#and while i still think i deserved better than the shit the adults who were responsible for me put me through

[relicsongmel]

Was doing some thinking today and realized that one of the reasons I'm really drawn to Kieran is because he's a rare example of a character that's shy (and usually good-hearted) but still has some rougher edges to him.

I feel like all too often shy characters are shoved into being portrayed as either "smol bean who would never hurt anyone and just wants friends uwu" or "brooding loner who snaps at people to cover up the fact they don't actually know how to socialize" with not a lot of wiggle room in between. While I can and do enjoy characters that (arguably) fall into those respective categories, they're a bit reductive in the sense that things are very rarely that black and white in reality. Even the kindest people have a limit to what they can tolerate. They have bad days or respond poorly to events around them that cause them stress. And the same can be said in reverse as well—point being, people are multifaceted and don't always behave as predictably as we'd like to think.

And I think Kieran reflects that dichotomy perfectly. When we first meet him, he's meek, timid, and relies heavily on his more brash and forceful older sister to help him navigate social situations where he would otherwise lose out on something valuable because he's too afraid to come forward and ask for what he wants (like how she has to ask the player to battle him on his behalf). He's often quick to cower whenever she starts to get heated, but he's also not afraid to point out when he thinks she's wrong and sometimes even gets sassy with her himself. He's undeniably sweet and gentle and shows eagerness to make friends with the player, but he becomes much more curt when he notices we're lying to him about Ogerpon. The rest of the Teal Mask storyline shows him fluctuating even further—yelling at Carmine and the player for keeping secrets from him, punching things in fits of anger...then backpedaling and apologizing for the trouble he caused a few scenes later. Spreading the truth about Ogerpon to everyone in the village to help make her happy...then selfishly demanding a battle to see who's worthy of being her Trainer when she has already clearly chosen the player.

After being lied to and suffering repeated losses at our hands (including the Pokemon he's idolized all his life choosing us over him), he leans even more heavily into his bitter side during the Indigo Disk—being cold and ruthless to pretty much everyone around him, but at the end of the day it's primarily overcompensation for what he perceives as his own personal weakness (because he's still just a kid trying to be taken seriously). He's shown to drop the act on multiple occasions—most notably when he's caught off guard by our appearance at Blueberry Academy and at a few points during the Area Zero expedition. He antagonizes the player up until the moment of his defeat and tries to catch and use Terapagos in a last-ditch moment of desperation that ends up going horribly wrong, but after everything resolves he's quick to admit his mistakes and asks the player for forgiveness and if they can still be friends. After the epilogue he's mostly back to his old self, but still seems to get worked up when provoked (e.g. when he yells at Drayton for refusing to stop calling him "ex-Champ" in one of their League Club Room interactions).

And I think this varied and sometimes contradictory behavior is precisely why Kieran is such a cohesive and believable character—because it shows how even kind, well-meaning people may have a hidden darker side that can show itself under the right circumstances. How they might let their insecurities get the better of them. How a shy, timid kid might not have the experience to know how to deal with sudden feelings of frustration and/or jealousy that are far too strong to keep to himself, so he lashes out as a result. How despite all this he remains kind, sensitive and loving at his core and shows willingness to learn from his mistakes. And that is what makes him so compelling to me.

[tgcg]

ill break your shit adam

warning for adult lang

fuck you adam sandler

youre lucky karkat likes you

stupid fuck sees an amnesiac girl

and asks her can i marry you

that lady got issues mentally

you still down to do shit anally

deplorable zit on the ass of romanza

karkat told me to put that shit in this stanza

do raps even count as having stanzas

slam poetry tyke at preschool im no manza

youd probably jack it to a log with holes if they were wet ones

sitting on that stupid dock with her papa cracking cold ones

piece of shit id push you off that dock and watch you bubbling

kick your ass like her shitty bro failed when you were troubling

penguins dont quack like fucking ducks you dumbass

thats not part of the rap i just think that youre a dumbass

back to the rap sandler i bet you couldnt drop a single bar

too busy picking up stupid women at the stupid women bar

who even let you into hawaii

also did i say karkat liked you i was kidding he wants to kick your heinie

seriously watching that shit again made him start slamming his head into the cushions and screaming i had to pry them out his hands and he almost bit me

sorry i forgot i was rapping again

piece of shit forgot that you can like women while dating other men

still not over that chuck and larry shit adam

if you just said to the gov you were bi you coulda had em

firefighter of the year? well try putting out this heat

karkats gonna beat your ass like you do every night to your meat

gotta ask is this shit wish fulfilment for you

gotta say larry deserved better than you

i could treat him way better than you not in a gay way though

i just mean youre a massive sleaze basically the worlds shittiest bro

back to 50 first dates man sandler your shit is a bore

the stupid bits with schneider got my ass addicted to snore

if i was that stupid walrus id tear your ass to shreds

if i was that penguin i would also tear your ass to shreds

itd be harder but id still do it

bro fuck adam sandler im through it

===

TT: Wow. Bravo, Dave. You've outdone yourself.

TG: i wrote this one exceptionally fucking terrible to represent my inner darkness

TG: i can never unwatch those cinematic fossilized turds theyre like time capsules devoted to everything wrong with america

TG: you dont even understand how egregious that was

TT: I can sense the utter malaise and contempt in every word. It's beautiful.

TT: One particularly interesting point I'd like to make is the fact that you managed to refer to butts in a song about a male target, 10 times in the span of 37 lines. It's not an exorbitant amount, but it appears to be a running theme in your works. Very interesting, if you ask me --

TG: nooooo

TG: nope no

TG: not this shit again

TG: listen one of them is karkats fault

===

CG: ROSE, YOU JUST DON'T FUCKING UNDERSTAND WHAT HE'S DOING HERE AT ALL.

TT: No? Please, enlighten me Karkat.

CG: GLADLY.

CG: HE STARTS OUT WITH THE FRIGGIN WORD "ANAL" PRECEDING ALL OF THE OTHER MENTIONS, OF COURSE IT'S ON PURPOSE. IT INSTILLS THAT IMAGERY IN YOUR NUGBONE THROUGHOUT THE TRACK.

CG: AND YOU MAY HAVE NOTICED A RECURRING USE OF THE WORD "SHIT", IN TANDEM. BOG-STANDARD FOR DAVE, RIGHT? NO! IT'S PART OF THE EFFECT!

CG: MY THESIS: ADAM SANDLER MOVIES ARE PIECES OF ABSOLUTE SHIT AND THE REFERENCES TO WORDS LIKE "LOG" AND "SHIT" AND "ASS" ARE TO INVOKE THE SENSE OF TAKING A MASSIVE DUMP THROUGHOUT THE SPAN OF THE RAP, WHICH BY ALL MEANS WOULD BE AN EQUAL OR GREATER USE OF YOUR TIME THAN WATCHING THOSE MOVIES.

CG: RIGHT, DAVE?

TG: … yeah

TT: Okay, I'm willing to concede to that. On this subject matter, as an avid terrible movie enjoyer, you admittedly know better than myself.

CG: SHOULD KNOW BETTER.

TT: And you love them anyways.

CG: YEAH.

TG: hes right

TG: you hear that shit hes right

TG: fuck death of the author im verifying that interpretation

[thelovelyruin]

𝖋𝖗𝖚𝖎𝖙.

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖘 : choso x fem reader

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖚𝖓 : he’s your ex, and he’s having a hard time moving on from you.

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖒𝖔𝖔𝖓: smut, angst, porn with plot, vaginal sex, oral sex, praise, love, fluff, teasing, fingering (TOXIC CHOSO SHEESH)

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖔𝖙 : 4K

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖗 : inspired by lyrics from fruit by abra.

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖊𝖒𝖕𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖘 : hello, lovelies, thank you so much for reading! one of my favorites. i hope you enjoy it; if so, follow me for more. au revoir!

18+ MDNI ADULT CONTENT

Tell me what you did last night.

“I don’t think so, at least not with some guy like that.”

“Believe what you want. She fucked him; couple sources tell me so.”

“The fuck are you, TMZ?”

Choso knew you didn’t, at least you wouldn’t, maybe; you’d been walking around with him, putting distance between you guys so as not to raise suspicion. But Choso knew you, probably better than anyone else. Deep down, he’d convinced himself you were still his, noticing how you’d keep eye contact with him or at the very least leave him on read, and when he asked you why you don’t just block him, you’d give him a smirk as you walked off, and damn, he loved to see you go.

Did you close your eyes and think about me like I think about you?

Choso was in love with you still, falling asleep to the thought of you. He missed your smell, your touch, your, well, you know. He knew he was a fuckin’ asshole though, saying some really rude things to you, terrible at times. But, he never thought you’d break up with him. Especially when you were a total bitch right back. Every fucked up thing Choso said, you’d follow up with some egregious shit, always looking for a low blow. Like that time you insulted him for not being able to get it up since you’d been arguing all day, which in turn, he fucked the shit out of you, getting you to shut up. For ten minutes. You’d had enough when he accused you of fucking with some guy you met at a party, conveniently the same guy you were talking to now. Which made him really fucking mad. It was one thing if you’d fucked the guy after the two of you broke up, or in Choso’s head, you were on a break, but the idea of you fucking him while you were together? That had him fuming.

Tell me why you always fight. Waiting on you to get with it; what's with the resistance, baby?

Choso wasn’t the aggressive type; as much as you’d argue, it really came from insecurity. He knew you were pretty, hot even, catching the attention of damn near every guy who walked by you. When you were together, he’d grip your ass to tell them to fuck off, but now that you guys split, they’d start approaching you, and you’d have to tell them off, reminiscent of when you’d yell at him like that. You shouldn’t have to do that, and maybe if he’d acted right, he’d be able to protect you still. When he got particularly tired of that guy talking to you, he walked up to the punch bowl. He interjected, like a shark swimming through the sea of party go-ers, pushing any motherfucker who got in his way. He’d cleared the distance fast, immediately bringing his arm around your waist.

“Sorry, buddy. She’s taken.”

You pushed Choso’s hand off, not even looking him in the face, instead pointing your attention back to the dude in front of you.

“No, I'm not. Now why don’t you fuck off so I can continue my conversation.”

“Uh, actually, I’ll talk to you later…”

Choso had scared the guy off, face bearing a shit-eating grin as you looked up at him in disgust.

“You’ve got some fucking nerve.”

“What did I do, baby?”

“You’re scarin’ the hoes, plus I’m not your fuckin’ baby.”

Don't listen to a word they say.

Before Choso could respond, you’d walked off in a fit; that made him really hurt. You’d just rejected him in front of some guy you barely even knew and brushed him off like a fly on your shoulder. You’d walked over to your friends, who, when you pointed at Choso, shot him death stares. He deserved that for sure, but nonetheless, it was insulting. He went off to meet Yuuji again, pulling the tequila out of his bag and throwing shots back like a madman. His tolerance was pretty high, but that didn’t stop him from getting dunk, probably one drink or two away from blacking out. He looked about the party, trying to find you, and when he did, you were with the fucker he’d accused you of cheating on him with again, his hand on your waist. Choso was to his limit at this point, wanting to steal you away and take you back to his apartment; he wanted to bring you home and show you just how much he missed you.

I'm in your head like every day.

Choso knew it was a bad idea, but that didn’t stop him from pulling out his phone and texting you.

“Bathroom. Now.”

You’d check your phone, looking around until your eyes landed on Choso, who was already making his way to the bathroom. He had something to prove: if you still loved him, you’d come to the bathroom with him, and if you didn’t, you’d leave him hanging. He walked into the upstairs bathroom, closing it behind him as he splashed water on his face to sober up. After a couple of minutes, there was a knock on the door. He opened it, ready to tell the guy who was knocking off. But it was you. Tits sitting pretty in that strapless dress, so fuckin’ short you couldn’t bend over at all. He pulled you into the bathroom, locking the door as he sat you on the sink.

And you deny yourself…

Choso began kissing you, using one hand to spread your legs apart so he could start to touch you. You’d thrown your head back so he could begin sucking the skin there, pushing him off of you the second he started biting you, not allowing him to leave hickies, and fuck that made him angry. In retaliation, he pulled down the top of your dress, tits falling out as he brought his mouth up to suck on them, taking extra care of rubbing your clit as he sucked your nipples into his mouth. A couple of people walked by to use the bathroom, every time pulling off your nipple and taking his hand off your clit so you’d shut up, telling them the bathroom was occupied. That was until Yuuji knocked on the door.

“Yo, Choso, is that you?”

He almost didn’t answer, coming back down to lift your dress completely up, all of the fabric bunched around your stomach until Yuuji kept talking.

“You wanted to know where she was, right? Asshole just left, but I haven’t seen her, probably left together.”

Choso looked up from your chest, smirking.

“Don’t worry, she didn’t. I’ll be out soon, had to throw up.”

“Okay, I’ll be in the car.”

With that, Yuuji walked off, leaving you and Choso to your own devices. You looked down at him with a twisted face as he slid his hands under your legs, positioning you on the counter so he could eat you out.

“Don’t you think you should leave? Someone’s waiting for you.”

“He can wait; I’ll make this quick.”

As much as he pissed you off, your pussy missed him. He’d been fucking you since sophomore year, meeting you at a car meet a month after the semester started; he ate you out the next day in the back of his S550, so you were his. It was hard to resist him a lot of the time, especially when he’d walk around campus giving you that hungry-ass look, obviously going through withdrawals. You’d heard it through the grapevine that he was keeping his dick to himself, rejecting every girl that decided to wait til you broke up to fuck him. That’s why fucking with other guys was so fun, you knew he couldn’t fucking stand it.

And then you scream my name…

Choso started eating your pussy, sliding his tongue between your lips, lapping at your bud as he moaned into you. Fuck, he looked good. Sucking your clit as you held his head up to your pussy, telling him you were ready to get this over with.

“So, that’s what this is about?”

He hadn’t lifted, keeping his face between your legs, fingering you as he spoke.

“The fuck are you talkin’ about.”

“You brought me here to eat me out because you thought I fucked him, huh? Needed to prove a point or something?”

“Maybe.”

“Well, enjoy it 'cause it'll be the last time.”

“Yeah, right. I see you still wearing that necklace I bought you.”

“Oh, don’t even-”

“Can you just shut the fuck up for once?”

Choso brought his face back to your pussy, sucking your juices up as he massaged your ass. You couldn’t lie, it felt really fucking good. You didn’t wanna cum for him, not like he deserved it, but your body had other plans. He’d been fucking his fingers into you, hitting that place he knew set you off; you hated how good he knew your body. Within seconds you were seeing stars, eyes rolling back as he chuckled into your pussy, drinking up all your cum as he slapped your ass. 

“Good girl. Give it to me, baby.”

God, you were perfect. Moaning his name as he brought a hand up to pinch your nipples, sucking your clit as he fucked you through your orgasm. When you came down, you pushed him off, fixing your dress as he licked you off his fingers. He put your panties in his pocket, kissed you quickly, and unlocked the door.

