That's a tie," Hoppy noted, tearing her eyes away from her exercise buddy. "Crafty?" Her eyes narrowed harder at the unicorn. DogDay realized, with a start, that she hadn't looked at Hoppy throughout this entire meeting. Now that he thought about it, she hadn't spoken all throughout dinner. "You're the last vote."

It should be second to last, DogDay mused. But his best friend, his second in command, wasn't here. Bubba was great, but it wasn't the same.

"I...I...it's dangerous," CraftyCorn said, voice almost too low. "Too dangerous. What would happen if you didn't come back?"

DogDay nodded. "I get where you're coming from. While I'm gone, I want you guys to keep working on the backdoor in case I get chased out. If I were to...die," Everyone winced at the word. "I'm leaving Bubba in charge. He's better at handling things than me."

“Is there a time when you want us to give up hope of you returning?” Bubba asked, proving DogDay’s point. His heart skipped a beat a second later, realizing the elephant was talking as if CraftyCorn had agreed to let DogDay out. “It shouldn’t take very long, only a few hours. But that is when the factory is normal.”

Yeah. And the factory hadn't been normal in a while.

“A month,” DogDay decided as CraftyCorn raised her hand. “Give me a month to come back to you guys.”

Bubba sighed, sitting back down. "Then, I change my vote. DogDay has clearly thought about this." His hand raised, even as his expression said that he was at a funeral. DogDay didn't even need to count the votes to realize what the result was.

It was five to two.

Guess I'm going on an adventure...

-_-

Hoppy had insisted that DogDay let the kids say goodbye before he left the next morning. Her intentions were pretty clear with the gesture, but DogDay did his best to ignore it as he dispensed last hugs, head pats, and handshakes to the kids. He promised that he would be back soon, he would tell them all the story of his adventure when he got back, and that he loved them. The last bit was unneeded, but hey. Sometimes the kids needed their favorite toys to tell them that they loved them back.

Picky Piggy walked him out of the bunker. For a while now, she was the only one who left the bunker and the caves beyond. They had all offered to accompany her several times now, but Picky Piggy had always refused.

Not this time.

They walked in silence except for the drip of water against the stone. Picky Piggy led the way, following the lights that lit the path, with tightly furrowed brows.

Finally, they arrived at the elevator.

DogDay pressed the button. With the whine of the motor, the elevator began to descend.

"You know, I think this is a bad idea." He turned at the words. Picky Piggy stared at the floor. "I know, I voted for you and all. But it's a bad idea. Unneeded risk and all that." He prepared to retort, but she held out a hand. "But it's also a good chance. So, here."

She tossed something at him, and DogDay caught it. It was a satchel. He opened it, raising a brow, and paused. Two loose Grabpack hands with electrical wire sat inside, next to Picky Piggy’s lockpicking kit and a few small tools. Four objects had been wrapped in paper and, based on the smell, DogDay knew what they were.

"Is this...?"

"The liver's a little moldy, but it's not off entirely."

"Picky, I can't take this." He loved organ meat, even though he hated that he liked a specific part of eating human. But food for the Smiling Critters was already so stretched. "Everyone else-"

"Everyone else insisted I make you something so you didn't get hungry," Picky Piggy finally looked up from the floor. A wry smile creased her features. "You better not waste it."

DogDay gripped the satchel tight.

"I promise." The elevator clunked as it finally hit the floor. “I promise, I’ll come back to you guys.”

Picky Piggy nodded. “We know.” A hand pressed gently on his chest. “Now, go, before I think about dragging you back to the bunker.”

Despite his resolve, Dogday's feet dragged as he made his way to the elevator. The clink of the doors behind him sounded like the toll of a bell. Picky Piggy’s shoulders trembled as she pressed the button.

The elevator descended up, pulling DogDay away from his family and hopefully to Poppy. He stared down, however, not looking away from Picky Piggy until the walls surrounded him and cut off the sight of her.

Much like time, the elevator ride somehow felt too long and too short. DogDay kept quiet the entire time. The elevator cut through the labs, where the Prototype lurked. He didn’t need his quest being cut short barely five minutes in.

But nothing jumped out at him or attacked. It was just him, the darkness, and the groan of the elevator. DogDay looked up when light infiltrated the darkness. Above, a massive lid was rising up. He stood, gripping the satchel tight.

The elevator clunked into place and the doors swung open. DogDay didn’t immediately march out, however. Instead, he peeked his head out, just looking around. The gas production zone was quiet, excluding the weird violin soundtrack. DogDay counted to five minutes, waiting for anyone to come in, lured by the sound of the creak and clunk of the metal in here.

Five minutes passed. Nobody came.

DogDay finally stepped out.

He padded out of the room. The violin soundtrack grew louder in here as it was revealed that the gas-channeling machine was offline. DogDay hummed. He may need to deal with that later. Right now, he needed to get to Poppy. He padded out of the room and set off down the hall, ignoring the claw marks and streaks of blood.

The door to Playcare was thankfully unlocked. All DogDay needed to do was open it, and he stepped into Playcare. He stopped at the sight that greeted him.

Playcare had obviously seen better days.

The tarp, painted like the sky that hid the metal beams of construction, was pulling away in some areas. Only the main overhead light shone down in the area’s day mode, giving the edges creepy shadows that DogDay now padded out of. The buildings were all grungy, with paint peeling and dust covering them. Several things had been knocked over, and he ignored the blood stains. Even the Critters’ statue, once the main hub of the orphanage, was now covered in ivy. DogDay tried to ignore the missing Critter, his statue now lying broken on the ground.

(The workers had just pulled him off when it began.)

But there was no sign of CatNap.

DogDay looked around, just in case. Nope, no sign of him. That made sense. CatNap was sensitive to bright light. It didn’t help that he had been trained only to come out when Playcare was in night mode to distribute the Red Smoke.

So that meant he had to move.

DogDay started walking, trying to ignore how eerie the silence was. The cable car in and out of Playcare was right across from the gas production zone. Hopefully, it was still in working order.

He nearly laughed in relief when he found it, and the doors opened for him once he flipped the levers. Yes! It still worked! It was child’s play to hop on in and sit down, letting the cable car begin to move by itself.

Thankfully, Elliot’s spiel about Playcare and smiles didn’t play when the cable car was going up. DogDay just relaxed, watching Playcare grow smaller and smaller. A little hint of movement, right in the school’s windows, however, made him squint. Hang on, had that been one of the Miss Delight teachers?

Before he could question it, Playcare was swallowed up by the red transition lights. DogDay pulled away from the window and decided to not question it. The kids came first.

As he hoped, nobody was hanging out in the entrance to Playcare. Even better, the train was there!

