#he insisted it’s complementary

[hadikaesque]

.

[lackablazeical]

Redid my Empires season 1 Joel, easily my favorite perspective to watch

While I DO understand the point of the full British suit. I hate it and I wanted to do smthn different

So I took inspiration from Arabic Sultans as well as the Anasazi tribes (the ppl who built the Mesa-Verde ), I wanted to give a colorful but sharp and prideful air to him, sort of like a flashy bird

So mostly pinks, blues, and greens that would stand out strongly against the dusty oranges of the Mesa, as he wants to be seen EASY. His main color is the pinkish-purple of his original jacket w/ complementaries of the yellow and green, with blue to add visual diversity. The patterns are inspired off of north-mexican native weaving patterns & Arabic geometric architecture, but heavily simplified

He has pearls littered around his clothes from Lizzie bc he loves her <33 he has a leaf on his head that he insists is normal and natural bc he doesn't believe in magic (he also ignores his enchanted items)

Joel is also actually usually really dirty/dusty, and he takes extreme care to be presentable to any other rulers, he goes thru like 7 pairs of gloves a day cus they get stained real easily

He's very strong tho, from carrying all the clay/concrete, he can pick up lizzie no probles 💪💪 may redraw Joey next idk

[chahnniesroom]

for richer, for poorer

pairing: bang chan x female reader

summary: gift giving has always been something you've agonised over. for chan, just having you in his life is enough.

word count: 3.4k

warnings: insecurities (especially related to finances), feeling anxious, hurt/comfort

a/n: i know it’s still a long time until october, but i didn't write it in time to fit as like a holiday related fic.

bonus: minho's reaction to his gift (included as a reblog of this post)

till death do us part collection | read it on ao3 | masterlist

Gift giving has always been something that you agonised over. You wanted so desperately to get something meaningful and special that nothing you ended up getting seemed special enough.

So when Felix had proposed throwing both Chan and Minho a party for their birthdays, you were more than happy to help plan. You could see that Chan had hesitated when Felix had told them about it, but he had ultimately agreed when he saw the way Minho had seemed to perk up at the idea.

It wouldn’t be anything too big, Felix promised, just inviting some close friends to have dinner and hang out. It slowly balloons into more than a simple dinner, but the opportunities for the members to have their friends gather are so rare that you swallow your concerns.

The night of, you can’t help feeling a bit nervous. You recognise almost everyone, but that's the part that scares you - you've only seen most of these people through your phone screen before. You know Chan and Minho have a lot of idol friends, but you didn't realise there would be so many at the party. You had discussed the guest list with Felix briefly, but your concern had been about the number of guests and not who they actually were. Now you’re starting to regret it, you aren’t mentally prepared to be face to face with so many celebrities.

The time passes surprisingly quickly with people trickling in as the night goes on. Dinner is casual, you’ve helped to cook a number of dishes and takeout was ordered to fill the rest of the counter. There isn’t enough proper seating so everyone is spread throughout the kitchen and living room.

You spend most of the time just wandering through and making sure that there’s no shortage of drinks, appetizers, and that the empty dishes or cups are cleared away. Of course, you greet everybody as they arrive and thank them for coming, but it’s hard not to be intimidated by all the famous faces.

Eventually Changbin drags the birthday boys to the living room, standing them in front of the TV to open gifts. Everyone else either crams themselves onto the couches, sits on the floor, or loiters closer to the doors.

Chan insists that he open presents at the same time as Minho instead of one at a time like Jisung suggests. Someone pushes a couple of matching boxes into their hands and steps away.

It's almost comical how different they open them. Chan takes his time, carefully pulling apart the ribbon that's wrapped around the box, sliding the lid off and putting it to the side, then slowly peeling aside the tissue paper. Minho on the other hand, manages to pull the ribbon off the box without untying it and flips the box to shake off the lid and reveal the contents.

They're complementary hoodies in the casual and oversized fit that the boys usually go for. You recognize the brand, have seen the members wear it on more than one occasion, and know that they most likely cost the same as your monthly salary.

The next gifts seem fairly innocuous, a beanie for Chan and a baseball cap for Minho, but you know their pieces often go for over a million won, more than you’ve ever spent on a single clothing item.

It continues on like this, the boys receiving items like music equipment, alcohol, and sunglasses. It makes you swallow hard when you think of your own, mostly handmade gift.

Maybe the worst part is that nobody else at the party even blinks an eye at it. You can’t blame them, it’s the nature of their occupation that has gotten them desensitised to being surrounded by luxury and it’s not like they can’t afford to indulge in getting more expensive things.

When you look down, wanting to stop staring at the pile of opened gifts, you see that you've partially crushed the packaging of your own gift. It already looked shabby enough, it was obvious you had wrapped it yourself and the paper you used was from the supermarket, but now it was even worse.

When you try to smooth out the crinkles, your shaky fingers somehow make it ruin it more. You bite your lip, hard, then stop, self conscious about your appearance around all these idols.

It suddenly feels cramped and too warm, sweat starting to gather on your forehead and back. The room starts to spin slightly and you become overly aware of your heart beating in your chest.

A burst of laughter from the crowd spooks you, pulling you out of your head. You use the opportunity to get to your feet and excuse yourself. You slip away as quietly as you can and breathe a sigh of relief when you make it into Chan's room without anyone following you.

You don’t bother to turn on the lights, not wanting anyone to check up on you, and sit on the ground with your back against Chan’s bed. With the door closed, the noise from the party is muffled and it’s significantly colder in this area of the dorm. You press your hands to your face and take a few deep breaths to try and calm your heart rate.

You don’t know what’s wrong with you because you know you shouldn’t feel like his. You had been looking forward to watching Chan and Minho open their gifts, you had spent a lot of time preparing them and you had felt confident that they would enjoy them.

Well, until you saw everything else that they received.

Now your ideas just seemed silly. You feel humiliated at the thought of everybody seeing the obviously cheap gifts and even worse when you consider how ashamed Chan might be for others to know that you were his partner.

Although you were working full-time at the moment, you had only graduated from university last year and your student debt was an ever present weight on your shoulders that you tried your best to hide. Everything you had went to paying it back and checking in bi-weekly to see the number get smaller and smaller was the only thing that made you feel better.

Chan knew that you often worried about money. You had been mortified the first time that he had walked in on you trying to organise your finances for the next few months. He had glanced over your shoulder before you had even realised he was in the room and all the red cells showing where you were in a deficit were hard to miss.

It had been early on in your relationship and the dates that the two of you had been on as well as a couple unforeseen events had meant that you had been spending way more than what you had anticipated. Of course, Chan had treated you on a number of occasions, but you refused sometimes because you felt guilty every time he offered to pay, especially since it had been only a couple years after his debut.

He had been more than understanding, but you had been so embarrassed and caught off guard that you couldn't stop the tears from streaking down your face. Since then, Chan and the members had never done anything to make you feel like they pitied you or thought any less of you for your financial situation, in fact they did the opposite.

When you had first started visiting the dorms, opening the food delivery apps was like a reflex for all of the boys once it was dinnertime. You were always hesitant to choose anything and felt even worse by the nonchalant way that they covered the costs each time. Even though you knew they didn’t think anything of it, you couldn’t help but feel like you were taking advantage of their hospitality.

Somehow they caught on to your reluctance to buy food and now it's tradition that you cook for them when you come over, enough so that they keep the kitchen stocked with more than ramen, chicken breasts, and protein powder.

In particular, Minho absolutely loved your cooking and had needled you many times on sharing how you made it. You had always denied him though, saying that you didn't use exact measurements and came up with things on the fly. That’s why for his gift, you had taken the time to create a recipe book, complete with pictures for each step and modifications that he could make based on the ingredients he had.

You had spent a few months thinking about what to give Chan. He was harder to shop for since you knew he wasn't overly fond of celebrating his birthday and didn’t want you to spend money on him, but was always touched when you got him something. Usually, you tried to do something he was more likely to accept.

Last year, you had organised with the company to give Chan a day off and had taken him out to a movie. It was a pretty standard date, but the two of you rarely had the opportunity to go out together and you knew Chan had resigned himself to watching the movie when it was released online instead of going to the theatres like he had hoped to. Having to spend a few days trying to sort out all the logistics of secretly rearranging Chan’s schedule had been more than worth it with the way that his face had lit up when you had told him about what you had planned.

You don't know how long you sit alone, but every time that you tell yourself to get up and rejoin the party, it feels impossible to move.

“Hey,” Chan's voice is cautious, but you startle anyway, scrambling to stand up. Stuck in your thoughts, you hadn’t even noticed him entering the room. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I'm fine, I'm fine. Just needed some air, it was getting kind of stuffy in there,” you explain. “I didn't think you'd notice.”

“Of course I noticed. You were there one second and gone the next, I didn't know what happened.”

“It’s nothing.” You avoid Chan’s gaze, not wanting to see the concern that shines in his eyes.

Chan steps closer, then reaches out and tangles your fingers together, using your connection to pull the two of you to sit on the bed.

“Y/n, baby,” he says softly. “Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on in here.” He leans forward until the side of his head bumps into yours.

“It’s-”

“Don’t say it’s not important,” he warns. “It’s important to you and that makes it important to me, okay?”

“Uhm,” you pause for a moment, unsure of how you want to word your thoughts. You trust Chan, but it still feels scary being vulnerable. “I guess, I was just feeling… Insecure.”

“Insecure?” Chan tilts his head slightly. “About what?”

“Everyone-” you laugh slightly, embarrassed. “Everyone gave you guys such nice gifts, I feel like mine don’t even compare.”

“Y/n, you know I don’t care about that kind of thing. If I had the choice, nobody would be giving me gifts at all. Just having you in my life is enough.” Chan’s voice is painfully sincere.

“I know you don't mind. It just- It feels bad that I can't give you something nice like they can. It's dumb, I know, but I can't help it.”

“I can open it here, away from everyone else if you want,” Chan offers. “Or you don't even have to give it to me today, you can save it until you feel better. Or don't give it to me at all, it's all okay.”

“No no, I want you to have it,” you say immediately. Before you can think better of it, you reach down and retrieve the gift from where you left it on the floor.

“Whatever makes you feel comfortable,” Chan reassures you.

“This is fine,” you decide. “Just the two of us."

“Okay.”

“It’s not designer,” you say suddenly, fiddling with the ribbon that keeps the two packages together. Both of you ignore the fact that you’re just stalling at this point.

“I don’t need any more clothes, I barely wear everything I own now,” Chan jokes.

“Really, you might not like it,” you warn.

“Baby, when have I ever disliked anything that you’ve gotten for me?” Chan drops the teasing tone. You think for a moment.

“When you asked me to order noodles for you and I accidentally got you the spicy version and it made you cry?”

“Did I say that I didn’t like them?”

“No, you ate it all even though I warned you that it would make your stomach hurt for the next couple of days,” you say, smiling faintly at the memory.

You had gotten yourself the same dish and had found it to be bearable, while Chan’s face had turned bright red after the first bite. You had offered a few times to get him a non-spicy version so that he could enjoy himself, but he had been determined to finish, soaking his shirt and beanie with how much he had sweated. He hadn’t even been able to continue carrying a conversation with you, too busy trying to suck in air to cool his mouth.

It had been even funnier for you the next day, receiving multiple texts from Chan about his stomach hurting and having to continually pause dance practice to go to the bathroom.

“The pain was worth it,” Chan insists. “I'm actually convinced that I'll like anything you give me. Now come on, let me open my gifts!”

You hand over the gift and watch as he pulls away the ribbon to separate the boxes and peels away the tape on the first package. His brow is furrowed in concentration as he tries not to rip the wrapping paper.

This gift was more neutral, a set that contained a wallet and cardholder, both in black. Although Chan hadn’t complained at all, the wallet he had been using was from years ago and the synthetic material was starting to crack and flake away at the edges.

He looks delighted, examining it briefly before pulling out his old wallet and transferring all his cards and cash into this new one. Although it’s not a name brand, you had purchased it at a small shop specialising in handcrafted genuine leather goods at a surprisingly affordable price. It was good quality and suited the simplicity that Chan preferred.

“It's just what I needed,” he says, sounding pleased. “You pay so much attention.”

“I'm glad you like it,” you say, feeling relieved even though you had been pretty sure that he would be happy with it.

The unease comes back when he turns his attention to the second gift. Once again, he puts in effort to gently unwrap it, revealing an old chocolate box that you had repurposed from one of your dates.

You’ve always been on the more sentimental side and had saved it, wanting to remember the evening that Chan had taken you out and the two of you had spent 20 minutes in the shop, meticulously picking out the flavours that you wanted to try. The box is made of a surprisingly durable material and is the perfect size for this gift. You’ve painted over it too, concealing the original design.

Chan turns it around in his hands curiously, before sliding the lid up. You turn away to stare at your hands, overwhelmed by nervousness.

You already know what’s inside. It’s a deck of cards that you’ve transformed, with 52 things I love about you inscribed on one of the jokers. On the flip side, you’ve painted a picture of you and Chan smiling widely with your cheeks pressed together. It’s his favourite, one he always tells you would be permanently on his lock screen if he wasn’t an idol.

The rest of the cards are decorated similarly, a small drawing or painting on one side with the things, people, and places that Chan loves on one side, and something that you love about Chan on the other. The last joker is the only one that's different, you've treated it as a card and have a small message written on.

You had been so excited when you had thought of the idea, even though it was almost embarrassingly cheesy. Chan was often hard on himself, overly critical, and sometimes insecure. You tried your best to reassure him that he was doing well, both in his career and personal life, but you weren’t always able to be with him to do it in person.

As time goes by, your dread just continues to build, but you don't dare look up, not wanting to see Chan's reaction. Based on the silence, he’s clearly not thrilled with the silly idea that you had gone with. You can almost imagine his expression, jaw clenched and lips pressed together as he tries to think of what he can say to let you down easy.

Finally, you can't take it any longer and you lean forward, reaching out to grab at the cards that he's still reading though.

“I'm sorry, it's stupid, I know,” you say quickly. “You can tell me that you hate it, it's okay. I don't know what I was thinking, but just- give me more time, I'll get you something else, something nicer-”

It catches Chan off guard, and instead of successfully taking the cards away, you grapple with them for a second before they slip between both of your hands, scattering across the floor like confetti.

You instantly drop to your knees, scrabbling to scoop them up like the most awful game of 52 pick up that you've ever played in your life. To your horror, the task gets even more difficult as tears start to well up in your eyes.

“Y/n-” Chan says gently, reaching out and taking your wrists in his hands to stop your frantic movements. “Come here.”

You resist for a moment, but he pulls you into his arms, cradling your head so your face is resting on his shoulder. The tears leaking from your eyes soak into the fabric and you sniffle softly.

“I'm sorry,” you say, voice partially muffled. “I'm a mess.”

In response, Chan pulls back slightly and when you don't turn towards him, he taps a finger against your cheek until you face him. Your eyes widen when you notice that he also has tear tracks streaking down his face.

“What-”

“It's okay, I'm a mess too. I should have said it sooner,” he says, voice low and gravelly. Still in his embrace, you can feel the rumble of it in his chest. “I love it. I was overwhelmed, I wanted to say something but you left me speechless.”

“Don't just say it-”

“I've never had a gift so thoughtful, Y/n,” Chan says earnestly. “How could you think this was stupid? You must have spent hours and hours on it and I really appreciate it. It’s just- is this really what you think of me?”

