#and then to try and frame it like you’re getting treated ‘unfairly’ just because I won’t get rid of my cats for you??????

[lesbiansanemi]

We’ve officially hit the point where I can’t fucking sleep because of this shit and on top of everything the AC went out I literally want to cry I’m so stressed I physically feel like shit like I need to throw up I’m so tired but between my stomach hurting, the stress, and the heat I can’t

[din-miller]

Leaf Pressing

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Word count: 1.2k

Summary: Comfortember day three: leaves changing

Warning: Getting together, set in Jackson, fluff, first kiss, darlin’, all knowledge about leaf pressing comes from online

A/N: joel looks so gooood in this gif, like damnnn boy. This is kinda rushed and I haven’t written for Joel in a hot minute and I didn’t find out until yesterday about Comfortember so I’m trying to catch up. And yes darlin’ is it’s own warning because FUCK it hits the spot every time. Divider by @saradika

It was kinda a spur-of-the-moment decision. You had seen the changing of the trees, the ground litter with fresh falling leaves and you suddenly had an idea. Something you hadn’t done in ages.

You started by collecting all the leaves that weren’t already curling in on themselves, picking out the prettier ones, setting them on the porch step before racing to the mess hall.

There’s this giddy feeling inside you, one that is rare these days, but it’s freeing and you can’t stop smiling.

You probably look like you’ve officially gone insane as you burst into the mess hall, not acknowledging anyone as you make a bee line straight into the kitchen.

“I need wax paper.” You announced to the poor unexpecting kitchen staff and they all stared at you in bewilderment. Talk of the town you’ll be this week.

The head Chef looked at the staff, “Well don’t just stand there, get this lady some wax paper!”

As the kitchen staff scrambled to find the box of wax paper, you smiled at the chef, “Thanks Donny. I only need a little bit.”

He waved you off, his blue eyes bright as he smiled, “Take all ya need, and here,” He placed a bag of treats in your hand, “Give my love to your Joel and Ellie.”

You blushed, of course everyone in town knows of your obvious crush on Joel and the way you’ve taken to caring for the snippy teenager like she’s your own family.

With the supplies you came for, plus the snacks, you headed back to your place. Once there you stared down at the leaves for a minute wondering how you’re going to proceed.

There's an option, probably the best one. In all of Jackson only one house has the perfect setup for your craft. The only problem is that Joel’s not home and even though he has told you multiple times that his door is always open, any time of day, it doesn't matter if he’s home or not; you still feel like it’s trespassing.

You sighed, standing here doing nothing isn’t going to get the leaves pressed. Before you could talk yourself out of it, you’re packing everything up and walking down the street to Joel’s. His door is locked but you have your own set of keys to his place.

Entering, you take off your shoes and set them neatly on the shoe rack by the door and as you pass the dining area you set the bag of goodies you got from Chef Donny onto the table. It’ll be a nice surprise for Joel and Ellie when they get home.

You entered his workshop area and placed the materials you needed down on the table. Next you searched the closet for an iron board and the matching iron. You know Joel owns them; no one’s shirts can be that wrinkled free. Apocalypse or not.

Now with the board and iron, you started organising all the craft materials and kicked open the iron board stands, placing the board beside the workshop table.

The house is quiet without Joel and Ellie. Though you’re sure if you strained your ears enough you might be able to hear the pitter-patter of Ellie’s stray cat she took in a few months back.

Suddenly there’s a noise behind you, someone clearing their throat and you whip around to find Joel leaning against the doorway; shoulder pressed against the frame and one leg crossed over the other in an unfairly attractive way.

He’s chewing on the snack you left on the table, “Gotta say, darlin’, I wasn’t expecting to see you here. Leaves a man wondering how often a pretty girl is alone in his house with him not knowing.”

“This is the first time, I promise!” You rushed out, not wanting to make Joel mad or upset.

“Hey, I ain’t mad. I meant what I said before. Doors open twenty-four seven. Whether it be for food, company, or apparently arts and crafts. Whatever it is, this house is yours too.” He said in honesty before pressing his lips together.

“What's wrong?” You frowned, trying to read his expression, “You got a look in your eyes I’ve never seen before.”

“When I saw your shoes I panicked. I thought something had happened and I wasn’t there for you. Then I find you up here humming along to some old tune, completely safe and I-,” Joel shook his head with a sigh and pushed himself off the doorframe, “I guess I forgot how simple life can be sometimes.”

It’s an easy thing to forget. The world hasn’t been simple for decades, but here, right now it is. For you, for him. You sent him an understanding nod and asked: “You want to help?”

Joel looked at your pile of supplies, “Leaf pressing?”

You held a leaf up for him to see, “I found these leaves this morning and remembered how I used to love doing arts and crafts,” You shrugged, turning back to face the workbench, “Like you said; the simple things in life.”

He came over to get a better look, his body hovering over your shoulder, breath hot against your neck and you can’t suppress the shiver that ran down your spine.

“Good haul.” Joel commented and picked up one of the bigger ones, “I can leave you to it if you want. I don’t mind.”

“No,” You said a little too fast, causing you to blush, “I mean, I don't mind, seriously. I like having you here. You’re, um, good company.”

“Just good?” He teased, setting down the leaf and closing the space between you to rest his head down on your shoulder, hands wrapping around your front.

You sucked in a sharp breath, body involuntarily relaxing against him, “Ego stroking isn’t a good look on you Miller.”

He chuckled against your neck, leaving goosebumps to break out across your skin. He didn’t reply; instead he watched as you sorted through the pile of leaves until you found your favourite ones, then asked him to pick out four from the pile, narrowing down the options. If he was surprised by your ask, it didn’t show.

With the best four leaves picked you placed them onto the sheet of wax paper on the board and then added the other half of wax paper overtop.

“Pass me the iron, make sure it’s on medium heat please.”

Without separating from your back Joel stretched out and grabbed the irons handle and passed it to you. You did the next part in comfortable silence while Joel’s thumbs rubbed circles just over your belly button, slightly wrinkling your shirt.

Leaves pressed together, you turned to him.

“Now what?” He asked, hands finding a new spot to rest, just above the band of your pants.

Your eyes flickered down to his plush lips as you replied: “We, ah, have to wait for the paper to cool off.”

Joel hummed, closing the distance between you slowly, “Then?”

“We choose to either cut out the leaves individually or keep them as is, all together.”

“We?” He raised a brow, eyes twinkling as his forehead finally touched yours.

“Yeah, we.” You breathed, breath tickling his lips and you rubbed your nose against Joel’s before closing the remaining gap to capture his lips in yours, earning an appreciated groan from the man.

[staticscreenwriting]

A BEAUTIFUL SOMEWHERE II CHAPTER TWO

Series Masterlist x OBX Masterlist x Full Masterlist x Series Summary

Chapter Two — Our Song

Chapter Summary: JJ and John B. have a talk about those dreaded papers. Stevie runs into an unexpected acquaintance and finds an outlet for her anger. The Pogues get together for the first time in years and decide what to do with the time they're given together.

The air smells like sawdust and summer heat and JJ’s skin is slick with sweat as the humming of the jigsaw ceases and makes room for the gentle lap of the waves mingling with the low music coming from the radio.

He can feel a sense of pride pushing against his skin, trying so desperately to find room inside of him, expanding in a way that makes it unable for him to not let himself feel it. It’s something he’s trying to get used to step by step. JJ never really had anyone be proud of anything he did so all of this is unfamiliar, it’s foreign. But he is trying. And looking at the cedarwood door frame before him, he tries to cherish the feeling of pride instead of covering it up with poisonous thoughts of self-depreciation.

“Looks good, man.”

John B’s voice cuts through the early afternoon quiet and catches JJ off guard like a cold splash of water on sun-burned skin.

“Thanks. What are you doing here?”

He doesn’t mean to sound rude, he really doesn’t, but it’s a fact that none of his friends ever show up here. Their friend group lives and breathes like some kind of natural organism that comes and goes as it does without much talking or planning. They all just gravitate toward each other in their own designated spaces like the chateau or the wreck or the beach. But this place? This is his little getaway, his shelter and his prison. Both a place to rest and to get absolutely obliterated by his own thoughts.

“Uh, good to see you too.” John B. scoffs though he grants JJ a look of mock offense void of any and all seriousness.

“You know what I mean.”

“I wanted to hang out and you weren’t at your place or the shack. And I know you stress-build so this was the only place you could be.”

“I don’t stress-build.”

He does. In fact, it’s one of the few healthy coping mechanisms he’s developed since leaving high school and forcing himself to grow up, at least a little bit. There’s a certain adult quality in building something when things get tough instead of breaking something down. You can choose to mess up when life treats you unfairly or you can choose to create something.

He’s been destructive for so long that he feels like he owes the world some creations. Or maybe he owes himself, JJ is not entirely sure.

“… and anyway, why would I be stressed? Life is fucking peachy.”

John B. lifts his eyebrow in that annoyingly smug way that is so quintessentially him it makes JJ feel both nostalgic and aggravated at the same time.

“Are you really asking me that? Like is that a legit question? Because that’s a dumb question.”

“Yeah, I’m asking.”

“Well uh let me think. Maybe you’re stressed because Stevie is back home for the first time in years after the both of you had an atomic bomb-sized blowup, that you both still refuse to talk about. “

Many nights have gone by since then, many nights when JJ was so close to opening up. To telling John B. every excruciating detail, every heartbreaking word that had been spoken. He never did though. There is always something holding him back. Some invisible vine wrapping around his heart, then his throat and pulling close, cutting off all blood, all oxygen until the thought of spilling the truth evaporates from his mind as if they never existed in the first place.

“Not stressed about that. It’s been years, we’re good.”

“That why you can’t sign the divorce papers? Because you’re good?”

JJ doesn’t have a lot of good memories of hanging out with his dad but he does remember one memory that at least started good. He was maybe 9 and Luke had allowed him to skip school and accompany him on a trip to Raleigh. He doesn’t remember why they went there in the first place but he does remember eating greasy burgers at some dingy diner and drinking lukewarm Dr Pepper in the car while his dad was singing along to Lynyrd Skynyrd. At least JJ was drinking Dr. Pepper. The good memories stop there. On the way back Luke was grumpy and mean and aggravated and JJ remembers clutching the door handle with his tiny hands and hoping that Luke would slow down, just slow down.

He didn’t slow down, not until he ran a red light and someone stepped out into the street and Luke had to step on the brake with all his might, trying to get the car to a standstill before hitting the person.

Fortunately, they didn’t hit anyone, but little JJ was flung against the seatbelt with such force that to this day he still remembers the way all the air was knocked out of him, the way he couldn’t breathe. It just wouldn’t come and his lungs felt empty. All void of oxygen.

He feels that exact same way as those words tumble from John B.’s lips. Like the air has been sucked out of his lungs and switched out with gravel, stones, rocks. Heavy and rough.

The manila envelope is stuffed into the glove compartment of his car, stashed somewhere between parking tickets that still need to be paid, pens that don’t work anymore, and napkins from various fast food places around the island.

“I — look I don’t know why I can’t do it. It’s not like I believe we’ll get back together or anything like that. We haven’t spoken to each other in 4 years, I might as well sign them. It’s not like this marriage was a good idea to begin with. It just — “

“Just what?”

JJ has thought about this so many times, so many nights have been spent tossing and turning in bed with no thoughts but those dreaded documents. Her name in blue ink on white paper all swirly and graceful. She sent them before, the only form of communication they had in 4 whole years. Just a year after she left the island they landed unceremoniously in his mailbox. Back then he just ignored them. Pretended like he never received them. Maybe part of him wished that it would get her to call, to come visit even. He never heard back though and so for the time being it was easy to play along with this version of the truth he tried so hard to hold onto. But the thoughts never really left. He always knew they were there buried in his closet like metaphorical skeletons.

This time he can’t pretend. Can’t lie to himself or to her. She handed them to him personally. Blue ink on white paper. Manila envelope on sun-kissed skin.

And he still can’t bring himself to put his name on the dotted line. It’s supposed to be so easy. It’s the hardest fucking thing.

“If I put my name on those papers It feels like admitting this was a mistake. I don’t want this to be a mistake. I made a lot of shitty calls in my life but marrying her was not one of them. I know it doesn’t mean anything right now, this stupid piece of paper but I just can’t bring myself to sign it,” JJ explains then lets out a long sigh of frustration. “I know it’s fucking dumb.”

“Do you still love her?”

JJ Maybank doesn’t remember a time in his life when he didn’t love Stephanie Collins. Loving her is part of him like the scar on his wrist from falling off of his surfboard and being smacked against a sharp rock. Like the dimple that’s only on one side of his face. Like that chip in his tooth from when he hit the ground jumping from a swing set.

“JB, I don’t think it matters.”

“You married her because you love her. If you still do, and I know you do, maybe you shouldn’t sign those papers.”

“Dude I — “

“Look, just maybe you two need to stop looking at the past and start seeing if there’s a chance for a future for the two of you.”

“What the fuck are you on about?”

“JJ, you bought a house for this girl. You’re building door-frames. Everything you do is for her. Would be a shame if she never got to see it.”

JJ’s eyes wander across the room. To the drywall that’s not fully painted yet. The fireplace he fixed up. The cedarwood door-frames and to the corner of the porch there are two bright orange ceramic tiles. One with a J, one with an S in sloppy blue handwriting. They were 10 maybe 11 when they painted them in her backyard while her mom was reading a book on the porch. He remembers the soft voice of Billy Joel coming from the radio and the smell of coral honeysuckle in the air and the taste of peach iced tea on his lips.

Most of all he remembers her smile, all gap-toothed and gorgeous. Even then he thought she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.

Maybe John B. has a point.

“I — uh I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

John B. shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly before giving him a tiny smile. “Not sure but I heard sorry is a pretty good opener.”

The chainlink fence rattles as Stevie leans her bike against it, the hot summer sun beating down on her already, even this early in the morning, leaving her skin tingling.

In all the world there is no better remedy for the summer heat than a cherry popsicle from the gas station by her old house. It’s quite a ride now all the way from Figure 8 but some things are worth taking long bike rides for. Like cherry popsicles and the sweet taste of childhood nostalgia.

Stepping into the building is like stepping back into her childhood, her teenage years. The linoleum floor is still perpetually sticky and the air still smells stale and sharp like out-of-date candy and cleaning chemicals mixed with the smell of gasoline.

The icy AC air sends a shiver through Stevie and makes a layer of goosebumps appear across her skin. Back when they were kids, JJ would wrap his arms around her and rub her arms until she would assure him that he had warmed her up sufficiently for her to make a conscious decision on what candy to get. “You can’t think right if you’re cold. Your brain won’t work. Trust me, it’s science.” Even back then she severely doubted that statement but she never said anything to disprove his claims. It might not have been based on actual scientific research, but it was true to JJ and anyway, Stevie liked having his arms around her. So who was she to tell him wrong?

“Everybody wants to rule the world” echoes through the room reverberating between the coolers on one side and the metal rags filled with chips and condoms and beef jerky and canisters of 10W40.

Stevie pushes open the lid of the ice box, letting the stale static air escape before grabbing the object of her desire, the cherry red popsicle. Generic brand and probably a blend of every chemical one should not put in their body. But there is just something so addicting about the artificial cherry flavor that makes cutting her life short by a year or two just worth it.

As she puts the ice on the counter the song playing from the overhead speakers ends and Chicago’s “You're the Inspiration” starts playing, making it impossible for Stevie to suppress a smile. Talk about the universe sending a sign. A strange feeling settles in her stomach, a mix of happiness and nostalgia and longing and loss. A memory of what once was and what will never be.

“You found everything alright?” The cashier asks, turning around to face Stevie.

So many people pass in and out of your life leaving no lasting traces, nothing to remember them by, neither good nor bad. A fleeting moment in time spent together only to be but a distant shadow in a memory.

And then there are people like Luke Maybank. Reckless and cruel, leaving destruction and pain wherever they step. Bruises and scars on good people with good hearts.

She remembers the first time she met him, he smiled at her but it was all teeth and absolutely no kindness. He called her little miss and she hated the way those words sounded coming from his lips. Acidic and evil. Like a Disney villain only in real life leaving real bruises on real skin.

He looks older now, worn out by life and circumstance. His skin is leathery and grayish dull, suntanned, and dry from spending too much time in the sun without giving a single thought to wearing sunscreen. His eyes still hold the same icy glint though. Grey and sharp and slicing right through her cutting straight to the bone.

“Hey, do I know you?”

She almost wants to laugh at that, at his absolute incapability to take any interest in JJ’s life, so much so as to forget her of all people.

A little voice in her head is whispering mischievous thoughts into her ear. “Tell him, go ahead. Tell him you’re his daughter-in-law. See what he says!”

She doesn’t listen to the voice though, she used to when she was younger but part of growing up is learning when to shut them up and when to follow them. This is a shut-up moment.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“You sure?” he musters her up and down trying desperately to find a place in his head to file her away.

“Pretty sure.”

“Well alright then. Could’ve sworn I’ve seen your pretty face before.”

And when he smiles at her then it’s no teeth or danger it’s that one dimple on his cheek dipping into his skin the same way JJ’s does. She thinks she hates this even more. Seeing a resemblance of the man she loves most in this world in this vile person before her. “That’ll be 86 cents please.”

She hands him a dollar bill and mumbles out a rushed “keep the change” before all but running out of the store.

Hatred feels red, it feels like burning you from the inside out. Bones and muscle and flesh and skin. Stevie has never felt hatred for anyone the way she feels for Luke Maybank.

He might not remember her but she remembers him alright. She remembers all the bruises and black eyes and scars littering JJ’s body. She remembers the fear in JJ’s voice and the tears running down his cheeks and all the pain and suffering he had to go through because Luke couldn’t be bothered to be a father and a decent human being.

Part of growing up is learning when to shut up the voices telling you to do irresponsible, dumb things. Stevie never claimed to be all that grown up. So when she catches sight of the ugly beige chevy suburban with the dent in the side and the crack in the windshield it feels like some higher power takes over. Her feet move as if on autopilot and bring her closer and closer to the car. Her hand reaches into the pocket of her denim shorts and grabs a hold of her key. The one with the pink plastic surfboard keychain and the small switchblade knife. Dad probably had other things in mind when he gave it to her. Protection, safety. But then again he said to use it in emergency situations and this emergency has been a long time coming.

She doesn’t even realize it’s happening until the satisfying hiss of a deflating tire pulls her back into the reality of the situation.

It’s morally wrong, she knows this as well as anyone. But every time she thinks about Luke Maybank all she can see is JJ bruised and battered and asking to be loved only for his father to leave him bloody and broken. Slashing the tire might be morally wrong but as she walks away from the scene of the crime, rides down the familiar streets of Kildare on her bike one hand on the handle one hand holding the popsicle, lips colored cherry red, there’s not a hint of regret inside of her. Sometimes things aren’t morally right but maybe that doesn’t mean they’re all wrong.

“Pogue meetup. 8 on the dot @ the chateau. Mandatory!”

John B. isn’t a texter. Never has been. He gets right to the point and if his point takes more than 3 sentences to explain he will call you. So when the text comes through Stevie doesn’t even have to question who it is summoning her to the old stomping grounds. Immediately the new number is saved in her phone as John B. He’s the only John she knows but it feels entirely wrong not to put the B where it has always been and always will belong.

The Chateau looks familiar and yet different. The big tree behind the house still stands grand and proud, the string lights still attached. She wonders if they still work. If they can still turn a backyard into a fairytale. The house looks different though, newer. It’s sporting a fresh coat of paint, light olive green, and the porch seems to have been built completely new from the ground up.