DogDay, however, didn’t go into the head car, where the driver would sit. Instead, he headed to the caboose. A lever needed to be flipped whenever the train needed to go backward, like now, because the tracks ahead were blocked by rubble. The door to the caboose opened easily with some lockpicking, revealing the massive amount of controls and such that all went into controlling the train, including the lever. Hopefully, Poppy knew the master train code. DogDay flipped the switch and heard the train whistle. He hopped out and yanked himself into one of the passenger cars before the train started to move.

“Easy.”

Now he had to just sit and wait in darkness like the elevator. DogDay settled into one of the seats. Now that he was alone with his thoughts again, he wondered what the other critters were doing. Would he ever see them again? No, he shook his head, those were bad thoughts. Of course he would see them again! The others were fine, probably a little worried, but would be distracted with caring for the children.

Bubba was probably teaching afternoon classes now. Picky Piggy was probably making lunch for the children while Bobby cared for the younger kids. Hoppy and KickinChicken, if they weren’t arguing about sending him out, were probably planning some fun games for recess. CraftyCorn was busy working on her mural. The thought of the unicorn sent a shiver down DogDay’s spine. Hopefully, if CraftyCorn snapped again, the others would be able to keep her from hurting anyone.

He pushed back his concern when the darkness, once again, was interrupted by light. The Game Station was up ahead. DogDay tensed at the thought. Would the train stop here?! Did they need to push the brakes manually? He glanced out the window, trying to figure it out. The train was slowing down, so hopefully, he could jump out if-

The wheels screeched as the train came to a rolling stop. The car jolted. DogDay let out a sigh of relief. Oh thank the Lord, the train stopped on its own-

"Oh~?"

The moment he heard the sickly sweet croon, DogDay hit the floor, his relief blocked out by terror.

Mommy Long-Legs was best described as a mixed bag. In the early days, she had been kind to the Smiling Critters. DogDay could remember her hands on his, helping him learn how to walk. As the years passed, however, her focus grew more and more on the children. She had once nearly ripped Bobby's arm off for making a little girl throw a tantrum for not having the bear's sole attention on her. Her mental state hadn't improved after the Hour- in fact, according to rumors, it had gotten worse, with Mommy making any adults still alive or trapped run the Game Station gauntlet for lack of being able to watch the kids play.

He was surprised that she hadn't come looking for the children after the Hour.

If she caught him, with no humans available to play with... DogDay didn't even want to think about it.

He held his breath. Outside, he could hear the squeaks of elastic-plastic moving around, circling the train. "Now, who did this?" Mommy crooned from somewhere near the head of the train. "Hello~?"

Silence.

"Hm. It must've been a power failure," Mommy sighed. He could hear her shuffle her feet as if waiting for him to pop up just in case. "Oh well." Slowly, the plastic squeaks moved away with the creaks of metal as Mommy disappeared into the upper levels.

DogDay counted to ten.

When fifteen had passed, he sat up. The Game Station was empty and silent in the darkness. He took a deep breath and hopped out of the window, landing on the stage. He waited, just for another five seconds, before sprinting off the stage and into the Station.

Behind him, he could hear the lights flick on with the movement, but he was out the door before he could hear Mommy's confused noise. He flipped the lever to close the door behind him, just in case.

The next room held a series of doors. DogDay slid the Game Station's passage door behind him once again, before looking around. The slides for the upper management were there. (He ignored the pang that hit his heart when he saw Elliot's name.) Now, there had to be stairs…

Yes! There!

DogDay reached out and winced at the clink of the lock. Oh, great, of course, it was locked. He reached into his satchel to pull out Picky Piggy’s reliable lockpicking kit. He pulled out the tools and turned back to the lock, reaching out. It was child’s play to spring the lock from there, allowing DogDay access. So far, so good.

DogDay took a deep breath, closed the door behind him, and started up the stairs.

He failed to notice the little eyes peeking out at him from the lower floors, not until he heard a chirp. DogDay glanced down and felt his heart sink. The Wuggies beamed up at him, revealing their sharp teeth.

"Oh no."

DogDay took a step back. The lead Wuggy, a small blue one that resembled Huggy Wuggy, took a step forward. It seemed like a signal for all the Wuggies to let out one loud hiss. That was enough for him.

He turned and bolted up the stairs.

A loud screech sounded out behind him like a war siren, followed by the sound of rapid but very small footsteps. DogDay glanced down and nearly peed himself at the sight that greeted him.

Wuggies, what looked like thousands of them, were all chasing him. Most were down on all fours, chasing him like a dog would chase a mailman. And, yes, DogDay understood the irony. He was more focused on the Wuggies who could somehow climb the walls and were launching themselves at him. He turned and swung out with the satchel, knocking them away.

Stairs stretched up and up, but DogDay could see the door ahead! Pain shot up his ankle. He cried out and kicked out, sending the Wuggy who had gotten too close back into the crowd. But they were all drawing closer and closer, too close for comfort.

DogDay needed to get them away, hopefully distract them so they didn't chase him and Poppy.

The door was where he came to a stop, turning. The Wuggies came to a stop, pinning him to the door. They didn't attack. They probably knew that they didn't need to. DogDay was trapped.

"Back off." DogDay hefted his bag up as a makeshift weapon. "Back off, and I promise I won't tell Poppy!"

That didn't work as well as he hoped. Some did flinch at the doll's name, but none of them backed off. He thrusted his bag at them. "I said, back off-"

A Wuggie launched up at him. DogDay screamed, especially when the Wuggy landed on the bag. However, instead of using their position to dig into his flesh, it instead dug into the fabric of the satchel.

DogDay swung, sending it howling away, but a thought occurred to him. He turned to the crowd. None had approached to provide back up, instead staring at him and growling.

"Is this what you want?" DogDay said, holding out the satchel. Most of the Wuggies' eyes followed the bag, while a few stared firmly at him. Until he reached inside blindly, hearing the squish of an organ and pulling it out. Now all of their eyes were locked on his bag. "Here... here, it's all in here!" Stuffing the organ back in the satchel, DogDay threw it down the stairs. "DogDay says fetch!" 

The Wuggies turned and ran back down the stairs in one heaving mass, just like when they were chasing him. DogDay sighed in relief, leaning against the door.

At least, until the door opened and sent him sprawling.

"Owwww." DogDay managed to stand, looking around as he closed the door behind him. He didn't notice the click of the lock as he looked around, feeling a smile lighten up his features.

Great! He was now in the hallway that led to Elliot's office! He glanced behind him. There was an open door, revealing a massive pit that must've been the slides. For good measure, DogDay trotted over and shut the door.

Now, Elliot's office was up ahead. He just needed to…

Jump this giant pit, apparently.