“If you want them back, you know where to find me.”

“Fuck you.”

And I can't take it.

Come chase the night with me.

You were back to ignoring him again, walking the other way when you’d see him about to walk by and stopping your conversations if he did happen to walk by. You’d been pretty dedicated to this little charade, telling everyone who asked that he was your ex, not even your friend. Which, in theory, he wasn’t, and he didn’t want to be. The only real option was to be your boyfriend, and you were giving him a hard time with that. He’d text you like he always did, telling you good morning and night, and then there were the gifts. It had always been his love language, so it didn’t surprise you when you had roses waiting for you at your door, or a bag of your favorite makeup from Sephora, or a perfume he’d want you to try. You were really coy about it, too; he’d smell you as he walked by, and you were wearing it; you’d wear the lipgloss he gave you and left the note for the roses outside your door. It wasn’t until one afternoon when he was particularly toxic, texting you to let you know he still had your things and didn’t want you to go without them.

“Okay.”

It was a basic text, which really pissed him off, but it was more than anything you’d given him since he ate you last week. You wore one of the dresses he’d bought you when you were together, wanting to get a rise out of him, and your mission was accomplished when he licked his lips the second you walked out of the building. You saw he got a new wrap on his car, the black chrome you’d encouraged him to get for the longest time, persisting that it would look great on his S550, but he insisted on keeping that deep purple wrap. He treated it like a surprise as he opened the door for you, to which you gave him:

“Nice wrap.”

Shit, he’d take it. As he climbed into the driver's seat, he placed his hand on your thigh, which you swiftly moved away. That didn’t stop you from putting your hand on the gearshift adjusting it as he pulled off. God, you were so fuckin’ push and pull. He decided to talk to you as he drove.

They say I'm bad, you say it back, but you know you don't believe that.

“So, how was your day?”

“It was good.”

“Nice earrings.”

“Thanks, they were a gift.”

“Oh yeah? From who?”

“Hm, his name evades me.”

“I see you’re on your shit again.

“The fuck does that mean?”

“It means we’ve only been driving for ten minutes, and you’re already talkin’ crazy.”

“Talkin’ crazy? That’s real rich coming from you.”

“Oh yeah? How’s that?”

“Don’t act like you’re not a piece of shit.”

“Didn’t stop you from fucking with me.”

“It did, actually.”

“Was that before after I ate your pussy?”

“Says the motherfucker still in love with me.”

Just like that, you guys were arguing again. It didn’t feel too good, but it was a glimpse into what you guys had, so he was willing to tolerate it. He tensed his jaw as he pulled up to his apartment, turning the car off annoyed, which didn’t go unnoticed by you because you scoffed at him as he opened your door. He walked behind you on the stairs, getting a nice view of your ass as you walked, and he wasn’t stupid; you’d put a lil sass to your walk.

Eat the fruit that feeds your spirit on your knees; now, baby, eat it, eat it.

Choso unlocked the door to his apartment, letting you walk in first, locking the door behind you. His apartment looked the same, but what you’d noticed was that your boots were still at the front door. Your makeup was still organized in the bathroom, and a couple of new products there, presumably gifts he hadn’t gotten the chance to give you. Your earrings were still on his dresser, along with the picture of you two at the fair a few months ago. When things were still healthy between you two.

“I see you haven’t moved my stuff.”

“Because you weren’t supposed to leave.”

“Not exactly ex-boyfriend behavior, Choso.”

“What would that be?”

“Moving on from me, giving me back my things or throwing them away, not talking to me, the list goes on. Let’s be real, you didn’t bring me here to get my shit. Why do you keep doing this? Can’t you see I'm hurt? I don’t wanna be hurt anymore; that’s why I fuckin’ left! I hate that I love you!”

Choso walked up to you now, bringing you into his arms. You hesitated at first, then softened into it. He was always so warm, especially when he was vulnerable like this. When things were good. You began crying into his sleeve, holding on to him tighter as he brought a hand up to caress the back of your head.

“I’m sorry, baby. I promise I’ll do better to treat you the way you deserve. I know I’ve been an asshole, and I’m sorry, but it doesn’t excuse the shit I’ve said to you. Just want you back, baby.”

You pulled back to look him in the face, him wiping away your tears.

“Yeah?”

“Of course, princess.”

You brought him into a kiss, deepening it as he held your lower back, your fingers in his hair.

“Then make me feel better.”

Are you really gonna stand there staring at me all the way from across the room?

Choso let you down onto his bed, standing over you as he pulled off your heels, his shirt and pants right after. He climbed over the top of you, making out with you again as he slipped his hand behind you, arching your back as he unzipped your dress. He pulled off you, tossing it somewhere on the floor. He thought a lot of things; when he asked you to come over, he fully expected to eat you out again, but what really surprised him was your lack of a bra and panties. You’d come over knowing you wanted to fuck him, which made him even hungrier for you, immediately massaging the outside of your lips to tease you. You writhe your hips, begging him to touch you how you need him to. With soft kisses, he made his way down your body, stopping at your tits to suck hickeys into the skin there. You hadn’t stopped him this time.

Are you really gonna stand there staring at me?

Choso’s head fell between your legs, pushing your hips apart as he brought his fingers through your lips, feeling how wet you were for him. He had half a mind to fuck you right then and there, but his main prerogative was to make you cum first, prepping you for later. He’d known it had been a while, a month since you guys had sex, and he wasn’t gonna believe those rumors. Not when he slipped his tongue into your folds, making you his girl again as you moaned his name into the pillow.

“Let me hear you, baby. Need to hear how much you missed me.”

Don't listen to a word they say; I'm in your head like every day.

He was sucking with a passion, practically making out with your pussy as you moved your body against his. He needs you more than anything right now. You were his water, his food, his air. It had been a long month, unsure just how bad he’d fucked up, praying you’d come back to him. And now here you were, letting him take care of you, please you, relieve the stress of the past few months. Taking you to a place where there was no arguing, no fighting, just you and him. You gripped the sheets as you came undone, moaning his name softly instead of screaming it; that’s how he knew he really had you.

And you deny yourself…

But he wasn’t done there. He would make it up to you; so many nights you had to sleep without his touch, nothing but your pillow to sleep on. He needed you to know just how much he loved you, and you were pretty damn sure two orgasms later. You whimper at this point from overstimulation, your body giving into him despite how spent you are.

“How many times are you gonna eat me out?”

“As many times it takes for you to give me another chance.”

Choso wasn’t malicious, though, so he gently laid your legs back down, kissing them as he let your thighs rest on the bed. He kissed his way back up to your neck, sucking hickeys there, groaning as he made you his again. He massaged the fat of your ass now, naked body humping against his as he moved his hips with yours, bringing his lips to your ears.

“Can I fuck you baby?”

At that point, you needed him. Bad. It felt like it had been forever since he fucked you, making quick work of taking off his briefs, helping him position himself between your legs. Choso towered over you as he took in the sight before him. It felt like a mirage, having his girl lay out in front of him, begging for his touch as her hand pulled his wrist, signaling she was ready, the side of her face pressed into the pillow. He brought his fingers to your folds, saturating them as he put your essence on his shaft, nearly shuddering at the feeling. He brought himself down to hover over you, kissing you as he slid himself in.

And then you scream my name…

“Fuck!”

“Jesus, baby…”

You felt so fucking good. He felt like he’d been in rehab for the past month, finally getting his fix again because you were fucking addictive. He started by making love to you, holding your hands as he fucked you deep and slow, whimpering in your ear. But then, he really missed you. He picked up his pace, hips beginning to rut into yours, making you moan his name so loud, he was sure the neighbors would hear you. As he fucked you, though, his mind drifted, thinkin’ about shit he shouldn’t. Fuck, he needed to know.

“Did you fuck him?”

“What? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Did you fuck that guy everybody’s been saying you did?”

You were pissed at him again. Here you were, blissed out, and he was asking about some fucker you only ever flirted with.

“No, I didn’t; now, please just fuck me.”

He believed you, but he wasn’t letting you off that easy. He had to make sure you didn’t get any ideas in the future. He picked your hips up as he fell back on his knees, fucking into you at a pace that made you feel so good you couldn’t even think. He was hitting you right where you needed him to, ramming that spot as he heard your moans pick up.

“Tell me, no one’s ever gonna fuck you like this.”

“No one’s gonna fuck me like this…”

“Who’s are you, baby?”

“I’m yours, Choso. Please...”

“Yeah? Then cum for me.”

 And I can’t take it.

He was fucking cocky, needing to hear you call out for him, need him, crave him. And that you did, which is why you gave him what he wanted. He drilled into that spot, and you burst like a firecracker, your body convulsing from your fourth orgasm of the night. You grip his arm, trying to hold on to anything as you give your all to him, as you’ve done time and time before. He was grateful this time; he wouldn’t take advantage of the kindness you’d shown him. That’s why he gave you all he had, too. He threw his head back as he came inside you, holding your hips close to his to ensure he gave you all of it, not missing a drop. You moaned at the feeling of him filling up, gasping at the motion of his body hovering over you again, arms struggling to stay up as he slowly pulled out of you, kissing you as you both came down from your high.

They aren't in your head like…

Fuck, he missed you. It took everything in him not just to pull you in and hold you there forever, so scared you’d leave. He knew he had to clean you up, though, so he carried you to the bathroom and held you in his arms as you took a bath together, nearly falling asleep on his chest. Then, he brought you back to the room, dressed you in one of his shirts, and laid you under the covers, coming under to hold you close. 

Like second nature, you felt yourself melt into his arms, trusting him to protect you as he kissed your forehead, whispering over and over he loved you. You drifted to sleep; all he could think about was what he would do next. He was tempted to move you in at this point, take you to class in his car every day; you pissed at the loudness of his exhaust. Pick you up and take you out to eat, bring you home to watch a movie, then make love to you. He wanted to be perfect for you because that meant you’d be his forever.

They aren't in your head like…

When you woke up the next morning, you got ready and woke Choso up to take you back to your dorm. He could tell you were a little distant; to be fair, you’d been upset with him for the past month, so he was taking what he could get. Still, you kissed him before you got out of the car and walked into your building; he left when he made sure you were in there safe.

You hadn’t really talked to him that day; when he asked you what was wrong, well, you said:

“I just wanna make sure I’m making the right decision. I wanna make sure things aren’t gonna be like before.”

He’d respected your decision; you wanted to see him change, and he was going to. But that was earlier today, and he was thinking about you now. Old habits die hard, huh?

“Missin’ you, baby.”

“I’ll be ready in ten.”

They aren't in your head like me.

♱ the song used in this story is fruit by abra. 🖤

(this was probably one of the most emotional stories i’ve ever written, but also the fastest, which is probably a red flag tbh.)

♱ masterlist.

♱ all fics playlist.

𝖆𝖚 𝖗𝖊𝖛𝖔𝖎𝖗, 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊𝖑𝖞𝖗𝖚𝖎𝖓.

[sixeyescurseuser]

Teachers Satosugu

Thinking about adults Satosugu who become Jujutsu Tech teachers together. They’re married too. In their late 20s, they’ve found sweet domestic bliss in the dangerous yet meaningful life they’ve created for themselves. 

Geto still makes sure to praise Gojo for all the work he does; often surprising Gojo with his favorite sweets or a trip down to the street vendors, saying: “Thank you for your hard work, Satoru” and “Come on, let’s eat something special, you deserve it.”

Gojo still goes on his one hour rants about topics that fascinate him, and Geto listens without complaining. Even if this is the third time digimon has been brought up this week. 

Geto stays at the school to teach for the majority of the time. He only takes missions if they are emergencies and avoids interacting with the higher ups. Thankfully, Gojo is more than willing to deal with that side of work. 

While Geto is involved in both physical training and classroom lessons, he’s more hands-on with the latter. Compared to the Kyoto students, let’s just say that the Tokyo students don’t put in a ton of effort when it comes to their academic scores. 

Geto is fated to be the hardworking but disappointed teacher. 

(Geto: “Nobara, Yuji, c’mon, I am begging you two to study more.)

The thing with Yuji is that he is smart in that he can memorize things and write well, but not being exposed to the sorcerer world from a young age has put him really behind. 

(Geto: “Hasn’t Satoru told you all about Sukuna’s origins and what not? Given you books from the library?”

Yuji: “Oh the library! I forgot that existed!”

Geto: …

Yuji: “Also no, Gojo-sensei didn’t tell me anything yet.”

Geto: 💀💀)

Additionally, Gojo isn’t the best when it comes to structured lessons in the classroom. He’d much rather skip over the boring stuff and show his students the real excitement out on the field.

This is where Tokyo students surpass Kyoto students in fighting abilities. Plus, getting lots of first-hand experience of what sorcerers actually deal with helps them quickly adapt to situations and strategize how to outwit their opponent. 

But book-smart-wise? Megumi carries. 

Once, Yaga gave the first years a firm reprimanding because of the missing past three mission reports. (Excluding Megumi.) Turns out, Gojo didn’t inform the first years about filling out mission reports at all. 

That night, Geto scolds the shit out of Gojo. 

Gojo: “Hey Suguru, isn't that your job? I just help them train their fighting skills, no?”

Geto pinches Gojo’s side - who lets out an undignified yelp - even though he knows Gojo is just joking. Besides, Gojo does try to teach the rules better after Geto’s scolding. Gojo just needs reminders, that’s all.

It doesn’t help that Gojo is literally a prodigy and always does things his own way. 

(Geto, shaking his head: “Lord knows these kids need all the help they can get with you as their teacher.”

Gojo: [jaw open, betrayed]

Cue Gojo decisively turning the other away in their bed. 

Geto: “Oh, did I upset the baby?”

Gojo: “Worse. You upset your husband.”

Geto guffaws.

“My husband can take it.” Geto moves so he’s spooning Gojo.  “Isn’t that right?”

Geto’s breath tickles Gojo’s ear, making Gojo shiver.

What were they talking about again?)

***

Gojo might be busy as hell but Geto will be there to protect their students from the higher ups. 

That mission where Yuji died for a short while after switching with Sukuna to face that special grade? It would never have gotten that bad. Geto would’ve been with his students and protected them.

Geto is anxious to the point where he designates certain curses for specific people, mostly to look after his students. This way, he can be there if his students are in serious danger, preventing more young sorcerers from dying due to the higher ups' negligence.

Of course, Geto’s rainbow dragon has always been assigned to Gojo. 

Gojo will often take Yuji on rides on the rainbow dragon, either for missions or just to be up in the air. When this happens, Geto’s orders for the rainbow dragon consist of: “Only listen to Satoru’s reasonable orders” and “Protect Yuji from Satoru’s recklessness.” 

On another note, Geto’s curses would have intercepted before Todo and Mai could beat the shit out of Nobara and Megumi. Geto himself would show up quickly after, furious when he sees the Kyoto students trying to take out his students. 

(Geto with his murderous glare: “As far as I know, the competition hasn’t started yet. No one should be picking fights with each other, hmm?”

