#and partially because I focus on different things when reading different people

[kiragecko]

Authour’s Voices

I read fic for voice before anything else. Plot, tropes, canon compliance – they all pale in comparison to the word crafting. But voice is hard to describe, and referencing certain verbal tics is more likely to make an authour self-conscious than it is to flatter. So, here's my best attempt to describe the voices of some of my favourite fanfic authours – focusing on tone, subject matter, and the feelings they provoke, in a hope that I can get across at least a hint of how they sound.

@suzukiblu / suzukiblu / Rin (I read for DCU, Young Justice TV, Avatar)

REALLY intertwines characters thoughts and feelings in compelling ways. Inner monologues are a particular strength. Digs deep into what motivates characters and then lets them be insecure and angry because of those things. Writes REALLY close third person narration – ie. we are entirely in one person’s head, but the narration is using their name instead of saying ‘me.’ And we are ENTWINED in their head. Deeply. Maybe actually more in their chest -  the emotions are visceral and immediate. Very cathartic angry/overwhelmed ranting is a feature. People learning that they have inherent value. Romance/sex that is based on strong connections, and goes far deeper than hormones. A strong understanding of canon, used to write alternate universes that are much richer for that knowledge. Stories are cathartic, and leave you washed clean and energized.

@whetstonefires / Kieron_ODuibhir (/ Kieron) (I read for DCU, The Untamed/The Other Versions Of This Story)

Thoughtful, empathic stories that feel like they’ve spent months being refined to perfection. Also incredibly strong understanding of canon, with a much higher chance of showing her work on the page. A gift for searching out the nagging, poorly fitting pieces of canon characterization, and integrating them in her fic in ways that makes rereading the original a better experience. Beautiful, haunting, sentences. Feels like poetry makes me feel. A writing style that ALMOST feels intellectual, but is actually incredibly empathic. The knowledge is the vessel that carries the ... love? Respect? Maybe respect, and care, and dignity, that she has for the characters she’s writing about. Stories leave you quiet and satisfied.

@galaxystew / galaxysoup (I read for Avengers/Thor, Supernatural)

Careful, emotional, deep stories. There is a sense of immenseness, that the story can’t go too fast or it would become unstoppable. DEEPLY moving, gut-wrenching, stories told from just enough emotional distance to avoid overwhelming the audience. But they also about taking time to rest, both for the characters and the audience. Focuses on exploring and healing damaged relationships, (and damaged people), and never goes for the easy/trite solutions. Unassuming language and imagery that grounds the sometimes epic elements of her canons. Stories leave you grateful – grateful that the characters have reached that place, and grateful you got to come along.

@teland / Teland / Te (I read for DCU)

Stories have only the vestigial remains of a narrator. Almost everything is verbal or mental dialogue, usually without tags. (Ie. things like ‘Tim said.’) This would be frustrating with most writers, but Te’s character voices are SO strong and distinct that a story can start with an unnamed person talking and you immediately know who it is. She focuses on aspects of characters that many other authours miss (though some of that could be survivorship bias – perhaps she was part of a zeitgeist that hasn’t been preserved). She gets DEEP into the psyches of the characters she’s writing, dissects them, and then has them dryly comment on their displayed innards. Excels at characters that are very disconnected from their emotions, but also at characters who live immediately IN their emotions. Strong themes of identity and found family, though not in the way ‘found family’ is usually used these days. Symbolic, projected family? Stand-in, or sublimated, or substituted family? Something in that area. A lot of sex, which is also standing in for other things. Electric, transformative stories, with extremely long chapters that are hard to escape from when the world tries to call you back. Stories leave you alive to the possibilities, and maybe knowing more about yourself.

@angel-gidget / angel_gidget / Gidge (I read for DCU)

There’s an optimism and joy to Gidge’s writing. A ... cleanness. Hmm, what do I mean? I ... I’m not actually sure? But it feels refreshing and space-making, to read a Gidge story. It feels like they SHOULD be humorous, with the effects they have, but that’s not actually the focus? It feels like they’re light, even when the topic is heavy and treated seriously. It’s a really special gift, what Gidge has. Maybe the correct term is ‘conversational’? Yeah, there’s a matter-of-fact, conversational tone to everything she creates, and it lifts your spirits every time you read it.

@vmohlere / owlet (I read for Avengers/Captain America)

Absolutely brilliant way of using humour to tackle difficult subjects. Stories are so funny and positive, that it’s hard to realize how dark the things referenced are. It helps that they usually don’t become explicit until the characters have mostly processed them, and they’ve been defanged of a lot of their power. I’ve never seen someone else accomplish this, and it blows me away. Incredible OCs. Deep empathy for character’s specific needs, and focusing on what THEY’RE ready to focus on. Boundaries are not only respected, but taught. And all of this is happening behind a wry, clever sense of humour that invites you in to hang out for a while. One of the most joyful reading experiences I’ve ever had. I’ve used scenes to walk myself through bad mental periods. And I still think about their work every time I make a grilled cheese.

[kunaigirl]

Happy Disability Pride and awareness month! Let's talk about Epilepsy!

Hi there! I got tired of seeing my condition (that impacts my literal every day life) being left out or forgotten about during discussions about disabilities, so I made my own post about it! Let's go!

First Off! What the heck is epilepsy? Epilepsy is the fourth most common neurological disorder in the world, and it's a chronic medical condition. Epilepsy is a brain disorder that causes recurring, frequent, triggered, and unprovoked seizures to occur.

The official Epilepsy Foundation describes seizures as follows: "Seizures are sudden surges of abnormal and excessive electrical activity in your brain, and can affect how you appear or act. Where and how the seizure presents itself can have profound effects...Seizures involve sudden, temporary, bursts of electrical activity in the brain that change or disrupt the way messages are sent between brain cells. These electrical bursts can cause involuntary changes in body movement or function, sensation, behavior or awareness." (Source link)

Sounds like a lot of fun right? This is our life. Even with medication, we can be VERY limited to what can be safe for us. Seizure medications are NOT a cure, they only exist (at least as of now) as a tool to help have your seizures less often, or be triggered less intensely. Even on medication, seizures can still happen.

If you have epilepsy as a child like I did, it impacts your entire growing and developing experience. I spent MANY times as a child in and out of hospitals, neurologist and specialist offices, an getting so many EEG tests done. The pain of scrubbing the glue out of your hair for DAYS is horrible.

At a young age my seizures were so frequent and serious, it impacted my brain's ability to retain information. I had to re-learn the names of things at age 8 and 9. I had to re-learn HOW TO READ at age 10. I had to be home schooled because the public school system of my state at the time refused to work with me. I have VERY distinct and vivid memories of crying over my little baby ABC's book that I needed as a 4th and 5th grader. I knew I should've known this by this age. I knew that at one point I already did, and it was TAKEN FROM ME.

As an adult, I'M NOT ALLOWED TO DRIVE A CAR. And I can NEVER go to see a movie in theaters or go to see concerts or live music. There are entire TV shows I don't get to see. I can't go to clubs, arcades, dances, or raves. I miss out on A LOT of fun things. I always do, and I'm WELL AWARE of the fun I'm missing out on. The social, casual, and fun life experiences I'll never get to have. That WE'LL never get to have. And oh yeah! Seizures can KILL SOME OF US. Yep.

And the list goes on, and every person with epilepsy experiences it differently. There are multiple different types of seizures you can have, they're NOT always convulsing on the floor. For example, I have complex-partial-myoclonic-seizures. Meaning my muscles DO twitch when I have seizures, but I'm not always completely unconscious and sometimes I'm even able to stay sitting up. However, I'm still very "off" and can't focus or remember much for a good while after the fact. I can't talk or communicate during one, even with my slight bit of consciousness.

My experiences are not universal, I just wanted to talk about it and bring it up. It helps to talk about it even a little bit. Here's more about different kinds of seizures. Here's more about common seizure triggers. Here's more about CORRECT seizure first aid. And here's more general information/resources.

Please stop leaving us out of disability awareness. Please stop ignoring us or saying we're "not really disabled" or anything else like that. Please. Why does it always feel like the only people who care about epilepsy, are people WITH epilepsy? We're so tired of being ignored by others who don't have our condition.

If you're an epileptic person reading this, I see you. I love you. You're so strong, we all are. I believe in you, I believe in us. We're so much stronger than we get credit for, and it's going to be ok. Your anger and frustration are valid. Your emotions and struggles are real. You're valid, and I see you. Hang in there, we got this.

[1d1195]

Traditional - Extra VII

Read Traditional here | ~4.1k words

Warnings: smut. 18+ only. oral (m), sex, maybe public if you believe enough. Otherwise, it's kinda fluffy

From me: idk I think Harry can be a little TOO self-loathing. And he is really so sweet and nice overall. I think he deserves some TRADITIONAL sugar-daddy CEO treatment.

Summary: Harry is a lot calmer now that the client fiasco is over. But he's still on edge. Fortunately, she has an idea to take the edge off.

Harry was much more pleased with the direction of his company now that the biggest crisis of his career was finally in the rearview mirror. Now that her arm was healed and his clients were stable, everything was much better.

Except Harry didn’t fully accept it.

It was like there was a little worm in his brain that ate at him and whispered directly into the auditorial processing space that something, at any moment, would go wrong. The other shoe would drop and he would be back at square one.

“Baby?” She interrupted his thoughts of worthlessness and impostor syndrome. God he needed to see someone. But when was there time? “I asked about dinner, it’s Monday,” she reminded him gently. His mind reeling but he wanted to focus on her.

He wasn’t angry. For the first time in months. It felt like that for everyone around him. It created an entirely different vibe in the office. People weren’t scared during meetings. He didn’t slam his phone down when something was late.

But she noticed how withdrawn he was because she knew him.

“Are you alright?” Her voice wasn’t accusatory. It was still quiet. Like she was a little afraid she would set him off. But he hadn’t bought new electronics in months. The accounting department joked they would get to decrease the furniture budget this quarter as it closed. Harry couldn’t do anything but laugh because it was true. It was the first time he felt at ease since the mess happened.

It was awful.

“M’fine,” he smiled gently at her. It was their daily meeting. The one Harry didn’t even know they had until he saw it written on her calendar back when her cramps made her sleep through it. But he knew she didn’t believe his hand-waving denial. He wasn’t fine, she knew it.

“Okay,” she sipped her drink and eyed him suspiciously.

He was looking at the papers on his desk and every little negative number made his heart skip a beat.

This wasn’t healthy.

“Are you sure?” She asked again.

That wasn’t helping him either. How perceptive she was and knowing exactly what he was feeling. It was almost annoying that she could do it. All he wanted to do was hide his feelings from her the way he was supposed to, and she made it so difficult.

God, she was perfect.

He nodded silently, not looking up at her because if he did, she would read him like an open book. She would praise him and tell him he was perfect. He didn’t want that. It was stupid, but he needed to believe it himself. It was partially his own fault. Styles Inc. suffered very few hiccups other than getting up and running. Back when he had just graduated, and he had stuffed every penny he had into the two offices he and Niall needed to get started. It grew before his eyes. He believed he was important and doing important things. He knew he was talented and doing well.

Almost having to fire her was the worst wakeup call.

“Harry,” her voice broke his thoughts again.

“Yeah, kitten?” He hummed trying to admire the green numbers on the spreadsheet before him. They were large and lovely. The red ones amounted to next to nothing in comparison. But it didn’t matter. They were terrifying.

“Baby, I just asked you if you think I should go out for drinks with a client that keeps hitting on me so that we can get a bigger contract from him, and you said that was a good idea.”

His head snapped up. Jealousy pierced his heart and ran hot through his blood in seconds. “What client hits on you?” He scowled. They were dropping said client. Effective immediately. Not even feeling like an impostor would deter him from that kind of behavior. It wouldn’t matter if they were his biggest client either. If they were hitting on her—

“You really think a client would be stupid enough to hit on me knowing you’re my boyfriend?” She asked a slight smirk on her lips.

He ran a hand over his face. Of course they wouldn’t. Harry had a scary side, and everyone knew it. If they even tried to flirt with her Harry would probably break their neck. The little jealous monster inside of his head was more powerful than the worm that told him he wasn’t talented, and he could lose it all at a moment’s notice.

And he hated that word lately. He needed to add another reminder on his phone to remedy that immediately as well. Boyfriend. It was so childish sounding. He was a successful businessman, and he had a gorgeous girlfriend who made him feel like... well... like he deserved to own such a successful company. Fiancé. Husband. That had a nicer ring to it. He needed to fix that soon.

“Harry,” she giggled.

“What?”

“You’re staring at me,” she was blushing. Looked away as she sat in the chair across from him on the other side of the desk.

He sighed and smiled tiredly. “Course,” he really looked at her again, not just spaced out like he had been doing. The way her hair fell, the way her lip gloss coated her straw. The way her nail polish chipped��he would send her for a manicure (with Eleanor so she’d actually go) even though she preferred when Harry painted them—hence the chipping.

Harry was so captivated by her. It did seem like a crime that he hadn’t given her his full attention during their coffee break. Part of him thought she should model for offices or office furniture. It was sexist and lizard-brained of him. But she was so pretty it was the only thing he could think of in that moment. Then he considered the notion of her being a professor or a doctor—even though he knew she wasn’t qualified for it. But it didn’t matter. He suspected she could do it without training. She was too lovely. The fact that she was intelligent and beautiful and nice was unfair. He didn’t deserve something so good when he could lose the biggest reason she was in his life. “You’re so pretty, kitten.”

Her cheeks turned red again. Harry thought he would explode. “Don’t change the subject.”

“M’not,” he pouted. She did the cute little nose wrinkle that made Harry’s heart skip a beat the same way the negative numbers on spreadsheets did but this time he didn’t mind.

“Your brain has been elsewhere during this whole meeting—”

“Can y’please stop calling it a meeting, kitten?” he grumbled. It felt so wrong to call it a meeting when he was in love with her. Like he needed a corporate excuse to have her sit in his office.

“Pretenses, baby. Don’t want anyone to know I’m your second favorite.”

He grunted, running a hand over his face as the irritation sank in again because of her words. “Niall is not m’favorite.”

She smiled impishly. Her cheeks looked like little apples that Harry wanted to kiss and take bites out of. Her eyes danced with mischievousness that he thought she could only have learned from Louis.

He loved her so much.

Which was why he was so mad that he was worried. If this company suffered the thought of letting her down, of telling her that he wasn’t successful anymore. He met her only because he did well and was successful. How would she love him if that wasn’t true anymore?

“Harry, I’m going to drag you to the hospital if you don’t tell me.”

“Can we talk ‘bout it at home?”

She frowned. “Oh, it’s not work related?” She asked.

He shook his head, confused as to how she would conclude such a thing. “What do y’mean?”

“Well... if it was work-related, you would tell me now. You only tell me relationship-related things at home. Which means now I have to go back to my office and conference call Louis and Eleanor and pull Niall from his work so we can discuss where I’m going to live because you can’t take the sound of me singing in the shower anymore. What’s worse is Louis will agree and he won’t want me to live with him and Eleanor either. Then I’ll have to find my own place and it won’t have room for a porch swing and—”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Kitten, shut up,” he sighed. She smiled sweetly, unperturbed by the way he said it because he sounded exhausted with her, which was almost definitely her goal. He knew she liked to annoy him—even when he was already suffering internally.

“I don’t want to say it’s your fault, baby. But if you would just tell me what—”

“I don’t feel successful.”

She tilted her head at him curiously. “You don’t?”

He shook his head feeling the nerves in every inch of his skeleton. Right down to the bone. Past the bone. Probably to the atoms or even further to each proton and neutron. Telling her made it real. Telling her anything meant he had to deal with what he was feeling because she wouldn’t let him brush it away.

She was about as bad as the worm in his head.

“Okay,” she nodded. Then there was silence.

They stared at each other for a significant moment. Harry thought it could have been ten minutes, but it might have only been ten seconds. “You’re not going t’say anything?” He asked.

She shrugged. “I could,” she smiled gently. Almost pitifully. It made Harry feel the slightest bit worse. But then she made it better. Of course she did. She made everything seem so... simple. In the best way. A point of view he hadn’t considered. “I could ask you why. Or tell you how it’s not true—all of which I do believe. But I actually think it’s kind of more serious than that. I think you went through a really difficult thing. It piled and piled and you dealt with it. More than anyone here. Because you care and love this place with everything in you,” she listed. “I think you’ll need to talk to someone more qualified than me to fully deal with it. But I will list every reason why you’re completely, totally, and simply wrong another time. When you’re not so sad looking and it won’t fall on deaf ears,” she assured him with a pointed expression that he had fallen in love with so many times over it was uncanny.

Had he mentioned he loved her so much?

“Oh,” he murmured.

She stood up, moved around his desk and leaned against the edge in front of him. Her eyes didn’t move from his and she brought a hand to his face, traced the curve of his jaw, the soft pink lips she loved so much. “Why are you worried you’re not successful?” She asked.

She really knew where to hit him where it hurt. “Y’won’t love me...if m’not successful.”

“Harry,” she cooed. “Baby—”

“I know,” he turned into her hand and kissed the center of her palm. “But I... I only met y’because m’successful. If m’not... then...”

“You know I don’t love you because you have money, right? We’ve been over this.”

“I know,” he nodded. “Really, I do. But s’like...there’s something in m’brain, kitten. I can’t turn it off and m’exhausted. After all that... I mean... y’saw. It was reallybad. Like really bad. M’still kind of worried and—what are you doing?”

“Turning your brain off,” she smiled, full of mischief once more as she slunk down to her knees. She wiggled into the space of his desk where he normally pushed his chair in. “Surely you’ve thought about this?” She asked, her hand sliding up his thigh.

Harry was suddenly illiterate. And mute. What was she talking about? Were they talking about something? The only thing he could hear was his uneven breath and the clinking sound of his belt and zipper. “Oh,” he groaned as her lips mouthed at the outline of his dick against his briefs.

“Cause I’ve thought about it. A lot.”

“You have?” He murmured dumbly.

She nodded, looking up at him from between his legs, crammed under his desk. It was a fantasy he hadn’t even imagined before thirty seconds prior and there she was: making it come true. Her lashes seemed so long, and her hand was massaging him through his underwear. His heart was pounding. All thoughts of negative numbers were gone.

She deserved a raise.

Her fingers hooked around his underwear, and she tugged on them, pulling him free. He didn’t even realize he was straining against the fabric. Within seconds her lips enveloped around him, and she sucked quickly. Hard. Everything was warm and wet instantly.

Harry had done this before with the companions he had found on the very website he found her, but he wished he never had because this was her. She was so perfect. She was everything he wanted. She was beneath his desk making him feel important and it was so ridiculous for him to feel that way but it worked. It was working.

Her mouth was meant to be around him. At least that was the way it felt. It never felt like this. She didn’t even care about herself. Which was fine because Harry would return whatever she gave him now plus interest. For the first time in a year, he felt utterly relaxed. Her head bobbing up and down the length of him. He put a hand on the back of her head, and she moaned softly sending a vibration through him and up to his chest. His cheeks felt hot. Not that he was embarrassed. But it was so much rapid blood flow. Everywhere. He was going to lose his mind.

There was a knock on the door.

She froze but didn’t remove her mouth from him. Harry grumbled a curse under his breath, carefully tucked himself further the edge of his desk without bumping her too much or crushing her. “Yeah?” He called tentatively.

Her lips focused on the tip of him making him struggle to maintain his composure.

“She’s not here?” Niall frowned from the doorway.

Harry shook his head staring at the screen trying not to let his best friend know that his girlfriend and Niall’s very favorite coworker was crammed beneath his desk and sucking him for all he was worth. Even though Niall was right there. “Ran an errand,” her tongue slid down the underside of him silently. He cleared his throat, shifted. Hoping she wouldn’t torture him in front of his best friend. When did she get so brave?

Oh. Traditional. That’s what that meant. Harry thought to himself.

“When she gets back can you ask her where the file from yesterday’s meeting is? I don’t want to mess with her organizational system,” she dug her nails into his thigh not very hard but so her presence was known. As if the thought of Niall messing with her system really was the worst thing he could do in that moment.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t,” Harry chuckled. But the movement made him shift in her mouth which nearly sent him cross-eyed. He cleared his throat again.

“You okay? She’s been worried about you.”

“M’fine,” he rolled his eyes.

She silently sucked harder as if to prove a point. Moved him further down her throat. Harry took a deep breath to maintain any semblance of control he had left over the situation. Which was very little.

“I like that she worries about you.”

“It’s unnecessary,” Harry muttered. To both of them.

“When are you going to marry her?” Niall asked.

That paused her. She released him, peered up through those sinful lashes and smiled more mischievously than he had ever seen. Harry shifted. Silently and blindly lining himself up with her mouth again to keep her from saying I knew it or just generally giving herself away in front of Niall. She obligingly took his length down her throat again and it was a miracle she didn’t make a sound with the amount of spit lodged in her mouth. “Soon,” he assured Niall.

“She left her cell in the office,” he said. “Hopefully she’s with the driver or something.”