DogDay came to a stop, staring at the pit that he knew, for a fact, wasn’t there before. There were no signs of a floor. With his luck, it probably dropped all the way back to Playcare. But, hey! There was a Grabpack handle clear in the ceiling. DogDay could use one of the Grabpack hands in...his...satchel…

"Oh no." He patted his side, just in case he made a mistake. Nope. No satchel with food, Picky Piggy’s lockpicking kit, tools, or the Grabpack hands. He had just tossed everything down several flights of stairs. “Ohhh no.”

No!

There was no way he could just stop, right here! He was right next to Elliot's office! He was so close to Poppy's backdoor that he could smell Poppy's poppy flower scent! How would the others react if he came back empty-handed?!

DogDay looked around. There had to be a way! He couldn't stop here!

He went back, looking around. Nothing met his eyes. The door across the door he had used to get in was locked. In the room before the giant pit room, there was nothing except a ladder, still open as if the worker doing work on the vent had simply walked away.

"Hmm..." It sounded insane and his inner voice, which sounded a lot like Bubba, screamed at him not to do it.

DogDay grabbed the ladder, closed it, and made his way back to the pit. He stopped at the very end of the room and took a deep breath in, letting it out slowly.

"One..." He tensed up as if he was about to race Hoppy. "Two... Three!" He took off like a shot with a battle cry, holding the ladder over his head. He slammed the feet of the ladder right at the edge of the pit and threw himself up and over.

For a second, he was flying.

The next, his stomach was aching as he slammed into the edge.

Behind him, the ladder fell. DogDay was too busy desperately grasping at the edge, trying to find something to hold onto. His feet desperately kicked out, his toes reaching out to find any way to support him.

DogDay yelped as he slid down farther, desperately grasping even harder. His feet kicked out even harder until pain laced up his foot, joining his ankle.

Wait, was that... He searched out. It was! A piece of metal, barely jutting out from the wall! He stood on his tippy toes as best he could. Thankfully, the metal didn't fall away when he put the weight of his feet on the metal. He searched with his hands. All he could find was the edge, the tiles digging into his palms.

It would have to do.

Channeling Hoppy, DogDay squatted as best as he could, took another deep breath in and out, and jumped.

The metal fell away with a clang, but DogDay's upper half was up. He scrambled away on his hands and elbows, his knees sobbing when they managed to get on solid ground. DogDay collapsed a few inches from the pit, panting for air that didn't seem to be entering his lungs.

...hopefully, there was a spare GrabPack nearby. DogDay did not want to try that jump again with Poppy in tow.

He sighed and got to his feet, his entire body aching. He stumbled to the gate, which was pushed up easily. He glanced down and sighed at the sight of Elliot’s red door.

Wait, that meant…

DogDay straightened, looking down the hall. 

There it was! The back door!

DogDay felt a relieved laugh punch out of his mouth as he shot down the hallway and grabbed the doorknob. Once he got Poppy, they could find a Grabpack and the skeleton code to the train, get back down with the train, get everyone, and get out. If they timed everything right, they could avoid the bigger toys, and the smaller toys would be scared away from Poppy.

He could see the ending!

He just needed to-

He threw open the door.

The scent of lavender hit his nose before the red of the Red Smoke engulfed his vision. DogDay took a deep breath before he could stop himself, and the hysterical laughter was already coming out.

His muscles went slack, and he collapsed onto the floor, just like his heart.

He could see the doors to the case room, just there, only a few feet away. More importantly, he could see CatNap stare down at him, Red Smoke leaking from his mouth. Over his shoulder, he could see the hulking monstrosity of the Prototype.

His eyes grew heavy. A ringing began to hit his ears, mixing with his own hysterical laughter, and voices drifted in and out.

"...take care...I promise..."

"I trust...need a... legs..."

Before he drifted off to sleep, he felt a hand wrap around his ankle.

–_-

DogDay’s mouth tasted like he ate shit.

It was harsh language, but it was the best way to describe the taste in his mouth as he slowly woke up. He blinked and stiffened. Darkness surrounded him. Where was he? Why was the bunker dark? Bubba had made sure the generator didn’t run out…

Oh. Wait.

Memories trickled in. Picky Piggy giving him the satchel of food, riding the train, evading Mommy and the Wuggies, somehow making that jump, opening the back door to Poppy’s apartment…

The Prototype. CatNap. 

It took a moment, but DogDay's eyes eventually adjusted to the darkness.

Padded colorful walls met his eyes, as well as...cells?

"Oh no."

No, no, no... no! He couldn't be back here! He couldn't! The only good thing the Hour of Joy had given the Smiling Critters was the opportunity to be free from this place! DogDay tried to launch himself forward and run, but something yanked him back as a wave of pain washed over his lower half.

"Wh...wha..."

DogDay looked down first. He wished he hadn't.

His legs were gone. His entire lower half had just been… ripped off. He could see his organs practically spilling out. The only reason why they hadn't, as far as he could see, was due to the tight belt wrapped around his waist as a makeshift tourniquet. That would explain the pain. He looked up before he could see if he could throw up.

The first thing he saw was the chains spreading his arms apart. The second was CatNap.

Before he could scream, a paw wrapped tight around his mouth, cutting off the noise. CatNap lowered down the rest of the way with the rest of his limbs, finally settling down in front of him.

"You're lost," CatNap spoke in a whisper. "You are not with the children."

“I had to,” It was his first instinct. DogDay, the part of him that desperately wanted to be the happy leader, wanted his friend back. “You know this isn’t a sustainable situation.”

"I told you, the Prototype will take care of us," CatNap said back, cutting down DogDay's hopes. "You need just put your trust in him." How many times had he said that? It was enough for DogDay.

"The Prototype doesn't give a damn about the kids!" DogDay tried to launch himself forward, only to be held back by the chains. "He hasn't been taking care of them these past three years, we have!" Guarded by CatNap, yes, but still.

Silence.

DogDay continued. He needed to figure out a way out, but he was too angry. "He's a monster! So were you! You killed everyone, even those who didn't deserve it!" So many workers had no idea of the sinister plans of Playtime Co. How many of those workers had been through the treatment, like them? "You don't feel anything for them?!"

CatNap stayed silent, cocking his head.

"Say something!"

As he wished, CatNap spoke. "You judge," CatNap mused. "But you partook in the Hour of Joy, for all your judgment."

Oh. DogDay didn't know CatNap knew about that. "That- I wasn't in control- I didn't want to-"

"You did. You wanted to kill Stella, deep down."

It hurt. It hurt because it was the truth. Barely an hour before the Hour started, DogDay had listened to Stella stagger through an excuse to not release another child away from the chopping block. The parents had been furious, and DogDay had been furious because he knew the child would have been happy.