Mai and Todo, quietly: “Of course, Geto-san. We’ll be taking our leave.”

Geto stays standing in front of Nobara and Megumi until the Kyoto students leave.)

Even as teachers, Geto and Gojo are incredibly competitive with Kyoto. Of course they’re going to talk shit during the goodwill exchange event. They’ll watch the broadcast of the competition and loudly cheer their students on. They’ll also whisper to each other in the most obnoxious way. 

Utahime is about to bust her blood vessels. She still throws her tea at Gojo when he makes a snarky comment that pisses her off; the tea bounces off of Gojo’s infinity and splashes all over Geto, who groans. 

Well, that shut the pair up for now. 

***

When Nobara spilled coffee on Gojo’s shirt, Geto had been the one to catch them first. 

(Shaking his head, Geto says: “You guys really did it this time…”

Nobara: “We could just replace it??”

Megumi: “It is 250,000 yen.”

Geto: “It's also Satoru’s favorite white shirt.” He pats Nobara’s shoulder comfortingly.

Yuji: “Geto-sensei, please help us!”

Geto: “And spend the precious money I earned with my own hard work? I don't know, Yuji-kun, I gain nothing from helping you.”

Nobara: “He’s your husband”

Geto: “And he’s your sensei.” He turns to Megumi. “Slash father”

Megumi: 😩😩

Moments later, Gojo enters the room: “Iijichi-kun said you guys have my newly laundered shirt-“

He sees Megumi with two breast bumps.

Gojo: ??

The others laugh as Nobara pulls out the stained shirt, causing Gojo to let out the most horrified, dramatic gasp. 

All the students find it hilarious, but Geto laughs the hardest. He's bent over, hands on his knees, straight up cackling. When Geto somewhat catches his breath, one look at Gojo’s stricken face sends him into another fit of laughter. 

(They are so married.)

Geto walks over and slings himself over Gojo. 

Geto: “It’s okay, Satoru, you can just get another one.”

Gojo: “That was my favorite one, you know this, Suguru~~”

Geto: “Satoru...you’re rich-“

Gojo: “My clothes are important, they aren’t so easily replaceable. Imagine if I had tried to replace you-“

Geto: “Did you just compare me to your inanimate white shirt?”

Geto begins to pull back, but Gojo immediately latches on to him.

Gojo: “Noooo, I didn’t mean it. I love you~~”

They proceed to act out a mini-drama, which ends in Geto leaving with faux-disappointment and Gojo chasing after him.

Consequently, Gojo forgets about his stained-beyond-repair 250,000 yen shirt.

***

When formation B occurs in response to Megumi being “hit on,” Geto watches from afar, disappointment deep in his veins. 

We’re too old for this, he thinks when Gojo reveals Megumi has to master twinkle twinkle little star. 

Having had enough, Geto steps in and tugs Gojo away. 

“Baby, come here, you forgot to take your pills this morning,” Geto says. Gojo gasps in offense. 

“SUGURU, SHUT UP! I'M NOT MENTALLY ILL!“ Gojo cries, but now there’s no way he doesn't look crazy.

Geto has his arms wrapped around Gojo’s waist while Gojo flails to escape. 

“Satoru, stay STILL- NO you are not going back!”

They end up making a bigger scene. Megumi wants to d-word. 

(“With this treasure i summon-“)

Gojo doesn’t care who hears or sees, and is now screeching for Geto to let him go. Left with no other choice, Geto bites Gojo’s shoulder. He also tries to shove his fist in Gojo’s mouth - anything to shut him up.

Geto is going all out like they’re teenagers again. 

(Nobara at Geto: “YEAH GET HIS ASS!”)

Geto eventually becomes aware of the small crowd that has gathered and rethinks his actions. He ends up dragging Gojo by his collar. 

“Ok, we’re leaving,” Geto calls to their students, leaving no room for argument. Megumi immediately follows, dragging Yuji and Nobara in tow.

***

w/ @no-one-says-hi

[loser-jpg]

MORE LEONA RANTS AND RAMBLES PLS🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

I WANT TO BUT I DONT KNOW WHAT TO YAP ABOUT IN SPECIFIC ARRUTGGHHHHH

uhhh how about the fact that i think it almost excusable how much of an asshole he is when you really think about his backstory?

like bro was a child who had to hear full grown adults like 20 to 30 to 40 years older than him talking mad shit about him when all he ever did was exist. he existed as a kid and they were bum hurt over that for some reason and he had to hear that thats gotta force some shitty defense mechanisms up. like i see leona as both the most prideful yet most self deprecating person ever. he thinks the absolute worst of himself while also thinking hes better than everyone. 100% his asshole demeanor is a defense mechanism to all the shit hes had to hear people say about him. and the sad thing is that exact defense mechanism leads to people still to the day talking shit about him to his face. thats part of why vil gets on my nerves sometimes, leona literally is just like that hes not fully purposely trying to be the worst but vil will still like only degrade him right to his face and take any opportunity to bring up how hes 'lazy' and all that. BRO HES JUST LIKE THAT LEAVE HIM ALONE. like all his 'laziness' and his rude personality are all the effects of how he was treated as a kid but people still treat him the same because of those traits. hes punished for the natural reaction he had to being mistreated as a child. hes punished. for the natural reaction. he had to being mistreated. as a child. this is most evident with kifaji, someone who had to have seen first hand how leona was treated, and still takes every opportunity to degrade him to his face. i hate kifaji because either he participated in the shit talking of a child, leading to that child developing nasty amounts of depression and unhealthy coping habits, or he stood and watched while it happened. leona has been mistreated by everyone in his life, and is mistreated to this day. he shouldnt have to 'be the bigger person' because almost no one he meets deserves kindness from him when they refuse to give it first.

[physalian]

On Punishing your Characters with SA

***Trigger warning for discussion of SA in fiction***

Because I am still recovering from the bizarre alternate reality I fell into where “SA is hot and if you were a survivor you’d think so too” is at all an acceptable and defensible stance to take, I want to talk about punishing your characters, and the means through which we go about it.

This post is NOT condemning stories that go “we know this is awful, you’re here because it’s awful, we’re all gonna have a good time with it anyway”. Or, your usual Dead Dove.

This is instead critiquing stories (and their authors) who either think:

SA is kinky

SA is just a run of the mill thing that happens in adult fiction, especially fantasy, it’s par for the course

If you’re a fan of either or both and plan to attempt to justify them, you have been warned, turn back now. My tolerance for harassment about this is at an all-time low.

Disclaimer:

I am not hating on BDSM or a character whose kink is feeling helpless and controlled. BDSM is, after all, consensual, and there’s mutual respect involved. Nor am I hating on a character who is attempting to self-medicate in a harmful way and they and the narrative know it.

Keywords being: Consent, mutual respect, and self-awareness

Which is completely lost in stories that either romanticize SA or toss it in there for shits and giggles and cheap drama.

—

In fantasy in particular, rampant SA is kind of ridiculous and getting worse. It may be for “mature audiences” but often the stuff written for kids and families has more “mature storytelling” in that it can show you horrible things without being gratuitously r*pey. Characters suffer other hardships and get the same point across.

And SA is one on the list of many things in fiction that usually isn’t written with the grim reality of a realistic aftermath. Things like broken bones that heal with supernatural speed, head injuries with cherry-picked symptoms, and grief and mourning.

We don’t want to derail the whole narrative to focus on the nitty gritty recovery period of a one-time event that moves characters from A to B. That’s just how fiction works. They absolutely deserve to be written better with proper awareness and understanding, they’re just not what this post is about.

But SA is different, because it’s often treated like this horrible threat, this scandalous thing…while then not being written with the respect and tact it deserves, written like a character merely got tortured, interchangeable with any other kind of suffering but with ~titillating undertones~.

Because, odds are, the average person won’t ever know what it’s like to be tortured, or suffer debilitating injuries from an accident, or have to live with the long-term disabilities of a major head trauma or coma. But far too many of us do know SA intimately, and the flippant way it’s tossed around in fiction will never sit right with me, especially when it’s romanticized and glorified.

So in short, I’d like authors who toss it on like a garnish to pause and think: Are you prepared to write the consequences of the situations you throw your characters into? If not, then write something else.

There is of course many levels to including SA in fiction, and its importance in the story should be proportional to the effect it has on a character’s arc and how much time is spent discussing with it and dealing with it, as with any element of backstory.

Having it be a distant memory in a side character’s backstory as just A Thing that happened to them years ago should demand, bare minimum, a cracking of that character’s worldview. Otherwise, why is it here? What purpose does it serve other than to be tragic, and why is it SA over straight-up torture or any other tragedy?

If it’s just another incident and this character grew up with or is surrounded by those who take advantage of them (first of all, writer beware, that is a daunting story to tackle) the trauma of this individual event might be insignificant to them in the grand scheme of things, but it should still matter to them and how they see themselves and how they interact with those around them. Otherwise, why is it here? What purpose does it serve other than to be tragic, and why is it SA over straight-up torture or any other tragedy?

And if you’re setting up a character’s first encounter with SA, however horrific it is, or it’s this encounter with this character that makes it unique, and it’s going to be a big moment for them and the story, it had better fucking matter to them once it’s over. Otherwise, why is it here? What purpose does it serve other than to be tragic, and why is it SA over straight-up torture or any other tragedy?

It's a whole different world if this is a Stockholm syndrome story, where it is very, very clear that this relationship is fucked-up, but the character has no idea and they themselves romanticize and glorify their abuser—in those stories, it is understood that they’re an unreliable narrator and that their thoughts on what’s happening do not align with the author’s. (Most of the time. People unironically and uncritically love and want to have relationships like Harley Quinn and the Joker, without having any experience on what it’s actually like, but most of the time the comic writer tries to make it clear that she’s a victim. Most of the time).

—

I have two characters in two different WIPs who suffer this, more than once. A handles it a lot better than B. More time has passed and the perpetrator for A was a clear cut villain, while B's was someone they trusted. Neither spends every waking moment defining themselves by their abuser, but the impact of what happened to them shows up in multifaceted ways.

A is self-conscious about their body, as it still bears marks from that encounter. Some intimate things they used to enjoy or would have enjoyed are now off-limits. Certain conversation topics are triggering. And because everybody knows, they have a permanent reputation they can never escape, hanging over them even when nobody mentions it. They have mostly healed emotionally and have healthy romantic relationships, but it’s not something they’re ever going to forget.

B blames themselves and any chance at physical intimacy is now lost to them, though they were already asexual to begin with. They’ve told no one and anyone who would guess or might know, they’ve lied to, to protect their abuser. The SA happened among other hellish circumstances, when they have nightmares, it’s all tangled up together. But they’re also quiet and kind and thoughtful and you’d never know unless you knew.

Did I have to give SA as a backstory to both characters? No. I didn’t have to, I chose to, understanding the responsibility involved, and for these two characters and how it impacts them, SA can’t be exchanged for any other violence. It’s SA, specifically, that hurt them so badly.

People react to and adapt from and heal from SA in different ways and not everyone all the time suffers daily reminders of it—those two characters don’t—but even something as simple as having that survivor always keeping their door locked, or always having their back to the wall of a room so no one can sneak up behind them, or wearing more layers than necessary, or if they are a little bit shy or skittish or skeptical, at least shows that you, as the author, tried?

You didn’t just write it in a vacuum? You acknowledged that SA is its own kind of horror?

And lastly: If you’re using SA as a way to punish your characters’ choices, whether it’s the narrative punishing them for being painfully naïve and stubborn, the villain who “deserves it”, or a symbolic death of innocence, just please be prepared for pushback from your audience if your message is: There are situations where SA is the victim’s fault and deserved.

You don’t have to spend pages and pages distracting from the plot, but if you’re going to have your character assaulted, you owe it to them to let them hurt and heal.

Otherwise, why is it here?

[thesunfyre4446]

Apologies, I know it's fictional, but I find it very uncomfortable every time I see lots of comments stating that Aemond should've 'gotten over' or 'moved on' about losing his eye. Because no child should've experienced the horrible pain of losing an eye but sadly they don't see Aemond as a child, but a 'theft' and a 'hightower' and the fact that being insulted was given more care and attention than losing a part of your body, that made me sympathized with Aemond, I understand why he is still angry about it for years. He lost an eye, that's not something to be brushed under the rug so quickly. I would've been more sympathetic towards the strong boys for being called bastards but they were shitheads with no character to speak of (their older counterparts too) so why would I vouch for them.

yeah jace being "forgiven" by the fandom for pulling a knife on aemond for calling him a bastard because he's a kid, but aemond - who's 1-2 older is an adult and should just "get over" his eye being cut out is insane.

aemond did not start the fight. he claimed his dragon and was ready to go to bed and call it a day. the kids approached and attacked him first. it's one of those situations where you can understand where everyone were coming from.

baela and rhaena just lost their mom and this stranger just claimed her dragon. their anger was justified. aemond, who was finally getting the upper hand on his bullies. and jace - who was already feeling insecure from prev convo with rhaenyra & panicked and pulled the knife (i still think that he should've been scolded & held accountable for that. he's old enough to know better)

at the end of the day, it was a children's fight that without an adult supervision went out of control. i can understand and sympathize with all of the kids.

but while we, the audience, understand that luke was a kid and didn't mean to cut aemond's eye out - it's ridicules to expect aemond, the victim, to realize that. he's ANGRY. he lost his eye & luke got away without punishment & rhaenyra tried to blame him and his mom (and i can also understand that. she was protecting her own). & his father confirmed that he didn't give a shit about him.

so yeah, i can def understand and sympathize with aemond's anger and feeling of injustice. i do, however, hold luke accountable for his behavior in ep 8. he laughed at aemond, completely unprovoked. can you imagine seeing someone - a family member that you accidently permanently injured and laugh at his face remembering the days you used to bully him??? wtf??

after that, aemond prob wanted his revenge even more.

and no, luke didn't deserve to die. but i can def understand aemond in this situation.

[pascaloverx]

Hit The Road

Chapter Two

previous chapter next chapter

Summary: You are a hunter of supernatural beings who is forced to experience a new reality: being a vampire. The only thing stronger than your thirst for blood is your thirst for revenge.

Author's note: the characters mentioned here were created by Kevin Williamson and Julie Plec, based on the book series of the same name by author L. J. Smith. They don't belong to me. That said, this fanfic will be short. This fanfic may address scenes of violence, inappropriate language and adult content. Minors should not interact with this story.

The man I attacked it is unconscious, tied up with vervain-soaked ropes. You set traps while he's in beauty sleep. By now, you'd think he'd be awake.

"If you think my brother will come here, you might be right. But he'll kill you and then rub it in my face that I'm an easy target." He says as he is waking up, he seems to be in some pain. I almost feel sorry for him.

"That's the point, dear man who I think is named Stefan. He already had the chance to kill me. And your idiotic brother decided to turn me into a vampire. So, tell me, what will be my fate this time? For what reason did that monster turn me into a soulless bloodsucker?" The resentment in my voice makes all the anger boil in my blood. Stefan seems to take pity on me, poor thing.