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“Do you really love that-” Chan picks up the closest card to him and flips it so that he can read the message. “That I snore? Y/n, why do you even have this in the list?”

“Yes, snoring was one thing and it's because with everything, there’s always a reason to love it. It's not that I love that you snore, but with your insomnia, hearing you snore is a relief because it means you're sleeping, that you're resting. Even with your insomnia, I know you're busy thinking of every little way you can make things just right for you and the members. It's because you care so much, how could I not love these parts of you?”

“You- you really love all these little things?”

“Of course I do,” you say in a hushed voice. “Of course. When I was making these, I couldn't fit it all. I love everything about you, Chan.”

This time, it's Chan that breaks eye contact, shaking his head as if in disbelief.

“I don't know what I did to deserve you.”

“It's not about deserving. You didn't have to do anything, that's the whole point. I love you just as you are.”

“You know that's how I feel about you, right?”

“Chan-”

“Even if you never got me anything ever again, I wouldn't love you any less. You being in my life, by my side, that's the greatest gift you could ever give.”

till death do us part collection | read it on ao3 | masterlist

[manikas-whims]

Hii!! I want to request some headcanons for LADS boies ~~

How about them with a very famous reader!! How will they plan dates and attend any celebration with their partner!!

interesting request! imo, the biggest issue (in canonical sense) that they all will face due to the Reader being famous is protection. if she's always in limelight, it'll become difficult for them to act as they please in order to protect her..

now on to the request! hope you like it! ♡

LADS men dating a famous reader

XAVIER

⭐ He may be able to erase traces of his own history but he's very bad at dealing with the paparazzi. Any time he senses paparazzi spying on you two during your dates, he uses his evol to teleport you both away.

⭐ However, that doesn't always work. And when it doesn't, he walks right up to them and forces them to delete the pics taken.

⭐ He's never had any issues with your fame but what he doesn't enjoy is the attention it brings upon you, and by extension, upon him as well. Once the news of you dating some deepspace hunter breaks out, he starts getting scouted by random entertainment labels. They think his handsome face and skills will prove amazing for action movies.

⭐ Your fans will try spreading conspiracy theories about how he could be the one behind the infamous masked vigilante named Lumiere. There's also fans who seem to like him and have spread rumors about how he saved you from a hoard of wanderers, causing you to immediately fall for him.

⭐ He's very compliant when it comes to anything to do with you. If there's an event significant for the sake of your career, and if it requires his presence, then he'll quietly accompany you.

⭐ Your stylists are quite taken by him. They always insist on doing his makeup and picking out the outfits that suit his sleeper build. And Xavier complies, his only request being that they make sure his clothes are complementary to yours and that you two look like a couple. No matter what image you've crafted for the world, he'll ensure everyone knows that you two belong to each other.

ZAYNE

❄️ He's a nightmare for the paparazzi. They never manage to sneak a single good picture of the two of you when you're out on dates. They always end up looking blurry or Zayne makes sure his tall frame entirely hides your smaller one behind him.

❄️ This one time when they do spot you leaving the Akso Hospital with a tall, dark haired man, none of them manage to take any pictures. Many claim they suddenly felt the temperature around them dropped so low that it felt chilly, and that their hands went numb due to the cold.

❄️ The news about your dating life only breaks out when you and Zayne yourselves decide to make it public. However, not many seem to like Zayne. Many fans claim he's too aloof and wonder if he's even good enough for you (ofc you reassure him that he's the only one ever!)

❄️ Other fans discover some pictures of the two of you from highschool days and come to the conclusion that you two must be highschool sweethearts. And they find it admirable that you two stuck together for so long.

❄️ Due to his profession, he doesn't get much time and its difficult for him to attend your public events. This does lead to some criticism about how he's not a very supportive boyfriend. But he only finds such remarks amusing. Afterall, what the world thinks of him doesn't matter. He only cares about how you feel for him.

❄️ The rare occasions when he does show up at your events, he always keeps a hand on the small of your back, his intimidating figure allowing no room for comments or slander.

RAFAYEL

🌊 Since he himself is pretty well-known, he's quite used to the paparazzi. But that doesn't mean he likes them or tolerates them. He's straight up calling them out because he hates the possibility of his dates with you getting ruined due to so many intruding eyes. And he doesn't want people prying into his and your personal lives.

🌊 When he sees a paparazzi taking pictures, Rafayel is the type who pulls out his own smartphone and starts clicking pictures of them in retaliation.

🌊 You two openly hang-out in public and there is speculation about you two dating. It's just you never confirm it. And ofcourse, you two are questioned during your individual interviews about each other. You never give a direct response to those either. You let the people keep assuming whatever they want to.

🌊 Both yours and Rafayel's fans ship you two together. But there are many of his fangirls who've called you horrible names. One time, you even got attacked by a crazy fan, who was immediately banned by Thomas. And Rafayel personally put out a statement about how he'll not entertain any crazy or violent fans.

🌊 Whenever you're working on a new project, he sends you rare species of flowers for goodluck. He also makes sure to convey his support in the form of sending food trucks and such for the entire staff.

🌊 He doesn't enjoy public attention. You've seen how much he despises having to attend formal events related to his own artistry. Still, he doesn't like the idea of so many strangers openly approaching you, so he makes sure to attend as many of your events as his schedule allows him to. And you do the same for him.

If you sent me a LADS related request, then rest assured, i am working on all your requests slowly..♡

SEND ME REQUESTS FOR LOVE & DEEPSPACE HEADCANONS VIA ASKS.

» MASTERLIST «

[theemporium]

okay okay blurb concept: what do you think ab Oscar on a blind date? maybe Lando set him up with someone?

you ask and you shall receive🫡i hope i did it justice!!���🏽

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This was a stupid idea. 

In fact, it was an incredibly stupid idea for a multitude of reasons, but three in particular played in Oscar’s head on a loop as he drummed his fingers against the table, mocked by the empty seat across from him. 

The first reason was the fact Lando fucking Norris was the mastermind behind the whole thing. In all honesty, he didn’t remember the last time the Brit had a genuinely good idea outside of racing and car improvements. He wasn’t even sure how Lando made him agree, though he wondered if he had hit his head off something and forgot about the whole thing.

The second reason was that it had been a dreadfully long time since Oscar had been on a date. It was embarrassing enough that he couldn’t even remember his last date, let alone remember whether it hadn’t ended badly or not. But it definitely didn’t help that this was the first one in possibly years, and he hadn’t even played a part in planning the damn thing if the fancy restaurant Lando chose said much.

The third reason was that despite Oscar almost begging his teammate, the boy had refused to tell him who he was actually attending a date with. It’s all a part of the fun, mate, Lando had said to him with a big smile. Never heard of a blind date? It’s romantic and shit.

But nothing about the whole set up felt romantic in the slightest.

Lando had tried to reassure the boy on his drive to the restaurant. He had wanted to arrive early, to settle himself and feel like he had some control on the situation even if he really didn’t. Lando had been insistent that the girl he set him up with was just his type, but it was a little hard to believe that when Lando had also been the reason Oscar had a stripper show up on his door to celebrate the end of the last season.

A gift Lando was also insistent that he would have enjoyed. 

So now, Oscar was sat by himself in a fancy restaurant, almost twenty minutes early and looking absolutely pathetic as he sipped his glass of water and resisted the urge to scoff down the complementary breadsticks lying in the basket in front of him. He had given the waiter so many strained smiles, he was worried they were going to kick him out soon if he didn’t order something that actually cost money.

His eyes shifted down to glance at his phone, his fingers itching to reach out and dial Lando’s number again. The sickening feeling in his stomach was only growing, the anxiety bubbling inside him the longer he waited and he was honestly tempted to scrap the whole thing and lock himself in his apartment for a few days before he could face the real world again. 

And yet, before he could even unlock his phone, someone paused by his table and a voice called out his name. 

“Oscar?” 

His head snapped up, any semblance of a reply quickly leaving his mind as he openly gaped at you. You were gorgeous, beyond anything he could even imagine. Not that he cared much for looks or thought Lando would set him up with someone horrendously ugly but…fuck, he wasn’t expecting someone as pretty as you. 

And suddenly he was nervous for a million other reasons. 

“Sorry, are you not Oscar?” You continued after a few moments of silence, a look of embarrassment crossing over your face as you moved to take a step away from the table. “I’m so sorry, I could have swore you looked like the photo my friend sent me—” 

“No!” He blurted out as he quickly stood up, his chair screeching against the floor as he did. “No, I mean, yes.” Your confusion only grew. “I mean…I’m Oscar.” 

“Oh,” you said and something in your face brightened as you extended your hand to the boy, offering your name in response. “It’s lovely to meet you, Oscar.”

“Yeah, you too,” he supplied lamely, frowning a little at himself before he cleared his throat. “Uh, can I get you something? I mean, not me. I meant like I could call the waiter for you and you could order. But I should probably let you look at the menu first so—” And fuck, he didn’t think he had ever spoken this much in one go ever. 

But your giggle cut him off as you smiled at him. You glanced around, noting the high-end restaurant that you knew Lando probably got a kick out of picking before your gaze landed on the Aussie once again. 

“Can I be honest?”

Oscar nodded his head vigorously.

“This doesn’t look like your kind of scene,” you said to him, and Oscar could feel his cheeks burning.

He shrugged. “I really don’t mind—”

“It’s not mine either,” you added, something almost mischievous shining in your eyes. “But there is a really cool arcade about fifteen minutes away that do really good burgers if you’re interested.”

And it wasn’t Oscar’s fault that he couldn’t bite back the massive grin on his face. “That sounds perfect.” 

And maybe—just fucking maybe—one of Lando’s plans had worked out far better than anyone ever assumed.

.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Partners in Crime 6

Warnings: non/dubcon, allusions to abuse including body-shaming, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen, Lee Bodecker

Summary: you’re left reeling after your divorce but the chaos has only begun. (short!reader)

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

“Wakey, wakey,” the voice draws you up from the sludge. You pry your eyelids apart and groan. 

You’re still nestled against Lee but you can see something past him, a fleshy blur. The man at your side squeezes you and rolls onto his back. He sighs and rubs his eyes. 

“You gonna sleep all day or we gonna get down to it?” Lloyd asks. 

You squeak as you spy his bare chest and stomach, blocking out the rest as you cover your face with your hand. Lee snarls and untangles from you as he sits up. “Goddamn, Hansen, put some fucking clothes on.” 

“Don’t be jealous,” Lloyd snickers. “You like the way it hangs?” 

“Piss off,” the slap of flesh makes you flinch and Lloyd yelps. 

“Damn it, that was too close,” he exclaims. 

“Next time I won’t miss,” Lee’s weight leaves the bed. “Cover up.” 

A huff and a rustle follow and you dare to peek out between your fingers. Lee comes back to you, in a tank and boxers, holding a fluffy pink robe open. “Come on, darling. We gotta get the day started.” 

Lloyd’s behind him in a black silk robe, smoothing his mustache with his fingers. He looks agitated with the bristly hairs. You sit up, quaking, unsure what else to do but what you’re told. You got too used to waking up alone and peaceful. Yet, you can’t say what’s worse, them or your ex. 

“We’ll get ya washed up and dressed, then we’ll sit down and eat,” Lee slings his arm across your shoulders. He seems even bigger than the day before. They both do. “How’s that sound?” 

“Good,” you eke out. What you know is that obedience is safe. Any sign of resistance only got you worse. 

He keeps you wrapped up and Lloyd grumbles as he leads you past, “we really gonna drag this out?” 

“We have a plan,” Lee insists. “You agreed. We wanna take care of her. Give her what she never had. Stop being a jerk.” 

“I’m not. I'm just saying. Rip the bandaid off,” Lloyd turns and follows. 

You look over your shoulder as he crosses his arms, his blue eyes sharp as he squints back at you. Of the two, he makes you more nervous. You know better than to trust in self-control, but Lee it a bit less scary. 

You turn your head straight and take in the hallway. The house is nice. The walls are half-panel, half floral. An old-fashioned sort of domesticity. The white trim is clean and elegant and the runner rug is delicate patterned in a complementary pattern. 

Lee turns you through a door with a crystal knob. You fold your hands together as he ushers you into the bathroom. The porcelain shine and the counter is the same ivory as the trim in the hallway.

There’s an oval mirror over the sink basin, a shelf of neatly folded towels in various sizes mounted on the wall. The bath mat is a blue rose, the walls a lighter shade of the same, and a clawfoot tub stands near the far wall.  

You take it all in. In any other circumstance, you would be in awe. You can only curl into yourself as you try to disappear. This can’t be real. These men can’t be either. 

“You go on, get yourself in,” Lee detaches and steps forward to twist on the faucet. He bends with a grunt to put the stopper in place. “Got everything you need. Soaps, salts, bombs.” 

Your eyes scan the shelf along the tub and all the colourful bottles, jars, and trays. You slowly come forward and peer down into the lapping water. Lee backs up as you sense Lloyd lingering behind. 

“Want me keep an eye on her?” Lloyd slithers. “Don’t want her to fall in.” 

“Go get her something to wear,” Lee commands. 

“No, you,” the other argues. 

“Don’t be ornery,” Lee rebukes. 

“No. You.” Lloyd repeats more tersely than before. 

There’s a sigh, “we’ll both go.” Lee insists. 

You stay as you are. You wait until the door shuts before you move. You look down at the silk night gown and the cool air sets prickles across your skin. There’s a click behind you. They’ve locked you in. As nice as they are trying to be, they don’t trust. You’re still their prisoner. 

You brace your head as you quiver. How could this happen to you? Why? How did they know who you are? How to find you? You don’t quite believe everything they’ve told you. They seem to know more about you than they should. 

Maybe it’s your ex-husband. He can’t torture you so he sent these two to do so. How cruel can he be? 

When the door opens again, you flinch. You rub your arms and shiver.

“Now, don’t let the thing overflow,” Lee chides. “Get in, honey.” 

Lloyd hums in agreement. You glance back at them. You want them to leave but you don’t think they will. You face the tub again and shudder. 

You close your eyes. You're back in the bedroom you once shared with your husband. Alone. You’re in a towel, sifting through your closet, looking for something to wear to his work thing. You unwrap the cotton from around you and hear a scoff. 

“Sixteen,” your husband’s voice crawls across the room as he appears in the doorway. “Sixteen dimples in your ass. Last time I counted, was only twelve.” 

Your eyes snap open as the balmy air roils over the tub. Your nose tingle hotly. The two strange men are going to see all your dimples and marks and scars. You know they did last night but you were too terrified to think about it. And this is different. It’s so bright in here. 

You scrunch the satin in your fists and lift it slowly. You sniffle as you unveil yourself to the room. To them. You tense and swoop the fabric over your head and drop it. You shake as you step forward and angle your leg over the edge of the tub. 

You try to ignore your audience and the gristly noises wafting from them. Are they disgusted by you? Disappointed? You turn and lower yourself into the hot water. Their silhouettes loom beside you. 

“Ain’t that nice?” Lee asks. “You just relax.” 

“Hard to relax fully-cocked,” Lloyd snickers. 

“Shut up,” Lee snaps and slaps his arm. “Get outta here.” 

“Stop telling me what to do.” 

“We’re both gonna leave her be,” Lee insists. You stare at the tiled wall, humiliated. The way they talk about you like you’re not there, like you’re a thing. “Let her get situated then we can get her settled in.” 