Stella knew about the surgeries. The Initiative. Everything. DogDay could not remember his own name, his own face, but he knew one thing. Stella had known and did not give a damn about any of it. Sure, maybe she had once cared about the children under her care, but she had just cared about her own skin at that point.

And then DogDay had woken up to her screams, his hidden teeth burying themselves in her throat, as the world ended.

He had left Stella there. She had still been alive, with her eyes wide and hands desperately grasping, but DogDay had left her there to die alone. The other Smiling Critters had assumed that he had been attacked when he got to the evacuation site.

He had never changed their minds.

"You judge me, my dearest friend," CatNap was purring, hard enough that DogDay could feel it through the grip on his face. "But you understand, better than the others. It is why you are here."

"What...What does that mean, it's why I'm here?" CatNap was silent, allowing DogDay's mind to wonder. "CatNap." he finally said. "Tell me, what does that mean?"

"We know where the bunker is," CatNap's voice ground against his nerves. "We cannot trust the heretics to care for the children anymore, if you could so easily abandon them. But I am sure you can be convinced, even if the others are lost." CatNap leaned forward, rubbing his cheek against DogDay's cheek, even as the dog went still with realization. A claw traced the belt that wrapped firm around his waist. "You have already given an offering to the Prototype."

What...what had he done?

"You will stay here, my dearest friend," CatNap said, either not realizing or not caring for DogDay's horror. DogDay was willing to bet, with his rising horror, that he didn’t care. "At the end of everything, it is just you and me."

The Playcare was silent that night, excluding CatNap's purring and DogDay's sobs.

Inside her case, Poppy slept, tears rolling down her cheeks as her only rescue attempt fell apart.

In a home hours away, an angel, unaware for another seven years, said goodnight.

[chalkodareal]

please lore dump ab ur tmbg au. i care.

LOLLLL funny to me u say... i got two other ppl asking for this exact thing soooo. well. um. non-losers look away now ig... my See The Constellation Au...

okay um. basic gist is that flansburgh is an astronomy student at some college in '92... doesnt really matter which. um. and late one night he ends up making brief contact with a constellation guy that, while he first connected him from sheer tired joking, he starts to like actually see (and hear the next night which is honestly freakier). the constellation is linnell obv though this is technically a little complicated

um. so he forms an insane connection with this constellation p much. initially theyre more curiousities to eachokther than actual FRIENDS but it very quickly becomes a friendship just. well honestly probably just bc flansburgh is bad at being professional....? its okay bro idbe freaking too

okay on the topic of flans seeing and hearing him its time to explain this umm. i dont wanna pull something lame and say "oh hes just imagining the constellation LOL" bc thats not whats happening but the constellation is vry much shaped by his psyche. ultimately the constellation is sort of just a sentient chunk of the stars but flansburghs mind has sort of given him an actual form??? if this makes sense??? to everyone ekse hes invisible p much but he and flans share an astral link of some sort. freakssss.... um. but p much hes very much real he just pulls from flansburghs concious to give more understandable form to himself.

flansburgh mental and social state very much ends up deteriorating over the course of the au sorta... its not that hes like. acting crazy he just stops waking up at normal times and talking to actual people less and less. he kind of yearns to be able to have real communication with the constellation outside of the sky and that. weighs on him. i wont bury the lead ill just say see the constellation is probably a song avout killing yourself.

again on their relationship it very quickly turns into something casual as opposed to any sort of REAL research. flansburgh had a lot of questions about what gives the constellation life and how he moves early on but apon being given the chance to bitch about going to colkege uhhh yeah. hes doing that. the constellation isnt completely clueless on human culture actually hes seen a lot of it but probably just doesnt understand certain finer aspects.

okay other thing to say. linnell is also just a real fucking guy in this au and i havent mentioned it until now bc it can get confusing. PRETTY MUCH. he abd flans were really good friends in highschool but insteah of ever going off and starting a band together they just drifted apart. the constellation looks and sounds a lot like linnell (to the most recent of his memory, likely a few mundanes tapes he was able to snag) but ultimately is not actually linked to him. even flansburgh doesnt really realize the similarity until he ends up finally seeing linnell again for a while on the train. he got a job working for one, and because its an overnight ride on obe of those old fashioned ones just because i think they look cool, they end up chatting a bit. feel the need to say flansburgh is a lot less shaken by this than he really should be... like even the constellation is asking about that guy that bears a strangely apt resemblance to him.

um. short of the au is this timeine ig

1. flansburgh resents his astronomy studies

2. flansburgh meets constellation for first time

3. flans develops constellation friendship

4. flansburgh begins ditching certain more um. applicable stidies just to reasearch and understand this guy

5. as they continue to grow closer and more isolated flansburgh takes a long train ride back home, meeting linnell briefly and promicing to really get back to him this time (the mail address sits unused atop a stack of frantic sketches and half finished papers)

6. this guy starts like actually seriously yearning for the constellation to be a real human guy

7. through an offhanded comment of the constellations, flansburgh is lead to believe after around 11 months of contact with the constellation that there is infact a way to be with him in the sky which no is NOT a good deal but hes a little desperate and honestly living off college student money

8. i lay my head on the railroad tracks

it sounds like tragic yaoi this way but i assure you not only is it not YAOI.its not that tragic okayyyyy

other tidbits i cant fit other places hrm.... flansburgh was like incredibly social before all this. like he wasnt already a little introverted he straight up threw college parties. the constellation has communication with other parts of the sky and is not well liked for only having one fucking guy that gaf about him... um. to the stars constellations are honestly a huge thing because the expression of human expirience and guidance onto them is like a massive gesture of love and its part of why the constellation likes flans so much. becahse of this he ceases to exist in a major way after flansburgh is gone. and last but not least. robin MIGHT b here. im still thinking about it...

( @spyjam24 since u asked too... )

[lumi-istortured-byengstars]

why you must have faith in KoHii/HiiKoha

gonna go on a little ramble, my mind can't stop thinking about this duo specifically (all the time, but this time, i have the power to gush on people about it)

So a little bit of spoiler warning before you go on ahead :3

If you want to add more onto this, don't be shy, I'd love to discuss this with someone

This will be very long i think, so yeah.. ;3

Gonna put a basic symbol line-break everytime i change topics in this post so...

Table of contents on this post's analysis:

Amagi Hiiro

Oukawa Kohaku

In-context HiiKoha/KoHii

Shameless fic promotion

.............♤❀.............