“Yeah, I called for him,” he wanted Niall out. “What time are we teeing off tomorrow?” He asked the last bout of normalcy he had left in him. Her lips were dragging so slowly over him it felt nearly painful. The moment Niall left he was going to come.

“Nine fifteen.”

He nodded. “Alright, I’ll be by later for the new account model for—” He coughed as her fingers danced along the inside of his thighs, reaching for the space of his cock that didn’t fit in her mouth as well as underneath— “Excuse me,” he covered his mouth over the fake cough before dropping his hand to his lap—her head—and pushed ever so slightly toward the back of her throat. Fortunately, his phone rang. Niall nodded waving him off; allowing him to tend to his phone call—that he was not going to answer.

“I got it,” he assured him and closed the door.

Harry yanked from her mouth, shoved from the desk, barely pulling his pants up at all. He hurried across his office to twist the lock on his door. Once turned around, she was already there, knelt before him again and sucking him into her warm mouth again. Sucking hard. It was probably loud. Wet. Anyone that happened to be by his door at that moment would know what was happening on the other side. Maybe they would make a rumor. Maybe they would assume it was her—neither of which Harry wanted. “Not here, kitten,” he groaned quietly and lifted her begrudgingly from her knees. He pulled her toward the bathroom. He briefly thought of the first time he was in there with her, knelt himself, to take her shoe off and Louis and Eleanor assumed he was prepared to do something he loved doing to her and strongly considered doing it again. Just as he lifted her bum onto the counter she stopped him.

“Nope,” she slid down again. Knelt once more. “Said it was turning your brain off,” she reminded him. Her lips around his dick once again. Now, with an office separating them from the rest of the company, she openly slurped. Made obscene noises that would satisfy him just fine on business trips where he didn’t get to take her with him and leave him with nothing but fantasies before falling asleep in a lonely hotel room. He slammed the bathroom door shut just for further privacy.

He groaned lowly, meeting the bob of her head as gently as he could so as not to cause her to struggle but enjoying the warmth of her mouth and throat. Her lips looked so sexy around him he wasn’t going to last much longer at all. “Love,” he tilted his head back. “Y’need to—”

“Shh,” she pulled back, pressing the most chaste of kisses along his length which was an oxymoron. “Just worry about you,” she hummed. “Please?”

Harry groaned his hands gathering her hair at the back of her head as she slipped her mouth down as much of him as she could take and it felt so good it made him

“Aw fuck, kitten, s’good,” he groaned and held her in place as he released in her mouth. His breath was ragged, his hips stuttering slightly. She continued sucking even though it was sensitive. Even though it was more than he deserved.

“Do you really think I would stop loving you because you didn’t have money?” She asked, fluttering her lashes. Voice the slightest bit hoarser.

He lifted her from her knees, putting her on the counter again and shoved her dress up to her hips. Thank God she wore a dress. “This underwear is ripped,” he grumbled.

She frowned. “It is? It’s my favorite I didn’t notice a rip when I put them on this mor—”

But she didn’t realize he was predicting the future. He pulled on the nylon cotton blend with so much force her already hoarse voice died in her throat. He groaned, tossing them on the floor. He lined himself up with her entrance and brought her bum to the edge so the sharp corner dug into her flesh. It would leave a bruise and the only thought that was left in her head was that Harry would kiss it and make it better later.

His length slid inside her so effortlessly. She should have been embarrassed how turned on she was sucking him off—especially when Niall got to the office but she couldn’t help it. Now the length that had felt so good in her throat was making her core ache. He thrusted into her quickly. Hardly letting her breathe or realize what was happening, but it felt so good. She was moaning into the curve of shoulder. Clinging to him. “Baby, I—”

“S’good kitten. S’good. I love you so fucking much,” his hips were relentless. All thought escaping her mind. A fire could have broken out in the shower and she wouldn’t have moved—couldn’t have moved.

“Oh wow,” she sighed as Harry pulled her closer to him—her legs wound around his waist. Her butt barely on the counter. Her eyes fluttered with each thrust. “Oh, oh my God,” she moaned. “You’re—”

“Gonna come on m’cock, kitten,” it was a question. Or a command. She didn’t know. It was both. Neither. Part of her wondered if he even said anything.

But she did. She did come on his cock. Hard. She fluttered around him for what felt like minutes. Hours. Centuries. Color ceased to have meaning. There was no sound. That was heaven. She was sure. A blasphemous thought that she didn’t even have the strength to laugh about because she was deliriously good.

Her voice was hoarser than only moments before. Her face tucked into his shoulder and her breath shaky as he pushed her further back toward the mirror at the end of the counter behind the sink. Further from him. Her cheeks were flushed, and she could only imagine what he had done to her hair. But his pupils were massive. His lips pinker than ever. His chest heaved.

Clearing her throat, she gently tucked him back into his pants. Then tucked in his shirt too. With the same delicateness as she did with his cock. It was intoxicating. Made him want to go another thousand rounds with her. “So, in conclusion,” she whispered. “I will love you whether you have a kajillion dollars or one dollar,” she looked up at him, cheeks burning.

“That was very sexy, kitten,” his eyelids practically fluttered.

“I...” she cleared her throat. “I surprised myself, actually.”

“We should do this more often,” he pulled her skirt down and brought her closer to the edge of the counter again. She hissed at the contact against the bruise that was definitely forming. He frowned. “Oh, love m’sorry,” he cupped her face and gazed at her. “Was I too rough? I shouldn’t have—”

“Harry, if I didn’t fear for the stability of my leg muscles I would probably bend over your desk for you.” He swore under his breath. “You did bruise my butt though.”

“No good deed,” he mumbled and lifted her gently from the counter. His hand cupping her backside and gently rubbing each cheek as if it were normal. But it felt normal.

She nuzzled into his chest and sighed contentedly. “Niall’s going to see right through me,” she murmured.

“I’ll fire him again if he makes y’uncomfortable.”

She snorted and laughed, tilting her head up to look at him. “You are my favorite person Harry Styles. I love you so much. Even if you ruined my favorite pair of underwear.”

He smiled as mischievously as she had earlier in the day. “I’ll buy you more...a hundred pairs of them. Then I’ll ruin them all again,” he promised, then pressed his mouth firmly against hers. A gentle, soft kiss in comparison to all they did in the span of half an hour. “I love you too.”

She grinned. “Say it again.”

He shook his head at her, kissed her forehead, effectively turning her to mush, which was probably his plan so she couldn’t deny his next request. “Stop calling our coffee break a meeting.”

But her senses were returning. The ones that weren’t primal and horny about how massive Harry’s dick was in her mouth. She was going to say something funny; he could see it in the glint in her eye. “Well, I can’t put ‘sex’ on your calendar now can I?”

--

taglist: @justlemmeadoreyou @daydreamingofmatilda @sunshinemoonsposts @loving-hazz @likeapplejuicenpeach

@straightontilmornin @freedomfireflies @littlenatilda @kathb59 @babegoals

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traditional taglist: @tpwkstiles @matildasatellite @jaded-and-hollow-souls @jerseygirlinca

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I'm sorry if I missed anyone in the taglist. Please let me know if you'd like to join, if it didn't work, if you no longer want to be included, etc. :)

If you like this, check out my masterlist here

[incorrectbatfam]

Types of obnoxious batfam stans

Written by an obnoxious batfam stan

Not really a rant but something I've noticed over the years interacting in different spaces and I've decided to make your problem now.

Please note that I'm not saying there's any "right" way to be a fan because we all suck by virtue of being comic nerds, but there are certain kinds of batfamily fans that stick out to be in particular.

Anywho, here are 12 kinds of annoying batfam stans that you've probably run into and you better get a laugh out of it *points gun to your head*.

1) The Newbies Who Never Heard of Google

There's no shame in being new to something. It's a phase that we're all guaranteed to go through, whether we're 11 or 101. However, in this day and age, so many things can be easily googled that you don't need to shout every question you have into the VVorld VVide VVoid. If you need comic recs or a reading list, google it. If you wanna know a character's origin story, google it. If you need to know the color of Batman's underpants in a particular issue in 1965... well that's probably too specific for Google but Reddit will definitely have an answer.

2) The Middle School Authors

Before the 13-year-olds get up in my notes, I'm not saying everyone that age writes like this. Middle school is a state of mind. These fanfic writers usually stand out in a few ways.

They're oftentimes first-person POV or reader-insert. Give Y/N a break, she's tired.

The grammar is stunningly atrocious. I get if you're inexperienced or if you're writing in a second language, but we are in the prime era of autocorrect. If you need help, it's right there. Also, fuck c*nsoring b*d w*rds and fuck "unalive."

The characters do things that are out-of-character because the author is projecting their own personality. Bruce Wayne is a lot of things but he does not listen to the fucking Mountain Goats.

There's a lack of experience or research when it comes to certain topics. That's not how physics works. He can't walk that injury off. And that's definitely NOT how you do the horizontal hokey pokey.

3) The Neckbeards

Unfortunately, these basement-dwelling mouth-breathers tainted the image of what a comic fan is, though that's been changing recently. Still, we've all seen them. They gatekeep via pop quizzes, 'cause obviously you're not a real fan unless you know what page 10 of Batman #138 smells like. They give unsolicited commentary on people's cosplays, nitpicking the guys and being gross toward women. And heaven forbid the comics add a little diversity.

4) The Moviegoers

Nothing inherently wrong with getting into the fandom via the movies, nor is there anything wrong with sticking to that. I just feel like we're two different species of Galapagos finches, you know?

5) The Christopher Nolans

Separate from casual fans of the Nolan movies. I'm calling them the Christopher Nolans because these people have a tendency to reach for the grimdarkest thing possible. It's like they cannot fathom Batman having any other emotions besides punching and gargoyle brooding.

6) The Canon Purists

Wanna share a fun headcanon? NO, because Stephanie Brown never used cherry lip balm in the comics so therefore that must be the absolute truth. These people are a stickler for comic accuracy to the point where it's like... why bother interacting with the fandom in the first place? The worst part is when they're adamant on following a single continuity and refuse to consider anything else. This is comics we're talking about. Everything either has been or will be canon at some point.

7) The Fanon Worshippers

On the opposite end of the spectrum, we have the people who base their entire perception of the characters on something either they pulled out of their ass or that their mutual with 16 followers came up with, despite evidence directly contradicting it. I love WFA, but I feel like that's partially responsible for further perpetuating certain popular myths. Also, these fans tend to focus solely on the batfam/their ships. It's one thing to have some people in the foreground vs. background, but put some respect to Bart Allen's name you goddamn cheesecakes.

8) The Golden Age Dads

These guys aren't really obnoxious. I actually find it kind of cute how they think Jason Todd is still dead.

9) The Chronically Online

I have a rule of thumb when it comes to discourse: if it's not something I'd hear about at a bar, it's not worth my mental energy. Some people haven't gotten the memo, though.

These are either the well-intentioned but misinformed teenagers or grown-ass adults beefing with children because they don't have a life. They have takes that are oversimplified, rage-inducing, TikTok algorithm attention-grabbers that no one cares about in real life.

Don't get me wrong, we've got a bunch of issues in comics and fandom that are worth discussing. However, there comes a point where you're splitting hairs and need to go the fuck outside. I'm not gonna link the post 'cause I don't wanna call them and their 7 notes out, but the other week I saw someone saying Stephcass was a racist ship because something something colonialism parallel. You gotta be Elastigirl to have that kind of reach.

10) The Corporate Simps

I love comics. I appreciate the writers and artists. However, you will find my carcass in a ditch before you catch me licking the boots of DC/Warner Bros. Basically, these fans, fewer as they are, can't seem to fathom that their favorite franchise can (and does) put out some steaming motherfucking garbage.

11) The Hot Cosplayers

Not actually annoyed, I'm just a little jealous. Stop being hotter than me, please and thank you.

12) The One With A Punchline For Everything

Wait–

[munsonsmixtapes]

Just You and Me: Part Two

On every part of this series, there will be a poll where you can vote whether you want reader to end up with Steve or Eddie or both! This has been so much fun to write and I hope y’all enjoy!

summary: you debut your “relationship at Corroded Coffin’s gig at The Hideout, unknowingly hurting the both of them.

cw: hurt/no comfort, angst, mention of alcohol

part one part three

Steve is sitting on the couch in your living room while you show him the entire time frame of your “relationship” that you’ve mapped out on a piece of poster board. You put it up on an easel and even got a collapsible metal pointer to really show him how serious you are about the whole thing.

Though, he seems more interested in the bag of potato chips he’s snacking on as opposed to the whole point of why he’s even at your apartment. He knows he’s supposed to be focusing, but how can he when you’re wearing that skirt that drives him crazy? Your legs just look so good and he’s so desperate to run his hands up and down your thighs as he lies on top of you, kissing you until you’re both-

“Steve, hello,” you’re waving your hand in front of his face and he’s quick to snap back into reality.

“Huh?” He asks, still partially in his daze and you snatch the chip bag from his hand and see them down on the coffee table that sits between you, making sure it’s just out of reach for him.

“Focus.“ You hit the pointer against the poster board to try to get his attention, but he’s still got that dreamy look in his eye. You wonder what’s so important that he’s not listening to you. It seems like he’s been in his own head for days.

“Sorry.” Now he feels like a jackass. You’re going through all of this effort and all he’s doing is staring at your body. He brings his focus back to the board and for the first time, he’s actually looking and holy shit, with how much thought you’ve put into this whole thing, it might just work.

“Where is your head today?” Up his ass, apparently. He can’t think about anything except how beautiful you look and it’s fucking with his head.

“I’m sorry. I was just up really late last night.” He’s actually not lying. He couldn’t sleep because of you. Because of this whole thing and how he isn’t exactly sure how it’s going to play out.

“Right, with your flavor of the week?” He hasn’t actually slept with anyone in a long time. He would just keep wishing it was you so he just stopped altogether because he didn’t want to lead anyone.

“Nope, just me and my hand, unfortunately.” He holds up said hand and wiggles his fingers which causes you to grimace.

“Gross.”

“So when does this whole thing start?” He asks, leaning against the couch with his arms sitting along the back.

“Tomorrow night. Corroded Coffin is performing at the Hideout so it’s a perfect opportunity.”

“So, no practice? We’re just going balls deep?” How the hell are you going to pull this off without practice? That makes no sense and no one’s even going to believe you if you can’t be convincing.

“First of all, don’t ever say that again. Second, we’re going to practice right now so just chill out, alright?” You head over to the couch and sit down next to Steve. Your thighs are touching and he can feel the heat from you through his jeans. If things were different, he’d have you straddling his lap, his hands resting on your back as he kisses you until you’re both breathless.

“Practice what?” He asks. Maybe if he actually read everything on your easel, he wouldn’t be so confused.

“Hold my hand,” you tell him and he hates that his cheeks are blushing. He’s held your hand so many times, but this is different. It’s supposed to be romantic, or implying that it is to other people.

His hand slides into yours, fingers intertwining and when he looks up at your face, you’re staring at him like he’s just hung the moon. God, you’re good. You’re acting, right? You have to be. Because if you weren’t and actually in love with him then you wouldn’t even be doing this whole stupid thing.

“You’re a natural,” you tell him with a smile.

“I’m just holding your hand, l/n. It’s not rocket science.”

“Still,” you shrug. “You know exactly what to do.” And he does. You’d never admit it, but his hand feels nice in yours. It’s soft and smooth and the way that his thumb is rubbing back and forth along yours. You almost don’t want to let go.

“Is this it?” Steve asks, still feeling his heart hammer in his chest at the feeling of your hand in his. He’d never tell you how right it feels to him. How he wants to hold your hand forever and never let go.

“No,” You shake your head, your hand reluctantly slipping out of his. You turn your body fully to face him and he mimics you, trying his best to not reach for your hand again. “I was wondering if you’d be comfortable practicing kissing.” Would he be comfortable? He’s only dreamed about kissing you every day for the majority of his life. He’s so ready and trying to not show just how eager he is.

“I’m open to it,” he nods and you bring your legs up onto the couch, crossing them over each other. And once again, Steve mimics you, doing the exact same thing. He watches as you take a deep breath. Could it be possible that you’re just as nervous? That would actually make him feel a whole lot better.

Your hands slowly reach up and grab hold of his face, cradling it gently. He hums at your touch, his eyes fluttering closed. Is this actually real? Or does this dream just seem so realistic? As soon as your lips touch his, he’s sure that it’s real. And it’s perfect, everything he ever dreamed it would be.

His mouth moves with yours as one hand rests at the back of your head, the other resting on your waist. And of fucking course you’re a good kisser. You’re good at everything. It’s only supposed to be short, but neither of you want to be the first to break away.

So you stay like that for just a little longer. You even go as far as licking into his mouth to deepen it, so close to climbing into his lap, but you refrain. It isn’t supposed to be like this. It’s just practice. But you’re enjoying it way more than you thought you would. So much so that you’re not even thinking about why you’re doing it or Eddie for that matter. All you’re thinking about is Steve and how much you want him inside you.

Steve lets out a moan and you’re quick to pull away, finally pulled back into reality. His pupils are blown wide and his lips are a pretty shade of pink from being kiss bitten. He runs his hands through his hair and god, he’s just so pretty. You’ve always thought that, but especially tonight. You have to pull yourself out of your thoughts, trying to think about Eddie. That’s your main focus.

You don’t like Steve. This was just you getting caught up in the moment. That’s all it is. You just have to make sure that you don’t go that far again so you don’t do something you know you shouldn’t. As long as all of your kisses are around other people, that shouldn’t be a problem.

“How was that?” You ask before rolling your lips into your mouth.

“That was-” Steve cuts himself off, his cheeks turning a bright pink. “That was-I mean, wow.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” You’re unsure, but you’re hoping so. He wouldn’t have kissed you for that long if it was bad, right?

“Yes.”

“Well, good. I think we’re going to be convincing.” So you still want to go through with it. Eddie is still your goal. He doesn’t know why he thought that his kiss would make you want to call the whole thing off. Clearly all Steve will ever be to you is your best friend.

The rest of the night is spent role playing different scenarios and acting accordingly. Steve tries his best to play it off like he’s fine, but really, all he wants to do is throw in the towel. He wants to just quit and tell you that you’re on your own because it’s all just hurting too much.

But because he’s just such a great friend, he doesn’t. He can’t. You’ve already gotten this far and now you have to see it through. He also doesn’t want you asking Robin. Partly because he knows Robin can’t lie for shit and partly because he’d just be super jealous. So he’s going to do it and he’s going to do it with a big smile on his face because he doesn’t want to hurt you.

The Hideout is pretty empty when you and Steve show up. This is the usual turn out for a Tuesday night, but you and your friends are going to cheer for the band just like you always do. They’re setting up their equipment on the stage and you and Steve make a beeline for them, you trying to not seem so excited to see Eddie.

He looks so good in his leather jacket, cropped t-shirt, and jeans that hug his body in all the right places. He catches sight of you out of the corner of his eye and cuts his conversation with Gareth short as he hurries over to you.

He jumps off the stage and Steve’s quick to pull you back so you don’t get hurt, trying his hardest not to glare at the guy. That’s one of his best friends and is he really going to be the kind of guy who lets a girl get in between them? No way. Their friendship is way more important than that.

“You made it,” Eddie smiles, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

“I always do,” you smile back and Steve doesn’t like the flirty looks you’re giving each other. “And I even brought Stevie to be another one of your cheerleaders.”

Eddie watches the way Steve wraps his arms around your middle, resting his chin on your shoulder. This doesn’t surprise him since you’re always touchy with each other, but this time, it seems different. And when Steve kisses your cheek, he knows it is.

“So, you two, huh?” He asks, pushing hands further into his pockets, balling his fists as he tries his best to hide how upset he is. He always knew this day would come. The two of you are meant for each other and everyone knows it. He just wished he would have had a chance before the two of you made it official. But he supposes that you were always bound to end up together. That’s how that kind of shit always goes for Eddie.

“Yeah,” you nod with a smile, looking up at Steve and Eddie feels like his heart is being ripped out of his chest because it’s not him who you’re looking at like that. “For a couple weeks now, wouldn’t you say so, honey?”

“I’d say so,” Steve nods, not even having to try to look lovingly at you.

“Well, I’m happy for you. It was a long time coming.” He’s smiling through the pain, trying his best to pretend like he can’t hear his heart breaking.

There’s a look on his face that you can’t quite make out and you really wish you knew if he was telling the truth. But then again, Eddie is one who’s known for being honest, even brutally so. And you’ve been friends long enough that you expect him to tell you the truth when something is bothering him.

But Eddie would never tell you the truth, not about how he feels about you, anyway. He’s taking that shit to the grave now since you’re with Steve. He excuses himself to head back to the stage to make sure that everything is all set and you’re starting to think that went too well. He really wasn’t even a little jealous?

You and Steve head to the bar and he’s squeezing your shoulder to show you that he’s sympathetic to the situation. Because as badly as he wants to be with you, he really just wants you to be happy in the end even if it’s not with him.