Music sounds from the backyard and laughter rings through the early afternoon daze. Her heart aches with a sense of longing, a remembrance of different times with the same people.

Their laughter still is her favorite sound in the world.

“Look who it is! Princess Pogue herself!” John B. calls out across the yard as she rounds the corner, smiling faces greeting her.

“Yo, I don’t know if that title still applies. Miss Collins is living on figure 8 now.” Pope inquiries, though Stevie can tell there’s no malicious intent in any of his words. It’s pointless teasing between friends forever entangled in each other's lives.

“Uh, objection your honor. May I remind you of one simple fact please?”

“Granted, what is that fact, Mr. Maybank?”

“Once a Pogue, always a fucking Pogue.”

His exclamation is met with a roar of applause and cheers and for a moment Stevie feels 18 and invincible again. 4 years feel like a lifetime sometimes and in moments like this one 4 years feel like they’re but a blink of an eye.

JJ’s arm falls around her shoulders as she plops down on the tree stump next to him. He smells like salty air and cheap mint body wash and fire. A can of beer is pushed into her hand, condensation cold and wet against her skin. It’s the same brand they’ve always had, the cheapest they sell at any of the stores around the island. It’s nice to know fundamental things haven’t changed.

The fire casts the group in a reddish golden glow, like oil paintings, like movie scenes too beautiful to be real life.

“You all wanna know something crazy?” she says, a smirk spreading on her lips.

Curious eyes regard her awaiting her next words.

“Richard has bidets installed in every bathroom. Remember when we didn’t have running water after one of the storms? Francine or Fiona or something? And we had to flush using collected rainwater.”

“When we sneaked into the country club to shit?” JJ asks with that cute little innocent smirk on his face that is all but innocent but works so well with his big blue eyes and the shaggy blond hair.

“Yeah JJ, that time. Well while we had to do that, figure 8 has fucking bidets.”

“Typical,” Kiara says and rolls her eyes in a way that Stevie missed so dearly. If only she could bottle up this moment, with all her friends smiling and happy and talking nonsense the way they always did.

“Does it like … tickle? Does it feel nice? Like nice nice, if you know what I mean.”

“Okay, woah JJ. No. No, come on. “ John B. speaks up accompanied by a harmony of groans following JJ’s question, earning him a confused “what?” from JJ himself.

“No more talk about — butt stuff. We’re here to celebrate the first time all of us Pogue are back on the island at the same time in years. So I would like to propose something.”

“He said butt stuff.”

“JJ!” Stevie scolds, slightly shoving her elbow into his ribs. Just enough to startle but not enough to hurt. Never.

“Sorry.”

“I propose the idea of making this the best summer ever. No drama. No problems. Just pure old Pogue shenanigans. That means fun, drinks, music, and maybe a blunt or two. What do you guys say?”

Sarah chimes up with an enthusiastic “Sounds good to me” and a grandiose bright smile. It doesn't take more than a second for the rest of the group to join in, a joy radiating from all of them that is simply contagious.

“Well, let's drink to that!”

“To the best summer of all time.” John B. says.

“To good friends.”

“To best friends.” Kie corrects Pope earning herself an agreeable nod of his head from the boy. The man.

“To spending time with the people you love most.”

As those words fall from Sarah’s lips, Stevie can’t help but glance at JJ through the corner of her eyes. It would be the world's most egregious lie if she were to deny that part of her still loves JJ. That part of her will always love him, no matter how much time or distance is put between them. Being here again just makes that so abundantly clear to her. Just because she knows though, doesn’t mean anyone else has to. So when his eyes catch hers she looks back towards the fire, acting as if nothing happened in the first place.

“To letting go of the past and building new futures.”

JJ’s words sound so honest and meaningful and back 4 years ago she immediately would’ve known what they meant. Would’ve been able to read him like an open book.

Not anymore though. And maybe those are the consequences of her own actions that she now has to live with. You are not the girl you were when you left, her mind tells her, and he is not the boy you left behind.

“To old memories. And to making new ones.”

Beers raised in the air, they all let out a whooping “Pogues for life” before taking sips from their drinks. Turning to JJ, Stevie is met with him already looking at her. God, he really does have the most beautiful blue eyes she’s ever seen. There have been so many times she’s gotten lost in them and she can almost feel herself slipping back into them. Letting the blue waves pull her in and pull her under. She wouldn’t even mind. There has never been a death as sweet as drowning in JJ’s eyes.

“Cheers, sunshine.”

“Cheers, JJ”

What a traitorous heart she has, one that won't stop fluttering just because her husband looked at her and granted her a smile. Oh, what a traitorous heart.

The moon sits high in the sky like a spotlight shining down upon the backyard of the Chateau. John B. and Sarah have turned in a while ago and both Kiara and Pope are softly snoring away on the cough inside the house, leaving only Stevie and JJ out by the dying fire.

Just them and the moon and the stars, the soft humming of the radio, and the melodic chirping of the katydids.

“Why are you smiling like that?” JJ asks, now sitting on the floor, back resting against the stump and hands locked behind his head.

“Just — you’re not gonna believe what I did today.”

“What did you do? You’re going all red, what did you do Collins?”

His eyes are wide with mischief and adoration and he’s got a red glow dusting his face. She’s not sure if it’s sunburn or the result of one too many beers. Either way, she thinks it makes him look so fucking adorable.

“I ran into your dad today.”

There’s a flicker of hurt in his eyes, one that’s always been there but one she hopes will go away one day. She doubts it ever will but there’s no harm in hoping.

“Yeah, I heard he’s back in Kildare.”

“He works at the gas station by Willow Drive. Didn’t even recognize me.”

“Of course, he didn’t. Never took an interest in any of the things that mattered to me.”

“Mmmh. Well, I was — god I was so mad, JJ. When he looked at me all friendly I just thought of all the things he did to you and how he never got his comeuppance and I just — freaked. It doesn't even absolve half of what he did to you but I just couldn't help myself.”

“What did you doooo?”

He’s giggling. A grown man giggling like he’s been told the funniest story in all of time’s existence. She loves the sound. Wants to hear it over and over and over again.

“ I slashed his tire.”

“You did not.”

“Uh—huh. I did. With a tiny keychain switchblade too.”

“Stephanie Collins, you’re a full-on criminal. I’m so proud of you.”

“I learned from the best.”

The two of them descend into a fit of laughter, half drunk on beer and high on weed but mostly intoxicated by the magic of being around each other again as if the last 4 years never happened and those kids who were dumb and in love are still there inside of them just under the surface waiting to break free.

“Hey, Stevie?”

The sincerity in his voice sends a funny sensation through her heart.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

He shrugs his shoulders and averts his eyes, training them on the dying embers of the fire. It’s funny how something can burn so brightly, so viciously and suddenly it’s but a dim light, barely a spark. There’s a metaphor there for their relationships, she’s a writer, she finds metaphors in everything. But being drunk on nostalgia and residual love, she can’t quite seem to uncover it.

“For everything. Just — I should’ve said it a while ago and I never did so I just wanted to say it now.”

Vulnerable JJ is still something that is quite unfamiliar to her. He is so full of laughter and smiles and overcompensating for how he really feels, he doesn’t show this side of him often. Never did. So when he does it’s special and it means more than he probably even realizes himself.

“Well, thank you. I appreciate it. I’m sorry too.”

He places a kiss on the top of her head, so soft and gentle that she wonders for a second if she imagined it.

“You know, earlier before I noticed your dad I felt like the universe was welcoming me back to the island in the weirdest way possible.”

“Huh? How’s that?”

“They played “You’re the Inspiration” over the gas station radio. Our wedding song.”

JJ turns to her, eyebrows furrowed and nose scrunched. She’ll never get tired of looking at his face, Stevie decides at that moment.

“That’s not our wedding song.”

“Uh, yes it is! We had our first dance here in this very backyard while that song was playing. We all sang along. Don’t you remember?”

“I remember every single second of that day. But that was not our first dance.”

He shakes his head, shaggy blond hair swaying messily with the movement, before dusting himself off and standing up. Fumbling his phone from the pockets of his cargo shorts, he furiously starts typing before the Bluetooth speaker lets out a thumping sound and then reconnects to JJ’s phone.

“Our first dance,” JJ says and holds out his hand to her, pulling her to her feet and closer to his body, snaking one hand around her waist. “wasn’t even here. The first time I danced with my wife was on the back patio of the Wreck while we were waiting for the food that Kie couldn’t bring because she was at the Chateau getting the decorations ready for the reception.”

He’s right. Of course, he is. JJ never forgets the little things that turn out not to be so little after all. Back when they were still together he would remember the most inconsequential details. Her favorite flowers, food, songs. The way she liked her coffee and that waking her up with kisses was entirely more successful than a damn alarm clock.

“And this song was playing.”

When he presses play on his phone, a loud voice advertises a Spotify original podcast to them, yet another true crime one, because there aren’t entirely too many of those.

“Sorry, I don’t pay for premium. I think it’s a scam.”

Stevie doesn’t ask him to elaborate, sure there is a completely rational explanation to JJ as to why the premium service is a scam. It probably even makes a little sense if you let him explain it thoroughly.

She doesn’t ask him to elaborate, just wraps her arms around his neck like she’s done so many times before in a lifetime that feels like it wasn’t even her own but also like it happened just hours ago. Time is a funny thing.

A guitar chord fills the air followed by the hauntingly beautiful voice of Eva Cassidy.

“You'll remember me when the west wind moves Among the fields of barley You can tell the sun in his jealous sky When we walked in fields of gold”

Suddenly she’s back on the patio of the Wreck, 18 and in love, and freshly married to the boy that has always had her heart. Life was so complicated and yet so simple. Nothing has changed, everything is different.

“You looked so beautiful in that white dress. And I — “

“JJ, I loved your outfit. Those damned cuffed jeans and that crisp white shirt? That was my husband right there.”

“I liked being called your husband.” He admits with a bashful smile that evokes the dimple on his cheek. On him, nothing is menacing or uneasy. There’s not a hint of his father in him, this is all JJ.

“Yeah?”

They’re softly swaying through the night, stars illuminating the dark around them.

“Oh yeah. Made me feel like a real adult. Like I had done something right in my life. If someone as amazing as you thought I was worth marrying then how fucked up could I really be?”

Stevie never liked hearing him talk about himself like that. Granted, that version of him was usually overshadowed by the fake confident, big-mouthed, larger-than-life persona he put on, but whenever this version did show up, it almost broke Stevie’s heart.

“Is that why you didn’t sign the papers the first time I sent them?”

“You sent them before?”

“Can’t bullshit a bullshitter, JJ. I know you got them. It’s okay though. I get it. It’s hard for me too.”

He bites his lip in consideration as if for the first time in his life weighing his words, deciding what to say next.

“I just — I can’t do it. I’m sorry. Every time I try I just can’t bring myself to sign them. Like I forgot how to spell my own name or something. It’s kinda really fucked up.”

“JJ, it’s okay. You don’t have to do it right now, I’m here all summer. Just give them to me before I leave.”

The thought of her leaving is sending a pang of hurt through her heart. There’s still so much summer left, she tells herself, no need to think about the end yet.

Resting her head against his chest, Stevie closes her eyes, squeezes them shut so tightly it makes her see phosphenes for a second, shutting out the reality of what is happening. If she closes her eyes tight enough she doesn’t have to face the fact that with the end of the summer comes the actual proper end of her marriage. But this is what she wants right? Closure?

“JJ?”

“Hmm?”

“Will you come to my mom’s wedding?”

"Obviously. I’m her favorite.”

She chuckles against his chest, the fabric of his shirt swallowing most of the sound.

“Only if you promise me something though.”

Stevie pulls away and looks up at him and just for a small moment she allows herself to get lost in the blue. Just this once.

“You’ll save a dance for me.”

All her dances are his. Forever. It’s something she promised herself in silence when they danced in the back garden of the country club that one night when they were 16 and meant to work at the midsummer event but snuck away to slow dance as the band played a soft song. Just because things changed between them doesn’t mean that promise will be broken.

The fire is out, just a burned-down log and a pile of ash as Eva Cassidy lulls JJ and Stevie into a soft haze. The song is about to end but neither of them is ready to let go. Not yet. Maybe when the summer ends and things go back to normal. But not right now with the night all inky black. Not right now when it’s just them and the moon and the stars and the melodic chirping of the katydids and Eva Cassidy singing their song.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll save a dance for you.”

“I never made promises lightly And there have been some that I've broken But I swear in the days still left We'll walk in fields of gold We'll walk in fields of gold

Ooh Many years have passed since those summer days Among the fields of barley See the children run as the sun goes down As you lie in fields of gold.”

[thedreadvampy]

Like I'm sorry I'm a dick about Elias Bouchard (both flavours) sometimes but it's just that this is really where the Americanness of the fandom starts to grate on me because from my perspective as a British person a bit younger than Jonny, his messaging is really really clear - he's implictly referencing a lot of recent political events (like 2010-2020), he's writing from and to a common perspective on British class politics (best summed up as Fuck The Fucking Tories and New Labour Aren't Much Better) but most importantly his work is full of very clear unambiguous class signifiers that Just Don't Exist in the same form in America.

And Elias is absolutely the clearest form of this because he's not being queer coded, he's being posh-coded (both Jonny Magma and OGlias) and he's specifically being described in terms of the type of hateful spoilt rich boys that most of us have encountered by adulthood imo. Jonalias' soft-spokenness, condescension, polite but cutting attitude and tendency to pretend ignorance/innocence aren't counter to that, they're core to it.

and OG Elias' stoner ways, utter self-absorption, self-impressed awkwardness, belief that he's being unfairly treated by having to work to get things, and deep open insecurity, aren't there so much to mark him as a Vulnerable Innocent as they are traits that most of us can mail directly onto the Rah Rah Gap Yah posh boys you meet as a young adult, and these are the people who fucked the pig. These are our rich frat boys, they are the ones at the centre of a lot of university drinking, drug and rape culture, they will bumble their way through university barely trying but meet the right people and fall into a job, just like Elias expects to, that allows them to climb to a position of comfortable power without responsibility through politicking but not really working, and then if anybody calls them out on it they'll be baffled because they've worked so hard and suffered so much to get here, you don't know what it's like to deal with that weight of expectation! You couldn't understand because you're simply a Different Class Of Person - their job is to do the politicking and backscratching and people skills to get and keep power, your job is to work, and for them to work or for you to hold power would just Not Make Sense. They don't necessarily think of it as hatred but they do think of it as natural law and it is deeply, deeply malignant.

like the bumbling insecure yah I totally chundered everywhere yah yah perma-adolescent posh boy thing that OGlias is playing off of is exactly how Boris Johnson builds his public persona. In Britain posh boys play the sad clown but know that they're born for power and feel that them not having power, even if they've done nothing to achieve it, is not just a gross injustice but also a perversion of the natural order.

And like all this is right there! In the text! But it's a British podcast written by an English author with a British audience in mind and I guess some of those associations don't line up well with other countries' structures of power and privilege. And that's fine and understandable but it's frustrating sometimes because there's a very clear intentionality to how power and privilege and class and wealth and untouchability are being framed in TMA and a lot of that subtext seems to be falling through the cracks in cultural translation.

[zodiakuroo]

copycat

18+, eren jaeger x fem!reader

part two of pierced

inspired by the 'big stick' scene from jawbreaker (iykyk)

wc: 3.7k

contains: mild dubcon, light dom/sub, ball play, choking, dumbification, degradation, spit, creampie

Eren can’t help but admire you from the doorway of your shared bedroom. One would think, that after 30 days of edging, you would learn not to be such a fucking tease. But here you are flitting around the kitchen in nothing but one of his t-shirts and a frilly pair of lilac panties.

‘Stop being a perv. It’s hot out.’ You don’t have to say it. The ‘you’ in his head is already chastising him for the lascivious nature of his thoughts.

The ‘you’ in his head is also already bent over the granite top counter, panties long discarded, presenting yourself to him, begging ‘Please Eren. Fuck me.’

He can’t help it. Everyday he’s found himself face to face with your cute little pussy, absolutely begging to get filled and not being able to do anything about it. It’s not his fault that when he sees you wearing next to nothing, he just wants to stick his cock in you.

Except it’s entirely his fault.

That’s why even though you can feel the weight of his stare as you move around the kitchen, you don’t even spare a glance in his direction.

If there’s one thing these last few weeks have taught you, its willpower. And thanks to your newfound self-discipline you’re able to resist the urge to pounce on him when your boyfriend pulls your back against the solid wall of his chest. “Baby.” He rasps. “I’m all healed up.”

The statement makes goosebumps appear on your skin despite the sweltering heat but other than that, you show no signs of exactly how pent up you are.

Eren made you swear not to touch yourself whining about how unfair it would be and how he would really appreciate your support in his hour of need. Yes he used those exact words. You kept your promise but not without intending to receive payback. It was only a matter of how. The idea hadn’t come to you yet.

“Really?” You don’t even bother to turn around, pushing past him. Partly as a way to tease him but also because you don’t trust yourself to be able to resist him once you get a good look at him. From his scent alone you can tell he’s fresh from a shower and that’s when he’s the most dangerous. He smells cool and fresh like his shower gel, spicy and warm like his aftershave and fruity and floral like his your shampoo. It’s hypnotic.

The trance is broken when he pulls you even closer to him, grinding his bulge into your backside.

“Stop buying that 2-in-1 shit if you’re gonna use mine all the time anyways.” You grumble.

Right.

Revenge first. Dick second. The voice in your head reminds you.

You wriggle out of his hold, remembering why you came into the kitchen in the first place. You breathe a sigh of relief as you open the freezer door, the cold air providing a brief reprieve from the near suffocating heat of your apartment. Once you’ve obtained your target; a cherry popsicle hidden behind some ice packs and frozen peas, you finally take a look at your tormentor.

“Babe c’mon.” Eren persists.

He looks good. Unfairly good considering the fact that he’s not even trying. Fresh from the shower, he has on a worn out white t-shirt, stretched around the neckline which gives you a mouthwatering look at his perfectly sculpted collarbones and no more than the top of his pecs that peak out above the seam. His grey athletic shorts hang low on his hips and outline his print a little too well so you know he’s not wearing boxers. Eren hasn’t bothered to tie up his long hair leaving the damp tendrils dangling above his shoulders with a few stray strands framing his handsome face. He’s putting up a nonchalant front but the tick in his eyebrow gives his irritated disposition away.

Surely he didn’t believe that you would let him have his way with you that easily.

Except he did. Because under most circumstances he would. But today, your own stubbornness (only marginally) drowns out your desire for your Adonis of a boyfriend so you push past him into the lounge, plopping down on the couch with a dramatic sigh.

“Later.” You bring the frozen treat to your lips. “It’s so hot.” Again, Eren tries to keep his face expressionless but you easily spot the way he clenches his jaw as his gaze fixes itself onto your mouth.

Bingo

You close your eyes, enjoying the sweet cherry taste and cool sensation that spreads throughout your body.

“On second thought,” You start, as a mischievous grin spreads across your face. “There is something else I’d rather have in my mouth.”

“Yeah?” Eren dons a matching smirk and stalks his way over to you, sitting down so that you can straddle him. “Tempting but honestly, your mouth isn’t what I had in mind.” His voice trails off, large hands moving down to cup your ass, giving the soft flesh a squeeze for good measure. But before he can take it any further you’re already manoeuvring your way between his knees.

“Oh. You don’t want me to suck your cock?” You pout, resting your head against his thigh, trying your best to sound disappointed.

Eren swallows whatever argument he was about to present when he sees your pretty eyes, shaded by fluttering lashes looking up at him with the tip of the crimson popsicle pressed against your sinful mouth. The same sinful mouth he’s been dreaming about for a month.