“You’re a fucking softie, Bodecker,” Lloyd sneers. 

“And you’re a pain in my ass,” he shoves the man back, “stop cussin' and come on.” 

[shares-a-vest]

@steddiemas Day 17: Accidental Kink Discovery (Smutty Sunday)

Rated: T for suggestive language/flirtatious banter (y'know me, more silly than spice!)

“I hate it!” Eddie spits through gritted teeth.

He shakes his fists to the heavens, which jingle-jangles the bells on the green hat, collar and shirt hem of his costume.

Steve chuckles from his vantage point on the edge of the bed, impossibly charmed by what is a faint tinkling to his own ears as Eddie grumbles at his reflection in the full-length mirror.

He rakes his eyes down the back of his boyfriend’s seething and tense frame. He stops at Eddie’s legs, looking positively gangly in a pair of green tights. Long, too, as they disappear up under a tiny pair of green shorts with a red felt trim and –

Oh, no.

Steve gulps.

“What?” Eddie snaps, whipping around.

He scrunches his nose like he could hiss.

“Nothing!” Steve splutters, folding his arms tight and shrugging as he tries not to think about Eddie in a complementary pair of festive underpants – 

Oh, no.

He puffs out a breath, looking anywhere but at Eddie and his scowl.

“I should have never let Joyce talk me into applying for a job at Melvad’s,” Eddie rambles, half-muttering his words, “Why couldn’t you have charmed Keith into giving me some shifts at Family Video? At least I wouldn’t have to dress as a goddamn elf.”

Jingle-jangle.

Steve looks up just as Eddie stomps his foot.

His shoes jingle-jangle too.

“Gah! Fuck!” Eddie curses and freezes on the spot, arms tight by his sides.

“I can’t help it if my work vest is already green,” Steve teases, shrugging innocently, “Besides, Keith currently has you banned for ‘distracting staff’.”

His air quotations only make Eddie bristle. He lifts his right hand, likely to worry with a lock of his hair. But his fingers snag his jester-like collar.

Jingle-jangle.

Eddie splutters away with what Steve can only assume is a series of incoherent expletives as he begins to hop on the spot to wrestle one shoe off and hurl it across the room.

At least that’s what Steve assumes Eddie’s full-body throw is intended to do. But the lightweight shoe only makes it about a foot before it softly falls to the ground.

Eddie shrieks and then dips his head to dry sob into his hands.

“I look so stupid,” he laments, “I don’t want to be an elf.”

He looks up all doe-eyed and Steve can’t help but think how nice his hair looks under the elf hat, his locks sitting in place to perfectly frame his face. Even if Eddie doesn’t want to be an elf, he looks cute as hell as one.

Fuck it. What happens in the bedroom, stays in the bedroom, right?

“Don’t worry,” Steve says, lowering from the bed to the floor, “It’s only for a few days, right?”

“What the hell are you doing!” Eddie recoils, glistening eyes going wide as saucers as Steve begins to crawl on his knees towards him.

Jingle-jangle.

He stops in front of his boyfriend and takes his hand, planting it on his shoulder before he dips down for the remaining shoe.

“Helping you take this off...” he explains, voice light as he wraps his hand delicately around Eddie’s ankle.

“Okay…” Eddie hums, raising a sceptical brow even if he shifts his weight onto Steve’s shoulder to steady himself.

Steve bites his bottom lip, trying not to so much as chuckle as every movement Eddie makes sounds off a series of tinny bell sounds. He removes the green felt shoe and tosses it over his shoulder, still holding Eddie’s ankle before carefully lowering it back to the ground.

He looks up, a smile turning to a smirk as Eddie gulps, his eyes flitting down to where Steve still has his hand wrapped around his ankle, soothing it now from the embarrassment and green.

“Stevie…” Eddie frowns.

Steve runs his hand up his green stockinged leg slowly, pausing only when his fingertips skirt the bottom hem of his tantalising green shorts.

“Oh my god!” Eddie exclaims, clawing at his shoulder, “You like this costume, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Steve smiles, running his free hand through his hair.

“Not possible,” Eddie insists, shaking his head and chopping a hand through the air before placing it right back on his shoulder.

Jingle-jangle.

“I do,” Steve insists, flicking a bell on the hem of his shirt now.

“Don’t jingle it,” Eddie spits, jaw clenched.

“What if I jingle you…” he begins, tilting his head to the side as he looks him over, “All the way…”

“Gross!” Eddie shrieks, “That is the worst line you have ever…”

He trails off, a visible blush creeping up his neck as Steve allows his hand to breach the hem of those shorts.

“But,” Steve bites, pressing his fingers into Eddie’s skin, “You have to be a good elf, okay?”

He watches as a myriad of emotions run through Eddie’s eyes before he lands on a similar ‘fuck it’ attitude and goes along with it.

“Sure thing, Santa,” Eddie soon coos, dimples dotting his cheeks as he offers a cherubic smile and a two-finger salute.

Jingle-jangle.

“You have been the naughtiest elf in my workshop,” Steve teases, popping the ‘p’ as he reaches around to grab at Eddie’s ass.

Eddie lurches forward, Steve’s face now flush with his scratchy polyester shirt front.

Jingle-jangle.

[oliversrarebooks]

we'll make great pets

This bit of pet whump was partially inspired by Stray by @sowhumpshaped and by my innate desire to write protagonists who are kind of assholes.

tw: pet whump, dehumanization, brainwashing, involuntary drugging, captivity, abuse, dystopia, whumper turned whumpee

"Morning, Scout," said Max in a groggy mumble as he ruffled his pet's hair. His pet looked up at him with adoring eyes, as always. It was curled up safe and warm in its nest under a pile of weighted and woolen blankets, and Max couldn't help but be momentarily jealous. He'd love to slide back into his warm bed, but the driver would be here soon and his dad would kill him if he kept skipping out on his stupid business classes. 

Pets didn't have to worry about any of that. They didn't have to worry about boring-ass college lectures or overdue papers or their parents riding their ass about the family legacy. All they had to do was eat, sleep, and obey their masters. Must be nice, in a way.

"Here, I brought you breakfast." As Scout sat up, yawning adorably and rubbing the sleep out of its eyes, Max tossed it a breakfast packet in one of its favorite flavors, egg and cheese. Max always bought it the good stuff, premium pet food with lots of protein and all-natural, high quality ingredients. His pet ate as good as he did, most days. Scout happily slurped up the food as Max refilled its water bottle and dumped its pills out into his hand. 

"Down the hatch, boy," he said, popping the pills into his pet's mouth and quickly following it up with the water bottle before it could spit the pills out. Scout was well-behaved, having come from one of the finest pet facilities on the Eastern seaboard, but it was sometimes a little fussy about its pills. Max's dad used to slap and yell at the poor thing as though it were capable of knowing better. It had been a lot happier since accompanying Max to college, several hours away from his parents. So had Max.

With his pet all settled, Max turned to his closet to dress himself. Half his clothes lay in a pile on the floor where he'd tossed them aside, dissatisfied, the other day. The housekeeper wouldn't be coming until tomorrow so he'd just have to live with that. "I can't believe how trash all these clothes are. I gotta go shopping. Don't you think so, Scout?"

Scout nodded from his bed.

"Exactly. You get it. Just don't tell Dad how much I've been spending. It's our little secret, okay?" He ruffled Scout's hair as it laughed softly. Scout rarely ever spoke, much less gave up any of Max's secrets. It was a bad habit of Max's to talk to Scout as if it were a person, especially when no one else was around. Scout had been a birthday present for Max's seventh birthday, back when he'd been his parents' great hope instead of their great disappointment, and he couldn't help spoiling it a bit.

Max finally settled on a 90s inspired outfit with a bold floral print, paired with chunky jewelry and an oversized watch. He admired himself in the mirror, slicking back his hair and appreciating his flashy fashion sense.

The next thing was to delve into Scout's clothes to find something complementary. Scout's wardrobe was nearly as large as Max's, and far less constrained, since no one expected a pet to be dressed in the latest designer fashion. Max was free to outfit it in thrift store finds and homemade altered goods, soaking up the compliments he received on his picture perfect pet. 

Fashion was his passion, after all. His parents just didn't get it.

His phone was buzzing insistently by the time he finished up with Scout, and so he grabbed a granola bar, clasped Scout's leash on, and dashed out the door to the driver. Scout lay its head in Max's lap in the backseat of the black SUV as Max checked his schedule for the day. He groaned and suppressed the urge to fling his phone out the window when he saw his entire morning would be filled with Economics 300 and Business Negotiations II. 

Screw it, he'd just sleep through those. He could scrape a C no matter what he did, and Cs got degrees.

In the afternoon he had -- ugh, he'd forgotten that mandatory pet testing was today. It was required each year from everyone between the ages of sixteen and twenty-four, designed to make sure the pets occurring naturally in the human population were found and given appropriate treatment. It was, of course, trivially easy to pass if you were a person, but it was over three hours long and insanely dull.

Max had always passed with flying colors, of course. It was ludicrous to even test the heir and scion of the Parkington Corporation, as if he could be a pet, but it was federal law and apparently not possible to buy his way out of it. 

His little brother, the obnoxiously hardworking golden child who could do no wrong in their mother's eyes, had passed his first pet test just last week, and of course their mother had thrown a disproportionate celebration. Max never got a cake and presents for something as silly as passing a pet test, that was for sure, but darling little Robbie was a genius no matter what he did.

Like it was so hard to prove that you're human.

A soft noise stirred Max out of his thoughts. Scout was looking up at him with a concerned expression. "It's all right, boy," Max soothed, running his fingers through his pet's silky hair. "Just gonna be a crap day. You don't have anything to worry about."

The car pulled up to the main building of McKinnon University, just a few blocks away from the Parkington Building her family had donated a few generations back. Fifteen minutes and one purchase of an enormous latte later, Max was dropping off Scout at one of the university's pet lounges. Pets weren't allowed in educational settings, of course, as too much mental stimulation was bad for them. It was a shame, as Max always found it easier to focus with Scout curled at his feet.

"Be a good boy, Scout," he said, ruffling its hair and handing it its favorite plush cow. "I'll be back soon."

Scout leaned into the touch with a dazed smile on its face. Its morning pills always made it drowsy, so Max knew it'd probably sleep most of the morning. They could go out for a walk in the park once Max was done with classes and his test, maybe play some frisbee, get some exercise.

With no small reluctance, Max left his pet behind and trudged to the lecture hall, ignoring the dirty look from the professor as he took his seat ten minutes late.

The classes seemed to drag on forever, as Max floated in and out of sleep, only catching bits and pieces of his professor's droning and powerpoint presentations before his eyes slid shut again. It didn't matter, none of this mattered. His parents' company was mostly run by the board anyway. He'd just let them handle all that shit while he built his fashion empire, his haute couture gracing celebrities at the Met Gala. Clothes that would make waves, clothes that would make people smile, clothes that would make people look good and feel good. What was even the point of being young and rich if he couldn't have fun?

Finally, Max was released from his last morning class, having learned precisely nothing. He had enough time to grab a bite to eat before the pet test, so he picked up Scout from the pet lounge and headed to a campus cafe that made a great quinoa bowl. He needed the protein and greens if he was gonna stay focused during the godawful pet test. 

Since he had a few quiet moments to himself, he pulled out his sketchbook and began drawing out some ideas for a portfolio. Seeing the pet lounge this morning had got him thinking of comfortable and basic looks -- oversized sweaters, leggings, pastels, messy bedhead. Maybe a touch of academia, too, with chunky glasses and pleated skirts. One good thing about campus was that there was never a shortage of people and clothes to draw.

"Hey, Maxie!" Nathan was calling him from clear across the quad, his voice almost as loud as his jacket. He was, unfortunately, one of Max's closest friends since grade school, as their families lived in the same area and they went to the same vacation spots a lot. "Nice outfit. Love the colors."

"Thanks. Love the tiger print."

Nathan laughed. "You hate it, don't even pretend you don't. Hey, Scout." He knelt down to the pet's level as Scout nuzzled against him. "Want some chocolate, boy?"

"Hey, don't feed my pet human food. It's not good for it."

"A little chocolate's not gonna kill it. It's not a dog, you know." Nathan plopped in the chair across from Max as Scout happily munched the chocolate bar. "Whatcha drawing?" He pulled Max's sketchbook from his hands without warning. "Oh, nice. She looks awfully cozy for a stick-thin supermodel."

"That's the idea," said Max, taking his sketchbook back. "I was thinking of the aesthetics behind places like pet lounges and schools and --"

"Excuse me, can I have a moment of your time, please?"

They looked up to see a student with mouse-brown hair and wardrobe to match, clutching a sky-blue clipboard. Max groaned inwardly. A fucking survey or petition or some crap.

"Um, I'm with the Student Ethics for Pets Association..."

Of course it was SEPA. They infested the campus year-round, but they were always out in full force when there was a pet-related event, like the mandatory testing or the annual Pet Festival. 

"I'm not interested," said Max. He agreed with the ethical treatment of pets, obviously, and if that was what SEPA was about, he'd be all for it. But they weren't just against mistreatment of pets, they were against pets entirely, even going so far as to claim that some pets were humans who had been unfairly forced into pet facilities.

"Most pet owners mean well, but they don't know the realities of the cruel tactics facilities use to train pets," she said, trying to push a pamphlet at Max. "Dangerous drug cocktails that result in intelligence and memory loss, brainwashing devices to ensure compliance, restraints that cause permanent joint damage..."

Max couldn't help his blood starting to boil. "I don't know where you think I got my pet from, but it wasn't some cheap pet mill in the slums that tortures pets. Scout lives better than I do. Does it look mistreated to you?" 

"That's not the only problem with pet ownership. There's also the mandatory pet tests. How do we know that people aren't getting caught up in the inhumane pet treatments due to a flawed test?"

"Yeah, right. The pet test is super easy to pass if you're not a pet." Down by his feet, Scout was pressing against his legs, clearly stressed and whimpering. If this kept up, he'd have to Tag Scout, and he hated to do it. "For someone who cares about pet ethics, you sure don't care that you're upsetting my pet."

"All I'm saying is --"

"All I'm saying is get the hell out of here with your propaganda and leave me alone."

"Fine, I can take a hint," she said, turning on her heel and flouncing away. 

Max scowled after her. SEPA was such a ridiculous organization. They would try to reel students in with reasonable-sounding arguments about saving abused pets and then start with their radical bullshit. It happened to gullible students all the time, and they'd go and look like idiots chaining themselves to pet training facilities and showrooms. "Friggin' ridiculous," he said, looking over at Nathan, who was watching the girl leave. "Nathan?"

"Huh? What'd you say?"

"Nathan, you don't actually believe any of that, do you?"

"What, SEPA stuff? Nah, not really," said Nathan, taking a long drink of his soda. "But don't you ever think about it?"

"Think about what?"

"What if the test is wrong sometimes? What if actual people get carted away to some pet facility and treated like a pet?" he said. "Wasn't there that girl who got taken from here a couple years back...?"

"Oh yeah, Victoria... Victoria what's-her-face. Her dad owned some tech startup, right, and it tanked after his daughter turned out to be a pet. That's gotta be super embarrassing for her family."

"Yeah, but... what if it's actually wrong sometimes?"