The two of you sip on your drinks, standing even closer to each other than you normally would, feeling the need to touch each other in any way you can to make the whole thing believable. You have to admit that Steve is a much better actor than you had initially thought. If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought that he was in love with you.

How devastating that would be if he was? You would have felt so horrible for asking him to pretend to be your boyfriend if you knew that was what he was wanting from you all along. That would really make you feel like a dick because how cruel would that have been to make him pretend to be something he’s wanted to be all for the purpose of trying to get the attention of someone else?

You reach up and brush some hair out of Steve’s face and he’s trying so hard to reel back his feelings. He’s been thinking about that kiss since it happened and if he had the balls, he would have asked you if you could price again. He’s desperate for more, so close to pulling you yo the bathroom to have his way with you, fucking you senseless until you completely forget Eddie’s name, Steve’s being the only one to fall from your lips.

You’re nudging him from his fantasy and he’s immediately snapped back to reality. How long was he out? His fantasies seem to be lasting way longer lately, much more real. He’s getting even more pathetic by the second and he’s not sure how much more he can take.

“It's about to start. Let’s go.” You grab him by the hand and he follows you to the front of the stage where you’re beaming up at Eddie who’s at the front of the stage, introducing the band into the mic before going into the first song.

He watches you the entire time, hating how Steve’s got his arms wrapped around you, his chin making a home on your shoulder. He’s filled with more anger than he knows what to do with. Seeing how you’re looking at each other makes him so jealous that he’s so close to diving off the stage and tackling Steve, which he knows is wrong.

Because truly, neither of you are doing anything wrong. You’re just a couple and Eddie was actually counting down the days, trying to slide in before you got together, but he’s too late. And he’s kicking himself for it.

He’s so focused on you and Steve that he’s not even paying attention to what he’s doing. He’s actually not even sure how he can keep up with his bandmates. He’s trying to focus on the lyrics he’s singing. The lyrics he wrote for you and how he feels about you.

You can’t believe how talented Eddie is. How this is what he’s really meant to do. You just know he’s going to make it and pretty soon, Corroded Coffin is going to sell out arenas, The Hideout being just the beginning.

He’s so into what he’s singing, his eyes closed. But you don’t know that he’s only doing it so he doesn’t have to see you with Steve. The song is so romantic, unlike the band’s other songs. Eddie’s voice sounds so pained and you hope that he’s not speaking from personal experience. Even though it hurts thinking about him being with someone else, you’d hate for him to not be able to be with who he’s interested in.

He’s grabbed your attention as he goes into his guitar solo, the cords slower than what he’s used to. You’re hypnotized by the way his fingers slide across the strings, doing it so effortlessly that you can’t help but be impressed.

Steve sees the way you’re staring and pulls you closer to him to get your attention. How will it look if his girlfriend is looking at the lead singer like he’s hung the moon? He knows no one cares, but he does. He honestly only cares because of how badly he wants you to look at him like that. That’s all he’s ever wanted and he knows that he’s not going to get it. Because it’s just his luck that he'd be in love with someone who isn’t in love with him. He’s never anyone’s first choice.

The set ends and the two of you wait as Eddie and the band pack up their equipment. You’re supposed to go out to dinner with them afterwards and Steve is absolutely dreading it. He just wants to go home and drown himself in the bottle of tequila he bought the other night and listen to your favorite record on repeat.

You wait until Eddie is distracted and wrap your arms around Steve's neck, throwing your head back as a loud laugh escapes your lips. Steve somehow catches on and he laughs as well, his genuine because yours is just so damn contagious.

Eddie looks up from where he’s putting his guitar away and that feeling in his gut he’s been having since the two of you showed up gets even worse, to the point where it starts to hurt. Yeah, he’s not going out tonight. He’s going to curl up in his bed and write some of the most devastating lyrics.

And when he watches the two of you lean in for a kiss, well, you might as well have ripped his heart out of his chest. That would have hurt a lot less. Gareth follows Eddie’s line of sight and doesn’t even have to ask to know what Eddie is thinking.

He doesn’t see how no one else knows how Eddie feels. He’s so goddamn obvious that it’s become painful to watch. And he knows you like him too so seeing you show up with Steve really threw him off. He knows that Steve likes you too, so this whole thing is really just a mess. He doesn’t want anyone to get hurt, especially not Eddie because he’s always getting the short end of the stick.

The rest of the members go out to dinner which you politely decline the invitation to since Eddie’s not going. You just have Steve drop you off at your apartment because being by yourself suddenly sounds so inviting. You just want to be by yourself because of how hurt you are that your plan is failing and it’s only started. How the hell are you going to continue when it’s not even effective?

So, the three of you wallow in your self pity in your respective rooms, hating how everything is turning out. It’s all so painful and unfair. Tears are shed and alcohol is drunk like water to numb the pain that you’re all feeling. Something that should be so simple has been complicated because you just had to go and pull Steve into your scheme instead of just being honest with him. And it seems like you’re going to pay for it, unknowingly hurting the both of them.

[calypsocolada]

SEVEN MONTHS | r. itoshi

synopsis: a seven month relationship has it's turbulent moments... author's note: hello! this will be part of a three part series. first part will be rin, second nagi and third Isagi. I'm gonna try and tie them all together like a little bow. anyways enjoy this first part! this was lots of fun to write and ended up a bit longer than I intended but ya know. wc: 5.2k cw: fluff, use of y/n, not proofread, fem reader, angst click here for my masterlist!

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

In high school you dated this boy. It lasted seven months. Being young makes everything feel so heightened, so… pressing. The love you felt and the hurt towards the end was nothing you’d ever felt before. Like something from the books you’d read or the movies on screen. It felt that important. That serious. Seven months turned you cynical. Because the heart you handed out was taken and never returned. And what’s a body without a heart? 

When you graduated high school you went into the world like that. Closed off and careful. You’d been burned once with no way to properly heal. You wouldn’t make that mistake again with someone new. 

Rin Itoshi had already ruined that for you.

And when a couple months passed after graduation and snow had started to fall that last thing you expected was Rin on your doorstep. Black hair dusted with snowflakes. It was obvious he’d walked to your house. His cheeks red from the cold, shoes and the cuffs of his pants wet and partially frozen. You had months to sit and stew with your feelings. With the hurt he’d left you. With the good memories that liked to cloud the bad ones. When you met him he was a completely different person from the one you fell in love with to the one you barely knew as he stood on your porch. 

“May I please come in?” He asked politely, a slight tremor in his voice. It was obvious he was cold. 

“You should’ve called.” You answered coldly. He shivered, from the cold or your tone you weren’t sure. 

“Would you have answered?” He asked, a sickeningly hopeful look on his face. But behind that, resignation as you answered the way he expected. 

“No.” It was a resolute answer. But you surprised him as you moved to the side, an unspoken invitation to come inside. Your Mom was out for the weekend, she’d be back Monday to see you off to the airport and off to college you’d go.

You pushed the door shut behind him, clipping off the cold air. Rin’s back was to you, broad shoulders fitted with a black suede jacket, snow sprinkling across it. The walk from his house to yours could’ve easily been an hour. And although this was someone you felt strong negative emotions for he was also someone you would’ve given your own jacket to months before. Letting yourself face that cold alone just so he wouldn’t know what it felt like. But this was also someone who just… wouldn’t do the same for you. He might’ve cared in his own way but… you were always going to be second in his mind. 

“Go sit by the fireplace, I’ll make some tea.” You said, brushing past him towards the kitchen, not looking back. You fell into a routine as your mind drifted. Traitorous thoughts pouring in because this exact moment had happened before but the circumstances were different.

~

You used to study at a park near your house. Had been going to it for a little bit, at least two or three months since you moved back here with your mom. Your mom worked as a saleswoman so throughout most of the day she was arguing with people over the phone and since your apartment has thin walls you could barely focus. The park was usually very quiet. The occasional few kids playing at the jungle gym or jogger passing by, the gentle pat of their shoes on the pavement. The only thing as punctual as you was the determined boy practicing soccer across the field. He went to school with you but was a grade above you so you didn’t have any classes with him. You’d only see him in passing periods and occasionally out in the courtyard during lunch. But now almost everyday at the park around 5:30. The boy was wildly punctual. You’d be engrossed in your studies and suddenly hear the sound of a cleat smashing a ball into the goal. That’s how you’d know you had about thirty minutes left to study. You didn’t like being out when it got dark so you usually left by 6. 

This particular day you were reading homework chapters from a book. You heard the usual cleat smashing the ball and flipped your page. Thirty minutes left. The wind picked up as your papers on the picnic table were carried from the table. You jumped to your feet, grabbing them as they hit the grass. You straightened, your eyes naturally falling across the field. You spotted the boy sat in the grass, wrapping something around his ankle, his face twisted in silent discomfort. You sucked in a breath, placing your papers back on the table sliding your book atop them so they didn’t fly away again. You watched as the boy pushed himself to his feet, he wobbled for a moment then took a step. You could hear the curse fall from his lips across the field as he fell to his knees in pain. You gasped slightly, swallowing nerves as you jogged across the field towards him. 

“Hey! Hey are you okay?” You called out to him as you approached from behind. It was a silly question since you’d seen him fall to his knees in pain. The boy with the black hair waved his hand dismissively. 

“I’m fine.” His voice was clipped, you didn’t have to be a master in body language to know he was not fine at all. You walked around towards the front of him and met his eyes. 

“I don’t think so. Did you hurt your ankle?” You asked, searching his face. You’d never been this close to him, never looked at his face this long. His eyes were sharp, like a cat’s, sharp and blue with long lashes and a downturned mouth. Must’ve been used to frowning. 

“No.” He answered shortly, his hand lingered by the wrap on his ankle. For a moment you just stared at him, surprised by his attitude. He was sort of an asshole. Slowly you nodded your head in understanding, you knew when your presence wasn’t wanted. 

“Ah, must’ve just imagined you falling to your knees in pain, my mistake.” You answered back just as shortly, walking on past him back towards your picnic table. You got about ten steps away before…

“Wait.” His voice just barely carried over the wind. You turned, his eyes drilled into the grass, not meeting yours. “Could you help me to my car?” He asked but his voice was still a bit sharp, as though it physically pained him to ask for help. You grew up with manners, you knew how to say please and thank you, there was no shame in asking for help. But there was shame in being a dick about it. 

“Please.” You said and his eyes cut to yours, the wind blowing his hair slightly, his dark brows furrowed softly. 

“What?”

“Ask nicely.” You said evenly. You watched his lips part in surprise. He clearly wasn’t used to someone sticking up to him. You could see it in his face, the annoyance he felt over your two words. You raised your brows expectantly and turned to remind him you could just leave. He raised a hand to you, an outstretched hand. 

“Wait,” he said again, swallowing dryly. He sighed, letting his hand fall to the grass. “Could you help me to my car… please?” He pouted. Actually pouted. 

“That sounded more painful than your hurt ankle.” You regaled, walking towards him. He raised his hand again and your freezing fingers slid into his warm palm. You gripped him tightly, pulling him with all your might to his feet. The man was a giant, at least two heads taller than you. He leaned heavily against you, his right arm sliding over your shoulders as you wrapped your left arm around his hip, your right hand reaching up and holding his hand by your shoulder. You helped him towards the parking lot, listening to his try to hide the pain he felt. He’d suck in a quiet breath or you’d feel his hand tense. 

“You gonna make it?” You asked, turning and craning your neck to meet his eyes. He stared straight. 

“Of course.” He said through gritted teeth. It almost made you laugh. This boy was a stubborn creature.

“Lean more on me. I’m here for a reason aren’t I?” You asked, hearing the boy swallow dryly. 

“I’ve seen you… before.” Changing the subject? He wasn’t sly. 

“I come here to study.” You answered, tightening your hold on his hip. 

“Not here. School.” He amended. 

“Yeah… yeah I’ve seen you too.” You answer nonchalantly. “You hurt that one girl's feelings the other day.” You felt him stiffen. 

There were a few whispers about the boys in your school, you were never one for gossip but you had ears and sometimes that’s all the girls in your grade wanted to talk about. The soccer prodigies, Rin, Isagi and Nagi. There was a girl in your grade that decided she wanted to be different from the other girls that had asked Rin out. She got him flowers and chocolates, and made a big embarrassing show of it. You didn’t know Rin that well but you had a feeling it wouldn’t go well. The girl did it during a passing period so a lot of kids were passing by. Your locker just happened to be in view of the whole thing. You didn’t want to watch but most kinds were blocking your path. You missed the first bit of her speech but caught the obvious question. Will you go out with me? You peered behind a couple students, just barely catching Rin’s response as well as the completely uninterested look he gave her. Who’re you? He had asked. The hall was silent. Forty, no fifty kids all surprised and embarrassed into silence. The tears came first and then the girl was pushing through the laughing crowd. The girl was in your next two periods but she didn’t show up. Rin had completely embarrassed the girl. She didn’t show up the rest of the week.

“What… was I supposed to say?” He asked. You furrowed your brow.

“If you weren’t interested you could’ve been polite about it.”

“I wasn’t interested. And I didn’t know her.” He says as though that gave him reason to embarrass the poor girl. You sighed. This was none of your business, you’d talked to the girl maybe once or twice in passing. You just simply shook your head. Who were you, a girl he didn’t know, to lecture him on turning down another girl he apparently didn’t know.

“She was just hurt, that’s all.” You said dismissively as you crossed over from the grass towards the parking lot, you two paused as you gathered up your book bag and papers, shoving them into your bag. You pulled him towards your car as he slowed, showing some resistance. 

“My car’s that way.” He pointed. 

“I’m aware.” You continued walking. “But you hurt the foot that you drive with so I’ll give you a ride.”

“I live across town.” He said as though it was too far.

“Then give me gas money.” You groaned, fishing out your keys from your pocket.

“I… I can’t.” He stuttered. He sounded… nervous?

“I’m joking, it’s fine. I have gas.” You informed him as he pulled you both to a stop.

“I can’t go home just yet.” He said quietly. You looked up at him.

“What?” 

“I can’t go home just-”

“I know what you said.” You sighed. “What do you mean you can’t go home?”

“I practice until ten, every night. I can’t go home. Or he-” Releasing he might’ve been revealing something too personal Rin stopped talking. You stared up at him, brows curved in confusion.

“You’re hurt, you can’t practice.”

“Please.” His eyes met yours imploringly and for a split second you saw what that girl who made a big show of asking him out saw. A handsome boy, whose eyes weren’t as sharp as you initially thought. You blushed and looked away towards your car. 

“Okay…” You trailed off. “Do you have any friends you could go to?” You looked back up at him, his silence was an answer in itself. “My mom usually makes dinner around this time… I guess you could come with me?” You felt like that girl in the hallway suddenly more than ever. You forced yourself to keep your eyes on him, if he showed the slightest bit of discomfort you’d think of something else. But instead… he blushed, looking out towards your car.

“Okay.” He said simply, voice soft and low. 

“Okay?” You questioned.

“Okay… please take me home-… with you.” You both blushed this time.

Your mom wasn’t home, you were actually pretty thankful. The last boy you had brought home to her had left your house in tears and stopped speaking to you at school. You were mad at first but later found out he was texting multiple girls while seeing you. You asked your mom then if she had any idea and the older woman had just shrugged her shoulders and claimed, ‘he just seemed weak and not fit for my little girl’. She’d probably saved you from a lot of heartbreak. 

You pulled Rin in through the front door and kicked it closed behind you, helping him towards the living room. You helped him to the couch and sighed an exhausted breath when you lost his added weight. 

“Here,” You said as you helped him prop his ankle on the coffee table, placing a pillow underneath it so it was elevated. “I’ll get some ice.” You said, pushing to your feet. 

“Wait, Y/n?”

“Hm?” You hummed, pausing in the doorway towards the kitchen.

“Uh… thank you… for your help.” He said and once again you watched the poor boy blush. You gave him a soft smile, nodding your head as you disappeared into the kitchen. Moments later you were back by his side, doting on him for reasons you did not want to understand. You help the ice pack on his ankle and bite back a laugh at his red face. What was he so nervous about? He spied that reaction.

“What’s funny?” He asked as you met his eyes, shrugging. 

“Nothing.” You answered simply. “Want something to eat?”

“I’m okay.”

“Drink?” 

“N-no thank you.” 

“I could fetch a blanket, or maybe turn on a movie.”

“Just your company is fine.” He answered before his brain could stop him. You raised a brow at him and watched that pretty face turn even more red. 

“Just my company is fine?” You teased.

“Please stop talking.” He sighed, hand over face. 

“Since you asked so nicely.” You obliged, leaning back on the couch beside him, balancing the ice pack on his ankle. It was quiet for a moment but surprisingly it wasn’t uncomfortable. “...Why didn’t you wanna go home?” You cautioned, he could very easily shut your question down but… he didn’t.

“My brother’s back from college for a bit.” He answered. You knew his brother, a big shot soccer guy, played for japan.

“Oh?” 

“He’s… good at what he does. Too good. He used to practice everyday. From 5:30 to 10 pm.”

“Just like you.” You smiled, rolling your head to face him as he spoke. You thought he was reminiscing but he looked… sad. 

“Sae never got hurt. He could practice for hours and not work up a sweat.”

“Yeah… he’s good. I watched a few of his matches with my cousins. They’re big fans.” You said, Rin turned, insistent eyes meeting yours. “What?”

“What do you think?” He asked, his eyes searching your face. You raised your brows.

“About what?” 

“Sae.” He said, there was sadness in his eyes. A deepness to his words that you didn’t understand. You pouted slightly in thought.

“Hm… I… I think he’s good? I honestly don’t know too much about him.” You responded. His eyes were expectant of something you were unsure of. “The girls in school like him.”

“Oh.. And you?” He asked a little too quickly to sound natural. Something clicked then. He was… jealous? No… no that couldn’t be it. 

“Honestly?” You asked as Rin immediately nodded his head, he really needed to know your answer. “Not a fan of red heads.” You shrugged, not exactly true, you had nothing against them but you couldn’t exactly say that Sae seemed like a stuck up prick. Or maybe you could because the genuine, albeit, small smile that spread across Rin’s face was surprising. He chuckled, it was a warm sound that filled your chest. 

“Is that so?” He murmured as you smiled, giggling. “What is your type then?”

“Hm…” You trailed off, pretending to think. “Blondes.” You teased and laughed when Rin’s smile turned into a small pout. “I’m joking… I don’t really have a- mhm!” His lips cut off your sentence, you hadn’t noticed how close you two had drifted as you spoke. You hadn’t thought about what the boy's lips felt like until this very moment as his lips pressed against yours, his hand sliding desperately on your face, thumb stroking your cheek as his hand rested on your jaw. At this very moment there wasn’t much going through your mind. It was confusing but warm, shocking but your insides were twisting and fluttering as the kiss deepened and his hand slid past your face into your hair. Your hand feebly gripping the front of his shirt as the front door cracked open. You jolted back away from Rin, wide eyed and blushing, the same expression reflected on Rin’s face.

“Honey, you home?” Your mom called out from the front entrance. 

“Yeah!” You called out shakily, forcing some room between you and Rin. “I’m in the living room… my-- my friend was hurt at the park so he’s here too.”

“He?” Your mom echoed as your heart felt right into your stomach. You pushed to your feet, rushing towards your mom. She gave you a strict look. “You have a boy over? Alone?”

“It’s not… like that. He-- Mom he sprained his ankle.” You explained as your mom raised her brow as if to say ‘so what?’.”Please… please don’t embarrass me. Nothing was happening.” You whispered back imploringly. Your Mom squinted her eyes as she pushed past you to the living room.Sure enough Rin sat there, the blush on his cheeks still apparent. You hoped she wouldn’t notice.

“Sorry, Miss… my brother’s on his way to pick me up. I’ll be out of your hair.” Rin answered. You lips parted in silent protest as your Mom huffed. 

“It’s fine. You sure you're okay?” She asked as you breathed out a sigh of relief. Rin nodded his head. 

When Sae showed up you helped Rin to the front door, you reached for the handle but Rin barely grabbed your hand, making you give pause. 

“I shouldn’t have kissed you… like that. I’m sorry.” He said, eyes on the floor. You pursed your lips, brows furrowing. 

“Like that? So you had another way planned?” You asked as his cheeks pinkened in an instant, even his ears turned red. 

“What? N-no.” He stuttered. Where was the cool, suave boy that hurt that girl in the hallway over a week ago? He was a blushing stuttering mess around you and had been like that since the parking lot.

“I’m just teasing.” You smiled, but he hadn’t let go of your hand and your mom had gone upstairs for bed and the way he was looking at you right now was the same way he looked at you earlier before planting one on you. You felt your heart speed and wondered if your face was gradually matching the same blush ratio as his. He looked away.

“There’s… a park closer to my house.” He stated.

“Hm?”

“God… this is embarrassing.” He sighed, swallowing and gently biting his bottom lip. “There’s a park closer to my house but I… like the park you go to better.”

“That’s… nice, Rin.” You said confusedly, not following this one bit. Rin sighed frustratedly. 

“I like it better because… because I get to see you. Only if it’s for half an hour.” You sucked in a breath.