Fuck.

“Yeah, okay.” He grumbles while you watch him pull his already half hard cock out of his bottoms. It’s so pretty and long, perfectly thick in all the right places, decorated at the tip with a vertical running titanium barbell.

He’s got a hand around his base, waiting for you to replace the sweet treat in your mouth with his aching cock but much to his dismay your attention is drawn a little lower.

The sight of his plush balls all swollen and full of cum proves to be too much for you to resist. He shudders when your cold lips press against the taut skin. You know he’s sensitive from being so backed up. That’s why he starts panting as you leave wet kisses on his sac, leaving your saliva all over it while his shaft grows harder above you.

“Hold this for me.” You pass him your popsicle, that is slowly starting to melt which he takes in his free hand.

“Okay can you just- fuck.” One more kiss, right on the shiny metal of his newly healed piercing, shuts him up quickly.

Your own hands find their place on his thighs. You dip your head down again and take one of his balls in his mouth massaging it with your tongue.

“Christ.” He groans, slowly jerking himself off while you worship his balls.

“Oh poor baby…. so full.” You murmur letting go of the left to suck on the right one, savouring the weight of them.

“Yeah.” His voice is about a whole octave higher than usual. “Hurts.” He scrunches up his face when you let go of his ball with a pop.

“I bet.” You giggle. Eren is now at full mast, veiny shaft resting against his abdomen, dribbling precum which coats the shiny piercing that crowns his angry-red tip. His wrist flicks ever so elegantly as his hand moves languidly up and down, up and down, up and-”

“Princess.” Your boyfriend whines, yanking you out of your daze. “Enough with the teasing. You wanted to suck me off. Do it already.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, not losing sight of your revenge plot.

“Baby,” You pout. “I really want to but-” It’s so hard to bite back your laugh. “But I don’t remember how.”

“Wait what?” His hand stops right in his tracks, brows furrowed in confusion.

“It’s been so long. Can you show me?”

Eren’s expression goes from perplexed to vicious but you don’t budge, blinking up at him with wide innocent eyes.

“How?” He huffs impatiently. It’s funny actually, seeing him struggle to tolerate a fraction of his own bitter medicine.

Your eyes shift to the frozen treat still in his hand that’s starting to drip down his knuckles. “I’m a visual learner.”

He moves like he’s about to stand up but you won’t make it that easy for him. “Please, Rennie? Please teach me how to suck your cock?”

As much as Eren has you wrapped around his finger, he’s just as whipped for you. So when you look at him with those sparkly eyes and call him the pet name he swears he hates but brings him to his knees when you use it, you know you have him.

Hook, line and sinker.

You use your thumb and middle finger to make a circle around his base, positioning yourself eye level with his leaking slit.

His tongue peaks out cautiously, eyes trained on yours as he flicks it across the tip, testing the waters. Immediately you follow suit, tasting his precum for the first time in so long. His hips buck off the couch, chasing the gone-too-soon sensation but you dig your nails into his thigh, reminding him who’s in control right now.

You quirk your brow at him, making sure he understands what you want.

How many times have you found yourself in this exact position: sitting between your boyfriend’s thighs while he looks down at you, both of you equally as lust drunk as the other. But this time he’s the one panting and whimpering while you have your turn to torture him.

Eren doesn’t like it. Not one bit. He wants to smack that smug little grin right off your face but instead he pulls at your hair, tugging right at the roots and making you yelp in pain. Now you’re scowling. But it’s hard to look at all intimidating sitting beneath him with your head tilted at such an awkward angle. He doesn’t miss the way your thighs clench together either.

Never breaking eye contact, he uses the flat of his tongue to lick a broad stripe up the length of the popsicle. You squirm in place, remembering how it feels to have him lick across your cunt exactly like that.

Fine. He’d play along with your little game. But on his own terms.

You lean forward to copy him but the hand holding your head keeps you in place. Without looking away, Eren launches a glob of spit onto the already drippy ice-cream before licking it away. It’s that simple for him to put a crack in your domineering façade and have you whimpering right at his feet as per usual.

The corners of his lips twitch as a silent challenge to you.

Never one to back down, you use your tongue to trace the vein that runs along the underside of his cock, feeling it pulsate. As you get closer to his prince Albert, you can’t hold back from swirling the wet muscle around the cold metal.

A soft whimper escapes his lips as you pull away, keeping your mouth agape, looking up at him expectantly.

It’s silent for a moment before Eren realises what you’re wordlessly pleading for. “Fucking slut.” He mutters, almost amazed before he gathers more of his saliva to drop into your mouth with a loud khwa pto echoing throughout the quiet apartment.

You close your mouth with a satisfied smile, savouring the taste of sweet, tart cherry and a flavour that is uniquely Eren, letting it mingle with your own saliva before spitting it on to his cock. You use your tongue to spread the wetness all along the shaft, leaving it covered in slick sheen.

“So fuckin’ nasty.” He groans, moving his hand from your head to push his own hair out of his face, not wanting anything to obstruct his view of you right now.

You feel the way his thigh twitches under your palm every time you come even close to his puffy cockhead and your tongue brushes across the sensitive piercing. The idea that you have him like this, desperate and whining, after weeks of him toying with you is exhilarating to say the least.

You have to rein yourself in before you end the fun too soon.

Reluctantly, you pull away and patiently await your next command.

You know what he wants next and so does he but Eren can’t help but feel self-conscious.

Of course, he loves the way you look when you’re going down him. His gallery is filled with pictures of you with your eyes filled to the brim with tears and your lips stretched impossibly wide around his girth. When you’re not around he gets off to the videos him fucking your face, relishing in the way you gag while you try to accommodate him in your throat. He doesn’t think he could ever measure up to how sexy you look with your pupils blown, lips all swollen and your spit dripping down your chin.

But just like you, he’s never been one to back down from a challenge.

Ever so slowly, he opens his mouth and latches on to the blunt top of the popsicle. His plump lips form a perfect O-shaped pout, stained beautiful crimson from the fruit juice. Your gaze is transfixed on his face, the sharp lines and edges tinted with an uncharacteristic blush as his cheeks hollow out, to suck it in deeper.

“So pretty baby.” You breathe out.

He shudders as the cool air fans out across his wet skin.

“Yeah? ‘m pretty?” He smirks, using his free hand to drag his cock across your face, smearing his precum on your lips. “Show me how you treat pretty boys. Please?”

And how could you deny him?

Centimeter by centimeter, you pull him in. Only the first few inches, get to enjoy the warm, slippery cavern of your mouth while the rest of him has to make do with the soft skin of your hand gliding up, down and around.

“Fucking take it inside. Christ.” He groans, frustration evident as he glares down at you.

You simply shake your head a ‘no’, far too content with the taste and the weight of him in your mouth to stop suckling at his cock. If he wants more, he knows what he has to do.

The frozen treat is back between his lips and far too quickly, with not enough thought he pushes it inside as far as it can go until his gag reflex forces him to abort his mission, sputtering out red-coloured saliva.

You pull off of him as you erupt into a fit of giggles.

Eren takes advantage of the fact that you’re unguarded and in a matter of seconds he has you pinned to the floor. The poor popsicle is left in a sad, melting puddle on your couch while his long, sticky fingers circle around both of your wrists, the other hand keeping a harsh grip on your jaw.

Yeah. Not laughing now, are you?

“Was that funny to you princess?” He questions you, almost daring you to hit back.

Knowing when to quit was never one of your strong points.

“Not funny.” You say despite your giddy smile. “My pretty boy just needs more practice.” You snicker.

You’re pushing his buttons on purpose now. At best, you expect some degrading words fitting of your bratty attitude. At worst, you expect the sting of his palm to come down against the side of your face, reminding you of your place.

What you don’t expect is a wry chuckle before he says, “I forgot how bitchy you get when you don’t get stuffed full of cock enough.”

Eren frees your hands in favour of placing both of his on your knees. He spreads apart your legs as wide as they can go, dragging his coarse palms up and up to rest at the apex of your thighs. He flicks up the hem of your shirt to reveal to him the crotch of your panties that's soaked through with your arousal. He pulls them to the side to expose your cunt to him. Eren barely stops himself from tearing the flimsy fabric right off your body and only because he thinks they're pretty and wants to see you wear them again.

He can smell you. But he suppresses the desire to bury his face between your pillowy thighs for as long as you’ll let him. He knows that’s not what either of you really want.

“This needy pussy been missing me?” He coos, keeping his voice sugary sweet and dripping with condescension. He grinds his pierced tip all along your cunt, dipping under your hood to press right against your clit.

You feel it before you realise what’s happening; the burn of his fat head of his cock prodding at your tiny hole, forcing it to stretch around him.

“Jesus fuck- ‘s tight.” He grits out, managing to pop just the tip in.

Tears gather at your waterline as he impales you further and further on his cock, reintroducing your insides to him and his newest body mod. The bulb of the piercing drags deliciously over every bump and ridge that lines your walls. It just keeps going and going until it’s all too much.

Instinctively, your hand flies to Eren’s abdomen, fingers splaying across his tummy. You want to ask him to stop or wait or at the very least prep you. But you’re just so full.

He’s not even all the way in and you’re full of him everywhere. Did it feel like this before?

He doesn't give you a chance to remember.

“Move. Your fucking. Hand.” He grunts before moving it for you and sheathing his cock fully in your spasming cunt.

“Fuck Eren. ‘s big.” Your voice breaks as you utter that last word right one Eren fills you to the hilt. Your arms fly to his biceps, squeezing the muscle so tight that you’re certain it hurts him but he doesn’t complain.

No one would believe that mere minutes ago Eren was the one under your thumb. Not when he’s so quickly managed to turn you into a blubbering mess.

“Where’s that smart mouth now?” He mocks you as if he’s doing any better. In reality he’s keeping himself still, with his pressed against yours trying to regain a semblance of control, not wanting this to end so soon.

Slowly, he starts to rock his hips against you and little by little you open up around him, offering less and less resistance. Hand on the bible, he swears he can feel your gooey pussy sucking him in every time he pulls back, almost like it’s begging him to never leave again. Hand on the bible, he swears that he won’t.

“Huh?” He taunts. “Where’s the bitch who thought she could fuck with me?” He emphasises his point with one sharp snap of his hips that hits the bull’s eye.

“Eren! Right there!” You cry out as you back arches up into him but he forces you to stay down by pressing his palm firmly against your sternum.

“Right there?” He mimics your voice, with a high pitched, nasal tone. You can’t even cringe at how it sounds because the feeling of the rounded metal hitting that squishy patch deep inside you with pinpoint accuracy is too overwhelming for you to think about anything else.

“You want me to fuck you here?” His thrusts start to pick up pace. You’re finally getting used to him again and the slick juices from your pussy let’s him move as fast as he wants, as deep as he wants so you he can use his cock to abuse all of your sweet spots

You can’t exactly speak; only nod, as you dig your nails into his shoulders and back, leaving a trail of crescent shaped indents in your wake. The coil at the base of your belly twists tighter, tighter and tighter still as all your nerve endings work overtime to register the way he fills you up completely, the way the metal rubs along all the right spots and the way Eren rams into you like a man possessed.

“Pleasepleasepleaseplease.” Now you’re begging. It’s impossible to stop the fear bubbling in your chest. You’ve become well-acquainted with this feeling. Absolutely drowning in pleasure and right on the edge of an unimaginable peak before having it ripped away. It’s not unreasonable to be worried that Eren might leave you high and dry once again.

He halts his movements the moment he notices the doubt behind your eyes.

Your pleas become more and more frantic, already thinking the worst. “Don’t stop Eren! Please don’t stop.” You sob but go silent when his hand rests itself firmly around your throat.

“Told you.” He punctuates the sentence with one, deep thrust.

“Fuck. What did I say?” He growls as he falls back into the same brutal rhythm that had you teetering on the very brink of an orgasm before.

God above as your witness, you try and answer but all that comes out is a pathetic squeak of his name before he cuts you off completely by squeezing your neck tighter.

“S-said I was gonna fuck you stupid. Right?”

You nod as best you can, head spinning from the lack of air and your orgasm approaching rapidly.

“Now fuckin’ cum for me so I can keep my promise.”

The second his hand meets your clit, you’re a goner. The calloused pad of his thumb rubs the neglected nub with exactly the right pressure to push you over the edge. Every muscle clenches as that tightening coil finally snaps. The intoxicating pleasure that shoots through your body reaches your head at the same time as the pressure on your throat is released, much needed oxygen flooding your brain and prolonging the high.

You wrap your legs around his waist, keeping him deep inside you as cream around his cock. It’s pointless to hold off his release any longer and with nowhere else to go he spills his load deep in your pussy. The feeling of his hot cum seeping into your pussy has you twitching around him, trying to milk every last drop from him.

You may have blacked for a second, eyes fluttering open as Eren gently taps your cheek. His handsome face, all flushed and sweaty comes into focus. Both of you are wearing equally dopey grins as he asks you, “Did it feel as good as I said?”

[sepublic]

I think Marcy always understood

           To give her some credit; I think it’s easier for Marcy to sometimes… Simplify and dumb things down in a sense, as part of her analytical thought process, so she can really hyper-focus. Because boiling things down to their basics can help Marcy sort of prioritize on what really needs attention and whatnot, and I think that plays into how she apparently treats Amphibia as more of an RPG than an actual, real world…

           But, I think she DOES know and acknowledge the people there as, well, people. Obviously Marcy had a bit of a learning curve and this sense of realization, but I don’t think she’s intentionally apathetic to others, nor necessarily low in empathy; 

          She still goes out of her way to save Sprig’s life, twice, the second time after she admits her own mistakes to Anne… She does try to navigate and learn around Maddie as a real person, as a stranger and potential friend who she values.

           I imagine it’s sometimes easier and tempting, even, for Marcy to just boil people down to simpler, easier things for her to understand and comprehend, because she’s not socially-versed the way Anne and Sasha are… But she’s a smart kid, and she DOES recognize that people are complex, it’s actually kind of why she tries to make sense of them in that way of hers, so she can process and analyze properly! 

          Stuff like games gives Marcy a good frame of reference to work off of, a sense of how interactions function to work from, and figure things out. Marcy probably uses media as a way to help her figure out interactions with people, and while she shouldn’t get completely mixed up with fiction and reality;

           Again, I think Marcy knows and recognizes there’s a distinction. And she uses that frame of reference of media and fiction to help her start out and begin to figure things out… Before her analytical, logical mind eventually figures out the rest. But sometimes it’s really hard to put in that effort, and scary, and there doesn’t seem to be that guarantee of benefits, so Marcy doesn’t want to take the risks and sticks with people like Anne and Sasha… I just think this is all Marcy’s way of trying to process, comprehend, and understand others in a way that makes sense to her, even if she acknowledges that this isn’t wholly accurate to real life, either.

           Which, if you take into account how Marcy is clearly autistic or ADHD, or at least undeniably neurodivergent, and how that plays into her tendency to hyper-focus and block things out, so she can concentrate… Again, I think it really is just a way for her to make sense of life and people. And unfortunately, when you put that kind of coping process and method into Marcy’s unique situation, with her desire for wish fulfillment and a fantasy where she can get away from it all, and a manipulator who takes advantage of all that, enabling it all; And it really is a situation designed to bring out the worst of someone who DOES try to do her best and learn.

           But even then, you have moments like The First Temple, where Marcy forfeits the game because her pride is meaningless compared to Anne and the Plantars, or how in New Wartwood she recognizes that she can’t just overwhelm strangers with big gestures of affection, and hope that wins them over; Which I think she actually learned from Sasha…! Marcy can and does respect people’s agency and boundaries, but I think she often finds herself in that horrible, isolating kind of situation and environment that convinces her to do otherwise, because she thinks it’s the only way she can survive. It’s enabling, all of it.

           And it sucks, because Marcy really, clearly was easily on the way of development; Her mistake in using the music box came beforeall of the growth we saw from her as a person, not afterwards, that was just when we learned about it! Obviously Marcy needed to admit about lying to Anne later on with Andrias… But again, her development after traveling to Wartwood, after the First Temple, it all occurred after that deal with Andrias. Marcy didn’t need to be emotionally broken and exposed like that, to have her trust torn apart… She was already on the way to learn, and we see with how when Andrias reveals HIS true colors, Marcy admits her fault and tries to make things up to Anne!

           It’s to the point where this girl has literally been MURDERED, and Marcy STILL feels the need to atone and be ‘mature’, which… I really hope Marcy can learn and recognize that she shouldn’t be so hard on herself, either. That she’s a kid who lacked a lot of agency, and that her efforts to do better ARE worthwhile and noted.

          She needs to be easy on herself too, I think; I don’t want to see her overcompensate to her own perceived delusions by trying to be TOO realistic and pessimistic. Marcy is allowed to keep having fun with media, she can and HAS made that distinction before, and it’s not entirely her fault that people like Andrias intentionally try to blur the lines to confuse and obfuscate her.

           Which again; It sucks that Marcy was on the obvious path to maturity and self-love, to responsibility… But she never really gets the chance to reap the benefits of that effort and growth, because her life is so brutally, suddenly, cut off by this completely outside event that blindsided her, that Marcy’s own wit couldn’t have anticipated, something she couldn’t have ever really anticipated or been prepared for. There’s stuff like the Music Box, Andrias manipulating and then killing her… And it really is unfair how the world pits itself against Marcy, who in a proper environment can and would thrive.

          And, Marcy’s whole issue is being supplanted from an environment where she feels happy and safe, that’s what led to her using the music box in the first place, so I suppose that only makes sense; Someone give her a real home for once, one that’ll last and will support her, dang it! Marcy’s circumstances keep unfairly challenging and frustrating her, messing and tearing apart her hard work, and she needs that fair chance she deserves and clearly does well with.

          Marcy was practically thrust into situations designed to ruin, tempt, and enable her worst flaws, forced into uncomfortable ultimatums that leave her desperate and alone, like her parents planning to move. It’s a situation meant to encourage Marcy to reverse her own character development, which for a kid who already has a lot of issues figuring out social cues in general, both as a literal child who’s pretty isolated and socially inexperienced, and also as someone blatantly ND-coded… And it really is overwhelmingly cruel and one-sided.

           It’s easy to do the right thing when you’re operating from a place of comfort, but in the end, a lot of what Marcy does is survival; It’s the only thing she can do to get by, it’s practically self-defense in a sense. Not to say Marcy never did anything wrong, she clearly admitted it herself… But again, the odds really are so unfairly stacked against her, with how she encounters Andrias while Anne has the Plantars, and Sasha has Grime. Marcy’s just been given a raw deal, the short end of the stick, and I want her to realize this, that it really isn’t her fault in a lot of ways, and that it’s okay in some regards that she did what she needed to, in order to survive… She did what made sense, and she has no blame nor fault for what went wrong.

