#he seems like the type Mr ‘I should probably [talk about my issues] but I don’t’

[fluffypotatey]

Another hypothetical, what if macaque didn't have a string to wukong (still has strings to mk and others, but not wukong). Probably some string bs or something bc i just can't imagine any scenario where macaque isn't attached enough, but this is about macaque emotions/reaction, not logistics

s1-3 Macky would have a field day with his confirmation bias bc this means he doesn’t care and Wukong never cared

(no he is NOT hurting inside nobody check there! him seething in rage and wanting to hurt Wukong for the fact that everything he ever meant to Macky ended up meaning nothing is NOT because he is affected by the strings of course)

he would be very confused about MK though because that’s just a Wukong 2.0 in his eyes but then it’s like “oh no! this guy is actually checking off all my attachment boxes fuck. the strings still mean nothing, I can still inflict trauma on you this doesn’t mean ANYTHING—“

[amarriageoftrueminds]

View on Twitter

Since it came up recently, link to that therapist on twitter 👆 who was discussing Bucky's terribile therapist in TFATWS and how they should’ve been. 

Transcript:

"As a therapist myself I've had a lot of feelings about Bucky's therapist on TFatWS, and have decided I need to rant a little to let it all out. I've worked w/active duty, trauma survivors, and court ordered clients, so here's some therapeutic conjecture on Bucky's therapy:

Aesthetically her office and presentation don't fit for someone who has been through the trauma that he’s been through. A client like this would need something non-threatening and safe- the whole vibe is overly formal and official in an office building, not at all therapeutic.

6 months working together she calls him Mr. Barnes and then James-he has identity issues and is struggling with who he is, so I think that one of the 1st things they would have done is figure out what he is comfortable being called, by whom and what that means for him.

He is still full out lying to her about pretty much everything including PTSD sx—I’m not saying clients never lie if they have good therapists, but if after 6 months he still doesn’t feel like he can be truthful at all then they haven’t built any trust/ solid therapeutic rapport

The pen and notebook thing-that’s clearly a trigger for him, there’s no reason to antagonize him and take notes in session like a punishment, it’s a power play on her part and it only emphasizes his lack of control in being forced into therapy (she should know his hx w/notebooks)

The whole little arm motion she made when she said “they need to make sure you don’t…” – that made so much light of what has happened to him, he probably feels like his arm is only good as a weapon and things like that will not help him accept it as part of his body

The rules, UGH the rules—from how they were talking about them clearly not something he actively created for himself, more like directives that he’s been ordered to adhere to—something fed to him and reinforced, feels like a way to sign off on liability only

THE AMENDS—this is probably my biggest issue. Amends are for people who need to take accountability for their actions and the repercussions of those choices. He had NO choice. He was a victim of horrific crimes against him, and framing it in a way that he needs to make up for

the crimes that others used him for is abhorrent. The lack of trauma informed care as astounding in the way it is being framed that he has to atone for sins that weren’t his. Its clearly reinforcing the idea in his head in ep 2 when he says “HYDRA were my people".

NO, HYDRA were your captors. They were not your people. That type of thinking needs to get deconstructed and challenged. He can dedicate himself to bringing good into the world and righting wrongs that happened WITHOUT taking on the responsibility of those actions.

Her whole attitude and demeanor were condescending and demeaning. I know some people have said “I love how she calls him out on his bullshit!” That’s not what I see happening. I call my clients out on their shit all the time—this was not that.

And I can only do that with clients ONCE we’ve built the type of relationship where it’s going to be therapeutic for them to hear it, and it’s done intentionally and with purpose. She just came off shaming and mean because they don’t seem to have any form of therapeutic rapport.

She said “you have no history, no family”- there is no therapeutic reason for that, and she’s wrong. He most likely has family alive (he used current tense when talking about his sister) and he was close to Shuri and TChalla, his history is vital to understanding him

When she said “Look, I know that you have been through a lot, but you’ve got your mind back. You are being pardoned. These are good things. You’re free.”—Yeah this feels really dismissive and like toxic positivity. “I know you’ve been through a lot BUT BE HAPPY!!??”

He certainly doesn’t seem to feel like he’s free (especially having therapy mandated), and you can’t just tell someone they’re free. I felt like she was pretty much just like, “shake it off, look to the future!” which feels really shitty when you’ve experienced excessive trauma.

HELLO breach of confidentiality, just introducing herself to Sam as his therapist and confirming it to Walker and the whole police station, it doesn’t matter if they know he’s in therapy you do not break someone’s privacy like that, he still deserves some control over his tx.

Ordering Sam into a session, NO, he’s not your client and you don’t know him well enough to know if that’s appropriate or if it would be harmful to either, and you haven’t asked your client for his consent to have another person in his session

Forcing a trauma victim who was stripped of his bodily autonomy for 70 years into a physically intimate exercise with a coworker that he’s barely interacted with in the last several months? NOPE, just reinforcing to Bucky she has control over him the way his handlers used to

To me, I think she is more focused on signing off on his psychological eval that he isn't a liability rather than any actual healing or attention to his trauma. This unfortunately isn’t unusual in the military where “mental health treatment” is focused on being mission ready.

They are making sure he’s ready to be an “asset” w/ mandated therapy, which he shouldn’t even be forced to do as part of his pardon because he shouldn’t have needed a pardon at all because he was a victim of horrific war crimes, brainwashing, and dehumanization for 70 years.

I’m just saying, if that was me he would be on my big squishy couch, bright open windows, bowl of Hershey kisses, random fidget toys, and two therapy dogs laying all over him while we work through that trauma and he builds back his identity and finds the calm he wants so badly.

And yes he would probably need someone who would see through his BS, call him out when he needs it, not be overly "touchy feely", but only if he feels safe and there is trust, where he gets to work on what HE wants, not what others think he needs.

Anyway thanks for coming to my TEDTalk, I❤️my work and I think being a therapist on retainer for the Avengers would've been a fucking trip, they all needed a team of mental health professionals at their disposal 24/7 and things would've been so much better🤣

ps. They can be a good therapist and just not be a fit for the client, that happens regularly. We know when to make it part of the conversation and when to refer out. Nothing good is going to come out of a contemptuous therapeutic relationship, mandated or not.

pps. That whole situation and the scene with Zemo was so rough. I can't imagine how much it brought back the violation, humiliation, anger, and helplessness of when he was the WS. I'm just imagining him having a therapist he trusts and being able to process that afterwards 😭😭😭"

[denial-permanente]

Hey how are you? Big fan of your page and content. At the beginning of this year I confessed to my girlfriend of 6 years that I have a chastity fetish and I wanted her to lock my member up while we had our “fun time”. Surprisingly she was very open to the idea and we soon incorporated a chastity cage into our sex life. It has been amazing. It has opened a new side to me that I never knew existed. It took a bit of getting used to for the both of us but over time we have come to adore it. A majority of the time we have sex now my girlfriend instructs me to put my cage on before we begin.

A couple of weeks ago I brought up the idea of wearing the chastity cage for a longer period of time rather than only during our fun time. She interested with the idea but she believed it impossible.

For a little bit of context, we live together but due to work I’m only home from Friday nights when I get off of work till Monday mornings when I have to leave for work again.

Knowing this my girlfriend had quite a handful of concerns.

1. Her absolute biggest concern was she believed there was no way I could properly clean myself down there while locked in a cage. She says that wearing the cage for longer than a few hours at a time would be extremely de-hygienic and nasty.

2. Her next biggest concern is that since we only really see each other 2 days a week she thinks that there’s too much time between us seeing each other. “what if you NEED to get the cage off on a Monday, like an incident happens at work but we’re nowhere near each other and you have to wait all the way till Friday when you see me again?”

Because of this concern I tried to negotiate with what if I wore it during the weekends when I’m home. But then she rebuttals with “you basically already do so what difference would it make?”

3. A smaller concern for her is she is uncertain of the risks that come with wearing a chastity cage for long periods of time. An example she said was “what if you wore the cage for too long and your dick started to shrink?” I tried to tell her that that was just a myth but she seemed pretty adamant.

I guess my question is do you have any advice on what to do in this type of situation? Any words of wisdom that I could tell her in order to ease her mind about this? She says she would love to at least give it a try but she’s far too concerned about all the things that could go wrong. She says she thinks wearing a chastity cage for longer periods of time is just too unrealistic and isn’t possible.

It’s something that I’d love to do so should I try to talk to her about it again or just give up on the idea?

Believe it or not, I am probably like your girlfriend in that I worry about the practical aspects. For a very long time I would worry about what if my husband had an accident, or what if he had to remove it and didn't have the key. Even now, 25 years later I still sometimes worry if I know he's doing something dangerous like working on the roof or hiking in the woods or something. All I can say is that those concerns eventually get less and less concerning as time goes on and wearing a cage becomes second nature to the both of you.

I will let @that-tom-allen answer the part about hygiene and shrinkage, but in all these years that has never been a problem. I'm sure he can explain it better. I can tell you that I don't ever remember him having any issues.

A lot of men seem to want to rush into being lockedn24/7. Your girlfriend is being cautious and concerned. If she has a Tumblr account please have her message me for questions or even just moral support.

🔏 Tom here. First, as @mrs--edge wrote, if possible have your gf drop by to ask her soenof these questions directly. You can create an account for her, she doesn't need to be posting anything. Actually, considering some of the chastity related material on Tumblr, maybe you don't want her looking at too much. 😏

I don't know what kind of cage you have. My routine is to shower at night, and let things air dry. Then in the morning I put a dab of Gold Bond cream inside and swab it around with a Q tip. The cream is water soluble and will pick up body oil, sweat, stray urine, etc., and will wash out easily in a hot shower.

It also helps to have a tiny brush to swab around some soapy water inside the cage during your shower. I almost never need to unlock my cage to clean.

Now, about the shrinkage. I have a post on here about that. Check the FAQ for more detail, but here's the quickie: shrinkage is a myth, usually written about by guys who have SPH fetishes. The penis is not a muscle, and does not atrophy like muscle. It is mainly a meat hydraulic tube of connective tissue and blood vessels. Shrinkage is mainly a factor of the hydraulic balloons not having a chance to stretch out. Removing the cage and getting a few days of, err, healthy exercise should be sufficient to bring things back to size.

[fandomlovingfreak]

By The Cliffs (Ch 5/?)

Paul Lahote x Female Reader

Wattpad I AO3 I Twilight Masterlist

Rating: T+

Word Count: 1348

Summary: It was supposed to be a vacation.

A time to relax after Graduate School and unwind the pent-up tension I'd built up in the years of juggling school and work. Finally, I'd have the chance to breathe. Craving the serenity of mother nature's caress, I'd chosen Forks, a four-hour drive from the University, based on the stories I'd heard from Washington locals I'd known in school. With its endless trees and rainy weather, it seemed a perfect sleepy dream spot.

In retrospect, my belief that it was solely my decision to visit and not the Universe's mystic call pulling me there was mortal ignorance. But who besides a creature possessing the gift of predestination could have anticipated what awaited me by the cliffs?

Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or any of Meyer's Characters. This work is not created for profit or financial compensation, and is a transformative fair use work in accordance with Section 107 of the United States Cop1yright Act.

Notes: Paul's POV!! He's got some abandonment issues that will probably be more obvious in his POV's then in other characters (at least so far lol)

Warnings: This fic is about Imprinting. Warning if that's not your cup of tea. There is some swearing (bc it's my love language) and angst. Some abandonment issues but lowkey Paul doesn't even understand his feelings either so it's vague-ish.

Enjoy!

I know I'm not actually angry with her as I watch her retreat back into the house. Truthfully, I was mad at myself. That first impression was a shit show, making it abundantly clear that I had a lot of work ahead of myself if I wanted (y/n) to welcome the imprint.

It's not like she could know that I could hear her entire conversation with Sam and Emily before I walked into the house due to my heightened hearing, but hearing her call me Mr. Hothead had sent a spike of hurt through my body. Even if it was fair-- especially after watching someone spiral out of control like I had. 

My piss-poor explanation-- our conversation, if you could call it that-- made me all too aware that her anger was also fair. Just because I could admit all of this didn't mean her rejection didn't sting.

You couldn't pry this information from me, but I had pictured a fantasy where I'd meet this so-called soulmate by whatever chance. Nowhere in that sick romantic fantasy had I expected this outcome. I guess I'd expected whoever she was to feel that instant connection and know we were fated to be in each other's lives. Reality had kicked my ass enough times. You'd think I should have anticipated the opposite.

A sympathetic hand lands on my shoulder, squeezing slightly. I don't need to turn to know it's Sam's hand on my shoulder.

"Give her some space. There's no use in continuing to argue. It'll only drive her further away."

I want to knock his hand off and tell him to go fuck himself... but he's right. I wish I could say he doesn't understand this rejection, but I know out of everyone here, Sam understands everything I'm going through perfectly. Emily wasn't the type to yell, but she'd wanted nothing to do with him initially. I'd felt and heard that memory a thousand times in the past years as his thoughts had unintentionally been shared around the pack.

"Okay." The single word comes out in a huff under my breath. 

"Maybe you should run it off," Sam suggests, "One of us will talk to her,

talk her through it... better, and then you can come back and try again later."

The idea of Sam or any others explaining these... almost intimate details

with (y/n) reignites the stinging pain inside me. It should be me. It's our bond. 

Rationally, I knew we couldn't find common ground with the heightened emotion that raged between us. Still, I desperately wanted her to understand I wasn't forcing her to do or be anything because of the imprint. I needed to give Sam or someone else to explain the things I fumbled through before... letting her know that the imprint wasn't something that held her to me, but honestly, the opposite. It was me who needed her.

Releasing a breath, I hadn't realized I was holding in, I nod, "You're right. I'll go." It was probably good to get away from the current environment. The breather-- the distance-- away from the pack would help me find my composure.

The first step towards the tree line stung, like there was a rubber band between me and her, and every step away pulled the rubber unnaturally... too tight. I force myself to continue until I'm out of view, mentally blocking out the screaming in my head, begging me to run back to her.

Stashing my shorts under a fallen tree, I phase, breaking into a spring down the familiar path. Though I'm still fighting myself mentally, I try to enjoy the run and surrender to my wolf instincts. 

Run. Fast. Hard.

Her face pops into my head, crystal clear, like she's standing right before me, and my claws dig into the dirt, my lungs burning as I stop dead in my tracks. Panting hard, I let my mind wander across the details of her face. We'd spent only minutes in each other's company, yet I could recall the smallest details like I'd known her for decades. Like I had had the chance to study her intimately.

My feet move on their own, propelling myself through the forest toward home as the imprint bond offers me more possible scenes from the future. She's smiling, her hand reaching for mine, our fingers entwining lazily as she laughs. (y/n) looking at me from the passenger side of the car, singing to something I can't hear. She's reaching for me, our lips meeting as she initiates a kiss.

These possibilities, moments where she smiles at me and laughs with me, wants to kiss me, bring me hope. I can fix this.

Phasing back, I make my way into the house. Dad's in the kitchen, drying dishes.

"Paul?" He calls, wiping his hands on the kitchen towel before leaning on the counter to watch me, "What are you doing here?" 

"Showering," I smile, close-mouthed at him, trying to make my escape towards the bathroom.

"Showering? It's only," he looks down at his watch, "Four. Don't you have patrol tonight?" 

I pause, "I have a good reason."

Dad raises his brows in interest, "And that is?"

"I'm-- going to see a girl." It's not really a lie; it's not really the truth.

"Sam's letting you blow off patrol for a girl?" He doesn't look like he believes a word of it. Or at least, he doesn't entirely "Doesn't really sound like Sam."

I shrug, "Kinda has to. I… imprinted."

The gears turn in Dad's head momentarily as the words catch up with him, "Well, I'll be damned. Are you bringing her over soon? I'd like to meet my

future daughter-in-law." I know he's ragging, but it still makes me

anxious. Bringing (y/n) here would not happen for a while, especially if he

insisted on making that type of joke. After today's events, I'd walk on eggshells around her regarding this sort of humor.

"Not anytime soon. Gotta convince her to talk to me without it ending it an

argument."

"Ah--" Dad crosses his arms over his chest, looking delighted for whatever reason, "She's not local, is she?"

I scoff. As if that matters. An imprint is an imprint no matter their

background, "Nope. The wolf thing really-- freaked her out." The image of her running back into Emily's house screaming about wolves flashes through my memory. 

"Understandable. It's not every day you encounter shapeshifters." 

The understatement of the century.

"Listen, I'll talk about it later, okay?" I move to make my escape, "I want to drive her back to her car—"

"Why doesn't she have her car?" Dad interrupts.

"I'll explain later!" I turn, making my way down the hall before he can ask any questions.

Shutting the bathroom door behind me, I turn the small shower on before stripping down. Standing under the ice-cold spray immediately relieves some of the tension in my shoulders. I exhale, my body seeming to deflate further. Finally, my head starts to clear ever so slightly, and I can begin to rack my brain for the words I must say to (y/n). Without being pushy, I need to explain the imprint in a way that balances out the power. It was obvious by her words and reactions that she felt I was trapping her, leaving her with no choice but to be with me. I can see how alarming that would be; a stranger coming on to you strongly would freak me out, too.

Driving that point across was important. The other part I needed to make right was her perception of me. I was so much more than anger. And I could be so much for her if she only asked.

If I could get her to see beyond her concept of 'Paul', the asshole who screamed at the guys who saved her and then argued with her when he was supposed to explain imprinting, I would be golden.

Recovering my image wasn't impossible. I'd just have to be more patient with my imprint. If I could be patient for anyone, it would be (y/n).

Thanks for reading! I appreciate all of you who have read this fic, liked- reblogged- commented- sent an ask! You are AWESOME!

[littlerosetrove]

This time I didn’t have to wait three days for ABC to release the episode to the service I use. I’m definitely shocked. Anyway! Here’s my initial Spoiler Thoughts for 8x4. 

No bullet points this time, too much to say.

Stating upfront, uhhhhh that was a lot? Like what’s the rush?? No but seriously, the plane crash should have been two episodes, as in 8x1 and 8x2, because the beenado, as cute as that was in some aspects, was not needed to lead up to the plane crash. And all the stories that were wrapped up in 8x4 should have been spread out a little more in 8x3 and 8x4 to give it some breathing room, honestly. This season has 18 episodes, so the balance of things already feels a bit wonky. 

Again, spending too much time for the plane crash overall, and then boom! Like several storylines were wrapped up so quickly! Don’t get me wrong, I am glad Gerrard is going to be gone now, since I was kinda expecting him to stick around potentially through most if not all of 8A. Oh, and before people get mad or confused, this was NOT a redemption or anything of the sort for Gerrard. His actions and choices were all to his selfish benefit. He was looking out for himself, and turning on Ortiz and helping the 118 was good for him because he then got to have a job he wanted. 

I will say I am a little disappointed that Gerrard’s time in season 8 just made him look like a hardass and a bit of a joke, rather than the massive bigot he is, but it’s what we got. I think he was literally only brought in to BE a hardass, and not to have any confrontation about him being a bigot. So.

While I’m certainly glad Mara is back, I would like to put it out there that, um. I really hope the writers find different issues for the Wilsons to face. Meaning, this is the second time that a child has been taken (and both have different resolutions) from Hen and Karen. So I’m hoping this type of story isn’t repeated again, and for that matter, can we not have Hen and Karen’s kids be in any danger for a while? Idk, let’s have the kids have typical growing pains, you know? Denny is almost a teenager, so what does that look like for Denny and the household?? Hell, as much as I disliked how Denny’s biological dad’s story was handled in season 6, where is he? 

Okay so we got some hints about Eddie and where things are going, but still not super clear. Obviously Eddie misses Chris, and it seems Chris is still barely talking to Eddie. So we know Eddie probably feels stuck on this front. What certainly needs to happen is for Eddie to confront some of his issues, which are many, because - and there hasn’t been time yet - there’s been no indication that Eddie has really even begun to work on himself. I think we all agree he needs therapy, but it remains to be seen if he’ll do that. Hopefully we’ll start to see some progress in the next couple episodes, some actual forward momentum for Eddie. 

Athena and Bobby are gonna build a new house? In LA on a firefighters and cops salary?? Hahahaha sure, okay. I’m sure the house will end up “wow how did they afford that” but we’ll just ignore it of course. Just like we ignore how Buck, on a firefighters salary, rents such a nice apartment, and so forth. *flaps hand* 

Huh, okay so Gerrard will not be the problem point for Tommy and Buck later, which I’m honestly happy about. I think it was in an interview where Oliver or Tim said there would be a roadbump of sorts for Tommy and Buck in 8A. Really curious to see what the roadbump will be about. 

I genuinely have no idea where the rest of the season is going to go. The character with the most possibilities, so to speak, is Eddie. Buck, kinda, because interviews are pointing towards Tommy and Buck relationship stuff, but we’ve no idea… about anything for them beyond that. Yeah. It’s all a bit of a mystery. 

I liked parts of this episode, but right now I think I’m feeling a little “it was fine” because, again, so many storylines were wrapped up so quickly. Mr. Minear sir, we have 18 episodes, we don’t need to rush things and cram in a ton of stuff like you did in season 7. Chill just a little?

Edit: oh and side note, the 118 was moving a little too slow in regards to a woman they knew was bleeding out. i was like "chop chop everyone! why are y'all casually walking and making jokes??" this show does this stuff a lot, but still. the lady was bleeding out!

[hana-bobo-finch]

Unfinished pikmin fanfic that I wrote when very bored and dying of heat lmao

“Louie! You dolt!” The president squealed in his soprano voice. The video on the other line had finally cleared up enough for him to make out his employee, tied up in a near-empty room. It gave him horrid flashbacks to his time in the debt collector’s grasp. “What are you doing?”

“He’s doing, uh, crimes, that’s what!” Brittany huffed, tightening the rope around Louie—as if he of all people would try to escape. “Now, pay up!”