Oh.

Oh.

He liked seeing you. If only for half an hour. He turned that girl down in the hallway because he liked seeing you. He caught your eyes in the hallway because you caught him staring without even realizing it. He kissed you. This entire time… Rin Itoshi had a fat… major crush on you and you were none the wiser. The poor boy probably wasn’t trying to be an asshole when you offered him help earlier he was probably embarrassed out of his mind, Then when you offered to take him home with you and he blushed like a schoolgirl. And just your company was fine? Yeah… it sure was fine. Probably more than fine. 

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” Rin asked and you felt bad because you had let him stew for a few probably long seconds as everything dawned on you. 

“You have a crush?”

“I… I--,” He stuttered, obviously embarrassed. “Yeah…” He sighed, resigned to his fate. “I do.”

“Wow. That’s… cute.” You laughed. His eyes snapped to yours, defensiveness in his posture.

“It is?” He questioned. 

“Yeah. It’s cute. I mean we… barely know each other. Today was probably the most we’ve spoken in the last three months.”

“I know…” He said, a sickeningly sad look on his handsome face. “I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have kissed you… I shouldn’t have-”

“Hush.” You chirped. “I didn’t say I didn’t like it.” That shut him right up. “I’m just saying… we don’t know each other that well… but I didn’t say it couldn’t change, did I?” You looked up at him and he nodded at your words.

“Practice with me.” He said suddenly.

“What?”

“When my ankle heals, I could teach you some soccer.”

“That’s how you're going to ask me out?” You asked, eyebrows raised in amusement.

“I think you’d be good at it.” He recovers slightly. “If you beat me in a game I’ll take you out.”

“You’ve got to be joking.” You laughed at his audacity. He’s the one who was crushing on you! And he wanted you to play for his affection?

“I am.” He smirked and Christ did that little action make your heart skip a beat.

~

You’d forgotten what it felt like to feel your heart in your throat, to feel it skip a beat. To feel butterflies in your stomach.

“Here,” You handed Rin his tea as he warmed by the fire. 

In hindsight seven months wasn’t the longest but he was your first relationship. Your first love. You knew after four months. Knew after he let you beat him in a practice match when you scored the final goal and he rushed to you, sweeping you off your feet and spinning you around until you were dizzy and giggling only sitting you back down to press and even more dizzying kisses to your lips. But after six months his practices were getting longer. Some nights he’d be out there until midnight. You had once found him passed out on the field after his mom had called you and asked you where he was. It scared the shit out of you. That was your first fight. He was consumed, not with soccer, but with being better than his brother. He’d lost sight of the game he loved and had twisted into a game of jealousy. He didn’t like hearing that from you. Didn’t like that you saw right through him. You drove him home that night and he didn’t speak to you for almost an entire day. A rock in the road that seemed insistent. You tried to move past it, you loved him. But when he missed your birthday dinner, where he was supposed to meet your entire family, you decided it was better to let him be. Let him do what he said he really loved to do. But really he was just running himself ragged in the pursuit of bettering himself to challenge his brother. You weren’t really the type to settle for second best and you wouldn’t let something like this grow out of control. You wouldn’t let yourself fall any deeper because then you’d just be lost. A lost fool chasing after another lost fool.

“Thank you.” Rin replied softly, his cold hands crushed yours as you passed the cup to him. He looked… different. Bigger, like he’d somehow grown another inch or so. His hair was a bit longer, his eyes tired as they stared into the fire. You almost reached out to him, almost ran your hand through his hair. It always calmed him before. But that wasn’t your thing anymore. He wasn’t yours to care about. “You leave monday?” He asked as you swallowed, taking a seat a foot or so away from him.

“Yeah. Mom’s dropping me off.” 

“That’ll be a mess.” He remarked. You almost laughed. He knew your mom, he knew she’d be a mess the entire drive to the airport. Just like she’d been for the past few months after you graduated. She was proud to say the least.

“Rin,” You sighed. “Why’re you here?”

“I didn’t come to mess things up further, if that’s what you're thinking.” He sipped his tea before setting it down.

“It’s too late for an apology.”

“It’s never too late.” He rejoined but you shook your head.

“In this case it is.” You sighed tiredly. “You can say what you want but… don’t expect anything.”

“I didn’t come here to make myself feel better. I came here for you.” He implored, his tone switching from tired and defeated to beseeching. “I… should’ve never gotten involved with you.”

“That is a horrible fucking apology.”

“Let me finish, Y/n.” He sighed, running a stressed hand through his hair. “I... I knew how insanely driven I was. I knew and I still chased after you. I shouldn’t have dragged you into my mess. I should’ve let you be but instead I was… I was selfish. I always have been when I came to things I wanted. And god… Y/n… I wanted you more than anything else.”

“Rin, come on. Let’s be truthful. You may have wanted me but not more than anything else. Not more than being better than Sae.” You cut in as Rin’s eyes darted away from yours. You thought about the few times you got into it with Rin’s older brother after Sae carelessly put him down. What a wasted effort. 

“I entered this competition, called Blue Lock.” Rin said suddenly. You sighed.

“I know. I heard. You mom still texts me.”

“I was top in the competition. I was picked to play against my brother. The games tomorrow.”

“You better not be asking me to come.”

“I dropped out.” You sucked in a breath, your brows immediately going up, your lips parted in surprise.

“You…what? You dropped out?”

“Uh huh.” He confirmed. “I joined Blue Lock to prove I was better than my brother but over time I found myself not really even thinking of him but… of you. I worked harder and harder to punish myself for losing you. I thought if I could make it to the end… be the best striker, win the trophy, that losing you wouldn’t have been for nothing. But I was only at my best when I had you. And I don’t mean my best on the field, I mean my best as a person.” Rin turns to you, he reaches for your hands and you let him take them. “I loved soccer once but I lost it. I never stopped loving you, not even for a second. You were never second, I was just an idiot. I’m not expecting you to forgive me because I don’t deserve it�� but I just had to let you know.”

“You just had to let me know.” You echo, sighing into your cup. “Seriously Rin, I despise you.” Rin’s eyes cut to you as you place your cup on the floor. He watches you closely, your words hurt him clearly. 

“I know… I’m sorry-”

“Hush.” You say, grabbing the front of his shirt and yanking him against your lips. He gasped against your lips, surprised but soon second hand nature set in and his hands were sliding over your hips and drawing you closer to him. He didn’t need an explanation, he'd settle for anything little scraps you’d give him. “I’m gonna need much more groveling by the way. You broke my heart.” 

“I beg on my hands and knees for your forgiveness.” He breathed out against your lips sending shivers down your spine.

“Go on then.” You encouraged and although he hated the idea of unlatching from your kiss he moved to his knees in front of you, gently taking your hand. He pressed a kiss to your knuckles.

“Please… please forgive me for being a massive fucking idiot.” He begged, voice soft like the fire glow that caressed his face. Your stomach twisted, it was a feeling you thought you’d never feel again. 

“If you hurt me again that’ll be the last time, Rin.” You caution as Rin swallows, nodding his head. He understood, but there wouldn’t be another time, he wouldn’t squander this chance. “It wouldn’t even be me that you’d have to worry about it’d be-”

“Your mom.” Rin shivers at the thought. You laugh at that and Rin almost sobs, he didn’t think he’d hear that ever again, let alone see that soft loving smile on your face. You stood suddenly, stretching. 

“Alright, let’s go.” You said as Rin blinked up at you in surprise. 

“What?”

“What? You think I’m just gonna let you throw away all your hard work? Fuck that.” You said, brushing past him as he pushes to his feet. 

“Y/n… What’re you-”

“The game. I’m not letting you drop out, Rin.” You said over your shoulder as you marched towards your room to get changed. You had a long drive ahead of you if you were going to get Rin to the stadium before tomorrow. Rin’s spending fingers wrapped around your wrist, stopping you. 

“I dropped out, baby, I can’t play.”

“Your team needs you. You can’t let them down.” You said as Rin’s face softened. “Plus,” You pulled him to you. “I wanna see you play.”

“You do?”

“Uh huh.”

“And what if I’m shit? What if we lose?”

“It won’t change a thing, Rin.” You say, bringing him down to meet your lips. 

“I love you.” He whispered against your lips as you smiled into the kiss. 

“I know. Now get in the damn car."

[saiintvalentiine]

Summary: In the aftermath of the 100 days in the End Barrens, Wato can't help but want Wifies's company. It's a double edged sword.

Notes: spoilers for wato's 100 days in the hardest minecraft biome!!!!!!! anyway. huh. wuh. i feel like i wrote this possessed. this is a rough and quick fic, using my partial voidwalker clonefies headcanon bc uhhhhh teehee it'd be funny???? definitely not a perfect work and i didnt explore everything id have liked to but i think it's fun. enjoy! divider

Wordcount: 3,165

Wato doesn’t usually spend all their time with others. Not that they’re antisocial, just that escape room planning and building can become an all encompassing set of tasks that pull them away from talking to people. It's involving, fulfilling, and sometimes a quiet, singular endeavor.

But Wifies is here.

He's been here all day, even, filling up Wato’s space, though he does so quietly. He sits across from them on the other side of their desk, writing notes over the plan for one of the rooms Wato is working on. He breathes evenly, though his breath hitches with frustration when things don't add up on paper, and he writes with an easy rhythm that Wato can just about tune out when they focus. He's wearing a black and white sweater, and his headband glints silver in the light, and he's real, and he's here, and he's been here all day because Wato asked, and he's never said no to them.

Wifies glances up. His eyes are a deep, dark violet that makes Wato's skin crawl. Their ears pin back before flicking back into place. He looks back down to his blueprints without comment.

He's so good to them. Wato knows that they've been staring a lot. Wifies takes it in stride, had laughed awkwardly at first before accepting that this was just how Wato was today.

“Is it turning out well?” Wato asks. The silence is getting to them.

“It is, just a couple things that I wish would work better,” he says with a sigh, tapping his pencil on the page. “Like here. I know that it's impossible, but I wish there was a way to guarantee a player left their wool behind, because carpets would be basically an ace for the next room. They'd barely have to puzzle solve if they have carpet.”

Wifies's voice has a kind of consistency that unnerved Wato once upon a time. It reminded them too much of the factory for a while. Now, it's the most comforting thing in the world, the perceived consistency actually crackling with emotion and variance, always soothing and never raised. Wifies is talking and Wato is listening. It's good.

“— and that's all I can think of doing right now, but adding a skulk sensor is kinda a whole different can of worms isn't it?”

Wifies rests his head on his fist, looking at his blueprints like they personally offended him.

“Maybe it's time for a break then. Tea?”

Wifies perks up and Wato laughs. Wato likes tea fine, though they really drink more coffee than anything, but they keep some of the good stuff around just for Wifies. They make their way out of Wato's office and Wifies is behind and his footsteps are muffled, despite Wato’s exceptional hearing. Wato keeps looking over their shoulder at him. He's there, of course, slightly shorter than Wato and not nearly as sleep deprived.

“Hi,” Wifies says as he catches Wato's eye, a little awkward, mostly sincere.

“Hi,” Wato says back. “I have a new tin of rosehip tea.”

Wifies makes a pleased sound, happy and high, though high for him is still pretty low. He loves his teas. Wato doesn't get rosehip, the flavor a bit bland and unlikable to them, but Wifies likes it well enough.

“Rosehip with jasmine is good, they give each other extra flavor and body,” Wifies says, reading Wato's mind as usual.

The kitchen is a small, tight, highly decorated space. Wifies navigates it effortlessly, just as easily as Wato can navigate his kitchen. They're intertwined like that. Easily, effortlessly. Wato measures out coffee grounds, sets his coffee machine up, loses track of Wifies in the noise of the kitchen.

“Wato, can you—”

Darkness, violet, the staticky scent of void and its magicks— Wato jumps, knocking over the sugar container in one fell swoop.

“Fuck,” they say eloquently.

“Sorry! I didn't mean to scare you, let me help.”

Wifies cleans up the sugar on the counter, rights the container, and refills it, all while Wato breathes through their initial panic. It was just— they know, they know they're home, they know the End Barrens are long gone, server deleted off the face of the universe, but for a moment, Wifies was just—

“Sorry,” Wifies says again quietly. “I noticed you were jumpy, I should've been more careful not to scare you.”

“No, it's— you're fine. It's fine.”

Wato shakes it off, or at least tries to. Wifies is looking at them the way he always does when he isn't sure what he's done wrong but knows for a fact something’s gone awry. He's surprisingly expressive when he wants to be, eyes round and warm and violet. God. Wato suppresses a flinch, tail lowering.

“Sorry,” Wifies says again.

Wato feels bad. They pat the top of Wifies's head (touch is like an ache, in a way, it's been so long since they've really been skin to skin with anyone, but Wifies's hand touched theirs as they exchanged blueprints and it almost hurt, so deprived of it that it's presence becomes painful) and revel in the springiness of his curls.

“I didn't mean to react so harshly, sorry.”

They finish making their tea and coffee in a spiderweb of thin silence. Wifies stays in their line of sight, leading on the trip back to the office and holding the door open. Wato appreciates it. They work until the sun sets and the daylight sensors activate the redstone lamps in Wato's ceiling.

“I should get going,” Wifies says, which Wato hates to hear. “I need to edit some footage, see if I can get some work done. But, uh, I'll be back tomorrow?”

The way his voice lilts is soft, hesitant. Wato would prefer to not be away from him at all. How could they even explain it? Hey, I was so lonely I imagined you, and now I can't stop myself from wanting your presence to know that you're real and I'm free. And also I missed you. Also your voidwalker traits set me off. Wato hasn't even told him anything about the challenge! Wifies didn't ask. Wato had messaged him, please help me with blueprints?, and Wifies had come with a single minded determination to do so.

Wato thinks maybe that's why it was Wifies and not anyone else. Wifies is kind, thoughtful, always holding his hand out for someone to take. He helps. Even back in the factory, the little Wato remembers of it, the clones were meek things that always wanted to know what Wato was doing, if they could help. Wato could never respond, the mask uninterested in such mindless puppets, but they remember the feeling of it.

It always felt good. Felt like being seen.

“Uh, sure, yeah,” Wato drums their fingers on the desk. “Yeah, bright and early. Or whenever you can I guess. I would— I'd really appreciate it.”

“Of course. Bright and early.”

Wifies smiles. He still leaves, and it still sets Wato’s stomach rolling, but Wato spent most of a hundred days alone, and one more day won't kill them. It won't. The isolation had tried and failed.

At least they can sleep here. Their petal pink bed has never been so enticing a sight. They keep the lights on in their room these days, daylight sensors connected to every room through newly opened redstone channels in the roof and walls. The dark is— it's not good, uncomfortable, they don't want to say the word that comes to mind at first.

Wato pops blocks into a jukebox. It's the longest disc they have and it fills the room with whimsy as they lay in bed and try to sleep. It's kind of hard, sleeping with noise and light, but it's more comforting than it is difficult.

They don't dream.

Wato couldn't be any more grateful for that as dawn cracks the sky open and the redstone lamps shut off. They’re sure that the morning will pass like a blur until Wifies arrives, routine deeper than bone taking over, but there’s a knock at the door as they’re eating. When Wato opens it, it’s Wifies. The morning light makes him golden, but only just; he’s so pale and dark that gold doesn’t work right on him.

“Bright and early,” Wifies says after a beat of silence.

“You took that so literally,” Wato says, opening the door wider and waving Wifies in.

Wifies walks in and he jingles. It’s the strangest thing. Wato looks down and sees a glint of silver on his boots. Wifies notices of course, and he kicks up a heel. Hanging off the loop at the back of his boot is a silver hoop decorated with a colorful feather charm that rattles against the hoop every time he moves.

“Parrot got them for me,” Wifies says, lifting up his pant leg so it’s more visible. “They come in pairs, but I took the other one off and put a different charm on it.”

He shows off the other boot, and Wato sees that the hoop has a black and white yin-yang charm instead.

“You’re so predictable,” Wato says with a snort, closing the door behind them.

“I like having a brand.”

“Yeah yeah, c’mon.”

The irregular weight of each charm makes them reasonably noisy as Wifies walks, makes it easy for Wato to keep track of him with a flicked ear, and they don’t want to ask why he’s suddenly started wearing them.

Their day goes the same as yesterday— time spent at Wato’s desk, scratching through blueprints and discussing different solutions. Soon it’d reach the point where they’d have to start building to fully work out any kinks and get it running.

“You think Ken is gonna break it?” Wifies asks at one point. He’s chewing on the end of his pen— his pen, because Wato banned him from using their pens after he popped one with his teeth a few months ago— and he’s not looking at Wato.

He knows he’s done something wrong. Or, he thinks he knows he’s done something wrong. He’s dodgy the way a dog might be, still committing the crime but looking preemptively apologetic about it.

“Ken. . . I’m not sure if I’m gonna ask Ken to do anything for a while,” Wato says carefully. It’s not like they want to string Wifies between them like a knot. “The 100 days. . . Ken left me alone before the first quarter was even done. So I’m not really in the mood to share with them right now.”

Wifies stops chewing on his pen long enough to say, “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Wifies doesn't continue to chew on his pen.

“So you finished 100 days by yourself?”

“I did.”

“Must’ve been hard.”

He means it too. He's not placating or trying to push the conversation, he means it, he knows what the End Barrens are like and he means it.

“It was.”

“Was there— like, what even spawned?”

“No structures or anything. Just. . . a lot of Endermen. Lots and lots of Endermen. Wandering traders, pillager patrols, that kind of thing. Um, underground there was some copper and iron too actually. They generated with blobs of granite and such.”

Wifies nods along, hums at the right times, but he's looking at the blueprints again and not at Wato.

“Must've been really, really hard. How'd you get to the Nether then?”

“Y'know how like— how wandering traders will turn invisible at night? And then in the morning they drink milk? I killed one just as they drank the milk and it dropped the bucket, and I used that to create a Nether portal. I had to haul lava over and over again to spawn, it was so tedious. And then the pillager patrols, the ominous banner they drop? I used that and some lava to light the portal.”

“And from there it was probably easier.”

Probably. The Nether had so many more resources to use. But the lava had been too lustrous and the days too long and Wato had stepped right off that cliff and ended it all.

“Yeah,” they say with a shrug. “Now I just kinda wanna focus on escape rooms again though. These are easy for me at least.”

“It's coming together real nice,” Wifies says. He's back to chewing on his pen.

“We can probably start building it tomorrow. I'm pretty sure we're almost done.”

There's a cracking noise and black ink splatters all over Wifies's mouth and clothes. He curses, and Wato scrambles for some tissues, the acrid scent of ink filling the air. They hand the tissues over, and Wifies presses them to his mouth. Wato finds a trash can and comes around to dump the popped pen into it. Thankfully, the now ruined blueprint Wifies was working on is one Wato has duplicates of, so they dump it out too.

Wifies keeps the tissues to his mouth though, and Wato gets concerned.

“Let me see,” Wato insists, placing the trash can down and turning Wifies's chair so they're facing each other.

Wifies glances up, his eyes are so violet, and then back down. The black ink stains right through the tissues, looks bloody despite the fact it's too dark to be blood.

Endermen don't bleed. Wato hadn't really realized it before the 100 days began, but Endermen don't bleed. They collapse into a dry pile of crackling scales and bones and eyes before poofing out of existence. Despite that, enderpearls are always a little slick with something like blood when first picked up; it's thin, periwinkle, and so quick to evaporate that you almost never get to feel it once you pick the pearl up. Wato had plenty of time to get acquainted with it, though.

“ ‘s okay,” Wifies struggles to talk, clearly holding his mouth open under the tissues so as to not swallow ink. “I just gotta clean up.”

Wifies stands up in a single jagged jerk, and Wato has to scramble back to not get hit by him. He leaves so quickly that Wato is shocked.

“Did you get hurt?” Wato calls out after him, shuffling to the doorway to peer down the hall where Wifies presumably ran off to the bathroom.

Wato waits and waits, but Wifies doesn't respond. Maybe he's just embarrassed? Wato hesitates for a moment longer before making their way to the bathroom. The door is shut. They knock.

“Wifies?”

“I'm good!” Wifies calls out, opening the door and peeking around it. “I'm okay, sorry for scaring you. The— I think a piece of the plastic split my lip, but it's all healed now.”

He's managed to get the ink off his face, and there are wet spots on his gray sweatshirt where the ink has stained it. There's a smudge of wine colored blood left on his upper lip though. It has a blue undertone, much cooler looking than Wato's own. Another reminder of the fact Wifies was made with void.

“Looks like you missed a spot,” Wato says, and Wifies turns back to wash his mouth again.

Does the water sting? Not everything from the End is allergic to water, and Wifies isn't explicitly spliced together with Enderman genetics. The cloning process was a mix of different things— technology, genetics, magic, there was even skulk involved at one point. Each clone was, ironically, unique in how it was made, no formula working the same twice in a row. This Wifies smells like void and the pseudo-citrus of chorus fruit, sees better in the dark, breathes out plumes of frozen breath when he's upset and can't always keep eye contact when angry.