[itadorisgf]

AAAAAAAA! CONGRATS ON THE MILESTONE I’M SO PROUD OF YOU AND YOU DESERVE EVERY BIT BECAUSE YOUR WRITING IS WONDERFUL! ✨💛 for a tulip/date night(?) I was thinking about a road trip date with Gojo Satoru? Like, it might be unrealistic since 1. He’s probably really busy, huh? 2. I don’t know if he can even swap places to drive because blindfold, and even his sunglasses were wack (Gege said something about ‘em somewhere). But the of dorking out during sightseeing and blasting tunes in the car with the fun-loving teacher is just very appealing to me. Also congrats again!! qwq

— gojo satoru + road trip

⤷ anonymous asked: AAAAAAAA! CONGRATS ON THE MILESTONE I’M SO PROUD OF YOU AND YOU DESERVE EVERY BIT BECAUSE YOUR WRITING IS WONDERFUL! ✨💛 for a tulip/date night(?) I was thinking about a road trip date with Gojo Satoru? Like, it might be unrealistic since 1. He’s probably really busy, huh? 2. I don’t know if he can even swap places to drive because blindfold, and even his sunglasses were wack (Gege said something about ‘em somewhere). But the of dorking out during sightseeing and blasting tunes in the car with the fun-loving teacher is just very appealing to me. Also congrats again!! qwq

note: thank you so so much for the kind words!

ft. gojo satoru

warning: gn!reader, fluff, gojo being gojo (aka an insufferable but loveable menace)

⤷ the flower shop

It’s incredibly rare for Gojo to get any time off from work. He’s always needed here or there —for “difficult” missions, which really aren’t all that difficult, or boring obligatory clan meetings — that he doesn’t have much free time. But Gojo somehow manages to weasel his way out of some commitments, which might earn him a lecture from some higher-ups later, and proudly proclaims that you’re going on a road trip together.

It’s not that you’re not excited at the prospect of spending time with Gojo, but a little heads up would have been appreciated. But Gojo is Gojo and he exits your shared bedroom with a grin and informs you that you have an hour to gather all the stuff you need before closing the door shut behind him. The dumbass barely gives you any details of where you are going so you tear through your room, searching for whatever you think you’ll need for a day trip.

It actually doesn’t take you too much time to pack everything you think you’ll need, but you still scowl at Gojo when you exit your shared bedroom to see him lounging with his legs spread out across the couch. He jumps up the moment he sees you with the complaint of you taking too long on his tongue. You just elbow him in the chest and roll your eyes when it doesn’t connect since Gojo turned on his infinity before you could actually hit him.

Gojo takes the bag you’ve packed from your hand and you’re quick to snatch the car keys off the counter before the two of you exit your home. You may love Gojo immensely, but you’d be damned if you let him drive. You’re not even sure if he has a proper license. With the way he drives, speeding and swerving, you wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t.

Gojo pouts when he realizes you’re going to be the one driving, but gets in the passenger seat regardless. Once you’re all buckled up, you flip your palm up for Gojo to entwine your fingers together. Sometimes he likes to fiddle with your fingers or to compare your hand sizes instead of actually holding your hand.

He always pretends to be astonished that his hand is bigger than yours despite doing the same thing every single time he rides in the passenger seat. You just roll your eyes in fond amusement.

You let Gojo control the music you listen to. He queues up a lot of upbeat pop songs and throwbacks that the two of you can belt out together. He’ll turn up the volume obnoxiously loud and sing as loudly as he can, so his voice won’t be drowned out by the music. His voice is actually not bad, so sometimes you’ll stop singing along to the lyrics just so you can devote your attention to listening to him, eyes darting to the side every so often to get a glimpse of him from the corner of your eyes. When he feels your eyes on him, Gojo makes a whole performance out of his singing, going so far as to use your hand as a pretend microphone before littering kisses all over the back of it.

Although Gojo didn’t give you any details of where you’re going before getting in the car, he takes charge and directs you when to switch lanes and when to turn as you drive. Sometimes, though you believe he’s doing it purposefully, he’ll give you a direction a second too late, forcing you to find your way back to where you were before so you can resume the path Gojo has laid out in his mind.

You haven’t been driving for too long when Gojo tells you to exit the freeway and park in a lot that he points out to you. Looking around when you exit the vehicle, you’re unfamiliar with your surroundings. When your eyes land on Gojo, it takes all of your restraint to not facepalm.

“Ta-da!” His aggressive jazz hands would be much more embarrassing if there were more people around to witness it. He gives you a dazzling smile, tilting his head down slightly to look at you over his sunglasses. “Let’s go explore!”

With that comment, Gojo grabs your hand, barely giving you enough time to make sure your car is locked and drags you off in the direction he’s chosen. You guys aimlessly wander around, pulling one another into random shops that catch your interest. Of course, Gojo is pulling you into bakeries and shops that are selling sweets, insistent that he needs to try them. He has you taste-test them with him, buying all the treats that you both enjoy.

You pull him in the direction of some shops that sell cute touristy things, thinking that it would be nice to bring something back for his students. Gojo beams when you suggest that, swooping down to plant a kiss on your lips, and agrees that as a great sensei, it was his duty to get his cute little students something. So you guys peruse around until you find something that you both think his students would appreciate.

After walking around for so long, you’ve worked up an appetite. Gojo too, since right when you’re about to open your mouth to suggest that you find someplace to eat, he complains out loud that he’s hungry. You guys choose to eat at a cafe you spotted a while back. Once seated, you’re both quick to order your meal. While waiting, Gojo passes the time by playing footsie with you, despite the fact you’re full-grown adults. Thanks to his stupidly long limbs, he wins, much to his glee and much to your disappointment.

When your order arrives, you both dig in. Gojo swipes some food off of your plate when he thinks you’re not paying attention. You’re not that unaware so when you catch him red-handed, he lets you taste some of his food as well. Gojo pays for the bill and throws his arm around your frame when you exit the cafe.

You’re much more subdued than you were previously, stuffed full of delicious food. A little sleepy now, you give in and hand the keys over to Gojo so he can drive. You curl up in the passenger seat, leaning over the console to get closer to Gojo. He lowers the volume of the music and entwines your fingers together as you doze off for a bit.

The ride is much more smooth than it normally is. Gojo tries his best to be extra cautious when driving since he doesn’t want to jostle you around too much when you’re resting.

When you open your eyes again, the sun is much lower in the sky and when you look out the window, you realize you’re far out from the city.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.” You snuggle back into the seat, squeezing Gojo’s hand that’s in yours.

“Where are we going, Satoru?” You’re still blinking the grogginess away as you turn your head to look at Gojo. He’s always been unfairly gorgeous, but in this light, Gojo looks positively ethereal. You don’t say it out loud, though. You’re not trying to give the man a bigger head than he already has. But by the grin he shoots your way, you have a feeling he already has an idea of what you’re thinking about.

“Somewhere.” You roll your eyes at your boyfriend’s purposeful vagueness.

“Mhm, okay. Wake me up when we get there.” You close your eyes once more, a faint smile on your lips when you feel Gojo press his lips to the back of your hand.

You’re roused from your nap by Gojo gently shaking your shoulder. The car is parked now, your car door ajar with Gojo standing over your still seated body. “Hey, Sleeping Beauty.” He laughs much too loud when you sleepily pout at him.

“Aw, does my baby want me to carry them?” Gojo teases. He’s surprised when you actually nod your head and lift your arms up. You must have been sleepier than he thought. His grin widens as he swoops down to scoop you up in his arms, openly cooing when you snuggle your head against his chest.

You don’t know how long Gojo’s been walking for when he pretends to drop you, causing you to yelp. “Lost my grip,” he explains with a disingenuous smile when you crane your head to look up at him. Before you can huff and complain that he’s such a shithead sometimes, he happily exclaims: “We’re here now!”

He helps you ease down onto your feet, wrapping his arms around you from behind and tucking his head into your neck as you look around to figure out where exactly “here” is. You quietly gasp, eyes widening in awe, as you soak in your surroundings. You’re far away from the city in someplace along the coast. The sunset beautifully illuminates the waves crashing below you, setting the sky ablaze with a melody of warm and vibrant colors.

When you tilt your head to look at Gojo, he’s already observing your profile. His sunglasses rest low on the bridge of his nose, granting you a clear view of his crystal blue eyes. His smile is not as wide as it usually is, it’s a bit softer, a bit more genuine.

“You like it?” He squeezes his arms tighter around your middle, nuzzling his cheek against yours.

“I love it, Satoru. It’s beautiful,” you assure him, awkwardly tilting your head so you can press a kiss to his skin. You place your hands over his own, tangling your fingers together. You stand like that for a while, enjoying the view until the sun inevitably dips below the horizon.

As you’re driving home, you sneak a glance at your boyfriend. His long limbs are bent at awkward angles as it’s now his turn to rest his eyes as you drive the two of you home. Your lip curves up into a fond smile. You won’t lie and say that it isn’t difficult dating a man like Gojo Satoru, but moments like these make it all worth it.

[andypantsx3]

conspire | 2 | first date

pairing: Todoroki Shouto / Reader

length: 13,307 words / 5 chapters

summary: Shouto Todoroki had definitely only asked you out in order to ward off his horde of interested suitors. So why does he keep actually taking you out on suspiciously realistic dates?

tags: romance, reader-insert, fake dating, misunderstandings

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut

The next morning, your classmates wouldn’t shut up about it.

The rumor of your rendezvous with Shouto had spread like wildfire through the school, and you were assaulted by a wave of questions the second you turned up to modern lit. “Is it true?”, “Is he your boyfriend?”, “How do you know him?”, “Is he a good kisser?”, all blended into a cacophony of sound that nearly bowled you over as you stepped through the door.

You felt your face grow hot under their scrutiny and quickly stuffed yourself into your desk. “Yes, we’re dating. No, I won’t answer other questions about it.”

“Come on,” Miko--the girl in the desk closest to you--begged. “You’re dating Shouto Todoroki, the cutest boy in school, and you won’t even tell us how you know him?”

You wracked your brain for something close to the truth. “We, um, got along really well on that support item project last month. It’s nothing special.”

Miko’s mouth opened to fire off another question, but Mr. Cementoss cut her off with his arrival, launching immediately into his lesson plan. You sent up a silent thank you to whichever patron saint of fake dating had been listening.

The rest of the school day passed much the same way, and you wondered several times if the price of your senior project was perhaps too high.

You’d known that Shouto was something of a celebrity due to his parentage, supreme good looks, and incredible power--even outside the walls of UA--but you hadn’t really thought through how that would affect the people who stood closest to him. Knowing what celebrity looked like and actually experiencing it for yourself were two very different things, you found. You’d never been subjected to attention like this before and you weren’t sure that you liked it.

By the time Saturday rolled around, you’d started to wonder if you shouldn’t just call this whole thing off.

The sight of him that morning, however, immediately robbed you of your resolve.

He’d asked you to meet in front of your dorm mid-morning, and he showed up looking unfairly handsome in well-fitted jeans, a grey scarf, and a dark jacket with a high collar that framed his sharp jaw. He looked good, way too good for this early in the morning. You felt a shiver go through you, and not just because of the cold.

“Good morning, Y/N,” he greeted you, the corner of his mouth curling. He gestured with something in his hands and you found your eyes drawn to two takeout coffee cups from the cafe just outside the school gates.

Okay, he was a literal angel and forgiven for everything you had been through this week.

“I didn’t know how you liked yours, so I got all the extras,” he said, handing a cup over to you and turning out a pocket to unveil a mound of sugar packets and tiny creamer containers.

You smiled, feeling warm. “Thanks, Shouto. Pretty sure every support engineer has bypassed the need for modifications at this point and just mainlines straight from the coffee pot. Black is perfect.”

He grinned down at you. “Too many late nights?”

You groaned at the tidal wave of memories. “Support items should just build themselves.”

He laughed and gestured you to follow him, leading you out of school grounds and to the nearby train station.

“Where are we going?” you wondered as he ushered you onto the train. He herded you into a corner and stationed himself in front of you, one arm extended to hold the bar over your head. You wondered if it was something like a natural instinct at this point for hero students to assume a protective position, as Shouto’s choice had the effect of shielding you from the rest of the train car.

“I...asked around about you,” he admitted, looking a little embarrassed. “I’ve been told that your interest in quirks and support items doesn’t just end at the classroom door.”

You flushed. You were kind of a nerd, he had your number.

“I’m taking you somewhere I think you might like,” he said. He took a sip of his own coffee, varicolored eyes glinting down at you over the rim of his cup.

You nursed your own coffee as the train rolled into the city, resisting the urge to close your eyes and lean into him. It was something you might do with an actual boyfriend, and as cute as it was that he was taking you out on a real life fake date, you didn’t think he would appreciate you putting the moves on him.

He led you out of the train at the city center and down a few blocks, finally pulling you into a building with a very modern glass facade. You recognized it at once.

“The Support Museum!” you chirped happily, your interest picking up. They had an interactive exhibit going on right now that you and some classmates had talked about coming to see. Your fingers suddenly itched with the need to test out some of the items.

Shouto looked at you from the corner of his eye, a flash of curious blue. “This is okay?”

“Hell yeah,” you intoned, picking up the pace to get in front of him. “If you’re cool with being bored to death for the next six hours while I have a great time, then this is perfect.”

He gave you a dry look. “I care about support items.”

You scoffed. “You have like, one.”

A slow smirk overtook his features. “Maybe you could convince me to add more.”

Something hot flashed through you and you gave yourself a hard pinch through the fabric of your jeans. His tone seemed laced with insinuation, but you knew better than to buy into it. It was just hard when he was looking at you the way he was.

Damn him for having a face like that.

“Careful,” you said, trying to reroute your brain, “you’re signing yourself up for a whole lot of wild rambling and weird tangents.”

That soft smile pulled at the edge of his mouth again. “I’m used to it. Midoriya, my best friend, is a lot like that.”

You’d been in the room with Izuku Midoriya before and didn’t doubt it. The boy could certainly give you a run for your money. If he wasn’t equipped with the wildest quirk you’d ever seen, he would have made one hell of a support engineer -- you were probably lucky you didn’t have to compete for grades with a mind like that.

“Treat me like white noise,” you said as he shouldered past you to pay for tickets.

You let out a noise of protest when you noticed what he was doing, but he pressed you back from the ticket counter with a strong arm you couldn’t get around. It seemed only too easy for him to hold you off and pay for tickets at the same time, and it was slightly offensive. Maybe you needed to put in more time in the support course gym.

“I asked you out,” he said by way of explanation after you complained all the way through coat check, only shutting up when you were distracted by the sight of him in a soft tee shirt and blue button up. “I should pay.”

You made a dismissive noise. “It’s not the nineteen thirties anymore, dude. I can pay for my own stuff.”

He turned to you with a wry look. “Are we fighting about money already? Not something I’d thought we’d get to at this stage, to be honest.”

You laughed. “Our first fight as a couple.”

He pinned you with an interested look, something in his gaze growing hot. “Should we kiss and make up?”

Your face instantly went up in flames, like he’d lit you up with his quirk. Jesus Christ, he was a teaser? You’d thought he was just the quiet and thoughtful type -- who knew that he hid an ironic sense of humor underneath all that? This was going to be bad for your health.

“Cute,” you quipped for something to say, marching in front of him quickly so he couldn’t see your face. “Uh, where to first?”

He let you lead the way around the museum, and in minutes you’d pretty much calmed down from the heat of the moment, distracted by the halls filled with the forefront of quirk theory and the corresponding support equipment.

As someone who’d been born without a quirk of their own, the concept had always been fascinating to you, leading you into the support track at UA in your efforts to study quirks and their applications. It was incredible how genetics determined which people had none, and whose ranged from benign improvements like seeing slightly better through fog to more deadly power that roiled just beneath the surface of one’s skin like Shouto.

The deviations in power manifestation stretched the genetics of each human further from one another than they had ever gone before -- sometimes by a full 0.1-0.2% of their DNA structure -- and it was crazy cool. While your speciality was more applied science, you couldn’t deny the biology of it was equally as interesting.

At the rate it was going, people like you could share more genetic similarity with a banana at some point than someone like Shouto. Well, after a couple more millennia of evolution.

Shouto chuckled and you realized with some alarm that you had been babbling all of that out loud.

“Should I be concerned that our children might come out as bananas?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

You gave him a sour look. “You know that’s not how it works.”

He flashed you a cheeky grin and followed you easily as you led the way through the other exhibits.

He listened attentively as you oohed and ahhed over the different displays, asking very pointed follow up questions like he was actually interested in what you had to say. You fell into a very involved discussion about most of the displays, and you realized with some surprise that plenty of time had passed without you realizing it, and that you were having an incredibly good time.

Shouto paid for lunch at the museum cafe as well, affecting hearing loss over the sounds of your protests, and kept up the easy conversation all the way through the meal.

After lunch, you two queued up for the interactive exhibit that you’d initially wanted to see, eventually being let into the exhibit hall in a small group. You immediately lit up like a kid on Christmas.

The hall was studded with actual support items that had been developed for the top twenty heros, ranging from real costume pieces that had been retired to replicas of items currently in use, supplied by the same companies as had built them. The items were free for testing with the caveat that the user had to be careful.

You spent a fair amount of time over pieces of Edgeshot’s costume that had been made from strands of his own hair, allowing it to fold and reshape with the changes to his body, and more time over Ryukyu’s size-changing suit that mechanically adapted to her dragon form.

Shouto stopped over a flame-resistant gauntlet from his father’s previous costume.

“Think you can melt it?” you asked with interest. You wondered how fast they’d eject you from the museum if he succeeded.

Shouto shook his head. “My flames are hot but I doubt it.”

You perked up. “How hot?”

“I haven’t actually measured,” he admitted and you groaned.

“Your super cool quirk is totally wasted on you,” you said. “You have to let me do tests.”

His mouth twitched again. “What kind of tests?”

“Anything you’ll let me,” you said. “Temperature gauges, cryogenic structure analysis, body scans when you use both energy sources. I have my theories as to how your quirk is actually scientifically possible but I need more data.”

“Body scans, huh?” he asked.

Of course he’d seized on that one. God, he was such a boy.

“Yes. We’ll get you all strapped up in wires and those little sticky nodules. It’ll be super sexy, trust me.”

He chuckled, and set a hand to one of his father’s boots that was also on display. “Fine, but later. Want to test this out now?”

You leaned in, nodding, and he let a flame grow in his hand, pressing it to the fabric of the boot. The cloth activated instantly, channeling the flame across the surface of the boot in the customary style of Endeavor’s flaming costume.

“Fuck, that’s so cool,” you breathed, leaning over to read the description of how it worked. “You need something just as obnoxiously showy on your costume. You’re letting your own dad upstage you.”

He laughed again and let the flame die down.

You wandered companionably through the rest of the exhibit, thrilled when it ended in an arcade-like simulation of Wash’s quirk that let you rig up and shoot water around at various targets. Shouto immediately targeted you instead.

“You're supposed to be a hero,” you whined, whipping around to aim your water cannon at him in revenge. “How could you target a civilian like this?”

His hero training had clearly paid off, as he was too skilled at dodging to get caught up in any of your attacks. Your time was called without you able to catch him once, but you left the exhibit with your own shirt sticking wetly to your body. You tried not to wince, thinking of the wintry weather that would no doubt invade the confines of your jacket once you made it outside.

Shouto immediately pulled you to the side of the coat check, however, his eyes trailing down your shirt where it clung to you. You tried not to feel self conscious.

“Let me,” he said quietly, placing a hand against your shoulder. Searing warmth washed over your skin under his hand and you tried not to arch up into the pleasant heat. You stood incredibly still, hardly daring to breathe as he passed his hand lightly over your shirt, taking care not to touch you anywhere too scandalous, though some traitorous part of your mind almost wished he would. This close, you could catch the scent of some light cologne, minty and fresh, and the smell of it made your head spin.

It took just under a minute for him to fully dry out your shirt, each second passing like a small eternity.

You were able to gather your wits just enough to laugh about his bright future in steam cleaning as you tucked back into your coat, then followed him to the train back to campus.

It was nearly dark by the time he walked you back to your dorm, the sun dipping low to kiss the horizon, sunset orange fading into the deep blue of an evening sky. You realized that you’d spent all day with him and had hardly noted the time passing -- he was a very, very good date. Some girl in the months after graduation was going to find herself very lucky with him.