The president gave an over-the-top gasp and clasped his hands to his plump cheeks. “Pay? You aren’t the debt collectors, are you?” He seemed to be just about ready to pack up his things and run off into the wilderness again when Alph interrupted.

“No no sir, no,” he assured him. “My name is Alph. I’m from Koppai, and—“

“I don’t care who you are, or where you are, or how you are!” The president fretted. “Tell me what’s going on! How did you get my number?”

“Calm down, sir! Listen. Long story short, Mr. Louie here—“

“That repulsive little pig stole all our juice!” Brittany hissed, jumping into the conversation again. “And we’re going to execute him for his crimes. Unless, of course, you give us a hefty…mm, let’s say…thousand pokos.”

The president’s eyes widened and he quickly turned pale. “Thousand? Are you insane? Louie! My boy! Are you alright?” Louie could have answered as his mouth wasn’t covered, but he only looked directly into the camera of the video transmitter with a look of pure contempt.

“I know what you monsters want,” he said, not letting the group of koppaites get a single word in edgewise. “You’re those…those round ear people with no food aren’t you?”

“Koppaites,” Charlie corrected, not bothering to mention that Alph had already introduced himself as such. “And, yes. We—“

“Right right, and you want ransom money so you can buy food!” The president smiled despite everything. He was so proud of himself for figuring it out!

“No,” Charlie said. “Just buying food wouldn’t help us. We’ve tried that.”

The president’s smile dropped. “Oh. What do you want, then? And you never answered how you got my number…”

“Your number is public information, sir,” Alph smiled anxiously. “Your work number that is. And we really don’t need anything from you, sorry. Brittany here just has a bit of an issue with impulse control. She’s the one who called. I can assure you your employee here will be treated just fine until we can get him home.” His words were calm and outwardly convincing, but the president could hear the sound of Britanny waterboarding Louie in the background.

“Don’t hurt Louie,” he begged. “His nana makes delicious cookies that I like to eat on my lunch breaks.” Louie gave him a pissed-off look again. “And, I don’t know what you’re trying to get him to admit to, but he’s not going to talk no matter how much you waterboard him. Quite the strong and silent type. I like that in a worker. Doesn’t ask about things Olimar won’t shut up about, like workplace safety!”

“Sir, we’ll deal with Brittany. We are very, very sorry for bothering you,” Alph apologized, not acknowledging the president’s comments. He quickly hung up, not adding anything more. Both Charlie and Alph turned to Brittany.

“Don’t waterboard the hostage,” Charlie said gruffly. “Captain’s orders.” Brittany shrugged nonchalantly and wiped the remaining water off Louie’s face. She was being awfully quiet. Too quiet.

“I should specify,” Charlie said, “no harming the hostage, period.”

Brittany threw her head back in annoyance. “Oh, come on! He stole your ducky! You surely want revenge too, don’t you?”

Charlie thought about it. Yes, the thought of kicking that pathetic Hocotation square across the face had appeal. But it would go against his morals. And, more importantly, he didn’t want to clean up any blood from the floors of the SS Drake. “I don’t think he knows what he’s doing.”

Alph nodded in agreement. “I don’t see why he’d have any malicious intent. He was probably just hungry. And Charlie’s ducky is very cute, maybe he just…wanted it.”

Brittany rolled her eyes. “I don’t care what his intent was, stupid people are dangerous. Malicious incompetence, I call it.” She stormed off to a small storage closet. Maybe she was just going to lock herself inside to cool off.

“Your treatment of ducky was unacceptable, young man,” Charlie said sternly to Louie.. “I apologize for Brittany’s behavior, but I cannot excuse what you…” he stopped, sniffling. He wiped a tear from his shimmering eyes. “…What you did to ducky!”

“Didn’t do anything,” Louie muttered.

“You stole him.”

“Squishy.”

“Not an excuse.”

“Soft.”

“Not an excuse.”

“M’like soft things.”

“Again, not a—here.” Charlie sighed and reached over, handing Louie a small rubber ducky. Or, more so putting one next to him. Louie’s hands weren’t free. “This is one of ducky’s children. Her name is Mary.” Louie stared at it incredulously.

“She’s not as big as ducky,” Charlie admitted, “but she’s just as squishy.”

“Mhm.”

“Is that a positive mhm?”

“Eh…” Louie flung himself onto the floor next to Mary, shoving his face against it—er, her.

“Squishy enough,” he said. Charlie frowned. This was not the optimal way to enjoy ducks.

“Here, let me untie you so you can actually squish her,” Charlie said, reaching for the intricate knot Britanny had spent hours getting as tight as possible without restricting Louie’s breathing.

A lightning fast hand slapped his away.

“And just what are you doing?” Brittany shrieked. “Letting the hostage loose? Really, Charlie?”

“We were just bonding over rubber ducks,” he retorted. “He likes to play with them, too. He likes the squishiness.”

“Squishiness, my ass! That monster will probably try to eat it!”

“Mary’s not an ‘it!’ And he’d never eat her! He too respects the art of rubber ducks!” Charlie boomed. Louie nibbled nervously on Mary. He didn’t like all this arguing.

“Get out of my way.” Brittany shoved Charlie aside,

The end :) also I almost typed dick an embarrassing amount of times during the Charlie and Louie exchange. It would’ve drastically changed the tone of the conversation (ALSO I GOT NO CLUE IF CHARLIE’S RUBBER DUCK HAS A NAME OR IF THAT DUCKS NAME IS DUCKY I DIDNT DO RESEARCH FOR THIS NONSENSE 😭)

[novankenn]

Reluctant Hero?

= Thirty = (Chapter List)

Nora and Cardin were a little impressed with the room, well more like the apartment the headmaster has assigned to them. The pair stood in the entryway, each holding a single bag, as they surveyed the layout.

Before them was a rather spacious living-dining room. To the right was a decent sized kitchenette. Just past the kitchenette was the open door to the bathroom, that from their view point looked to be fairly large, or at least a good size bigger than the ensuites in the dorms.

Glynda: (From behind the pair) We tried to accommodate Mr Arc's request, however we have no three bedroom units available. So this two bedroom is the best we can provide.

Nora: So why three doors?

Glynda: Two are bedrooms, one is a rather large storage closet.

Cardin and Nora share a look and nod.

Cardin/Nora: First come, first served.

Glynda: Obviously, we will deliver a third bed, as one of you will need to share a room...

Nora: Girl, so I'm automatically getting a solo room.

Cardin: You know we would have had to share a single room if we stayed in the student dorms, right?

Nora: That was then. This is now. I'm a girl... I get a solo room.

Cardin: Well, I'm not sharing with Jaune.

Nora: Why not? You're both guys, it shouldn't be an issue.

Cardin: It's not that.

Nora: Then what is it?

Cardin: The guy kind of creeps me out. Like, I'm not sure if he's on the verge of giving me a hug, or gutting me with his chainsaw.

Nora: Good point, though I bet you he's a real good hugger.

Cardin: I wouldn't take that bet.

Nora: How come?

Cardin: I agree with you. He definitely comes across as a guy good at hugging.

Nora: So you should share a room with him.

Cardin: No.

Nora: Why?

Cardin: I already gave you my reason!

Nora: Really? What was it then?

Cardin: He creeps me out.

Nora: Why would you say that about our Fearless Leader?

Cardin: Because he does. Granted, he seems like a good guy, but what, besides the fact he's good at kicking Deadite ass, do we know about him?

Nora: True. True.

Cardin: So I'm not sharing.

Nora: Well, I'm not either. Guess he gets the couch.

Cardin shakes his head and walks over and starts opening doors, revealing the two bedrooms and the rather large storage closet. Nora walks up beside him as looks inside.

Nora: What are you thinking?

Cardin: I'm pretty sure a bed will fit in here, easily.

Nora: I can see it.

Cardin: So this can be Jaune's room.

Nora: Jaune's room.

Cardin: (Looks at Professor Goodwitch who was just standing there this whole time rolling her eyes) Is there a chance we can get a bed delivered? One of the ones from the student dorms would probably work great.

Nora: Oh definitely.

/==/ One Hour Later /==/

Jaune had found his way to the new accommodations that he was able to wrangle out of the headmaster. He entered and was for the most part was impressed with the size and layout. It was then he noticed the handmade signs on the bedroom doors.

Jaune: Cute. Wonder when they found the time, or the supplies, to do that?

It was then that Jaune noticed each of the bedrooms only had a single name on them. His eyes narrowed, as he was definitely not in the mood for these types of juvenile antics. He was tired, and a little mentally exhausted from his long talk with Pyrrha. So he decided he'd deal with the issue in the morning.

Jaune: Guess it's the couch tonight. Wait? What the...?

As Jaune had turned to head for the couch, he saw a third homemade name plate. This one with his name on it. He was concerned, because Goodwitch had informed him that they had gotten assigned a two room unit. So he made his way over and opened the door.

Jaune: Oh, come on! This is a closet! You guys expect me to sleep in a closet?

Nora: (slightly muffled) It's a storage room!

Cardin: (also slightly muffled) First come, first served, Fearless Leader!

Jaune: (Tossing his basically empty bag on the bed.) This is bullshit.

[the-exhausted-xexandaler]

I just pushed one button and they act like I’ve saved all of organic life.

It all started when a couple of rich kids from the local highschool said that they needed my help to save the world, but why are they playing such games? They’re almost adults and they should act like it. I mean sure it’s been getting pretty warm lately, but they kept telling me if I didn’t help them with building a machine to stop some kinda ‘solar flash’ or whatever, the world was gonna be roasted like a boar in Hawaii.

Honestly they were just making me hungry, but they wouldn’t shut up about it so I decided to doodle up some bs blueprints for them. I don’t know what I’m drawing, but they keep nodding and calling me ‘cool and amazing’ or whatever.

So I hand them off the blueprint and since they’re wasting my tome, I’m going to waste theirs.

‘Don’t forget that you’ll need a solid casing for that powersource. I think there was some kinda metal found in the Meteor Shower due next week that may be able to withstand that level of energy, so be sure not to start it until then.’ I told them, behaving like the adult that I know I am.

‘Oh thank you thank you thank you Mr. Walker! With this we should be able to stop the Solar Burst Flare from destroying the galaxy!’ Said the redheaded girl. These poor kids are going to be made fun of so badly in the working world, but that’s their problem. Not mine.

Ever since that day, I’d been boticing that my bank account has been getting a dollar a day. I don’t understand why, but I’m not going to argue against free money.

It’s been three months and I’ve accrued just under $100 from this anonymous source when I see those kids again. Honestly I almost completely forgot about them, but here they rushed in a panic.

‘MR. WALKER! We have trouble!! Your machine isn’t working and the flare is going to be here any minute now!’ Exclaims the blond boy. These kids sure are dedicated to their game if they’re even going at it for so long after we first met.

Actually… how do they know my name? I don’t remember telling them it, but then again I have trpuble remembering what I had for breakfast this morning.

‘Look I gotta get to work, so we can talk about it later okay?’ I say trying to placate these kids.

‘No! We need you right now or else the planets going to be steamed like a dumpling!’ The blond girl this time spoke up. She seems like she’s probably the sister of blond boy here.

‘Look, I have to get to work. I’ll get in trouble if I’m late, so I can’t just go with you. I could pose my job.’ I try to calm the trio down, but they seem way more panicked than the last time.

Red head speaks up. ‘Please! We’ll do anything you want! Just help us fix your device!’ She exclaims.

‘FINE! Just let me go! I can walk by myself!’ I shout brushing off my suit. May still be getting warmer, but I’m a professional. ‘I’ll go with you kids, but I’ll need compensation for my time since I could be losing my job.’

‘We’ll give you a million dollars if you just help us!’ Shouts blond boy. Seriously? I mean yeah they look well off, but a million eh? Know what? I’m down for it. They seem like the honest sorts which still makes it weird they’re playing such a delusional game.

‘Well then, lead the way.’ I say as they lead me to some sorta facility. This is actually not to far away from my workplace… wait is that my boss? ‘Mr. Duran? What’re you doing here. Did these kids rope you into this rediculous event of theirs too?’ I asked.

Mr. Duran looked to me a tad stressed out. The guy had been panicking a lot lately, so I’ve had to pick up even more slack at the office. ‘Roger, do you not realize what is going on here? The world could end!’ He shouted. Funny, I never took him for the playful type, but if I recall he does have kids, so maybe that’s why he’s playing along with them.

‘Hey, am I going to get in trouble at work for coming here boss? I’m going to b-‘

‘IF THERE ARE ANY ISSUES I WILL TAKE CARE OF IT!!! NOW PLEASE JUST FIX THE MACHINE AND SAVE US ALL!!!’

‘Whoa whoa easy. I’ll take a look at it, but I don’t know what you expect me to do.’

I take the time to examine the machine. Sure everyone keeps saying that there’s some kinda emergency, but I’m not that gullible. Life right now isn’t exciting enough for an apocalypse to occur and it won’t be for many years to come.

I stop before a big blue button that looks like it’s just inviting me to press it.

So I do.

*click* *vrrrrrrrrRRRRRRRRRRR* ‘YEOWCH MY EYES!’ I shout as a blinding light flashes from the machine. I bet it was a camera flash. I should’ve known this was all a blackmail attempt. They’re probably going to use this on me to force me into some unfavorable position, like I have to stay until long after everyone else goes home or something. Oh well. Not like it’s any different from how it’s been till now.

As I rub my eyes, everyone begins to shout in glee and joy. Geez was trolling me really that big of a deal. And those three kids are monsters if they were cool with helping my boss with this prank. I bet I won’t even get that cool mill.

Ah well… just another day. As they all celebrate my suffering, I slip out and rush to the office. Maybe I can convince the others that Mr. Duran tricked me into helping some kids with a random project.

I arrive at the office to find it totally abandoned. What? Did everybody decide to ditch work and go to the beach to cool off or something? Gah! Whatever!!! I still have to do my work before the boss gets in. We’re supposed to have people in to check on our progress and I need to get our budgets finished before then.

The following morning…

I woke up from my sleep feeling groggy, as usual. I barely even got to sleep since there was some kinda festival going on down the street I think. I don’t know, I just recall hearing a lot of fireworks.

I turned on the TV as I began preparing my breakfast and morning coffee. I prefer a little sweetness in my coffee, but others calm me a kid for that. Hey, I wonder how those kids are doing.

.

..

…

WAIT! I FORGOT TO DO THE REPORT THAT’S DUE TODAY! ‘Shit! I gotta get to work fast!’ I exclaim as I bust out of my apartment and into the street, toast in mouth. Today’s bound to be another boring day at work as always.

——

Meanwhile, back at Roger Walkers apartment, where the TV was left on.

‘We now bring you live to the place where it all happened. Where the machine developed by the most brilliant of minds was constructed and activated in order to save the world and galaxy from total annihilation.’

You’ve been getting random $1 deposits in your bank account daily with no explanation. Today, you get a deposit of $1 million with a note: ‘Payment for services rendered. Thank you for saving the world.’

[ruershrimo]

take me back (take me with you) | f. megumi x fem! reader | chapter 3: motion

ao3 link for additional author’s notes | playlist | prev | next | m.list

chapter synopsis:

'You may forget this in the future, but you swear you’ll try your very best to remember it and be like Tsumiki. Because she’s going places; she’s got a promising future and good ideals she seems she’ll stick to until she reaches the grave, because she’s the type to change the trajectory of others’ lives even now at the tender, juvenile age of nine.'

---

Fushiguro Tsumiki is amazing and she's changed the trajectory of your life. You decide to hope you can do the same for others.

Fushiguro Megumi is someone you meet again after six years, only for the two of you to have become so very different since then.

Itadori Yuji is, well, a fun guy to hang out with. That's all you know for now.

word count: ~10k (this chapter was hell to edit on tumblr); tws: mild “gore” again? (a fight scene)

30-11-2010

“When’s Megumi’s birthday, actually?” you ask one day after finishing the last of your homework off at their place. 

“Oh! December 22nd,” Tsumiki states. Megumi’s scrubbing a plate in the kitchen. “Are you planning to give him anything?” 

“I’ll see what I can,” you reply, “But I just wanted to know. What do you usually do for your birthdays, though?” 

“Hmm,” Tsumiki pauses, “We usually only have Mr Gojo and some of his friends over— oh, hi, Megumi!” 

“Yay, you’re back!” 

“We were just talking about your birthday,” you inform him. “…you know, I’ve been meaning to ask something, actually. I never really see you guys’ parents, so, um… are they busy? Are they out of the country for work, or something?” 

“Oh— no, our parents left.” 

Left? Like, abandoned?

“Oh— oh my goodness, I’m so sorry! I thought they just had work or something and could never come back earlier— I never even thought—!” 

“—They’re probably having fun or dying in a ditch somewhere, though,” Megumi interrupts, “It’s not a problem to either of us. It’s not like we knew them that well either. I can’t even remember them,” he explains. 

“Oh…” you trail off, turning to face the table. If they’d really gone away when the two were so young, Tsumiki, the older sister, must have tried to be the ‘adult’, right? That sounds difficult. And you’ve heard that children are like plants, and plants need to have enough space to grow— you can recall that fact from your science classes. So if they’d grown so close to each other with no one else save that weird benefactor guy, would they have been able to grow properly? It must have felt suffocating for both of them, right? Maybe they didn’t realise it if they’d been so comfortable with and used to what they’d been having their whole lives— only each other? 

Or maybe you’re thinking ahead of yourself and in reality they were okay. It’s not like they wouldn’t be either way, but maybe the benefactor spent more time with them growing up, and they had more friends before you than you think— you know that Tsumiki does, even if Megumi doesn’t. 

“Megumi, you shouldn’t curse people by talking about them dying like that.” 

“So what? It’s the truth.” 

“Hey, don’t argue…” you start. 

“Hm—? Sorry, [Name]! It’s our own issue— don’t worry about it,” she says, her smile a little forced, the remnants of her frown still left on her face, “Right, Megumi?” Oh, she’s angry. Oh no. 

“I’ll never understand why you’re like this,” he says, heading to his room. 

“Hey— why’re you leaving?” He walks out anyway. 

“Tsumiki, why’s he leaving?” She frowns again. 

“I’m sorry, [Name],” she says, “Megumi just thinks that you shouldn’t be nice to people.” 

“Huh? Nice in what way?” 

“No, it’s just… when people do bad things, I think we should forgive them. We shouldn’t punish them instead. We have to be kind because everyone has a reason for what they do, so we should just be kind to whoever we see.” 

“…uh-huh. I guess. But my mummy says that sometimes if you do that too much life gets harder.” 

“It gets harder if you think it does. Megumi thinks like that too, calling me a hypocrite when I tell him to forgive people and things like that,” she says, “…you know what I think, [Name]?” 

“I think that you’re a kind person. I think that everyone and anyone can be kind in any way. It’s just that we have to think we’re kind and everything comes easy. I think that kind of life is the best. So…” she grins, and it’s light and happy again, but you see the sagacity in her eyes, and maybe how tired yet satisfied she may be on her lower eyelids. “Don’t give up on trying to be a good person, [Name]. Or maybe just being a kind one, because I think you’d be amazing at that.” 

“Oh…” you say. If your eyes could, they would have stars in them. Nobody’s told you you could be amazing at something, much less good. You’re quiet and nobody listens to you. Every parent-teacher-meeting always ends with the conclusion that you’re quite an alright student, but even more so a reticent girl. For years your parents have been telling you to speak up or to be more confident and the only people you’ve been able to speak easily to are Tsumiki and Megumi. The two of them are the only ones who have ever said much beyond your timid demeanour. 

You may forget this in the future, but you swear you’ll try your very best to remember it and be like Tsumiki. Because she’s going places; she’s got a promising future and good ideals she seems she’ll stick to until she reaches the grave, because she’s the type to change the trajectory of others’ lives even now at the tender, juvenile age of nine. It’s strange how she doesn’t know that, how she must think that she and Megumi are close friends and that the impact she’s had on you is far less than that; it’s strange how you can meet other people at any time and if it’s the right person, no matter what, your life will be affected. It’s strange that there is such a thing as fate. 

It’s 2010 and you think this year is one you want to keep lasting forever. 

27-6-2016

It happens on one summer evening. 

Everything seems like it’s empty; from the streets and their dusty white concrete turning grey as they’re drenched with water, to the rain that news outlets report to be more saturated with acid as the years go by, to the houses and trees that around this time are either deafeningly loud with either the quiet, the sound of cicadas or the temporarily never-ending downpour. 

But for a while, on that morning, the place where you’re settled in— for now— is the rain’s dominion, and you’re just a feeble, powerless human at the hands of nature’s relentlessness. 

So you stay under the convenience store awning, hiding in the shade from the rain after running an errand. The last time you’d got drenched in this type of weather— about two weeks ago— you’d got ill, and it only caused your parents more problems, as your mother chided you. Being sick in the summer wasn’t that bearable for you either— no, it was something hellish. Sometimes you could handle being sick in the winter with a runny nose or getting mild colds in the spring, but being sick during summer time was the worst. You’d be struggling to breathe through mucus-filled lungs and you wouldn’t be able to swallow anything without triggering a terrible ache in your phlegm-filled throat due to post-nasal drip. You’d be feeling like ridding yourself of anything resting in your insides, from toxins to food; you wouldn’t be eating or ingesting anything except water and the constant sensation of feeling faint weighing you down would seem like it were about to kill you prematurely as the sweat from a high fever made you feel immeasurably weak, like a helpless child trapped in the confines of your own body. 

“Are you okay?” the cashier by the counter— not the one who’s usually there, though, so you presume that this one’s a replacement— asks as you’re lost in your own thoughts, “I can give you an umbrella. For free.” 

You’d insist on paying if you had any cash, but your now empty wallet reminds you of the fact that you’re all out. You have a tiny quibble with the kind lady before she finally gives in, and you’re off on your way back home. 