"You're not seriously worried that you're gonna fail the pet test, are you?" Max laughed. "C'mon, that doesn't happen. That pet probably knew deep down what it was. It was just pretending to be human 'cause it was afraid of getting caught. That's why they need the training and stuff, right?"

"I guess," said Nathan.

"Scout failed its test when it was my age, too," he said. "But, like, it was obviously failing out of college, getting super stressed all the time, crying in class... because it's hard for pets to pretend to be human. Don't you think the other way would be messed up, too, if we forced pets to just pretend to be human forever?"

"Yeah, that would be pretty messed up. They wouldn't be happy like that. I just don't like having to take this stupid test every year."

"Only a couple more years for us and we'll be done with it." Max's phone alarm went off. "Oh damn, we'd better get going if we're going to make it to the test on time. I don't wanna have to take the makeup test." They stood up, but Scout remained on the ground, curled up into a ball and whining. "Scout?"

"Is it okay?"

"It's upset 'cause of that crazy girl from SEPA. You can go on ahead, I've gotta get Scout calmed down," he said. 

"Alright. Good luck on the test." 

"Yeah, you too," he said, as though they needed it. He crouched down to eye level with his pet. "Hey, Scout, what's the matter?"

Scout flinched, shrinking away from Max. That was really strange. He hadn't acted like that with anyone but Max's dad.

"You gotta relax, boy. It's okay. I'm not gonna let some SEPA person liberate you or whatever," he said. "They let pets in the test room, but only if you can be calm. If you can't calm down, I'll have to Tag you."

Max should've know that would only upset Scout more. Scout backed away as best as it could, pulling at the leash, starting to actually cry. Shit. He couldn't leave Scout at the pet lounge like this, either. He didn't have a choice.

"All right, then, Scout, kneel."

Scout shook its head rapidly. "No," it said, almost too quietly to hear.

"C'mon, don't be like that. This is for your own good. Kneel."

It knelt down in front of Max, still teary and whimpering, as Max fished a Tag out of his bag. They were little disposable things that you clipped to a pet's neck that made them real quiet and docile for a few hours, perfect for calming agitated pets. They were also good for situations like vet visits and long flights, since it made the pet unable to form clear memories. Max bet the SEPA girl thought Tags were abusive, too, even though they were literally to help pets not be traumatized. Max normally tried to avoid Tagging Scout much, since he liked his pet to be active and happy.

Scout shut its eyes and bent over slightly so that Max could attach the Tag, a forlorn look on its face as he pressed the little disc just over its spine. "There you go, boy. See, that's not so bad, is it?" He pet Scout gently as the Tag's effects kicked in, its expression going glassy and vacant, a dazed smile replacing its earlier distress.  "C'mon, we gotta get going or we're going to be late."

Max was glad he had resorted to Tagging Scout when the pet curled up safely under his feet in the testing room. It wasn't that Max was nervous about the pet test, but it was boring as hell, and having Scout there helped him focus.

A big portion of it was just a bunch of bullshit psychological questions, which Max breezed through without thinking about them. Then there were questions about current events, word puzzles, a bunch of really weird abstract stuff... but obviously Max was human, so he was sure that his answers must be the right ones. He'd definitely know if he were a pet.

Finally, the test was over, and the entire auditorium of people had to be held there while the tests were scored electronically, so that they could take any pets aside. Max whipped out his phone and fully absorbed himself in his feeds.

"Mr. Parkington."

"Huh?" He looked up to see the test proctor standing by his desk. "Hey, yeah, what's up? Was there a problem with my test or something?"

"Could you come with us, please?" The proctor gestured at the exit door.

"What...?" No, it couldn't be. He couldn't have failed. There was probably some kind of mistake with his form or the grading machine. "Is there a problem?"

"There's no problem," she said curtly. "We just need you to come with us to discuss your test."

Max glanced around the auditorium. Everyone was staring at him, and not in the way he preferred. Well, no wonder. The stupid goddamn proctor was making it sound like he failed his pet test, in front of half the campus. He'd never live this down. "So was my test form unreadable or something...?" he said, hoping to salvage the situation.

She was implacable. "You need to come with us, Mr. Parkington."

He groaned, fighting down the urge to cause an even bigger scene. The people around him were already chattering about it. His parents were going to be absolutely furious about the rumors that would fly, as though it were his fault. They'd sue the school, no doubt, but by then it'd be too late. Goddamn it.

"Fine, let's get this over with. C'mon, Scout." He chucked his phone into his bag and picked it up, tugging Scout's leash. It seemed nervous, resisting a bit, even though there was no way the Tag could've worn off yet, but it followed Max out of the room just the same. They were led out of the auditorium and into a small side office, where there were a couple of cops from the Federal Pet Agency waiting, the ones who had supervised the test taking.

"We have good news for you, Mr. Parkington," said the proctor, taking up a seat behind a metal desk. 

"Good news? What kind of good news could --"

"Your pet test returned positive."

"What? That's it? You humiliated me in front of everyone to tell me that I passed? No shit, of course I'm a person."

The two agents glanced at each other.

"No, Mr. Parkington, I don't think you understand. I mean that we have positively identified you as a pet. You will no longer be required to act as a human, and your treatments can start today." Her smile didn't reach her eyes. "Isn't that good news?"

"...What?" Max felt as though the floor was dropping out from under him. "What the hell? What are you even talking about?"

"Your treatment can start right away, so if you'll just go with these agents --"

"What the fuck?!" he said, no longer caring about making a scene. Scout whimpered at his feet. "What the fuck are you talking about? Is this a prank? Is this some kind of viral stunt? Because I will definitely sue you to have the video taken down."

"It isn't a prank, and there is no video recording. Your test results are very clear cut."

"The hell they are! I've taken my test every year and I've never failed."

"I'm afraid you're mistaken about that."

"What do you mean by that?"

The proctor sighed and slapped a thick manila envelope onto the desk. "Your previous tests -- your real ones. Each one clearly showing that you are a pet."

"That's impossible! Then why --"

"There's a little known federal program that allows test results to be... deferred."

Max's stomach clenched. "Deferred?"

"It's an expensive option, and not widely publicized, but it allows families to suppress undesirable results for a year, while they get things in order," she said. "In your case, your family spent a great deal of money for seven years to delay the inevitable. However, this year they did not enroll in the program, so this is your final test result."

"No. No, that's not -- you're lying! You're making that up. There's no way. There's no way I failed any pet test, or that my parents paid money to cover it up. No way."

"It's all right," she said in a sickeningly condescending tone. "I know this must be very confusing, and that you've obviously been suffering without your necessary treatment for so long..."

"I'm not suffering!" He slammed his hands on the desk. The agents stepped closer, but the proctor was unfazed.

"Your grades in everything but your fashion drawing classes are --"

"I am not suffering because I'm bad at the business classes my dad forced on me!" Burning with frustration, humiliation, and a growing ember of dread, Max pulled his phone out of his pocket. "Actually, I'm going to call my dad right now. He'll put an end to this."

He was somewhat surprised that no one in the room stopped him from using his phone, until he turned it on and found no signal. "What the -- c'mon, you stupid thing --"

"Your phone service has been terminated," the proctor said. "Your parents have already been contacted by our team. They have been aware of this possibility and have made prior arrangements for you."

"No." Max's throat felt dry and his arms heavy as he dropped the phone. "There's no way. Even my asshole dad wouldn't let me be taken as a pet. I'm the heir --"

Wait.

The realization hit Max with the force of a semi-truck. The heir to Parkington Corporation. With Max out of the way, no longer a person, that heir would be --

His brother. His golden brother Robbie who could never do wrong. If they suffered the temporary humiliation of letting Max be hauled away as a pet, Robbie would be their only child. It wasn't just a matter of writing Max out of the will -- they wanted their un-favorite son to be out of the picture permanently.

Would they really go that far? The serious-looking proctors and agents in the room were a strong indication that they would.

And for the first time, Max felt true fear. This might not be a prank or a misunderstanding or an inconvenience. He might not be able to call his lawyers or his family to get him out of trouble. Even if it was a mistake, if he let them get their hands on him and process him as a pet... could you even come back from that? Wouldn't it be too late?

"I'm not going to let you take me anywhere," he said, inching towards the door. "I'll go borrow a phone and call my lawyer."

One of the agents immediately moved to block the door, unsurprisingly, as the proctor stood up. "As I was saying, your parents were aware of this possibility and have made prior arrangements for you."

"What arrangements?"

"You're going to be sent to the finest pet treatment facility on the Eastern seaboard, one that produces only high-end luxury pets. You're very fortunate."

Max swallowed hard. That sounded like the facility where they had purchased Scout for him. The thought of going through the same treatment as Scout...

That's when he realized that Scout was no longer at his feet. Instead, it was kneeling in front of one of the agents, having its head scratched. "Aww, who's a good boy?" he said. "It's you! Yes, you are..."

"Hey, Scout, what are you doing? Get away from him!"

Scout didn't even respond to him. 

"Don't worry about Scout. We're going to send it to the same facility where we're sending you, for retraining and rehoming. It's a very good pet and I'm sure it'll find an excellent new home."

Scout had been custom trained to Max's childhood tastes. They had grown up together, inseparable. And now Scout was going to have its memories of him wiped, ready to be sent to a new owner...

And he was next.

"Scout. Scout, c'mon," Max pleaded, desperation in his voice. "You're not going with them. You're going with me. C'mon, Scout."

Scout had always been the most docile and agreeable of pets, always listening to Max, following at his heels and coming at his beck and call. And yet now it steadfastly ignored Max as though he were not there.

"Scout!" Max didn't want to go near the agents, so he stood a few feet away from his pet. "Scout, listen!"

Finally, Scout turned and looked at him. It opened its mouth, then closed it again. Finally, it smiled. It wasn't the vacant smile from being Tagged or the excited smile when they went out together or the sleepy smile it had going to bed at night. No, this smile seemed almost... malicious.

"I hope we can play together when you've been trained," Scout said.

Max felt the world spinning around him. Even his pet thought he was a pet. This couldn't be happening, it couldn't.

An agent was approaching him in his daze. "Now be a good boy and come with us."

"No!" He jerked away from the agent's hand. He had to get out of here. He couldn't let them take him. He had to escape, find someone who understood. Maybe that crazy girl from SEPA. Maybe...

"You'll feel so much better once you've been treated," said the agent on the other side of him. "Don't resist."

"Like hell!" Max pulled his arm free of the agent's grasp and tried to barge between them, only to be met with sturdy arms knocking him backwards. While physically fit, he was no fighter and no match for two highly trained federal agents. In a minute he was been forced to his knees with his arms pinned behind his back, restrained. "Let me go!" he screamed as he thrashed. "Let me go right now!"

"The pet is resisting. It'll need to be Tagged," said one agent to the other, who nodded and pulled out an all-too-familiar flat black disc.

"No! No, don't! It's illegal to Tag a person!" said Max, knowing it was futile. 

"This is for your own good." One agent held him down as the other attached the tag. He could feel the cool plastic against his skin and the bite of small needles piercing his skin, a cool and numb sensation as the Tag took hold.

The world blurred around him as a kind of dazed drowsiness took hold of his body. "No... it's not..." he slurred.

His head lolled to the side as the agents hauled him up between them, keeping a firm grip on his arms. A distant part of him still wanted to put up a fight, but he felt so far away... so out of it... so strangely calm and peaceful. He blinked, and he was already out in the hallway. The agents were shooing away the students who tried to crowd around them and shove phones in his face. This was going to be all over social media. His parents would be so mad...

...no, they wouldn't. They knew this was going to happen. There was no one coming to rescue him, not even his dad's money. Max tipped his head forward and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to avoid the crowd's gaze.

"Maxie? Maxie, what the hell? What the hell, man?" said a familiar loud voice. 

"Nathan...?" He could just pick out Nathan's loud jacket in the crowd. "Help..." he said feebly. "I'm not a pet... tell them..."

"Holy shit." Nathan was rooted to the spot. He didn't seem to be moving to help Max at all as he was dragged away.

"Nathan...!"

Nathan pulled out his phone, took a picture, and then disappeared into the crowd.

The agents dragged him through the double glass doors of the auditorium to a black van waiting in the parking lot. Max couldn't find it in him to put up any resistance as he was loaded into the back seat and the doors were closed and locked. His head hit the window as he looked out at his college campus for possibly the last time. 

It felt so unreal. It still felt like something that couldn't possibly be happening to him.

Would he really be turned into a pet...?

No... they'd figure out he was a person before it was too late. They had to.

[cacti-are-like-flamingos]

Softcore

Gojo Satoru x Reader x Geto Suguru

The Cursed Trio | Artificial Paradise

**Finally finishing up Uni forever --- well, until I decide what to do my Master's on. About to go hard on finals so wish me luck on that. I'm so sorry for the wait!

...

It's been a while since you've had a chance to catch your breath from all the messed-up stuff swirling around in your everyday jujutsu life. A week has passed since that little... "moment" back on Halloween.

Honestly, it was supposed to be a good, vulnerable moment between the three of you — something that should've solidified your bond. But, you can't shake this sense of shame.

Shame for multiple reasons, but the main one is that, for some reason, you feel ashamed for feeling the way you did. For expressing yourself the way you did. That vulnerability you felt in Gojo's arms, watching as Suguru took his own swig from the sake bottle — it frustrated you to no end. Why did you feel so awful just being in the moment? In a way, you felt humiliated for being so raw with others. But at the same time, you argued with yourself that what you did was okay. Of course, you have the right to expression — a right to sensation, a right to feeling.

Yet, you can't help but want to shove that night into the background so those feelings won't sting anymore. Whatever you felt, it's confusing to say the least.

Despite the inner turmoil, you pushed through — the best you could manage for the moment was to shove those feelings aside. Because, let's face it, if you indulged in those thoughts, you'd likely end up diving headfirst into a sea of emotions, drowning in them until it seemed like you'd never felt anything else.

Fortunately, today just so happens to be one of the best distractions imaginable.

It's Ieiri's birthday.

If it weren't for Utahime creating a group chat just for the birthday party, you wouldn't have even known it was Ieiri's birthday.

Originally, Ieiri wasn't keen on doing anything special for her birthday, leaning towards a chill day at the park with some convenience store snacks and her favorite pack of cigarettes. But Utahime insisted, emphasizing that her little kouhei deserved a proper celebration. So, everyone tossed in their own ideas — mainly you, Mei Mei, Utahime, Haibara, and Kento.

Utahime was all about a shopping spree, Mei Mei favored an amusement park, Haibara suggested a classic dinner at a restaurant, and surprisingly, Kento threw in the idea of a night out in Shibuya. Gojo and Suguru were predictably useless; Gojo with his absurd ideas, and Suguru just going with the flow.

Honestly, you didn't pitch in any ideas either. You thought Ieiri's original plan was pretty nice. It felt more intimate than the traditional options. Nevertheless, the idea of hitting Shibuya and diving into the nightlife gained popularity in the group, especially when Gojo realized he could easily charm some pretty girls at the club.

And thus, the steps to heading out to Shibuya began.

Getting Ready

Just like the chaos of preparing for the waterpark months ago, getting ready this time was an absolute mess among the three of you. Especially when Ieiri asked you to help with her makeup — not gonna lie, you had to watch a few YouTube videos just to figure out what the hell to do.

You and Ieiri rushed to the nearest makeup store, searching for budget-friendly brands so you could assist her.