The dorm was quiet as you approached, which was unusual for a Saturday evening, and you realized with a growing sense of horror that your classmates must be waiting quietly, watching for your arrival from inside to see what he’d do. Shouto must have realized the same thing almost the same time that you did, as he stepped into your space at the doorway, catching the sleeve of your coat to pull you close to him.

“Is this okay?” he asked softly, face dipping close to yours. His features were somehow even more symmetrical up close and it was overwhelming to look at. “I quite liked today, so I thought…”

Your heartbeat kicked up in your chest and the tips of your ears went hot as you panicked, tangling your own fingers in his dark jacket like a lifeline. “Y-yeah,” you answered. “This is g-great.”

He smirked, leaning in even closer to you. You held carefully still as you had in front of the coat check, all the nerves in your body straining with anticipation. Then a hot mouth pressed softly to yours, and every neuron in your brain misfired.

The next thing you registered, your arms were around his neck and he was pressing you gently up against the door, his tongue in your mouth and his large hands on your waist. You arched up into his touch, desperate to get closer, twining your fingers in his soft hair.

He gave a low groan and pressed you harder into the door, a hand coming up to cup your face as he did something absolutely criminal with his tongue. So much for his career as a hero.

A muffled shout came from within your dorm and you jerked apart, panting. Your face flamed in embarrassment.

“Wow,” you said dumbly, and the corner of his mouth twitched.

“Wow indeed,” he teased, stepping back from you.

You shook yourself as he did. Right, fake dating. The kiss had been hot but it was only for show--and the show had been successfully executed. You had to resist the urge to drag him back for another.

“I’ll text you?” you squeaked out and he agreed, looking weirdly satisfied as he bid you good night.

You watched him for a long moment as he trudged back down the path to campus, heart beating a frantic staccato in your chest.

Shouto Todoroki was the most dangerous boy alive and it finally dawned on you just what you had agreed to for the next few months. You were so absolutely fucked.

[jean-does-not-have-a-horseface]

Hiiii! I saw you asked for fluffy requests!! I love your writing so i got excited hehe

I just went through a ROUGH breakup, could you write where Levi comforts one of his scouts (or members of his squad) who he likes after she gets dumped?

Thank you!!! Xoxo ❤️❤️❤️

Hey I hope you're feeling better I'm sorry you have to go through this but I'm here if you need anything sweet anon, this really made me write hurt/comfort once again, so I hope you like it.

Pairing: Levi/reader

Tags: eventual fluff, hurt/comfort, takes an unexpected turn that I hope you like

November Sunsets

Levi, ever since he could remember himself, was lonely, neglected by life and stripped of anyone he ever cared about. The cruel unfairness of life was something he was forced to accept from the moment he came out of the womb; whilst other children had a last name to claim themselves with he was just Levi, Kuchel's bastard son.

Thinking back, life was the most unfair for his mother as well. The way he would hear men would treat her, hidden underneath her bed, or sticking his head to her door while supposedly playing with other little bastard children. Children of his fate that he couldn't remember the face of. Did anyone remember his own face? Deemed ugly, unbelievably short, dirty and incapable of being bright, that's what life had set for him from his very first breath.

Everytime he had refused to accept his fate another tragedy would curve it's way on his body and soul, staining him with little reminders of how he should sit back and crawl his way through what was simple meant to be. Indescribable gory deaths had happened before his eyes, taking any blue hue he had noticed and liked away from them. Insufferable agonies in the form of nightmares haunted him during the night, his mind didn't want to let him rest.

His heart had to become cold and hard as stone, but the humane of his nature only managed to plaster this longing of his on his face. Perhaps being human was a punishment everyone endured, whether they were born noble, loved by everyone or in a brothel, with almost no one to want them in this world.

Only two years after he had set foot and is remaining days in the Survey Corps were never certain. He was aware that it was a given profanity at his agreement to join, and egoistically he would have chose this any other day over counting down days in the underground. In that rat hole, he was expected to fall ill and possibly dead at any given time in his late twenties.

He still looked like a phantom in the mirror. Whatever concluded his being was set and done unfairly, from the way his skin was as pale as snow and so sheer that made his purple veins show practically everywhere to his lacking height caused by malnutrition and lack of sunlight. Was it the veins around his lips or the ones under his eyes that perfectly blended with his sacked under eyebags? Was it that his nose was small if looked individually but looked elongated in the context of his face? Maybe it was that he was filled with scars.

Oh, and that he looked atrocious with those dark locks in combination with light eyes.

Despite never doubting his abilities, or letting insecurities get the better of him it was in moments like this that he felt broken.

By setting his clippers down on the sink, after making sure there was no single coarse hair on them, he slipped in his usual light gray button down shirt. He didn't bother to secure any strap of his gear on him yet; it was this early in the morning that no one was probably awake yet, only him and his throbbing head, so strapping himself with the gear could easily be avoided for the time being.

The flames flickered inside his cobblestone fireplace demanding to be fed with fresh logs in exchange for his warmth. His hands worked mechanically, throwing logs I the crevice delicately careful not to fill the room in ashes. With a maneuver stir the flames roared with rage, engulfing the wood almost too pleasantly to eye. He didn't hesitate to plouch down on the wooden floor, legs crossed and hands stretched towards the newfound warmth in an attempt to ease the lingering cold of his fingers.

Usually this was the time for the first tea of the day. Under any other occasion his brain would munch on him for the lack of the hot copper liquid in his stomach, but today was different. He contemplated on weather this mere fire could ever warm up anything other than tea but he refused to seek the therapeutic feeling of hot water entering his body. If he couldn't warm up on the outside why would he put any effort to do so in the inside.

The throbbing in his head ravaged the insides of his skull with striking rushes of pain at random places. When he went to rub on his forehead his ear would screech in ache, testing to see if his patience could handle such tag game.

Refusing to soothe any part of his aching body meant that he'd have to physically suffer throughout the upcoming day. Had he been any more grumpier he would be thinking about assigning everyone with another cleaning task, nontheless it didn't fit the nature of his mood. He felt like locking himself in his office to avoid as much human interaction as possible, he wasn't social to begin with so why shouldn't he be granted some days to recharge his ability to utter anything else than a grunt.

He sighed, head falling to face the floor as his eyes were framed by his ebony locks. He seemed to despise them, today more than ever. Was it because of you? It was a question that puzzled his mind for a couple of days, eating away any spare piece of logic he was ever left with. The only thing he knew, or supposed was that this feelings were probably meant to feel like that, at least for him.

Him, who shall never enjoy a simple pleasure of life such as experiencing the feeling of falling in love and having a lover to tend to his soul's wound. Of course he had to be dense enough to let such opportunity go as only a question arose days after day he'd spent with you. Did he deserve to be loved?

Yet those days with you, those days that he cut absurdly were fidgeting with his mind in the worst way possible, trying to torment him over the memory of your face.

It had started off as a simple admiration of your combat skills. The intimidating brushes oh your skin on his everytime he chose to spare with you out of all member in his squad, the sweat that dripped off of your forehead as your eyes gleamed with the enthusiastic power gathered in your fists.

Then, it was the way your hair flipped off of your shoulder when you would wrap your camel colored jacket on your form under the lingering tingerine lights of the sun setting behind the walls. The way it bounced on your back as you gripped the reins of your horse, leaving small encouraging sounds of victory as it seceeded its training tasks. He had taken notice of how well kept your hair was, always fresh and squeaky clean as it framed your face loosely.

Levi was smitten, wrap around your little finger in the blink of an eye, his nights agonising, his days filled with you mellowy blendind in any scenery and he couldn't get you out of his head. Your affections towards him were meticulously counted at first but he had sat back down and watched as you let yourself go around him, sparring smiles and watery glances to him during meals.

Before he knew it he had found himself longing to be in your arms every single moment of the day, much like a lovestruck teenager. As much as it seemed embarrassing for a man his age to swoon and melt like a candle at the sight of such youthful and sweet woman, he couldn't help it. His loner's manners had started to abandon him in your presence, the persuasion of your soft eyes had him giving in. The sweet touches of your hand on his cheek, allowing his head to rest on your palm as he talked about the enormous work Erwin had assigned him with, curved in his head forever, replaying every time he seeked some form of comfort.

Had it not been for Mike and Hange entering his office unexpectedly that one day he had forgotten to lock, he wouldn't have been forced to leave it all behind to avoid spoiling both his and yours reputation. It haunted him; they way he longed for you as his heart clung into his chest like a prisoner, but his words to you as you cried your eyes out that sunset kept reminding him he was not deserving of anything.

When news spread like a plague in the higher ranks everyone had turned on him and seldomly to you, whispering heart rotting comments. Among them that you were no good for eachother be it due to appearances or the context of your backgrounds. Levi knew the oxymoron of those dynamics, yet why did anyone have to point them out, to make him feel smaller than he was whether it was for teasing or not, he couldn't phantom.

Not only life was unfair to him, he had to strip his own self of the only thing he had a positive effect in his life just to go back to being a what the Scouting Region wanted him to be. Humanity's Strongest. The man with no weaknesses who slaughtered the gigantic beasts with skill and determination. His heart was supposed to belong to humanity, not you, not anyone else.

It hurt. To watch you give out your beautiful giggles to someone else through his office window ached him restlessly. The imagery of your sweet affectionate movements was right before his eyes, directed to someone else this time, during those beautiful November sunsets felt like gunshots aimed anywhere in his vital organs.

You had fallen for someone else, those were the news going around the squad lately. Petra bubbled enthusiastically about Gunther's encounters with you in the small alleyways of Trost on your day offs. Eld would scold you for dressing up appropriately for your dates and Oluo would miserably immitate him, giving you playful comments about reeking shit while biting his tongue. As Petra had informed him, his affiliations with you unbeknownst to her or any other cadet in the picture, Gunther was treating you perfectly, almost too good to be true. Something that made his heart fall into pits of darkness, all masked safely by his humane flesh and skeleton combines.

Would anyone ever treat you like he did? With such serenity? He knew, despite how short lived your fling had ever been, there would never be anyone like him in your life. And for that he had to be the one to punish himself. His fate would be pleased if he turned on himself wouldn't it?

Upon hearing the knock on his door, his mouth automatically spat the familiar inquiry on the knocker's intentions. It felt deaf to his ears; his mind was working on its own while he forced it to torment him with more what ifs. As his fingers brushed brushed underneath his nostril to scratch away any awkwardness that had gathered in the spot with a buzzing feeling.

"It's cadet (L/n) sir" he heard you yelp as you paused, unsure of what to say next. "Personal business if you don't mind!"

When you entered at his command, his eyes didn't dare to spend a second fixated on your bouncing locks. Instead they blinked into your (e/c) ones, staring at the melancholic expression that was plastered on them. Lower on your face, your lip trembled, teeth biting hard not to allow it to show but your efforts had already fell into vain as he quickly noticed it.

He hadn't realised you weren't sitting on the chair before his desk until he got up from his position on the ground, eyes immediately noticing you in his usual spot. You were curled up in a ball with your knees fitted to your eye sockets, silently suppressing what seemed to be the start of a brawling session as he sat there and watched, not daring to touch your back with his hand.

What had happened so early in the morning that had sent you in his office? The two of you weren't much on talking terms nowadays, a restriction he had forced on you from the day that he ended your shared endearments. As potential scenarios chewed on his thoughts your whimpers only grew louder and harsher.

"Don't you dare ask why I'm crying!" You spoke, small hiccups leaving the back of your throat as each time it roared with another wave of sorrow.

"It could be helpful to know."

His steel eyes never met yours as he spoke with his typical steady voice, although this time he had tried to take any nasal sound away from it.

"You're the reason I can't have anything work for me. Gunther said so himself." Another crashing wave of sobs overcame you and he watched frozen, unable to do anything just yet. Confirmation on your status had to be spoken, he wouldn't love to be touchy with another man's woman even if ever cell in his body ached for her.

"You're achingly beautiful, my heart will forever be yours and you knew it. Gunther' isn't fit to be a replacement for you. You get to be the one who comforts me for this breakup, for our breakup up, I can't talk about that shit with anyone else. You're all I ever had and you left me to pretend to be that weapom they want you to be." He had expected you to winch, to flinch or have any negative reaction to his touch on the back of your head, he had prepared himself for it, he had planned the words he'd say but such a reaction never came. You only have in to his lingering touch, hand reaching out for his in an attempt to pull him close.

He didn't feel the pain of his knees hitting the wooden floor as he coarsed you to his neck in full might, he ignored the heart that beat fast at the sound of you admitting you weren't over him, he chewed back at the thoughts that mocked you for calling him achingly beautiful.

The fidgeting of your fingers on the button of his shirt served as an action of your nervousness but all he could care about was that he could feel your heart beating at the right side of his chest almost in synch with his.

"I'm here." He soothed, one hand running through your soft locks as the other one pressed you to his chest. "I'm sorry" he admitted. Whether it was too late was up to your heart's desire to decide.

"You better be." You sniffled the goo that threatened to fall on his shirt.

"You should know by now. I can't bear to watch you thrive with anyone. Tch, I'm a smug runt myself for that."

He fell in silence as you tried to give into his caring comfort. It all felt too familiar, too rushed and too bitterweet to be real. He blinked at the thought and slightly bit his tongue to confirm he wasn't sleeping.

"I thought we belonged together, I thought... I thought I found something in you that was mine."

As your eyes brawled with hit tears once again your fists came to clench onto his shirt. There were distinguishable pauses in your crying; rashes of unspoken pain inside your chest that burned you to think about. It was all too familiar of a feeling to him and it only ever made him press you impossibly closer to his form.

"If it helps, I did so too."

It's only when your face lifts up for your wide eyes to look into his that he realises how much you've cried. Despite the practical darkness of the room your eyes are obviously bloodshot, painted with agony as they burn holes onto his skin, making him shut his in defense of his soul.

"I miss you so much and I can't sleep at night. I can't look at anyone and pretend they are you, they all see through this. I still love you and it hurts. I don't want it to hurt, Levi." Your confessions striked that particular nerve in him that made him numb, frozen on the spot, dumfounded over your words. Had he knew he'd be the reason that love pains you he would have never lead you on, he would have never looked at you with small looks of adoration as you ride your horse's together and most importantly he would have never let his filthy lips touch your angelic ones.

But he didn't find it in him to regret any of his actions.

Not now, not when his lips were begging him to be interlocked with the only pair then had declaired a match.

"I know I came here all of a sudden but it's been nights I haven't slept and I can't do this anymore. J-just hold me and once the sun is out I won't bother you anymore." Even if you tried to speak that nonsense with him you should have known better that it wouldn't work. He could already see the faint purples in the horizon, glazing over the glass of his windows as they lightened by every passing moment.

He knew why you were in his arms, he knew that pushing you away was never an option either. Thus, his hands came to rest under your face your face to tenderly direct it to his. His mouth opened but the words that he spoke took hours, years, eons to come out.

"What if I told you that I still love you, what would you say? Would you press your lips on mine and want to start over?" He inquired as he swallowed the hard lamp that had gathered in his Adams apple. "Would you speak your words in actions?"

The first light of the sky protruded behind the mountains, spreading a yellow light evenly around the sky. As you nodded and tugged your head close enough that your nose touched, your lips faintly brushed against each other's and his heart sped in unimaginable paces.

In the moment he wasn't a doomed underground ugly thug, his nose wasn't misplaced on the context of his head. He wasn't just Kuchel's bastard son that everyone wanted dead. He was that part that you had claimed as yours.

Small victories against his fate didn't always leave him hollow with unbearable loss after all.

My requests are always open, if you want to drop anything I'd be more than happy to write what you want ❤️

[kitkatopinions]

I feel the need to hear your opinion on this since this is something I've been thinking about recently, and it's how crwby handles complex relationships/abuse in their show... It's infuriating.

I can't tell if they genuinely think they are writing this in a good way or if they know they're half asss-ing it and don't care since the fandom will eat it up anyways. Two big examples that come to mind for me in the last volume are emerald & cinder and whitley & jacques. In both instances the the victim never gets a moment of closure or a moment of breaking away from their abuser, nor are either victims allowed to show any sort of 'hesitance' (for a lack of a better term) related to their abuse.

Emerald (despite being all over cinder before Midnight), just conveniently forgets about her for the finale. Same for whitley. He just completely forgets about jacques (the man who manipulated him from birth) the moment weiss hugs him. On a shallow level, watching a victim pay no mind to their abuser is satisfying, but it being so immediate is just unrealistic and takes away from the pain that we are supposed to think these characters have suffered.

One of the worst things about suffering from abuse is how is affects the victims even when they have left the abusive relationship, but crwby seems to want to erase that completely from characters who should experience that for plot convenience.

It seems like the lesson learned from this is "if you were abused, just get over it and be convenient to our heroes or else!" And it's pretty gross imo.

Thoughts?

I thought that I would put these two asks together and take this opportunity to talk about the abuse victims in RWBY and how they're handled. I've tried to think long and hard about what to say about this, because this is an important topic to me and something that's personal for me. I'm an abuse survivor, but I have a complicated relationship with that part of myself and I'm never really comfortable talking about it much. But despite the fact that I've experienced abuse, I recognize that I'm not a professional sensitivity editor, not a therapist, and not someone who's studied the effects of abuse.

I'm simply writing this based on my own feelings and what I've picked up witnessing other abuse victims discuss their own feelings about abused character. There will be RWBY criticism below the keep reading. Please keep in mind that I'm not speaking for all abuse survivors and am only trying to articulate my own feelings in regards to this issue.

The first thing to note is that there isn't one, correct, right way to write an abuse victim in my opinion. Lots of people have different reactions and responses to abuse, the way they were abused is often also different, causing different reactions.

In the first anon, it's noted that Emerald and Whitley both seem to move on from their abuse quickly and with very little effect on them or their stories. Many abuse victims put their experiences on the back burner or 'in a box' to deal with later, or mask and pretend that they're alright or that their abuse just didn't happen. Some of them let their feelings or their anger simmer over time. There are also abuse victims who do just... Move on with relative ease. I'd imagine that's very rare though. (again, I'm not not an expert or any sort of psychologist.)

In the same way, an abuse victim becoming an abuser in their own interactions is something that one hundred percent happens. Cinder, Salem, Adam, and even Blake and Winter have all acted in abusive ways towards the people around them (though obviously Blake and Winter acted much less abusive than any of the villains mentioned.) It might be very hard for abuse victims to not fall back into those patterns of abuse that they've suffered, especially if they go through it at an early age. I'm not very comfortable talking about my own experiences, but myself and my siblings have all had to fight down toxic, hurtful traits that we picked up either through emulating or through survival. And it's hard to do that. Portraying characters who have been abused that lost that fight and might have abusive tendencies or slip themselves is - to me at least - sometimes even helpful in working through my own feelings.

And there are definitely one hundred percent abuse victims who feel like the way they were treated is deserved, that they 'earned' it, that they must 'make up for it.' Oz is in this category. There's nothing wrong with the concept of a character who feels responsible for their abuser or the hurt their abuser has caused to others, there’s nothing wrong with a character who tends to act as though everything is their fault and who thinks very poorly of themselves.

In theory. But the problem is that in application, there are a lot of pitfalls and struggles that come with writing for abuse victims. Understanding, thoughtfulness, and care are not the RWBY writers’ strength, and any time you portray real life issues that strongly impact the real life people involved in them, you have to be aware and careful with the messages you’re sending. This is obviously very important when someone writes for any minority or oppressed group or the issues that they face, but it’s also important to remember when you write for abuse victims, because they do have stigmas around them and deal with stereotypes and harmful portrayals as well. Let’s look at what I consider some harmful or hurtful pitfalls when it comes to abused characters.