"Do you want to kill me to make him pay for the life he took from you?" Stefan is so understanding that it makes me want to vomit. I can kill him, and he wants to understand me. It's baffling how he's the brother of that psychopath.

"Killing you wouldn't give him even a third of what he deserves. I lost your life, killed my best friend during the transformation, and now I am being hunted by the clan that used to be my family." Saying this hurts in the soul, but you can't cry. Human emotions now seem so superficial.

"Almost all vampires go through this, dear, but they have the decency to attack the right person." Damon says behind you, and you smile. Finally, the rat is trapped in the mousetrap.

"You finally arrived at the party. I was starting to think your brother would die in your place." You say, while holding a stake in your hand.

"Your issue is with me, deal with me, and let him go. We can talk like adults, Y/N." Damon is so cynical it's laughable. He simply thinks he can get out of this situation with his fake charm. He could have done much better than that.

"You did this to me, tell me the reason, and your brother is free. No jokes or excuses. I want the truth, Salvatore." You continue to grip the wooden stake.

"You and I, we had a history. You asked me to make you forget. I couldn't let you die that way." Damon says, looking serious about it. What the hell is this?

"It can't be real... you're making up all this shit to deceive me." Something in you spirals out of control, as if it doesn't make sense. Him and you? It must be a joke. Damon gets close enough for the wooden stake in your hands to be aimed at his chest. Something stops you from killing him, but you still manage to land a punch on Damon's face. Congratulations, Y/N, you're definitely incompetent when it comes to annihilating a vampire.

He screams, perhaps more from the surprise of you managing to hurt him than from the pain itself. But unfortunately, your plan backfires. Damon catches up to you, and in an instant, your consciousness fades into darkness. At least you will die in peace. Until you feel a light calling you, or a voice with a light. Who knows, maybe it's God...You respond to the voice addressing you by your name, telling it to go to hell.

"Wake up, princess... I think you'll like the surprise." You finally open your eyes and see your personal nightmare smiling at you. Great, you've gone to hell, and the devil has taken on Damon's appearance.

"Not even dead I have peace..." You murmur as you feel your body stretched out. You are trapped by your legs, held down by a tree trunk.

"Darling, you're more alive than you think. Technically, you're dead, but being a vampire means eternal life, isn't it ironic?" Damon is a complete disaster in your life. He can't even serve to kill you.

"The Damon I've heard of would kill me for kidnapping his beloved brother and impaling him with a scythe, where is he?" You decide to provoke him to the point that he loses his temper.

"Your plan won't work, I'm a new man. Or a lighter version of what I used to be. But even the person I used to be wouldn't kill you." Damon responds in an enigmatic way.

"What are you going to do then, tough guy? Keep me here forever?" You add defiantly.

"If I knew, you wouldn't be hanging from a tree." Damon responds, his tone carrying a mix of frustration and resignation.

"Let me guess, your other moral compass can't know that you turned into vampire a good, innocent woman and then hung her from a tree like a piece of meat in a butcher shop?" You can tell you hit the mark by Damon's expression.

"Did you know that when you're quiet you look prettier?" Damon says as you swing from the tree. All you can think about is escaping.

"Go to hell with your compliment. I'm amazing at talking, hunting, and killing monsters like you." You retort aggressively.

"You're still the same woman you were in the past. Just as boring as before." You feel like you should fight back, but you are flooded with momentary memory. A blurry memory surfaces, where you were running in a forest. Your favorite bow in one hand and a wooden-tipped arrow in the other. The memory unfolds, Damon chasing you like a regular human being. In fact, everything in this memory feels oddly normal. You stop running to catch your breath and end up facing Damon. He stares at you for a few moments and then kisses you slowly. You succumb to his intoxicating lips as he lifts you off the ground. The whole recollection feels like a scene from a movie.

When you regain consciousness, you find yourself in someone's bed. You feel blood trickling from your nose. Stefan arrives in the room seconds later with a tissue in his hand.

"You finally woke up, I thought you were going to die. Damon brought you and since he still doesn't know how to explain who you are to him, I had to let you here." Stefan speaks naturally and you wonder what these idiots are planning by making you stay at their house.

"It looks like we're going to have to adapt to each other because I'm not going to leave here without knowing what these memories are and what they mean." You say, adjusting yourself on the bed and noticing that you are handcuffed to the bed.

"Welcome to the Salvatore mansion, here until you are considered a non-threat, you will be stuck with something. Understood?" Stefan says while get some blood for you. He puts some in your mouth, and you feel slightly relieved. But it triggers a trigger in you and once again you have a vision. This time with Stefan, in this vision, he's carrying you on his back. You wake up from the vision feeling so confused and even a little nauseous.

"Who the hell were you to me before?" You say looking at Stefan who looks as confused as you. It looks like your stay with the Salvatores is going to be a complex journey.

[justrainandcoffee]

Against all odds (Alfie Solomons x fem!oc) Part 3

Crossover Peaky Blinders - Hunger Games

Series masterlist. Part 1-Part 2

Summary: During the 62th edition, despite having a lot of mentors thinking he's a traitor, Alfie and Rose get closer but his past trauma is still with him. A friend of his, gives him an advice. || Two years later, during the 64th Hunger Games, Rose decides to tell him what she knows but it not ends well. President Snow, appears.

Series warnings: Mentions of sex (consent and non-con). Murders. Blood. PTSD. Cheating. Prostitution. || This is set in Panem universe. Topics as minors being sexual corrupted are also mentioned because it's CANON.

Words: 3.6k || Alfie x Rose masterlist

Fuck them.

That was what Alfie thought while he was on the balcony, resting on a luxurious sun lounger. The night was warm and it'd be more perfect if he could see the stars but the pollution of the Capitol prevented that. Back in District 9 the air was pure and stars decorated the sky. Rose's head was on his chest and he was stroking her hair. She was snuggling up against him.

They hadn't had sex yet. In his house in the Victor's Village, things were different. Sex was just a way to forget, to cope with his trauma. Couple of minutes almost every day were enough. No feelings, not attachments.

The first year after meeting her nothing changed. A blowjob in exchange of cans of food or a handjob in exchange of bread. Always if the other person was adult and it wasn't forced into anything by anyone. After those years, Alfie knew the people who always visited him. Usually, there wasn't any problem.

But last year everything changed. Last year, the memories of her kisses, the feeling of that last night together when Rose was sleeping in his arms. It was difficult for him not to feel anything when her company, her smile were worth enough to travel all that distance to the Capitol again. Or better, when he wasn't sure, or at least he didn't remember feeling something similar. So, last year and the beginning of that one he simply rejected his visitors. And yet he continued giving them food or medicine if they asked for.

Rose never forced him even when Alfie noticed that she wanted more than kissing him. There was a look in her eyes, every time he pushed her away from him when things were going beyond his control. It was acceptance of his trauma. But for Alfie, in his mind, it was deception.

Alfie wanted the same but every time he thought about it, his mind went directly to that infamous night. That old woman moaning beneath him, whispering dirty words that only increased his disgust, her nails hurting his body…

"Al?"

She started to call him "Al" few days ago and Alfie couldn't help but think that it was the sweetest nickname that anybody had given him.

"Yes?"

"What are you thinking about? You're quiet."

"Just thinking about the games, sweetheart," Alfie lied. "Are you tired?"

"Yeah, a bit. It was a long day. But I don't want to leave this spot "

"The sun lounger?"

"You, silly," she chuckled "You're better than the sun lounger."

She kissed his shoulder before standing up "but you need to rest, don't you? And I need to begin with the new design for their tv presentation. There's a new presenter. Extravagant… but, seems good."

"I didn't know. A man?"

"Yeah. Caesar Flickerman, I think his father or grandpa were the first one to show the first tributes, ages ago."

"Family business."

"I think so. Go and rest, Al. You deserve it."

"Do I?" he smiled at her and kissed her hand.

"You do."

.

Except for Lucy Winters and the ones from district 3 and 8, most of the other mentors just ignored him. He gave a shit. He was still worried about the kids under his care, about the fucking Arena and about his own life, to pay attention to them. And his personality was too strong to beg for some kind words.

"I heard that the Arena is quite unique this year" Lucy said.

Both of them were watching their own mentee trying to climb a rope. Her girl was doing better than his. But Theresa was good with axes. At least it seemed so. Alfie watched for a moment the girl from District 10 studying the plants.

"Every year it is."

"Some years are harder than others. And it seems to me this one is one of those."

"Say it out loud. Some years they put their whole shit on it," Alfie groaned.

"They want a show and visual effects are their speciality. We lost our male tribute last year because he put his feet on a landmine and exploded like confetti. I heard people cheering at it," Lucy clenched her fists "one day they're going to have a tribute so unhinged that he or she will to commit a massacre and they are going to lose their head. They deserve that! Not the kids, but the bastards…"

"They're going to kill her or him, then. They don't want a monster. They want cute kids. Fuckers. Fuckers."

"Nothing last for ever. Not even the games. But in the meantime…" Lucy stood up "I'm going with Tommy I'm seeing him talking with one of our kids. Alfie…"

The mentioned man just looked at her and she kept talking "don't let the past ruin your present."

.

Rose still felt guilt because she was unsure of telling Alfie about the microphone in the control centre. When he mentioned the desert, she just nodded.

That was the second day after the Games officially started. As usual, the bloodbath was the end of the road for a lot of tributes. The careers took care of several of them. Including Armand who was trying to run away when the girl of district 1 threw an arrow directly to his heart. Theresa and the girls from district 11 and 12 made an alliance. For now, it was working.

The cactus provided hydration but also, as the girl from district 6 discovered, its spines were poisonous. A simple scratch and the girl was dead. The sound of the cannon resounded in the Arena.

The sun was shining and it was obvious that it was hot. Sooner or later tributes will need water and unless their mentors send them bottles, they'll need to go to the cactus. Carefully.

From the original alliance only remained Theresa and the girl from 12. The black girl from district 11 was killed by one of the careers. That was the beginning of the third day.

Things started to go to shit when Theresa broke her wrist running from tributes who were chasing her. She managed to escape but she had lost her partner who was hidden somewhere else and now she couldn't use her right hand. Rose managed to help Alfie to get her fresh water and some bandages but that's all they could do. Obviously the girl needed a hospital, but that was impossible. Both of them noticing that Eva, the girl from District 10, was doing surprisingly good. Along with district 9, 11 and 12, 10 wasn't famous for having a victor usually their tributes died soon. Neither Alfie or Rose were alive when district 10 won its last games, nor they were even close to be. Rose's mother was still a baby when that happened. It was really far in time. With luck, maybe that year…

Rose had fallen asleep on his shoulders and Alfie covered her with a blanket. Next day he was going to tell her that Theresa didn't survive the night. It was something obvious. Too young and too much pain, probably an infection, too. Alfie followed her steps and fell asleep on the same sofa next to her.

The white sound of the TV woke up her. It was near 3am. The screen showed the Arena but it was quiet, you could only see the tributes on the ground sleeping.

Sleeping like Alfie at her side. She stroke his brown hair with the her fingertips. Whatever was happening between she and he, it was something different. Alfie was the last thing she expected to find in her life. And yet, after three Hunger Games together, he and the feelings she had for him was the only thing that survived the Games.

Alfie felt her and opened his eyes.

"I'm sorry, I didn't want to wake you up."

"It's okay, sweetheart. I should go to bed anyway, this is not the best place to sleep."

"No, it's not. You better go, it's late and tomorrow…" Rose watched the TV, "she'll need you."

"Theresa's dead."

The young woman looked at him, surprised. Then stared down "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. She was suffering. Not anymore," he said as he tucked her hair behind her ear.

"Still…"

Alfie kissed her temple. "Next year, maybe."

"Maybe."

Don't let the past ruin your present.

Alfie put his lips on hers and kissed her once again. This time he sat her down on his lap, her legs at each side of him.

She could feel him, only their clothes were in between. It was a nice feeling and she really wanted to be with him. But Rose couldn't blame Alfie if he didn't want the same. Someone had ruined him. She could wait another year, if he needed time.

"I think I fell for you…" she whispered when they pulled apart. It was true.

"You think?" his arms were around her waist and unconsciously, he was pressing his hips against hers.

"It's risky! I'm married. Lawrence is a brainless worm, but he's powerful and if he knows... my little brother is still in age of being reaped. But- but I love you."

I love you.

He remained in silence not knowing what to say. His whole life hated the Capitol and people living there. Nothing but a colourful bunch of stupid and cruel people. She wasn't from the Capitol, true, but she was still living there.

"I don't expect the same words in return," Rose spoke again "I just wanted you to know. It's okay for me if you want to continue this with not attachments or not continue it at all. We need to work together the years to come anyway, so… don't worry. We're adults."

Alfie looked at her. How distant in time was that first kiss full of sadness years ago and how different it was from the last one, minutes ago. She was still on him, waiting for an answer that Alfie didn't know how to articulate.

"You should go to sleep, Al. Even if there's no one needing you."

Although I need you, she wanted to say.

"You worry a lot about me, luv," he finally spoke. He stroked her cheek with his thumb.

"Someone has to. If don't, the future kids will be alone. They need you."

"Yeah, well, it's not like I'm a successful mentor. 16 dead kids and counting," Alfie clicked his tongue, shaking his head.

"And yet, you're the only thing they have. The only proof they have that it's possible to survive the fucking Arena. Ask yourself how many kids are growing up listening about your victory back in your district. 'Is that Alfie Solomons, mommy? The one who won the 53th games?' 'Yes, son, he is.'"

He couldn't help but laugh. She laughed, too. Alfie put one of his hands behind her neck pull her to him again, kissing her one more time.

Fuck the victors who thought she was like her husband. Fuck them. Fuck that old disgusting woman who caused a trauma on him. Fuck Snow, Lawrence Evert and the whole world.

Alfie picked her up and carried her to his bedroom. He closed the door with his feet. That turquoise dress she was wearing soon ended up on the floor, along with his shirt and pants.

He was on top of her kissing her neck, while her legs were already wrapping him. It was so different from the old woman, this was desired, wanted. Alfie pressed himself against her. He could feel her warmth. Rose took his face in her hands and made him look at her.

"Only if you want to," she said.

"I want to, sweetheart," he replied finally thrusting her. Both let out a moan. Alfie stayed still for a moment, feeling her. He couldn't compare the feeling because he didn't have anything to compare to. Slowly he began to move in her. Both smiled at each other.

"Rosie…" he said when finished. Both exhausted, but happy. The man kissed her forehead. "I love you, too. My Rosie."

The previous year had been Alfie's 10th anniversary of his victory. And yet, it seemed it was yesterday he had won. His gift was to lost another two tributes.

This year there was another kind of celebration. One more private. Those were the fifth games they spent together. Two years ago neither of them were ready to admit that they longed to see each other. But last year it changed. The Games gave them the opportunity to be together. And same it was this one.