Side note: Ieiri only had the essentials like mascara and lip gloss, but considering it was a night out in one of Japan's busiest areas, she decided to go big with it.

Then there were Suguru and Gojo, bickering about what outfits to wear since they wanted to either match or at least have complementary outfits. This whole matching outfit thing started a few months back when you and Gojo unintentionally showed up with nearly identical outfits, sparking teasing from Suguru and Ieiri. After that, it became a quirky routine to find something that coordinated with the others' clothes.

Side note: Another factor was that each of you had a habit of raiding each other's closets, especially Suguru's, given his penchant for oversized clothing. His wardrobe was practically a hot commodity within your little trio.

The dorm rooms in disarray, small piles of clothes scattered in the hallways from Gojo tossing everything out of his closet, forgetting his door is wide open. Suguru shuttling back and forth between his room and yours, showcasing outfits for judgment, only to grumble and search for another when either you or Ieiri vetoes the look. You, attempting a YouTube tutorial while applying budget foundation on Ieiri's face, accidentally smearing some on the lollipop stick she's perpetually chewing on. The floor becomes a makeup disaster zone as you holler for Gojo to fetch you an outfit from your closet. He barges in, tiptoeing around you, eyeing how you're doing Ieiri's makeup, and can't resist making a comment. Suguru peeks in, curious about the commotion.

Cut to the climax — Gojo and Suguru literally shoving you aside as Gojo grabs the setting powder, tapping it onto the birthday girl's skin, while Suguru crouches beside them, offering ideas for eyeshadow styles and more. Meanwhile, you're rolling your eyes and grappling with the decision of what to wear.

Ah, don't forget the music. Every room has its own soundtrack as everyone gears up individually — each of you with your dedicated playlist for getting ready. Honestly, it's as chaotic as it gets, especially when Yaga storms down, hollering for all of you to clean up the mess while sneakily appreciating Gojo's makeup on Ieiri.

You and Suguru linger in the background, tossing all of Gojo's clothes into the closet without bothering much about hangers and such. That's a problem for future him.

Curious about what Kento and Haibara are up to as they get ready for the night? Well, Kento is bombarding your phone with pictures of potential outfits he's considering. In the background of these photos, you can spot Haibara making faces and waving at you. Midway through this whole ordeal, he even gave you a call. During the conversation, not many words were exchanged; instead, you both used each other's sounds as a sort of background noise while putting on your outfits, only to take them off and start the process anew.

Every now and then, you'd catch Haibara screaming something in the background — usually about not being able to find his favorite socks or some such. Kento, in response, would grumble under his breath before directing him to the last place he saw the elusive socks.

Before long, Mei Mei and Utahime reached the school gates. Yaga guided them to the dorm rooms, and the three of them observed the chaos unfolding with all four of you (Kento and Haibara were on the other side) scrambling around to gather the rest of your stuff.

Gojo was putting the finishing touches on Ieiri's makeup while she tidied up her room. Suguru haphazardly tossed the remainder of his clothes onto his bed, and you dashed to your room with Kento still chatting in your ear while you struggled to put on your shoes. Meanwhile, Utahime was yelling at all of you for leaving such a mess, and Mei Mei chuckled under her breath, commenting on how cute it was that Gojo knew how to do makeup.

On a side note, you had Gojo's glasses, so you had to sidle over to him as he touched up Ieiri's lipstick, all the while putting the glasses on his own face, with Mei Mei cooing in the background.

On the way to Shibuya

The trip to Shibuya isn't long, but as your little group sprints onto the train, time seems to speed up with everyone bickering and bantering. Mei Mei and Gojo are doing their usual banter dance, sprinkled with a few flirty comments here and there. Suguru is engrossed in a deep conversation with Kento near the window, while Ieiri and Utahime chat animatedly with each other.

Haibara is trying to strike up a conversation with you, but for the life of you, you can't seem to respond. It's as if your thoughts are shrouded in a fog. You feel like you're not entirely present, but you desperately want to be—your gaze seemingly lost in space, unfocused.

Before you know it, a warm sensation envelops your hand, grounding you back to reality. Haibara is leaning over you, a slightly concerned expression on his face as he quietly asks if you're alright.

"Are you alright? You seem... off." Blinking away the remnants of your brain fog, you manage a nod and respond with a quick, "Yeah, just, uh, spaced out a bit."

Haibara frowns, "You've been doing that a lot. Did something happen?"

Internally, you think, "What didn't happen?"

Trying to suppress an eye roll at his concern becomes an act of frustration. Why would you do that when it's perfectly fine for him to express concern? After all, he cares about you.

Stop being a fucking bitch.

With a slight, disarming smile, you shrug. "I'm just going through one of those moments—it'll pass eventually. So no need to worry about it." He doesn't seem entirely convinced, but then again, he knows better than to push you for an answer.

You've always been like a brick wall, unyielding and towering. Just when something manages to climb, they only catch a glimpse of the other side before more bricks are piled on, obstructing their view.

With a soft hum, Haibara settles back into the seat beside yours, sinking into his chair before resting his head on your shoulder. He traces small circles on the back of your hand as you attempt to steady your breathing.

Side Note: Kento and Suguru were actually brainstorming ways to cheat on the upcoming exam. The two of them were seriously fried from all the missions, studying, and non-stop testing. Kento floated the idea, and Suguru ran with it. Right now, they're thinking of scribbling the answers on the inside of their collars — they figure it's a safe bet since they've got a solid track record as studious guys.

The Shibuya Scene

It didn't take long before you could sense yourself distancing from your more negative emotions—or, in reality, the closer you got to Shibuya, you pushed yourself to catch the group's infectious energy. You let it flow through you, sweeping all your thoughts, worries, and insecurities to the back of your mind. The bustling crowds on the train, everyone dressed up for the night ahead, helped in the process.

For the first time that day, you could finally breathe as you jumped to your feet, pulling Haibara along with you.

Dragging Haibara along, you hustled over to Suguru, who had kindly volunteered to be the backpack carrier for everyone's stuff. You held the bag for him while he got up from his seat, with Kento standing behind you, attempting to steady a very dizzy and giggling Haibara who quipped, "Well, you bounced back up pretty quick."

If only he knew.

Your initial mission was to grab some food because, for some reason, none of you felt particularly hungry before heading out. But the moment those train doors swung open, Gojo started complaining about how famished he was. He slung his arm over Kento, who was visibly irritated by the gesture. His blonde eyebrows twitched as he attempted to shove the clingy Gojo off.

You stumbled upon this quaint spot called Zuicho—a bit hidden and surprisingly small. Only eight seats were available, but luck was on your side as most of the patrons had left, leaving 7 out of the 8 seats open. The restaurant specialized in katsudon, and despite the limited menu, the reviews were solid, so the group decided, "Why not?" Kento generously offered Ieiri the last available seat while he opted to eat standing, patiently waiting for the lingering customer to vacate the spot.

One stern look from Mei Mei, and the man occupying the final chair hastily scurried away, bowl in hand. This prompted the restaurant staff to shout and chase after the fleeing diner. Surprisingly, Gojo footed the bill for the pilfered bowl, nonchalantly waving his little black card around as if it were of no value whatsoever.

Upon arriving at Shibuya Cross, Mei Mei, accompanied by an exuberant Haibara, suggests the idea of a group picture. Mainly, Mei Mei seizes the opportunity to stand closer to Gojo as everyone finds their spots, enlisting a stranger with tinted glasses to take the photo – another young foreigner, much like yourself. Eventually, the group naturally disperses, exploring the area. Though not old enough for the clubs, curiosity propels your little groups through the bustling streets.

Gojo ends up pulling Suguru toward a group of admiring girls, while Mei Mei attempts conversation with the relatively unresponsive Kento, who keeps an eye on you and Haibara. The two of you are engrossed in a debate over whether to spend money at an intriguing kiosk. Utahime and Ieiri have vanished, likely off seeking possible group activities.

Side note: Utahime brings out a pink sash and a tiara both proclaiming "birthday girl," draping them over Ieiri. Ieiri nearly lunges at Gojo when he manages to snap a photo of her unawares. You and Utahime have to hold her back while Suguru gives Gojo a smack on the back of the head amid his maniacal laughter.

Add-On: Gojo slyly managed to shoot the picture over to Suguru, who sneakily checked it out after Gojo deleted the photo on his phone right in front of Ieiri. Suguru decided to hold onto it, a mischievous grin playing on his face as he and Gojo exchanged a knowing glance.

A while after the photo, something neon catches your eye. Next thing you know, Utahime and Haibara are jumping up and down, excitedly yelling about Mario Kart cars that can be rented out along with onesies.

Suddenly, Utahime is hollering at Kento to find the location on his phone, simultaneously giving his collar a playful tug. Ieiri is genuinely pumped as the gang heads over to Street Kart Shibuya — then comes the dilemma of deciding who gets to rock which onesie. And let me tell you, that turned into a full-blown war. Suguru claimed Pikachu, Gojo insisted on Stitch, Mei Mei initially resisted the whole costume thing but eventually caved, opting for a low-key Mario. Ieiri went with the timeless Winnie the Pooh, Utahime snagged Kirby, Kento happily nabbed Luigi (much to Mei Mei's satisfaction), Haibara transformed into Bowser, and you, my friend, embraced your inner Ninja Turtle.

You all cruised through the streets like there was no tomorrow. Surprisingly, Gojo was the picture of safe driving, while Suguru embraced a bit more recklessness, a wild grin on his face as he zoomed by most of the group. Utahime was hot on his heels, having challenged him to a small race.

Meanwhile, Kento kept to the rear with Mei Mei and you, the three of you just chilling. In the meantime, Ieiri and Haibara engaged in a conversation, shouting over the roar of their engines.

Side Note: Gojo had brought a speaker along, handing it to Kento to carry along with Ieiri's iPod. This way, he could blast her favorite tunes as the group navigated the crowded streets of Shibuya. Pedestrians, mostly spirited and slightly tipsy, cheered and danced on the sidewalks, as they listened to the songs.

It's a miracle none of you crashed.

Side Note: Since none of you could really get into the nightclubs, you ended up just standing outside, huddled together, grooving a bit to the music. You chatted among yourselves while Gojo and Haibara grabbed sodas and snacks from the nearest convenience store, bags swinging from their arms as they passed the drinks around.

Add-On: Ieiri managed to snag a cigarette from a tipsy guy loitering outside the club, and you lit it up for her. Suguru nearly lost his shit when he caught you lighting up Ieiri's cigarette; he assumed you smoked too, and he was this close to giving you a smack for it.

By the end of the night, Utahime and Mei Mei hopped on the train back to Kyoto, catching it before they shut down for the night. Unfortunately, despite Kento's repeated reminders, the rest of you forgot. By the time you reached the station, it had already closed. So, everyone had to trek back to Jujutsu High on foot.

As you stroll along, Ieiri sticks close, a smile playing on her lips as she chuckles at something Haibara said, her fingers briefly brushing against yours. For a moment, you savor the warmth of her touch before sliding your hands into your hoodie pockets. You notice a slight dimming in her eyes, prompting you to remedy it by awkwardly resting your head on her shoulder as you all continue walking, muttering something about how Haibara can be pretty dumb.

Side Note: The speaker has run out of battery by now, so Suguru has Ieiri's iPod in his pocket, playing some random song at a low volume. It serves as background music, adding to the vibe of the stroll.

You can't recall how the night wrapped up — one moment, you're relishing the crisp night air while Gojo and Kento go back and forth, the other two idiots snickering in the background. Then suddenly, you find yourself sprawled on your bed, still decked out in the same clothes from the night out, silently gazing up at the blank expanse of your room's white ceiling.

Your eyes fixate on a piece of paper you taped up there ages ago, its gold lettering shimmering in the ambient lighting. A whirlwind of thoughts swirls through your mind, yet none quite break the surface. For a moment, you exist in the fabric of time, quietly tuning in to Suguru's thunderous snores echoing from the next room.

Suddenly, a text pinged on your phone. You knew instantly who the sender was as you groaned in annoyance and frustration. Crawling to your phone, which had been charging on the nightstand just above your head, you squinted your eyes at the brightness of the screen as you read the message.

Gakuganji

Meeting. End of the month.

You almost wanted to throw a fit as a bubble of dread filled your being. Shutting the phone off, you tossed it to the side before flopping back onto your bed. Red-tinged eyes stared up, once again, at the ceiling.

You never knew an object could also have a fuzzy outline

...

Song Inspo: xanny - Billie Eilish

(A/N):

Oct 22 - Is this like a filler episode? Yes, yes it is. I just wanted some fluff and what better way than with a little Birthday special? 🎆

Nov 14 - Ha, nah. Also, I'm currently obsessed with Megan Thee Stallions new song Cobra.

Originally:

This episode was supposed to be more light-hearted, but once I started typing, your character just took on a life of its own.

At first, Gojo was set on being Pikachu and Suguru, Stitch. However, when I considered the vibes and personas of those characters (admittedly, I don't know much about them), I recalled that Stitch was hella sassy, while Pikachu was pretty mellow. So, it just felt right to pair them up with their corresponding characters.

Originally, Suguru was supposed to drive recklessly, offering a glimpse into his deteriorating mental state and potentially hinting at suicidal tendencies. However, I added a playful dynamic between Utahime and him for a lighter touch, though it can still be interpreted differently.

I didn't plan to wrap up this episode the way I did, but it struck me as a fitting method of foreshadowing.

Gojo caught on to your spaced-out moment on the train, his black-tinted glasses shielding the fact from everyone else. But, his eyes were locked onto you the entire time.

It's one of my shorter episodes, yet it delves into the emotional turmoil your character seems to be constantly navigating, even in situations where it shouldn't be the case, like this relatively peaceful episode. It just goes to show that even when everything seems all right, it really isn't.

Kento took into account Ieiri's personality and preferences, which is why he suggested a simple night out in one of the busiest places in Japan.

Contrary to expectations, Gojo didn't go to flirt with pretty girls. In truth, he just wanted to stay with you and Suguru as a way to compensate for all the isolation he felt.

The act of denying yourself the simple touch of Ieiri's hand holds a deeper meaning; it's a symbol of rejecting affection, perceiving it as a potential threat to your own being. It also mirrors your reluctance to allow her into your personal space. Yet, in your attempt to spare her sorrow, you seek alternative paths. However, this action is also symbolic of your manipulative tendencies. On one side, you're indifferent to the possibility of causing her pain, yet on the other, you strive to maintain a facade of camaraderie. It's a double-edged blade, where the latter is the subtler but significant edge.

Usually, when someone puts something on the ceiling, it's often a way to convey that the person attaches some hope or sentiment to the object. It's like they're looking forward to it or, at the very least, it holds strong sentimental value.

The piece of paper taped to the ceiling is a direct reference to a previous episode. Did you ever figure out to whom the card belonged? And why is it taped to the ceiling?

A meeting at the end of the month? What's that about?

Yet, the lingering question persists: What exactly is your relationship with Gakuganji?

...

Drop a comment!

Feel free to donate me a🦩

Hope you enjoyed!

[gofancyninjaworld]

No one is born knowing how to communicate

A: And that's okay...

Dr Kuseno made it look so easy. He just swanned into Saitama's apartment, proferred him a gift of beef and the hero's hostility melted away.

Fubuki felt positively foolish, and yet encouraged.

Since then, however, she's found that the only thing meat bribes pull in are dogs. Literal dogs:

And even dogs need more than meat to be loyal.