Why did Wato cling to him so strongly?

Wifies turns around again, wiping at his mouth. They lock eyes and Wifies looks away. 

“Did I get it?”

“Why won't you look at me?”

Wifies startles, eyes wide as he forces himself to stare at Wato.

“What?”

“You’re avoiding looking at me. Why?”

“I'm not.”

“I'm not— you are, Wifies.”

“I,” Wifies looks away again. “You look. . . unhappy when I look at you. So I don't want to.”

It's easy to cling to Wifies. Gentle voiced Wifies who wants to be liked more than anything, facing Wato’s unconscious ire and not saying a word. Of course it had to be Wifies, because who else would put up with any of Wato's unsure madness? Who else would avoid Wato's gaze and put— put what are basically catbells on their boots just because Wato’s scared?

And that's the word, isn't it? Scared. Wato's scared. Now that it's over, now that the walls of their prison have fallen, they're scared of going back, of being alone, of fucking Endermen ruining their shit.

But really, they're not scared of Wifies. Hugging him is easy. 

“I'm sorry,” Wato says.

Wifies clams up. He barely hugs back. Contact burns, touch feels heavy, foreign, an unknown country that Wato only remembers as a blur.

“It's okay.”

“When I was almost done with the challenge, I imagined you being there,” Wato confesses. Wifies makes a strange, clicky noise. “I showed you around the world, and you listened to me, and told me little facts, and asked me questions. I was so alone, and I had to imagine you there. I've never wanted anything more than to just see you again.”

Wifies holds onto them in earnest now, tight and warm. There's nothing truly void-cold about him; he may run cool, but it’s nothing Wato can't help with.

“I missed you. The Endermen couldn't even compare.”

“But I remind you of them,” Wifies murmurs. “Not forever, but for now, I remind you of them.”

Wato imagines Wifies pulling away. They imagine him insisting that he doesn’t want to startle Wato so much, that maybe he should leave. Wato shudders at the thought.

“Please don't leave,” Wato's voice cracks, and now Wifies is holding them as they slump further into his body. It’s such a selfish request, and they know Wifies won’t say no, but they can’t stop themself from asking anyway. “Please. I'm sorry, I know I can't be pleasant to be around right now, but please don't leave me again.”

“I won't,” Wifies says. “I won't, you don't have to be alone.”

They don't want to cry. It would be— they didn't cry in those 100 days, even when they thought there was nothing left to give but tears. But Wifies is real, and here, and he's holding them so tightly that he has to be real, and for the first time since Wato got out of that wretched, rotting house of a world, they weep openly into a shoulder that won't leave.

Wifies doesn't say much. He's not the best with these kinds of strong emotions. But he hugs Wato, and hums a tune into their ear, and lets them ruin his sweatshirt even more, and it's more than Wato has had in over a hundred days.

Wato let's themself have this. Have Wifies. It feels good to have someone stay.

[katyswrites]

don't call me 'baby'

PART 10 | SERIES

Pairing: Steve Harrington/fem!reader

Warnings: Sugardaddy!Steve, SMUT (18+), angst, mentions of pregnancy/a pregnancy scare, mentions of food and alcohol, unprotected p in v, daddy kink, oral sex (f receiving), creampie, ddlg dynamics, swearing, alcohol use, smoking, age gap, no use of y/n

Wordcount: 10.4K

A sugar daddy modern AU, a whirlwind summer romance in Italy, and two people from completely different walks of life, somehow finding each other in one of the most beautiful cities in the world. But, what will happen when summer ends?

PART 10 | meet me in the afterglow

FOUR MONTHS LATER

Your walk to work was chilly enough to warrant a coat. That was perhaps the thing you missed least about home in the U.S. - even though the winters certainly got cold here, it was nowhere near the sub-zero temperatures you had grown up with during the coldest time of year. Maybe the only thing you missed was snow - in all of your time living here, you had only gotten a brief dusting once, and it had melted by the following day.

Still, a week out from Christmas, you now needed to wrap something warm around yourself as you walked down the street, heading closer to the city center as your shift was due to start. 

You were technically two minutes late to your shift, the coffee shop busy enough to have a line going out the door when you arrived. Yet, your manager Francesco said nothing - a small spark of joy in your day. 

You didn’t necessarily need to go back to work - Steve’s money had yet to run out. But, you felt good about earning your own money - and, the less you had to draw on his remaining funds, the less you had to think about him.

You hadn’t seen or spoken to Steve since the night of your argument. Well, that was only partially true - you had received one piece of communication from him. It came a few days later - you had been moping in your apartment, having barely left your room for days, when an envelope arrived. It had his familiar writing and wax seal, with another wad of cash and a letter made out to you:

I promise this is the last you’ll hear from me. I am a man of my word, so I promise to help provide for you until you’re finished with school. I’ll be transferring enough money to your account to cover all of your expenses, so no need to worry about your rent, food, anything of the sort… I really do want you to be able to focus on school, okay? So, please don’t protest, or try to send the money back. Please feel free to use the credit card if you need to. 

I’m sorry it ended this way. We both knew it was going to, but I apologize if I said anything out of line the other night. I truly do wish you the best. 

Take care,

Steve

Reading it had been a punch to the gut. The formality of it, the finality of it… you would’ve rather that you never heard from him again. You had stashed the letter in a box under your bed, and not looked at it since.

A few weeks after that, you had pregnancy scare. It was silly, really - but, your period was late, and if was the first conclusion your mind had jumped to. You had called Robin in a panic, begging her to come home - she did, with four different brands of pregnancy tests. Those 15 minutes of waiting for results were the most agonizing of your life - then, upon seeing them all negative, you fell to your knees and burst into tears.

“It’s okay,” Robin had cooed, rubbing soothing circles on your back. “You’re good it was a false alarm - you’re probably just late because of stress -”

“I know,” you sobbed. “I just -”

“What is it?”

You then had sat up, chest heaving as you sobbed.

“He’s really gone isn’t he?”

Robin held you in her arms that night as you cried yourself to sleep.

To your knowledge now, he had gone back to the U.S. - was he still in Chicago? Or, did he go back to New York? You realized it was better for you to not ask these questions, or to think of him at all. As the weeks had turned into months, you found yourself thinking of him a little less each day - but you still thought of him. You saw him in the passersby as you walked down the street, in every car window, in every businessman walking through the door to order a coffee. Sometimes, you’d hear a laugh, or get a brief whiff of cigarette smoke, and swear it was him. But it never was - it never would be again.

The days had dragged on, but luckily, you often found yourself too busy to dwell too much on thoughts of Steve. Between work and school, your plate was pretty full. With graduation in mere weeks, you had spent the entire term studying and working on your thesis. Steve’s remaining money, at least, allowed you to work far less hours than you had before - a small blessing, you supposed. 

The day was moving pretty quickly, the morning rush busy enough that two hours flew by without much notice. It was only during the afternoon lull that you found yourself able to look up from the espresso machine - only to lock eyes with a familiar face through the window.

Eddie smiled back at you, waving. You couldn’t help but grin, and beckoned him to come inside. He bounded through the glass doors, bursting into the coffee shop with the infectious, chaotic energy he always carries with him.

“Bella, how are you?” he asked, leaning over the counter with a big grin.

“I’m okay,” you said, shrugging.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Just okay?”

“Oh well - you know, a bit stressed with the end of term and all. But, that’ll all be over soon.”

“I’m almost done, too - just finishing up my exams, all of that nonsense.”

“Do you have someone for your thesis?”

You nodded. “Professor Hopper - he’s always had a soft spot for me,” you said, smiling fondly, thinking of the seemingly-gruff. 

“I have Clarke - I don’t actually know how much he knows about photography, he teaches chemistry for godsake, but apparently it’s a hobby or something, so he’ll sign off on whatever I do,” Eddie said, laughing.

“Oh! I forgot to tell you - I actually have my own studio space now.”

“What? Eddie, that’s amazing!”

He grinned. “Thanks - I mean, I’m still technically freelance, but I’m hoping once I’m fully graduated more work will start coming in. But for now, I don’t mind having some spare time to practice with the band.”

You did your best to stop yourself from rolling your eyes.

“Right - don’t forget me when you make it as a big rockstar, Eddie.”

He let out a hearty laugh at that, the infectious kind that had you joining in - you hadn’t laughed like that in quite some time.

“You know, you should come by later to check it out,” Eddie said. “I mean, if you want -”

You thought for a moment, then nodded.

“Sure, why not - I get off in about a half hour -”

“Perfect,” he cried, clapping his hands together. “I’ll just wait around then - and, uh, can I get an espresso? Since I’m already here and all.”

You rolled your eyes, fighting a smile.

“Yeah, sure thing Munson - I’ll take my sweet time with it, just for you.”

The end of your shift flew by, and soon enough you were pulling off your apron, linking your arm in Eddie’s as he led you out the door and through the city.

The studio, as it turned out, was only a few blocks away. The space was small, but nice - a big glass storefront allowed plenty of light in, even with the fading sun, indicative of the short days of winter. Some of Eddie’s work hung framed on the walls - city scenes, candids of people on the street, bands in action at his favorite club… and even a few of you, from the project you posed for a few years ago.

“Wow - this is amazing, Eddie!” you exclaimed, glancing around the studio with genuine pride for your friend. You knew this was always the goal for him, what he always wanted to do.

“Grazie mille,” he said, beaming. 

“Do you have anything lined up?”

He nodded.

“Some - nothing too interesting. A few weddings, graduation photoshoots, things like that. Oh, do you want to see the photo lab?”

You let him lead the way into the back room, passing through a dimly-lit room with machines and equipment that you were sure you had no idea how to use. Newly developed photos were hanging around on clothespins, or spread across the table in the middle.

“Back there is the darkroom,” Eddie said, gesturing to a small door on the other side of the room. “But yeah, this is where the magic happens.”

“You develop all your pictures this way?” you asked, examining a few laid across the table.

He shook his head. “Not exactly - only the stuff I shoot on film. A lot of what I do is digital, and I edit that on my computer but… I really do love shooting film. I only really do that for specific things. Oh, which reminds me!”

He turned his back to you, rummaging through a filing cabinet until he produced a large manila envelope, extending it to you. You furrowed your brow, confused. You turned it to examine it properly - the only thing written on it was your name and a date, in Eddie’s telltale scrawl.

“What -”

“It’s those pictures I owe you, from your birthday party - sorry, it took me a while to get around to developing them.”

Oh. 

“Oh,” you said quietly, gripping the envelope a bit tighter. “Uh, thanks - that was really nice of you, Eddie.”

You were still staring down at the parcel in your hands, your hands shaking a bit - you had completely forgotten that Eddie had been taking pictures all night. Most likely because you had been a bit distracted at the time. But now…

“I think they turned out pretty nice, if you ask me,” Eddie said. “But, you can be the judge of that yourself.”

You pressed your mouth into a tight line, nearly feigning a smile as you finally met his eyes again. He was looking back expectantly, and you realized he wanted you to look at them now. 

“Oh, yeah,” you mumbled. “I guess I’ll just -”

You opened it up, sliding out the stack of photos - they were slightly bigger than the ones you had seen from a digital camera, on a beautiful matte paper that you knew must have not been cheap. This, you realized, was Eddie’s belated birthday gift to you.

You thumbed through the pictures - the first few were just candids of your friends on the dancefloor, or deep in conversation around the bar. There were a few of you and Robin, arms thrown around each other and smiling ear-to-ear.

There were quite a few solo shots of you, raising a glass to the camera, mid-laugh, or dancing - somehow, he had made it look like you truly were the center of attention, as if to tell people this is who we were there for! 

You couldn’t help but smile to yourself, laughing quietly at a few of the shots, including one of Robin flipping off the camera as she kisses Vickie. Then, your smile dropped, because there he was.

Steve, looking as handsome as you remembered, but somehow also a stranger, or like a figment of your imagination. Somehow, a small part of your subconscious had convinced you over the last few months that perhaps he wasn’t real, a true figment of your imagination that had been too good to be true. But there he was, large as life, his arm wrapped around you as you smiled into the camera. You were smiling in his arms, a girl completely unrecognizable in some ways. In another photo, he’s pressing a kiss to your cheek as you laugh - you remembered that one being taken, that’s for sure. You gently trailed your fingers across the picture, as if you were hoping to reach in and pull that happy girl out, just to shake a bit of sense into her. You didn’t even realize you were crying until a fat wet teardrop his the page, rolling down and off the edge.

“Whoa - are you alright?” Eddie asked, his voice tinged with worry.

You jumped, having nearly forgotten that he was there at all. How long had you been staring at the pictures of Steve? For a few minutes, or hours? There was no way to know.

“Yeah, I’m good,” you said, the thickness in your voice betraying you. You pressed the heels of your hands under your eyes, willing the gentle tears to stop, sniffling.

“What’s wrong?” Eddie asked softly.

You laughed dryly, more hot tears welling up as you did.

“Nothing! I - they’re beautiful, Eddie. Really - thank you. You - you’ve really got a talent.”

Your voice wobbled a bit at the end, and you sniffled.

“I’m sorry, I - it’s nothing to do with you,” you assured him. “I just - I’ve been having a hard time lately.”

Eddie cocked his head, confused. Then, his eyes flitted down to the picture in your hands.

“Oh - I’m sorry, I - is this about him?” Eddie asked quietly, gesturing to the photos. You just nodded, avoiding his gaze again as you stuffed them back into the envelope.

“I didn’t know you two had broken up, I’m sorry -”

“We didn’t break up!” you snapped, harsher than intended. “Fuck, I - sorry, that came out wrong. We didn’t break up, because we were never exactly together. It’s just complicated.”

Eddie furrowed his brow. “Yeah, okay - well, I’m sorry to hear about your not-breakup. I guess I’m just a little surprised.”

“Why’s that?” you asked.

He shrugged. “I spent a long time looking at all of those when I was developing them - you know how they say pictures tell a thousand words?”

You nodded.

“Well - I take pictures of a lot of couples - weddings, engagement shoots, all of that… and I’ve never seen two people more in love than you two.”

You felt your chest tighten - maybe you were being a lovesick idiot at your party, but Steve?

You shook your head. “No - Eddie, it… it wasn’t like that. I can promise you that.”

Steve made that perfectly clear.

Eddie shrugged again. “I’m just telling you what I observed, that’s all.”

“Well maybe you should mind your business,” you grumbled.

Fuck. You shouldn’t have said that.

Eddie’s face fell a bit, and he slowly took a step back, hands shoved in his pockets.

“My apologies,” he whispered. He was hurt, that much was obvious. You mentally kicked yourself.

“No Eddie - I’m sorry, I didn’t -” 

You sighed, frustrated.

“Things have been, like, really weird the last few months and… it doesn’t matter.”

“I could tell,” he said, voice quiet. “You’ve been.. Distant.”

You nodded, the awkwardness filling the space between you two. You had fucked this up too, somehow.

“So,” you said, clearing your throat. “Uh, it’s getting late, and dark… I probably should head home.”

“Yeah, okay - good idea, I have some stuff to work on anyway.”

You both nodded, avoiding eye contact as you both headed out back into the studio.

It wasn’t until you were at the door that you turned to face Eddie again.

“The place really is beautiful… I’m proud of you,” you said sincerely. He offered a small smile in return.

“Thanks.”

“I also - the pictures are beautiful. Thank you for these, I - they’re great.”

“I’m sorry if they -”

“Don’t apologize,” you said firmly. “They’re great - you’ve really got a gift, you know.”

You could tell Eddie was fighting a real smile, a small win in your book.

“C’mon, you know my ego’s just fine on its own.”

You laughed, and without thinking, pulled him into a tight hug.

“I’m sorry I lost it a little earlier,” you whispered.

“It’s alright,” he said, pulling away. “Heartbreak is funny like that.”

You decided not to bother protesting his assessment this time, too tired to start a fight again just to feel something.

“Right, okay.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to take out the photos with… him?” Eddie asked, gesturing down to the envelope.

“No, that’s alright - I’m a big girl, I can go through them. I’m definitely going to hang a few of these up though, so thanks again.”

“Take good care of yourself darling, alright? And come by any time - for any reason.”

It was an olive branch, an assurance that things were okay. You forced a smile, nodding.

“Thanks, Eddie - you’re a great friend, you know.”

You bid your farewells, and left the studio with a strange feeling settling within you. You pulled your coat a little tighter around you, stuffing the envelope underneath as you charged through the chilly evening air to the nearest bus stop.

You didn’t get home until nearly 6pm, the winter sky fully dark by then. By the time you walked a few blocks and up the stairs to your apartment, your face was stinging from the cold, the wind picking up more since that afternoon.

Robin was on the couch, a rerun of Friends playing on the TV.

“Hey! You’re back kind of late,” she remarked.

“Yeah - I ran into Eddie, funnily enough,” you replied, hoping you sounded nonchalant.

“Oh really? How is he? I miss him - we should really make a plan to hang out with him soon -”

“Yeah, for sure,” you said, kicking off your shoes and hanging your coat on the rack. “He’s good - I saw his new studio, it’s nice.”

“Oh, no way! That’s great - I need to go sometime -”

“Yeah, totally,” you said, absentminded. “Uh, I’ve got some stuff to do, but I’ll be out here later -”

“Maybe we can get takeout or something -”

“Yeah, perfect -” you tittered, closing your bedroom door behind you, eyes on the envelope in your hands.

You bit your lip, debating what to do. Part of you considered finding all of the pictures of Steve, and burning them. But, that felt a bit dramatic. You pulled out the stack again, sifting through until you found the shots of him. You couldn’t help but smile, looking at how happy the girl in the photos was - if only she knew how quickly things would fall apart that night. The photo of Steve kissing you cheek was your favorite - it was just full of pure, unbridled joy. The one after that was the one you stared at for quite some time, though. You were looking into the camera, grinning widely. Steve, however, wasn’t - no, he was looking at you. You stared at him for quite some time - and remembered Eddie’s words.

I’ve never seen two people more in love than you two.

You had thought it was crazy - but, in the picture, Steve was looking at you like you’d hung the stars. Like, if he didn’t have you, he’d be lost. He was looking at you with eyes full of love - you just hadn’t been looking.

You gasped, realizing what Eddie had seen that you couldn’t - maybe everything had meant more to Steve than he had let on. No, that was crazy - wasn’t it?

What happened next didn’t have much explanation - it was probably crazy. You found yourself Googling Steve’s company headquarters in Chicago - it couldn’t be this easy, could it? But it was.

A quick call through the directory brought you to his secretary, a bubbly woman who was more than happy to help. You pretended to be the secretary of a business partner you had remembered Steve mentioning, saying how you wanted to send a thank-you gift - it had been too easy to get his home address, really. And, a confirmation that he was back in Chicago.

The next morning, you sent out an envelope, sticking on international postage. You debated not putting your name on the return address, but ultimately decided to include it - he’d recognize the address anyway. When you dropped it at the post office, you walked away feeling a sense of relief - and, perhaps, just a bit unhinged. TIme would tell if anything came of it. But, at the very least, it felt like finally closing the chapter of your life that had been defined by Steve Harrington. And, that was a good thing… right?

********

The day before Christmas Eve, you received great news: confirmation that you had passed all of your exams, your thesis receiving glowing feedback from the professors in your department. Your degree, which studied Art History and Travel and Tourism Management, meant that you would actually be able to stay here - you hoped to work in tourism in some way right here in Rome, or perhaps work in one of the city’s many museums - being bilingual would help, and more importantly, it meant you never had to set foot back in the United States again, if you didn’t want.

Christmas brought its usual cheer and celebration, complete with mulled wine and a potluck dinner you and Robin held for some of the other foreign students you were friendly with, knowing they didn’t have families to go to for the holidays. Your graduation only brought extra festivities, including a speech prepared by Robin given as a toast at dinner, saying how proud she was of you (and, how jealous she was that you didn’t have to worry about schoolwork anymore). It was silly yet sincere enough to make you tear up and pull her into a big hug. Eddie and Jonathan even swung by for a bit, joining in on the celebration until the wee hours of the morning. Robin and Vickie were all over each otherYou ate and drank to your heart’s content before stumbling to bed, leaving cleanup in the kitchen for the morning.

The morning of Boxing Day, it turned out, was actually the afternoon, with you and Robin oversleeping. You, to your own relief, felt tired, but not too hungover - the same couldn’t be said for Robin and Vickie, who stumbled into the kitchen with grimaces on their faces and grumbles as a greeting.

You spent most of the day cleaning up from the last two days’ festivities, washing dishes and clearing away wrapping paper, wiping countertops and vacuuming just enough until your home felt semi-in order. 

You were still in your pajamas as it was getting dark again in the evening, a rarity these days. When Robin said she was heading out to dinner with Vickie and likely would be staying at her place that night, you bid her farewell, looking forward to some time alone to fully relax and unwind. 