Rose prepared the costumes with anticipation, no matter the height or weight of the new kids the costumes were already prepared and once she could see them, her only job would be adjusting the clothes. No more wasted nights in her studio. The nights she used to spend sewing now they belong to Alfie. Including the first night after a whole year separated.

"Are you a couple?" asked Hilda, the female tribute, the morning after their arrival. Unaware of their behaviour, Alfie and Rose were chatting animatedly. Too close.

"What? No!" Alfie denied "don't be ridiculous."

"You are! Alfie, you're the grumpiest man I ever met. But I see you're happy now. I doubt you're happy because we're in the Capitol. Or this food over the table makes you happy or it's because of her."

"Hilda, that's a complete nonsense. She's just an old friend of mine, and also a married woman!"

"I am," confirmed Rose showing the girl her wedding ring.

"Pfff. As if a married person can't be with a single one. I'm not 5 years old, Hello! But if you want to lie… I'm not going to say a word anyway. I don't care. Besides… you're just friends."

"You said it. Just friends. As soon as you finish your breakfast we're going to the training floor," Alfie said to the girl "fuckin' hell! Kids these days…"

Rose couldn't help but chuckled at it. Every year that passed their were getting way older than his tributes. Five years ago, the age gap between them and Philip and Reah was minimal. If they had survived both of them now will be older 20. Now they were the perpetual ghosts of a 16 years old tributes. Same as the rest.

Alfie finally went with Hilda and the boy named, Alex, to start their training while she stay in their floor decorating the shoes, that was something she could do there. In the meantime, she heard the conversations inside the control centre with a earplug she had acquired.

"…not so deep, you fucking idiot. You're going to kill them all. The pressure is too much."

She could hear the voice of a man talking with another one that seemed to be younger.

"Code: 67-b!!" yelled someone in the background.

"That was a mutt," she thought. After five years listening non stop, Rose had learnt a lot of those codes and they never changed them. But still she couldn't identify what kind of Arena they designed this time.

After at least half an hour of unimportant chatting, she heard the first confirmation.

"I uploaded it," the younger voice said "not so deep, but I added another tunnel."

"Good job, Adam," reply the old to the one called Adam. "Let's see who of these little bastards can survive this underwater cave."

The shoe she was decorating fell on the floor. An underwater cave? How the fuck they were going to survive? Even for those from district 4, it'd be too much.

Rose stared at the wall. She was ready to tell Alfie the truth. He needed to prepare Hilda and Alex for something that was definitely new.

She turned off her earplug and hide it. Then Rose left the floor in search of Alfie.

"They're fine," he told her when she called him. He went out considering she wasn't allowed to be inside there while the tributes were training. "Alex is good with kn…"

"Listen to me!" she demanded, then she lowered the voice "Alfie, the arena this year is an underwater cave and I think we didn't see anything like that before. Your kids need to climb a slippery rock until reach the surface and they put the cornucopia under the fucking water. So every time they'll need a weapon or if they survive to the feast, they'll need to dive. Did you hear me?"

"How the fuck do you know that?"

"It doesn't matter. But I know it and you should do something about it or you're going to lose both of them the first minute. There's a swimming pool crossing this hallway. Take them there, too."

"It does matter to me. But we can't talk here."

.

Alfie and Rose were arguing in his bedroom later that same day. Alissa had taken the kids to explore the building, so they were alone.

"You knew the whole time. You always knew!"

"Yes."

"How. Why! Your husband told you?"

"God damnit, Alfie, no! If I tell you, you won't understand. It has nothing to do with the asshole. It's me. I… can you please, trust me?"

"No. I can't. From the moment I met you, you knew!! fuck!! you knew from the very beginning the different Arenas!! What the fuck are you telling me about trusting you? I could have done more for those children! I saw them died!"

"I saw them died, too! Don't think I don't see them every fucking night in my head!! The first year I didn't know you! What did you want me to tell you? 'hey! I'm your stylist! And the Arena this year represents the Grand Canyon, how are you?"

"And then what? The following years, what? Last year?! Two years ago?!"

"I didn't know how. And because the less people know about it, the better... I…"

"You what?! The better what?!"

"My business, Alfie!! Fuck… I'm not betraying you. I swear. I swear. Please, believe me."

"I need to be alone."

"Al…"

"Get out, Rose."

Alfie didn't talk to her the following days. Of course they didn't sleep together, either. Alfie was upset and she understood why, but she was also protecting him. If by any chance, Snow knew about it, Alfie could be free because he knew nothing.

The third day after the argument and barely speaking with each other, Rose found him reading a book about survival skills sat in front of the window that faced the city.

"Are you still mad at me?"

"Yes."

"And if I give you this?" he opened her hand and showed him a wheat ear with googly eyes and blue hair "his name is Wheaty. Wheaty says: Rose loves you with her life, even if you don't think so."

Alfie watched at the ridiculous toy and smirked "Wheaty seems to be a wise man."

"He is." Rose gave it to him and Alfie put the toy in his pocket. "I'm not the only one against this bullshit in the Capitol, Al. But I'm just doing my part… and I don't want you to be involved in this."

"I'm with you. I don't know what the fuck are you doing, Rosie. But I know you're crazy."

"Is that good or not?"

"I don't know yet." Alfie put the book aside and sighed, "I'm mad at you. But I also believe you, these days I sent them to train in the climbing wall and then to the swimming pool."

"It worked?"

"I hope so."

Far away from the building, inside an exclusive mansion, President Snow was watching the sky. A woman next to him, his secretary, was taking notes.

"Anything else, sir?"

"Tell me, Hazelle, have you ever sense that something is wrong but you don't know what?"

"Sometimes, yes."

"It's good to know, Hazelle, that I'm not the only one. One last thing, before you go to your home… I'm going to need a new suit to congratulate our new victor, who ever wins the Games. And I want a new stylist, please, contact Mrs. Evert. She's working with district 9."

NEXT PART

[musashi]

reading about your life made me think maybe I'm not a horrible person I just have bpd. maybe I didn't deserve to be treated like this

but also it inspires me to be a better person too because you are way better than me in terms of coping at the very least and of how much you can give to other people and little you can ask. and just how radiant and confident and strong you are. you are so much better and you still get treated that way. and you still somehow come out on top despite it

idk I feel a lot of kinship with you but at the same time we're Not alike and I should be more like you. I can come off anon if you'd like but just know that you're making one miserable teenager better

and I hope you get better too. I hope you have friends that stick around because holy shit these people just don't deserve you

i am good at coping because i have had lots of time to practice, as well as lots of external love in my past. i thankfully grew up during a time on the internet when deep relationships were encouraged and celebrated, and no one used words like "emotional labour" and "traumadumping." i was surrounded in a lot of very kind people, the kind of folks who would find out i had a disorder and spend hours combing through resources on how to support people with those disorders. it's very, very hard to act out of line when people love you so thoroughly--you want to be better for them.

you can be however and whoever you want, starting whenever. it's very annoying to hear adults repeat that it gets better but it genuinely does. even into my early 20s, shit was still bad for a while. but somewhere around 24 i realized that all the shit that hurt before just kinda... lifted. my brain adjusted. i got better at understanding it and coping. and things got a lot easier.

i will keep trying. you should too!

[walkergirlsposts]

https://www.tumblr.com/walkergirlsposts/761158071165878272/you-know-because-of-that-terrible-finale-and-the

I know this sad heller is clearly just baiting, but … for what?

“”you know, because of that terrible finale and the consecutive events, J2 friendship will never be the same. heck, we found out it never was what we though.”

- Yeah, the fact that hellers and AAs hate the finally bring we great satisfaction. The fan groups all got what they deserved. J2’s friendship is between them, and we have no way of knowing how close they still are. They still get along. Good enough for me. "Heck" no amount of Jensen making a shitty decision and hellers and AAs screeching about "jivorce" actually changes the obviously real friendship J2 had at one time., or the fact that they still do panels together and have the best chemistry of the cast.

“there's no more Sam and Dean, and there won't be more J2.”

- umm, obviously there is no more Sam and Dean. That’s what happens when a show ends …. J2 are scheduled into 2025 for cons, so, yes, there will in fact be more J2. Also, for those of us who care about their content, they often hang out together in con cities, too. You know who is rarely seen with them … Misha.

"they drifted away, each one on a diferent path and now they only have a bunch of boring panels at cons, which are nothing but a rutine number at this point."

- most adult friends drift at least a little when they have families and different responsibilities. It’s called life, so … so? I will take "boring" and "routine" J2 panels over the dumpster fire that is JenMish, which anon probably thinks are fun, any day. So, I’m good.

"and then Jensen will go out to have dinner with the rest of the cast, while Jared is "too busy" to join. how sad."

- this actually doesn’t happen that often. Also, who cares? Jared clearly has better taste than to constantly slum with the extras, and from what I see Jensen only really does so when Jared is absent or busy.

"the friendship of a lifetime, is now reduced to play pretend for a bunch of strangers in a 30 min panel."

- that’s actually a 30 min, plus 1 hour panel at CE cons. Which happens pretty frequently, so … what is this anon's point? Did they think fans were expected to be invited along on J2 friend dates? Were we supposed to see them together anywhere besides at cons or the odd random public events anyway? What even is this point??

I get that lots of Jared fans don’t give a shit about Jensen. And that’s cool. I prefer Jared myself, but I still enjoy the J2 chemistry, and frankly nothing this petty weirdo had to say has dampened my enjoyment of seeing them together. I don’t need them to be roomies who are still living in each other’s pockets in their 40s to enjoy their dynamic on stage, so … what was the point of this ask? Who were they trying to offend?

This half-wit probably thinks Jensen and Misha are friends, so … excuse me if their opinion is less than meaningful.

That was probably a copy pasta. Go to some Jared hating blogs, you'll probably see it there. They'll be all: "Ohhh yes, Jensen hates Jared, everybody hates him!!!" while pushing the narrative that jenmish' are besties with even less proof than what they sent me. I guess they think we're as invested as they are. 🤷

[salarta]

Where would you prefer Polaris to be right now and what role would she have (if it's a team)?

First and foremost, my answer to this at any given time depends heavily on who's running things, who's creating things, and their attitudes both toward Lorna specifically and on various things in general. Context is very important.

As I'm responding to this, Tom Brevoort is senior editor of the X-Men comics. He has a history from a decade ago of thinking Lorna doesn't deserve to be Magneto's daughter, coming up with excuses for why she can't be, and misusing his power as editor on the Avengers comics to cut Lorna out of Magnus family work and pretend she has no connection to any of them.

So far, his treatment of Lorna on the X-Men comics has continued to be shit. Basically focusing on nostalgia for sexism from decades ago. And I place the blame squarely on Brevoort for this, especially as senior editor. That's the context that we need to deal with right now.

If Brevoort was willing to not suck, then I would prefer Lorna having a mini or ongoing solo book. There's a hell of a lot of poor treatment across decades to rectify, and tons about her that should be better known and respected. She's long overdue for a solo book, and I would very honestly say the only reason she hasn't received one yet compared to so many other characters comes down to toxic nostalgia and sexism.

Unlike people like Tom Brevoort and Jordan White, I don't have stupidly restrictive ideas of what characters can and can't be deeply ingrained into my psyche from when I was a five year old. I learned Lorna existed as an adult, so I can see the wealth of untapped potential she has that they just flat out refuse to recognize. And I can say with absolute certainty that a solo book of Lorna, pursued with good intention and touching on all the key things (especially Genosha), would sell better than most solos Marvel has put out.

That's the ideal scenario. On to what I would want in the current scenario.

In a scenario where Brevoort still wants to suck, but he's reluctantly willing to give in on some things, the words "dark horse" come to mind. Brevoort's concept for the X-Men books right now is what I call "an old beginning" where he basically wants them to be Saturday morning superhero cartoons. Lorna was never served well in that framework. So if he wants all X-Men books to match that, then Lorna is better off not being on a single book, but appearing in multiple books and cutting against the grain of what's being done on current books.

This is a woman who survived the Genoshan genocide and became much darker and more vicious, due to her deep love of the mutants who were there and pain for their loss. She would not be keen to repeat what she would consider a huge mistake of the past. She'd see current affairs as part of a vicious cycle she needs to break. For that, she would not fit in any single book. She would fit in multiple as, once again, a "dark horse."

Finally, we have what I think is the most likely situation we're in.

Right this second, with what we've already seen of how Brevoort thinks Lorna should be treated, I think Lorna might actually be better off outside of the X-Men books until Brevoort's gone.

As part of the broader Marvel universe, Lorna does not need to be under Brevoort's influence on the X-Men books to have what's important to her as a mutant covered. She can talk about Genosha, about what she's endured as a mutant, all of that while appearing elsewhere.

She's currently on the Scarlet Witch mini, and even with a small amount of panel time there, Orlando's doing good with her. It actually feels like her as she's fighting against Griever alongside Pietro. So aside from what I said before, it would also afford her more opportunity to do things with Wanda and Pietro, and hopefully at some point have her be involved in undoing the retcon on the twins' parentage.

Next year is the 20th anniversary of House of M. That's proven popular broadly. This would be a good time for her to just spend more time with her family. Build up better dynamics with them.

That's all I've got for now.