What gives? Well, it's obvious that Fubuki mistook Dr Kuseno's gift for a bribe: more on that later. Probably. And yeah, it's funny, but it's more interesting than that.

Learning how to communicate is complex. There are a ludicrous number of unspoken conventions and rules in every human society, so much so that we don't fully learn how to smile socially until we're in our forties. Dr Kuseno carefully judged his gift: he had a legitimate reason to offer Saitama a gift in the first place, out of gratitude for Saitama going out of his way to mentor Genos. Then he chose a gift Saitama would be sure to appreciate and presented it at a time when Saitama would be thinking about dinner. The worst that could have happened is that Saitama took the gift but insisted on the doctor going home (and taking Genos with him) -- it would still have left the desired positive impression. And things went really well. Kuseno made it look effortless.

Fubuki is only in her early twenties and her experience to date has been far from typical. She's learned that either she can intimidate people or she can flatter them into doing what she wants. With Saitama (and later Bang, Bomb, and Kuseno), she has to learn how to talk to more powerful people whom she cannot overpower, over whom she has no leverage, and who are unimpressed by her looks, simpering, or flattery.

Fortunately, Fubuki is nothing if not astute. She's worked out that she needs to develop complementary skills if she's to make herself useful to the S-Class heroes she wants to hang with. How to talk to them to get the help and cooperation she desires? Ah, that's a work in progress.

B: ...Unless it's not

Let's move onto another miscommunication.

Something that I hadn't before was that, unlike the webcomic version where Saitama only thinks to himself that Genos seems depressed, in the manga, Saitama out and out asks him if this is the case. He wants to know.

It mirrors King asking Saitama that very same question and getting Saitama to open up and be vulnerable for the first time (ever, in any version of the story). So it is very appropriate to see Saitama trying to do the same for Genos, particularly as he is openly fond of the guy.

However, it goes wrong. Saitama feels himself under pressure to say something wise to make it better. So he puts on his best 'confident' face and inadvertently makes everything much worse. Oh dear. What makes this particularly painful in the manga is that Saitama is much more invested in trying to reach Genos, and it's made Genos think that Saitama saying that he doesn't see what he's doing must mean that earlier times when he's praised him must have been just Saitama being nice. For sure, Genos could have pushed back and made Saitama clarify what he meant, but he's even worse at communicating: and Saitama's glib remark about being bright struck him square in the insecurities.

I'm going to come to something that I only realised once I started typing this up. Even though I've pointed out their abilities to communicate, neither King nor Kuseno have the perfect words to say. Kuseno started out by first committing a faux pas in bringing his great big outside boots into Saitama's flat, then nearly boring Saitama to death with a long-winded explanation. King started out by trying to guess what was bothering Saitama. Both, however, did the most important thing about effective communication: they picked up on their going wrong and changed tack.

It's not about saying the right thing: it's about responding to the person you're talking to.

The thing that King did that Saitama was trying to do for Genos was to ask Saitama open questions, and shut up in the interim, letting Saitama talk to fill in the silence. He'd only speak to ask more open questions when Saitama ran out of things to say, and through that, gently started to challenge Saitama's thinking.

But doing so means being comfortable with several seconds of silence. And that is excruciating. It is almost irresistible to jump in and say something, anything. And it would have been a longish wait, for Genos to slowly sit down and decide to start speaking, which might well have started being about something only tangentially related to his worry. King did that for Saitama: Saitama started out talking about what was bothering him on the surface -- being too strong -- before eventually coming to what was really bothering him, feeling lonely and profoundly isolated from everyone around him. Saitama does not yet know how to wait a person out.

It's a problem in this case because it's introduced a big barrier between those two, not an insurmountable one for sure, but one that could easily compound later.

Ah well, no one is born a communicator. We just have to wait and see if they work out a way to open up and be honest with each other. So it goes! There's more ways to introduce conflicts than to have a monster trample Tokyo, after all!

And so help me, the struggle to learn how to communicate is 1000% worthwhile.

[reunionatdawn]

The beauty of Axel's original character arc

"I thought a lot about that. Should I leave him as he was or should I bring him back again? However, when I considered the people that Lea wants to bring back, his existence plays a big role. I think Lea has successively become a key character." (Tetsuya Nomura)

Nomura said that he debated whether to bring Axel back to life, or to leave him as he was. The fact that he wasn't sure meant that his KH2 character arc must have felt complete somehow. So, I'd like to take a look back at Axel's original storyline in KH2 and why I liked it so much. I thought his death worked very well as a beautiful and satisfying (albeit more bittersweet) ending to his story. In many ways, I found it to be much more poignant than his storyline in KH3.

“Is that how to treat a best friend on coming back from completing a long mission!” “I don’t recall becoming your best friend.” (Another Report: Roxas—Somewhere in Time)

Roxas was closer to Axel than any of the other Organization members. But he obviously yearned to have best friends his own age. That is why he was best friends with Hayner in his dream world, even though he didn't know them in real life. And he didn't even remember Axel. In other words, Roxas and Axel were not really best friends. In the short story that was included with the Japanese version of KH2FM+, Axel was the one who was insistent on using that label.

Hayner: Well, I doubt we can be together forever. But isn't that what growing up's all about? What's important isn't how often we see each other, but how often we think about each other. Right?

The whole concept behind Nobodies was that they had no hearts, but they still had their memories from the time when they did. So, the writers undoubtedly had some idea of what each member's backstory was like. In the original KH2, the writers chose not to explicitly tell us anything about Axel's past. But based on his behavior, we would be able to ascertain that he probably had a best friend when he was still a human. However, he was already a grown up. His summer vacation must've ended a long time ago. He could no longer be with his best friend, and he needed Roxas to fill that void.

Roxas: Organization XIII… they're a bad group. Naminé: Bad or good, I don't know. They're a group of incomplete people who wish to be whole. To that end, they're desperately searching for something.

One of the biggest themes in KH2 is that of duality. In Hinduism, the universe is said to be made up of two complementary opposite forces called Shiva and Shakti. Shiva is the masculine force and is known as the destroyer or transformer. He is associated with chaos, darkness, and the element of fire, which symbolizes purification. Shakti represents light, order, and the feminine nurturing aspects of the universe, giving birth to new life. She is associated the element of wind, which symbolizes life energy and creation.

Axel's moniker is "おどる火の風". It translates to "Wind of the Dancing Fire" or "Dancing Fire's Wind". This is my theory of what the deeper meaning was. One of the most famous depictions of Shiva is that of him dancing in a ring of fire. This version of him is known as known as Nataraja. The rhythmic movements of the dance are said to cause storms and destruction. And there's a backstory to the dance.

In Hindu mythology, Sati immolated herself out of intense devotion to her husband Shiva when her father insulted him. When Shiva learned of Sati's death, he was overcome with grief, sorrow, and uncontrollable rage. Shiva carried Sati's lifeless body on his shoulders and began to perform the cosmic dance of destruction.

In KH1, the reports mentioned how Ansem amplified "storms" in the subjects of his experiments on the darkness of the heart. The kanji used (嵐) can refer to a literal storm or it can also be used metaphorically to describe an intense emotional state. I suspect that the original idea in KH2 was that Axel's best friend was killed during an experiment. And this event caused Axel's heart fall to darkness, turning him into a Nobody. It's probably the reason why Axel was so delighted to assassinate Vexen by setting him on fire.

Axel: Let's meet again in the next life. Roxas: Yeah. I'll be waiting. Axel: Silly. Just because you have a next life…

The imagery of Shiva dancing within a circle of flames represents the eternal cycle of birth, death, and rebirth. Shiva performs the dance and destroys the universe, but this destruction is eventually followed by rebirth. His lover Sati was reborn as the goddess Parvati and reunited with Shiva as his other half. Their combined form represents unity in duality and cosmic balance. In KH2, Axel did not think he was going to be reborn. And that was the basis of his storyline.

Naminé: We may not have homes. But there is someplace I want to go… And someone I want to see… Axel: Same here.

Nobodies had a strong thematic association with death and the afterlife. In KH2, Naminé was the ghost girl living in the haunted mansion. In KH3, she was an incorporeal star in the Final World, the metaphysical place where people go when they have strong attachments and cannot pass on to the other side.

A Nobody was the spirit that went on even as its body faded from existence. They were very similar to the Unsent from FFX, which was another game written by Kazushige Nojima. Axel was created because his human-self had strong sentiments. He desperately wanted to be with his best friend forever. And this unfulfilled dream, ironically, kept his body and soul tethered to the realm of light.

Kairi: Maybe…waiting isn't good enough. Axel: My thoughts exactly! If you have a dream, don't wait. Act. One of life's little rules. Got it memorized?

When Axel asked Kairi if she wanted to "see" Sora, he was referring to her meeting him in the afterlife because he was planning to kill them both. A similar form of wordplay was also used in the Japanese dialogue. His intentions were made apparent by his outstretched hand. He wanted Sora to become a Heartless again. So, he probably planned to accomplish that the same way he became a Heartless.

(Japanese Translation) Axel: We're quite similar, aren't we? Both of us want to meet our important friends. Don't you think we're like comrades?

In the KH universe, when a person dies, their heart returns to the light of Kingdom Hearts. Since Axel didn't think he had a heart, he thought there would be nothing left of him to live on after his empty vessel was destroyed. Even if he wanted to die and be reborn to meet his best friend, he couldn't. He was driven by intense loneliness.

Some Kingdom Hearts fans think there's something romantic between Axel and Roxas and that Disney stopped that from being made explicit. Is that true? Have there been things Disney have stopped you from doing? Nomura: In terms of the relationship between Axel and Roxas, we never intended anything like this and this is actually the first time I ever heard of it! We don't want to openly negate how the fans have come to enjoy the characters, but it was not something the creative team intended. Axel and Roxas are the best of friends and that's their primary relationship. 

Axel's intense yearning to see Roxas once more made fans question his orientation even back in 2005. Akuroku was quite a popular ship back in the day and many players saw romantic subtext on Axel's part. I do agree that Axel is easily read as queer. But the creative team was not trying to imply that he was in love with Roxas. I think it was his human best friend that he was really in love with, and Roxas just reminded Axel of him. When he was with Roxas, he felt like he was with his best friend. And that's why he wanted to die by his side.

(Japanese Translation) Axel: When I was with him, it felt like I had a heart too. That kind of feeling... I feel it with you too... The same...

When Axel said, "the same", he was referring to how Sora reminded him of Roxas. But I believe that we were invited to read between the lines and wonder if he was also referring to a human best friend that had already passed on. Ultimately, Axel's original KH2 arc was not about being together with Roxas forever. Roxas merged with his other half and became whole. He would live on within Sora.

In some Hindu traditions, "Sati" also refers to the act of a widow willingly participating in a self-immolation ritual on her deceased husband's funeral pyre. It was seen as an expression of devotion and loyalty and also an act of peerless piety which was said to purge her of all her sins. The widow would achieve spiritual liberation (moksha) not only for herself but also for her deceased husband. This meant that both would be freed from the cycle of death and rebirth (samsara). The widow was thought to be reunited with her husband in the afterlife, enjoying an eternal spiritual existence with him.

To help Sora reunite with Kairi, Axel self-immolated. After he died, Nojima probably envisioned that he would meet his dead best friend again, who was waiting for him on the other side. He had attained moksha, which represents the final goal of human existence in Hinduism, where the soul is liberated from the cycle of samsara. And that's probably why Nomura wasn't sure whether it was better to bring him back to life or to just leave him as he was.

"I never thought he would grow as much as he has. We originally planned to have him exit upon being defeated by Roxas during the opening of KHII, but all the staff, myself included, were strongly inclined to have him keep playing an active role after that. It's possible he will have things to do in the future, too. I tried to put that into his 'see you' line in KH2 FM+." (Tetsuya Nomura)

When KH2 was written, the writers probably had not envisioned a preexisting relationship between Saïx and Axel. But after its success, they decided to expand on the Organization's backstories, and came up with that idea. Isa was based on the original concept that was implied in KH2. Axel did have a human best friend, and that loss had a profound influence on his relationship with Roxas.

If Axel's human best friend was supposed to be literally dead in KH2, then him only being Norted is a major retcon, yes. But it was a retcon that would allow for the eventual reunion of Axel with his best friend in the physical life. Like the Phoenix rising from the ashes, he could resurrect him from the dead. And that was the underlying idea of making Lea a Keyblade wielder in the first place.

Lea and Isa's backstory is one of the missing links of the KH series. By all means, it should have been depicted many years ago, in the defunct Birth by Sleep Volume II. This is a shame because it left their relationship extremely underdeveloped, and their reunion was largely glossed over in KH3 as a result. Because of this, I thought Axel's storyline in KH3 fell flat, and I thought that his ending in KH2 was more impactful. But I may change my mind if we finally get to see more of Axel's long overdue backstory in Missing Link.

[hobbit-historian]

Seven Minutes in Heaven

Warnings: HEAVY on the angst. Like, sucker punches you in the face with it.

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x reader.

Light is a brilliant thing.

It shines and sparkles, illuminating all.

It radiates out of her eyes, highlighting her irises as she laughs.

Ghost can see her clearly, can feel how she takes his breath away, and hear her voice through all the other noise.

Hes sitting on the brick wall, arms crossed, feet stuck out in front of him. People pass by, but the ignore the man in the mask.

She doesn’t.

“It’s a party, Simon! You have to let loose a little bit.” She does a little shimmy with her shoulders as she grabs his gloved hands.

Her eyes shine brighter than the stars above.

“Come dance with me Simon.”

He shakes his head at first, hesitant to be observed.

She leans close. “Don’t leave me, Simon, don’t go someplace I can’t follow.” She kisses him on the cheek and tugs on his hand again.

So he sighs and begrudgingly follows her to a quieter spot on the dance floor.

Light is a harsh thing. It cuts between objects, lays everything bare, and shines upon all. How it hides in corners and jumps out to rain down on people, how it waits in windows and glass and clouds.

Simon leans down over her, lifting his mask so that he can kiss the top of her head. She’s nestled in bed, wrapped in a think blanket. A small sigh escapes her as his lips connect with her hair and Simon stills. The light has not yet crept its way into the dark bedroom, and he’s needed elsewhere. He hates to leave, hates to leave her and her love, but he has a job to do.

And every job that gets done means that she gets to live in a safer world.

So he leaves one last kiss with her, praying that she feels it, and leaves.

Taped to the bedroom door is a note.

It’s scribbled out in her handwriting, light and airy, like her.

“Don’t go where I can’t follow.”

He pries the note off of the door and stuffs it in a pocket to look back at later. A smile creeps up on his face at the note. He never though he would ever be someone smiling at the thought of getting a love note.

One last glance back at her sleeping figure and he has to steel his resolve.

He has to leave.

It’s for her safety.

Light is a stupendous thing, how it bends and conforms to the confines of its surroundings, but is always its own entity.

Simon watches as she laughs with the children, wishing it was his family that he was looking at. She hands over some candy and compliments their costumes. Simon has to lean over and ask as they leave what they were supposed to be. She just laughs again and tells him: “I have no idea. But that’s the fun! Guessing!”

Simon smiles as he pulls away and settles a hand on her waist. Halloween has never been a big day to him, but she loves it, so now he does too.

She insisted that he wear a different mask than normal - one that covers his whole face. It’s the helmet piece of some ridiculous armour from a movie that Simon could never get into.