Even upon further inspection as you exit the store, she still seems like a run-off-the-mill cashier. She seems to be in her early 20s, some college student back for the summer part-timing at the local convenience store for extra cash, maybe— with a sort of wistful yet coltish smile and a mole by the side of her right eye. 

“You know, you really shouldn’t be so insistent on not doing things if those things’ll do you good,” she tells you, “I mean— I know that sounds kinda mean, and that in asian cultures like ours we naturally say stuff that deprecates ourselves, but I really do think that you should, um… how do I say it?” she ponders aloud, “Aha! —Yes, you should just look out for yourself and let people help you. It does everybody a little better. And, you know, you’ll be able to live life without regrets, because there won’t really be an opportunity cost for letting people help you, and they’ll like helping you too. I mean, who doesn’t like helping others? Wait, you get what I mean, right?”

“...it sounded like you were rambling,” you tell her, then step back, “Um. Sorry.” 

“No, no! It’s fine! Like, um, you and I are kinda similar in that regard, I guess? We’re both awkward and we’re strangers but I just thought that the advice would do you some good, you know?” 

“Ah— I get it, sorry,” you repeat, “It’s just that… I’m not used to that, maybe? I don’t want to be a burden on others.” Not anymore. 

She purses her pink-glossed lips. “It’ll be hard to live like that, you know. If you live like that you won’t know who you are.” 

It’s strange to hear that from a literal stranger. What’s even stranger is how deep the conversation is. Wasn’t this the time to make small talk? You didn’t talk to strangers very often, especially those in stores and all. At least not for this long. 

“I… uh. I’ll see— I guess…” you mutter. The conversation dies there. You really aren’t suited for things like that. You can only find it easy to communicate and speak in that way when it’s with Tsumiki or your parents. Otherwise, you’d be stuttering and muttering your way through valleys of words that you don’t know if you should use, people demanding you speak up, or people commenting on how awkward you are, even if they mean so endearingly. You don’t know the source of the problem, really— maybe it was puberty and the onslaught of new, different people you had to talk to every time you moved? Maybe it is that. But this is your predicament: you used to be able to talk to people and over the years that just went away. 

And it’s especially bad with people your age— the last time you’d been able to talk to someone your age in a normal, non-cloddish manner, was probably when you were eight. 

Oh. 

When you exit the shop, the sky’s been dipped in the sunset and it looks like a mix of purple and pink hues have been laid onto it like watercolour paint on fresh paper. The cashier waves you goodbye anyway, claiming that she hopes you’ll come back soon— you hope she doesn’t hate you now, else you’d avoid this convenience store like the plague for the next few months. The plastic bag rustles and crinkles as its contents bump against your knees. 

The air is still thick with petrichor and the breaths you take feel light and fresh, brushing against the inner walls of your lungs as you breathe in and out. There are water residuals left on the sidewalk in patches. 

Suddenly it changes— and you don’t notice this until after it happens. The air grows heavy and everything around you feels volatile, like their constituents will be separated from each other at any moment, turned into a mangled mass of jostling particles; your ears feel as if they’re so intensely covered to the point that you find it difficult to catch a breath; you can’t bring your lungs to continue moving after that hitched breath you made once you felt it. There’s something in the air, something disgusting and thick and suffocating. It fills you with ominousness. It fills you with a feeling of sickness, of suffering, of shame and fear and sadness, and it’s lurking somewhere, somewhere in the dark. 

Cursed energy. 

You remember your father talking about it, mentioning how it felt in passing. 

Oh no. 

“Help!” a voice erupts— it’s the same  voice from the cashier, except this time it isn��t pleasant, it’s frantic, no— downright terrified. 

If there is anything you’d consider yourself it isn’t someone who saved others. 

Beyond the geographical sense of the word, you were the embodiment of stasis; something that didn’t touch others at all and made no effort to do so. You’d have no effect on any others’ life and for a long time you’d accepted you’d live a life amounting to nothing. You knew that and walked into life thinking you’d just keep doing nothing until you died for some nondescript reason. 

So you didn’t really care about your future, and you abstained from thinking of the morality behind your actions because what was there to judge, anyway? You just had to follow what everyone else did, and none of your actions were so monumental to change anything. Being guilty over doing too little or doing nothing at all wouldn’t change anything; you didn’t have the power to change it and you didn’t see the point of a Sisyphean life like such. Even if humanity would have tugged at your shoulder to do something and be removed from that state of stasis, you were sure everyone felt the same and the amalgamation of this was society’s indifference— after all, what was humanity, kindness, against society’s apathy, its enemy; what was humanity when placed against what it had built itself into? 

Thus for all your fourteen years of life you did nothing at all to change the trajectory of anything. It would be no use doing and no use trying. Nothing would come out of it in the end. 

As long as you could be useful to your parents, or at least the people around you, you didn’t have to care about being good or bad or kind or evil. 

You’d lived like that for a long time. You’re not the type to save people, not the type to help those you know nothing of. 

“I think that you’re a kind person. I think that everyone and anyone can be kind in any way. It’s just that we have to think we’re kind and everything comes easy. I think that kind of life is the best. So… don’t  give up on trying to be a good person, [Name]. Or maybe just being a kind one, because I think you’d be amazing at that.” 

You look down at your clenched fists, at her hair tie and its cherry-red hue. 

She did say you’d be good at it. 

It’s strange to think of your best friend now, but damn it, you really want to be like her now. You need to. 

Else you wouldn’t be able to live; you have the power to help people, right? And you’re probably one of the only people on this island with the ability to do so. At the very least you’ve got some cursed energy, and you’ve always been able to heal from injuries really quickly. You’ve seen enough, from simple shikigami to veils and simple domains cast by your father. 

So there may be a chance, a one in a million chance. And you’re willing to take it. If you don’t take it now and find that in the future you could have helped someone who would have gotten injured or worse— it’s now of all times that you think you wouldn’t be able to ever forgive yourself for such a thing. 

You can’t change the directions of others’ lives. At least not if you keep thinking like that. 

You grind your teeth and turn back, leaving the bags on the sidewalk. You’ll get them later. This is a ridiculous idea and you’re doing it anyway and your mind is screaming at your frozen legs to move and keep running, idiot, keep fucking moving because you’ve got to save someone you may just be able to save. Someone you don’t know, who may just be able to help. She said that you shouldn’t deny things that can help you, after all. And she has to be helped, right? So you’re going to jump in and you won’t deny yourself from saving yourself from a life of guilt. And you’re going to be useful, too. You’re going to help. 

You really have to do this and all of a sudden you think you may be crying. But you run forward anyway. You’re going to move away from that state of stasis; you’re going to change and shift and move; finally, it’s liberating and frightening and feels like living as you step into the store. 

Your lungs are burning. 

The curse looms over, a deformed, monstrous thing with its eyes and hands drowning in the mud-like substance it consists of. 

You’re going to make this work. You’ve seen your own cells once or twice before in science classes and all, you remember how your father had the old microscope he used to use for work, and brought it out for you to look at what made you. You’re your father’s daughter so you’ll make this work, your promise yourself— and you think of those cells, you conjure that image of them in your head and focus on them shifting, changing to make something new. You force them to multiply by the millions in a tenth of a minute, then you cut them off from your body. You make a tiny blister and goodness you can’t imagine you can actually do it but you’ve got to digress from that and worry about the college student cashier first, and how she’s trembling at the sight before her. 

There’s a bruise on her arm, and so you’ve got to examine the situation: she’s holding it to her chest so you can imagine she’s only been wounded on the skin and hasn’t been scratched or anything. You imagine her cells— they mustn’t look too different from yours— and heal them back up, the blotch of a bruise disappearing as if wiped over by a stain remover. “Calm down!” you shout at her, and you really don’t mean to, but adrenaline and anxiety and the whole situation are getting your heart pounding unlike ever before. 

“Wait— don’t touch that thing!” she shouts, “You’ll end up getting bruised by the hands!”

So what next? —Cursed energy alone can kill other curses if there’s enough of it, right? And your mother told you about how some people imbue things with cursed energy. 

Then you run to the curse slapping it with as much force as you can muster, and it’s arms outstretch to snatch you and force you all around, hitting you abrasives against the shelves of the buns you bought earlier, scraping your skin against the surface of the counter’s edge or nearly smashing your shoulder against the wall, but you keep your hand on any part of it no matter what. You surge your cursed energy, splitting part of it to heal your wounds and the other part of it to overload it with cursed energy. The more intense you get, the harder it hits. But you can’t give up— you’re going to commit to it and stick to something; you’re going to do something that’ll amount to another thing for once. The sight of the cashier hiding under the counter, hunched and praying is enough for you to keep going. She doesn’t deserve that. 

You load it with all the cursed energy you can manage as a rookie— you don’t think this is as much as a rookie has, though, so you probably have a lot and you promise you’re coming out of this thing alive. For once you’re going to swear you’ll keep living this intensely. 

Eventually it fizzles out, its energy, and you just keep overloading it with cursed energy. You’ve still got a lot left. That’s good. Extremely so. 

It bursts all over the convenience store, the ways it was made of. It’s going to be hassle to clean. You fall on the ground face flat and heal yourself. There’s a nosebleed, you think, from such a large amount of cursed energy. You’re panting heavier than you’ve ever done in your from any race or PE class. 

But you’ve discovered that you are the type to help others. You’ve discovered that you can change others’ lives if you want to. 

And it’s really frightening, but you’re happy. You don’t have to be a jujutsu sorcerer— you know too little of curses’ organic matter to be able to do this without making it alive yourself— but you’re going to devote your life to helping others. 

Who knows? Maybe you’ll be a doctor in that world, a nurse, or something. You won’t have to be too involved in its inner workings; you won’t be on the front lines. Still, you’ll help and you’ll be useful. You’ll help and your life will be a good one to live, hopefully. 

Shakily, she moves up. You’re shaking too, gooseflesh and cold sweat and temperatures going wild in and on your body. 

“A-are you okay?” she asks. 

“Oh— uhm, yeah!” you say, rubbing the blood off your philtrum. You’ll have to have a really long shower once you get back. Maybe you’ll draw a bath or something. “Sorry, I… uh— I should have asked you to go outside or something. Could you not tell anyone about this? If you’re injured anywhere I’ll try my best to patch you up as long as you don’t tell anyone about this.” 

“I— okay… god, you’re just a kid,” she goes, “What happened back there, actually?” 

“Have you ever seen stuff like that before? Like that monster?” 

“…no.” 

“Oh, I see. Well, don’t worry about it, because there are people who take care of stuff like that. You seeing it was just a one-time thing. It probably won’t ever happen again!” you say, holding your thumb up. “Promise not to tell anyone, okay?” 

“Alright. Just… you okay? Want me to help you with anything? I mean, it’s pretty late now.” 

“I’ll be okay. But I think I’ve got to go home now. Could you let me see any injuries you had got just now, first?” 

28-6-2016

You only arrive back at midnight. The weather’s fully put a stop to its torrents and your parents are worried sick. You’re so tired you could faint— fighting the curse took more out of your mental energy than you thought it would, and you have a splitting headache as the result of it. 

When they see you and sense the cursed energy, you explain whatever happened. Once you’re done your father shudders, and your mother stands up. 

“Whatever it is, I’m not letting you be a jujutsu sorcerer,” she states resolutely, “I’m never going to let you be one.” 

27-12-2016

The date you and Megumi have agreed on (with the help of Tsumiki as a sort of middleman) is about a week after his fourteenth birthday. 

Your parents told you to be careful— it’s a long trip to and from Tokyo, and you’re going all alone. 

This is the travel plan: fly from Kagoshima to Tokyo, stay at Megumi and Tsumiki’s for a while, and ultimately find the courage to hand him the letter before you leave. Maybe you’ll see if he still cares for you while you’re at it. 

To be honest you don’t completely feel like going there anymore— you’ll always love Tokyo, it’s just that things will be painfully awkward between you and Megumi. So you remind yourself of Tsumiki, and that you’re mostly doing this for her. Any of the three of you can be the glue holding the other two together at any given moment, and now it’s Tsumiki playing that role. 

Friends will always be above boys, anyway. So you’re doing this for Tsumiki and not him or yourself. 

When you’re finally at the airport, Tsumiki greets you with a hug and Megumi in tow. You’ve her old hair tie on your wrist— it’s come in handy multiple times since then. They both look so different now: Tsumiki’s still tall, but her hair has grown longer, more luscious and she looks so pretty you understand why she had received so many anonymous confession letters on Valentine’s Day this year. Megumi’s taller too, and though it’s slightly embarrassing the first thing you think of when you see him is how handsome he looks, at least as far as boys your age go. The viridian of his eyes is a lush summer day in a capsule, a contrast to his jet black hair spiking in all directions and his eyelashes— and those, too, those eyelashes, goodness— they look like they were woven by silk or taken off a doll: they’re so unbelievably long and curly and pretty. Your face is as hot as an oven that’s about to bake up a whole cake and let it expand and rise. They’re the kind of people you see on television, each so beautiful like the other and you almost feel as if you’re intruding; you can’t imagine how out of place you must look with them from the eyes and viewpoints of other people. 

“Tsumiki!” you grin as you’re still kept in her arms, “Long time no see!” 

“[Name]! Finally! Oh, you look so pretty now!” 

“Haha, really? I was thinking the same about you, though. I’m so happy to see you, seriously!” 

“Me too!” 

You step back and pull away. 

“Hi, Megumi,” you say. You’re nervous, but you can’t deny you’re happy. You smile as you look at him— the two of you are no longer the same height anymore. You tug at the straps of your bag, feeling the weight of you pulling the straps down on your shoulder.  “…it’s nice to see you again.” 

“…nice to see you again, too.” 

Why’d he have to stop talking to you? Why’d he have to avoid you? “How’s… um, how’s everything?” 

A glimpse from your peripheral vision shows Tsumiki with sparks in her eyes. She really was so excited— and maybe a little too hopeful, because you don’t think anything will happen at all. The incident from June makes you feel like you should try to hope for something, though. But you probably won’t be completing this trip with a new boyfriend kissing your neck or something. 

“It’s been okay,” he answers. 

“…it’s the same for me.” 

“That’s good to know.” 

You take the train back with them, breathing in how crowded Tokyo is once again. When you’d first arrived six years ago you felt like a country bumpkin, the masses of people turned into one giant entity never once fathomed by your eight year old mind. Now you’re fourteen, and the lights with their neon sparks, the dark concrete bathed in streetlights when the sun sets, the moon hanging overhead over a multifaceted maze of buildings— it feels a bit like coming home, even if you only called it home for a little less than twelve months of a life spanning some number roughly around five thousand, one hundred and ten days. 

You really love Tokyo. But more than that you love the people you met in it during what feels like a lifetime ago. 

The cold air that you breathe in as the three of you walk and take the turn to their house fills your lungs, settling into them like they never left. 

“—And you remember that old maths teacher?” Tsumiki laughs, “‘You children have to harness your mental prowess!’” she quotes, holding two fingers on each hand up in the air. 

“Oh my god,” you say, playfully rolling your eyes, “I was so sick of him last time— bet he’d feel old as hell now if he saw us all grown up like this.” 

“We saw him last week,” Megumi adds, “That old geezer expected college-level intelligence from bunches of feral eight and nine year old kids.” 

“I mean, you were a smart kid, Megumi,” you recall, “Tsumiki too. But that guy, seriously…”

“Hey! You were a smart kid too, [Name]! But was there anyone who didn’t hate him last time?” 

“Never, probably,” you agree, “He was so infuriating. Ugh— Oh! We’re here! I haven’t been here in so long, oh my goodness…” 

Megumi works the key in and opens the door. You inhale the scent of their house, a mosaic of memories and old book pages. Places like these deserve to remain treasured forever. 

The three of you step in. Smiley Tsumiki, frowny Megumi and you. This is the home that will never leave you no matter what. This is what you’d call home even if you’re not in Tokyo, or away from them, because it felt like a constant for a year and that was enough to feel like you went to it at least five times a week for less than a full year.  

It feels good to be home. It feels better to call it that after years of not feeling as if you really ever had one at all. 

28-12-2016

You can’t sleep. 

They’ve helped you unpack all your things, you’re clad in pyjamas and have had a thorough shower, and the white blanket on the futon is warm on the inside and cold on the outside— perfect for sleeping comfortably. But you can’t get a wink of sleep. 

Since you’d first discovered that you could, in fact, use cell manipulation, your nights had always been like this. 

To use it properly with your own organic matter, cell manipulation requires cooperation with your brain and your stomach— the source of cursed energy. Imagining the cells enough and applying cursed energy to them required your brain to overload itself with both cursed energy and information, and adding commands to that, making yourself do even the slightest bit of actions with your cells— felt like leaving your brain in the microwave. The fact that your gut— for your cursed energy— and your brain— for command and control— had to work together added more of a headache on top of that. Headaches and nosebleeds and your brain being unable to shut down became what you were used to. 

Did you keep doing it anyway? Yes— you still had the intention of helping people with it, after all. You held on to the hope that you could be a doctor or a nurse for jujutsu sorcerers or something, not an actual sorcerer in that world itself. You assumed your mother would be fine with that at least. You’d be satisfied with something like that as well, even at the cost of your sleep and health. You were still young, and the only two people who could do anything like this were you and your over fifty year old father. And you didn’t want him doing that at all for any longer. 

Clang–! 

The water bottle on the bedside table falls to the carpeted floor with a bang against the wood under it— you rush to pick it up with as little sound as you can manage. 

Stealthily, you step out of bed. If your memory serves you right, the kettle should be on top of the drawer next to the oven. 

You’ll drink some hot water or tea and lull yourself to a peaceful night eventually, you decide. 

Then there’s a knock on the door. It’s light— so light that it would be inaudible had you stayed on the bed instead of moving nearer to the door, and so soft even the lightest of sleepers wouldn’t hear it. So whoever this is, they must know that you’re awake. You’re sure you wouldn’t have caught it at all and for a second you wonder whether there really was someone knocking the door after all. Tsumiki seems to be fast asleep, though— you can hear her muffled snoring from the other side of the wall. Thank goodness she’s a heavy sleeper. You’re not too sure about how Megumi fares in that sense. 

You turn the cold metal knob and open the door. 

In the dim light the front of his body’s barely visible, its glow only tracing the outline of his left shoulder from the back. 

“Can’t sleep?” you ask, keeping your voice as soft as you can to prevent cracking your voice once you’ve started speaking. 

“I heard something,” Megumi answers, “Did you fall?” 

“It was just my water bottle. Did I wake you up? Sorry.” 

“No, don’t worry about that.” 

“Why’re you still awake?” 

He places his hand on the door frame, voice lower than earlier that night. “Why are you? It’s way past midnight,” he adds, “...I couldn’t fall asleep either, to be honest…” 

“Insomnia, huh?” you go, “This happens to me all the time, too.” 

“No, it only happens once in a while,” he remarks, “Usually I sleep pretty well.” 

“Oh. You wanna come inside? We can, like, talk, or something. We can catch up.” 

“Sure.” 

You guide him over to the edge of the bed, and he shuts the door before he sits down beside you. There is no way you can think to describe this other than saying that it’s strange, really: the boy you had a crush on six years ago, who was one of your closest friends, has grown more than thirty centimetres, and the aura surrounding the two of you is more awkward than any conversation you’ve ever had in your life. Neither of you question why the light isn’t turned on, and neither of you head to the bedside table to flip the light switch anyway, so the scene in their guest room is of two fourteen year old— about to be fifteen year olds in a little over three days, though— kids in the dark either reminiscing over memories or trying to catch up despite having changed so much. 

“So how’s life?” you start. 

“Nothing much happens at all, honestly. Wait, [Name]—” When he says your name it’s like your chest makes one full leap. “—I think I should let you know, six years ago, the dog you saw—” 

“I already know about all that,” you tell him, “My parents told me. …hey, wanna see something I can show you with my own cursed technique?” 

“...okay.” 

You hold your hand out. 

“It may be hard to see it in the dark, but…” 

He turns the light on for you before you finish and you thank him. It must have been silly to try and show it to him when everything was engulfed in the night despite the fact that you were closer to the switch. You lean back as he outstretches his arm to do it. 

“See?” You hold your hand up, palm displayed and facing him, before closing your eyes and imagine your heaps of skin cells and red blood cells. You’re bound to have a headache by tomorrow, but it’ll be worth it. At least there’s something you can show him, something new you can let him know of. This was ‘catching up’, anyway. 

“[Name]!” He whispers, but the urgency in his voice is clear. You close the wound up immediately, speeding through a healing process that would have taken days to be completed in the span of a few seconds. Tomorrow you’re going to end up having a nosebleed, too. 

“Are you alright?” he goes, “Your nose is bleeding.” 

“Is it?” you reply, smiling, “Don’t worry. It’s just that I’m not that used to it yet. I guess if I trained my body even more, it would be able to handle it better.” 

His hand strays to yours, most likely out of worry. You pull it back. 

“Sorry,” he says. 

“Sorry if I made you worry.” 

“...I don’t think you should strain yourself,” he begins. It’s like how you and your father speak to each other— how funny. “If your own cursed technique does that to your body, it’s better if you don’t use it at all.” 

“I’ll be fine,” you say, “I’m not going to use it in fights or anything, either.” 

“You won’t become a jujutsu sorcerer?” 

“No,” you explain, “I mean, my dad was one and he quit a while ago, but I know it’ll be hard to hold on and do so much with this during fights. I may just be like, backup, or a doctor or nurse, or something. You?” 

“I think it’s pointless to save others.” 

Wow, cringey much. Reminds you of yourself six months ago. 

You don’t press it any further. 

“But… about doctors and all, there are people like that. Only one, to be more specific.” 

“Oh, well then— what's her name? I’d love to meet her.” 

“Ieiri Shoko. Want me to introduce her to you?” 