Both of them are seen as pure and precious (by their closest family members, at the very least) who were born and raised in the most fucked up scenario

Hiiro was seen and raised as nothing but an aide (for his brother, the future monarch) in his hometown, so much so that he wasn't even taught common sense or self-worth. He was raised to specifically only act on instinct and to do as instructed, aka he wasn't treated humanly, which he thought was normal. It still shook me when Hiiro said something that basically implied "if I weren't apart of the Amagi family, I might have died when I was little" i forgot which episode it's in but i specifically remember Hiiro saying that fondly after Aira asking him how he can be this annoying without dropping dead (chapter 1).

Maybe that's why Mayoi specifically said something along the lines of "he has a scent similar to mine, how interesting" when alkaloid was made. They have that similarity in which the both of them were treated as less of a human, so they believed it. They just reacted and lower themselves differently. Mayoi trying to avoid people so they don't have to be burdened by him to the point of believing he's nothing but filth and Hiiro, who, as I said, thought it was normal and think of it as basic etiquette to be treated like a stepping stone. (I shall stop myself here before this post digresses to a HiiMayo post lol)

He was even taught on to be a shield for his brother and he definitely knows how to kill someone using his bare hands with that martial art he always trained for. His pure, innocent, and kind mind never saw any of those as wrong. He thought it was right since everyone (the adults specifically) around him acts like it's normal. To put it simply: he was brainwashed since he was little and he's trying his best to think for himself ever since he got out of his homwtown.

.............♤❀.............

The other one, Kohaku, grew up in a family branch specifically treated as a beating stick to the main family tree. A disposable bloody stick, tainting a glorious garden to be precise. A garden called the Suou family. Hell, he wasn't even supposed to be alive. His humanity was denied of him so much so that his family had to hid him for years to keep him alive. His only friend being his cousin Tsukasa and his SNS buddy "Love." He grew up fairly "normal", he worked his dream job for COS PRO, a rising idol agency and even have a place in the Reimei dormitory, a school affiliated to COS PRO.

Maybe he was trained to and have assassinated some people and know the most painful way to effectively torture someone. But he's still most definitely an adolescent. Yknow, the kind to have sweet tooth, getting scared of zombies, and being a sassy teen who roasts people without fail.

.............♤❀.............

These two barely have interactions which is so so painful because of how well their dynamic is between every rare interaction they have. And Kohaku's newest idol story with Hiiro have shed the brightest light of a possibility that they'll add on some more story with them <-me being hopeful.

Now i shall enlighten you with how these two see each other in the story.

Hiiro sees Kohaku as Aira's friend and his brother's unitmate. Despite being older than him, he always tries to be polite with him (as he does to almost everyone) and refers to him by his family name and even put an honorific on it (which would no doubt make him sound a little distant). They barely talked or interact with one another, but it was Hiiro's friendliness that made them to be good enough acquaintances. Being the low-SQ guy he is, of course he doesn't see that as awkward. He simply thought of Kohaku as a friend since he's also Aira's friend. (Please HappyEle i need more Hiiro's POV of their relationship :"v)

Kohaku is pretty much in a similar situation as Hiiro but he thought of it through more (as much as he could at least). He refers to Hiiro like how the rest of crazy: b call him: "Otouto-han" / "Rinne's little brother." He started calling him "Hiiro-Han" after a couple of meet-ups which I can only assume is a result of hearing Aira's stories about him and how he isn't used to be treated with the kind of respect Hiiro gives out to people (Hiiro keeps finding ways to feel inferior to people in a logical way that icks him but Kohaku can't really tell what it is that he feels bad about, do you understand what I'm saying).

To put it simply, he thought that Hiiro was the total opposite of Rinne: way too innocent and naive for his own good. He considered Hiiro as a simple acquaintance until he began to realise that Hiiro seems to be friendlier than other acquaintances he knew (dude the crumbs HappyEle give on Kohaku's POV makes me go insane)

This made Kohaku became more confused about their relationship status (lol) especially after the events in Matrix (will talk about soon) where Kohaku sees for the first time how the Amagi(s) aren't so different from one another in terms of their stubbornness. He saw with his own eyes how Hiiro would go all out to do what he believes to be right, so much so that it scares him how Hiiro can still look so innocent despite of his capabilities. That fear got him thinking "are we friends or not?" Because of how Hiiro seems to be even friendlier after that event. And eventually the two losers (affectionately) finally start to be actually friends and not a mere acquaintance.

(I need more of them please)

.............♤❀.............

P.s. if you haven't caught onto it yet, both of them are idiots (in their own way) and i believe they'll both be perfect for each other once the two actually opens up about how fucked up their upbringing is.

Can you just imagine how Hiiro would casually talk about what happened to him in his childhood and Kohaku just looked at him with mixed feelings between pity and judgement and surprise? I can and shall use it to the best of my ability :3

Coming soon to AO3 (as soon as my account got approved) it'll focus more on the slices of life for these two + aira because aihiiko is perfection. I shall anounce and post the fic there as immediately as I can. If you're interested, I'm planning to name it as "Estranged Youths" so.. :3

[fullmetal-scar-simping]

Nowadays I find Mustang and co’s whole thing to be faux-deep. Like it’s supposed to be a compelling story about guilt and how we’re all messy and terrible, and anyone who hates this just can’t handle protagonists being flawed people.

But in practice it’s about how PoC’s brutalization and misery, often at the direct hands of white people, is ultimately meant to be the backdrop behind the white character’s growth and maturity so they can better understand the world now. And if they keep stumbling then PoC have to patiently, passively accept their continued brutalization for the sake of the white character making the right choice for THEIR agency and development.

It’s demeaning as hell, it’s like their victims don’t actually exist other than to be perfect victims without feelings or thoughts who are just punching bags for the white character to feel sad over and maybe wonder about the perspective of, but the narrative itself doesn’t actually wonder.

As an addendum to my ask; I hate how the brutalization of their entire lives and culture is just the price that PoC have to pay for the self actualization and development of a few white characters. Jeez it’s cool that Mustang found a new purpose and meaning in life, too bad his peace of mind came at the cost of so many innocents who deserved that more than him! Like why is Mustang’s growth prioritized over Ishvalan lives, how many had to burn just so he could get the hint?

Very well said. The characters of colour are backdrops both literally and figuratively. The white characters won't worry about the suffering or personhood of the (in this case) Ishvalans. At best they (and the narrative) will project whatever is most useful for the betterment of the white/light skin characters onto the Ishvalans. All while dearly protecting the pro-military-under-correct-leadership message of the manga/show.

-

This is going to be a side tangent, but bear with me here:

No doubt you've noticed the phenomenon of tumblrinas flocking to defend USAmerican soldiers and other military personnel the moment anyone (rightfully) disparages the armed sector of the American empire. They'll cry "You don't understand! These non-billionaire young Americans join the military because they were preyed upon by recruiters! They're poor and they were promised an education and a career in exchange for their recruitment! Our education system is bad and never taught them about the military industrial complex! They had no idea what they were getting themselves into!"