[overcaffeinated-aro]

hey this is gonna sound weird but whats yr thoughts on correcting behaviors without yelling

ok so like. full disclosure I got like 4 hours of sleep and then spent my afternoon in an emergency dentist appt so I really hope I can make this make sense. I also have a lot of thoughts so I apologize if this one gets away from me

(also for context, this is about a post on children misbehaving or causing distractions in public, and parents causing an even bigger scene trying to correct their behavior. it should be the post immediately after this on my blog)

it got away from me, adding a cut

also just to start, there’s obv a difference between raising your voice to be heard/get attention, and screaming at a child who’s already in front of you while in public. there’s also a lot of space between the two. and I really don’t think there’s a lot of justification for most of it beyond strictly getting a child’s attention.

yelling or screaming at your child, especially in public, isn’t that much better than hitting them. it depends a bit on the age, but what’s getting communicated to the child in that moment is a lot less of what you’re actually saying when you yell and mostly just the intense feelings of fear and disempowerment that come with being cornered and punished, and in some cases publicly ridiculed. hell, you don’t even need to yell to do this. and depending on the parent, this may or may not be intentional, using humiliation as a method of trying to reinforce some kind of ‘lesson’ or discourage a behavior.

it was, in fact, a pillar of my mom’s parenting for many years. I know first-hand how much it can wreak a child’s self esteem, and can make them fearful of further violence from you, even without any other precedent. I started to have nightmares about being hit or kicked out, even knowing that my mom would never go that far, and even years after she stopped. She pretty effectively proved to me that at least in those moments I was beneath her, I didn’t deserve to be treated with dignity in front of others (especially in front of others, as she never yelled at me in private) including in front of family and my friends. it broke a lot of trust that I should have been able to have with her, and even now at 25 and having been moved out for 4 years there’s a lot of trust we have to rebuild in order to have a functional adult parent/child relationship.

this will not be the case for every child, but as an example: I was most frequently yelled at in public for austistic behaviors that I couldn’t or didn’t know how to control. what I needed was help, to be taught coping mechanisms, quieter or alternative ways to stim, and emotional regulation. being yelled at made me quiet, fearful, and full of shame. it appeared to fix the issue, but really only locked it away with my ability to feel and process emotions. but ofc your mileage may vary, everyone responds to trauma differently.

a lot of parents yell because they’re overwhelmed. my mom yelled because she has adhd, my behaviors were overstimulating, being in public/socializing was overstimulating, and she didn’t know how to cope. in fact once I grew up I taught her what adhd actually looks like, and helped her find resources that have greatly improved her life. This Is Still Not a Good Excuse. shit happens, parents have problems, but losing your cool at your child is not excusable. forcing your child to grow up fast enough to teach *you* emotional regulation is Not Good. as a parent, it is your job to be in a place where you can consistently and effectively be The Parent. if you aren’t there, it’s your job to recognize that and work on it!

finally, for the point that you were probably asking for: what can you do instead of yelling? what if your child won’t stop?

honestly, a parenting book will probably be a better help than I. I’ve taken 1 college course on developmental psychology and some scattered research over the years so I’m by no means an expert, or really even a hobbiest. but for what it’s worth, here’s my 2 cents:

work on yourself, especially especially emotional regulation. never take your frustration out on your child. 9/10 times your child is not trying to upset you. literally why would they do that, they depend on you for everything. even in cases when you child is trying to upset you or push back, it’s not really about You. they might need help with something, or not know how to communicate or deal with a problem. as a parent, it is in fact your job to be the bigger person.

once you have a child’s attention, anything you can communicate by yelling you can also communicate in a normal tone. for older children, it will probably be more effective to intervene just enough to stop the behavior, and then discuss the issue in private later. it’s important to be focused on solutions and what could be done better next time, not on punishments. there’s so much research showing that punishment and negative reinforcement doesn’t work.

I haven done an excessive amount of research, but from what I’ve seen so far I really like the ideas behind the Montessori method. it really strives to treat children as full individual people, and meet them where they’re at developmentally while doing it’s best to ask age-appropriate consent for everything applicable. Jessica out of the closet on youtube has some great videos on how she and her wife have been putting the method into practice with their own child, and even going into her own struggles and solutions with parenting while multiply disabled—and still refusing to compromise on the way she treats her child

and while I have this soapbox: parenting is not for everyone!! some people should not be parents, or teachers, or otherwise in a position of power over children. it’s a hard job. and, it really shouldn’t be done alone. even the most patient person will have trouble keeping their cool 24/7. it’s important to take breaks, and find ways to lean on the people or community in your lives. And, if you’re a community member who interacts with children, it’s still important to learn these skills! with any luck you’ll simply be another kind and trustworthy adult in a child’s life. but for some you may be a lifeline

[the-dyke-of-handsomeness]

I am going to watch all of the hunger games

Before the first movie:

I kinda know the plot but not really, girl gets chosen to fight weird tradition thing by a pink drag queen, older sister is like “fuck no” and some other shit happens.

My expectations for the rating: 7/10, really good but only the first movie so not amazing.

During first movie:

Why is this weird posh British (I think) person in pink drag?? Beauty full drag tho

It's not drag??

I didn't know Josh Hutcherson was in it T-T

Why is the solution to war to send a bunch of teenagers to fight to the death?? Instead of just resolving the issue like adults and talking.

The apartment Katniss is staying in is ugly as fuck.

Haymitch is kinda hot.

KATNISS DONT MESS WITH THE FUCKING BEES

Josh Hutcherson is also a bad actor..

I love Rue so much I just want to adopt her

NO RUE WTF

Why would they add two victors?? That's just dumb as fuck, it ruins the whole point of the games.

After the first movie:

I hated this. (/pos)

I Loved it but hated it cuz of Rue.

8/10 Better then I expected for a first movie.

Before catching fire:

I have no idea at all what this one is about sooo

During catching fire:

ooooo Kathrine? Kathleen? KATNISS (I forgot her name) has PTSD

Who tf is named *snow*???

NO MAGS

MAGS IS GONNA DIE AINT SHE

SHE DIDDDDD

Johanna X Katniss 4 life

After catching fire:

AMAZING DKDNDKD

THE GOVERNMENT CORRUPTION AND THE UPRISING AND JUST ARGHHH (/pos)

9/10, 1 point off because I really liked Mags and also cliffhanger

before Mockingjay part 1:

I have no idea what will happen other then a continuation of the last movie

during mockingjay part 1:

JOSH IS DEAD HAHA

NO WRONG DUDEEE

ITS THE SONGGGG GUYSSSS

after mockingjay part 1:

Pretty good, I didn’t peticularly like it though. It was kinda bland.

7/10 still pretty good but nothing really happened

Before Mockingjay part 2:

I really hope this one is better then the last but yk

during mockingjay part 2:

KATNISS IS DEAD??

NEVERMINDSD

KATNISS IS DEAD??? (Again)

NEVERMINDSD (Again)

team Finnick for life, screw Peeta and Gale

FINNICK DIED

NOOO PRIMMM

WHAT THE FUCK PRIMROSEEEE

THEY CANT KEEP DOING THIS TOO MEEEE

After mockingjay part 2:

Amazing movie oml much better than part 1

PRIMMMM

8/10, it was hard to follow and keep focus on but it was a really good film, 1 point taken off for Prim dying, that was just unnessecary.

overall:

8/10, amazing franchise but mockingjay part one really dragged down its rating.

great movies, very hard to stay focused on. I had to be doing something else while watching or else I would lose interest.

before snakebirds and songs:

I think it’ll be good

I know it’s a prequel

During snakebirds and songs:

WHO is this Wish.com Draco malfoy??

Holy shit Lucy grey…

HOLY SHIT LUCY GREY!!

Holy shit Lucy grey’s voice..

HOLY SHIT LUCY GREY’S GUITAR

Turns out I have a thing for southern accents.

after the ballad of songbirds and snakes:

OH MY GOD

I just, it’s amazing.

the powerful message underlying in it, everything about it.

I started tearing up in the theatre and I am going to sob into my pillow once I am done writing this. (/pos)

The fact that, that is happening in real life right now. The villain of a fiction story is happening right now in front of us. Just hurts so much.

And that there will be people who watched that movie and walked out of it all happy, as if nothing like that is happening in our world.

this movie made me better, and the direction was amazing.

ranking:

10/10, I don’t think I’ve ever given a movie a solid 10/10 before but this movie deserves it.

will/would I read the books?

probably, I think the movies were great and if the movies were a good representation of the books then I believe the books will be really good

[anonymousredactedconfessions]

Since this is a safe space, I too have my confessions for the Summit Audio and other plot stuff as well. This is very long so bear with me

*drum roll 🥁🥁🥁🥁*

I am disappointed with Darlin's storyline! :DD

What the hell happened to character development? And can we please keep talking about how it's getting annoying when Darlin just stands there while everyone else just speaks for them? I've been waiting for so long for the moment where we get to see that Darlin' finally stopped hopping on the fight/defensive option immediately without thinking shit through.

Cuz I know damm well they were already planning on giving Alexis the business when they heard her voice. I was waiting on them to be more verbal and civil with their confrontation rather than jumping to "You know I've fought vampires before, right?" Like COME ONNN MAN

I agree with the other recent confessions in this blog cuz yeah, will they ever get the agency they deserve?? And what the hell was up with Porter coming in to "save the day" and Sam zipping back out of know where (btw where the hell have you been bro??). And even when Alexis left, Darlin still wasn't able to get a word in.

Does Darlin notice this too or are we never gonna get that moment where they finally snap and make people remember that they are an adult and can progress their life by making their own decisions. They don't always need someone for that and it takes away from their "independence".

Plus ( as much as I love my cowboy) woulda been more upset to Sam when he not only not listened to Darlin talk as they told him what bullshit she said to them and give them the reassurance they needed in that moment, mf started sayin shit like "she's a real person under there, I know it" because no way in hell would I believe that if the person we're talking about is proud of ASSAULTING a person she "claims to love" and also waited until the Monarchal Summit to confront Darlin where there's tons of people around to confront them like a pissy, jealous school girl.

Also I feel like Darlin and David's relationship hasn't been done well enough. Not even just them and David but just the pack in general. The smash tournaments and Solstice party's are cool but when are we actually gonna have a video where it's just the pack? No mates, Sam included and it's just the four of them? (i.e. David, Ash, Darlin, and Milo)

To me, it makes a lot of sense why Darlin felt out of place cuz they don't get mentioned a lot when they're not around, only when Sam is included in the conversation. It feels like they don't exist without their mate around so it's not fully Darlin's fault that they left and ended up in the wrong crowd.

And it's frustrating to see those chat group posts where it's supposed to be The Packs Mates Groupchat thingy but instead of Sam they put Darlin in. Or Sam is there but so is Darlin. Like huh??? Is Sam a part of the damm pack now???? All the more reason why I get Darlin' almost leaving the pack, they seem as someone who's forgettable.

Erik should at least give Darlin a nickname name or some code shit to address them without just having to say "my pack member" or "my partner", and (my least favorite) "Sam's mate". Just give them the nick name Tank like everyone else so you don't have to worry about addressing them by saying anything vague and unspecific.

Sorry but Darlin feels too much like a character than a listener to be written as someone who just stands there from the sidelines and watches as everyone speaks for them. I NEED them to be making a decision that continues the plot, not someone who made it for them. They deserve better as a character and I will die on that hill. BUT that's just me. Have a good day/night!

-💜🐺

.

[mortemoppetere]

TIMING: pre-ireland LOCATION: wicked's rest community center PARTIES: @honeysmokedham & @mortemoppetere SUMMARY: when the judge of a local talent show is convinced someone is out to kill her, axis investigations is on the case! CONTENT: mentions of child death

Axis got a lot of stupid cases. If you asked Emilio, most of them were stupid, though one might say he was a biased party. Still, it was hard to deny that this case, more than most, was a goddamn nightmare.

Shelby Peckman was positive someone was trying to kill her. Over a talent show. In all honesty, Emilio had zoned out of the conversation fairly early on, because it turned out Shelby talked a lot and he didn’t have the patience to listen, but he got the basics. Shelby was a judge at the Wicked’s Rest Community Center’s annual talent show. Shelby was positive one of the contestants was going to murder her and had made several attempts to do so already, though she didn’t know which contestant it might be. And Shelby refused to quit the voluntary position because it was her ‘duty’ or some shit. 

This town was the fucking worst.

But, on the bright side, Nora seemed interested. And Nora had been through a lot lately, had been down because of it, so Emilio was willing to work a stupid fucking case with a stupid fucking client if it might make Nora feel a little better.

He did, however, have some objections to her chosen method.

“This is a bad idea,” he grumbled. “I don’t see why you think I need to be involved here. You could do this by yourself. I don’t want any part of this.”

—

Robin Banks laid upside down on the couch engrossed in a TikTok video. One two three four. The instructor said over the video as Nora did her best to memorize the dance moves. Did Nora want to get on stage and dance in front of a whole room of people who believe talent shows should extend past the age of five? Of course not. But she did want to see Emilio do it. “I can’t do it alone.” Nora responded. Van was going to love this. She would probably tell Van to show up and watch. “Or do you want Shelby to die?” 

That was a stupid question to ask. Of course, Emilio wanted Shelby to die if it meant he could get out of getting in front of judges and displaying his “talent.” That talent was still being decided by Nora, who’d recently picked up the job title of Axis Talent Manager. She was fluctuating between two songs, Dancing Queen by ABBA or Vampire by Olivia Rodrigo. Both had an appeal that sang along the lines of Emilio would hate it. Eventually Nora decided on Vampire. To her, it was funny to get Emilio dancing and singing to a song titled Vampire when he was a slayer. 

“I really shouldn’t be going on stage at all. What if they recognized me? You’ll have to take the lead on all of this.” Nora slid off the couch, got to her feet, and connecting to the bluetooth speakers, thank god for Teddy being in the 21st century. “Alright learn the lyrics while I teach you the dance.” Who knew that years of forced dance class would come in handy? “Five six seven eight.” 

After a few hours of whatever they were doing, which couldn’t be qualified as practice to any intelligent person, Nora clapped her hands together. “This is it.” She declared. “We are talent show ready. Should we go to work?”

—

“Shelby is annoying,” Emilio deadpanned, which both was an answer and wasn’t one. He didn’t want Shelby to die. If Shelby died, he wouldn’t get paid. And Shelby had kids, and Emilio didn’t think kids deserved to lose their mom just because that mom thought God had personally bestowed upon her the sacred duty of judging a bunch of grown ass adults in a talent show whose prize was a $30 gift certificate to a pirate-themed restaurant. 

There were, of course, other ways to keep Shelby from dying. Emilio had pointed this out, more than once. But Nora seemed pretty dead set on this as a solution, and part of him wanted to let her do whatever might make her a little less heavy than she had been lately. She hid it well enough, but he could tell she was still rattled by what she’d seen on that ghost tour, and by the plethora of shit that had come her way before it. 

“What if they recognize me?” He shot back, though the argument wasn’t nearly as good as Nora’s. Emilio was only recognizable to a very small number of people. And, sure, that small number of people would like to see him dead, but it still wasn’t the same sample size Nora had to deal with. He groaned as she continued playing the songs, hating both of them with an equal ferocity. 

Learning to dance was something he, naturally, protested. “You know my leg doesn’t work, right? If I start dancing, I’m probably going to fall on my ass. Or I’ll be feeling it for a week. What if my talent is throwing knives? I’m already very good at that.” 

Of course, his protests didn’t do much. Nora was perhaps one of the only people in the world who was just as stubborn as Emilio was. He learned the moves she drilled into him — which were easy enough on his leg, even if he grumbled and pretended they weren’t — and complained about the lyrics as he memorized them. It was a miserable few hours. Emilio would have preferred physical torture — and he said that as a man who had experienced it. 

At least the talent show was a one time thing. They’d do it, then it would be over and he’d get paid. And he’d buy so much whiskey. “Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled, holding on to that thought to keep him sane. “Let’s get to the show.”

—

There was something cathartic in inflicting the same pain she grew up with on someone else who hated it equally as much as her. Luckily, the stakes weren’t nearly as high as a multi-billion family business, which meant she didn’t feel that bad. One day. That was simply a fun side-quest. Fun for her, again, just to clarify. She didn’t think any of this would be fun for Emilio. Dance moves and memorizations, Nora even had the brilliant idea to add knife throwing into their chirography after Emilio exclaimed that he’d rather do that. This is the twenty-first century after all. They could have it all. “Wait. I almost forgot.” Nora pulled out two plastic bags from her backpack. “Costumes.” 