29-12-2016 

He does try to take you to visit her the next day. You think the reason why he’s doing this is to avoid catching up, or at least actually talking about something beyond a superficial level. You think that if that’s the truth behind this then you must be at fault too because you let him take you there with no hesitation whatsoever. Like adding opaque white tape over a fully painted canvas. 

But he fails because of the man over the phone. It’s probably that Gojo guy, that benefactor. Now that you know how strong he is in terms of sorcery, you guess that since he’s taking care of Megumi, Megumi’s probably a massive deal too. 

“No, I’m just asking if she can visit right now— no, get your head out of the gutter, damn it!” 

He hangs up. “I’m seriously going to punch him,” he states, frowning. So it’s definitely Gojo, then. You remember him being really insufferable by Megumi’s standards. “She’s busy, by the way. …sorry about that.” 

“Calm down, it’ll be alright,” you say, “We didn’t have to. Let’s just go around the city like tourists or something. I think that’s better anyway.” 

Tsumiki says she can come along with you, but she’ll have to leave at the stop right before Ueno for something important— a sudden appointment with someone, she says— before heading back and reconvening with you and Megumi. The three of you ride the Yamanote Line, but at the stop right before Ueno—your first chosen destination for this trip— Tsumiki has to leave, as she’d said. She apologises profusely. You know she isn’t slick.  

You take your phone, texting her. 

[Name]

Tsumiki

You ain’t slick

Why

Seriously omfg

[Tsumiki]

Sorry, I would have joined, just wanted to test the waters hehehehe… (>‿◠)✌

I mean you two seem ok

But let me know if anything bad happens okayyy??? 

You two seem pretty happy with each other though… also, what happened last night? 

If you’re up to any hanky panky, don’t do it under our roof (ㆆ_ㆆ)!!

[Name]

Literally so done with you right now -_-

But thanks I guess, I’ll see if we can catch up

AAAAAAHHHHH it’s gonna end up being so awkward I swear

[Tsumiki]

Good luck!! Love you bestieeee

Ttyl okay?? Gimme all the details 

“Who’re you texting?” he whispers. 

“Just a friend,” you say, as they announce that the train is in Ueno. 

The day in Ueno Park goes quite smoothly, really— but there’s still little progress made and the letter seems to be having its screams more drowned out the more you tug on your bag. 

“It’s pretty cold,” you comment as the two of you walk around, witnessing everyone else walking around with their huddled-up bundles of clothes and coats on, “Next time, if it’s not too crowded, we should, um… we should visit during autumn or spring. Together.” 

“Tsumiki and I can come here anytime. It just depends on you,” he says, a little rougher than you think he intends, “Wait— no, I mean, your timing—” 

You giggle slightly. So you’re not the only one who’s gotten more awkward since last time. Now he doesn’t seem the type to be, though— he seems more like those ‘cool’ guys in shoujo mangas; those bad boys who the girls end up changing, or something. Kinda cringey. But the fact that he’s avoiding eye contact and turning his head away evasively so that you don’t see him because of such a little slip-up in his phrasing is really, really cute. At least that’s what you think. It’s not like any other people would think the same, probably because of that frown or the fact that his voice doesn’t seem any flustered at all. But you think that’s okay. That makes it so that there’s more for you to appreciate, maybe. “It’s fine,” you reassure him. 

“...I brought a camera, by the way,” he says, digging for it in his pocket. The camera itself seems like one from the 2000s— it’s the small type with the wrist strap, and the buttons on the side and all. “It’s… old, though.” 

“Oh! That looks nice!” you comment. It really does. Your bag’s strap— the damn thing— slips off your shoulder again and you’ve got to put it back securely in place. Your shoulder hurts and you regret bringing so much with you. 

“Want me to hold your bag for you…?” 

“No, no, it’s okay,” you say, “It’s just that it goes off my shoulder sometimes and it can be pretty heavy. I packed too much stuff in it, heh.” 

“Then I’ll carry it. Give it here.” 

You end up handing him the bag. At least he doesn’t mind how heavy it is, nor does he complain about what you must be packing, or anything. It’s better than being forced to give your parents your things only for them to tell you to pack lighter ones. 

“It’s good that we avoided the crowd, but now there aren’t any leaves or flowers…” you start. You hope it doesn’t sound like complaining— that would be awfully rude. “Normally, people would be having picnics here, right?”

“We can still take pictures, though. Wait, can you— can you stand in front of me, here?” he asks, his steps coming to a halt next to a small garden. 

“Okay.” 

He brings the camera to his eye. “Smile,” he says. 

You’ve quite an awkward-looking smile, you think. It’s always bothered you slightly whenever your parents wanted to take pictures of you, but you smile anyway in the picture— you give him your brightest grin. It’s not like either of you will keep it anyway, and you are happy: gratingly awkward or not, you’re still with an old friend. 

“Ah, delete that,” you tell him when he shows the picture to you. The backdrop is pretty, though. “You should take a picture of the background. I look so bad in it.” 

“It’s a nice picture,” he argues, “You look… nice.” 

You shift your line of sight to look at him, unsure if it’s out of incredulousness, or the fact that the whole situation seems to be a little silly, or the fact that he’s looking down at the picture with a gaze that warms your heart a bit. Those eyelids and lashes and green green pupils will be the death of you, you’re sure. You feel you could drown in them at any second. “…thanks.” 

He looks back at you. 

“I think you look nice too, Megumi.”  

It’s really, really cold, but you feel your face heating up. For once in your life it doesn’t feel like something you should be shy of. 

30-12-2016

“Could you show me the dog again?” you ask him. He’s on the bed again. Different day, same situation. “Why did it suddenly pop out all those years ago anyway?” 

“It was an accident,” he explains, “You know how my Ten Shadows technique comes from the shadows, right? Wait, I should rephrase that—”

“Oh… I mean, don’t worry, you don’t sound rude or anything. I just wanted to see the dog. I mean, I like dogs! I still read books or articles about them every now and then.” 

“There are actually two.” 

“Two?” you go, wide-eyed and excited. 

He summons them out of the ground, one dark with the same red markings, and the other the exact same dog as the one you saw six years ago. He does it effortlessly— there’s no pain involved, no trade-off for getting to show someone his abilities. It’s not like you and your father’s, with your headaches and nosebleeds and vertigo every time you use it even if it’s for something simple like opening up a wound and closing it, or creating tiny blisters. How terribly inconvenient it was for you, and how easy it was for Megumi to use it so quickly and painlessly. You were slightly jealous of him for it. 

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen you!” you say, petting the white one. It cuddles up to you. The one with dark, fluffy fur does the same and you’ve got each palm on each dog’s head. 

You turn your head back to face him. “Thank you, Megumi.” 

“...it’s nothing.” 

What a classic Megumi-like thing to say. 

15-4-2017 

Freshly fifteen years old, you know one thing. The friends you meet at this age are probably the best you’ll ever have. 

You’re still training your cursed technique from time to time if only for leisure or any emergencies since your mother’s absolutely determined to keep you from being one. But you’re in a new place again— your parents have chosen to move back to Sendai— where they lived and got married before you came along, and everything considered things aren’t as bad as when you had to leave to and from Tokyo. 

It all started with the class’s seating arrangement. You sat down after one of the classes, preparing yourself for a year where you had to search through the whole school for friends or spend it alone as you watched everyone else fall into their groups from the previous year like dozens of tiny puzzle pieces clicking into place again. 

The clique in front of you is all looking at this one guy with unkempt hair as pink as cherry blossoms, or MyMelody’s pink ribbon. He’s got a boyish grin on his face that honestly makes him out to be a pretty nice guy. 

“Hey!” a guy greets, his hand up as he’s smiling at you, “My name’s Itadori Yuuji. What’s yours?” 

He’s kind of tall, is a really smiley guy, and seems like he’d be pretty popular. He reminds you of a friendly puppy. Or one of those really, really cute seals people make videos of in aquariums. 

You tell him your name. “You… uh, you seem pretty popular, Itadori.” 

He pauses and turns his head up like he’s thinking. “Well… now that you mention it, I guess so,” he states, hand scratching the back of his neck, “They’re pretty cool, though. Don’t worry!”

“Oh…” 

“Anyway, where ya from?” 

“I–uh. I mean, my parents move a lot,” you say, “So I guess you could say I don’t know where I’m from, myself? Sendai’s my parents’ hometown, though. And they wanted to be back for a while. So I transferred here.” 

“Cool! So you’ve got to see a lot of stuff?” 

“Uh. Kind of?” 

He drags a seat from behind him before facing you. The way he sits is comfortable; it’s almost funny— you’re so awkward, so rigid like a frozen statue, and he’s actively trying to melt it, but the ice is still cold and barely broken. Poor Itadori, you think, He’s talking to someone who doesn’t know who to talk properly. He’s going to get bored any minute but he’s still going to talk. 

“Like, um…” you think, “Oh! I went to the Tanegashima space centre a while back.” 

“Woah!” he goes, with excitement in his eyes like fireworks sparkles, “Wish I could go to space one day. Maybe it’ll be like something in Passengers.”

It’s only the space centre, though? Not space itself, you think. But you guess that’s okay— something, something, men are perfect when they’re a little dumb. You don’t know that much about idols. “I haven’t seen it yet, but uh, sounds nice, I guess? And you don’t look like the type to watch sci-fi movies… but maybe I’ll watch it one of these days. I don’t watch a lot of movies, though.” 

“I mean, it’s got Jennifer Lawrence in it,” he says, “She’s my favourite actress!” 

That makes a lot of sense. “…really? I’ve only seen her in clips from the Hunger Games a few times. I mean, I heard she’s had other pretty good movies, though, like… what was it called… Silver Linings something? I don’t know, uhm.” 

“Oh, Silver Linings Playbook?” he says, excitement dazzling in his eyes again, “Man, you haven’t lived if you haven’t seen them. I’ll drag you along with me sometime to watch it!” 

“Ah,” you go, unsure of what to say, “Um… nice! Thanks!” 

Over the course of the next few months you learn a few things about Itadori Yuuji. He loves horror movies and Jennifer Lawrence with a passion, is a sterling athlete and freakishly good at sports, and has a smile that makes people turn to face him like sunflowers to bright summer sunlight. And he knows you too— knows that you mildly loathe all genres of nonfiction save for books about animals (especially dogs), that you prefer when things are busy even if you may enjoy the quiet, and that the two of you are people who really, really ought to just take a train to Tokyo and have kaiten sushi together one day. 

Also, you can admit that you have some degree of a crush on him— him and that damned smile. Seriously, how could anyone not? You watch him sometimes during PE, eyeing the way he moves, and that guy can move, alright: he swerves so naturally it makes you swoon, jumps up and down with might and energy, can carry people around like they’re boxes of tissues. He’s swift but his movements aren’t frenetic; they’re controlled and he demonstrates such mastery over his body that no one who sees him wouldn’t be amazed. And he’s a nice guy— your parents have met him at least twice by chance, and they love him. Your father talks about how he’s a nice, handsome boy, and your mother mentions how he’d be an ideal son-in-law. 

Poor Itadori, you think to yourself whenever they say it, giggling, Maybe they’ll let up soon enough, and they’ll realise that you’re just a really good friend. 

You’re still not going to act on your feelings, though. You never will; you’re never going to act on anything. So you’ll fade away like a spectator, only trying to talk to him because guess what? You like it, you like talking to him and spending time with him even if you know he doesn’t like you back and sees you as just a friend. He’s still a fun guy and he always will be. 

In a way it feels almost liberating, like a breath of fresh air from what happened a year ago: lighthearted crushes like these are a quintessential element of the teenage girl experience, and even if you’d always fit the bill for an ordinary teenage girl, another part of that would probably be not feeling like a normal teenage girl at all. So having this and not being hurt, having this and having fun— is great. Maybe if you get over him and start crushing on someone else, you’ll get to try having a boyfriend by the end of your last year in junior high. Sounds pretty neat if you do say so yourself. Having a partner sounds interesting. 

“Itadori. Um… they’re going to release a new Jennifer Lawrence movie,” you say, standing behind him as the other friends around him stare at you. You aren’t too close to them, but hey— he was right. Some of them were pretty okay, cool people. 

“Ah, yeah! I’m watching that too!” 

“Oh, great! I mean, it’s right up your alley, right?” 

“Yeah,” he says, “Wanna watch it together?” You blush and he continues, “I can bring the other guys too.” He gestures to the boys behind him with his thumb. You don’t know them very well— hell, they probably don’t know your name much less like you— but that’s okay. Itadori is a great guy to spend time with and whether it’s scream-singing karaoke in a language you can’t speak at his house, joking and horsing around while his grandfather frowns on the dining table, or learning how to cook meatballs he says are easy to make— you’re guaranteed to have fun with him no matter what. 

“Sure.” 

So: now you have a new guy you’re crushing on, because the last one took so long for you to get over, and you’re not sure if you’re completely over the last one, but you know you’re not going to talk to him that much anymore. And this new guy’s sweet, a hundred times better, and even if this all-in-one perfect guy doesn’t like you back, you’ll say it again: you think Itadori is awfully fun and nothing can change that. 

Life is going pretty okay, you think. Life is becoming something you’re getting the hang of. Maybe, just maybe. 

2-1-2017

“Guess I’m going back, now…” you sigh, zipping your luggage bag up. It’s a cold day outside— each time you press your fingers against a window, or even touch a door knob or any cold metal, it freezes you up. It’s just inconvenient, for now— if you could, you could even use cell manipulation to keep yourself warm, but that would just be too much effort wasted on too little of a cold winter day in early January. 

New Year’s had just been a trip to the local shrine with them— this time Tsumiki had to come too, so she didn’t sabotage you and leave the two of you alone— and the days have gone by relatively peacefully. When your parents call you up they’re always relieved to just see you sitting on the bed or seated on their dining table eating meals with the two of them. 

“You’ve still a few hours left here, don’t worry,” Tsumiki says, “Let’s make the most of it!” 

Despite how awkward things were, you’d say you enjoyed being with Megumi and Tsumiki the past few days— mainly Megumi, though, because Tsumiki’s been conveniently leaving anytime you and Megumi are about to go anywhere together. 

“Has anything interesting happened lately? Any action?” she asks. 

“Pft— no, not really. Haven’t even given him the letter…” 

“Aw…” she starts, “It’s alright if you don’t want to force yourself or anything, but I really think it would do him good to read it and that it’d do you even better if you passed it to him. He cares about you more than you think.” 

“Uh-huh, that’s good to know,” you say, “At the very least, we’re friends, still. I’ll get over him eventually— I mean, I think I already have, since I’m not praying for him to be my boyfriend or something.” 

“Oh…” she goes, “Well, whatever it is, I’m supporting you!” she smiles, patting you lightly on the head. 

“Thanks.” 

She leaves for something quick before Megumi arrives back, which you think does him good because he comes back with enough bruises and patches on his face to completely drive Tsumiki up the wall. 

“Woah— you okay?” You rush to him. “What happened?” 

He groans. He reminds you of a stray dog sometimes, really. Even more so now than before. 

“S-sit down,” you say. He follows your instructions. “I’ll try to heal you, don’t worry.” 

Since you discovered you had your cursed technique, you’ve only used it to heal others besides yourself once when you helped rid the cashier from the store of her bruises. It’s been half a year since then, and you’re still getting used to using it on yourself. Still, you let him sit on the sofa anyway. 

“You probably shouldn’t. I can handle this on my own. If you do this to yourself then you’ll be over-exerting your body.” 

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me,” you chuckle, “Let me take care of you. And if I get a nosebleed or a headache, you can take care of me too. Heheh. That’s how things like this work, right? We take care of each other. So I can heal your wounds for you and you can take care of me if I get any of my cursed technique’s side-effects.” 

You place your hand on his face for your cursed energy to get to him— you’d be able to do it without touching him, but the more the better— and you feel how his breath hitches when you do so. His skin is cold, and so very smooth, like the soft cotton blankets they have in their house. Slowly, you visualise his cells changing, shifting, until his skin looks pristine and good as new. 

“…and…there.” 

Then your nose bleeds. “Ah— hate it when this happens, honestly.” 

“See? I told you not to strain yourself.” He gets up and places a tissue to your nose. “Lean your head back. Please.” 

You follow his instructions as he did yours. “So what happened?” you ask, only able to view either his face or the ceiling. “How’d you get injured?” 

“Nothing, just… I… got into a fight.” 

“Wh— a fight? That’s dangerous!” you frown, “What happened in the first place? Someone picked on you?” 

“No, they were just picking on someone else. People like that shouldn’t be able to trample on others.”

“So what are you, the police?” you argue, “You shouldn’t hurt people, nor should you let them hurt you. It’s bad for you, you know?” 

“The basis of all kinds of human interaction isn’t being kind,” he claims, “It’s avoiding violating someone’s dignity, and I despise the people who ignore this rule just to make themselves feel powerful.” 

And that pisses you off a little. Because for all his sister’s kindness and forgiving spirit, her brother cares less for being able to forgive others than for reading books until one AM in the morning or something along those lines. 

The weather becomes that little bit colder and you go against him. 

“Well, yeah— I hate bullies too. It’s just… ugh, why’d you have to get yourself hurt over this? It really isn’t good to have injuries. Who’s to say anything life-threatening won’t happen? It’s not like you’re invincible.” 

“I could say the same to you.” 

“Oh, shut the fuck up, seriously,” you retort, “Do you fight often or something? You know, no matter how many times you come out unscathed, it’s not like you’ll even be alive the next. What if these bullies aren’t the worst and there are some gangsters or something who kill you one day?” 

“In my school?” he goes. 

“Uh-huh— and you seriously sound kinda self-righteous, too. I mean, who gives you the right to judge? Just don’t be an asshole and you’ll be fine, and it’s not like being an asshole to the assholes is gonna do anything.” 

“No, I just can’t handle people who step all over others.” 

“Me neither, but why can’t you just be nice?” you go, “I don’t know, what do boys do? Talk to each other, make friends or something. Forgive each other. Just be nice. That’s what I think the basis of human interaction is. It’s helping people when you can, and stuff. That’s what the basis of life is, even.” 

“You sound like Tsumiki.” 

“Oh, well. I’d rather take that as a compliment even if it wasn’t intended to be by her own brother. I seriously used to think you were better than that, honestly. That sounds so emo— ‘Oh, the world isn’t inherently kind and so we should be tolerable to each other at best and horrible to the ones who aren’t tolerable at worst.’ What a joke.” 

“Seriously?” he frowns, not raising his voice, but definitely angered, “You’re worse, really. You and Tsumiki and that hypocritical sense of forgiveness. It’s probably because you read too many fiction books last time.” 

“I can’t believe I’m taking that from an antisocial guy who reads boring-ass non-fiction all the time and beats middle school bullies up to act high and mighty over them. You’re giving me secondhand embarrassment. You should be out with people our age buying sodas from vending machines or something— jeez, you’re just a fucking kid. Just be nice and save people if you have the power to— especially if you can do it without having to do things at your own expense. That’s the easiest way to do things in life. And who says you aren’t a hypocrite too? You think you’re some kind of judge in court or something—?”

“—You have cell manipulation, right? So use your brain! I’ve already told you that it’s pointless to save people. Good people who are too merciful to bad people are just as disgusting as bad people too prideful over themselves.” 

“Ew— good and bad? What happened to just living life? Just live it, seriously, it’s not like everything can be split into two categories like that. You just sound so— ugh— stop being so immature—!” 

“Megumi!” Tsumiki says when she opens the door. “[Name]! What happened? Did the two of you fight? Why were you fighting? What—!” 

“No, no! Just bickering over something small,” you tell her, “I had a nose bleed all of a sudden.” 

“Tch. Something small?” Megumi scoffs. 

“Stop fighting, the two of you,” Tsumiki orders, her voice firm yet still soft and sweet. 

The next few hours move painfully quietly. 

3-1-2017

“I’m really sorry it had to be at midnight like this,” you say. 

“No, no, it’s fine!” Tsumiki grins, “We wanted to come, anyway. We still have to give you a proper send-off.” 

You breathe in. “…okay. I’ll visit again, I promise. Maybe next year, but at a better time, okay?” 

“Alright, alright. Well— you’ve got to go now,” Tsumiki says, hugging you. You hear her sniffling even though you can’t see her face. 

“Okay. Bye, Megumi. Bye, Tsumiki.” 

“Bye, [Name]! Take care of your health, okay? We should stick together no matter what, the three of us.” 

You’re still a little angry at Megumi. You haven’t passed him the letter. 

You’ll live. You hope you can, at least. You’re better off not ending up with or confessing to a guy who thinks like he does. 

It’s for Tsumiki, you tell yourself. And it grounds you. 

“…I will.” 

“…bye,” Megumi says, avoiding eye contact. 

And as you get on the train and they’re waving you off, you should have taken a picture, or a video, or something. Something to keep that moment in place. There’s Tsumiki— smiley Tsumiki— with her signature warm grin and the faintest of tears in her eyes, with her hand raised up to wave at you. Then Megumi— frowny Megumi— older and taller and angry at you. 

You really should have kept things there, or apologised to her again for anything and everything, apologised to both of them for any trouble you’ve caused them, or thanked them a trillion times over, but you didn’t. 

And you regret this forever. Because this is the last time you see Fushiguro Tsumiki, the girl who changed the trajectory of your life. 

taglist:

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(please send an ask/state in the notes if you'd like to join! if I can't tag your username properly, I've written it in italics. so sorry for any trouble!)

[mermaidsirennikita]

Good point about the height--most actors are pretty tiny, at least in the English-language cinematic world. Like, people give Tom Cruise shit for his height (they should give him shit for other things) but shorter guys tend to make it big in Hollywood. Look at Tom Holland...........................................................

And I should say, there are many shorter actors I find super hot, who could totally be romance heroes. I mean, I think Cillian Murphy had some of the most "take up space" energy ever in Peaky Blinders (a show I loved and had to leave, but which he never stopped being good in) and he's short. Keiran Culkin has got It in Succession while playing a deranged billionaire with severe mommy and daddy issues and he's short. Jack O'Connell isn't tall and he played one of the hottest roles I've seen in a while.