But she loves it, so he watches it time and time again just to make her happy.

She is dressed in the complementary costume, and it shines under the porch lights, sending light radiating out every which way.

As more kids clomp up the driveway, she laughs again, inviting them to her side, bribing them with promises of full-size candy bars. Their squeals of delight bring a bigger smile to her face.

Simon squeezes her hip. “That could be us someday, love. Walking our kids around the neighborhood.” He juts his chin out at the parents who offer and awkward wave in thanks as their kids run back.

“We’d probably be just as pissed about the sugar high these kids are going through,” she laughs.

As the night wears on, Simon gets more tired. He wants to go inside, to cuddle on the couch and watch a movie with her, to hold her tight as she sleeps, to listen to her heartbeat as she rests her head on his chest.

She can tell that he’s getting restless and leans over.

“Don’t you leave me, Simon Riley. We’re not done yet.”

But she offers a reassuring smile and follows it up with a promise. “We have the rest of the night to do whatever we want to.”

Light is a marvelous thing, how it breaks known rules of science to make its own, how it expects you to follow, to not question.

So he doesn’t question as he follows the light along his path. As he watches it take him along the bright spots in his life.

There is no mystery to him that she is in the center of all of them. How she shines and sparkles in every single one. She is the greatest thing that could’ve happened to him and he desperately wishes that she knows it.

So as the pain dulls and the blood spreads, he pulls her close and whispers “you are my light.”

Her tears fall faster and she shakily tells him, “don’t leave, Simon. Don’t go where I can’t follow.” She presses a salty kiss to his brow.

The light gets brighter and beckons, warmly, and soft hand extended. It has her face, her shape, her smell. Simon follows gladly. It’s for her.

His chest stills.

She sobs harder. Her tears pool on his cheeks and she kisses them away, begging for him to come back, to not leave her.

Price is there, tugging at her, getting her to move. He reminds her that they are in an active war zone, that they cannot stay.

But she mourns, and her heart breaks.

When she is allowed the time to grieve, her soul shatters. Big fat hot tears fall and there are no words that can turn them off.

Gaz soundlessly offers a hug and she takes it, sobbing into his shoulder.

“You know, they say that as someone dies, their brain shows them seven minutes of their life over again.” Gaz offers the words as comfort, but she finds little in them. “Do you think he suffered?” She sniffles.

“No, I think all he saw was you, and that was the greatest comfort he could’ve had.” He brushes her hair out of her face and whipes the tears from her cheeks.

She sniffles again but gives a half hearted smile to that.

“Me? And not any of you?”

This earns a slight chuckle from Gaz. “Maybe. But I know we weren’t as pretty as you.”

This garners a shoulder-shaking laugh from her. “You may be right about that.”

So she straightens her shoulders, sits upright, and whipes the remnants of the tears from her face.

“There you go,” Gaz whispers.

She looks out of the window towards the light, heart fluttering.

Light is a brilliant thing.

It shines and sparkles, illuminating all.

It radiates out of her eyes, highlighting her irises as she smiles.

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Louise Perry

Published: Jun 8, 2023

When we get home from the supermarket, our two-year-old likes to assist with taking the groceries out from underneath his stroller and carrying them to the kitchen. He will pick up a carton of milk and heave it towards the fridge like an atlas stone. “Well done darling” I say to him in a pitch slightly higher than usual, “you’re being so helpful.” 

Of course he isn’t actually being helpful. In fact, he’s slowing down the process of unpacking and risking an enormous milk spillage all over the kitchen floor. But my goal is encouragement and kindness – he’s only two, bless him, and that carton is awfully big and heavy. 

My husband regards these exercises with more of a gentle briskness. “Thanks mate” he’ll say in his usual tone of voice, excising my white lie. In this, I’ve learnt, my husband is typical of other men. In a 2015 study led by Mark VanDam, a professor in the Speech and Hearing Sciences department at Washington State University Spokane, researchers outfitted preschoolers and their parents with recording devices to monitor social interactions over the course of a normal day. The mothers, they found:

… used higher pitch and varied their pitch more when interacting with their child than with adults. The fathers, on the other hand, did not show the same pattern, and instead talked to their children using intonation patterns more like when they talked to other adults.

As an instinctive speaker of so-called ‘motherese’ – that is, baby talk – I find that when our son mispronounces a word (‘tawtah’ for ‘water’ or ‘mulack’ for ‘milk’) I will automatically echo it back to him, while my husband will automatically respond with the correct pronunciation. These differences persist despite the fact that we share childcare almost exactly equally within our family. 

It turns out we’re not alone in this sex difference, and that it may well have some adaptive purpose. "We think that maybe fathers are doing things that are conducive to their children's learning but in a different way,” writes VanDam, “the parents are complementary to their children's language learning.” Mothers speak down to children, while fathers speak to them like equals – in combination, these two kinds of stimuli promote the development of adult language. 

The adoption of motherese is an instinct that, in its correct context, is both comforting and developmentally useful. But it can also, in some circumstances, be dysfunctional. And, as I have become more and more fluent in it, I have started to notice that motherese is no longer confined to the nursery or the classroom, but is now to be found also in public life. Not in its full expression – “have you got a boo-boo, honey?” – but in a more subtle form. 

I heard a lot of motherese, for instance, in the responses to philosopher Kathleen Stock’s appearance this week at the Oxford Union – a political event considered significant enough to attract commentary from the Prime Minister and rolling updates on the homepages of several national newspapers.

Students at risk of being traumatised by Stock’s mild-mannered, centre-left brand of politics were ushered towards ‘welfare rooms’ offering ear plugs, bottles of water, and snacks. “The Union has made the choice to amplify a voice that actively harms trans students, trans people and the trans community at large” wrote one student politician, “we’re tired of [the Union’s] refusal to listen to the communities they hurt” insisted another. It was as if Stock was a rampaging bully on the playground, knocking other children to the ground, and her critics were leaping to the defence of the persecuted toddlers. 

Witnessing the backlash against her, you’d never guess that Stock’s only sin is to offer a careful academic critique of the doctrine of gender identity – that is, the claim that one can become a member of the opposite sex (or some other identity category in between) merely by force of will. As she reiterated in her Oxford Union speech, to reject this doctrine is not to deny the humanity of trans people, but rather to balance their interests against those of other people, particularly women. 

But I am by no means the first to notice an unexpected feature of the crowds that formed outside the Oxford Union this week, and indeed all of the crowds that congregate in support of trans activism (now a regular occurrence, and not just in the Anglosphere). While the occasional acts of outright aggression are overwhelmingly committed by men, the crowds in general are mostly composed of young women. 

Polling reveals this to be a wider pattern. In the UK, women – and particularly young women – are far more supportive of trans activism than are their male counterparts. The same gap can be seen in US polling. The public figures who have received the most flak for their criticisms of trans activism are disproportionately women – I’m thinking not only of Kathleen Stock, but also of JK Rowling – and yet so, too, are the movement’s most devoted allies. This is, in the main, an intra-female conflict. 

But if trans activism poses a threat to women’s interests – as Stock and Rowling insist that it does – then why have so many women come out in support of it? I want to propose two explanations for this seeming paradox. 

Firstly, in socioeconomic terms, the women who have the most to lose from the disintegration of female-only spaces – prisoners and domestic abuse victims, for instance – are not actually the same women who are draping themselves in blue and pink flags outside the Oxford Union. This is a textbook example of what Rob Henderson has termed a ‘luxury belief’ – an idea that confers status on the rich, while causing harm to the poor. 

But then I am begging the question, because why on earth would trans activism confer status on the rich, or indeed anyone? This is where we come to the second factor: the extraordinarily well-documented differences in personality that have been observed between male and female populations cross-culturally. 

Note that there is a crucial distinction to be drawn between average and absolute differences. It is not true that all men or all women exhibit only masculine or feminine personality traits, in the same way that not all women are short and not all men are tall – rather, average differences between the sexes are obvious only at the population level. 

One trait on which men and women differ substantially is agreeableness. To put it bluntly, women are usually nicer than men – that is, they are “more nurturing, tenderminded, and altruistic more often and to a greater extent than men,” as psychologist Professor Yanna Weisberg puts it. 

This nurturing instinct often finds its way into polling on political questions. For instance, a typical study from 2017 asked 3,014 college students the following question: “If you had to choose, which do you think is more important, a diverse and inclusive society or protecting free speech rights.” 61% of male students chose to prioritise free speech, compared with only 35% of female students – exactly what you would expect from two populations that differ in this most crucial of traits.  

Don’t think that I’m bashing agreeableness per se –  it’s one of those personality traits that really does offer advantages and disadvantages all along the spectrum. Disagreeable people are often rude, but they can also be refreshingly honest; agreeable people are often pleasant, but they are easily taken advantage of. Think of agreeableness as motherese: soothing and lovely in the right circumstances, cloying and foolish in the wrong ones.  

The problems arise when an agreeable style of politics gloms onto a group that seems to offer plentiful opportunities for babying. Right now, it is trans people who have found themselves in the hot seat (or the high chair). For just one example of this babying tendency in action, observe the progressive response when then-66 year old Caitlyn Jenner came out as trans (a response parodied exquisitely in a South Park episode titled ‘Stunning and Brave’). When Glamour honoured Jenner as the magazine’s 2015’ Woman of the Year' – despite the fact that Jenner had not yet lived as a woman for a full year – I couldn’t help but hear the high pitched notes of motherese (“you look so pretty sweetie”, “well done that was very brave.”) 

Observe, too, the trans celebrity Dylan Mulvaney’s recent appearance on Drew Barrymore’s talkshow, which culminated with Barrymore kneeling on the ground, looking Mulvaney straight in the eye, and offering a heartfelt pep talk on self-love. Some gender critical feminists looked at this scene and saw a woman prostrating herself before a man. What I saw was a mother kneeling down to reassure a young child – for some bizarre reason, Barrymore was speaking motherese to a grown adult on national TV. 

At the risk of stating the obvious, trans people are not babies. Nor are they pets. They do not need earplugs and snacks to withstand an academic discussion, and they do not need to be spoken to like toddlers. Real two-year-olds may benefit from the gentleness of motherese. The rest of us need to grow up.

==

https://policyexchange.org.uk/wp-content/uploads/2022/11/The-Politics-of-the-Culture-Wars-in-Contemporary-Britain.pdf#page=57

Women are more likely than men to say a trans women should be able to enter a women’s refuge, favouring this by a 36-32 margin while men oppose it 40 to 30. In fact, across all 6 questions pertaining to the trans issue (Stock, Rowling, refuges, gender identity, pronouns, teaching biological sex), women are significantly more supportive of the trans rights position even when ideology is taken into account. Women even exceed LGBT identifiers in their support for the pro-trans position on many questions.

Why? Is this not against the female interest? The likely answer is that women are more likely to be cultural leftists than men across most of the 25 attitudinal items in the survey. The inclination to empathise and care for groups perceived as vulnerable best accounts for the pattern. The result of the empathy dynamic is that the gender-critical feminist position, while intellectually prominent, is still a contested view among women. Indeed, the largest source of opposition to greater trans access to women’s spaces comes from cultural conservatives.

This isn't a war between men and women, as some would like to assert.

It's really a war between different denominations of feminism. Like Catholicism vs Protestantism. Or Sunni vs Shi'a Islam.

One thing that's hilarious and worth pointing out: gender-critical feminists will sometimes say things along the lines of, well that agreeableness was socialized into women by "the patriarchy" to make them compliant. Which means they're denying the same evolved sex-based differences that they started off defending. Like claiming to be a Catholic while denying transubstantiation.

Either sex-differences are real, and can explain different participation rates in physics and kindergarten teaching, different career priorities and trajectories (and thus, the mythical "pay gap") and different work patterns as readily as they explain differences in swimming, cycling and weight-lifting performance, making "the patriarchy" as unnecessary as a god is to the existence of the universe... or they're not, and the gender-critical argument goes up in smoke in the flames of social constructivism. God can't be both good and unknowable.

[what-eats-owls]

It matters how you do it

I finished Dragon Age: The Veilguard and had some big feelings about it. Spoilers for basically everything under the cut, and frankly, it won't make sense unless you've finished the game anyway.

First of all: I had a blast with this game. I didn't find Act 1 slow, I did find Act 2 a bit of a whack-a-mole, and then Act 3 kicks you in the kidney (complementary) while insisting it's for your own good.

I've seen some recurring complaints: that it lacks depth/edge/darkness, that it abandons previous lore, that the previous choices don't matter. I don't entirely disagree. To me, it felt like a massive Dragon Age 4 game that pivoted to a different, tighter game after complaints about bloat in Inquisition. The key is that when editing down, there's such a thing as trying to trim the fat and taking a chunk of the roast with it.

I enjoy the concept of Lucanis's character, and the voice actor sold the hell out of him, but the storyline felt like being taken to a museum and allowed to see one (1) beautiful unfinished sculpture. Why did Spite, specifically, work? We know the spirit of Justice became Vengeance by abomination, we knew Solas was Wisdom before he became Pride, so what was Spite before, and why wasn't that tied to Lucanis's own personal arc? (Doubly so if you romance him!)

Similarly, Harding was a delight, and her greenhouse was such a lovely little haven. I would have loved to see more explanation of the connection between plants and the titans, and how Harding's own personal struggles with rage connected to that of the titans. She has every reason to be angry and scared, and the game tells us she pushed that away—but we don't actually see her toxic positivity manifest to that degree, until she abruptly has an angry clone.

On the flip side, I loved the other five character quests, and I felt they had solid, poignant arcs that delivered. I also adored their interactions with the codex—if anything, I wanted to see more of that type of interaction on the screen. You have to fill in a lot of the character work for Rook yourself; Rook has all these interesting potential backgrounds, but I think starting the game playing through those, a la Origins, would have gone miles towards establishing more personal stakes up front and made for a stronger start.

So that's all my nitpicking. But let's talk about the bigger theme: It matters how you do it.

In the first Fade conversation with Solas, he gets so mad when Rook refuses to let him DARVO them about the consequences of his botched ritual. This makes way more sense when you understand he's literally imprisoned by his own regrets, and he needs Rook to have that same kind of regret in order to take his place. His entire arc is about rationalizing binary choices and shitty actions that hurt others in the name of a hypothetical greater good that he wants.

Solas can't engineer every binary choice Rook's forced into, but he uses Varric to maximize Rook's regret. He is trying to quite literally mold Rook into him, and the game is great at presenting this both as a coldblooded manipulation and a broken plea for validation—if you let it. You don't have to give Solas a moment of consideration; you don't have to take time to view his memories, or kill his demons, or listen to those scraps of Mythal still holding onto the good in him. You don't have to do any of it.

But you can. And in the end, it matters.

It matters because for every companion, you can encourage them to either be more nurturing/compassionate or destructive/closed off versions of themselves, and that is frequently tied to continuing or breaking from a cycle. (The exception is either Neve or, presumably, Lucanis, who are forced into the Hardened version depending on which city you save.) These aren't presented as morally opposing choices, just who you want them to be. You can see how the Grey Wardens fucked up bad with griffons and decide they have a better place. You can help Emmrich face his fear by finding deeper meaning in life instead of indefinitely postponing death. You can help them do things differently.

So when you get to the final choice in the game, you may have two options: physically force Solas into saving the Veil, or trick him into it. The kind of binary choice Solas has molded you into making by pelting you with cruelty and manipulation.