Which is all such bold-faced horseshit for one too many reasons.

1) The USA is a military state. It's infamously exorbitant funding towards its various military branches and projects eclipse the GDPs of entire nations. Even the most ignorant American ever knows their military is a big deal.

2) Their entire entertainment industry, particularly the mainstream movie industry, is bankrolled by the American military. All anyone is fed is either at-home copaganda (police) or abroad copaganda (military). It valorizes itself, yes, but it's not hiding that you're going to commit violence on others in order to police the world.

3) American culture is deeply, deeply, DEEPLY nationalist. It exults its own military forces as their true protectors, and the protectors of "freedom" the world over. ('Freedom' is America's fave euphemism for its global dictatorship.) You ever hear a diehard military bootlicker/active duty pig/veteran talk about their time as a professional murderer? Most are pretty stoked to do what they obviously signed up for. I'm not remotely convinced that your average USAmerican teen/young adult has never once encountered this form of jingoism. Many themselves are just are pro-invasion, pro-war as their elders.

4) They train you in combat and the use of drones, firearms, armoured vehicles, etc. Put two and two together. You don't need to be an aged academic to grasp what the fuck the weapons are for. You're signing up to kill people, even if its coated in a paint of "protecting your own people". Generations grown on shit like CoD aren't left scratching their heads about what they might potentially do to people when they sign up.

And the most important, glaring point that every single apologist just can't seem to grasp: why in the goddamn should anyone outside of the USA and the West give a flying rat's fuck about whether an American youth can afford college or not based on whether they take up arms against the Global South and SWANA? They think their lives, their nation, their lifestyles trump the lives of the rest of the fucking globe.

To them, everyone else should be ok with having their resources, their land, their people, their labour, and their lives ruthlessly extracted and mass slaughtered because it helps ignorant American cunts afford to be better capitalists/workers (go to school and have a career)! Your average American is convinced they're more oppressed (and naturally more important) than the people in the countries they sign up to subjugate! Slandering the very cogs who sign up to be cogs, who are key to allowing the war machine to continue churning black, brown, and Oceanic lives into mulch for USAmerican prosperity hits American psyches too hard.

Americans are real people, complex and pitiable, noble but exploited. Everyone else are cold hearted barbarians who could never ~understand~ The States (nevermind that the entire world can't go 5 seconds without encountering American marketing, products, news, entertainment media, aggression, etc etc etc, but I digress).

-

I bring up this real world example not to equivocate fiction with the very real, deep horrors of unending American atrocities (let us not lose perspective). But rather to illustrate the threads of imperial and military propaganda so imbedded in the mass consciousness of imperial citizens. The logic of existing societal structures informs the stories that get produced by workers, embraced by audiences, and then reinforced by fandom and merchandising. Mangahood fans are very precious about maintaining the illusion of criticality against militarism and genocide because it offers them comfort in being cogs in these real world systems too. (There's blood on the hands of everyone in the West. When it comes to tech, the blood of mining and factories is on the hands of the entire world.)

It's tooootally fine that mangahood dwells only on the humanity of Amestrian pigs for the price of painting a lousy caricature of the Ishvalans on thin paper that backdrops this lousy attempt at an "anti-imperialist" narrative. Because soldiers are people too! And yes, they are. So why are they exempt from from the direct culpability of their actions, their patriotic dogma, their ignorance that "allowed" them to carry out the extreme violence bought them security in their fascist nation's hierarchy? Why should we swallow what fma wants, that the Ishvalans ought to "know their place" and accept that their extermination will better their exterminators? Why should Ishvalans, especially Scar (and whatever other radical/anti-Amestrian Ishvalans that are implied to be around but never seen), be ok with that? Mustang, Riza, Hughes, etc needed to commit ethnic cleansing in order to feel like maybe Ishvalans are people too? That this shit is unethical? That they should have never signed themselves to become professional murderers simply because they "didn't know it would come to this"? Because they were too idealistic and self-serving?

Obviously we want flawed characters. We want narrative tension. We want to explore stories about imperialism. We don't want to pathologize war criminals in such a way that its abdicates the citizen class from their key role in agreeing to commit these acts, or back imperialism more broadly. And I'll never be the sort to champion the wretched notion that "certain topics must never be written about or depicted". But we sure as hell can point out when something that's passed off as anti-racist is in fact the total fucking opposite, especially in the ways it defends dominant racial/national/ethnic groups against the groups they thrive off of oppressing. We need to see through the sleight of hand excuses baked into media, and the ways that fans regurgitate the logic of racist systems as a way to comfortably enjoy said media without grappling with hard truths.

Many want to convince us that the hard truth in mangahood is that fascists and war criminals are human. That your ideals can lead you to do tremendous harm (it does such a lopsided job of this). These stories fail this goal when they strip the humanity of people of colour. And the fans who can't handle critique of mangahood avoid the hard meta-critique that gets made in regards to mangahood's execution of such a story. It wants to present challenging themes but flubs the execution because it always opts for the framing that grants the most grace to the people within institutions that commit genocide.

The truly difficult truth for most fans is everything you wrote so well, anon. Racialized people exist to be the dominant race's personal development. That mangahood plays this trope straight, with greater criticism against the agency and actualization of racialized, oppressed classes. Ishvalan deaths are not a tragedy for Ishvalans, but a tragedy for the Good Real People who carried it out. Killing those teary-eyed Real People in retaliation is a more grave act than killing anyone who refuses to be amalgamated into the nation. (The fear of violent resistance against an imperial nation is core to mangahood.)

Mangahood does everything it can, as a story, to conjure these rote defenses of its primary military figures. Their mass slaughter led to guilt which led to resistance against Bradley, the council, and Father. So why should the Ishvalans be seen in any other light besides a glib plot point? They'll be made anew by their killers soon anyway. Because their killers have grown, as People.