Are the abused characters treated as the victims they are? If the abuse a character faces is treated as comical, treated as unimportant, or treated as deserved, that’s an obvious major flaw. Sad to say, but RWBY does not pass this. On two separate occasions, a character is hit by someone close to them in a way that clearly causes them some pain, with Blake hitting Sun across the face for following her, and Winter hitting Weiss for answering a question incorrectly and again for failing in her training (I tend to be more sympathetic towards Blake’s situation, as it is more gray with her clearly thinking Sun had stalked her which is a clear trigger from her own abuse, but this is an explanation, not an excuse and the fact that it was framed as funny rather than something Blake shouldn’t have done and should apologize for is the problem.) They also do not treat Ozpin like the victim when Qrow punches him in the face, having no one call Qrow out for it and having him never express guilt or try to apologize for it. Yes, I know Ozpin had retreated, but they never showed Qrow even make an effort to get Ozpin to come back so he could apologize. . They also ‘redeem’ Hazel and give him a ‘partially right’ storyline despite his openly beating Ozpin, unfairly blaming him for the death of his sister, and insisting that Ozpin deserved to be tortured. On top of this, despite having been horribly abused by the SDC, Adam isn’t treated with even an ounce of sympathy or understanding and Jacques Schnee and the SDC is treated like a more comical-ish nuisance in season seven and eight. This is greatly flawed. Hitting someone because they lied to you or kept secrets from you is not okay, hitting someone because they said something you don’t like is not okay. This should not be treated as funny and it shouldn’t be treated as the fault of the person who was hit for not being a good enough friend.

Are the abused characters mostly villains, when the heroes have never faced it? The reason for this is obvious, although it’s valid to have a villain be an abuse victim, it’s never alright to villainize abuse victims. Making the majority of your bad guys abuse victims and your good guys have positive relationships is in my opinion, harmful. Point for RWBY, this is not the case for their show. Mercury, Salem, and Cinder on the bad side are all abuse victims with Raven being a possible, but unconfirmed abuse victim as well. While Weiss, Blake, Ozpin, and Whitley are also abuse victims, with Qrow and May both being possible, but unconfirmed abuse victims, and Winter and Emerald are both abuse victims who were on the side of a villain and then turned good.

Is the abuse more severe in the ‘bad’ characters and lighter in the ‘good’ characters? If the abuse that the good guys faced is mostly lighter things and the abuse that the villains suffered is worse and more severe, that might send some bad messages that people who suffer more are automatically worse people, or ‘unsalvageable’ or ‘too broken,’ as opposed to the people that ‘there’s still hope for.’ Unfortunately, I think RWBY is almost a tie? We’ve never seen Weiss or Emerald suffer more than a hit, we don’t know for sure that Whitley or Winter were ever victims of physical abuse. Ozpin and Blake’s abuse is worse, however, as they are hunted down by their abusers who attempt to murder them, make them suffer, and hurt their loved ones. They also were heavily emotionally manipulated and victim blamed by their abusers. And on the villain side, Mercury was beat by his father who hated him and stole his semblance (an extension of your soul, I believe, in canon,) and the abuse led to the loss of his limbs. Cinder was forced to work hard labor by her abusive employer and the ‘stepsisters’ treated her badly, and she was physically electrocuted. We see her abuse extend to Salem using her Grimm arm to hurt her, copying the effects of the necklace. Adam was also a child laborer who worked in terrible conditions who got his face branded by his employer, in the SDC, which had to have been anti-faunus charged due to his bull horns. We don’t see Salem ever physically abused, but know that she was mistreated, isolated, and neglected by her ‘cruel’ father. So it’s not quite a tie, there are more severely abused characters amongst the villains than the heroes, but this is close enough that I don’t consider this much of a strike against them.

In the villains, is the abuse they faced given as ‘reason’ for their villainy? As I said before, villainizing abuse victims isn’t the way to go. A good way to avoid this - I think - is not have abuse be the sole reason for someone’s fall into a life of crime or cruelty. This is something that RWBY... Fails at imo. When showing us Mercury’s backstory, we’re introduced to him through seeing that he had just killed his abuser who cost him his legs, and then gets recruited by Cinder who at the very least likely emotionally and physically abused him the same way she did with Emerald, leading to the conclusion that the only reason he’s there at all is due to abuse. However, he’s just a teen and it’s possible that (like Emerald) he’ll be redeemed. A much more condemning story to talk about is Cinder’s. After people had been clambering for a Cinder backstory since volume three, RWBY finally showed us one. But it doesn’t include Cinder meeting Salem, why she joined her, her proving herself, none of that. Instead, Cinder’s backstory was entirely focused on her abusive situation as a child, entirely focused on her suffering. Cinder killing her abusers and then killing the teacher who decided to arrest her for getting herself out of her abusive situation was portrayed as the only needed backstory, the explanation to why she’s a power hungry, abusive, cruel, selfish, and just plain evil person. ‘She was abused’ is the explanation for why Cinder is where she is and why she is who she is in RWBY. That’s highly problematic to me.

In the heroes, are they “the Perfect, Sanitized Abuse Victims?” As I said before, there is no one type of abuse victim, but if someone has several abuse victims and they’re all either submissive, sad, and self-doubting, but gentle and caring and soft or dropped their abuser like a hotcake and never looked back, never seem affected, never really talk about it after they left... That’s bothersome to me personally. Measuring how RWBY is in this particular subject is... A little harder than I thought it would be. Let’s start by looking at the most prevalent abuse victim, Blake. She’s one of the reasons why this is hard to gauge, because for the first five seasons, Blake was deeply flawed and clearly affected by her abuse in ways that made her ‘unappealing.’ Blake was cynical, stubborn, cold, hard to get to know, she didn’t trust easily, she lashed out at her friends regularly, ran from her problems, made choices for her friends, and had a very negative self image. This didn’t stop her from being a good character and friend with a lot of good sides, too, and she had real, important friendships. This was - to me - a really great portrayal of someone clearly affected by their trauma, with lots to work on, who was still a good person. Some of her faults and problems started to get resolved in a natural way through her journey with Sun in volumes four and five, but when season six came around, many of Blake’s other traits suddenly vanished. No longer stubborn, independent, or cynical, and no longer standing up for herself, or really displaying her temper or hardheadedness or her struggles with getting to know people... Blake became more submissive, sad, self-doubting, but gentle, caring, and soft. Sigh. As the first ask mentioned, Whitley and Emerald both seemed to drop their abusers quickly the second they were removed from their lives again. it’s also worth noting that Whitley was treated with nothing but coldness and contempt by Weiss until he ‘proved himself’ by doing something selfless. Weiss did more or less drop Jacques the moment she left her house in V4, only mentioning him or her experiences when she’s using it to talk about Blake, and when she confronted him again in V7, she did so as someone who is proving she no longer cares. Ozpin seems to be the only one still unable to move on from his abuse and the ‘unappealing’ abuse victim. The first anon is right, there’s something satisfying with seeing an abuse victim move on like their abuser didn’t matter. But when almost all your abuse victims do, and one of the only other ones is turned into a submissive and soft support based / romance based character, and the only really ‘unappealing’ abuse victim is someone we’re supposed to see as ‘gray’... There’s something off there, in my opinion.

Were the abuse victims treated respectfully and thoughtfully by their friends, and if not, were they portrayed as wrong? This probably isn’t something that really even needs an explanation. Abuse victims should be able to set their own boundaries and tell their stories only when they want, when they feel comfortable, Their friends should be understanding of this and not force anything from them. In the case of Blake and Weiss, this is handled really well! Their friends let them talk about their experiences in their own time, and they’re understanding and validate their feelings when it comes up (much more common with Blake than with Weiss, who like I said, seemed to move on from her dad quickly after she left.) However, when it comes to Oz... This is all wrecked. Although unintentional (no one knew how deeply tied up with Salem Ozpin was or how intimate the memories they were going to watch were,) our main characters still forced Ozpin’s deepest and most personal secrets out of him in a fit of upset while he was tearfully begging them not to. He was forced to relive his most traumatic experiences in hi-def with other people watching with him, all his secrets and all his abuse wrenched away from him in what was clearly a very painful way. And then no one showed Ozpin even the slightest bit of sympathy or understanding for what he’d gone through, and no one ever apologized for what they had forced him to relive. In fact, Team RWBY were clearly displayed as in the right, and Oz was displayed as completely wrong for not trusting them implicitly. He had to apologize to them, which they acted begrudgingly accepting of as if they hadn’t shouted at an abuse victim after forcing him to relive all his worst experiences.

Are some abuse victims portrayed as bad for things that other abuse victims aren’t portrayed as bad for? Like the second ask says, in RWBY, Cinder and Mercury are treated as villains for having killed their abusers and Cinder is almost arrested for it, it’s considered a step in the direction of their villainy. But Blake is (rightfully) treated as the victim who was forced, who had no choice, who just wanted the abuse to stop. This is hypocritical and fundamentally flawed. I think this is a reflection of the fact that Cinder and Mercury are meant to be ‘bad’ abuse victim, who had violent tendencies and anger issues, and were already featured as bad guys before their backstory’s dropped, whereas Blake was meant to be a better abuse victim who (by season six) was starting to get written as a soft girl who just wanted to help her friends.

All in all, although there’s some things that I think that RWBY did well enough, I definitely think that I would consider their portrayal of abuse victims to be lacking. This is just my opinion and the way I feel about the writing, but there are a lot of ways to look at it. I think overall, I just really wish that the RWBY writers had been a little more sensitive and spent a little longer focusing on the character arcs involved in abuse recovery. (There’s still a chance for Whitley, Weiss, and Emerald to get more focus in volume ten, though, so long as the writers don’t timeskip!)

[geesaotblog]

R E D

Levi Ackerman x Reader x Eren Jaeger (Implied) Levi Ackerman x Reader

Tags: Fingering, Back seat fraternization. CEO Levi Ackerman COO Eren Jaeger. Personal Assistant Reader. 18+. 

         “Oh, now that’s not fair.” Eren’s own dark voice practically rang through your ear while Levi’s hands trailed up your thighs, fingertips slipping past your dress. “Levi, do enough for the both of us.”

          “I do what I want,” Levi answered back haughtily, pupils blown out as he watched your lips part with heavy breaths.

           You couldn’t really blame Floch for his current actions. After all, this was a rather huge company party, and the opportunities that came with such an event were overflowing. First of all, the networking possibilities were endless. The big named corporate goons were flooding the large Victorian banquet hall that had been rented out and hosted by Ackerman Co., the second largest technological corporation in the states. Everyone who was anyone had attended, ready to mooch off of the billionaires that walked through those lavish ornate doors.

           Second of all, employees of Ackerman Co. were all invited, as per request from their generous CEO, Levi Ackerman. You hid a scoff behind the pristine wine glass that touched your painted red lips. Levi Ackerman. The man was anything but generous. He was short, rude, and irrationally anal about the most particular things. You should know—after all, you are his personal assistant.

           More like glorified cleaning monkey but you digress.

           Then there was Eren Jaeger, Levi’s own little pet project. Eren was a few years younger than Levi but was already being groomed to succeed the company. The two were around each other, practically feeding each other’s egos like the little power hungry mongrels they were.

           Well, Eren was feeding Levi’s ego. Levi’s only words of praise being thrown towards anyone were ‘Nice job, not fucking up the data transfer you complete walking pile of shit stains.’

           Isn’t he absolutely charming?

           The two were also unfairly gorgeous; Levi’s sharp chiseled face and built frame making up for the slight height imparity as well as Eren’s other worldly iridescent viridian eyes and long brunette locks that looked soft to the touch.

           God, what those eyes did to you.

           Being Levi’s personal assistant basically meant being Eren’s as well. Regardless of just how handsome those two were, it wouldn’t make up for the absolute hell they rained down on you with the way they overloaded you with work.

           Maybe you can blame Floch for trying to kiss up to Levi right now. It was pathetic, really. The bumbling idiot’s rambles were only irritating Levi and pissing Eren off which meant four glasses of wine for you to be able to deal with their moods.

           Then Eren’s eyes locked onto your frame from across the floor. You wanted to narrow your eyes in distaste, to scoff and turn away, to pretend you didn’t see him—but it was hard to when his towering frame looked so unfairly good in that black tux. That was another thing that wasn’t fair when it came to the way Levi and Eren treated you; the sharp gazes that promised unbearable pleasure every time they laid their eyes upon you were inappropriate. You should be more upset, angrier at the way they looked at you with such possessive fervent hunger within their eyes. But in the end, it only served to burn embers deep within the core of your stomach.

           You’ve spent countless nights alone in your bed getting off at the memory of those looks, off at the memory of Levi and Eren. It just wasn’t fair.

           If there was a better time to say eat the rich, it would be now.

           Before you could comprehend the slight gasps of the awestruck women beside you, Levi and Eren had walked across the floor standing right in front of you, ready to give you a migraine that would last a century.

           “, Well don’t you look pleasant, this evening.” Levi snarked, your last name pouring out of his mouth like sweet, warmed honey, dripping down the octave of his voice that continued to lower as he spoke to you. “Usually you look like you’re contemplating murdering us, brat.”

           Bristling immediately, you pursed your lips in a tight smile and tried to calm down. He always just got under your skin so quickly.

           “Mr. Ackerman, I’d rather not discuss such grim topics in the middle of a party.” You brought the glass up to your lips again, not once breaking eye contact with that gun-metal gaze and took a sip. “Let’s keep that within work hours.”

           Eren’s sudden airy laugh broke your staring contest with Levi, garnering attention from both you and the ebony haired man in front of you.

           “Now that’s the bite we remember,” Eren murmured, smile softening and eyes glazing over with something more primal. “I was almost worried the atmosphere was affecting your mood.”

           “You’re rather confident if you think that the atmosphere you two provide with your money has any effect on what my mood is.” You quipped back, feeling heat rise to your cheeks at the tone.

           “Oh, we’re positive that we can provide an entertaining atmosphere, definitely something that’ll keep you…coming back for more,” Levi said, tone husky and guttural feeding the warmth in your stomach a little more. You swallowed thickly, ignoring their desire filled expressions and reached down to tug at the bottom of your dress, hoping to cover a little more of your thighs and hide the any evidence of the arousal that came when you were in contact with the two.

           Eren’s hair, though pulled back into a slightly messy bun, still had a few strands peak out of the tie, framing his already symmetrical face and bringing out his prominent features. He ran a hand through those locks, pushing them back as he looked down at you like some sort of animal ready to strike down on its prey.

           Levi was no different, more reserved than Eren, but his eyes held a deep promise of toe-curling ecstasy.

           You hated those two.

           Finishing your glass of wine as quickly as you could, you placed the empty cup on a passing waiter’s tray, fumbling with a hasty response and trying your damned best to get the fuck out of there. “Well, this was a lovely conversation, but I really should head back home for the night. I wouldn’t want to be late to work because of—”

           “Because of us.” Levi cut off. You pursed your lips at the implication behind his words and slowly nodded, unable to deny them.

           “Yes, because of you two.” You cleared your throat and tightened your grip on your clutch. “Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

           “Let us drop you off.” Eren offered, smiling almost childishly, throwing you off completely from the tension that had been building up between you three. “It wouldn’t be right to just let you take a cab on your own. And it seems like you had a little too much to drink so driving is out of the question.”

           Alone. Inside of a car. With Eren and Levi. You were slightly tipsy, but you also weren’t stupid.

           “No, I couldn’t impose—”

           “You’re not imposing, brat.” Levi tutted out, digging through his jacket pocket for his keys before tossing them at Eren who caught them easily. “Come on. We’re driving you home.”

           Eren sent another smile your way before gently laying a hand on the small of your back, the large encompassing palm warming the bare skin there but not at all inching any lower as to respect your boundaries. Him and Levi led you out before you could utter another word of protest and your mind was reeling with so many possibilities of just where this drive could end up.

           No, you stated sternly in your mind, chastising yourself for your indecent thoughts. You are not sleeping with the boss and the boss’s protégé. Or one. Or the other. Or—why has god forsaken me.

           You wanted to throw a tantrum at the fact that two delectable pieces of meat were hanging right there, right in front of you, but morally you understood that wouldn’t be right at all.

           Accepting your fate, you decided to just be pressed against the side door in the back seat of the car for the entire ride, hoping to avoid any inappropriate interaction with the two. As you walked between them outside into the slightly chilly night air, you saw Floch standing by the drink table, looking absolutely furious as if he was trying to bore holes into your very innocent skull.

           Hiding a smirk, you straightened your back and walked towards the black lavish vehicle, feeling much better from seeing Floch’s annoying little gerbil face scrunch up in envy.

           Oh yeah, that was nice.

           Rather chivalrously, Eren opened the back door for you, sending you another cute smile—damn him—before shutting it and stepping to the driver’s seat. You let out a small breath of relief. Good, this way Levi and Eren can sit in the front and you would be content, unbothered and definitely not sexually frustrated in the back.

           But then the sound of the door on your other side closing was heard and you turned to see Levi right next to you instead of in the passenger’s side like he should have been.

           “Um, sir.” You inhaled shakily. “I’ll be alright in the back alone, you don’t need to sit beside me—”

           “Oh, I don’t ever remembering doing something I didn’t want to.” Levi hummed back sarcastically, raising an arched brow at you cockily. If you hadn’t found the look to be so attractive, you would have shoved his face in the car seat in front of you.

           Saying nothing back, you sat still, hand curled in your lap and knees tucked together as you watched Eren start the car and begin driving to your destination.

           It was almost too quiet, only Eren’s off tune humming filling the tense heavy air while you tried to ignore Levi’s body heat radiating off to your side. Ignore him, ignore him, ignore him—you continued to chant that mantra in your head, thinking of anything but the fact that Levi’s hands were laying so close to your bare thighs. The scent of heady, almost sweet black tea touched the tips of your taste buds, the aroma of Levi’s cologne so strong it was enveloping more than one of your senses and it was addicting.

           No, you scolded yourself immediately, biting hard on your bottom lip as you clutched the ends of your dress unforgivingly. Do not go there.

           Unfortunately, because you were chewing so harshly onto the abused appendage, the sudden pothole that Eren ran through caused you to jump and bite down on your lip harder than before making you gasp in pain. You let the plush, swollen skin fall out from between your teeth, touching it tenderly and wincing in pain.

           “You fucking idiot.” Levi hissed towards Eren, grabbing your waist seeing as you had also unintentionally leaned onto him at the same time. “Watch where you’re fucking driving!”

           “Hey, don’t get mad at me! Get mad at city funding!”

           You giggled at Eren’s indignant remark, not minding the soothing rubs of Levi’s surprisingly large hands that grazed your back. “I’m okay.” You sighed out. “Definitely city funding’s fault.”

           Eren shot you an apologetic smile through the rear view mirror before looking back at the road and driving much slower than before.

           “Here let me see,” Levi murmured your name softly, uncharacteristically gentler than you thought was possible, and pinched your chin between his thumb and index finger. He turned your face towards him, nose only inches away from your own but not at all seeming to mind it as he ran his calloused thumb across the bruised skin of your bottom lip.

           “You shouldn’t be biting on it.” Levi mumbled, voice low and filled with something you couldn’t describe. His eyes trailed back up to lock with your own and you held your breath, those silver irises always muddling your brain and turning your head into mush. “Look how red it is.”

           “I-It’s fine—” You gasped as Levi practically yanked you onto his lap, your knees resting on either side of his waist. “Mr. Ackerman!” You yelled affronted, blush painting your skin as his breath fanned the sides of your neck making you tremble in unprecedented delight.