I think that the thing you'll find with these actors, however, is that they often play (very well) characters that are not supposed to be everyone's friend. Contrast to a Tom Holland type, who is slight in appearance and stature, and also is always giving this happy go lucky, "hey me me me look at me I'm me I'm just thrilled to be here" energy, which might be nice in his personal life, but is kind of... not giving intimidation. I find intimidation hot, I think many people can have it, I think it's more an energy than a Look, and I think that when we talk about what is missing from actors that we need in these romance heroes, that's probably a lot of it. Going back to Cillian Murphy in Peaky Blinders--that "taking up space" energy, which you can have whether or not you're playing a dangerous character, an asshole, whatever.

And then there are guys who are very tall and don't take up space. And guys who are tall AND take up space. I agree with you on OJC in Mr. Malcolm's List, I love him in that role but he doesn't light my fire in that at all, or in Emily, which... I disliked. But Haunting of Bly Manor, when he's playing an objectively horrible yet wounded man with legit points about the upper classes, who can scoop his love interest up like she weighs nothing? Yeah. Yeah, he works. He works hard.

People don't wanna admit this because they have their Issues with Adam Driver, but that... is not my problem, and Adam legit lines up with a lot of romance hero descriptions. Like. A lot a lot, lmao. And it makes sense, because these romance novelists, especially these historical romance novelists of 10+ years ago or so, are often tapping into this idea of "carnal" and "big", and "can chop wood", and CONVENTIONAL HANDSOMENESS is actually low down on the list. I personally don't find Adam ugly because tastes are tastes; I think he's not conventional in the way Henry Cavill is. But either way, I think that he has a very compelling face that does a lot of things and conveys emotion strongly, and he is a biiiig guy whose body doesn't seem like he's spent hours in the gym (though he has), he's just... out there doing Things. Like, that photoshoot where he's carrying a sheep over his shoulders is ridiculous but Not because I fully believe him as a guy who carries sheep up a mountain or some shit. Part of why he got so much attention in Star Wars is because he just physically stood out in that franchise. He moved like someone who could actually beat people up, lmao. His face is CRAGGY (favorite romance hero descriptor).

But also, Lee Pace! I love Lee Pace, could totally see him as McKenna. He was so fucking hot in Bodies Bodies Bodies and he's in his "I'm a grown man who's gotten a bit more Weathered and put some meat on my bones" era. Which. I love.

funnily enough, OJC is my go-to placeholder fancast for period romance heroes in general, but especially the darker complicated ones

He's a very good actor, does romantic scenes very well (even though he almost always plays them in a weird context), and is good looking in a rugged way that is hard to find. Ironically his most conventionally romantic role I've seen (Emily) reeeeally didn't do it for me, but! If they ever do adapt another historical romance anytime soon, especially if they want a self made man hero... he's one to watch.

[doctorofmagic]

Strange #5 Review

I’m basically one month late to the party so my apologies in advance. I’m really struggling with low energy and technical issues (as in, my computer is dying, some keys don’t work [h, g, esc, backspace etc, so you see how it’s discouraging to type]. Also I can’t afford a new one a). But here I am!

Before we begin, it was MANDATORY for me to reread all the previous issues, which also demanded some time. My last two posts made a brief analysis regarding hints that Harvestman was Stephen all along, as well as some parallels. With that being said, I’ll skip to the part where Stephen/Harvestman is explaining what are the Revenants.

We know for sure that the Blasphemy Cartel is summoning these lost souls into deceased heroes/villains due to the symbol/identity they represent. But for what purpose? We still have some mysteries to solve, such as the computers found by Clea, the item that evokes a lost memory to Wong (probably this one will be answered next issue), in addition to who’s Director None. Plus, of course, their goal. They seem new, although quite organized and full of resources.

Next, Clea sees an opportunity to work with Harvestman, unbeknownst to her that he is, in fact, Stephen. I really need to point out that, even without a soul, this dumbass still has little to no regard to himself, which is sad but also entirely in character, as I've been writing for ages about his self-loathing triggered by his guilt. I’m pretty sure that lying to Clea is taking a heavy toll on him. (please, I cannot stand this man anymore. Someone bonk him and put some sense into his empty head!!)

I knooooow Clea will learn the truth soon enough (thank you Marcelo for the treat) but I can’t help but point out that he’s repeating the same three unhealthy coping mechanisms of when he lost Clea by the first time: 1) self-loathing due to guilt, 2) pushing her away and 3) self-isolation. STEPHEN PLEASE!!!

Anyway, moving on. I think that this dialogue is important.

Because yes, Clea is not from this world, and she’s already struggling to play by Stephen’s rules the moment she kills the gangsters. And Wong is also worried about it but they never have a proper chance to talk about this matter. This is what leads me to wonder if Clea needs Stephen as much as Stephen needs her. Because Clea is Stephen’s anchor, she’s the happiness and love he so desperately seeks, and she reassures him in a way that all his negative thoughts are kept in check. They have healthy conversations about their relationship and they tend to grow together. But the opposite is also true, because Clea is not from this world. Stephen is her moral compass, he’s the kindness she never had in the Dark Dimension, he’s passionate about life and magic, he’s love manifest. I’ve never thought about it before but it’s true, isn’t it? They need each other in order to bring the best part of their selves.

Now *slams table* allow me to talk about Moon Knight. For those who don’t know, he’s part of my top 5, so imagine my happiness when Jed put their two babies to team-up. Yup. I’m very very very happy, but I’ll get there.

Also, for those who don’t read Moon Knight (you should!!), the Midnight Mission is now located at the House of Shadows, the same sentient house from Strange Tales #120. The house doesn’t like Stephen and Rintrah because they banished it twice. More on that here. It’s just really cool to see that the house perceives Stephen’s magic in Clea.

Also I really love how Clea and Mr. Knight get along. She does mention Randall, which is quite honest of her. Marc could have refused but he didn’t. They do have a terrible and very complicated relationship, after all. Also he owes Wong a favor. Loving how Stephen’s partners are creating some kind of bond with Marc because yep, I’m all down for it.

Also this woiefwoiiwowiooefj

Taskmaster is scared of Moon Knight. Taskmaster. You get the idea (I love him, can you tell?)

Then Marc explains that gods have some liberties with Death. I always wondered that, to be honest. Because there are many entities who do and undo many things and get a free pass.

ALSO THEY MAKE SUCH A GREAT DUO!! I’m all down for Clea and Marc terrorizing gangsters together at night. Quality time.

(she went full Penance Stare here. Ghost Rider would be proud)

And Clea is indeed very scary but also full of compassion. This is just so sweet of her, and that proves that she makes a wonderful hero.

Worth mentioning that Stephen would just do the same here. He’d probably banish such a terrible man instead of killing him. Not that Clea is against killing, of course. It’s just that she’d rather make him suffer first, which is very Umar of her haha. But I suppose it also makes her own character in this sense.

Lastly, I’m just SO glad Moon Knight was the first hero to actually offer proper advice and help!! I feel like most don’t care, which was kinda true during the events of DODS. I know they didn’t have time to mourn, but what about now? Stephen has always been on his own precisely because magic is just so unique. This is why I praise the magic community so much, even though I miss their presence in v3 as well.

Besides, it warms my heart that Marc speaks of him in such high regard. I need them to meet again asap!! Hopefully it won’t take that long, assuming we’re about to get the great ~reveal~. I miss Stephen very much, especially in other comic books.

And speaking of great reveals, here’s our little meow meow defending Clea and being all sappy and in love with her, even without a soul!!

And here we have it. I’m kinda repeating myself at this point but Stephen is a being of love, and every time canon confirms it for me, it makes me very happy and accomplished. It’s always good to see that my analyses are not biased just because I love the character. An actual writer also interprets him this way and I couldn’t trust Jed more with him. I still fear the future but all I can offer for now is nice compliments.

I can’t wait for the next issue, all the angst and such with Wong and Bats, let’s gooooo!!

[mercy-burning]

Myth or Movie

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Unbeknownst to the two of them, Y/N and Spencer's children have worked up a plan to get them to meet... Category: SMUT (18+) Content: Strong language, oral sex (female receiving), penetrative/unprotected sex, someone is misgendered (nothing too bad, it’s very brief, and it’s sincerely apologized for by the person who misgenders) Word Count: 4.2k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: This is my 2nd entry for Pom’s ( @imagining-in-the-margins ) Enemies To Lover’s Writing Challenge! This one was one of the prompts she provided: You and (Character)'s kids don't get along, so you have to have a talk. Turns out you... really really get along... and I couldn’t wait to tackle it! I believe my exact words were: “I’m gonna Parent Trap these bitches”... So do with that what you will lol

———

"I'm so sorry I'm late!"

Two heads turn to stare at me as I burst through the doors. I'm out of breath from running through the building, something the staff really didn't seem to appreciate, though their shouts and annoyed glances were the last thing on my mind.

As I try to catch my breath, the two heads stand, and suddenly I feel a lot smaller.

One of them I recognize— Principal Anteros. I'd met with her before over some of Sky's academic achievements, all positive things, which is why today's circumstances make being in this office rather uncomfortable.

It's also why I seem to shrink with embarrassment at my tardiness— and appearance. Waitressing has its benefits, but today's whirlwind of phone calls and a mention at meeting another parent are not any of them.

Speaking of, the other person in the room is one I've never seen before. He's taller than both Anteros and I, extremely well dressed, and probably the most intimidatingly beautiful human being I'd ever met. I can barely meet his eyes, and so I try not to think about what he's doing here—to think about having to talk to him.

I shrink even further.

"Ms. Y/L/N," Principal Anteros greets. Thankfully she doesn't sound too upset given the circumstances. "Please, have a seat."

I do, brushing off my uniform as if that will somehow help my appearance. The soft leather of the chairs, however comfortable they might be, fail to bring me any comfort at all.

"As I'm sure you've guessed already, this is Doctor Reid, Vivian's father."

Great, he's a fucking doctor? This already bodes well for me...

Regardless of my reservations, I turn to him and give a faint smile. He waves in turn, and for the time being I'm extremely glad he doesn't insist on shaking my hand.

"It's nice to meet you," he says, surely nothing but a formality.

"You, too," I say quickly, then turn back to Principal Anteros. "Your phone call sounded urgent... Is everything alright?"

As soon as I say it, I feel kind of dumb. Because of course everything isn't alright. My child's principal called a meeting with another parent, and that can never mean anything good, not to mention the fucking intimidation and awkwardness in the room right now. I almost apologize, trying to explain that that wasn't exactly what I meant to get across, but then I would have just been talking for way too long, embarrassing myself further.

Once again, I'm thankful for Anteros's ability to move the conversation along. "I'm not sure, but it doesn't seem so. I only bring this to attention because Sky and Vivian are both stellar students. They've never had any disciplinary issues or difficulties with other students..."

"No one's hurt, right?" Mr. Reid asks. I know he's just concerned for his child, but for some reason it feels like an attack on me, like he assumes my kid had something to do with it.

"No, no one's hurt. Thankfully there weren't any physical altercations. But it seems your girls are quite... loud."

The doctor looks like he wants to say something, but I'm quick to jump in before he can. "Sorry... Sky is non-binary. They use they/them pronouns."

I half expect one or either of them to make a big deal or just roll their eyes at me, as most people seem to do when I correct them on the matter, but Anteros gives a sincere apology and Reid probably couldn't have cared any less.

I still can't tell if I like him or not...

But that doesn't matter right now.

"What do you mean by loud?" I continue.

Anteros sighs. "Well, while there hasn't been any physical violence, your kids seem to have very heated arguments, usually during lunch or in the hallway in passing... We thought maybe we could resolve it here since, like I said, they're both excellent students, but then it started escalating to classroom arguments... It's a lot of screaming..."

I have never known Sky to raise their voice at anyone, not even in a situation where I probably would have. Lord knows I'm thankful they don't have my impatience and tendency to get pissed off easily...

So what happened that was so bad, it made them snap?

"You... You're sure you mean Vivian is acting out like this?" Reid asks slowly, and I can't stop myself from laughing out loud.

"Come on, she's a professional. This has been going on for weeks, in her school, I'm sure she would know if it was your kid having a screaming match with someone else..."

This time Doctor Reid actually looks over at me, an eyebrow raised, and though I very much believe what I've just told him, the way he's looking at me right now drops my heart straight down to my stomach, like he's the principal and I'm the student acting out—No, it's worse than that... I feel like he's a disappointed parent, but not with Vivian, with me.

I avoid his intimidating stare and look down at the ground. "Sorry... I'm just... This isn't like Sky, either, I don't know what to do..."

"Well, usually when we have these sort of disputes, we like to have the students talk it out amongst themselves with a moderator present. But we've tried that, and it seems that they still haven't made any progress. Now, I know your children are good at heart, and it seems like you both are excellent parents— You know your children better than anyone here ever could. So, I'm proposing the two of you take a meeting some time and try to figure out how to settle this."

Seriously? If it hasn't been made clear already, this man is a doctor of some kind, planets away from my league in any capacity, and I can just picture the two of us in a screaming match close to what I imagine our children's looked like...

Maybe we can just e-mail.

"Okay," he agrees evenly, and I'm surprised he seems this calm considering I've just practically yelled at him... "I have free time this afternoon if you want to talk it over."

"I have to get back to work, but I get done at five," I sigh, wanting to get this over with. "Are you free then?"

"Mhm."

"Good," Anteros chirps, standing and leaving Doctor Reid and I to follow suit. "Perhaps over the weekend we can get this settled."

I sure as hell hope so.

———

"Ms. Y/L/N, wait!"

I have no idea what he could possibly want from me now that we've set a time and place to talk tonight, but I'm just praying desperately that he doesn't want to take this time alone in the parking lot to get back at me for accosting him in Anteros's office...

Thankfully, his face when he approaches seems rather kind.

"You can call me Y/N..."

"Right," he says, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets and nodding. "I'm Spencer."

"Spencer... So, um... Did you need something?"

"O—Oh, I just... I know you have to get back to work so I'll make this short, but I wanted to see if you wanted to do, uh... dinner tonight?"

"Excuse me?"

"Well, I just figured since we probably didn't expect for our weekend to go this way... We should make it worth it?"

"Are you really trying to turn this into a date?"

"W— No, not really, I just... You know, I thought it might be nice to... make this less like a chore, you know? A—And don't feel like you have to say yes, it was just a thought, I'm sorry if I made this weirder..."

The fact that I still can't figure this man out bothers me, but right now he's blushing, and he looks like he's trying to save himself from embarrassment, and it's so fucking adorable that I don't really care that I was just annoyed.

So I tell him, "Sure. Why not?"

"Really?"

"Yeah... Besides, Lord knows I haven't gone out for dinner in a long time."

The doctor is relieved, a smile creeping up on his lips that suddenly tugs at my insides and makes me wish for a second that it really is a date he's offering... "Okay, good. Do you want to meet at Waterstone, seven o'clock?"

The excitement starts to drain from me as he says it, followed by an incoming wave of embarrassment. "Oh, man, that... That place is kind of expensive, I don't—"

"Oh, it's okay, I'll pay for everything. I'll even wait outside for you so we can go in together if you'd like..."

Why he's being so nice to me I have no idea, but it's making my annoyance melt and my heart start to beat faster, and I really don't know how to feel about that. In fact I'm pretty sure it's weird as fuck given the circumstances.

But all I have to do is make it through this weekend, hopefully all will be back to normal, and I won't ever have to think about it ever again.

"Alright... It's a date."

———

Out of all the scenarios I'd pictured for the end of the night, this definitely had not been one of them.

I finished my shift at the diner, imagining on my drive home the look on his face when I inevitably showed up with something on my face or stained on my dress; Instead I showed up to Waterstone and was greeted with wandering eyes and showered with bashful compliments.

I expected to get into some type of argument about how each of our kids were better than the other or something, but we ended up talking through their traits with compassion, interest, and pride, all while agreeing that we just have to sit with them this weekend and explain that there are easier, better ways to sort out disagreements than screaming at each other in public.

I expected not to have much fun at all, but by the time we gathered the check and headed out the door, Spencer and I were laughing, just a little tipsy on Cabernet, our hands gently brushing and sparks shooting up my arm at the feeling.

I expected to go our separate ways and walk to my car and drive home, but instead he ended up telling me he was taking the Subway home, and I offered to give him a ride to the opposite side of town where I lived (Waterstone was right in the middle).

I expected to walk through the door, stumble straight up to bed, and sleep until Sky inevitably woke me up with them saying I've slept in too late and needed to get ready for work, but instead I ended up following Spencer up to his door to say goodnight.

And now we're at a fork in the road, and I can take one of two paths.

I can say goodnight, watch him walk in, and then go home and forget about this whole thing.

Or I can keep letting him stare at me until I find myself leaning in to kiss him. Whether or not he'll actually reciprocate is another story, but the little bit of wine tingling in the surface of my body and the dark, intense look in his eye gives me more courage than I've had since I met him.

Before I can make a move, Spencer talks, his voice small and inviting. "Do you want to come inside?" The beating of my heart quickens immensely as he takes another step forward and brings his fingers out to graze my chin. "Vivian's with her mom tonight."

Yes. Vivian's mom, who divorced Spencer pretty soon in the marriage after she just decided his job was too much to handle. He'd quit and took a teaching job, but even still, she declined his pleading to stay married and eventually admitted that she just wasn't in love with him anymore. At least she had the decency to let him have joint custody once his schedule cleared up, and it seemed like they were decent co-parents. Maybe even friends.

I think about Sky, how much they wish their dad had stayed, and how much I wish he had too. I was devastated when he left without anything more than a note. For years it took a huge toll on us, and I barely had the headspace to even think about dating anyone since then.

But here I am now, standing with this man who has also lost a spouse, who's somewhat of a single parent, and who seems kind and genuine enough that I don't think I'd have to worry about bringing him into the life of my child.

Though, I don't even know it'll go that far. I'm getting too far ahead of myself, and so to slow down I look at what's right in front of me. Right now.

Spencer looks at me like he wants to devour me. My whole body is tingling from head to toe. I want to kiss him, and I'm pretty damn sure he wants to kiss me back. He just invited me inside, which means that if I accept, we'll most likely end up sleeping with each other.

Again... Definitely not one of the scenarios I'd had in mind when I left the school today. But it's a damn good one, and he's so hot I want to cry.

My flirty switch turns on so fast, it nearly gives me whiplash. "And what are you gonna do if I say yes?"

"Depends... How badly do you want to walk tomorrow?"

My first instinct is to jokingly tell him to put me in a wheelchair, but I settle for kissing him instead, hoping that gives the same sentiment.

The way he melts into my body tells me I've succeeded. My arms fly up to his neck and pull him closer, and he holds me tightly to him, waiting for my lips to part so he can expertly slip his tongue past them.

I whine out and take a step towards the door. Spencer comes with me and fumbles with the keys in his pocket before reluctantly pulling away to get us inside.

Once we take our jackets and shoes off, he clings to me like static, drawn to me like a magnet, and I let him near without a second thought. Our lips find each other perfectly, like they've always meant to fit together. And as pieces of clothing come off on our way through the house and up to his bedroom, our limbs fit together just as well. Nothing is out of place.

Hell, I don't even remember how inferior to him I felt earlier in the day. Our jobs and lifestyles might seem like polar opposites, but for right now, the two of us are on very equal footing, coming together like it's always been meant to be.

I nearly fall apart when his fingers gather wetness from my cunt, just enough to tease me before pulling away and bringing them to his lips. I watch with a whine waiting on the back of my tongue as he slips his fingers past his mouth and sighs.

"More," is all he manages, and I want so badly to tease him—tell him how I know he can be more eloquent than that—but words are all lost on me too, when he drops to his knees and spreads me apart with ease. I have no choice but to reach behind and grip the foot-end of the bed as he works his tongue expertly against me.

Each of my sighs and whines are met with more avidity from him, taking the form of sharp flicks of the tongue over my clit, and once he adds his fingers to the mix, pumping them expertly inside me, I'm a fucking goner.

I come with a silent shout, clenching my thighs around his face and gripping the foot of the bed so tightly it feels like my hands might go numb.

Once my body loosens, Spencer gets up and kisses me, nearly knocking me over. I'm breathless and dizzy as the tang of my arousal coats my tastebuds. His hands are gentle despite the hunger in his lips, and the medley of sensations of all of these things has me weak in the knees.

"Getting harder to stand already, sweetheart?" he laughs, catching me as I fall into him. His hands clutch at my thighs and he carries me to the edge of the bed, crawling over top of me and kissing down my neck. "That's okay... I'll take good care of you."

I still can't manage to speak as he gently pushes in, the slow burn of him splitting me in two rendering me utterly incapable of even thought. I gladly welcome the pressure, especially once he's inside me all the way and lowering his body to mine. Our chests press firmly together as he pulls back and starts a steady pace with his hips. He traps me with his arms, bringing them to either side of my face. And when his fingers brush the hair from my eyes, he stares into them with intensity as he fucks me.

It's slow and hard. It's heart-pounding. It's earth-shattering. It's everything that makes sex worth having. In that moment we're two equals, so wrapped up in the mere feeling of each other that everything else is just background noise. He breathes me in and I do the same, and with each cant forward of his hips, he brings me deeper into this world we've both ultimately created together.

I want more than anything to wrap my legs around him and keep him close to me, but he's fucking me so good that I don't have the willpower. Instead, they lay spread out, lazy and open as his hips move between them. I'm warm all over, tingling everywhere our skin connects. When he kisses me, swallowing my pathetic attempts at whimpering his name, I'm positive that this is what Heaven must feel like.

Whether it's hours or only minutes later, eventually my body tenses, unable to hold back any further, and two particularly deep thrusts from Spencer send me barreling over the edge.