It was several hours later, after scrounging together a dinner of Christmas leftovers and half-dozing on the couch while a movie played, that your doorbell rang. You sat up with a start, your heart jumping at the unexpected intrusion. You stumbled to the door, grumbling about who could possibly be here at this hour - maybe Robin decided to come back after all, and got locked out again? You were ready to playfully ridicule her when you opened the door. But when you saw who was standing on the other side, you froze.

Steve Harrington was there on your doorstep, barely illuminated in the dim light. His chest was heaving, his hair just a bit disheveled. His eyes widened when he saw you, and you imagined you did the same. Your heart plummeted to your stomach at the sight of him, so real and alive in front of you. Were you dreaming? Was this some sick prank?

Neither of you said anything for a moment, two mouths hanging open, searching for the words.

“It’s Christmas,” you blurted out, the first words you’ve said to him in over four months.

“It’s December 26th,” he replied, simply and casually.

“I - well, it’s still a holiday, kind of.”

“Yeah, I know - do you know how hard it is to catch a last-minute flight on Christmas?”

You just stood there in the doorway, unable to think of anything else to say - what the fuck?

“What are you doing here?” you asked, words biting. You were lashing out a bit, but you didn’t care - this moment right now reminded you of a similar one over the summer, when he came to your doorstep to explain how he wasn’t engaged. What was his excuse now?

“Why did you send me this?” he asked, holding up a familiar envelope - the photo.

Why did you? You weren’t certain of that answer yourself. So, you went with the first explanation that came to your head.

“It’s a good picture of you,” you said quietly.

He rolled his eyes.

“Do not - I don’t hear from you for months, then I get this in the mail - on Christmas Eve, mind you -”

“I’m sorry, were you supposed to hear from me?”

“I don’t know!” he cried. “Maybe?”

You scoffed. “You can’t be serious - you made it very clear that you never wanted to see me again.”

“I - what?”

“I wish you well? Take care? We ended things, Steve - what else was I meant to think?”

He sighed, his shoulders sagging.

“I don’t know. I guess part of me - it doesn’t matter. But, what am I supposed to make of this?” he asks, waving the envelope.

“I - Eddie gave me a bunch of pictures he took at my birthday party… I thought maybe you’d want that one.”

He took a tentative step closer towards you, gauging your reaction. You held your ground, not breaking eye contact.

“Is that the only reason?” he asked, voice low.

You felt your heartbeat quicken, your palms clammy - he really was just so handsome. Still, there was something so boyish about him, something that reminded you of why you fell for him in the first place. He had cut his hair a bit, his summer tan faded - and he looked tired. Then again, you probably did too - you suddenly became conscious of the fact that you were in your pajamas, still looking like you had just woken up - you wished you could disappear, never to be perceived again.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “The only reason.”

He was close enough now that you could see his Adam’s Apple bob as he gulped, his eyes glancing up and down your form as he took a deep breath.

“Tell me that, when you sent this, there wasn’t at least a small part of you that hoped I’d respond - that, when you sent this, you hoped I’d call, or show up here. If there wasn’t, I’ll walk away right now, and you’ll never have to see me again.”

There it was - everything laid out on the table. So much was still unsaid - but, it was obvious that he also had been hurting the last few months, that he didn’t want this to end, maybe even nearly as much as you did. 

“You really flew all the way here because I sent you a photo?” you whispered.

He nodded. “Of course I did.”

“You realize how crazy that is, right?”

He chuckled dryly.

“Well, they do say it makes you do crazy things.”

“...it?” you asked, voice wavering.

He nodded.

Oh.

“Come inside,” you murmured. “It’s pretty cold out there.”

As soon as the door was shut behind him, he began spiraling into a new explanation.

“I hope you know that I didn’t come here just to - you’re right, it is kind of crazy, but I didn’t know what else to do, after everything that happened -”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” you said, cutting him off. “I don’t want to talk at all.”

You both stood there for a moment, eyes locked on eachother. Then, as if reading each other’s minds, you both moved at once - you crashed your lips into his, fast and desperate. He sighed against your lips, pulling you close as his tongue slipped into your mouth. 

You felt like crying - you had missed him so much, more than you had realized - his voice, his warmth, his scent - it brought everything flooding back, the feelings you had buried in an attempt at self-preservation. But now, as you kissed him, you felt the tears well up, stinging your eyes as they rolled down your face, hot and fast.

“Whoa - baby, it’s okay - what’s wrong -”

Baby. 

“Nothing,” you cried, wiping the tears away. “I just - I really fucking missed you.”

You felt stupid to admit it, but then again, didn’t he come close to confessing that himself just a few moments ago?

“I know, I know, baby - you have no fuckin’ idea -”

Another kiss, passionate and apologetic.

“I didn’t mean any of what I said that night,” you gasped, pulling him closer. “I was just so scared -”

“I know, me too, baby - m’sorry -”

Baby. Babybabybaby.

He was holding your face between his hands now, backing you up until you were pressed against the wall, his lips finding yours again. He titled his head down to nuzzle at your throat, pressing his lips to the sensitive skin there. You tipped your head back, giving him full access to do as he pleased. He kissed and nipped at your neck, until you were moaning and crying out his name, pulling at his coat until it fell off of his shoulders. You twisted your hands in his button-down, his hands squeezing tighter on your waist in response.

“Fuck, Steve,” you breathed. “I’m sorry -”

“Stop with that,” he said, firmly taking your face in his hands again, catching your lips in another gentle kiss. “You’re right, I just realy don’t want to talk anymore -”

Then he was kissing you again, swallowing your noises as you whined his name, fingers gripping his hair.

“Bedroom, now,” you told him. “Please -”

“Yeah, okay.”

He couldn’t keep his hands off of you, both of you stumbling down the small hallway and into your bedroom, Steve slamming the door closed behind him with his foot.

“No Robin?” he asked, lips finding your neck again.

“No - ah! She’s at Vickie’s tonight -”

“Thank Christ,” he growled. “I don’t know how quiet I’m capable of being right now.”

He was apparently as desperate as you were, lips finding yours hungrily as he pulled your oversized t-shirt over your head, eyes practically rolling to the back of his head when he saw your breasts.

“No bra?” he asked.

“I was lounging around, until you showed up -”

“Thank god,” he practically snarled, his hands finding the small of your back to pull you close.

You reached between yourselves, unbuttoning his shirt, fingers slipping as they shook with anticipation. He reached down to help you, until he eventually shrugged the shirt off. You wrapped your arms around him, pressing your bare chest to his, nearly crying again from the contact.

“I really missed you,” he whispered, a man ruined. “I never thought I’d be able to have you like this again -”

“None of that,” you murmured, pressing a finger to his lips. “It’s alright.”

You just stared at him, running your hands down his chest as you took a deep breath.

“I need to tell you something.”

“What is it?” he asked, face flickering with concern. “Oh god, are - are you seeing someone else? I didn’t even ask -”

“No! No, nothing like that,” you assured, biting your lip. “I just - do you remember the night of my birthday on our trip, on the rooftop?”

He nodded. “That was a really nice night.”

“I haven’t been totally honest with you,” you admitted, heart racing as you were ready to lay out the thing you had been terrified to admit aloud.

“About what?” he asked softly, cupping your cheek gently with his palm.

“Remember when I said something in Italian, and you asked what it meant? And I just said it meant I loved the gift, the star thing?”

He nodded. You took a deep, shuddering breath.

“That wasn’t exactly true. I - I said that I was in love with you,” you managed, voice quivering at the end. “That’s why I was so scared - I didn’t realize until I said it… I had broken our rule, our number one rule -”

“Hey, hey -” he cooed, shaking his head. “Did you mean it?”

You hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah - I still do.”

The few seconds that passed after that had your stomach doing somersaults - what if he still didn’t feel that way, and everything he had said in the doorway was bullshit? You thought you were going to be sick -

But his face softened, his eyes glistening - was he going to cry?

“Fuck the rules. I stopped following those a long time ago,” he said.

Your heart fluttered, your face heating.

“Are you saying -”

“How did you say it in Italian again?” he asked. “I’m sorry, I’ve been slacking on my lessons without you around.”

You laughed. “Oh, um, it’s sono innamorato di te. It translates directly as I’m in love with you, or I’m falling for you.”

He nodded. “Well then - sono innamorato di te.”

You felt like your chest was about to explode, and before you knew it, you were crying again. He was too, you realized, his cheeks glistening with tears as he choked a sob with laughter.

“We could’ve saved ourselves a lot of trouble if we both just said that in the first place,” he said, reaching to wipe away some of your tears.

“How long?” you asked.

“Since the night of the gala I brought you to. So… longer. I guess I win.”

You sobbed again, Steve swallowing the sound with another kiss. It’s wet and salty with tears, a mess of apologies and confessions.

“Steve - I -”

“I know, baby,” he whispered, kissing your salty cheeks. “It’s alright - I’m here now -”

The conversation truly stopped after that - you couldn’t keep your hands off of one another, shedding clothes until you were nude and devouring each other with desperation unlike anything you had ever felt before.

Steve was pressing his lips between your breasts when you asked, voice breathy and filled with need.

“Steve - I need you, please -”

“Mm - yeah, okay -”

Before he could move, you were reaching down to grasp his cock in your hand. He gasped, pupils blown as his head thumped back against the wall. The noise that came out of him was unholy, wrecked and ruined as you brushed your thumb along his leaking tip.

“Christ, baby -”

“Can I suck you off, please?” you asked, desperate to make him come undone. 

“Honey - you can’t - I just, I wanna fuck you so bad… I won’t last if I let you get your mouth on me, baby.”

You pouted, even as your heart raced with the thrill of knowing you’d have him inside you again.

“Next time,” he said, “I swear.”

A promise of a next time, of a thousand more times - you started kissing him again, lips bruising his - losing yourself in any drink or drug would never compared to losing yourself in Steve Harrington, you decided.

“Get on the bed,” he muttered, gently pushing you back. You did as he asked, falling back onto the mattress gently as he joined you, face hovering inches from yours.

His hair was a mess, pupils blown and lips glossy. He just shook his head, as if in disbelief.

“What?” you asked.

“You’re just so beautiful,” he breathed. 

You felt your face heat, and you buried your face in your hands.

“Shut up.”

“About you? Not likely.”

Before you could come up with a clever remark, he was kissing your neck again, his lips traveling down slowly between the valley of your breasts, taking his time - he was going to leave bruises, you already knew.

But he didn’t stop, traveling down, down, down - 

“What are you -”

“I never said I didn’t want to taste you first,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. “I miss having my mouth on you so fuckin’ much -”

“Fuck,” you gasped. “You’re unreal -”

“Says you,” he retorted. Whatever you planned to say next died on your lips, anything resembling a coherent thought dissolving as his lips found your cunt.

“Oh my god,” you groaned, back arching as his tongue swirled around your clit.

“Just as fuckin’ sweet as I remembered,” he whispered, his breath against your pussy making your chest heave.

He licked a stripe along your slit, making your back arch off the bed, your eyes fluttering closed.

“Be loud for me, baby,” he murmured, lips finding your clit again. You did as he asked, moaning and crying out his name as he devoured your pussy, eliciting desperate sounds from you as your fingers wound themselves in his hair. He groaned as you pulled on his locks, encouraging you to continue doing so as he opted to slide a finger inside you.

“Fuck - Steve! Ohmygod, fuck -”

You felt him smile as he lapped and licked at your folds, adding a second finger and beginning to pump them in earnest, finding that spot inside of you too easily. 

You were crying out, bucking your hips against Steve’s lips, like putty in his hands. For about ten minutes you were completely his, mind numb with pleasure as he took you apart with his mouth. You let him, feeling the blunt fingernails of his free hand digging into your thigh, pulling you as close as possible.

“Steve - I’m gonna - I’m so close, y’feel too good -”

Encouraged, he picked up the pace a bit, sending you completely over the edge. When you came, you saw stars, grinding down on Steve’s mouth and fingers. You were screaming, and he helped you through it, nuzzling against your core as you pulsed around his fingers. Your hand left his hair and found his temple, gently coaxing him closer as you rode out your orgasm.

You were still breathing heavily as he kissed his way slowly back up your body, worshiping every inch of skin he could find. YOu didn’t let your eyes open again until he was face-to-face with you, chin glistening with your release as he wore a smug grin.

“Such a good girl for me,” he murmured. “Tasted so good… you came so hard for me -”

“Mm -” you hummed, pulling him down for a kiss. You tasted yourself on him, the sensation completely euphoric.

“Do you need some time?” he asked gently.

You ran a finger over your clit, still sensitive and puffy, and shook your head.

“No, I’m okay - I actually really need you to fuck me.”

“Thank god,” he said, exasperated. “I don’t think I can go another second without fucking you -”

“I know -”

“I would dream about you, you know - all the time. I’d wake up in the middle of the night with a hard-on, of a mess in my boxers like a fuckin’ teenager -”

“I know what you mean,” you admitted, recalling a few times you had thought of him as you touched yourself since he’d left. 

“Please tell me you’re still on the fuckin’ pill -”

“Yeah, I am - God, Steve -”

“I know, I know - ready baby?”

You nodded, locking your eyes with his as he positioned himself above you, pushing inside of you ever so slowly. You could tell he was holding back, doing everything he could to not enter you in one rough movement. You winced at the stretch, nearly forgetting just how big he was. He kissed apologies across your face, gasping as he felt your warm walls envelope him.

“Fuck -” he groaned, burying his face in your neck. “I can’t believe I went so long without this - you feel so fuckin’ perfect, baby - such a tight, perfect pussy -”

“You feel so good,” you breathed, digging your fingernails into his shoulderblades. “Steve - I’m so full, please fuck me -”

He did as you asked, rolling his hips against yours, eliciting a groan from both of you. He was still holding back you could tell - but you didn’t have time for that, not after months of missing him, of missing this -

“Let go, baby,” you whispered. “Please -”

“What did you just call me?” he asked.

“I - baby,” you repeated. You realized you never had before - was that wrong?

“Say it again,” he breathed.

“Baby,” you breathed, gasping as he thrust into you a little harder. 

“Baby, please - fuck me, let go,” you cried.

It became fast and hard quickly, the desperation you shared impossible to mask. The slapping of his hips against yours was positively dirty, Steve’s arms caging you underneath him as he pounded into you. Your hand snaked down between you, your own finger finding your clit.

“That’s it, baby,” he groaned, continuing his relentless pace. “Touch yourself for me, just like that - M’not gonan last long, I’m sorry, you just feel too good -”

“It’s okay,” you assured, pressing a kiss to his lips. “I want you to lose it.”

He groaned, the room filling with the sound of slapping skin and moans, your names on each other’s lips.

Nothing else mattered, not when Steve was making you feel like this, not when he had flown across an ocean on a whim, a desperate hope to just see you again, even if only for a moment. You suddenly became so overwhelmed with love for this man, this person who had turned your world upside down - it was indescribable, impossible to even express. So you just held him tight, burying your face into his shoulder.

“M’close - I need you to come with me, baby - can you do that? I know you can, you’re always so good for me -”

You nodded, unable to formulate words anymore.

“I fuckin’ love you,” he cried, hips stuttering, his thrusts growing sloppier. “So much, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you - I love you, baby -”

His words sent you over the edge, white-hot pleasure surging through your body as you screamed his name. The feeling of you clamping around him sending him into his own orgasm. He spilled inside of you, your name on his lips like a prayer. He practically collapsed on top of you, the feeling of his heartbeat against yours feeling like home, like it was always meant to be this way.

Your breaths were labored, sweet kisses peppered across skin. Neither of you spoke for quite some time. After he rolled off of you, he immediately wrapped his arms around you, pulling you as close as physically possible.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, slow and gentle. It was only when you pulled back, brushing some of his sweaty hair away from his face, that you broke the silence.

“I love you, too,” you murmured. You brushed your fingers along his face, and he caught your wrist, pressing kisses to your palm and knuckles, as if determined to worship you every chance he got.

“I want more than an arrangement,” he whispered. “I don’t want rules, or a deal, or -”

“Yeah, that was obvious,” you replied, chuckling. “And, me too.”

“And, you were right - you have school, and I never wanted you to think I just wanted you like a trophy or something - you have your own life, aspirations, and i know that - I just like spoiling you, but I never wanted you to give up who you are,” he said, face soft. “I need you to know that.”

“I do,” you murmured.

You really did. 

“Besides, I graduated.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What? When?”

“Officially? A few days ago.”

He smiled, soft and sincere - part of you was worried he might cry again.

“Congratulations - I’ll have to take you out to celebrate.”

“Mm - sounds good to me. How long - when are you here until?”

There was still life to reckon with, after all - living on two different continents, jobs, obligations - the kind of thing that could ruin this. But, he just shook his head.

“I bought an open-ended ticket. So, until whenever you want.”

“I - what? What about work?”

He shrugged. “Turns out, when you run the place, you can get away with that stuff.”

Your jaw dropped.

“What? Are you serious?”

He nodded. “Brenner’s out. I’m in - youngest CEO in the company’s history.” 

You laughed, pressing your palm to your forehead as you stared at the ceiling in disbelief.

“Steve - that’s amazing. But how -”

“Shhh - we’ll figure everything out later. But, let’s at least ring in the new year together, yeah?”

You nodded cautiously - he really was here, now, and wanted to make it work.

“Okay,” you said. “Sounds good.”

“Hey - you know what’s really pissing me off, though?”

“What?” you asked, wary as a pit of dread formed in your gut.

“I have to thank Eddie fucking Munson for fixing this.”

You laughed, a real, hearty laugh, and in that moment, you realized things were going to be okay.

******

That night, you slept better than you had in months, safe and warm in Steve’s arms. That was, until you woke to Robin’s scream the next morning, both of you shooting up in bed with a start.

“WHAT IS HE DOING IN YOUR BED?” she cried, shielding her eyes. “God - I wish I could bleach my eyes - motherfucker -”

Then, the door was slamming shut, Robin bemoaning her luck as she bolted down the hall to her own room.

You felt your face heat with embarrassment, sinking under the covers.

“Well - I guess I owe her an explanation -”

“Later,” Steve saidly, shaking his head incredulously. “For Christmas, I’m getting you a fucking industrial lock for that door!”

Then you were laughing, blissful and unable to control yourself, Steve joining you. He kissed the giggles away, pulling your body to his, and not much talking happened after that.

It didn’t matter what real life held after this - because Steve was here, and he was yours. Wherever you ended up, you realized, if you were with Steve, you would be home.

He was here to stay.

author's note: Hi y'all - thanks for your patience! This story isn't quite done - there will be an epilogue posted tomorrow. But, that's essentially the conclusion of don't call me 'baby' - I told you it would be a happy ending! Shoutout to @is-writing for some help with this. And of course as always, Em, without whom this fic wouldn't have happened. Comments, reblogs, and messages are always welcome - keep an eye out for the epilogue!

[cripplecharacters]

Hello! Thanks for all your hard work.

I have a character who lives through a war and experiences a traumatic head/facial injury that leaves him with asymmetrical features. Before discovering this blog, I wrote him as being a little insecure about it even years later (the main story takes place long after that), but have since retconned that as I realized writing it that way was the result of ingrained disfiguresmia, which I don’t want to perpetuate. As it currently stands, he does not have any particular feelings about his appearance itself/the visible remnants of the injury, nor is he treated differently for it. It’s just a thing, and not the focus of his character. Recently, however, as I was working on more of his background, I realized he ended up bearing a strong resemblance to one of his parents, who harmed him quite badly as a child.

So, my question is this: While nobody would be happy to experience a traumatic injury, would it be in bad taste for him to eventually end up being pleased that he no longer looks so much like his parent? Not that the genetic resemblance has somehow disappeared as a result of an injury, but rather that when he looks in the mirror, he sees himself instead of someone who hurt him?

I want to be careful to portray facial difference respectfully. I thought that maybe associating the visible result of something traumatic (cranio-facial injury) with gaining a stronger sense of identity (in a positive way) might be alright. But I wanted to check, because I don’t want to go too far the opposite direction and romanticize it.

(I’m using this emoji combination so I can find my ask later:🪞💙💥)

Hey!

My original note when drafting this was "This is genuinely a rare and interesting take on a character's feelings after getting a facial difference and it goes hard as fuck", which is a Way to say that I like it.

I don't think it's in bad taste at all, it's more of a breath of fresh air with interesting characterization mixed in. Has the character's backstory influencing his feelings on a current event. I get to mildly see myself in this kind of experience as I'm also glad to no longer be told I look really similar to a family member since my partial paralysis got more obvious. Cool as hell.

I really love that you figured out something positive that makes sense for your character to take out of an acquired facial difference. I mean, this is what people do in real life; try to find positives. It looks like your character managed to do that and that's awesome.

I wouldn't consider this romanticization at all, but even if it slightly was then I think we can have a bit of it as a treat after decades of hearing how looking different makes us fundamentally worse. It's not like you're doing some inspiration porn shtick about how an acquired disability suddenly made him into a saint who no longer has a single mean thought in his head.

If this worries you though, try to keep in mind the negative symptoms that he almost surely has - does he have nerve damage, migraines, problems with speaking, fear of loud noises? These things don't go away if you feel positive about something, though it might make it easier to mentally deal with. Show the parts he's more glad about, and the ones that make his life more difficult, days that are better and days that kinda suck. Make him struggle in areas of life unrelated to his disability, and have joys that are unrelated to it too. The usual advice.