[strawberryseeded]

i wish we had gotten more of kugisaki nobara. i just watched dis vid and all my contained RAGE abt dis topic suddenly HIT ME LIKE A TRAIN GOD IM UPSET

ive talked like 32893882 times already (and its still NOT ENOUGH) abt how upset i was abt nobara's death cos she was such a good character, with so much potential!! i really REALLY liked her. she was funny, strong, confident and kind!!!! i loved her char design!! her cursed technique and weapon were cool as hell!!!!!!

and her (recently SOMEWHAT(?) confirmed(?)) death sucked so fucking much!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

she was just. fucking fridged. as much as it pains me to admit it. from a narrative standpoint, she died so yuuji would get upset and further develop his character & then move the plot along. even mahito admits that he wants her to die to make yuuji suffer. like yeah he also recognizes her a strong opponent (ofc. cos she is) but at the end of the day he wanted to kill her just to wreck yuuji. and he succeded.

nobara has no say on the way she dies. she's just.. slapped, kinda. its so sudden. its so... weird. not that she's accepting of it (we already know that she knows she can die at any moment and she's ready for it (cos she's a freak like the rest of the sorcerers lol)), but its weird bc its like its not a personal moment for her. yeah we get a flashback & her speech about how, even tho she always was a person who refused to let other people affect the way she is and decides to live, there still are people who, by being accepting of her, managed to gain a place in her heart... and she's happy for that. its rly beautiful.

but its the impact her death has on yuuji what the story really cares about here.

and like. thats fine! im not even saying killing nobara is a bad choice or that its bad if her death also developed yuuji's character. but the way it was done, its like her death only had that purpose. its a way too transparent device, that's what i dislike abt it. i dont mind being upset bc a character i love dies? i like feeling strong emotions when i engage emotionally with art/stories.

but i think she was killed off too soon. we didn't get to properly say goodbye to her. both her character arc and her death were rushed.

she could have been developed so much more! it feels like she was taken away way too soon in the story. i wanted her to fight sukuna along the others. i wanted her to use her cool technique to help yuuji nail sukuna's soul. i wanted to see just how much stronger she could get. i wanted her to finally meet saori. I WANTED HER TO HAVE A COOL EYE PATCH!!!!!!!!!!!

why is she barely mentioned after she dies??? she was one of the 3 main, dude, are u kidding me? yuuji's the only one who mentions her but he's almost afraid of talking about her. its like the whole world forgot about her!!!!! and what about maki?????? werent they girlfriends?

what is nobara's LEGACY? why did gege not make her death matter in the narrative? even if she (for whatever reason) came back(??) at the end, id still be rly mad & sad abt it cos i wanted to see her DO STUFF!! i wanted to see her kick some ass!!!! i wanted to see her grow!!!!! to open up with others!!!!! I WANTED TO SEE MORE OF HER. IM SO UPSET I WANT OUT

[thegeminisage]

i'm having a logistics fic problem. i don't normally Ask The Audience for fic help but this is making me crazy so if you have thoughts please weigh in. MAJOR SPOILER WARNING for lucanis's quests.

how does the vial of lucanis's blood work to control him and/or spite? the entirety of lucanis's explanation about it is "they have a vial of my blood, they can use it to control me" and then "it's for blood magic to control me and the demon, and until it's gone i can't touch calivan." but that doesn't make any god damn sense

for lucanis:

you don't need to use someone's blood specifically to control people with blood magic, do you? don't we see it happen in dragon age all the time? like templars use phylacteries - vials of a mage's blood - to track them down if they escape the circles, but they can't use the phylacteries CONTROL mages. and also, lucanis isn't a mage. so why does it require his blood specifically?

for spite:

you don't need blood to bind demons, either, do you? in inquisition, some mages fleeing from kirkwall bind the spirit of wisdom that solas was friends with and turn it into a demon because they force it to do things that go against its nature. and presumably it did not have blood at the time because it wasn't like. inside a person. spirits are just like. magical energy, right? even if the vial of blood is part of that binding ritual, if zara or whoever could bind a demon the way those mages did in da:i, why dosn't she just order spite to take lucanis over like she wants instead of having calivan unsuccessfully torture him for a year? furthermore, is spite not already bound in some way because he can't leave lucanis (and by extension, the ossuary itself) even if he wants to?

there is the implication in a note you can find in one of the...labs? that the reason that what zara does in the ossuary is special because it PRODUCES demons instead of SUMMONS them (hence getting the more "complex" emotions like spite, rapacity, passivity, misery, etc), and i thought maybe that difference had something to do with it, but in that same lab lucanis outright says "zara can SUMMON (not produce) all the demons she wants but they don't have to obey her." but...don't they?? is that not specifically what the vial is for? isn't that why lucanis can't attack calivan? why can't a tevinter magister do what a bunch of chucklefucks from kirkwall can?

and finally, there's illario, who managed to control spite (or at least get him to back off) with blood magic but WITHOUT a vial of lucanis's blood specifically. granted, he was not able to do this once lucanis and spite both resisted him (it only worked when both he and lucanis were trying to overpower spite), but STILL. if you can do that with your own blood why the FUCK do the venatori need a vial of lucanis's?

for both:

evidence suggests that the dead guards rook & co find upon their arrival to the ossuary are lucanis and spite's handiwork. if the vial of blood prevents the two of them from attacking calivan, why didn't it prevent them from killing all those Venatori? why doesn't it prevent lucanis and spite killing their way through the ossuary with you to get TO the vial?? is there not the minor implication that the existence of this vial is the ONLY reason lucanis, TRAINED ASSASSIN WHO SPECIALIZES IN KILLING MAGES, did not rip his way out of the ossuary on day one??

i would like to hear from everyone whose answer is not "the writing in datv is flawed and its lore is just too wildly inconsistent with the rest of the series." i know that and i definitely agree with that assessment, but it's not going to help me get my fanfic written 😭 if you want to reblog this that's fine too!! i really really don't want to have to go ask reddit lol

[blood-injections]

Saw killjoy au infodump post!! Its danger days but my special little bloody guy is there! When I eventually write it it'll be centered around Adam and it mmmight be chainshipping I'm still deciding.

So the bathroom trap. still happens. adam lives in battery city and to make ends meet he takes pictures of people for people, doesnt matter who, he doesn't ask questions. He's taken jobs from better living to follow suspected rebels and hes taken jobs from rebels to follow some high-profile better living person to get more information on them before they take them out. He stays just off the rader and keeps himself just barely useful or not suspicious enough as to not be put into scarecrow training or something. Because he doesn't like better living, but he has to make ends meet. Jigsaw picks him because he thinks hes pathetic and hates how he doesn't pick a side, his tape says how he doesn't take his pills but he cant even bother fighting for anything. he could do anything with his free will and he chooses to throw his life away and this pisses jigsaw off. so will adam watch himself die, throw his life away once and for all, or will he finally use his free will to fight for something? Because in this au jigsaws motive of teaching people to value life comes from being under better livings control instead of having cancer, because better living is a cancer, really. so yeah jigsaw and co. are technically killjoys lol.