"There it is, sweetheart..." he praises, caressing my face with long, gentle fingers and leaving little kisses wherever they trail. His voice only seems to help me along, each warm syllable soothing the muscles that pulled taut at his mercy. "That's a good girl..."

I feel tired, calmed, and relaxed, when he pulls out only to jerk off over my lower stomach. Through tired eyes, I watch as he lets go and covers me with his release. Hearing him grunt out my name as he does it nearly wakes me up again, and it even finally brings some words out of me.

"God, you're so fucking hot..."

Well... Not exactly elegant, but the feeling gets across.

Spencer laughs and rolls over so that he isn't nearly crushing me anymore. He kisses down my neck, my arm, and he ever-so-slightly swipes the tip of his tongue over the mess he made before kissing my thigh and getting up to leave— presumably to get me something to clean up with.

Sure enough, he returns shortly with a wet washcloth and tenderly cleans me up. I manage to sit, leaning back on my elbows once he's done and smile at him. He's practically kneeling in front of me again, smiling back as his lips press featherlight kisses to the inside of my leg.

"How're you feeling?" he drawls, letting me pull him up to lay down with me.

"Really good. I haven't done that in so long..."

"Me either... I um... I hadn't really thought much about seeing other people once Lena and I got divorced... I guess I just wanted to put all my focus into being the best father I could, you know?"

"Mhm," I answer, turning to face him and interlocking our fingers. "I know exactly what you mean."

We lay like that for a few moments in comfortable silence, hands and limbs tangled while we breathe the same air and revel in the afterglow we've just created.

Suddenly Spencer laughs, and I squeeze his hand. "What is it?"

"I was just thinking... We probably wouldn't have met if not for Anteros calling us in, right?"

"Yeah..." I piece it together. "Guess I never thought of it that way."

"I just think it's funny, because in Greek mythology, Anteros was an Erote, known as an avenger of unrequited love, and he punished those who scoffed at romantic advances made by others... You and I never even thought about dating after our separations, and yet... Here we are now, because of Anteros."

Hearing him educate me on Greek mythology only serves to remind me how different we are. Still, the little story brings a comforting smile to my lips. "Well... Remind me to send her a basket of muffins or something to thank her."

"And tell her what? That you're grateful she got you laid?"

"Yeah. And what about it?"

The two of us dissolve into laughter that eventually fizzles and leaves us silent again. Our fingers are still tangled, and somehow we've snuggled in even closer.

"In any case, I'm glad I got to meet you, Doctor Reid."

"And I, you, Ms. Y/L/N..."

———

In the past two weeks since that first meeting, I hadn't received any more phone calls from Principal Anteros, which bode as a good sign.

Spencer and I decided to see each other as secretly as we could, which meant only giving vague details to our kids as to what we were doing in our spare time— It seemed weird to spring it on them if they didn't get along, so we figured it was best to wait until the situation was handled.

I tried to talk to Sky about their progress with Vivian, but they only insisted that everything was fine and they wouldn't have to worry anymore. And after relaying this information to Spencer, he informed me that Viv had said the same thing to him.

It wasn't until we both realized that they'd said the same things verbatim each time we asked, that something odd was going on.

And that's how we end up right here, Sky and I sitting on a park bench bathed in the golden October sun while I patiently wait for Spencer to 'coincidentally' show up with Vivian.

Thankfully I don't have to wait too long, because almost five minutes after we sit, I hear the familiar sound of my name falling from his lips, and it's hard to contain the cocky, playful smile that appears upon my own.

"Spencer, hey!" I call back, standing up and going to give him a hug. He pulls me in and he's nice and warm. He smells like burnt wood for some reason, and I want to breathe him in forever. Instead, I settle for a sweet kiss on the lips, both because I simply want to and also because it should baffle the fuck out of our kids.

Sure enough we pull away and look to them, and they look panicked. They have no idea what to do, what to say...

"Oh! Sorry... Viv, this is Y/N, Sky's mom."

The pure amusement in Spencer's voice makes me feel even warmer than being in his embrace. I look to his daughter and give her a wave. "Hi."

"H—Hi..."

It almost seems cruel to laugh at their predicament, but as I turn to Sky and introduce them to Spencer, they have clear annoyance written all over their face.

"Okay, Mom, I think we get it... How did you guys figure it out?"

"What, that you two pretended to hate each other so your principal would have to call us both in to meet?"

The pre-teens look at each other and sigh, truly defeated once and for all. "Yeah," they mutter simultaneously.

"Well, it surely didn't make any sense when you got in trouble for yelling at each other in the first place," Spencer points out. "And then when we asked you how things were working out, you both said the same exact thing..."

"It wasn't that hard to figure out, but we appreciate the effort," I add, reaching out to ruffle Sky's hair. They jerk away playfully, and I can't help but notice their smile as they peek over at Vivian.

"Our plan worked, though, so I call it a win," Vivian says with a shrug.

"As long as you two don't plan on causing any more disruptions at school..." Spencer looks between the both of them, and then at me, his eyes softening as he takes my hand and squeezes it. "Then yes. I'd call it a win, too."

I lean into him and laugh. "Turns out it wasn't Greek mythology that brought us together. It was The Parent Trap."

He raises an eyebrow, like he doesn't get what I mean, and before I can ask or explain, Vivian does it for me. "He's never seen it."

Spencer looks between the three of us like a lost and confused puppy, and we all laugh.

"Well, then, maybe we'll have to have a movie night sometime soon," I offer, reaching out for Sky.

Hand in hand, the four of us continue down the pathway, walking away from the setting sun while dried leaves rustle under our feet.

———

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[waywardstation]

“...I should really stop stalling,” she said. “We need to figure out the memory situation.”

Irida grimaced, but did not argue. They really did have to. If there was nothing else to be relieved of in this situation, at lease they had time to pause and plan this go around.

Turning to the front window, Akari frowned. “I don’t know if Mr. Ingo ever mentioned this to you—maybe you already know part of it. When we were going through Wayward Cave the first time, he talked a bit about what little remembered. When I brought out Firecracker to help see because the lights were out, he said he once knew a Pokémon with mastery over flames…”

“You believe that means his memory of that Pokémon is in this car, then?” It made a certain sort of sense to Irida.

“I do.” Akari’s frown deepened. Her gaze flickered to the blueish torches. “I brought Firecracker out in the Cave, to help light the torches again, and when he saw Firecracker Mr. Ingo said that he had the closest flame color to the Pokémon he remembered that he’d ever seen, and even then it wasn’t the exact same purple.

“Plus,“ she added, “we’ve only seen one memory screen, so maybe it’s nothing, but the fact that this one is cracked makes me think something’s going on with the memory inside.”

“I see.” Irida frowned. It seemed that there would be no avoiding it. “Then we simply must see what memory lies in this car, no matter our reservations.”

“Glad we’re on the same page.”

“However, our reservations are well-reasoned: how should we manage the Conductor?”

Akari sighed and uncrossed her arms, send her hands on her hips. “That’s a difficult question. Irida, do you remember what the Conductor’s pokemon looked like? Can you describe it to me?”

Irida opened her mouth to begin, but closed it again with a furrowed brow. There was its large, gaping mouth, its thin body—but that was it. That was all Irida could recall. The color, the shape, the form its attack was taking, all of it was unidentifiable. 

“Exactly.” Akari looked at each of the Pokémon in the car. “You three are our best hope for dealing with his Pokémon, but we don’t even know what it is or what typing it has. It’s gonna be strong, too. Mr. Ingo is super good at battling, so the Conductor probably has access to that knowledge.”

She clapped her hands together. “That doesn’t mean we know nothing, though. I remember feeling my hair raise up when the attack started, so it’s got an electric attack. It could be an electric type, or it could just have that move, but it’s something.”

The Dewott at her legs huffed. 

“Yeah, that means you can’t fight it. I had other plans for you anyway, so that’s not too bad.”

Irida bit her lip, frustrated. She wished she could argue against trying to fight the Conductor, but there seemed no other option. They needed to examine what might be a distorted memory in order to understand their next actions, and doing so required holding the Conductor off from throwing them out. But, to send a Noble to fight against the strange Pokemon, even with other Pokemon aiding her…it sat wrong, to ask for such assistance yet have no actions to return for it. To be a Noble was to be a protector, but Irida could not help but feel uneasy nonetheless.

A thought struck her. It was ridiculous, and reckless, but— it could work. In most circumstances, she would never act so brashly, but in this realm, distanced from reality and full of new possibilities and consequences, perhaps a more daring method was needed.

“Battling Pokemon rely on the person’s commands during a fight, yes?” she said, slowly. “What if the Conductor was too… indisposed to issue orders?”

“Indisposed, huh? What, are you thinking of putting him in a chokehold or something?” Akari said, quirking a brow.

Irida said nothing.

“Oh sweet Spirits, you’re gonna put him in a chokehold.”

“I don’t want to choke him,” she defended; the man really did remind her of Ingo too much for her to do that. “I’d be clapping a hand over his mouth at most. It’s just that keeping him quiet might make this more manageable.”

“Oh, it definitely would. Feel free to try it, I won’t stop you.” Akari said, giggling. She looked at the window again. “So, that’s our plan, then? I see what’s going on with the memory while you guys hold the Conductor back?”

“It’s not much of a plan, said like that…” Irida muttered.

All Akari could give to that was a shrug. “We barely have any information. That’s all the planning we can do until we have more.”

With no counterargument to present, Irida instead swept her gaze through the car. Where had the Conductor begun to approach from? Almost the middle of the thin room, far in the back; standing in a corner would have to do for a hiding spot. She would need the element of surprise and the hope that keeping the Conductor between her and his Pokémon would leave it hesitating.

“I’ll stand to the back and wait for an opportune moment, while you three,” Irida indicated Akari, Firecracker, and Lady Sneasler, “initiate the memory and thus the battle?”

“Sounds good to me,” Akari affirmed with a shrug. “Well— I want to plan out the moves Firecracker’s going to use first.”

Firecracker sat up attentively at that, looking to Akari with keen eyes. Almost immediately, Akari drew the Dewott and Typhlosion to her and began instructing them both. Irida, has no real advice to give; Palkia surrounding knew Akari was leaps and bounds past her in battling together with Pokémon. Instead, she pressed closer to Lady Sneasler for a moment.

“I know you cannot be truly hurt, not in a way that matters here, but please do exercise cation, my lady,” she muttered. “Neither us nor Warden Ingo would enjoy putting you in a position of sacrifice.”

Lady Sneasler regarded her with sharp eyes, and after a moment of consideration, snorted. Still, she nodded in some form of acceptance of Irida’s plea, and Irida knew to take what she could get.

With that matter settled for the time, Irida turned to the back corners of the car. They were dark and craggy, which was unnerving in the dim light but certainly useful when she wanted to hide within one of them. Most days, Irida found herself wishing she was taller—she sometimes suspected her assertions of will and leadership would fair better if she could just tower properly instead of scowling upwards like a child— but her slight frame worked in this situation. 

She turned around so that she faced the rest of the car and crouched. With her eyes fixed approximately where she remembered the Conductor being—yes, this should do well. Attacking with the enemy distracted would ensure her ease of restraining him, and if he possessed the same strength as Warden Ingo when he first arrived, the Conductor would be no trouble to hold down at all.

She stood up as Akari finished her instructions. No time like the present, Irida supposed.

A few more words exchanged between the two humans in the car, and positions to enact the plan were taken up. Irida crouched once more, watching as Akari, backed by Firecracker and Lady Sneasler, approached the memory-window. 

The window flickered with purple light. Irida jolted slightly as the form of the Conductor strode forward towards the cluster, simply appearing in the car as though he had always been there, coat flaring.

“You know the rules,” was his only clipped warning.

Then, his monstrous Pokémon flashed into being and the fight was on. The lithe Pokémon rose up just as before, the Conductor raising a pointing arm in tandem—

Irida struck. Springing up, she hurled herself forward and collided with the man, leaving him sputtering around his command. Before either him or his Pokémon could react, she slammed a hand over his mouth and an arm around his chest, twisting her body so they both hit the ground, with the Conductor taking the brunt of the impact. 

Above them, the Pokémon shrieked with rage, and then with alarm as Akari’s shouted command of “Flame Wheel!” had a blast of fire connecting with its back as Lady Sneasler followed the move with a poisoned strike to the tender skin. While the Pokémon jerked between paying attention to its trainer and the foes attacking it, Firecracker struck again with another Flame Wheel.

The Conductor thrashed in her hold, attempting to bite her hand, but Irida held firm with little effort. He was as weak as she suspected, much to her advantage. All she needed to keep hold of him was Akari driving the Conductor’s Pokémon away from freeing him, which Akari was managing quite handily.

Irida immediately regretted that confidence—just as she thought it, the purple-blue lighting of the room roared to a blinding crescendo, heat swiftly following after—she couldn’t help the gasp that left her at the shock of such burning air. She wrenched her head up to see Akari reeling her body back from the other end of the car, and watched with horror as a spindly, many-limbed something burst out of the memory-window. It was oil-black and twitching, flinging itself forward into the middle of the car as the Conductor struggled in her arms with renewed vigor.

Her shock was almost tremendous enough to let him succeed. Gritting her teeth, Irida redoubled her efforts to still him and prayed to Sinnoh, to Arceus, to whatever it desired to be called to give Akari knowledge and speed enough to deal with the unwanted complication. 

Already she could hear Akari’s voice shouting above everything, delivering whipcrack-fast commands. More flames spewed from Firecracker’s mouth towards the snake-like Pokémon as Akari’s Dewott lept into the fray to spit a vicious funnel of water at the black monster, while it produced bluish flames of its own to add to the rising temperatures. 

Everything was pandemonium.

Irida could barely pay attention to anything, her head growing more fevered and dizzied by the second. All she could do was narrow her perception to the man in her grasp, retaliating to his attempt to strike her head with a knee driven into his back. Fire and water and lightning raged around them, joined by Akari’s shrill, furious voice and the howls and snarling of the Pokémon. The car rocked and swayed from side to side, but still clung to the rails. The Conductor was yelling, scrabbling at her hand, but it was too muffled to discern. 

A flash of surveyor blue rushed past her limited view, and Irida desperately tracked it, horror filling her as Akari flung herself bodily at the monstrous form, catching on the bulbous middle of it. The monster let out a haunting cry, burning red eyes flashing as its flames grew, but nothing deterred Akari as she tore at its inky skin—

But it wasn’t skin, Irida realized as Akari’s hands came away with globs of black something clinging to them. It was a substance, a coating, swallowing whatever laid beneath nearly whole. 

One of the monster’s thrashing limbs finally struck true, and it wrenched Akari off itself and threw her to the ground, lurching down to follow her and strike once more. As Akari gasped at the impact and heaved, her Dewott rushed in, dousing as many burning limbs as he could to distract it, Firecracker and Lady Sneasler still tangling with the Conductor’s Pokémon.

Enraged on Akari’s behalf, however, the duo grew even more unrelenting in their attacks, hurling fire and poison at the Pokémon for every lonely attack it managed, until it was struggling under their punishing attentions. The Lady cut, Firecracker lunged to bite; it was a perfect barrage of a dance, as though they had run it a thousand times.

Finally, Lady Sneasler struck it across its gaping face, and it slammed to the ground with finality. 

The pair whirled to face Akari and the monster, surging forward as the monster continued to bear down on the girl. It swung one of its doused limbs to hit Akari; Akari, pinned, could seemingly do nothing but fling her arms over her head—

—”FIRECRACKER, NOW,” Akari roared, hurling the monster off of her. “BURN IT OUT!”

Firecracker let out an earsplitting cry, flames whirling and reaching the ceiling as he reared up. Before the monster could scramble away, a holy reckoning of fire poured out of the Typhlosion’s mouth, coating it in violet flame. A horrific scream filled the whole car. Irida’s head felt like it was cracking open at the volume as the Conductor convulsed in her hold, shouting something—

And then, with a final shriek, the monster was silenced. There was only quiet. Light filled the car properly once more. The Conductor tore himself from Irida’s stunned hold, gasping, “Chandelure?”

Floating where the mass of oily limbs once hunched was a Pokémon with brilliant blue flames and a glassy exterior. 

—-

In a small tent, Warden Ingo suddenly doubled over, clutching at his head with a pained groan. Knowledge-bearing Uxie clung on to him, their unseen eyes darting frantically underneath ever-shut eyelids. Shuddering, Ingo clenched his jaw and tried to sit up again as his head pounded like it had been cracked in half by a hammer. Lady Snealser leapt up, but was not the first to reach him.

Rei rushed to his side. “Sir! Sir, are you alright?”

“I remember,” he rasped. “I remember. Its name is Chandelure!”

---------

Huzzah! The second half! With a round of Pokémon battle in this Pokémon fanfic, who could have ever imagined? I had a lot of fun describing the fight as complete chaos through Irida's eyes--I decided to discard the turn-based combat for a free-for-all and having the one person not in the fight just dealing with it happening, haha.

I hope I sold the action well enough--combat scenes aren't really my forte! If I didn't, it's just because Irida didn't have a good view, naturally.

And, of course, a little bit of Ingo in this fic about Ingo. Wild.

--cw

(Part of a collection of writings CW had been making about the Train of Thought AU. First part of this segment can be read here, and all the previous segments can be read here on AO3!)

CW WOW!! This was just as fun to read as the first part!!! So many good parts!!

Irida wanting to put the Conductor in a chokehold, The description of Eelektross, Pre-restored Chandelure’s appearance, Ingo regaining his memory of Chandelure…it’s all SO GOOD! You did great with the action scenes, don’t worry! Absolutely loved reading this!!

Again I am very sorry for how late I got to this, but I really enjoyed reading this and had so much fun visualizing everything in my head; bravo!!!

Lovely writing as always, I hope other people enjoy reading this as much as I have! Your writing skills really are fantastic and I very much enjoy this narrative you’ve made!!

[myherowritings]

PART 3. ACCIDENTAL SUGAR DADDY?

SUMMARY. Todoroki Shouto was a wealthy, young CEO who inherited his father’s enterprise. You were a barista at a local cafe who wouldn’t mind some extra cash. One day, Shouto came in during an early morning shift and tipped you such a large sum of money, you were certain it had to have been an accident. To your surprise and complete pleasure: It was not.

PAIRING. ceo!todoroki shouto x barista!reader

WORD COUNT. 2.4k

GENRE. ceo/barista au, fluff, eventual smut

WARNINGS. none in this chapter

A/N. happy new year y’all! :3 i hope you have a good 2021 and here is some flirty ceo!shouto for u to enjoy as we enter the new year hehe ;) thank you for reading and i hope you enjoy! xx sof

SERIES MASTERLIST

© myherowritings — all rights reserved. reposting, modifying, copying, or translating of any kind is not allowed. do not read my writing as asmr. do not plagiarize.

“I heard you dropped by this weekend,” you said as a greeting, a playful smile on your lips. “Looking for me?”

If the tips of his ears didn’t tinge pink, you would have guessed Shouto was completely unaffected by your words. 

“Mn.” He drew his attention away from your gaze and pointedly adjusted his cufflinks. “Good morning to you too.” 

You laughed, accepting you wouldn’t get anything out of your attempt at teasing. “Morning, Shouto. How was your weekend?” 

The cafe was quite busy this hour, but Miyazaki took over the other register to alleviate the stress (though, what she really said was so you and pretty boy—who happened to be rich rich—could talk). Whatever the reason, you were glad for a small break whenever you could get it.

“You could say it was busy,” he replied, sounding a bit tired. For the first time since you met him, you actually noticed how exhausted he looked. You wanted to put cucumbers on his eyes and lay his head down on your lap to coax him to sleep. Nonetheless, he smiled softly at you. “And yours? I hope you were able to have time to rest and relax.”

You nodded. “I just slept a lot and caught up on the shows I missed throughout the week.”

“The real way a weekend should be spent.” 

His voice was teasing but he didn’t sound mocking. Just...somewhat playful. There was something about his tone that made you want to hear it again.

“Something tells me you need a weekend away where you could just relax and do nothing,” you commented, tapping the back of your pen to your chin. “Do you not have any days off at work?” 

He considered this. “Depends what you mean by day off.” 

“If you have to ask that, that probably means you don’t have a day off, huh?” you said with a frown, holding your hand over your chest as you sighed dramatically. “You poor thing. Overworked and tired. Maybe I should steal you away one weekend and get you to just relax.” 

You were only half-serious.

“Maybe you should,” agreed Shouto, sounding full-serious.

“Maybe I will,” you blurted before you could stop yourself. Maybe you could if you actually had his number… Then, feeling shameful you said, “But, ah, anyway, what can I get for you today? We actually have cheese danishes again!”

His face brightened. “You do? I’ll take five dozen.”

With a laugh you took down his order. You really weren’t sure where all these pastries were going when he bought it, but judging from his expression, you figured it must be somewhere good. 

“And for your drink?”

“This time I’ll have a large green tea with almond milk, please.” 

You nodded but tilted your head to the side in question. “No coffee with extra shots of espresso today?” 

“I add too much sugar and creamer to my coffee,” he admitted sheepishly. “And with all the baked goods I’ve been eating I realized I may have had an excess amount of sweets lately.” 

With an understanding laugh you patted his hand that was resting on the counter woefully. “I can definitely relate to that. If too many sweets are bad for you they shouldn’t have made it taste so good.”

Shouto glanced down at where your hands touched, an expression you couldn’t quite discern on his face. Averting your gaze, you quickly pulled your hand back. Was that inappropriate of you? Did he find it too pushy?

“Oh— Sorry about that,” you said, rubbing your elbow with your opposite hand. “Got a bit ahead of myself there.”

“No, it’s fine.” He blinked once. “I didn’t mind.”

Unsure if he meant anything by that and unsure if you were reading too much into things, you simply brushed the topic off and moved on to getting his order in telling him the price. 