This was probably my favorite synopsis of a character with a facial difference I read in a long time, so thank you for sending this. I'd love to see more characters as carefully thought out as this one.

mod Sasza

[advantage-zweig]

I completely understand you on the different top/bottom dom/sub Art things. Like:

sub bottom Art - he's just kind of Pathetic (<3) so it makes sense

power bottom Art - He's bottoming but he's actually the one in control very snakey, manipulative Art

sub top Art - Sure he's topping but the other person is the one in control he's just a nice guy (getting everything he wants) once again makes sense with snakey, manipulative

Dom top Art - That just feels like too much obvious power for him to have? Like I feel like Arts power is never that obvious. Dom top is too much straightforward, taking charge and taking what you want and that man could barely ask his wife for permission to retire be so fr

YESSSS honestly could not have said it better myself 🩷

CW: nsfw, like this is entirely about art's sexual preferences <3

thanks for your input, this is so beautifully thought out! XOXO

i feel like we saw quite a few different sides of art throughout the movie, and because of that it can be hard to tell which indicators of his bedroom role were genuine, and which were him manipulating tashi and patrick into giving him what he wanted.

i think early on, especially at stanford, he would've been a service top with girls, and if he and patrick had ever hooked up, he would've been more of a bratty bottom (because he still had a lot of life in him).

then after thirteen years of tashi being so dominant towards him and not having his best friend there to help maintain his spark, i feel like he just sank into being fully submissive regardless of the circumstances.

so it was like a natural transition from sub switch to sub bottom, which i just think is so fitting for him considering everything he went through in the in-between years.

i know a lot of people think him being so aggressive in the sauna means he could be a switch or even a top (and i guess he could be), but honestly i think it reads more as him resenting the fact that he's not even close to that anymore.

life was just so hard for him sometimes, and it didn't take long for him to figure out that it's easier to deal with training, and losing, and missing patrick, and tashi's disappointment if he just. . . lets go.

so that's what he does, in and out of the bedroom.

when he does get to be on top with tashi, i feel like he tries his best to enjoy it. i think he likes to go slow, laying fully on top of her, staying deep inside and just grinding his hips in little circles instead of thrusting like he's "supposed" to.

he always keeps going just like that until he comes way too quickly or tashi sighs and says, "you either fuck me right or you're going on your back again."

and as appealing as the thought of her riding him is, he doesn't ever want to let her down, so he whines out an apology and lifts his head from her chest so he can at least try to make his wife feel good. he pretty much always just wants to make her feel good.

maybe once or twice, tashi gets fed up with him being so passive and tells him to man up and take what he wants, and he tries, but he usually ends up crying, or he can't quite get hard enough, and tashi realizes he's still just doing what she told him to and she gives up yet again.

he just couldn't be mean to her if he tried. he loves and respects her too much, and as much as he hates to admit it, he could never really get off when he had to focus on being the one in charge, even back in school. he has to let go.

i think tashi for sure has a strap on, but i don't think she brings it out very often because it's always a bit of a hassle. i think she saves it for when art has trouble getting hard for her for a week or two straight.

that's when she decides enough is enough, and she fucks him as hard as she always wants him to fuck her (just like patrick used to fuck her).

and it works without fail every time. partially because her husband is a tragic closet case who still believes blowing his best friend is just "healthy experimentation," but more so because it's the most humiliating, submissive position he could possibly be in.

he's just so pathetic, which tashi loves to remind him of when he's got his face buried in the pillows and his unfairly perfect ass in the air. he's so pathetic when he's shooting off in just under three minutes, whining and sobbing and begging her not to stop until his poor, overstimulated cock is filling up again.

now, with patrick, i think art goes back and forth between power bottom and just pure bottom. i don't think there's a world in which having that much control over someone he once looked up to makes him feel comfortable, let alone aroused.

he's so pathetic, and if he's learned to use that to his advantage when he does something to piss tashi off again, well that's no one's business but his own.

but i do think that after new rochelle, he quickly learns that he can use sex to get whatever he wants from patrick. and in the process, he gets even more of what he wants, which is of course: sex with patrick.

like, if patrick is refusing to get out of bed and go on a run with him like tashi told them to, all art has to do is entice him with a blowjob beforehand and messy shower sex after to get him kicking the blankets onto the floor. works like a charm every time.

and of course, when he's tucked between patrick's legs, rutting helplessly into the mattress as he tries to fit all of him down his throat, he finds that it doesn't feel much like a bribe at all.

patrick is just always so good to him. he's sweeter than tashi is most of the time, especially in the way he speaks to him when they do things like that. and sometimes that makes it easier for art to have a little fun fighting back, but most of the time he just relaxes into it and focuses on being as good as he possibly can. he just loves making his partners feel good, even when he's totally only giving them head because he wants something.

so, yeah, art's a bottom through and through (and since patrick's there to give tashi what she's been missing, nobody's complaining anymore).

oh, and they do not end up going on that run.

so, do y'all agree or am i way off with this one?

again, i'm always open to input and/or requests, so if you liked this, i'd be happy to elaborate more! ✨️💕

and i just wanted to add that i am not saying patrick is a dom top to his core. truthfully, i see him as more of a switch, but i do like him topping more, so that's most of what i'll be writing! it's just better for art's pathetic little soul 🥰

XOXO

[thewadapan]

School Days review

Yeah, School Days is actually pretty good after all.

When you google "School Days", on the first page of results there's a reddit thread asking "hey, why do people hate this show?" OP gives a succinct summary of the show's themes and praises it for its tight focus and psychological depth.

The comments in that thread are fucking crazy. The top-voted comment includes this absolute gem: "Sekai is an emotionally manipulative bitch". Some users gesture towards a faint understanding that School Days is a deconstruction of harem anime, but almost to a one they claim the character writing is unrealistic. Nobody seems able to look past the show's metatextual meaning to just look at it on a straightup subtextual level—that is to say, it's not just being different to other anime for the sake of contrarianism, it's making a serious point about misogyny and toxic masculinity. Describing Makoto as a "character" at all is almost missing the point; he's practically a force of nature, and the vast majority of the show is concerned with the psychological manoeuvring of the girls in his class trying to manage and shape his behaviour.

I only know about School Days because @weaselandfriends is constantly banging a drum about it being a secret masterpiece. Gee, I wonder who the OP of that thread was! Cannot imagine being on a "School Days slaps" grindset for eight fucking years now.

(CW: discussion of underage sex, full spoilers follow)

I'm going to take a cowardly centrist route and say that School Days does in fact slap on a conceptual level, but that the execution in many places leaves a bit to be desired. It often feels repetitive. I watched the thing on 1.5x speed because, as someone who reads fast, watching subbed anime is like watching paint dry. The dialogue often feels awkward (unintentionally so, as in), which I'm willing to partially chalk up to the translation; maybe some of the clunkier lines feel more natural in the original Japanese. The imagery is often kind of laughably blunt: in some cases it works, like Kotonoha's red yarn like she's pulling her own fucking arteries out of her body, and in other cases it feels derivative and hackneyed, like the whistling kettle in the final episode. Maybe that was more original in 2007, I don't know—I would've seen the same thing in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire two years prior.

School Days does set out to pull the wool over the eyes of its presumably-mostly-young-men audience, by putting them in Makoto's POV. The show is adapted from an eroge, where the player literally would have inhabited Makoto and made his choices for him, and the "objective" of the game would have been to unlock sex scenes with all the schoolgirls. The trick with the anime is that it removes the possibility of choice, creating an impactful dissonance as Makoto's actions become increasingly alien and harmful. Inversely, as Makoto's sexual exploits escalate, we see less and less of them; by the end, the whole thing is routine, not eroticised in the slightest, we see people putting clothes on afterwards, sneaking around darkened rooms.

At the start, though, it's all panty shots and boobs. And like, how do you depict the objectification of women, from an internal perspective, without just... objectifying women? This has basically always been the classic problem with satire. If there is a way of doing it, School Days hasn't figured it out, so it just rolls up its sleeves and gets on with it. Where School Days stumbles, in my opinion, is that the fanservice shots leak out of Makoto's POV and into the scenes where it's just the girls on their own. Nevertheless, I think that even pretty early on School Days is unmistakably saying, "this is a bad thing". There's a discordant note to everything, a threat of another shoe waiting to drop. At the start, it takes the form of these innocuous remarks as the characters try to interact in good faith: Sekai is constantly like, "There's nothing wrong with feeling attracted to a girl! But maybe she doesn't feel comfortable with it! Have you thought about how she might feel?"

That's the great tension of Sekai, and indeed of much of the show's conflict: there is a world where Makoto and Sekai are just friends, and where Makoto is faithful to Kotonoha, and everyone lives happily ever after. Maybe Sekai really is earnestly trying to cross this gulf between genders, and wants to just make Makoto understand, so everyone can be happy. But from the start, there's a question of Sekai's motives; embodied by Sekai's friend Setsuna, who trails after her constantly asking, "But do you like him really?"

Setsuna is an interesting character with her own motives. There's a reading where she has a crush on Sekai, but can't pursue it because of her family's impending emigration; she ends up hanging around Makoto and desperately attempting to protect him from the consequences of his actions to preserve his relationship with Sekai, expressly stating that she wants Makoto to be a proxy for her after she's gone (though leaving any romantic feelings unspoken, that's just my interpretation). This escalates to the point of her having sex with Makoto on the condition that he breaks off another engagement with Otome, which is such a self-defeatingly doomed gambit that it becomes tragically clear Setsuna has lost all control over the situation. I got the impression that Setsuna somewhat envied the other girls' entanglements with Makoto: the bit where she kisses him while he's asleep, in an attempt to create a personal memory before she leaves forever, is haunting. Like Sekai, Setsuna ends up manufacturing a romance between herself and Makoto as a way to be with him "by proxy", without earnestly confronting her own feelings.

Anyway, my point is that early on, everyone is treating Makoto like a person, which is sort of their mistake. They're like, oh, a boy with a crush, how cute! What's the worst that could come of this? He's a bit clumsy, but I'm sure he means well! And progressively, mercilessly, the show is like: no, he does not mean well. This dude has absolutely nothing in his life except sex. Girls only exist to him as people to have sex with. Guys practically don't exist, as he can't have sex with them. And for these teenagers who are discovering their sexuality, the very fact that Makoto soon starts having these rumours circulating around him is what gives him some allure: he's a sexual entity, he can be thought of in that way, there must be some reason all these girls are acting so crazy over him. Even a character like Hikari, who early on was crushing heavily on the anime's one (1) other male character, Taisuke, ends up taking her turn with Makoto; whatever feelings she had for Taisuke are forgotten, the anime doesn't even bother establishing how that romance works, because it doesn't need to, we've already seen Makoto use his exact same wiles on like three girls already.

School Days has aged well not just because the years since have yielded a better cultural understanding of its subject matter, but for its "production design": what would have been a timely present-day setting at the point of its release ends up turning the whole thing into an early-2000s period-piece. The fashion and environments are distinctly noughties. Perhaps the most consistent bit of visual symbolism in the whole thing is the flip-phone: whenever a character is holding their phone, you can think of them holding their heart in their hands. They're like the fucking soul gems from Madoka Magica. Sometimes, people leave their hearts in the other room, or block each others' hearts, or search their hearts for good memories. The "cell phone charm" from the first episode is brought up towards the very end, seeming bitterly quaint in retrospect. Right before she kills him, Sekai sends Makoto a text which just reads "sorry" copied and pasted hundreds of times. And of course, the ED shows a propped-open cellphone with a slideshow of photos of the girls.

I think in terms of its place in history, School Days speaks to this information age where young girls are being bombarded with cultural messaging that the best way to get ahead is to sexualise oneself while simultaneously slamming everyone else for their sexuality. Girls aren't just competing with one another for the attention of boys; now, they're competing with online pornography. Sekai works as a waitress at a maid cafe (?), and sometimes wears the outfit for Makoto when they have sex. During the School Festival, the girls theme their class as a maid cafe (drawing on Sekai's experience, I think?), and are shown using "absolute territory" as a last-ditch resort to steal people from the other classes. As part of the festival, they have a secluded area curtained off with a bed, encouraging couples to go there for sex acts—but later, it turns out some of the girls have set up a camcorder, and they use the footage to reveal how everyone is cheating on everyone else. While the exact events are obviously taken to an extreme, subtextually everything in School Days tracks 100% with my own experience growing up in a Bri'ish high school, and it feels like things have only gotten worse since social media really tightened its grip on our society.

The most common talking point I see regarding this show is that the characters are "stupid". And it's like, no, they're not stupid, what planet are you on, they're fucking children! (They're children, fucking!) Most of them have probably never been in a relationship before! Everyone in the show is pursuing their own interests; it's just that often, they're in denial about the reality of the situation, because to acknowledge the reality would run against those interests. It's funny, Makoto hardly changes his behaviour throughout the whole show—it just becomes more extreme—but the only thing that affects whether or not his behaviour with Sekai is good or not is whether or not Kotonoha is his girlfriend. The use of "girlfriend" as a role is weaponised by both Kotonoha and Sekai against the other constantly; like declaring "you're It!" At once point while cooking for the school festival, Makoto starts groping Sekai's ass, and she goes, "Geez, stop it! Stop it I said! What'll you do if someone sees us?", only for Makoto to reply, "Then it's okay if no-one sees us?"; this motif of a private sin recurs with Setsuna's character, particularly in the masked play that crops up a couple of times. In what context is an act of desire okay, or not okay?

Halfway through the show, I remembered Emily is Away, a short Western indie visual novel. Released in 2015, Emily is Away is very consciously an early-2000s period piece, wearing the whole time period as an affectation. The whole game is a series of text conversations on an IM client with a girl; after key choices, you are told "emily will remember that".

I fucking hated Emily is Away when I played it. It made me so, so cross. Because after I finished my first playthrough, and got a miserable, unsatisfying end, I naturally started the whole thing over and tried again. I picked different favourite bands. I acted completely differently. And yet, no matter what I picked, during the timeskips between sections, my viewpoint character would do the exact same shit and the relationship fell apart in exactly the same way. The second playthrough was a complete waste of time. It seemed like I, the player, was being railroaded, that the writer simply hadn't the imagination to conceive of a truly interactive narrative with a wildly diverging chain of events.

But of course, that's the whole point, obviously. Emily is Away plays a mean trick on the player, where it outright lies that "you" are making meaningful choices, when in fact "you" are merely spectating the actions of the viewpoint character, a specific guy who is, by nature, a certain way. It posits that all this shit on the computer just doesn't fucking matter, it has nothing to do with how we feel about each other, that it's only our actions in the real world that matter. The thesis of Emily is Away is that sometimes, for some immutable reason, shit just doesn't work out between two people, and there's nothing you could have done differently that would have changed that.

In the timeline where you go the party, you regret going to the party. In the timeline where you don't go, you regret not going. So, the game says, what's the point in regretting at all?

I totally understood this, after finishing the game. But, fuck, I was still pissed about it. The game lied to my face. It put me in the position of being a shitty person, and I didn't like that. It left a bad taste in my mouth. I'm still not sure if Emily is Away is actually any good; I think I like it conceptually, but maybe the writing sucks, I played it eight years ago. My point is that I think School Days is trying to pull the same trick as this one game, but in a much more mean-spirited way, to much more devastating effect, and I suppose I can't be too surprised that it pissed off a lot of people. If I hadn't known upfront what to expect- well, I wouldn't be watching ecchi anime in the first place, but you get the point, maybe I would've been pissed too.

If you break out of the "anime" mindset for even a second, and allow yourself to think that what you're watching is a frank portrayal of events, rather than some hyperreal cartoon, then Makoto is obviously just a little sexual predator. He's constantly pushing the girls past their limits, groping tits, going in for kisses, often against their express wishes. He initiates all the sex we see, and while in a certain sense it's all consensual, everyone involved is under the age of consent, and the show is making a very strong case for why underaged sex is a problem. When Sekai gets pregnant, Makoto wants nothing to do with her—"It's not my fault!"—but it's made clear he wasn't using any contraception, so, c'mon.

School Days is very deliberate in omitting adult characters entirely. Teachers mostly exist in the form of textbooks being read offscreen. I think we get a line of dialogue from Sekai's mom, if I remember right? It presents this world where Makoto basically has free reign to do whatever he wants to the girls, and everybody knows about it, but nobody is doing anything about it. When Sekai murders Makoto, there isn't a scene where anyone notices his absence, finds out. Kotonoha carries his severed head across town without anyone noticing, kills Sekai, and makes it onto the boat without getting caught. The show ends on a montage of idyllic school scenes, as if to say, "nobody noticed, everything just carried on". And again, to a certain kind of guy, I think this would stretch plausibility to the point of causing offence. For me, I think it's speaking to something very real.

Makoto's bedroom is barren except for his computer and magazines: porn, and porn. In the back half of the show, the void left by the absence of adults is filled by Makoto, Sekai, and Kotonoha, who are thrust into this horrible domestic drama, as everyone else in their class blocks Makoto. Makoto relays Kotonoha's recommendation for an abortion clinic to Sekai. He and Sekai sit diagonally across a table in a living room, and suddenly Makoto's school uniform looks like a salaryman's suit, a size too big for him, like he's walking around in his dad's clothes. Sekai tries to prepare a big meal for him, in a fucked-up parody of domesticity, but ends up destroying the whole thing after Makoto spits in her face yet again; later, she sees the remnants in the trash, an uneaten chicken leg poking out, and sees a little of herself in there, and that's basically when she decides to take the knife and kill Makoto. She stabs him in the belly, which is what Kotonoha will later do to her; both are imitating the original sin of the pregnancy.

Kotonoha explicitly chooses to kill Sekai this way because she believes Sekai is lying about the pregnancy—which we can pretty safely say isn't true, based on the scenes where Sekai is on her own. There's this horrible, horrible shot where the camera is looking out at Kotonoha from inside the gut wound, and she observes, "Just as I thought. There's no-one in there." And it's like, is she talking about this baby, still so early in the gestation that it's scarcely even an idea? Is she talking about Sekai, or Makoto, these two people who turned out not to care about her at all? Or is she peering straight through the screen at the viewer, complicit in this atrocity? The shot mirrors the bag containing Makoto's head earlier in the same scene; when Sekai unzips it, the inside is just a black void, and we aren't shown the contents. It's honestly more unsettling to infer it—that bag's not big enough for all of Makoto—and have it "made real" by that final shot of Kotonoha pressing the severed head into her chest on the boat. The memes were more right than they knew: "Nice boat."

Overall, I think School Days extends a lot of empathy towards its female characters. Or, if nothing else, it takes care to give them complex and distinctive internality, which is more than I can say for a lot of anime. Kotonoha initially represses her feelings for Makoto, and then when she feels pressured into reciprocating his intimacy, she soon gets turned into a social pariah for it. Early on, there's this eye-roll-inducing scene where Kotonoha is like "the other girls used to make fun of me because of my huge boobs", and from Makoto's perspective it's like "great, you've got huge boobs!", but then from Kotonoha's perspective, she spends the whole show getting slut-shamed, doesn't she? As a coping mechanism, she builds up elaborate delusions around Makoto—Makoto wouldn't let this happen to her, would he!?—which make it impossible for her to see how he's harming Sekai at the same time, culminating in the "I think you've made up your pregnancy for attention" beat. Their own internalised misogyny prevents the girls from identifying their common enemy.

If I'm being totally blunt, I feel like I can pretty safely put most of the comments regarding School Days I've seen online into a big bucket labelled "HAS NEVER HAD MORE THAN ONE GIRL INTERESTED IN HIM AT ONCE". Like, "I can't believe this Makoto guy! Why doesn't he just dump Kotonoha and date Sekai, who he's obviously more compatible with?" Bucket. "Makoto is so spineless and needs to stop letting these girls manipulate him!" Bucket. "There's no way the teachers would let him get away with this!" Bucket. "What do these girls see in Makoto anyway?" Bucket. "Sekai is such a bitch!" A new, bigger bucket labelled "NO BITCHES".

What I'm interested in is takes from School Days haters who aren't brainpoisoned anime fans, who might even nod along to all my analysis of the show's themes here, but who nevertheless think it's a bad show that deserves to be reviled. What part didn't you like? Is it the part in the OP where you see every female character naked one after the other? Yeah that part's pretty bad. Is it that windowpane-shattering digital transition that gets used once or twice? Is it the utter self-seriousness with which it tackles its ludicrous melodrama? I can see how, if you don't let yourself start to think "oh, those poor girls!", if you don't have that emotional buy-in, the whole thing might just feel comically edgy, sophomoric. I don't think there's any level on which School Days is fun to watch, and I'm not saying it's a secret masterpiece either, but I guess it more-or-less landed for me.

[ihatecoconut]

*asks about your research*

loudly panicking bc that post got way more response than i was expecting

so! in preparation for my dissertation next year (in theory. i may end up changing my mind completely before then) I have been looking at how child labor has been written about by historians, with a focus on newsboys as the most 'visible' form of this labor.