           “Oh, now that’s not fair.” Eren’s own dark voice practically rang through your ear while Levi’s hands trailed up your thighs, fingertips slipping past your dress. “Levi, do enough for the both of us.”

           “I do what I want,” Levi answered back haughtily, pupils blown out as he watched your lips part with heavy breaths. You squirmed on his lap, trying to simultaneously get away from his ministrations as well as provide friction to your slick cunt.

           “Mr. Ackerman we can’t.” You whined out, rather embarrassingly loud as Levi began to lay wet open mouthed, strategic, kisses onto the supple skin of your exposed neck.

           “I don’t tend to take orders really well,” He sneered huskily, your last name added with the formal ‘Ms.’ prefix making your already racing heartbeat against your chest. He pushed the edges of your dress past your hips, exposing your black lace panties that were damp with arousal.

           The alcohol must be getting to you because this can’t be okay.

           His thumbs traced the edges of you’re the lace frills that your panties had adorned on them—they were cheap and cute from Burlington. You had no idea that anyone, let alone your boss would be seeing you in them. But here you are. You were really thanking your past self for thinking of you now.

           “Do you want me to make you feel good?” Levi asked, teasing the edges of your inner thighs but never reaching that one place, making your pussy throb in need. “Answer me,”

           “Yes,” You choked out desperately, moving your hips in slow deliberate circles, grinding your wet heat onto his slacks, dampening them with your slick. You were so shameless, but it didn’t seem like Levi minded. In fact, judging by the cruel smirk on his face, he was having the time of his life.

           “Beg.”

           You stopped immediately, eyes widened as you looked down at Levi to see if there were any signs of him joking anywhere. But he only stared back at you, stern and unmoving, hands slowly inching away from where you needed him most. You could feel your eyes dampen in embarrassment and desperation, a tiny mewl escaping your lips as you tried to grab his hands and bring them back. But his strength was unmatched, arms unmoving even with your insistent budging.

           “You heard him, baby,” Eren’s heavy voice sending shivers down your spine. “Beg.” The command wasn’t any less powerful even though you couldn’t see him, and you let out a whimper, grinding your hips in slow circles, hoping to entice Levi into taking action.

           “P-Please,” You gasped out, face heating up at the admission. All this time you had sworn you would never bow down to money or reputation, but this kind of power was something that Levi and Eren were born with—you were sure of it. “Please, touch me.”

           “Touch you where?” Levi’s hands moved back to cup your aching folds, making you gasp and thrust your hips into the touch. “Tell me.”

           “Fuck—Levi, please just—make me cum with your fingers, touch my cunt please.” You sobbed, pressing your lips together at the humiliation and arousal that came with submitting to such a man.

           “Good girl.” Levi husked out appraisingly, finally, finally, pulling the fabric of your panties aside and pushing his thumb to rub up against your folds towards your clit, rubbing the throbbing area with slow deliberate pressure. You moaned, the sounds coming out of you so wanton and erotic, you almost couldn’t believe that they came out of you. Your eyes fluttered shut at the pleasure of Levi’s skilled fingers, pressing in and out of you, rubbing your damp walls and eliciting more of your slick out of you, dampening your inner thighs with the obscene liquid.

           Each heavy thrust, each beckoning motion that he did inside of you, only served to abuse that one spot, making you see stars behind your eyelids.

           “Yeah,” You moaned out, leaning your forehead against his as he continued to play with your soaked pussy. “That’s so…ah…good—!” You cut yourself off, a sudden shriek spilling from your lips as Levi curled his fingers, pressing hard against your bundle of nerves while pressing his wet thumb against your abused clit. It was electrifying, the heat boiling from your legs, up to your stomach and straight to your head making you unable to think properly let alone comprehend the salacious praises that you cried out towards Levi.

           You wanted to rip away from that feeling. It was so terrifying the way that sharp coil tightened your insides and tore you apart with each push and pull of Levi’s skilled hands. It wasn’t fair. You had never reached the brink so quickly with someone before but within seconds you were putty in Levi’s hands.

           “Look at me,” Levi ordered, sharply using your name in his command and using his free hand to pull your face towards him. “Look at me when you cum.”

           You must have made such a sight. Debauched and ruined at the hands of your boss. But you couldn’t say you minded as one final purposeful shove of his fingers going knuckle deep inside of you sent you over the edge and into euphoria.

           Your thighs quacked in overstimulation as you tried to muffle a scream by crashing your lips against Levi’s who met your desperation with his own starved mouth. The messy kiss helped ease your orgasm and ride the pleasurable waves down to a dwindling content buzz.

           Pulling out his fingers with an almost sickening squelch, Levi eyed them with disgust mixed with a bit of arousal, before moving them towards your lips. He pried your lips open with his slick covered fingers, making you taste your own essence, shoving them inside your mouth unforgivingly. You shuddered at the strong taste but made no effort to disobey his unspoken orders, licking each appendage clean with your tongue.

           “If you think we’re done with you, you got another thing coming.” Levi growled darkly, groping and massaging your thigh while trailing his fingers out of your mouth down your chin, creating a thin line of saliva mixed with come down your jaw.

           “By the way,” Eren turned in his seat, facing both you and Levi with a sharp, toothy smirk. “We’re here. It’s my turn.”

           Judging by the look on Eren’s face, the night was far from over.

[rachelbethhines]

Tangled Salt Marathon - The Quest for Varian

This is one of the better episodes of the first season and arguably of the whole series, but like most arc episodes from season one, it’s let down by the events of later seasons. 

Summary:  After another nightmare about her hair, Rapunzel receives a message from Varian saying he may have solved the mystery of the rocks and needs her help finding the bronze Graphtyc. Rapunzel and her friends journey to Old Corona, which is now overgrown by the Black Rocks. Along the way, they come across a group of masked figures who are out to stop Rapunzel from seeking the answers she wants.

These Prophetic Dreams Go Nowhere

Rapunzel has had them previously in What the Hair and she has them again during The Return of the Alchemist, but they don’t add anything outside of this one episode. 

Rapunzel learns nothing from them other than to be a vague warning of what she is ignoring. They don’t actually show they future, they reveal no hidden meaning, and they just disappear after the first season for little reason. We never find out why she was having them, why Varian was the only other person connected to them and not say, Cass, nor what was causing them. 

Dreams and prophecies can build tension, but you gotta explain where they come from, their place within the world, and how they tie back into the narrative. 

Rapunzel Only Cares About Varian When It Affects Her Personally

I want you to keep in mind that it's been nearly three months since Queen for a Day. Season one takes place over the course of six months, ending with Rapunzel’s birthday. Queen for a Day is meant to be the mid-season finale and we are already planning for her birthday in this episode. Also for further evidence, if you’ve watched the series in production order as intended, then we’ve had seven episodes between the two. 

During this entire time Rapunzel hasn’t thought of Varian outside of how letting him down has made her feel. She doesn’t actually care that he’s in trouble and is only getting involved now because she’s having nightmares and personally needs answers. 

You can’t constantly claim that Rapunzel is this kind and compassionate person when she abandons children for months on end while only thinking of herself, and then never actual apologizes for it.    

Rapunzel Knows About the Rumors and Does Nothing

Nigel is literally repeating them to her point blank and she says nothing. She doesn’t correct him nor tries to stop them from spreading, and then dares to act shocked when Varian mentions how they affected his life in the next episode.  How hypocritical can you get? 

Oh yeah, the King exists...

Frederic is a Liar

The lie about the rocks is obvious, but there’s more to it then that. He’s also lying about the rumors as well. We don’t know who started the rumors about Varian attacking Rapunzel, whether it was Nigel or Frederic, but we do know that Frederic does know the truth because he’s read Rapunzel’s diary. He’s using the rumors to his advantage in keeping Varian quiet regardless if he started them or not. This is an abuse of power. 

Frederic has Chased an Orphan Out of His Home

Varian’s letter tells us that the guards have been after him and the scroll for awhile now. That’s why he needs Rapunzel to go get it for him and why he has to go through these elaborate means to reach her. He’s not just been abandoned for months; he’s been unfairly hounded by the authorities and forced to survive on the run. 

Also keep in mind that it’s been shown that Corona has an unjust legal system that unfairly and harshly punishes poor people. The king could very well imprison, banish, or hang Varian if he catches him and it wouldn’t be out of character for Frederic to do so. 

Varian Shouldn’t Have had to Ask for Help a Second Time

Rapunzel’s defenders try to act like her helping Varian here somehow makes up for her abandoning him for months, and no. No, it doesn’t. 

First off, three months. Second off, this is her responsibility as both a princess and as an adult, and she’s ignored it until it was convenient to her; till she had something to gain from helping. Last off, Varian is a child. 

There’s no excuse for abandoning a child, ever. I don’t care for how long. Rapunzel does not have any sort of defense when it comes to her treatment of Varian; end of story. I do not care how much you personally like her as a character. Accept that your fav did a bad thing and move on. 

I Actually Like Eugene’s and Cassandra’s Relationship Here and How it’s Grown; Shame Future Seasons Never Focus On It Again

Like seriously, does Cass and Eugene even have another conversation during season two? Do we see them spending any time together outside the group? They get zero focus after this season. Also, don’t get me started on how season three screws them both over. 

Upon Figuring Out the Truth About Quirin, Rapunzel Decides to Throw a Pity Party

No, “Oh no, Varian is alone in the world!” or, “Oh crap, this is what Varian needed me for’; not even a “Oh poor Quirin.” Just a “Poor me, I feel guilty now” instead. And not even guilty for treating Varian badly, just guilty for touching the rocks, i.e. something that she can’t be held accountable for by the narrative.

Once again, do not try to pass off your main character as a kind and caring person if all you’re going to do is have her selfishly focus on her pain all the time. 

Why Would You Say that Cass? 

No seriously, why would you say that? Aren’t you supposed to be Varian’s friend? Weren’t you also there with Rapunzel when he asked for help? Did he just not warn you in his letter that he was being chased by someone for the scroll? What possible reason would you have not to trust him at this point in the narrative? Also, you’re wrong. They aren’t with Varian, so this isn’t a case of foreshadowing either. 

Cap Fights His Own Daughter Here Out of ‘Duty’ and The Show Never Calls Him Out For It

Look, I like Cap. He’s the best father, nay, best parent, in the show, hands down. And this situation is mostly Frederic’s fault. But he’s not blameless either.

In season one he constantly chooses loyalty to the crown over doing what is actually right. He chases down a defenceless teenager who has been recently orphaned and drives him from his home on the excuse of ‘orders’. He attacks his own daughter and the princess on the excuse of ‘orders.’ Even in the finale he chooses ‘orders’ over his own daughter’s happiness. 

This all could have tied into season three’s narrative, but the show is so hyper fixated on Rapunzel and her relationship with Cass, that any attempts to call out this behaviour falls flat. There’s no proper focus on his and Cass’s relationship and no real resolvement of their issues. 

This Isn’t Foreshadowing 

Look, if your only ‘hint’ for the big plot twist in season three is a split second shot in season one of a character doing a totally normal thing, that you have to send the viewers on a quest to find, then you’ve failed at writing. 

Sorry Ricky, but your ‘quest’ sucks and this story sucks. 

Cass Has No Excuse For Not Knowing What Gothel Actually Did to Raps Because Eugene Is Literally Telling Her the Whole Story In This Scene

Speaking of dumb twists, the writers pointed out this scene as a clue for the Gothel twist but it actually undermines the narrative because now Cass has no logical reason to ever think Gothel wasn’t anything but abusive. She should very well know that Rapunzel had a sucky childhood because she’s actually seen it. 

Rapunzel and the Mains Now Know About Frederic Framing Varian and Do Nothing About It

Varian sent them a letter telling them he’s being hunted down for the scroll. They get chased when they find the scroll. They’re informed by the people chasing them that Frederic sent them after the scroll. Yet, all they care about is why Frederic order this in the first place and not about the obvious abuse of power that this is. Nor about the kid that still on the run for his life. 

Conclusion 

Look it may seem I’m being harsh on Rapunzel here, but honestly the problem isn’t that she’s made a mistake, or is selfish this one time, or that she did a bad thing. No, the problem is that narrative never holds her to account. She never acknowledges that she was wrong. That is the biggest failing of the show. It takes what is, at first, a fun, complex story and turns it into a cringe fest. So much so that once good episodes now become painful to sit through. 

[blu-joons]

BTS Reaction: You’re Their Little Sister

Jin:

As soon as you walked into the studio, Jin was in front of you, greeting you with a giant hug, wrapping an arm around you. “I can’t believe you’re finally in Seoul to visit me, there’s so much that I want to show you.”

“Calm down,” you giggled.

“I’m fine,” he assured you, walking you down a corridor. “I’ll show you the dance room first.”

“Is that because the boys are there?” You questioned, peering in through a door. “I see, offload your sister as soon as you can.”

His head shook, opening up the door, “I’ve got a few more things I want to sort out for you, so they are trusted to keep an eye on you whilst I make sure everything is perfect.”

“Jin, I’ve come to visit you, you don’t need to do anything over the top for me, I’m happy just to be here and have a good look around.”

His chuckled lightly, squeezing onto your hand tightly. “I’ve waited so long for mum and dad to trust you to come and visit me, I want your visit to be special.”

“It will be special Jin, just being here is enough for me, stay here for a while,” you encouraged him, dragging him back into the room.

“You’ve always been a bossy teenager.”

Yoongi:

The two of you were swarmed by fans as soon as you stepped out, Yoongi didn’t mind being pushed around, but he refused to let anyone touch you. “Get your hands off my sister and let her move, stop trying to touch her.”

“Yoongi, help,” you whimpered.

“Keep walking,” he instructed, guiding you out of the crowd, “don’t stop walking, keep going.”

“What on earth was all of that?” You asked once the two of you were out of the worst of it, “I didn’t realise how crazy your fans were.”

He sighed, pecking your cheek, “I’m sorry you had to go through all that, I shouldn’t have put you in such a vulnerable position, you’d never act like that even at their age.”

“You’re my brother, I’m not a mad crazy fan obsessed with your life, obsessed with your life, that’s the difference,” you told him.

He smirked across at you, admiring your sarcasm, “hopefully we can enjoy the rest of our day together now that that is over and done with.”

“I don’t know how you live with that day in, day out, it’s too much for me,” you giggled, following as he led you down the road to the store.”

“Honestly, it’s too much for me too.”

Hoseok:

He called your name, hearing you walk up the stairs into his bedroom, watching him talking to the livestream he had on. “Why don’t you come and say hello to the fans, they’ve not seen you for quite some time.”

“Hi,” you giggled, waving.

“She’s shy,” he teased, pulling up a chair for you, “the fans ask what it is like having me home.”

“Terrible,” you laughed, “he keeps stealing all my stuff, I’ve nearly ran out of face masks because he sneaks in my room and gets them.”

Hobi gasped, shaking his head at you and the camera. “I’ll admit, I might have taken a couple, but you always have really nice ones, and I’ve got a handsome face to maintain.”

“I think your fans would argue that you are always handsome,” you smiled, looking through the comments, “see they love your face, I don’t know why.”

He smirked, tickling against your side making you squirm, “she loves me really, she just likes to pretend that she doesn’t like me for the camera.”

“It’s not pretending, you’re a terrible brother,” you chuckled, watching his head shake, “stop stealing my stuff, then I’ll like you.”

“I’d rather just steal your stuff.”

Namjoon:

He was frantic walking around the airport waiting for you to arrive, he sat and waited for you to walk through arrivals, greeting you finally with a tight hug. “How was your flight? Did you get here safely? Do you need anything?”

“I’m fine,” you spoke.

“Sorry,” he giggled, taking your case, “I’m just really excited to have you here in America for a bit.”

“I’m excited to be here and see all the things you’re getting up to,” you told him, smiling up at him, “how’s the tour been so far?”

He nodded, as he grin widened, “it’s been incredible, the fans have been insane, but the best is definitely to come now that you’re finally here to enjoy it.”

“Smooth,” you teased, hitting his arm, “mum and dad told me to say hi too and make sure you’re taking good care of your diet and health.”

He smirked, nothing changed within his family, “you can tell them I am doing well and taking excellent care of myself, they’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“What about the rest of the boys? I suppose you’ve told them that I’m coming?” You questioned, watching his head nod in response.”

“They’re excited to see you too.”

Jimin:

His figure appeared behind you, looking across at the stack of homework you had in front of you, sitting at the dining table. “I can’t remember the last time I did science; it was my worst subject in school, I hated it.”

“So, do I,” you replied.

“Can I help you at all?” He asked, sitting down beside you, “I remember a couple of things about it.”

“Depends, how do you fancy sitting a biology exam for me tomorrow morning?” You asked, sniggering as his eyes widened, and his head shook.

His arm wrapped around you, “sorry sis, but I’ve got much better, and less boring things to do tomorrow, but I can help you revise?”

“Do you know what that might not be such a bad idea,” you told him, handing him a few of your test papers, “ask me questions on all of these.”

He read through a few of them, tutting at some of the questions, “is it really necessary for you to know all of this, none of it is any good to me now.”

“We can’t all be worldwide singers, some of us have to learn in order to get a career,” you reminded him, encouraging him to start.

“Yeah, you’re definitely the smarter sibling.”

Taehyung:

He smiled widely as he answered your call only to see the tears roll down your cheeks, feeling his heart break as he saw you. “Y/N, what’s happened? Why are you getting all upset, are you missing me again?”

“Just boys,” you spoke.

“What’s his name?” He demanded, feeling his anger grow, “do I need to come home and fight.”

“Don’t be stupid Tae, you’d never fight a fly,” you slightly laughed, “I just don’t understand why all boys are so stupid and idiotic.”

He chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “All boys?” He squeaked, watching you nod your head, “it’s just an age thing Y/N, they’ll mature soon.”

“They don’t see how unfairly they treat girls, and now I have to spend every day at school sat beside him,” you groaned, stressing yourself out.

Taehyung sighed, “you’ve just got to try not to let it get to you, be the bigger person and show him exactly what he’s missing out on, because you’re perfect.”

“I wish that were true Tae, but clearly he didn’t want me,” you sobbed, trying desperately not to cry again in front of your brother.

“Any guy would be lucky to have you.”

Jungkook:

You sighed heavily as you walked into your home, seeing Jungkook sat at the dining table, with your parents sat either side of him. “I bet you didn’t expect to see me,” he spoke as you ran towards him, hugging him tightly.

“I didn’t,” you chuckled.

“Thought I’d stop by,” he whispered into your ear, “I wanted to check and see how you all were.”

“I can’t believe you’re here, aren’t you supposed to be going on tour soon?” You questioned, feeling your feet land back onto the ground.

He nodded, smiling down at you, “I’ve got a few days off beforehand, and I thought where else in the world would I like to go, aside from home.”

“It’s so good to see you,” you told him, studying the few changes he’s made, his hair was longer, and a new tattoo was added, “so, how long are you going to be here for?”

He looked back at your parents, smiling weakly, “only a few days, but I thought it was better than nothing, just to make sure you were behaving yourself too.”

“It’s a nice surprise to see you, I don’t care how long you are here for,” you told him, hugging his tall frame tightly.”

“Why don’t you fill me in on what I’ve missed.”

---

Masterlist

[mbti-notes]

Anon wrote: I have a shy ESFP (or, outgoing ISFP) friend who I got to know roughly two years ago. When we started hanging out I (also ISFP) trusted him quickly because I sensed his inclusive/open character. We’ve to hung out quite a lot and had good times. After about a year or so I noticed how he changed, his inclusivity became more selective and he got more and more distant, often forgetting to acknowledge me, without meaning anything bad (as far as I know). 