And that is how the universe conspired against Emilio, setting him up on stage dressed and made up as a knock off member of KISS with Nora, standing beside him in similar garb. As she had been plastering on her makeup she gave Emilio a dead-pan stare with the simple explanation “Did you really think I’d give them the chance to notice me?” It was cases like this that reminded her why she wanted to be a private investigator. It was more than helping people, it was about hindering the people in your life. At least, that’s what she learned from watching Emilio’s self-destructive habits. 

The lights burnt Nora’s skin as she stood in them, their heat threatening to break sweat. Sweat would wipe away the bright white make-up. That would be no good. Why did they need these lights anyway? As she squinted into the audience she could see about thirty dark figures in them, surely the majority of them were other contestants trying to figure out who they’d be fighting for the gift card. Then there was Shelby, bright and cheery. Her smile was so wide and white that her teeth could have been one of the bright lights staring them down. “We’re Axis Rock, and this is Vampire.” 

The performance was, well, it was one of the performances of all times. It happened. Nora had even paid for someone to record it so they could send it to Teddy. There was a brief moment while they were on stage, knives being thrown, dance moves being badly executed by both parties, and song being sung extremely offkey and unenthusiastically that Nora forgot everything. The bad things of this town, the fact that Shelby was probably going to die despite their best efforts, that this town would do anything to dig its claws into all who lived there and drag them into the depths of hell. It was just a town. Full of people she cared about deeply, and there was fun to be had. 

But moments like that don’t last. Especially not when the performance ends and you’re stuck standing in front of a panel of judges, chests heaving with the physical effort, and waiting to be read for filth. 

—

Costumes. Emilio stared at Nora blankly for a moment, needing a drink more than he ever had in his goddamn life. “This is Hell,” he said flatly. “I’m in Hell. I always knew I’d end up here, but I thought I’d at least remember the dying part. I thought, hey, at least that part might be fun! Maybe I go out in a big blaze of glory, yeah, get everybody talking. Instead, I just end up in Hell without knowing how I got here. And Hell has costumes. Oh, no puedo creer que esto esté ocurriendo. I thought there’d be fire, at least.” 

Despite his dramatics, Emilio did make some effort to learn what Nora was teaching him. She’d worked pretty hard on this plan, and she did seem to be enjoying herself in a way he thought she deserved to. At least she let him throw some knives. It looked ridiculous and felt even weirder, but there was some quiet comfort in the familiar sensation of a knife gripped between his fingers. 

He hated everything about standing up on stage. He hated the lights, he hated the people looking at him, he hated the fact that he could feel people behind him watching from backstage. His eyes darted through the silhouetted figures in the crowd, trying to determine which of them was out to kill Shelby Peckman over a $30 gift certificate, but the lights made it impossible to actually see any of their faces or expressions. His eyes landed on Shelby herself, who looked excited and cheerful and way too happy to be someone in danger of being murdered. Everyone in this town was a fucking idiot, Emilio thought. Himself included.

The performance was terrible. Emilio spent most of it wishing that the lights at the top of the stage would fall and crush him, but he’d never been particularly lucky. Tragically, he survived the entire ordeal with his leg aching and his chest heaving, all his knives sticking out of the target across the stage. (All his throwing knives, at least. He’d managed to sneak a few extra knives into his costume, though not as many as he’d have liked. Nora had chosen a particularly tight getup.)

With it finished, he and Nora faced the four judges. Shelby clapped her hands. “That was terrible!” She said happily, writing in her notebook.

“I feel I’ve lost something,” lamented the man beside her, his head in his hands. “I feel I’ve lost something I can never get back. You’ve taken something precious from me.”

“I wish you’d thrown one of the knives at me,” the third judge chimed in, shaking her head.

Three heads turned to the final judge, who sat silent with their chin propped on their hands. Emilio blinked. Shelby cleared her throat. The final judge stood, bringing their hands together in a slow clap. “I loved it,” they said earnestly. “I don’t know what everyone else is talking about. I think it was the best one of the night! I’m using my veto to move you on to the next round.”

Emilio was definitely in Hell.

—

The lack of applause, the audiences clear distaste for what was happening, the uncomfortable energy in the room. Someone in the back, after a knife flew a little too close to their head, was having a full blown anxiety attack. Fear radiated off of him in tasty waves that gave Nora a burst of energy. This was what performance was all about. Forget making the crowd happy, the slack jaws, glassy eyes and uncomfortable round of applause was worth it. For the fleeting moment Nora could understand why anyone would want to do this. It was hilarious.

The judges' critiques were right until the last one got it wrong. What the fuck was a veto to get them to the next round? They weren’t supposed to get to the next round. They were supposed to hang around backstage and solve a mystery. And if that person wanted the worst act to precede forward, well there was no nicer way to say it, that was the person sabotaging this whole thing. Nora slid that piece of information into her back pocket. “Wow.” She deadpanned the word in her monotone, her affect one of a bored teenager who could really be anywhere else right now. “Sick. It’s been Inigo Montoya’s dream to win a talent show his whole life.” Nora glanced at Emilio, his body language was screaming fed up with this shit. “It was his father’s dream. And his fathers before him. Prepare for us to win.” 

The judge that liked them clapped, the other judges sat there in bewilderment, the audience member having the anxiety attack was crying so hard they decided to leave. Nora was going to miss her little snack. The crowd applauded with hesitation, each person looking at their neighbors. A susurration of whispers ran through them, disbelief or disdain. Nora didn’t care. She left the stage, making her way back to the green room for talent acts that were allowed to go on. “That was great.” She told Emilio, stopping halfway between the stage and the green room. “I think we should search that judge’s makeup room.” 

Not bothering to wait for his idea, Nora was off, tracking down the door that read Taylor Finch. It wasn’t locked, and since this production was small, it turned out that all judges shared the same backstage space. Nora’s hands were instantly prying through purses and backpacks and she searched for anything that had a blue paw print designating it a clue. “This show is so bad, I get why Shelby couldn’t give it up.” Nora noted, eating a granola bar snack she just pulled out of a bag. “Did you see the act before us? Ventriloquism. In 2024. Fucking asshole.” 

—

There was something undeniably unnatural about the judge who enjoyed their terrible performance. Emilio scowled at them, trying to will them into taking back their veto — what the fuck was a veto? — and dismissing ‘Axis Rock’ from the show. But the judge only maintained their too-wide smile, hands still clasped together in some strange ghost of their excited applause. Shelby met Emilio’s eye and shrugged, clearing her throat. “All right, Axis Rock!” She said. “You move on to round two! Congratulations!” 

Emilio decided to double her rate. No, actually, he would triple it. He’d make her give them a kidney or something. 

He glared at the judges even as Nora began to speak, nostrils flaring with irritation at her monologue. He should have never let her pick his alias for this job. He was sure he’d never agreed to make her pick a backstory, because he’d been pretty certain he wouldn’t need one. It was supposed to be a pretty simple gig. Go in, perform, get voted out, and spend the rest of the show in the audience observing reactions. He couldn’t, for the life of him, figure out where they’d went wrong. But he knew it went back to that fourth judge, somehow. There must have been a motivation there. He just couldn’t figure out what it was.

Emilio shot one last glare at the judges’ table before following Nora offstage and into the backstage area. He shot her a glare, too. “That was the worst thing I have ever gone through,” he retorted. “I’m not doing it again.” They’d find another tactic if they had to, but there was no way in hell Emilio was putting on a repeat performance of that. He nodded at Nora’s plan. “Yeah. You’re right.” Even if the judge wasn’t a suspect — which, as far as Emilio was concerned, they were — he’d like to ruin their day just a little by fucking with their shit. 

He followed Nora, who he knew would find the makeup room without much trouble. Once inside, he began rifling through things. “Shelby is an idiot,” he replied. “You know she isn’t even being paid? It’s a position they sign up for. Posición voluntaria. They’re all here because they wanted to be. I don’t understand it.” He yanked open a draw with a particularly violent slam, sifting through… a pile of fast food sauces. He took one out, holding it up for Nora to see. “It’s orange,” he said flatly. “Who eats something this orange?” Figuring it might, somehow, come in handy, he slipped the package into his pocket. “Is that the puppet? Or the, uh, the one who sat on the stage with the plastic cups?” He had no idea what ventriloquism was, and he hadn’t been paying nearly enough attention to know which act went on directly before them.

—

“You’re being dramatic.” It was funny. This was a shit experience. Nora loved it. People who wanted to do this constantly were freaks. Good for them. “You’ve been like stabbed and shit. Would it make this experience better if I stabbed you on stage?” ‘Audience in Shock; Bloody Mishap at Talent Show’ would make for a very amusing title. But, Nora vehemently did not want to land in any newspaper article ever again in her life. 

“Lots of people eat orange things. Like oranges. Naranja. And people who eat.” The last part was a pointed comment. Nora cracked her neck, going through people's things was hard work for the pointed down position. “The puppet. The plastic cups was weird. I thought they were going to pull a Pitch Perfect. In 2024. Asshole.” 

Private investigator work as invigorating. Nora loved her work. She loved an excuse for breaking into people’s belongings and snooping into their life. She loved that it meant something, a mystery would be solved, a puzzle piece would fall into place and the world would change around them because of what they discovered. Drawers flew open around her, papers and make-up scattered around, the mystery of what was wrong with mysterious judge number three was solved when Nora found a magazine full of unicorns in heavy metal glam. Only a freak who liked that could like Axis Rock. 

Nora’s leather pants cricked and creaked as she turned to throw the magazine at Emilio. “Mira esta porquería.” A laugh tinted her monotone voice. By now the room was a mess, and Nora wasn’t sure any clues had been found. “These judges are brave for not having weapons. Anyone crazy enough to go on stage here is crazy enough to attack a judge. Do they not believe in self-defense?” 

—

“I would rather be stabbed,” Emilio replied flatly. It was true, too. Being stabbed hurt only for a moment or two. The knife went in, and there was pain. The knife came out, and there was more. But after, it faded. It ebbed out, it went away. Even if someone recorded it on their stupid phone, it wouldn’t hurt the same when you watched it back later. This experience was one that Emilio was pretty sure was going to haunt him until the day he died. “Do you want to?” If she stabbed him on stage, at least it would be funny. 

Nora pointed out the existence of fruit, and Emilio wrinkled his nose. “Don’t trust it,” he said, pulling a face. He ignored her pointed comment, going back to rifling through the 

drawers instead. They had much more pressing concerns than his occasional aversion towards food. The sauce did look gross — there was no way Nora could pretend it didn’t. “Right. A pitch perfect.” He had no idea what it meant, but he figured Nora was probably right on them being assholes. Most people were assholes. 

This judge was certainly no exception. Emilio found a few more things that raised some eyebrows, from pens with fluffy pompoms on top to DVDs with incredibly bloody cover. What kind of person were they dealing with here? He glanced over at Nora’s find, something warm flowing through his chest as she called his attention to it in Spanish rather than English. He kept his expression neutral, knowing she’d probably prefer it that way. “Can’t get a good read on them,” he admitted, wrinkling his nose. None of the shit they’d found seemed to go together. The puzzle pieces didn’t fit. 

He moved behind the desk, idly checking the back of the mirror. “People always think they don’t need them,” he replied, rolling his eyes. “Like nothing can touch them. But nobody is untouchable.” Not hunters with decades of experience under their belts, not little girls safe in their own living rooms. “Anybody can be…” He trailed off, something catching his eye. He flattened himself against the wall shoving his hand behind the desk and reaching around until he got a good grip on it. He yanked it out, holding it up for Nora to see. 

It was… a wig? A wig that looked… a little bit like Shelby’s hair. “This is weird,” he said. “It’s weird, isn’t it?”

—

“You realize, if I stabbed you, you would still have to sing and dance the rest of the song.” As much as Nora liked to torment Emilio, there was a protectiveness that lived inside her. The one that wanted to help those important to her. Emilio was important to her. Her friend. Her mentor. Her - Well. He mattered. She didn’t want to hurt him. It was all big talk when it came to breaking his kneecaps, and never a shred of follow through. “You’d just be extra grumpy.” Nora threw in an eye-roll, for the showmanship. 

“You don’t trust anything,” Nora added. “Oh. Maybe it’s extra hot sauce. And when Shelby put it on her food, it would burn her to death.” Stranger things had happened in this town. That was a fun feature of Wicked’s Rest. Things that shouldn’t happen, kept happening. “Pitch Perfect is a movie. It was acc-nnoying” Nora could feel the disgust rising in her just for saying it. Was there a video on the internet of her doing the cup song? Yes. Did her fathers insist on it? Yes. Was it one of the biggest shames in her life and take fifty-thousand takes to make, half of them dissolving in her fathers yelling at her for not taking it seriously enough even though she was a clunky eight-year-old who just wasn’t talented at singing and cup shit? Also yes.  

Another drawer in the judge’s area revealed a Pikachu doll with pins sticking out of it. Whatever magic was supposed to be happening with that, Nora had no clue. She tossed it over her shoulder and went on exploring. Underneath were three peach flavor condoms and a physics textbook. “This person is a freak.” There was almost respect in Nora’s voice. Whoever was so confident to have the weirdest assortment of items lying around, like good for them. Shelby should have had her eye out on this weird judge to begin with. 

“People are dumb.” It was a shared ideal at Axis Investigation. But sometimes it needed to be repeated. “Anyone can be… dumb?” Nora looked up, trying to finish what statement Emilio was going to make to watch him putting his fake investigator license to work. “That looks like Shelby’s hair.” Nora pointed out the obvious. See that was her job as the apprentice, she didn’t have to make the fancy connections that brought in the big bucks. She got to break into things and have all the fun. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t throw her wildest ideas around. “Is Shelby already dead? Is the killer pretending to be her?” 

A pause. A moment. “Oh. Then the killer would be wearing the wig, huh?” Nora moved around the other mirror. Nothing. Boo. Nora moved to the closet, flipping it over and instantly jumping out of the way as a mannequin in a ladder costume came toppling out, revealing a knife and a note sticking out of the back. “Oh. You’ve got mail.” Nora told Emilio, pointing. 

—

“I’d probably pass out before we finished if you got me good enough. Then you could drag me off stage, make it part of the act. Would be a hit.” He kept his tone… his version of light, which was to say, a thing only Nora could differentiate. She’d never actually stab him, and he’d never actually ask her to. But this was the kind of thing Emilio found funny. The mental image of Nora stabbing him on stage and then dragging him off after was a little entertaining, if only for the knowledge of what the judges’ faces would look like in the aftermath. 

He snorted at Nora’s assessment, which… wasn’t far off, really. “I trust you,” he pointed out, glancing over to her and hoping she wouldn’t ask him to make a list of other things and people he trusted. They both knew it would be a short one. “It was what?” He tried to wrap his head around the extra syllable in the familiar word. Was it intentional? Nora didn’t slip with her words often; she was careful about the way she spoke. It was one of the things Emilio liked about her. “Whatever. I’ll make sure not to watch that one.” As if he was watching any movie that Teddy didn’t put on the television before sitting on him. 