It's actually a really interesting shift, because the starting historiography, from the early to mid 1900s, is highly focused on the reform efforts of groups like the Children's Aid Society. these take very moralistic tones, focusing on 'saving' the children from their conditions, placing emphasis on harsh working and living conditions, and (notably) do not include first-hand account from any newsies or adults who used to be newsies.

now. this changes in the 1960s (ish) with the rise of social history in academic circles, which encourages research from the 'bottom up' rather than 'top down' narratives, which were common previously and tended to prioritise documents from governments/politicians/reform groups. so we see a shift in scholarship from victim-focused narratives to exploring children as active participants in labor, and a recognition of child labor as a subculture with its own norms and practices.

this is the point at which we start to see accounts from adults who used to be newsies starting to appear - these, however, are not unproblematic. they tend to be autobiographies from adults who have since 'made it' in the world and risen to a certain level of fame - obviously enough to be writing autobiographies, although the sections addressing their lives as newsies can be very small parts of the whole. And they are all written retrospectively, as well as being written for an audience, so their reliability is not necessarily perfect.

more recently, scholarship has begun to address this in more detail, starting to look at how we can tease out the stories of the newsies who did not leave a paper trail. in many cases this is through photographs (jacob riis' in particular) and through records like lodging houses in which we may not be able to see their opinions of their lives, but we can see their movements and how they lived their lives.

as a whole, it's a very underrepresented area of history that is not often studied, however that is beginning to change. The continuing rise of social and cultural histories has introduced intersectional analyses of child labor, emphasizing how gender, race, and ethnicity shaped labor experiences. newsgirls in particular are starting to be studied in more detail, with some scholars finding the differences in their lives to their male counterparts.

but. there is still so much to be studied, so many stones unturned, we could look at the racial and religious dynamics within the newsie workforce and how social anxieties about race and immigration effected them. we could look at a longitudinal study - finding a few case studies and tracing them (as far as is possible) through time, investigating their long-term social and economic trajectories to understand the impact working as children had on their lives.

personally, i think that we also need historians to look at newsies the musical as a legitimate form of public history and how it introduces people to this under-explored area of history. and also why the musical was made in the first place when you consider how neglected this area is. there also needs to be an intersection with media history - after all, up until radio became a thing, there was a very long stretch of time where the only way to receive news was through the newspaper or through hearing other people read the headlines, and where were you likely to get both of these things? from the kids on the streets selling the papers.

in conclusion. newsies are an incredibly important area of history that has not been studied, partially because it is difficult to study the history of people who do not leave paper trails, but also because child labor has only recently started to be seen as a legitimate area for study. thank you for your time.

📰📰📰📰📰

v quick tag of everyone else who asked!! @i-got-poisenality @lalarose216 @blue5rose @make-friends-with-the-rats

thank you all for asking!!!!

[heytherecentaurs]

Sam to Zelda:

"You sort of like meet people when they're together and you just sort of expect them to stay that way no matter what happens."

If Zelda and Gorgug are broken up and Zelda hasn't told anyone in her adventuring party, this line is brutal. Then like less than a minute later Zelda says:

"...Even the things that are like in your life that weren't great, you still might've relied on them and had them be familiar. I get it."

Now Zelda is talking about Sam's relationship with the Everpetals, her surrogate parents. But the revelation that she and Gorgug are broken up really re-contextualizes Zelda tagging it with "I get it." Because now I read that as Zelda talking about her and Gorgug's relationship.

Her relationship with Gorgug probably wasn't going great, and they were growing apart but she and Gorgug had been together for over a year, so it was familiar and she did rely on it because of course parts of it were simple—he understands she's got to adventure, he understands her rage, he's been with her during a lot of shit, and he's a good guy, but they're young and growing up and going in different directions (like does Gorgug pushing further into Artificer contribute to the distance between them or is his focus on Artificer partially a reaction to their breakup?) so it had to be terrible for her. Just terrible and it changes things in The Seven.

I don't know if Brennan knew Zelda and Gorgug wouldn't be together in Junior Year when they did The Seven, but regardless there are moments that become heartbreaking nonetheless.

[aspoonofsugar]

Do you think Adam will come back as a demon, having to redeem himself? It kind of feels like that's where the few hints at smth deeper going on with him are going.

Hi!

I mean, there is this:

As Charlie and Emily sing about amoral angels staying in the sky, the focus is on Adam and he looks very triggered. I also personally hope he comes back because I think his character offers great opportunities to explore others. Like Lucifer, Lute, Sera, Lilith and Charlie herself. That said, I am also okay if he is meant as a one-season villain tbh. In this case, I trust it is because the story has other plot-lines to follow. Also, it would be an hilarious call-back to his line:

A man only lives once, we'll see you in one month Gotta say, I can't wait to Come down and exterminate you

Adam, you're either right in how THE man only lives once, or you are so wrong and Charlie is so right, that you yourself get a second chance :P

That said, I think there is clearly more about Adam, Eve, Lilith and Lucifer's dynamic that needs to be addressed (either through Adam coming back or in other ways):

The series starts with the retelling of the myth of Eden in the form of a fairy tale. Still, it is clear that we are given only partial information.

Lucifer: Well, your first wife didn't seem to hate what I had to offer…or the second! Bowchicka pow pow!

Sera: He was the first human soul in heaven…

It is very unclear what happened with Eve and Adam himself is judged a "virtuous soul", after his human death. Not only that, but he affirms what brought him into Heaven is:

Vaggie: reading list "Act selfless, don't steal, stick it to the man." Are you fucking serious?

Except that Adam never once acts selflessly throughout the whole season. So, I wonder if an eternity spent being spoilt in Heaven made him worse.

In short, the things I am interested in when it comes to Adam are:

If and how Heaven has changed him

His relationship with Lucifer and Lilith (Eden + his pact with Lilith)

Let's now try to analyze Adam, starting with what we have in the series.

ADAM THE ANGEL

Adam: Call me, Dickmaster.

Adam is introduced as a powerful angel and a jerkass mysoginist. Both things are important, as they tie to different conflicts:

Adam is a genocidal maniac, who mistreats everyone. Still, he is considered a virtuous soul and holds some authority in Heaven.

Adam is "the man" and is shown discriminating and dismissive towards women. According to Charlie's recount in Overture, his mysoginy might be at the very root of the conflict behind the forbidden fruit and the birth of Hell.

These two sides of Adam come together in his interactions with Charlie, who is both a demon and a woman.

1- He dismisses Charlie's ideas of redemption in his song Hell is Forever, which is full of Christian references:

'Cause it's cut and dry Fair is fair, an eye for an eye And, when all's said and done (said and done) There's the question of fun And for those of us with divine ordainment Extermination is entertainment! Guitar solo, fuck yeah!

In general, he sees himself as superior to demons because he was judged worthy of Heaven. In his mind, this makes him automatically the "good guy", while people who exhibits virtues like Charlie or Angel are still beneath him, as they are demons. In short, he has a black and white mentality:

'Cause the rules are black and white There's no use in tryin' to fight it

2- He flirts with Charlie and calls her with sexist names:

Adam: I got you again, bitch! *laughs* Fuckin' hilarious!

Not only that, but his overall characterization highligths his sexism to hilarious degrees. Some examples:

His favourite food is ribs because Eve was born from one. So, it is as if he likes "eating women up"

He leads an army of hot and lethal women, who follow his orders in battle (classical male fantasy)

He gives Vaggie the name "Vagina" and calls it "the best thing ever"

So, Adam is a combination between a zealous religious fanatic and the patriarchy. All neatly tied up with jock imagery (his tunic resembles a letterman jacket). As a result, his interactions with Charlie explore two different power dynamics:

Heaven vs Hell or to better say Hell is Forever vs A Happy Day In Hell. Is Hell a place of eternal damnation or is it a chance of redemption?

Man vs Woman - Adam is far more childish and less intelligent than Charlie, but she has to kiss his butt because he is in a role of power. As it often happens in human society.

The question is: "How can such a person be worthy of Heaven?"

SERA THE MOTHER

Sera: I thought, since I'm older It's my load to shoulder

Sera is Adam's authority figure, as she is the only one Adam shows respect for. He asks for her validation and is ashamed after disappointing her. Considering Adam was created by the angels, it is easy to infer Sera is probably the closest thing he has to a mother. This also ties with Sera's overall role in the narrative, where she is framed as a parental figure to Emily and to the other angels and souls:

Not only that, but her parenting style seems rooted in the determination to protect those in her care, no matter what:

Sera: It is my position as the head Seraphim to protect our people at all costs.

Even if she has to lie to them:

I wanted to save you, the anguish it takes to Do what was required

Or if others end up hurt in the process:

Sera: Heaven needs us, Emily. Everyone looks to us… and we can't doubt ourselves or worry about the fates of demons when we have our own souls to protect.

She keeps Emily and the rest of Heaven in a Gilded Cage and chooses to exterminate the Sinners. In a sense, she too sees the world in black and white, just like Adam. Her loved ones. All the others. This attitude is present in her relationship with Adam too, as she enables him. Some examples:

She gives Adam permission to lead the exterminations. Even if Sera thinks killing Sinners is necessary, there is no reason to entrust it to Adam, who has a very obvious grudge against Lucifer.

He lets Adam boss around the exorcists and mistreat them. Like he did with Vaggie. In general, Sera gives him no rules, if not a generic "do not embarass me" one. And even then, Adam faces no consequence after he reveals the secret.

Sera is angry at Adam's cruelty towards Charlie and reproaches him for targeting the Hazbin Hotel. Still, this is all she does. She could have stopped Adam from attacking the hotel. And yet, she only makes a single remark.

In general, Sera gives Adam free reign and even fulfills all his cruellest requests. This is made clear during Charlie and Adam's questioning.

Since the beginning, Charlie is set up to lose and the seating arrangement shows it. Sera and Emily are at the very top, as they are the judges. Below them there is the jury and then there are the two sides. Still, Charlie and Adam are not at the same level. Adam is higher, while Charlie is at the very bottom.

Sera sustains Adam's petty objection:

Adam: Objection, lame and unoriginal. Sera: Sustained. No further dictionary references please.

But she is about to refuse Charlie's request and only agrees to it because of Emily:

Charlie: Angel will make good decisions, come on! We have to keep watching! Please? Sera: sighs Yeah, I don't know. Emily: Yeah, let's give him a chance. Sera: Very well, the court will allow it.

Finally, when Adam reveals Vaggie's secret (which is irrelevant to the matter at hand), Sera allows it to happen:

She is the one projecting Vaggie's angelic shadow on the wall. Once again she enables Adam's cruelty, instead of stopping it.

in short, Adam is a person who ascends to Heaven, but once there he spends millenias without anyone questioning or disagreeing with him. All his self-serving fantasies are fulfilled and he is never punished nor called out. As a result, he clearly becomes complacent and grows worse:

Lucifer: So, this is what you been up to since Eden? Gotta say, you've really let yourself go, buddy.

Lucifer's taunt mostly references Adam's physique. Still, this is metaphorically true for Adam's soul, as well. In the end, Adam regresses in Heaven, instead of evolving. Moreover, he never addresses nor solves the key event, which defined his life.

LUCIFER AND LILITH

Adam: You judging me? You're the most hated being in all of creation!

Adam's sense of self is clearly warped by what(ever) happened in Eden. Specifically, he is hurt that both his relationships with Lilith and Eve ended up badly (apparently). This is why:

He overcompensates by being overly masculine. He insists he is THE MAN and keeps blubbering about his love adventures. And yet, he has still no wife, that we know of.

He projects his own feelings on Lilith and Lucifer, to the point that thousands of years later, he chooses "messing their home", as his hobby. Specifically, he tries to steal Lilith away (through their deal) and to make Lucifer as miserable as possible ( which is why the King of Hell sends Charlie to meet Adam at the very beginning - he doesn't want to deal with the Exorcist).

This behavior is mirrored in how he treats the Princess of Hell too.

On the one hand Adam associates what he considers Charlie's positive traits with Lilith:

Adam: To think someone as worthless as you landed Lilith's little hottie. 'Grats on that I guess.

On the other hand Adam links what he believes to be Charlie's negative traits with Lucifer:

Adam: Risking your immortal life for sinners? That's some crazy shit, even for Lucifer's brat!

So, it is implied he still wants Lilith and despises Lucifer. These emotions are mirrored in his design, specifically his horned mask:

The horns ironically show that Adam was cheated on by (both?) his wife(s)

The horns give him a demonic-like appearance, which may be just another way Adam tries to appear more badass than what he is. All while trying to look more like a demon (Lucifer) to begin with

In other words, Adam is nothing, but a man scorned. Even moreso he is a person, who deep down could never really like himself. Hence why he chooses to wear a mask 24h/24h. Adam wants to be either a Demon or a God, but deep down he is just the Man. Ironically, this is what he could never truly accept about himself.

ADAM- A MAN

In the final fight, Adam is unmasked and we get a glimpse of his real self. What is he like? His design is far more average and human-like than other angels and demons. It is even inspired by his real voice actor, apparently. Why is that so? Because deep down Adam is no-one special. He is just a dude. He is the man. Not even that. He is a man. A person.

Sadly, though, he refuses this truth and tries to be more:

Adam: I started everything on Earth! All of mankind came from these fucking nuts! You all should be worshipping me, you ungrateful, disgusting, fucking losers-

He tries to be God and in this way he becomes worse than a Demon. He dies pathetically, after refusing mercy:

Adam: No… you don't get to end this! I'm fucking Adam! I'm the fucking man, and you're just some fucking clown or something!

He sees Lucifer as his enemy, but the King of Hell barely registers his presence and only considers him in relation to Charlie. His true opponent turns out to be a small woman of low status. And even she barely considers him as someone worthy of her attention.

And yet, Adam is still a man and he shows humanity in death:

Lute: NOOOO! Sir! Sir! Stay with me sir! ADAM!

Lute is his one genuine bond and probably the only person who earnestly makes him happy.

If only he could have pursued his humanity, he might have not turned into a monster. He might have developed a healthier sense of self and could have become happier. Instead, he could never love himself for being just a man and has spent eternity trying to be someone different.

HEAVEN ISN'T MEANT TO SUCK A LOT

Adam embodies the anti-theme.

Charlie thinks that everyone can redeem themselves:

Charlie: If I can show them the dream I've dreamed That any soul can change! Then they will know everyone can be redeemed From the evil to the strange!

Adam thinks nobody truly can:

'Cause Hell is forever Whether you like it or not Had their chance to behave better Now they boil in the pot

Charlie tries to grow into her own person:

Gotta come into my own Gotta come into my throne Gotta take charge and defend my only home

Adam turns himself into an idol:

The golden exorcists bring to mind the golden calf from the Bible.

Charlie thinks happiness and beauty can be found even in Hell:

I can hear all their stories The lost and displaced And I know that they're more of an acquired taste But if I open the door and I give them a place At my Hazbin Hotel It'll be a happy day in Hell!

Adam can't find happiness and beauty in Heaven and his only source of joy is knowing others suffer more than him:

Fuckin' Hell is forever And it's meant to suck a lot!

And yet, Hell might be meant to suck a lot, but Heaven shouldn't:

St. Peter and Emily: 'Cause every single day in Heaven is a happy day Welcome to Heaven

Still, Heaven could not make Adam happy. And if Heaven can't make its own people happy, then what is the point of such a Kingdom?

Sera: It's your position to keep them happy and joyful. Emily: How can I bring joy when I now know we are bringing misery to thousands of innocent people?

Adam is a character that embodies Heaven's problems, not only because he is an evil monster, but even moreso because he is an unhappy and unsatisfied man.

Here are my two cents on him :D We'll see if he comes back and manages to get some development!

Thank you for the ask!

[2ctheocean]

So I just finished re-reading the hunger games trilogy and I feel the need to respond to the claim that "Katniss never wanted kids so she shouldn't have had them". That is factually incorrect. I'm all for female protags never having children, but to label Katniss that way is fundementally misunderstanding her trauma and the healing that has occured in her having children.

Children are not the only way to thrive. Obviously. You can be just as happy childless (if not more so) as someone with a house full of kids. But Katniss, despite her gruff, traumatized exterior, has always had a nurtuering side (as seen by any given interaction she has with anyone younger than 12). That's partially the Eldest Daughter Effect, sure. But there's no reason to suspect she wouldn't want kids in a world where it was safe to have them. We shouldn't make having kids the default option, but we can suspect she would want them based on how much she values family and her personality. If the world was safe.

But the world is not safe.

So, Katniss never allowed herself to want children.

She doesn't even think about allowing herself to want children. Instead, in Catching Fire, she instead imagines a world where Peeta's child could live and grow up safe. She does not picture herself as the mother, because A) She's planning to give her life for his in the arena and B)She knows the second she starts picturing that image, she will yearn for it. And then the capital will rip it away from her.

This is supported in the epilogue, where she describes her overwhelming fear that she will have her daughter ripped away from her when she feels her growing inside her.

For obvious reasons, she closed off the consideration for being a parent while she was very young. She spent so much or her childhood, even before the hunger games, being traumatized by the world. Not just by the yearly reaping and by watching the games, but by extreme hunger. Having children is almost a selfish decision in her eyes, because of the hellish life she's led. She doesn't want to put her children through that. So she takes the choice off the table and decides its not an option. She won't even risk having a husband for fear of having them, why she's never even considered having a boyfriend or a lover.

In short, Katniss recognizes that the world is not safe. That, even if she is the best mother in the world, she cannot protect her children from the capital, from the games or from the world, so having them is something she simply won't consider, because the facts of her world make it the obvious choice. A lot of people who want kids in this reality, where we can largely protect our children, would make the same choice in her world. Gale even voices this mindset, but the idea that things can be any different is so ridicoulous and impossible to Katniss that she cannot allow herself even that. She's too traumaitized to even consider a better world, too hyperixated on the survivial of herself and those she loves that are already here.

But in the epilogue, she's healing. She can focus on other things now. She can enjoy things again. She's not scrambling to survive day to day. She doesn't need to hunt, she does it because she likes it. Slowly, she allows herself to feel safe.

She has bad days, and even describes being afraid of loosing what she has, highlighting that healing is not linear. But she's healed enough to the point that she feels safe enough to want things. Possibilities that she's never considered, never allowed herself to consider, are avaliable. She can finally allow herself to want children.

Because the world is finally safe enough for them to grow up in, and Katniss finally feels safe in that world. She acknowledges that it won't feel like that every day, that it doesn't, because healing is not linear and she'll always have good days and bad. But her healing has reached a point where she finally feels safe enough to want more than survival for herself and the people she already has. She wants to thrive.

[loquaciousquark]

I just saw a close-up of githyanki eyes which reminded me: I am very curious about the shape of their pupils! It is almost certainly, like other aspects of gith biology, a deliberate design choice on the part of the illithids, so what were they designing for? What does that shape do? What does the world look like to a gith?

I actually had to do a little research for this, but I imagine it's because the illithids wanted to aim for the pupil design of ambush predators, like small cats.

Human eyes, which have round pupils, on average have a difference of non-dilated-to-dilated state of about 15x. That is, when you're fully dilated (such as being in a dark room), your eyes let in about 15x normal lighting. This allows for decent night vision after several minutes of adaptation.

When ambush predators like household cats dilate, though, they use much stronger dilator muscles to dilate about 135x their natural resting pupil state, which lets in a hugely increased amount of light. (This is also why watching cats' eyes fully dilate is typically much more dramatic and interesting than watching humans' eyes dilate.) This gives them huge advantages in dark and crepuscular conditions when hunting prey.

Secondly, human eyes (with round pupils) have pretty variable resting sizes; some people's pupils may hang out at 6-7mm even in the light, while others rest at a 1mm pinhole. People with naturally tiny resting pupils have much deeper depth of focus, meaning they have a larger depth range of things appearing clear compared to others. While great for reading text or looking at a phone, that's not as useful as a shallower depth of focus would be while hunting small, fast-moving animals. In that case, a hunter with larger pupils could use the blur depth to more precisely identify distances to their prey.

Cats' vertically slit pupils, on the other hand, provide the max bonuses possible from both stereopsis and blur depth in both bright and dark, which helps them identify exactly how far away a small target like a mouse might be, even low to the ground. Even in dim conditions where they might be partially dilated, they'll still get some blur information that humans wouldn't, which evolutionarily would help them hunt better with less effort.

(Curiously, less stealthy & less small cat hunters like lions and tigers have round pupils, which implies that overall size & lowness to the ground does come into play here.)

Basically, I think they were going for this ambush predator evolutionary advantage. Practically speaking, that also means every time Lae'zel gets excited or woken up from sleep, her eyes should have been completely black, fully dilated pits. Forget about Avernus; someone make this mod instead!

(Banks, M. S., Sprague, W. W., Schmoll, J., Parnell, J. A., & Love, G. D. (2015). Why do animal eyes have pupils of different shapes?. Science advances, 1(7), e1500391.)