Or, if you've taken the time, you can get him to understand he's wrong. You bring out the people who saw the best in him and speak to what he's had to endure, even as you're showing him there's another way. You reach him not as Pride, but as Wisdom. And he goes willingly.

Ultimately, I think DA2 and Inquisition grappled with big questions of oppression and violence, faith and authority. It makes sense for those games to delve into harder, uglier subject matter, and ask you to make binary calls.

But my read of Veilguard is that, at its core, it's about how those decisions are meant to trap you in regret at best, and numb you to rationalizing cruelty at worst. It's why the companion who loses their home city becomes colder, more isolated, in response—more like Solas.

That's why it offers you a third way at the very end, but only if you've worked for it. A better way is possible, yet it has to be more than words. You have to understand where the pain comes from, what maintains and is being maintained by the current cycle. Then, and only then, can you break it.

I can't wait to play it again.

P.S. Utterly obsessed with the Trevisan fish merchant.

[lemon-russ]

Today's parade of fleas comes with a complementary/ optional musical accompaniment

BABY SAID - Måneskin

Lots of this was written at 3am on my phone and deep in my Unwell (tm) brain land. I love putting them in situations.

Part 5/ ???

1 :: 2 :: 3 :: 4 :: 5 :: 6 :: 7 :: 7.5 :: 8

Cato Sicarius x F!Reader

(Cato POV 3rd person this time though)

CW: Talks about sex, Cato being a bully (verbally)

Summary: Cato does not want to talk about the events occurring from the discovery of the new emotion of horny

word count: 2,096

He couldn't even begin to explain to himself why he just did that. He sits on the floor of the cave, staring ahead with a blank, tense look, thinking about how sometimes, he does things, and sometimes, they have consequences. Like this awkward, confused silence.

The ambassador sits a few feet away, sharing a similar look. She was flushed still, hair a mess, dress barely holding on after the rock wall of the cave shredded the back of it. By the throne she looked good like this- No, stop that, doesn't he learn? This whole thing was insane and now he's going to have to live with it, and yet he's still sitting here daydreaming of how she'd look on her back and fully naked next time.

But there isn't going to be a next time, because that was a moment of insanity. They had been arguing, why did he kiss her? Okay, he knows why, but he doesn't want to actually think about that, because it's a stupid reason. She'd been insisting he didn't care about her- which is correct- but for some reason some sort of madness overcame him and he wanted her to think he did care. Okay, maybe he cared like, a little. Not anything weird, it's not sentimental to not actively wish death on someone. He'd go so far as to say it wasn't even overly familiar to wish someone does not die.

But that feels like a long leap between I'd be displeased if you perished and pinning her to a wall and fucking her mindless. Which he will admit, he did do. And he was excellent at it, of course. Cato Sicarius is the greatest at all feats of combat, and what is sex but really sticky awkward combat? He smirks to himself a bit. Another grand mastery to mark down, even if it was one he might prefer to keep to himself. But, unfortunately, unlike regular combat, your fighting partner here stays very much alive- hopefully- and can do things like ask you what was that about and what the actual fuck was that about Cato, no, seriously, what was that. He grimaces and takes a deep breath, letting it out tiredly. Not physically tired of course, he was superior in all things, including this, and was not so weak as to tire so fast- not that that matters, because, again, it won't happen again. But if it did, it could happen right now. Theoretically. Space marine stamina was second to none.

She glances over at him, expression mirroring his internal conflicts. “So….” She says softly, a small frown tugging the corners of her mouth. He clears his throat. “So.” He returns, frowning back. Emperor this was awkward. Truly a fitting punishment, to be forced to endure such banal things like talking about feelings after sex. He shudders to himself.

She frowns a bit deeper. “Are we going toooo…. Talk about that or….” She asks in a nervous voice.

Ah, excellent, she was giving him a choice. He sighs in relief, smiling genuinely for the first time in what feels like a week. “No, thank you.” He says politely, standing and brushing off his pants. What a weight off his mind, maybe he could do this sex thing more often-

“Cato.” She says, displeased. He frowns. He didn't know it was a trick question, but apparently he'd gotten it wrong. He groans. “Can't we just, pretend it didn't happen?” He pleads with an exasperated look. “What happens on dirt rock planet stays on dirt rock planet or something?” He grumbles, checking outside for the armies. Night had fallen, but he didn't see anything new at least.

“You seriously aren't going to explain what that was about?” She says, growing more frustrated. His eye twitches. This, this is why astartes are not supposed to take women to their beds. They can't move on from things and need to talk about unimportant drivel like motivations and futures and labels. Uhg. He rolls his eyes, giving her an annoyed look. “What's there to say? Your face when you got angry was attractive and I fell to baser reactions after a long and stressful day of saving you from perils.” He said dryly, crossing his arms and leaning against the cave wall, facing out and keeping watch.

She groans, “That's your excuse? You just, decided today was the day to grow a heart and feel human needs and you take it out on me?” She says tiredly.

He huffs out his nose, frowning over his shoulder at her. “I have two hearts, actually. Maybe you should read up more on the superior anatomy of an astartes and spend less time droning on about weather with nobles.” He frowns back out at the landscape. Was that a light…?

She growls in frustration. “Unbelievable. No, actually, very believable. It's my fault, really, for fucking you and thinking maybe you were having some sort of emotional breakthrough-” he hushes her, making her fluster in anger, but his eyes are trained on the light outside, and she catches the hint and just huffs out her nose a little. She quietly scootches over to see what he's looking at. Daft woman, a mortal's eyes can't see that far in the dark.

“I don't see anything…” she murmurs. No shit. Maybe he shook the last cobwebs of intelligence from her skull when he slammed her against that wall. He just hushes her again, making her pout. He glances at her annoyed little face and briefly considers repeating his misstep- no, focus Cato, there's enemies around. And he's pretty sure she can't take being fucked any dumber before she loses her ability to form speech. He smirks to himself at his little internal diss as he scans the landscape again.

He sees a search party now, combing the area back and forth in lines. Fuck. That is very, very bad for them. “Time to go” he says quietly, scooping her up onto his shoulder, making her squeak as air was knocked out of her a little. He frowns a little and glances at her kicking and annoyed little form. Well, maybe there was a few minutes before that party found them- no, no she cries like a banshee when she comes, they'd find them in minutes.

He sighs, moving her onto his shoulder upright. “hold onto my armor” he instructs, standing with her clinging to the neck of his armor, sitting on his power pack like he's giving her a piggy back ride. He puts his helmet on, “We're going to be running and calling for a pickup.” he says, ducking out of the cave and into the cold desert night. She shivers and he grimaces. Right, she barely has clothes on. Not that he cares if she's cold, but, it’s probably not great for their cover if her teeth chatter. He sighs and reluctantly tugs his cape off its holds on his back. “Here. Your ridiculous outfit choice once again forces me to do everything for you, wrap yourself in this.” He grumbles. She blinks at him, expression something he couldn't read, and takes the cape, using it like a blanket and tying it around herself. She smiles a little at him and he grimaces. “Stop that.” He demands. “Don't look at me like that. It freaks me out.”

She raises her brow and sighs. “Lets just get home.” She says, rubbing the bridge of her nose, mumbling something about mixed messages. That's stupid. His messages were very clear. He never mixes them. He huffs and starts heading away from the search party into open dark desert.

He moves at a light jog, and after a few minutes, she makes a sharp noise, making him stop and look up at her. Shes frowning, “ah- sorry, don't mind me, I'm just sore from… well… the power pack is a little hard to sit on right now.” She mumbles, glancing away awkwardly.

He sighs. “squishy, breakable mortal.” He says tiredly, pulling her off his back with a squeak. “Aren't you meant to push children out of there? How could I so damage you by doing what nature intended for it.” He grumbles as he moves to cradle her bridal style instead.

She's surprised a moment as he holds her, then frowns a bit. “I don't think astartes count as things nature intended to happen to it…” she grumbles, pink staining her cheeks as she glances away. He chuckles to himself as he starts jogging again, “Ah yes, nature could not predict the perfection of the space marine. Maybe we should create genetic enhancements for women, allowing them to not break the moment they are touched in any capacity.” He speculates to himself. “The basics, really, hardened bones, healing, sturdier flesh, some spare organs. Maybe increased pelvic capacity so an astartes lover doesn't rend you more useless than usual.” He says, smirking down at her behind his helmet. “Then I wouldn't have to work so hard this whole trip to just keep bullets out of you. It has been a huge trouble for me, you know.” He says with slight annoyance.

She groaned and rolled her eyes. “Are you seriously still doing this? You admitted to me already that you care about me and didn't like seeing me hurt.” She says with a tired scowl.

He nods, “Yes, which is also deeply disturbing. Now I have to keep you free of holes and breaks, because if I don't-” he stuttered in his gait, taking a small breath. He was thankful for the helmet, it was hard to school his expression right now, and it hid the terrified grimace that assaulted his face muscles at the thought of her becoming injured. He let out a tense sigh. “Well, it is quite annoying that for some reason I will be the one to suffer if great harm comes to you.” He grumbles a bit.

She blinks up at him- ah, there's that stupid puzzled look again. It'd be cute almost if it wasn't so agitating that she could apparently not comprehend simple thoughts at random. He sighed. “What is that face for? Shall I say it slower with smaller words?” He asks dryly.

She frowns and knits her brow, but was still looking at him like he'd grown another head like a chaos spawn. “You are possibly the most stubborn or most dense man I've ever met, and I can't decide which it is. Maybe both.” She says, shaking her head. The action makes some of her hair fluff around her face and he scolds himself when he thinks it's cute. “What in the Emperor's name are you on about now, you senseless creature?” He asks in exasperation.

She rolls her eyes. “I don't think I have the time or crayons to explain the entirety of the concept of interpersonal relationships and emotions to you right now, Cato.” She says tiredly, laying her head against his chest plate. He smiles at her cuddling to him- wait stop that she insulted you, do not smile- he forces a frown. “You do not need to explain these things to me. I know them well.” He huffs indignantly. “I am Cato Sicarius, master of many things, including psychology.” He says, pouting under his helmet. He already solved psychology this morning.

She chuckles for some warp damned reason, actually laughing at emperor knows what. He frowns down at her as she giggles herself into a fit. “I fear your mind may have sustained one too many hits, knocking what's left of your brain against the inside of your ceramite skull.” He says with a small scowl. “You seem to be losing more and more of your senses every passing moment. Perhaps it is good I did not actually render you unconscious to make you easier to handle. You probably wouldn't be able to speak again.” He says with an annoyed tone as he picks up the pace and voxes an SOS signal with their location up to the flagship.

She laughs more, snorting a little and shaking in his arms. It makes him crack a smile himself against his will. “You are mad, Woman.” He grumbles, trying to keep the amusement out of his voice. That's what it all comes down to, he decides. Women are simply all completely mad. Boom, he solved women, the eternal enigma. He smiles to himself. He was on a roll today, but that's expected. He's Cato Sicarius, there is no mystery he cannot unravel.

[tatiejosie]

i think it's so fun donald is a robot with such a strong motif of humanity vs cecil being very much human with a strong motif of acting like a machine :3c they are just very star crossed...

YYESSSSSSS ikr!!! I love how their motifs are so symmetrical and how complementary they are!!

The show does a really good job at portraying Cecil and Donald's dynamic as polar opposites. It's in every detail - in their character design (Cecil's characteristics are visually eye-catching (large visible scar + long hair) while Donald is so plain he blends in the background), in their body language (Cecil is firm and confident, Donald is hypervigilant and jumpy), in their ability to handle people's emotions!

i'm so sorry i'm talking too much but uh. more under the cut if you're interested in hearing some rambling???

Cecil's empathy seems limited. His attempts at comforting seem to take root in guilt, in his willingness to patch up the problems that he believes he has allowed to happen (even indirectly). He'll go above and beyond to fix things up and make things easier for people when they go through intense events (spending a fortune of taxpayers' money to rebuild Donald as lifelike as possible so he can be fooled into thinking that he's an organic human and lead a somewhat normal life; ensuring Mark and Debbie's financial safety following Nolan's departure) ... yet, you can't expect him to be remotely competent with just words.

This man's entire foundation takes root in guilt. Another example is the choice to stay heavily and permanently disfigured following the Chemical X incident, as a reminder of his failure to save others. I imagine that the buildup of angst and guilt is subconsciously consuming him from the inside, on top of the incredibly harmful lifestyle that he's been leading (little to no sleep + the goo bath must fuck up his brain so badly), is what pushes him into this state of emotional blindness.

Donald, on the other hand, directly involves himself with people. He's the direct link between Cecil and the rest of the GDA, the GDA and the rest of the world. He's the one who escorts Mark and Debbie at the GDA hospital when Nolan is recovering. He doesn't just bring them here without a word - he talks to them. He sees that Mark is genuinely curious, and he provides information about the GDA and its functions; after all, the boy's father is between life and death, and anything is better than some heavy silence on the way to see him. When Debbie insists on staying to watch over Nolan, Cecil relunctantly agrees in absolute silence, and Donald is the one who confirms it verbally in an attempt to smooth things over, to cut through the tension. Donald is constantly trying his best - even in the smallest details! Invincible's mission against the Flaxans was honestly a shitshow, even though it was his first time on the field. And yet?

I can definitely picture Donald glossing over the catastrophic numbers and saying something that would both reassure Debbie and make her feel proud. He could just say nothing, or tell her the truth about Mark struggling during his debut.

And of course, let's talk about the brutal discovery of his own death, the s/lf-h/rming episode in the bathroom leading to even more angst - imagine going through the pain of peeling your skin off in a desperate attempt to prove your humanity, only to find wires and metal under your skin?????? - the confrontation with Cecil who puts his entire trust on Donald and vice-versa, Cecil casually explaining that Donald's body isn't organic anymore and that he's pretty much just a brain in a jar and that any feeling of inadequacy is just "existential angst"?? then he just keep fucking working because the world can't afford to make a pause while he goes through anxiety attacks and dissociative episodes. Then Cecil tells him the whole truth, finally, and Donald gets to watch an entire compilation of his numerous deaths. After all of this, he finally completes the puzzle, he finally understands where all the trauma and pain and anxiety are coming from - he fucking died, in brutal and agonizing ways, and he decided to erase his memories so he could stay as efficient and not get held back by the trauma of dying????????

... Then, William calls him, and Donald immediately comes over to help. Not even a second is spent on, idk, recovering from the emotional rollercoaster. That man just learned that he's been trapped in a loop, working day and night for the GDA and putting his life on the line until he gets killed, only for the government to gather what's left of him and piece him back into a functional soldier so he can continue working. He's being denied the most basic, fundamental biological function that occurs within every organism - he is not allowed to die.

But he's on the roof with two struggling kids, one of which is going through the same kind of existential crisis that had been plaguing him these past few weeks. So of course he's going to do his best to help. William and Rick have no idea what Donald just went through, and they don't need to know - he shows vulnerability without dumping his trauma out.

Donald could have sent an emergency team to stop Rick's attempt and have him hospitalized for his safety, but he personally came to his rescue because he felt that it was the right thing to do. Even after everything he's been through, he still puts others in priority.

TLDR; Cecil and Donald are both very selfless but in totally different ways that somehow complete each other as the leading figures of the GDA.

im gonna stop rambling im so sorry for talking so much