He was more focused on getting to know new people and gaining new experiences and so. Which I really just think was good for him. But we still have our main group of friends in common. With these people I mostly have a good time, but I often feel as if he remembers everyone in this group apart from me/ignores me, and it seems like he almost actively pushes me out of his mind: he barely looks at me/looks away when we are all talking, if I joke he can just look away but laughs with the other group members when they say stuff, he walks/rush past me and doesn’t answer when I reach out, he posts birthday messages with pictures to all friends in the group but “forgets” mine, he takes lots of pictures/portraits of all his friends but I have barely appeared in any of them, or end up being the only one cropped out of the frame, he is “polite” towards me but does not really seem to care, and I keep checking up on him but he is unbothered. Sometimes I even sense discomfort in him around me. 

Eventually I assumed I must have done/said annoyed/disappointed at how much this other friend “overreacted”. His girlfriend has expressed how she feels neglected when he’s joking around with his other friends to the point where she has nothing to do there, becomes sad and upset with him. Another friend of mine who is not part of this group said that she felt like he was “shielding me off” when she was present with both of us at one point. Now, I am living in another city, and would rather just distance myself from this kind of ambiguity and mixed signals, proceed and move on and focus on my stuff for now. 

But, as we are in the same friend group, which includes most of my best friends, I am still reminded by his ways almost everyday but now through social media. He still forgets me/ignores me, but now online. I am in a situation where I would like to let go of my attachment to him a bit more as he seems unable to change at the moment, and often makes me feel like “nothing”. Or at least I would like to change my perception of our perception he is behaving in an immature way, almost like a 12-year old boy, and something in me makes it really hard for me to confront him or express my anger toward him because I feel like it could break him. Like I tend to feel around children. 

My perception is that he is a very fragile person which he masks in social “splendour” and “carelessness”, and something in me makes me feel it would be very heavy for him to handle a strong or angry reaction from me. But I don’t know how to deal with this situation; on the one hand feeling angered/frustrated about being treated unfairly and on the other choosing to remain calm and compassionate, without being a doormat. How can I deal with this situation? Maintain my own sanity and emotional stability and remove myself from this negativity, without expending other peoples wellbeing? He’s obviously not doing great, but he’s not receptive to my concern. Thank you.

_____________________

It doesn't matter whether he is fragile or what his motives are or what he really feels about you, etc etc. I can't comment on that since I'm not a mindreader. Even if he's in trouble, you're obviously not the one to help him. Just deal with the facts of the situation: He's not what you need or want him to be. That’s what matters most. The way that you describe the relationship sounds more like ex-lovers than friends, which is a warning sign about serious boundary problems.

Remember that obtaining resolution in a relationship isn't up to the other person. If you're expecting people to change, soothe you, validate you, or apologize to you when they clearly aren’t going to do any of those things, then you are actually suffering from your own unreasonable expectations. It doesn't sound to me like he's going to change any time soon nor does it sound like he's very capable of change even if he had the desire to. Therefore, resolution of this situation comes from accepting the fact of what he is and responding accordingly.

Generally speaking, a good rule of thumb in relationships is this: Never invest much more than you get in return, if you hope for your relationships to have a sense of equality. This means that you have to be adaptable to the ebb and flow of relationship changes. As soon as you invest a lot more than the other person, you start feeling resentful, and that's on you. You can't control other people, but you can control your expectations and adjust them as the facts change. If someone simply isn't interested in being the kind of friend that you want, why waste your energy chasing an unattainable goal? You have your standards, so stick to them. If he doesn't meet those standards, move along and invest in someone who does. 

You don’t have to confront him, and the only reason you want to is because you harbor resentment and anger. He’s not responsible for your emotions - you are. If you have realistic expectations, then being in the same friend circle shouldn't be a big deal. You treat him as an acquaintance and nothing more. You don't have to react to every little thing he says and does, do you? If you do, it means that you're too invested in trying to change him, i.e., you've set up unreasonable expectations for him to live up to. But why? His life is none of your business, at least until he suddenly wants you to be in his business. Even then, it’s your decision to make about whether to go there again. Sometimes, a change in perspective simply involves learning to mind your own business, which implies staying out of things that aren’t your business and not allowing others to mess with your business - this is the essence of relationship boundaries. 

[comfy-whumpee]

Nano: Mistakes

Lauritz looked up when they entered, one after the other. Kala stood back, hands in fists and arms folded, as Rain moved forwards to carefully untie Lauritz again. The confused look to his wide-open expression was sad to see. He couldn't read the room, and see that they weren't hostile. Or maybe he just didn't know what else they could be.

"Go ahead," Rain said, when he was untied and standing in front f the hatch. "I'll come down after. We're going to have lunch."

Lauritz didn't look up, speak or not. He climbed down the ladder and waited at the bottom.

"Um, step back for me," Rain told him. They waited until he obliged before climbing down themself, with Kala's little scoff echoing behind them. Despite the attitude she was right there, moments after them.

"You remember where the kitchen is?" Rain asked, trying to smile. "Lead the way."

Lauritz did, with slow, tentative steps, as if they were going to drag him back upstairs at any moment. He paused at the top of the stairs, then went down one at a time. He did have to glance around before finding the kitchen, but he went, and after another hesitation, sat down at the chair he’d been on last night.

Rain looked at Kala, warning, but she didn’t object to him being in her preferred spot. She took up leaning against the counter, arms crossed and glare settled onto Lauritz. She didn’t mean to glare. It was just what her eyes did when she saw someone she didn’t like.

With a quiet sigh, Rain sat down on their chair. They pulled a folded piece of paper from their pocket, and slid it across. After a nod from them, Lauritz took it, and opened it to look.

Your name is Lauritz.

He squinted. He blinked for a moment, and then pushed a hand against his forehead. “I...” he murmured, and Rain felt Kala tense behind them, ready to intervene in case his memories were flooding back and restoring him to his former inglorious attitude. But Lauritz didn’t seem to notice, his eyes running back over the single sentence in Rain’s curling script, and again, and again. “I-I don’t – didn’t remember reading,” he admitted after a moment.

Oh. Rain relaxed their nerves, consciously. He was just realising something new. He was innocent, still. He just had no memory of learning to read, and here he was... Reading.

Whatever kind of amnesia he had, it sure was confusing.

“Lauritz,” Kala said, and he didn’t look up immediately. Rain watched his mouth sound out the word, eyes on the paper, and then he looked up. “That’s you,” Kala confirmed. “I’m – sorry we didn’t tell you earlier.”

She didn’t sound sorry at all, but when Lauritz looked to Rain, they nodded.

“It’s... It’s okay,” he murmured, looking back at the paper as if his eyes were magnetised to it. “I didn’t um, deserve to know. If I was a bad person.”

Rain frowned lightly. Why would he think that?

“Why’s that?” Kala said, echoing them.

Lauritz glanced away, uncomfortable, but then back to the paper his brown eyes went, tracing each letter. Was it the act of reading, or the revelation of his name? Was he chasing a thought that was about to break through, his old self pressing at his thoughts?

“I’m... I’m bad, right?”

Bad?

“I... You’ve told me that. I know I’m bad. I-I want to know... why? Can I?”

Kala didn’t reply. Rain wasn’t sure what to say either. But the longer it took them to respond, the more the silence dragged their words into insincerity.

“You...”

Indignation caught the words and choked them in Rain’s throat like a rush of heat after a bite of food. You’re not bad – how could they say that? Of course he was. He was a fucking monster. That was still in there, even if he didn’t remember it. That was still who he was. Making him forget wouldn’t change him like magic, would it? Especially not when he still had those memories breaking through.

But he hadn’t done anything bad. He’d just... He’d been nothing but a victim since he’d first arrived. So how could they tell him he was bad when he didn’t know who he was?

“You are,” Kala said, before they could work out a fair reply. Her voice was clipped. “You’re a piece of shit. But you can try to be better. And you fucking should.”

Rain watched, helplessly mute, as Lauritz absorbed the answer and his shoulders slowly lowered in defeat. “I’ll try,” he affirmed sadly. “Thank you.”

There was a short silence as Rain tried to think their way through what should be done next. There was a lot, and none of it was what they wanted to do. Getting rid of Lauritz forever was becoming an increasingly unlikely happy ending, though.

“You need a bed,” they declared. “And you need something to do all day. We should probably help you learn more about... the world and how it works.”

Lauritz just nodded. He was clearly listening, but something about his expression made them frown.

“Is there anything you would like to do?” they offered.

He was silent. He looked faintly surprised, eyes slightly widened. When they waited, and Kala waited, and it was clear that he was expected to reply, he hesitantly offered, “I would like to go outside more, if that’s alright.”

“Yes,” Rain said before they could second-guess the decision. “You should be allowed outside. That’s humane. We’ll try and keep your times outside to time when one of us is there, though.”

Before they could even explain why, Lauritz nodded. “I won’t run away,” he said.

“No, that’s... Alright. Good to know. Anything else that you would like?” Please, they thought, give them something to work with, rather than making them figure it out themself. Trying to think about nice things to do for him, of all people, was not soothing their prickling thoughts.

He looked down at his hands, and they wondered what it would be. But when he looked up, there were no clues on his expression. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Alright. Well, let’s... Let’s try to get along. Try to fix things up so you’re not living a horrible life. Okay.”

Kala pushed off from the counter and walked to the door. “I’m going outside now,” she said. “You’re not coming with me.”

Lauritz blinked. He didn’t nod. He didn’t even seem to realise she wanted him to respond.

“Fine,” she said. She didn’t look at Rain. She opened the back door, stepped out, and shut it. Rain turned their gaze back to Lauritz, trying to ignore the way their heart picked up when Lauritz met their gaze.

“You’re going to be alright,” they said. They had said that already, hadn’t they? God, just his eyes made them doubt themself again, ready to throw themself to their knees or beg or whatever it took to stop him—

“Thank you.”

“What?”

His gaze was sincere, plain and open and somehow trusting. Somehow, after everything they’d subjected him to, or condoned through inaction while Kala was being her usual over-aggressive self in his direction... After everything, he was thanking them. “Thank you.”

“Don’t,” they said, almost cutting him off. “Don’t thank me. I could have done this for you on the first day.”

He didn’t respond, but his expression didn’t change. He really was grateful. Grateful that he didn’t have to live tied up in the attic anymore... Because that was the only place he knew to live.

-

The day went strangely after that. I took him to the living room and he sat down on the sofa. He had stars in his eyes from how comfortable it was. When I showed him how to get water for himself, he drank two glasses. He seemed uncomfortable sitting at the table for dinner, but I don’t see a way around that. I won’t have him sitting on the floor like he used to in the attic. Even if he asked to.

He watches Kala when she’s nearby as though he’s expecting to be hurt, and it bothers her. It’s plain to see. She voids him now, but that only makes him more nervous around her. That will have to change at some point.

He’s in the living room again now, sleeping on the sofa. Kala helped me clear out some of what’s in there, sharp or dangerous things, anything he could use to turn on us if he turns out to be the old Lauritz again tomorrow.

He’s locked in. He doesn’t seem to mind. Perhaps he thinks this is normal, or deserved.

Regardless, I still don’t like it. It feels like we traded a captive for a slightly better treated captive. It feels like he’s just sliding closer towards bonding with me despite how unfairly I’ve treated him. It feels like we did good cop and bad cop by accident, and now he thinks what I give him is kindness, because it doesn’t involve cutting him up.

Fuck!

That’s it, isn’t it?

Fuck. He has no frame of reference. He has no idea how the world works. He thinks being cut up for things he didn’t do is normal. He thinks he deserves it! He won’t accept apologies because we told him too many time that he was that person, that bastard. I told him he was the rat and he called himself the rat. And now I’m freaking out over the consequences when they’re my own damn fucking fault!

Shit. I don’t know what to do. And this shouldn’t be our job, this shouldn’t have anything to do with us, but he must be here for a reason. There’s no way it was a coincidence. And that means it does involve us, despite what we want, and somehow even without being himself he is stepping into our lives and ruining them.

And I’m getting worse. I know I am. I had more thoughts today. Just sitting at the table with him made me feel like he was about to say something, one of those phrases he used to use when he expected something, some instinctive trained response that still, still, still sit in my head and I fucking hate it and they’re there waiting for him to just... Press those buttons.

And then it turns out I did the same to him without even trying.

He looks at me when I walk in the room. He listens to me speak. When I ask a question, he nods. No matter what I say, he nods. I asked him if he wanted to go back in the attic and he nodded. I asked him if he wanted to sleep in the living room and he nodded. I asked if he could read. I asked if he knew his name. I asked if he

I don’t know what to do

Kala wants me to work out what to do and I don’t know

I don’t know

[masked-buffoon]

Chapter 9: Scheming anew (Part 1)

Warnings: mention of drugs, murder

Author notes: I am back, with the ninth chapter! From now on, we will follow Ogawa as she makes her first steps in the world of light... I hope you’ll like it as much as when she was in the Port Mafia!

I tiredly stared at the cockroach climbing onto the cracked wall of the room, emotionless. I was getting used to such sight and these creatures no longer scared me anymore. Sometimes, in the depth of the night, a rat or two would even sneak out from their hideout and explore the place, looking for something to eat. It was of no use; I had no fridge and nothing comestible for them. The only thing I bought with the money I had saved from the Mafia was morphine. A lot of morphine, to relieve my headache and the pain in my body. Recently, my limbs had been constantly numb and aching, and my insides were not much better, often burning and churning, making me uncomfortable permanently. I looked away from the cockroach and buried my face in the dirty pillow, trying to get some rest. There was no helping it, my ability would end up killing me, anyway. All I could do was wait for the reaper to harvest my soul, in this poor excuse of a room I had found after leaving the comfortable place Odasaku had permitted me to have, in a poor hostel no one had ever heard about. Although I had left the Port Mafia full of hopes I could follow Dazai's traces and live in the world of light by his side, delusion had hit me hard, like a slap, and I had realised I would never physically be able to reach out to him. I was too tired to find a proper job, not to mention my lack of any qualification and diploma, and no one wanted to hire a pitiful and pathetic woman like me anyway. Reality was much harsher than the naive dreams my mind was still able to produce after all this time spent along horror and cruelty. I had promised the one who called himself my friend to warn him before I would give my last breath but... I had no way to contact him. The man had changed his phone number after leaving the organisation so no one would be able to contact him anymore. I did not even know where he worked, and even if I did find the infirmary where I had been treated, I could be turned down if he was not there. No, there was no way... I would close my eyes onto the world, alone and forsaken. At least, my rotten flesh could serve as a meal for the rats...

Nausea got the better of me and I had to stand up to drag myself toward the bathroom, where I could freely vomit any amount of blood my body desired to throw up in the toilets. I sighed, deeply, and closed my eyes for a moment, trying not to collapse on the dusty ground, shaking and weakened by both my ability and the terrible amount of morphine I took. I could no longer hold on, I did not remember having suffered so much... But since I had tasted sleep, I believed it was a logical outcome that my condition would worsen without it. I could never get up and run after him anymore... I no longer had the strength to do so.

Suddenly, noises erupted from the neighbouring room and I stopped moving to hear better. There seemed to be people struggling... Fighting, even... The Sweet Appeals could distinguish a female's thoughts, but she was not being raped... She was calling for help. There was a part of me, impulsive and healthy, which reacted immediately and moved my body toward my doorknob. Then, there was the other part, sick and fatigued, more careful, too, which warned me about the potential dangers I would encounter. After hesitating a minute, I decided to check on my neighbour and silently pulled out an unloaded gun in case I would need to defend myself. I did not have any bullets anymore, but the weapon could dissuade my opponents. I opened the door to the room next door and was encountered with a strong air stream coming from the window, left opened. And in front of it, a corpse. It belonged to a young woman, perhaps in her twenties, but as I turned on the light to examine it closely, I noticed there was absolutely no trace of the struggling I could have heard just a moment earlier. I frowned and put my gun back into its holster, kneeling down next to the victim. She was definitely dead, and I had not imagined the noises I had heard. It was also clear that the murderers, because they were several, had escaped through the window. The whole question now was to know how and why she had been killed. "How" would be easily solved by an autopsy. "Why" would require further investigation I could not do myself. I stood up and looked around for any hint as to who was after her. However...

"Hands up!! Now!!" A man shouted.

I turned around brusquely and met the barrel of a semi-automatic pistol — the model the state equipped policemen with. I bit my lower lip and raised my hands, defeated, and let myself be guided through the insalubrious corridors of the hostels, toward the entrance. Through the small opening of the main door, I could see the flashing lights of the red sirens and cursed myself for not hearing them come before. They sat me down and tied my hands behind my back. And they left me there.

I thought I would go mad without being able to move and shoot some morphine through my vessels. They had abandoned me there for several hours already, without even wondering if I was not a simple witness in the entire case. Moreover, who had warned them about this murder...? I had not, so perhaps the true culprits had deliberately sent the police there to provoke them. Unfortunately, curiosity had gotten me caught up in the case. The sun was slowly raising above the buildings of Yokohama and, at last, a man walked toward me. His serious face was framed by neatly tied blonde hair and a pair of glasses accentuated the severity of his look. I immediately knew he would be troubles when I saw him pull out a notebook where the word "ideal" was written on the cover. There were people who thought we, humans, could live respecting certain codes of morals in society. I was not one of them. I was nowhere near righteous, had discarded laws and ideals long ago and usually laughed at those idealistic ones who believed our world could be ruled by laws of decency. There was nothing such as decency. If this abstract concept truly existed, there would be no underground organisation nor people suffering unfairly across the world. No human could be disinterested enough not to give in to greed and power, which destroyed ideals. I stared at him, bothered.

"You..." He exhaled, readjusting his glasses "Don't give me that look."

"That look?" I cocked my head to the side "Which one would you prefer, then?"

"Ugh, a cocky criminal..."

"Ah." I clicked my tongue to correct him "Before you have any evidence of my crime, I am still a suspect, which is nowhere near a criminal. Besides, before you ask, I am innocent. I merely heard a noise coming from the room and thought I should take a look. A woman screaming in the night, you wouldn't keep sleeping tightly, would you?"

"How do you explain we found you near the corpse, then? People called the police and out of pure hazard you are the one we find? I can't believe it." He crossed his arms.

"The window was wide opened." I remembered "The ones you are looking for surely escaped from it. Not to mention they surely are the ones who called the police."

"Why would they do such a stupid thing? Why are you making excuses up to cover for —"

"Seriously, are you dumb? Or dense? Or both?" I groaned, annoyed "What are you, an inspector? If so, you can file your resignation letter...! You aren't worth the money you're paid to do your job...!"

"Outrageous words against an agent of the government..." He scribbled down a paper "Careful what you say, you're adding up to your case."

"Why, I don't care, since I'm innocent." I raised an eyebrow, discreetly tugging onto the restraints "Gather fingerprints if you need them. There won't be mine, neither on the window nor the corpse. But is your lab even able to produce useful clues?"

The man sighed heavily, massaging his forehead with a grimace of annoyance.

"Careful not to crunch your face up too much, inspector~" I chuckled "You don't want to have wrinkles in your twenties~"

"Eh...? Is that true...?"

The man was definitely dense. Or naive. The rope around my wrists loosened, and I decided to take this opportunity to escape, although this probably would bring me even more troubles. However, I could not afford to be accused of a crime I had not committed, and if I could find the true murderer, I would be able to clear myself off of any suspicion.

"Yeah...!" I nodded "Why don't you write it in your notebook...? That thing seems pretty important to you...! Now, 'frowning too much gives you wrinkles', write it down...!"

"Um... Frowning too much... Gives you —"

I hit him with the chair as he was not looking, knocking him down in the process.