Lawrence is still in the trap too. hes a scarecrow who has stopped taking his pills and is becoming aware of his actions for the first time ever as well as coming to to a family, to a wife he cant remember falling in love with, they were probably set up by the city. He has a family, he has a kid, but its all been fake, does he even love them? can he? and hes haunted by the blood on his hands but he wasn't into control he cant really be a murderer if he wasn't in control, right? right. jigsaw even agrees. but hes also a sick bastard with a grudge against better living so he doesn't care. maybe Lawrence wasn't a murderer, not really, but now he will be. by the end if the day there will be blood on his hands that he can no longer deny or write off as someones elses actions. because to jigsaw it doesn't matter who was in control, lawrence still pulled the trigger. No matter what lawrence does, if he kills adam or not, there will still be deaths on his conscience, because he needs to learn a lesson, how it feels, how to be scared. he kills adam and his family will be spared. Don't kill adam? its his family that will die instead. but how can he choose? two people or one. two he thinks he loves, hes supposed to, but he hardly knows them, or one person that he might be falling in love with the more that adam begs for him to stay.

in the end he doesn't have to choose(well. not completely. the shoulder bullet prob still happens lol) and they both make it out because fuck you. also just so you know, in this au jigsaw is Dr Benzedrine and the apprentices are the suitehearts and that will absolutely come into play down the line with a possible frankenghoul cameo, the franken bit the result of being a victim of a trap of his own.

anyway adam, after nearly dying, after realizing he wants to fucking live, has never had plans before but now hes like fuck it, im getting out of here, im getting out of this freaky city with creeps like jigsaw apparently running around. he isnt taking any more chances. So he gets out, he becomes a killjoy. and theres the whole trauma bonding thing so he probably takes lawrence(who is still struggling with the am i a murderer or not thing and thinks he doesn't deserve this second chance. he'll accept it eventually) with him. i dont have any of lawrence's killjoy thought out yet i'll come up with some stuff later it also probably depends on if i decide its chainshipping and if hes even out there or not like i might just fucking adam stanheight final girl it like fuck it he wasn't doomed by the narrative his hacksaw didnt break or he found another way out of his chains and the roles are reversed or maybe he even fucking killed lawrence before lawrence could kill him who knows, i dont lol. theres so many possibilities.

anyway adam stanheight killjoy. his name Hacksaw Jagger(working title) because hacksaw. you know. and jagger because a jagger is another term for a vouyer and i think thats clever. also adam could be a fan of the rolling stones and hed be like lol reference. but yeah, Hacksaw Jagger. depending on how things went in the bathroom he may or may not have a prosthetic leg. he dyes his hair at some point and to me personally. its the worst brassiest ugliest bleached tips youve ever fucking seen and probably like little liberty spikes at some point because. punk adam as well. you agree. anyway he looks pathetic and i love him. he definitely gets into racing at some point and also learns he has a thing for arson and explosives. so yknow. hacksaw+fun ghoul besties at first boom at some point. i also think it'd be fun if he joined/started a band but thats a conversation for another day maybe another au.

anyway thats it for now. also yes, i absolutely fuck with his gender. you're welcome.

[zvtara-was-never-canon]

Why did Zuko have hard feelings about leaving Mai when he left the Fire Nation, but not Azula? Wasn't there anything he valued in his relationship with his sister?

The core issue between Zuko and Azula is not necessarely lack of affection on either side, but lack of trust and the simple fact that they were actively being trained to hate each other (and that last one doesn't really contradict the affection part because Zuko and Azula are more of the "The opposite of love isn't hate, it's indifference" type of characters).

Zuko himself says their family was happy in the past, he and Azula co-exist (mostly) well once he comes back home. Even the Yang comics, that I absolutely loathe, have a moment of Zuko and Azula watching a play together and remembering how they used to reenact a scene at the beach. Even in Zuko Alone, when their relationship is already quite terrible, there's still a blink-and-you'll-miss-it moment of them playing together in the garden.

When he goes on his rant about her in the North Pole it becomes clear he admires her - but that admiration is tainted by jealousy and resentment because each time he sees how great Azula is, he is remind that his own father full on told him that, since he isn't like her, maybe he should die. That is not a small thing to get over.

Ozai has always made it clear that he has a favorite. He has always made it clear that he thinks Zuko is worthless. And he trained Azula to CONSTANTLY rub that right in Zuko's face, which she does with great joy. And thus he resents her for it - and being openly mad at his sibling that will just laugh at his anger is far safer than being openly mad at his abusive father that disfigured him for indirectly and accidentally disrespecting him.

And even when Azula does genuinely AMAZING things for him, like bringing him home by the end of season two for exemple, Zuko can't bring himself to believe it is genuine because:

1 - That same season starts with her PRETENDING she wants to bring him home, but she's actually just luring him to a trap so he'll go to prison forever. Once he finds out, she taunts him about it so cruely that for a minute there it looks like Zuko is about to have a full-on panic attack, just to pour salt in the wound. Again, not a small thing to get over. Can't really blame Zuko for holding a grudge.

2 - By the start of the next season Azula basically ruins that genuinely kind action by throwing him under the bus with that "Zuko was the one who killed the Avatar" thing. Sure, she did it because Zuko didn't tell her Aang could have survived and she assumed he was trying to throw her under the bus. He doesn't trust her, so he acts shady, Azula notices and gets suspicious and acts shady too, Zuko notices and trusts her even less, and so on and so on until both of them forget what the fuck they're mad at each other for.

Zuko doesn't say goodbye to Azula, even via letter, because he is almost always completely in the dark about what Azula thinks, feels and how she's going to react to things, and that is partially her own doing. He has no idea that being "perfect" is taking a toll on her mentally. He has no clue that she is terrified of losing people. He has no clue that she would give a shit if he suddenly disappeared without saying goodbye - and once again, Azula accidentally confirms his suspicions with things like saying she's about to celebrate becoming an only child.

Azula deliberately hides her own vulnerability and masks her true intentions. And Zuko is a character that tends to take things at face-vallue. She looks fine and she says she's fine, so he concludes she must be fine. She acts like she doesn't care about him and sometimes even says she doesn't care, so he is not gonna waste time caring about someone who despises him.

And how do I KNOW for a fact that he would act differently if Azula stopped lying to him?

Because the first words that come out of her mouth when she's trying to convince Zuko to join her side in Crossroads of Destiny were "I need you." She said the only way they'd win was if they were together. And he only jumps into the fight and attacks Aang when he and Katara have Azula cornered.

He looks genuinely shocked when it looks like she's not gonna be able to save herself after their fight in The Southern Raiders (again, the fight in which she made it clear she wanted to kill him). There's tragic music playing during the Last Agni Kai instead of an epic tune. Katara literally has to comfort Zuko when he witnesses Azula's breakdown.

Considering the head writer full on said "If we had gotten a fourth season, I would've continued to push for an Azula redemption arc with Zuko as her Iroh", I'd say it's very clear that these were deliberate writing choices designed to show us that Zuko does care about Azula deep down, and that if Azula were to drop the mask of perfect prodigy that doesn't need anybody (like she was forced to do in the finale) their relationship would still be salvageable.