“Paying by card again, I’m assuming?” you asked before hitting the appropriate button on the screen.

“Correct.”

By now the sight of the sleek and pretty credit card was one you grew rather fond of as he scanned over the payment terminal and signed his name. Was it weird you wanted to examine his signature more closely? Shouto seemed like the type of person who would have a fancy signature that somehow looked like art. 

As per routine, you told him his order would be ready for pick up at his right and, before he left the register, he thanked you and gave you another $100. 

Did it feel any less strange than the first time he tipped you? Not really, no. But you still weren’t going to complain about a generous tip from a willing customer.

Before he left with his cheese danishes and cup of tea in hand, he stopped by next to you with a small smile. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N.”

You grinned back. “Can’t wait, Shouto!” 

— ✩ —

This went on for a whole other week. By this point, he had given you over $1,000 in tip and you were starting to feel like you should give him something in return despite him assuring you he didn’t expect anything. 

When you told your friends about the nice guy you met while you were working and they asked for the details, the first thing they said in response to your situation was, “Sugar daddy?” 

Before they planted that thought into your head, you just took it as a rich businessman who hated the rich and believed in redistribution of wealth—you couldn’t complain about that. That made him even more appealing, if you must say. But once Kaminari and Ashido whispered those two words, you couldn’t help but see the comparisons. 

You had no issues with sugar daddies or sugar babies; as long as they were two consenting adults, what did it matter to you? It just wasn’t something you were looking for at the time and you didn’t want Shouto to get the wrong impression or involve yourself in something you weren’t ready to. 

As you commuted to work for your next morning shift, you told yourself today was the day you’d thank him one final time for the tips, but tell him you couldn’t accept anymore. You were sure he’d be understanding but you also hoped it wouldn’t deter him from coming to see you. That was the last thing you’d want. 

“Mrs. Miyazaki,” you said between customers. “When Shouto comes in, do you think I can step away from the register to talk to him for a little? I promise it’ll be brief!”

She waved her hand dismissively. “That’s not a problem. Are you finally going to ask him out or something?”

You scratched the back of your neck. “Or something, yeah.” 

Thankfully, by the time Shouto arrived today, it was later than he normally came, meaning rush hour was almost dying down. 

“Good morning! Someone’s a little late today,” you teased. “Overslept?” 

“I wish,” he sighed wistfully. “I had a meeting early this morning and it just ended. Didn’t have a chance to pick up some coffee or pastries beforehand.” 

You frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that. I hope whoever was hosting the meeting at least provided you guys drinks and snacks!” 

He paused. “He did, but… I just thought yours were better.” 

Smiling at the compliment, you preened. “Well, I can’t say I’m not surprised. And I’m glad you were able to drop by still. Would’ve missed you too much otherwise.”

Again, you were only half-serious.

“Hm. I would’ve missed you too.”

And again, he seemed full-serious. Not that you minded. 

After taking his order and watching him pay, you pulled him to the side, looking over at your boss so she knew what was going on. She gave you a brief nod as you turned your attention to Shouto. 

A lapse of silence went by and he spoke up, “Did you have something you wanted to say?” 

“Yeah, actually.” You wrung your fingers nervously, hoping you wouldn’t say anything to offend him since you knew his actions were coming from a kind place. “I just wanted to say… I’m not really looking for a sugar daddy right now.”

He blinked once. Then twice. “Pardon?” 

You stared at him, unsure what to say. 

“I— Sorry. I wasn’t… It’s not my intention to be a...sugar daddy either.” Shouto’s face flushed a bright pink that made your own cheeks warm up in response. 

“But the—the money? I just… I guess I thought…” You winced.

So he wasn’t trying to pick up a sugar baby… Well, this was awkward. But regardless, you think you’ve gotten close enough to him to the point where it would feel weird accepting money from him. 

“I’m sorry if I was unclear. It really is just a tip to show appreciation for your service here.” 

You shook your head. “No! Sorry, that makes sense! My friends just said… And then I…” you trailed off, feeling a million times more flustered than when you started. “Sorry about that. The sugar daddy mishap aside, I still wanted to say that I really appreciate the tips you gave, but I don’t think I can accept them anymore.” 

Slowly, he nodded, adjusting the collar of his dress shirt. “I understand. Did something happen?”

“No, nothing happened!” you were quick to assure. “I really am thankful, but… I think we’ve gotten too close for me to be comfortable accepting that much money, you know?”

Shouto tilted his head to the side, listening intently. 

“Like,” you tried to explain, fiddling with your apron, “over the past few weeks I just think we’ve gotten to know each other more and I think of you as a friend of sorts now.” You peered at him through your lashes, hoping your words were making sense. “I think as a relationship develops—for me, at least—adding money into the mix can cause weird power imbalances if not communicated properly. And I just don’t want that for us.” 

He thought through your words for a while before agreeing. “I get what you mean. I wouldn’t want to unintentionally make you feel like you owe me anything, so if you’re not comfortable with it, I can stop.” 

“Thanks, Shouto,” you said with a beam, glad he was so receptive. Really though, what else did you expect? From your interactions with him you took him to be kindhearted and open. Of course he wouldn’t be upset over this. “But just to be clear, this doesn’t mean you should stop coming! Right? I don’t want to stop being your friend or anything!” 

With a small laugh, he nodded. “Sure. I wouldn’t want to part with my favorite cafe. And I’d like to keep being friends as well.”

Those words warmed your heart. You really were nervous about this confrontation earlier; you didn’t want voicing your opinion to mean ending your friendship. (Although, if you sharing what you were comfortable with was enough to end a relationship, then you supposed it was bound to be a toxic and stifling one in the long run and it was good to know in the beginning to end it before it could grow.) Turns out, however, that you didn’t even need to worry about that. He was understanding and sweet and you were glad to have gotten this out of the way.

“Well, as new friends,” you said, gently nudging his side, “maybe we should get to know each other more? Exchange numbers… Hang out outside of this cafe…” You ran through some suggestions, almost bouncing on your feet in excitement. “I mean, I know you’re always so busy and might not have much free time to hang out. But— If you’re ever free one weekend…” 

“I’d enjoy that,” he cut in, saving you from blabbering your mouth off and accidentally embarrassing yourself. “Didn’t you say you’d steal me away from work to relax? I’m still holding you to that.” 

The beginnings of a smirk formed on his face as he looked at your flustered expression. Was he teasing you?

You huffed, pretending to be insulted by his playful mocking. “Guess I’ll really have to do it then.” 

“Guess so.”

“Maybe you should give me your number first so we could plan it.” 

“Okay.”

He handed you his phone and you handed him yours, both of your adding your numbers to the contact list. Smiling, you held the phone in front of the two of you to take a contact picture of yourself for Shouto’s phone. To your complete surprise, he laughed before promptly following suit and taking a selfie for his contact image. 

“Cute,” you said when he handed you back your phone. 

“You too.” 

Placing your device back in your pocket, you looked at him, hand on hip. “Since when did you become such a smooth-talker? Am I going to have to guard my heart now?” 

His only response was a shrug, but you could see hints of a smile playing on his face. The two of you seemed to be smiling a lot lately, you couldn’t help but notice. 

“I should probably let you go to work now—and I should go back to mine.” You gestured to the growing line at the front of the store. Your manager looked like she had things under control, but you didn’t want to take advantage of her kindness. “You should text me later though. If you want.”

“I’ll do that,” Shouto promised, picking up his drink and pastry boxes from the side counter. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N. And… I’ll message you soon.” 

As you watched him leave the store, you were certain you had a silly look on your face as you stared in a trance. 

“I’ll turn my phone off silent just for you!” you said to his back, hoping he understood what a momentous occasion this was. Your phone was always on silent (unless you were playing a game, of course). But for Shouto, you could handle hearing the obnoxious ringtone and text tone. 

With an amused expression he nodded before waving goodbye.

Later on that day, at the end of your shift, you noticed a new message from a certain someone that made your stomach flutter.

Shouto: Hi there. It’s Shouto :)

You never knew those four simple words would be enough to keep the grin plastered on your face up until the moment your head hit your pillow to fall asleep. But, damn— Were you glad that happened to be the case. 

a/n: whY WAS SHOUTO AND Y/N EXCHANGING NUMBERS SO CUTE idk that scene got me all blushy and :DDD HFJDKSF like taking a selfie with shouto and getting his number? only goal in life BFHFGF,, also y/n said no more tips how we feeling? ;o 

what to expect in the next part:

an unwanted visitor ಥ_ಥ

shouto has a...proposition for y/n 

FLIRTING FLUFF SO MUCH CUTENESS U MIGHT CRY

y/n struggles with their fEeLiNGs~

[poisonedapples]

Patton’s Home for Traumatized Kids - Chapter Three

New School and Friendships

Chapter Summary: Roman has his first day in a new district while some bonds are strengthened.

First Chapter Previous Chapter Story Masterlist

Warnings: Past abuse mentions, mentions of hidden cameras, anxiety, some bullying, crying, and food mentions

Chapter Word Count: 5,860

Taglist: @shade-romeo, @grayson-22, @pixelated-pineapple, @acrobaticcatfeline, @astrozei, @edupunkn00b, @princey-7258

“Hey, dad?”

“Yeah?” Roman’s dad turned to face him. Roman felt his whole body start to shake.

“You know how you said that…I could ask for anything from you? Since, uh- since you didn’t know what present to get me last time?”

His dad smiled in a way so normal it was disturbing. “Got an idea?”

“Yeah, uh…I want a canopy bed.”

His dad’s face dropped, and Roman could feel the anxiety and regret bloom through his chest. “You know why I can’t do that, Roman.”

“Please? I know it’s probably a bit much to replace my whole bed frame, but I could make my own canopy for cheaper! I’ve already looked at a bunch of ways online how, I just need you to buy the materials-”

“It’s a no.” Roman’s dad looked angry, and Roman would’ve done anything to run the other direction at that moment. To burst out the door and never come back. “Nice try, Roman, but I’m not stupid. Come back when you have a better idea.”

Roman blinked to fight back the tears. “…I’m sorry.”

“Go back to your room.”

Roman ran up the stairs as fast as he could, wishing more than anything that there was a lock on his door. Instead, Roman took his desk chair and propped it against the knob for some kind of security, curling into the corner of his room as he shook and tugged at his hair.

He tried to block out the knowledge of the security camera on his shelf, hidden well but not well enough, pointed right at his bed.

***

Several fast knocks came onto Roman’s bedroom door, waking him up with a jerk. He groggily pushed open the curtain in front of his head to grab his phone and look at the time. Six o’clock on the dot, it read. Ugh.

The knocking on the door didn’t stop, and Roman whined. “What?” He called out.

“Get dressed, we need to leave the house by 6:30.” He heard Logan call back.

“Fine, fine.” Roman pushed the curtains out of the way and practically rolled out of bed, grabbing the clothes he’d organized for himself the night before. He put on a pair of jeans with a white and red t-shirt, nothing fancy but fancy enough for a first day surrounded by strangers. He grabbed his backpack and put his phone and some earbuds in his pocket before heading downstairs to the kitchen.

“Morning, kiddo!” Patton chirped as he made breakfast, “Didja sleep well?”

“Yes, I did.” That was a lie. He had some strange dream where his dad was also there, and he only managed to calm down and fall back asleep an hour ago. He still couldn’t stop thinking about it, even if the dream was hazy now.

“Good to hear! Be ready by 6:30 so I can drive all of you to the school. Then once you get there, you can ask about your schedule at the office.” Patton laid down a plate of bagels with cream cheese and strawberries in front of Roman, so Roman began to eat.

Once he finished his breakfast, Roman rushed back upstairs to style his hair and brush his teeth before they had to leave. As he brushed his teeth, he stared at the shower to the left of him and sighed. He touched his hair, feeling the grease slick onto his fingers.

He really needed to shower. He hadn’t showered since he got here, and with how thick his hair was it was really starting to gross him out. He hated feeling greasy and grimy, but Roman hadn’t checked the bathroom for cameras yet and he refused to shower until he did. Though, he knew that was also just an excuse. Roman also felt too tired to take care of himself.

Just brush your teeth, he thought, they told you that if you can’t shower, at least brush your teeth. Greasy hair can be fixed, cavities are expensive.

He spit out the toothpaste into the sink and rinsed out his mouth. He grabbed some face wash and decided to use it as quickly as he could to hold back the gross feeling he felt. It would help him feel a little cleaner, at least. A little more presentable for the first day.

A loud bang came onto the door. “Roman, hurry up!” Virgil called out, “Some of us need to piss!”

“Just a second!” Roman vigorously splashed water on his face and quickly dried it with a towel, rushing out of the bathroom so that Virgil could run in. He sighed again, walking downstairs to wait on the couch until it was time to go.

“Alrighty, everyone got everything?” Patton eventually asked, making Roman crack open the eyes he didn’t even realize he closed. Patton smiled and clapped his hands together when his response was tired hums of agreement. “Perfect! To the car!”

All three kids bunched themselves together in the back of Patton’s car, Roman and Virgil at the window seats while poor Logan was squished in the middle. Roman squeezed his legs together so he could fit his backpack between Logan and himself, acting as a barrier so Logan couldn’t touch him. It was uncomfortable, but it was what Roman had to do.

“So, Roman, are you excited?” Patton asked, making Roman open his eyes again to look at Patton through the rearview mirror. Roman leaned his head against the window.

“More nervous. I’ve never been to a new school before.”

“Well, hopefully you can make lots of friends here! The school is pretty big, so there are certainly lots of options!” Patton laughed at himself and Roman closed his eyes again.

We’ll see about that.

Eventually, after a failed attempt of getting in some extra minutes of sleep before school, Roman felt the car come to a stop. He opened his eyes and looked out the window to see the front of the large school building, kids with smiling faces talking to each other as they walked inside while others looked tired yet excited. Roman wasn’t feeling it.

“Alright, kiddos, have fun!” Patton exclaimed, “Remember to check in with the office for your schedule, Roman!”

All the kids started to pile out of the car, grabbing their bags off the floor to rush inside. Once they were all out, Patton’s car drove away to head for work.

Roman looked at the building as Logan and Virgil walked inside. It seemed huge compared to his old school, where the county was much more rural than here. They still had twenty minutes until school started and kids were already swarming in from multiple entrances, both from the main entrance and other doors connected around the building. Roman walked inside and held his arms close to himself, desperate not to be shoved around by the other students. 

The office was fairly easy to find, considering there was a giant sign over the door in bold, white letters reading Office. Roman opened the door and stepped inside to get in line, feeling a little bit better that he wasn’t the only student having first day issues. The line shrank very quickly until it was Roman’s turn to ask questions, being faced with an old lady who could either be very sweet or the rudest person in the building. Roman could never tell.

“Uh, I’m a new kid at this school, and my guardian told me to come here to get my schedule?” Roman asked.

“Name.” Okay, well, rude it was, then.

“Roman Goldsberry.”

The desk worker didn’t respond, only typed something on her computer and didn’t make eye contact. “Next door to your left of that entrance is the counselor’s office. Your counselor is Mrs. Walters and she’ll call for you shortly.”

“Okay, thank you.” Roman had never scurried out of an office so quickly in his life. So much for a great first impression.

In the other office, Roman sat on a waiting chair and awkwardly glanced at all the college items they had hung up on the walls, waiting until his name would be called. The school day hasn’t even started yet, what’s taking them so long?

Roman drummed his fingers on the armrest of his chair and waited. There was a lot of college stuff in this room. Granted, high school’s whole thing was trying to take you to college, his old school was the exact same. And he should really start thinking about that stuff since he’s a sophomore now. He only had two more years left after this, but it’s not like he could go anyway. He wasn’t even supposed to graduate high school, let alone college.

Besides, his dream was stupid anyway, so it didn’t matter.

“Roman Goldsberry?” A voice called out, taking Roman out of his thoughts. Roman stood up to follow the counselor into her office.

“I’m Mrs. Walters, and it’s nice to meet you Roman!” She said cheerily as she sat at her desk with Roman sitting right in front of her. “Your schedule was a bit last minute to pull together, but I tried my hardest based on your last school’s transcript and your test scores from last standardized testing. All I need is to schedule some extra electives for you. You have advanced English 12, advanced geometry, advanced biology, and world history. You can also choose Spanish 3 here if you wish to continue that. You also still need your gym credit, so you can take regular PE or strength training. I also have a list of other electives here if you want to look at that.”

“Yeah, I can look.” The counselor handed Roman a paper of all the electives organized by their subject. Well, Roman definitely wanted to continue Spanish, so that choice was easy. Strength training sounded like a fun way to do gym class with less dodgeballs to the face, but it was only a semester long, so he’d need to pick another semester class for the second half of the year. And he could join another painting or drawing class as his last elective, but he’d already taken those at his old school…

Roman gazed at the arts section of the packet, trying to find something he might like. His eyes lit up as he noticed the names of two classes: set design, which was a semester long and sounded magical, and something called sculpture. “What does the sculpture class teach?” Roman asked.

“It’s an art class that teaches you how to sculpt with different things. Like clay, wood, things like that. It’s a very hands-on class if you’re interested.”

Roman smiled. “I want that one then.”

The counselor typed something into her computer. “Have you chosen your other classes?”

“Yes, Spanish 3, set design, and strength training.”

“I’ll put you in strength training for this semester, but next semester you can join the set design class. I’ll email your elective teachers to inform them you’ll be joining their classes, but for now…” The counselor printed off a piece of paper and handed it to Roman. “This is your new schedule. Your first class is English with Ms. Fritz, and her class should be up on the third floor at room 316. Do you think you can make it there?”

“I can, thank you.”

The counselor smiled. “Have a nice first day.”

Roman walked off to head toward his first class, going up two flights of stairs and wandering across half the floor before he finally found his classroom. Thankfully, the halls were full of students desperately trying to locate their classrooms, so Roman didn’t feel as weird. He eventually stumbled upon the correct room number after checking multiple hallways and trying to follow their scattered number system. He looked at the door with a paper rabbit and a book with a phrase reading hop into a good book, and could guess immediately what type of teacher this would be.

Roman pushed open the half-cracked door and stepped inside.

The dozen kids who were already sitting stared at him when he walked in, but quickly resumed their conversations shortly after. Roman glanced at an empty seat off in the middle row near the other end of the class and moved to sit down in it. He looked around at the other kids off in their own worlds, with no one to get excited to see him and strike up a conversation. He was sitting alone in a class where it seemed like no one else was.

Roman got bored quickly with no one to talk to, drumming his fingers on the table and starting to daydream instead.

The long lost princess with the power to see into the future is forced to hide in protected wilderness, Roman thought, picking up from an old story idea he’s had for a while. Can’t have a teen novel without an orphan, so she lives with a guardian healer instead. Then, she needs a trusty companion to not only start her adventures, but to assist her alongside them. Perhaps he could be a peasant boy born with more magic power than the normal peasant has? It sure would be interesting. Or maybe, he’s not a trustworthy companion at all! What if he’s using the princess to promote his own selfish ideals? But as the story goes on, they actually become close friends and he has an intense internal conflict as he turns into the antagonist! Then maybe-

“Alright class, I think it’s been late enough for us to start!” Roman tried not to be aggravated at the teacher for interrupting him. The teacher stood at the front of the class with a wide smile. “I’m Ms. Fritz, but of course I’m sure a lot of you already know that since you had me last year. I teach all grade levels for advanced English, so if you keep down this path you might stick with me until graduation! Now normally, teachers will start their first day with class expectations, maybe a rubric or a supplies list, but I have a better idea! How about we travel across the class and try to get to know each other better? I can pass around a ball, and if you catch the ball, you have to share three fun facts about you!”

A sense of dread filled into Roman after hearing that. He usually didn’t mind games like this since it was a mindless way to pass the time, but he didn’t have any friends to pass him the ball anymore. Was he just going to sit there until the end? Sounded awkward, no thank you.

“I think,” Ms. Fritz said with her hand gripping her chin in thought, “I’m going to start with the new kid.”

Roman perked his head up as all the other kids turned to him. Well, that was unexpected.

Ms. Fritz tossed Roman the ball, and thankfully he caught it without making a fool of himself. The teacher smiled at him encouragingly as he stood up, looking around at all the kids waiting for him to talk. What should I even say?

“Can you say your name first?” Ms. Fritz asked.

“Well…I’m Roman. Uh, I like to paint, I’m half french, and…” Roman tried to think. What else was interesting about him? Something that shared a lot about him as a person?

Quickly, it dawned on him. One idea that I could possibly share, he thought. Well, it’s a bit invasive, but they’re all looking at me. So whatever.

He took a deep breath in. “…I’m a foster kid.”

When Roman admitted that, all the kids seemed to be more interested in him, leaning closer as their eyes widened. It was the first time Roman ever said it aloud, and it was so strange to hear coming from his mouth. He was a foster kid. That was an important part of his identity now.

He didn’t know how he felt about it.

“You’re half french?” Ms. Fritz pulled Roman out of his thoughts with that question. “Do you know any french?”

“I’m fluent.”

“That’s so cool! Can you say something in French for us?”

Roman seemed to think about it. “Quelque chose.”

Ms. Fritz blinked. “Well, I hope it was appropriate to say in a classroom. When did you move here, Roman?”

“Like…four days ago. Very recently.”

“You only got added to my roster last night, so I believe you! How about you pass the ball to another kid now?”

Roman looked around the room awkwardly before making eye contact with a random girl and tossing her the ball. He sat back down and only paid half his attention to what the other kids were saying. Well, at least he didn’t have to wait awkwardly anymore.

The rest of the class went like that. It seemed like a lot of these kids were students that Ms. Fritz had in the past, as well as being students that were also close friends with each other. They talked a lot and made lots of jokes with the teacher, and they seemed really close, which Roman understood since he was the same with his old group of advanced kids. The extra conversation dragged the game out longer than it probably should have been, but Roman didn’t mind. He didn’t want to actually work or anything anyway.