The dressing room didn’t make m

uch more sense the more they uncovered within it. There was a metal can of bug spray with the top sawed off, a straw sticking out of it. A few loose screws scattered across the desk. Fliers for various events around town with words and faces cut out of them. Emilio couldn’t begin to decipher what it all might mean, and none of it seemed to properly match the personality of the person they’d seen at the judges’ table. “They are definitely strange,” he agreed, holding up one of the fliers for Nora to see. Maybe she could make more sense of it than he could.

At least the wig felt like a clue to the specific mystery they were trying to solve here. There weren’t a lot of normal, innocent reasons Emilio could think of for having a wig that looked like your coworker (covolunteer?)’s hair laying around, especially not when the coworker in question was the subject of a murder attempt. “That’s Shelby’s hair,” he agreed solemnly, tossing the wig towards Nora so she could study it a little closer.

His ‘training’ of Nora was never quite an intentional thing. He didn’t have lessons in mind, didn’t have a specific regimen for her to study. Emilio himself wasn’t exactly trained to do the things he did — it was mostly instinct. But Nora had the same instinct, and Emilio could foster that. He could let her study things for herself, let her come to her own conclusions just like she did now, with the way she dismissed her first thought. 

He glanced over again as the mannequin fell from the closet, moving in to take a look at it. Reaching down, he pulled the knife out of the mannequin’s back, freeing the note. Unfolding it, he squinted at the words. 

It took him a moment to read them, though nothing about it was particularly complex. Even in Spanish, Emilio’s literary skills were lacking. In English, he barely knew enough to get by at all. He didn’t read the note aloud; he knew it would have been a little embarrassing, the clunky way he’d have to sound out each syllable. But he read it to himself with his brows knitting together, holding it out for Nora after.

Richard, it began. If you’re reading this, it means I’ve done what we always said we would do. You never needed her. None of us did. Don’t worry. No one will ever know. I’ve hired someone to take care of the aftermath. No one will even know what happened until the show is over.

—

“Why drag you off stage?” Nora added to the bit. “We could make you bleeding out on the stage part of the act. The crowd would be horrified. Edge of their seats. Will the EMTs get here in time or not? They’ve probably never heard of duct tape.” And that was on the general populas being stupid. “Plus, the show would probably be canceled, Shelby wouldn’t be in danger, and it’d be another case solved. And I’d be the new best private investigator in town.” Nora turned slowly to face Emilio, hand on the knife they both knew she had tucked in the outfit, tilting her head as if she was considering it. 

Nora didn’t bother to explain the acapella of it all. No one needed that cursed knowledge sitting in the back of their minds. She also didn’t comment that Emilio wouldn’t watch anything anyway. People who didn’t watch things were weird. By the way. Because everyone watched things. It’s twenty-twenty-four. The television has been a home staple for her whole life. Not watching things was just weird. But that wasn’t a hill worth dying on. Maybe his life was better since pop culture didn’t haunt his every waking moment. Good for him. 

The fliers were weird. Nora dug them. They were like art, the way everything was cut out. She’d remember how that looked for future projects. The flier went into one of her many pockets. On the discovery of the letter, and the realization that the fliers were not being used for weird art, but instead weird letters, it really made them less exciting. But Nora still kept the flier. The idea would still work for her.  

Nora caught the wig tossed to her and flipped it inside out to look at the tag. There, on the tag, written in Sharpie right under the hand wash only tag was a name. Magaly Lola. Magaly Lola? “Does the name Magaly Lola mean anything to you?” Not to lie, Nora didn’t do any of the research she’d normally do on this case. Because it was a talent show. For thirty dollars. And there had been a lot of rehearsal needed before time. Generally, she liked to look up everything she could. Instead, she looked up TikTok dances. 

Emilio read the letter, then handed it to her. She traded the wig back to him. “What the fuck, Richard.” Who was Richard? Who was Magaly? Where was Shelby right now? “Do you think coming here was a mistake? I mean like, what if they are killing Shelby right now?” Nora allowed a moment to share a look at Emilio before slamming her way through the door and booking it to the stage. See, she had to be the one to run there. Emilio was old and slow. He’d show up when his fossilized bones managed it. This was her job. 

Nora burst through the auditorium’s doors just in time to see a magician’s act set up. “For my next trick, I’m going to make someone disappear!” The man on stage announced, a smile twisting at his features. “Do we have any volunteers?” The bastard didn’t even pretend to look around as he pointed right at Shelby, whose hand wasn’t even up by the way. “Shelby! I think you would make the perfect assistant.” He turned to his real assistant, the one he could and should have been using this whole time. “Don’t you agree, Magaly?” 

Oh fuck, Nora thought to herself. They were going to off Shelby in front of everyone. 

—

“There you go,” Emilio agreed, nodding his head. “That’s the kind of creative problem solving we’re known for. Tell you what, if we don’t find the killer before they want us back on stage, we’ll go with that plan. You take over Axis, I’ll fuck off to the cemetery, Shelby doesn’t get killed. I bet they’ll call you the winner of the show, give you that gift card. Everybody wins, yes?” He glanced down at her hand on the knife, gesturing to himself as if inviting her to go ahead and take a stab. It was the kind of joke he was pretty sure no one else in his life would find remotely funny, but Nora got it. Nora got plenty of things.

Nora also got his sentiment that this case, while stupid, was turning into something at least remotely interesting. That was part of what he liked about this job — sometimes, even the things that started off annoying had a way of sucking you in. It was a good distraction, when he needed one. He could think about Shelby and her death threats and the fliers and the letter and not have to worry about the shitshow that was his own life, and that was better. That was preferable. Maybe it was for Nora, too. Maybe that was why they worked well together.

She caught the wig as he tossed it to her, reading off a name on the tag inside. Emilio’s brow furrowed. There was something familiar about it, but he wasn’t sure what. Had he heard it before? Or did he just think he had? Either way… “It can’t be that easy. Can it?” The murderer wouldn’t leave evidence with their name scrawled on it, would they? They wouldn’t kill a woman in the middle of a public talent show, wouldn’t fail to even clear the building beforehand. Except…

Except this was Wicked’s Rest. And they absolutely fucking would.

Nora took off running, and Emilio scrambled to follow her. He was far slower, and his leg protested even the glacial speeds with which he moved, but eventually, he reached the stage. Aching and grimacing, sure, but the important thing was that he made it. And he made it in time for the killers to practically announce themselves on stage. Emilio let out a groan from where he stood off to the side, marching up the steps to the stage and yanking open the curtain, hoping Nora would follow.

“Stop,” he snapped. 

Off stage, one of the judges gasped. “Axis Rock?”

“Go fuck yourself,” he replied.

One of the other judges hummed in acknowledgement. “Yeah, that’s definitely Axis Rock.”

—

This was getting good. Juicy. Like a television show. Pitch Perfect could never. Well, actually it could, but it would involve a lot more singing. Like Emilio would be singing a song right now and then she'd be expected to join in. Nora couldn't sing though. So it was a really good thing this wasn't Pitch Perfect.  Nora followed Emilio onto the stage, the bright lights making shadows of the judges. "Yeah, fuck you!" Nora agreed, her monotone voice happily trailing after Emilio’s. "We were just pretending before. This is our real talent.”

“Ruining shows?” Someone from the audience heckled. Nora flipped them off.

Nora marched over to the magician set up. The magician looked shocked. Which wasn't a magical look. Nora kicked him in the shin. "Richard the Fake is here to kill Shelby. And he was going to use that box to kill her." Nora turned and pointed to the large prop Shelby was supposed to stand in. She let the audience get their shock value. The ooos and the ahhhs. She let them sit there a bit, Richard whimpering in pain over his kicked shin before walking over to the box and kicking in the fake back. "And this is proof."

"That's not proof!" Richard yowled, he was a cat in pain. "It's a magic show! Magic isn't fucking real! Everyone knows it's all sleight of hand!" The audience started murmuring in agreement among themselves. Everyone knew magic wasn't real. Why was Axis Rock ruining another performance? Hadn't it been bad enough that they all hit to sit through their horrible performance? They were really desperate for that 30-dollar gift cart. One loud voice was boldly proclaiming she felt really bad for them, obviously they had a lot of issues. 

God Nora hated people and their dumb little minds. This was obviously a murder attempt, why weren't they paying attention? Nora turned to face Emilio, giving him a 'What do we do now?' look. Someone in the audience started to boo. "GET OFF THE STAGE! I WANT TO SEE SOME MAGIC." A tomato hit the ground in front of Nora. "Who the fuck brings tomatoes to a talent show?" Nora asked the faceless audience. 

—

In a perfect world, Richard the stupid fucking magician would have collapsed into a puddle of tears the moment Emilio and Nora reappeared on stage. He would have confessed everything, in front of the crowd, and stood perfectly still to wait for the real cops to show up and… probably shake his hand and apologize for the inconvenience before letting him ride shotgun to the police station, or something, because cops fucking sucked, and Emilio did their jobs for them more often than not, anyway. But at least at that point, it wouldn’t be his problem anymore. At least if Richard the Terrible confessed, Emilio could go home and have a drink as opposed to sneaking them from the flask he’d barely managed to contain in this outfit Nora had picked.

But this world wasn’t perfect, and Richard didn’t confess to his would-be crime. Emilio and Nora were going to have to prove it. At least Nora got a good kick in on the guy first — Emilio felt some satisfaction in knowing that he wasn’t the only one on stage whose leg was aching. 

“Ay, ¡cállate!” He snapped in Richard’s direction, shooting the man a dark glare. Richard, for his part, looked a little taken aback. 

“You suck!” Someone from the crowd shouted. Another tomato hit the stage.

“¡Vete a la chingada!” Emilio called back. “I’m going to solve a murder. Is that good? Is that okay with everyone?”

“I’m not dead,” Shelby said sheepishly. 

“Fuck you, Shelby,” Emilio replied. 

Walking out onto the stage, Emilio inspected everything. The box Richard had wanted Shelby to climb in, the assistant who hadn’t wanted to assist, the stage where Shelby would have stepped out to complete the trick, the —

Wait.

He circled around behind the box, to the stage where the false back would have opened. He took one step, then two. Richard drew a sharp intake of breath behind him, and Emilio stopped. Hadn’t the stage been a little creaky during their performance earlier? Emilio walked to the spot on the floor, pressing his foot against it. It creaked. Richard hissed.

Emilio turned to the woman who’d been with Richard on stage. “Magaly, wasn’t it?” She nodded, looking uncertain. “Great. Stupid name. Magaly, come stand right here.”

Magaly paled, looking to Richard. Richard looked like he’d been sucking lemons. Emilio felt vindication creeping in.

—

“Yeah,  ¡cállate!” Nora repeated the word. She’d heard him say it before, and it was fifty-fifty that it was some big cuss word that might get her beat up somewhere or something about being quiet. Either way, she had his back on this one. As Emilio announced he was going to solve a murder, Nora did her job as the hype man. She stood at his side, nodding her head, blank expression made comical by the KISS makeup that was now slightly droopy because of the sweat. 

More talking, more audience reactions, another tomato. This crowd was rotten, just like their tomatoes. “Fuck you, Shelby.” Nora echoed again. And Emilio thought this was going to be a bad case. This was the best case they’d had in a while.  Emilio managed to keep his title as the town’s best detective by missing what Nora hadn’t noticed. A weak floor. The pair sweated, staring at each other. Nervous.

There was a split second where they met each other’s eyes and Nora knew what they were about to do, but there was nothing she could do to stop it. The two bolted forward, rushing towards the judge's table, hands outstretched for the 30-dollar gift certificate, and maybe Shelby’s neck. Nora would understand that. But the stage collapsed underneath them, right at the weak spot that had been creaking under Emilio’s inspection. 

The pair toppled down like ragdolls, limbs, hair, and costumes flying everywhere. Nora moved closer to the edge of the broken stage. “They fell into their own trap. That’s… pathetic.” Nora told them as if her leather costume hadn’t squeaked while bending to look down. 

The crowd was going wild. The judges slapped the button that made confetti go everywhere. Nora grabbed Emilio and positioned them so she could get a selfie with their fallen foes. This picture was going on the favorites wall, and there was nothing he could do about it. 

—

He realized what the pair were going to do about half a second before they did it. He was pretty sure they figured out what they were going to do about half a second before they did it, too. There was a moment of eye contact, a heartbeat, and then scrambling. Emilio took a step back to avoid being plowed over. As far as he was concerned, his part in this case was over and done with. He’d been hired to find out who wanted Shelby dead. He’d done that. Whatever happened next was someone else’s business.

That step back was a good idea for more reasons than one, it seemed. Richard and Magaly, in their haste to escape and snag that stupid gift card (was Emilio underestimating how good this stupid restaurant was?), forgot about their shitty murder plot. Emilio watched as they fell through the floor, just inches away from where he’d been standing before. 

Nora moved closer, and Emilio did, too. He peered down into the hole, looking at the pair of bad magicians who — they weren’t even dead. Their death trap designed to kill a talent show judge to earn them a thirty dollar gift certificate wasn’t even deadly. Was anyone in this town competent? Sometimes, Emilio wondered. 

He was startled by the sudden confetti falling onto the stage, and then Nora was grabbing him and pulling him into a picture. He scowled at the camera, which she probably preferred, anyway. Shelby came up onto the stage, glancing warily down into the hole.

“You saved my life,” she said tearfully.

“I don’t think it would have killed you,” Emilio replied. “They’re not even dead.”

“I want you to have this,” Shelby continued as if Emilio hadn’t spoken, thrusting the thirty dollar gift certificate towards Nora with one hand and putting her other on Emilio’s shoulder. He stiffened under the touch, carefully shrugging it away. 

From the hole, Richard let out an anguished scream. “That was our gift certificate!” 

—

Nora kicked a spare piece of debris into the hole at the screaming Richard. “Your legal nickname is dick, and you’re worried about a gift card.” People really needed to consider their life choices. Shelby was crying. Another judge was crying. The weird judge had their phone out and was recording all of this. If this ended up on youtube, Nora was going to make a pact with an eldritch abomination to haunt the internet forever. 

The confetti stopped flying, the auditorium emptied out, Richard and Magaly cried as if they were going to receive a life sentence. Cops showed up, but that was Emilio’s problem to deal with. Nora always made herself scarce before the police showed up. She kicked around the back of the building, spray painting monsters eating puppets until Emilio showed up.

There was only one thing left to do. They went to the Bottomless Booty. The place was loud and it smelled like a wet dog. Their server said something in the worst pirate voice that was ever used in the history of the earth. The pair were still dressed as reject KISS members, making them clash hilariously with the decor. They were seated next to a wax pirate with a ship’s wheel in front of him. Every now and then the wheel would spin and a crackling speaker would play a disjointed arrrrr. Nora flipped open the menu and took her first look. Thirty dollars wouldn’t cover a single meal. Good thing this would be added to Shelby’s bill.