Eventually, the game ended, and the last kid tossed the ball to Ms. Fritz. “Alright,” she said, “That game dragged out longer than I thought it would, but that’s fine! The bells are shorter the first few days anyway. We only have a couple minutes left, so talk amongst yourself if you want, I don’t care. The assembly should be after your fourth bell for the sophomores, so don’t let your teachers forget!”

All the students turned around to talk to the kids around them. Roman simply watched their conversations with no one to talk to himself, realizing how all the new kids at his old school must have felt. It was like looking in from the outside, where no one else could see you. Roman was just…there.

“Hey,” the kid in front of him turned around to face Roman. Roman almost jumped at the sudden attention. “What’s your name again?”

“Oh, Roman. Roman Goldsberry.” Roman turned to sit properly in his seat and leaned in closer. This was a good start! He seems nice, maybe I can make a friend!

“Roman Goldsberry!” He mocked, turning to his other friends to laugh. “That’s such a pretentious name. And very American sounding, by the way. I thought you were French?”

Roman’s shoulders sagged. Nevermind. Eight in the morning on my first day, and apparently I’ve made an enemy before a friend. “I’m half french, not fully french.”

The kid turned to his friends and made a face at them before they all laughed. Roman felt his blood boil.

“So your dad is the American?” The kid asked.

“Yes.” Roman hoped his sharp tone would help them realize not to mess with him.

“Are you close with your dad?”

Roman froze, and the group of kids turned to each other to make faces at each other again. He really didn’t see what was so funny. Who asks a complete stranger a question like that out of the blue?

Before Roman could snap and tell the kid to mind his own damn business, another kid from the other side of the room scoffed. “Mitchell.”

“What? I’m just asking!”

The other kid opened their mouth to retaliate, but a loud and obnoxious bell went off before they could. Kids started to get up to rush to their next class, and Roman joined them. The sooner he got away from Mitchell (who had no right to bully Roman for his name when he was called Mitchell), the better.

Roman rushed out into the hall and hyper focused on the schedule in his hands. World history, room 203. The next floor down.

Roman was so occupied in trying to find a flight of stairs, he didn’t notice the kid trying to catch up to him.

***

The rest of Roman’s day wasn’t half as eventful as his first bell. History class had a chill teacher, which was nice, then next was his strength training class. His teacher was a little confused when he showed up but was happy to have Roman on board. He seemed very strict with his class rules though, and Roman hated that considering one of his rules was they had to change into gym clothes. Which meant Roman had to wear gym shorts.

…Well, guess he’d have to get used to wearing multiple pairs of boxers again.

Besides that, he also got lost on his way to sculpture, so he showed up ten minutes late telling this random teacher he was her student now. At least she didn’t seem bothered. After that, they all went to the sophomore assembly where they were told the school rules and updates, which Roman’s pretty sure he was the only kid who actually listened. Then, after the assembly, Roman went to the cafeteria to eat a lunch that Patton packed him. He hadn’t actually brought a packed lunch to school in years, so the sentiment was…strange.

Not that Roman would complain about an edible lunch, though.

Roman looked around the cafeteria for a place to sit. The place was starting to become crowded as more students got out of line for buying lunch, so Roman needed to find a spot fast. It’d be easier if he made a friend to sit with, but after the morning Mitchell incident, Roman hadn’t cared to try again in his other classes.

That’s when Roman spotted him. A kid with thick glasses eating a fruit cup as he worked on some papers next to him, completely ignoring the world to finish some homework. Roman wasn’t exactly close with his foster brothers, but hey, maybe Logan could prove himself a little useful. He had to be lonely too, right?

Roman took his chance and sat across from Logan. Logan didn’t look up from his papers. “Hey there, nerd!”

Logan glanced an eye toward Roman. He focused back on his work. “Hello.”

“How’s your first day of high school going?”

It took Logan a solid minute before he responded. “It’s going alright. I got unlucky with a teacher of mine, who already gave us a homework packet for the week, so I’m trying to get a head start on it.”

“Really? What teacher?”

“Mr. Owens, he’s the more strict teacher of the two that teach medical technology.”

Roman’s eyes widened. “Medical technology? That’s a class here?”

“Yes. I had to do a lot of things last year to get into it, however. It’s part of the intensive medical learning path. However, the extra work is necessary.”

“…Right. What other classes are you in?”

“Advanced biology, advanced geometry, advanced English, medical tech as I just mentioned, German 2, health, and painting.”

Roman tilted his head to the side. “Wait, I thought most of those were sophomore classes?”

“And I took freshman classes my eighth grade year. Your point?”

Roman blinked. “…Fair enough.”

Roman brought out his own sandwich and ate it in awkward silence. Logan seemed so focused on his paper that he wasn’t saying a word, and trying to spark conversation with him when he was like this was next to impossible. He felt like he was intruding by sitting next to Logan, the air feeling thick for a reason Roman couldn’t quite place. Once he finished his sandwich, Roman had enough.

“I think…” Roman said, “I’m going to sit…somewhere else.”

Logan didn’t react. “Alright.”

Roman stood up and awkwardly shuffled to an empty spot at a table on the other side of the cafeteria, placing down his lunch box and trying again. Well, he thought as he opened up a cheese stick wrapper, better get used to being alone, then.

“Hey, excuse me?”

Roman looked up at the voice while he was mid-bite. It was the same kid who scolded Mitchell back in his English class, tired circles under their eyes and a gray sweater on despite it being August. Though, Roman had been freezing in most of his classes today, so maybe this person had the right idea.

“Oh- I’m sorry, were you sitting here?” Roman asked.

“No, you’re fine, I just…” The kid looked side to side anxiously. “…Mind if I sit with you?”

“…Oh! No, I don’t mind at all.”

The kid smiled and set their lunchtray across from Roman. “Thanks. I’m Elliott by the way, they/them pronouns.”

Roman’s brain took a minute to process what they meant. “Uh, hello! I’m Roman…he/him?”

Elliott seemed to get happier when he said that. “Nice to meet you. How’s your first day been so far? Besides for you-know-who this morning.”

Roman laughed. “Well, aside from that uncalled for mess, it’s been quite normal. I got lost a few times, but that’s not new for me. My teachers seem quite alright so far.”

“That’s good to hear. We have a lot of good teachers, I think, unless they teach calculus, then they have some serious issues. But so long as you don’t act like an idiot it’s easy to get past those teachers.”

“I’ll keep that in mind! Hopefully I stay on this hot streak, though.” Roman took out a water bottle from his lunch and started to drink it. “But it’s the students I’m more worried about. They all seem so off on their own. Or just outright rude like that guy this morning.”

Elliott groaned, leaning his head on his hand and slouching. “I’m really sorry about him. He can be a huge jerk for no reason. I think he’s just itching for a fight.”

“You seem to know him quite well. Old friend or something?” Roman asked.

Elliott groaned again. “…He’s my ex.”

“…No offense to your type or anything, but…ew.”

“Oh no, yeah, dating him was definitely an ew,” Elliot sighed. “We broke up like, four times in the span of a year and a half. It was a mess. Eventually, over the summer I broke up with him for good. I think he’s still upset about that and taking it out on the first easy target he finds. That, and he’s a jerk.”

“Well, he’ll soon learn I’m not one to be described as an easy target.” Roman gave a cocky smile and posed.

The bell sounded off again, and all the students stood up from their tables and started to swarm the trash cans and cafeteria exits. Roman and Elliott gave each other a look as they also stood up.

“So…what class do you have next?” Elliott asked nervously.

“Let’s see…” Roman pulled out the schedule from his pocket and looked at it. “Advanced biology with Mr. Weber.”

Elliott’s eyes lit up. “Me too! Uh…wanna walk together then? I can show you where it is.”

Roman smiled. “Of course!”

The two kids headed down the stairs, talking more and laughing long after they sat down in the class and the bell rang. Roman continued to whisper to Elliott during class until the teacher gave them both a warning glance, shutting their mouths but smiling at each other.

Even as Roman tried to pay attention, he felt a weight lift from his chest.

He’d obtained a friend after all!

***

The entire bus drive home, Roman spent it texting Elliott’s number that they’d given him right after biology ended. He talked about his last two classes and listened to Elliott ramble about his bad luck with classmates this year, grinning to himself with his eyes glued to his screen until his stop came. Virgil banged his fist on Roman’s seat to get his attention, making him jump and stand up to get off with Virgil and Logan.

During the walk home, no one said anything. Roman was off in his own world and Virgil just looked tired, with Logan staring intently at his own shoes as he walked. Virgil unlocked the door for them all to come inside, and they all branched off into their different directions. Virgil got a snack from the kitchen while Roman and Logan ran up to their rooms.

Roman spent a lot of his time in his room now that he’d gotten the curtains around his bed. Lying there was a lot softer than hiding on the bathroom floor with his legs propped up, and Roman was still confused as to how he managed to get away with installing this. He’d have to make sure Patton never entered his room again in case he planned to rip the curtains off their hooks.

He’d have to make a plan to effectively keep him out.

But for now, Roman actually needed to talk to Patton as soon as possible. He needed to ask for gym clothes, since that was the only thing Roman still needed to get for class, and he wanted to get it over with so Roman wouldn’t need to keep worrying about it. He was almost certain Patton had come home half an hour ago, but Roman just ignored him and stayed in his room. But he had to take advantage of the fact that he was remembering to ask for the clothes, so there was no time like the present to go find him.

Roman hopped out of bed and exited his room, making his way downstairs to the living room. He figured Patton would be either watching TV or doing something in the kitchen, but when Roman looked around, he didn’t see him anywhere. Virgil was sprawled across the couch on his phone, but no one else was around. Roman put his hands on his hips.

“Where’s Patton?” He asked Virgil.

Virgil didn’t look up. “Upstairs. In his room I think.”

Roman groaned and stomped back upstairs. He hated going into an adult’s room, so he instead opened the door and poked his head in so he wouldn’t have to step inside. But before he could get a word out to Patton, Roman stopped himself.

Patton was sitting on his bed with the lights dimmed, his back resting in the headboard, but what shocked Roman was that Logan was there also. He had his face hidden in Patton’s neck as Patton rubbed his back and played with his hair, holding him tight to his chest while Logan sniffled. Roman had never seen Logan emote before, so watching him cry was…disturbing. Roman wanted to run over and rip Logan from Patton to protect him.

Patton looked at Roman in the doorway and smiled. “You gotta remember to knock before entering, kiddo. What do you need?”

Roman forgot the main reason he came here. “Is Logan okay?”

Patton looked down at Logan and whispered something in his ear. Whatever Patton said, Logan agreed with a quiet nod of his head. Patton rubbed at Logan’s neck in a way that made Roman’s skin crawl as Patton began to speak. “He’ll be okay, kiddo. He’s just a little overwhelmed from school today. Do you need anything?”

Roman took a step inside Patton’s bedroom. It made his whole body shift into fight or flight, but he couldn’t leave Logan alone with him in good conscience. “I just wanted to say I need to buy gym clothes by next Wednesday. I’m in a strength training class this semester.”

Patton smiled. “That’s fine, we can go shopping this weekend.”

Roman looked down at the floor. “Well…I was more thinking, like…I go into the store while you wait in the car.”

Patton raised an eyebrow at him. “I need to buy the clothes, kiddo.”

“You can just give me the money. I’ll stay within the budget and give you any left over, so…please?”

Patton’s face dropped a little, but he didn’t get angry, so Roman considered that a win. “Sure, kiddo. We’ll do that Sunday.”

Even after the conversation seemed to end, Roman still stood near the door, shifting on his feet awkwardly. Patton shifted his eyes between Logan and Roman as if he was analyzing both of their mental states, but Roman’s throat felt stuck as he tried to bring out the words he wanted to say. He was so scared, but he couldn’t force himself to ask the question he knew he needed to ask now. Yet his feet refused to make a run for it out the door despite his fear.

“Do you need something else, kiddo?” Patton lightly prompted. Roman attempted to swallow the rock he felt in his throat.

“Can I…Can I stay with you and Logan?” He hated it, but he had to do it. He didn’t know what Patton would try when Logan was vulnerable.

Patton looked down at Logan, and Logan nodded. Patton turned to smile again. “You can if you want, Logan doesn’t mind.”

Roman carefully walked to the other side of the bed, sitting as far as possible from Patton but keeping his eyes glued to Logan. He knew he wasn’t helping much, not saying a word and not even being close, but it was something Roman had to do. Just because him and Logan weren’t close didn’t mean he’d leave him in danger. Even if Roman felt stuck in his head and couldn’t find the power to move his arms.

Roman sat there for a while, watching Logan’s chest rise as Patton rubbed his back. It felt like ages before Logan’s chest slowed and he fell asleep on top of Patton, somehow not caring at all about being asleep in Patton’s presence. Roman’s heart ached for him. He was too trusting and innocent for his own good.

“I gotta do some chores,” Patton whispered, “So I’m gonna tuck him in and let him nap. Do you still wanna stay with him?”

Roman nodded, not being able to get the words out himself. He felt stuck as Patton lifted Logan up gently, petting his hair to soothe him when he stirred. Roman helped by tugging the covers back from his end of the bed so that Patton could tuck him in and let go of him sooner, his hand on the back of Logan’s leg making Roman anxious. Patton tucked Logan under the covers and watched his reaction. After a few seconds, Patton grabbed a squishy stuffed frog from his bedside table, handing it to Logan who curled around it in his sleep. It’d be cute if Roman wasn’t so worried.

“Tell me if anything happens, okay kiddo?” Patton said right as he was halfway out the bedroom door. Roman nodded, only finally relaxing after Patton left and slowly closed the door. 

Roman immediately ran over to lock it. He didn’t have his security bar, but this would be good enough. Hopefully Patton wouldn’t test anything when he knew Roman would be by Logan’s side.

Despite all of Roman’s worries, Logan slept peacefully on the bed. He didn’t shift or seem distressed at all, just snuggling closer to Patton’s stuffed frog and resting. Logan was calm.

Roman sat on the floor to block the door and watched to make sure no one took that away from him.

[anarchy2021]

PSA Day! (Rp etiquette)

{ID: A person standing next to a flipchart. They're thin, and have medium-length brown hair, pale skin, and dark brown ears. The ears are angled horizontally. They're wearing thin-rimmed glasses, and their expression reads as confident. Their hair is partially tied up in a bun. They also have a long tail the same brown as their ears, with brown fur the same color as their hair on the end. They're wearing black trousers, a black waistcoat with a white shirt underneath. Additionally, a black overcoat with gold edges is draped over their shoulders. The inner lining of the overcoat is red, and partially visible behind the person. They have their right hand on their hip, and with their left hand, they're holding a stick up to the flipchart, which reads "RP 101 :)". The 101 is underlined. END ID.}

Greetings! You may not recognize me (unless you were watching the debate perhaps, then, sup) as I admit I’ve been a bit…. Behind the scenes as it were (as secretary of VOID there is a lot of looking at the void, usual routine for me mhm mhm). Regardless, I’m Days (or Nights, either or) and for today’s PSA I’m here (along with some words from our recently freed from totally-not-prison president, Graphite, at a later date) to talk to you about roleplay! More specifically, rp etiquette and terms and how that relates to the DSMP and how it should be talked about. 

Now now, you might be wondering “oh but what is your experience?” Glad you asked! I’m a long term text rper with over 5 years of experience- and my main avenues of rp are rps similar in structure to that of the DSMP- long term improv driven sandboxes that also have important events planned ahead of time in some regard but are often player driven most of the time. Now, let’s get into it!

Head writers/admins

Let’s start off with a pretty hot topic regarding the server, which is the existence of a ‘head writer’ (usually in reference to Mr. Soot). Now, mainy take this as meaning quite literally a writer- like in a show, but, with what information we have I think it’s safe to say he’s not really that and more along the lines of an rp admin/head. The admin’s main purpose is to keep things structured and organized, as well as putting together the events they’re in charge of. This is pretty much how everyone treats the man anyways, BUT, while an admin is in charge of a lot they do NOT have the final say over everything, particularly in regards to the characters and their players. 

Players in an rp for the most part have full control over their characters (within reason and the confines of the rp setting) and an admin enforcing their will onto a character (such as enforcing certain backstory choices that don’t seem particularly wanted. For example, the fridge with c!Phil) is often frowned upon unless there is a good reason for it and discussed with the rper. 

It is also notable that just because there is an admin, that doesn’t mean they’re the sole writer/organizer/etc. It is not at all uncommon for specific subplots and or other important events to be headed by players involved in it in this type of rp. This can be seen in practice with how the Eggpire plotline was headed by BBH and the prison plotline was mainly written by Dream and Tommy. 

Summary:

- head writer/admins do not and should not control everything

- organise and structure events

- players might admin their own smaller plots within a rp

Narrative consequences

Now, another hot topic- especially in regards to character discourse (my abhorred personally). Narrative consequences. These are generally referred to when someone thinks a character is not getting the consequences for their actions in the story that they should, or (more rarely in my experience) when they feel a character is being punished too hard for their actions. While this is an understandable feeling to have, at the end of the day narrative consequences just aren’t much of a thing in roleplay, at least not to the same extent as a book or tv show. 

This is for one simple reason, consequences rely on the character’s actions and how they respond to others around them, if a character does not feel like it’s fit to react or if it angers their character- it is 100% within their right to respond accordingly. 

However, there is also an argument that can be made if a character responds to something in a way that doesn’t align with a character’s usual actions. For a personal example, one time in a rp I was playing a character who was intervening when another character was being hurt, however, my character was met with scorn from being somewhat aggressive regarding it- I felt that this was unfair as none of these character showed the same scrutiny to characters who did worse things, and none of these characters had been established as hypocrites. 

This grudge lasted the entire rp until my character died. This is a point where believing that the consequences to a character are unjust is more or less fair, but, a character simply not getting immediately smited or a character getting scorn is not automatically a point against the character, especially since an rper cannot reasonably make their fellow rpers react a certain way.  

Summary:

- narrative consequences are not the same in RP as in other mediums

- can't force characters to react, or force players to react in a way they don't feel is fit

- but can critique RP if things feel unfairly ooc/inconsistent

Retcons

Next up, retcons. What is a retcon? It’s short for retroactive continuity, in essence it’s when in a piece of media something is changed retroactively- such as a character’s personality, how an event occurred, etc. for an outsider audience perspective retcons are often looked upon unfavorably, as it’s changing something already established which can cause friction among those attached to certain ideas, but in reality retcons are both a neutral concept and fairly normal to occur in rps. 

Rps are (generally) not professional writing, they’re things made up on the fly with perhaps a base to work off of (and depending on the rp, not even that. However in the rps I’ve done we generally had character sheets and the like for backstories and all) and thus sometimes mistakes happen. One of the main causes for minor retcons is when details are confused or left out that would have realistically affected the situation or how characters would have responded to it, unless in severe cases these usually happen on the spot and don’t cause much of a fuss. 

Major retcons often fall along the lines of players and how they choose to present their character. This is especially common when a player is using a character for the first time or even if they’re just new to an rp in general, sometimes as we rp we simply decide to take things in a new direction and sometimes that direction may cause things already established to be retconned, even if not outright stated. 

A good example of this is the enderwalk with c!Ranboo, the enderwalk as it was first introduced is very different than it is portrayed now, likely as a result of Ranboo taking a new direction with his character since then. More widespread retcons may happen if people are unhappy with a certain plot thread, in this case an example would be the canon status of SBI, Wilbur used to push it but Techno (and later Phil) didn’t want it to be canon, so anything about it previously said has been soundly retconned. 

In my own case character retcons very often happen to me when I first use an oc, as the character takes a different shape than what I put on the paper in practice, even sometimes within the same rp (one of my first ocs was practically unrecognizable as the same character in the beginning of an rp as compared to even just a few weeks later).

So, retcons are fine and normal to occur, but, like I said- they’re neutral. A retcon can very well be done poorly and cause problems. This is mainly in issue with retcons made that affect highly established and built upon aspects without discussion with all those who’d be effected, this can cause confusion, plot holes and cause characters to be in a weird limbo if they don’t know how to have their character act without whatever was retconned. Major retcons need to be discussed in order to prevent these problems, and in some cases should be avoided entirely- instead it being better to work for a compromise and rework events rather than removing them. 

Summary:

- retcons are normal and neutral

- small retcons happened frequently in RP to help keep things going in an improv heavy medium. Usually unnoticeable

- large retcons tend to have with new players, or if the story is taking a new direction.

- large retcons require a lot of communication, and sometimes whould be avoided, instead working to compromise and rework the direction of the RP

Metagaming and godmodding

Metagaming and godmodding are two very important terms to know for rp etiquette and if you’ve done any rping you’ve probably seen these words thrown around in rules lists and such already. These are both ultimately negative things that should be avoided at all costs. What are they? Metagaming is when you use information that you know OOC and use it IC even though your character should not have that information. Godmodding is when a character is taken over by another person for one reason or another against the player’s will- such as having a character react to something without letting the actual rper do it. 

The former is a big issue when it comes to discussion of the DSMP and how people interact with it, mainly in the chat and donos. When you are trying to get a character to react to information that they shouldn’t have you are trying to get them to metagame, which is heavily frowned upon in an RP. This is also important to note in discussion, a character not responding to certain important events is not a mark against them if the character has no way of even knowing what was going on, or would not reasonably respond to it with the information they have. 

Summary:

- both frowned upon

- god modding is taking over someone elses character

- metagaming is using out of character information to do in character acting

- Meta gaming is relevant to DSMP particular in how it relates to donos and chats. Don't encourage meta-gaming

All of these factors are important to consider when discussing the DSMP and it’s narrative, it’s not going to function the same as other forms of media nor should it- as once you go in that direction you’re competing with the big boys over at tv and at that point things would fall apart. Improv and it’s unique variables is what makes the DSMP, and anything else like it, special and interesting to follow!