#i almost died several times in the writing process

[kenyummy]

✰ 07. the ballad of a bygone blight.

✰ ꒰ ⍣'ˎ˗ platonic yandere batfam / spider! reader ꒱

✰ 07. a fools own parade.

SYNOPSIS : being spidey isn't easy. being transported into an alternate universe where you're nothing but a shadow in your house, makes sneaking around a little easier... until you find yourself the apple of their eye... kind of.

note: im not really sure if it counts as it's a very small passage but tw for a lil bit of an identity/existential crisis??? not very sure haha I mostly just write what comes to mind

also, first father appearance! yay! he finally shows up, and he's as mysterious as ever, hehe. next chapter will be either dink focused or ... someone else... 🤔🤔🤔

prev. ✰ masterlist ✰ next.

You dab at your nose with a tissue, cringing at the sight of crimson still pouring out from it. How hard was that guy's chest, anyway?

A thick bandage is stuck tightly on your nosebridge, taped to your skin and soaked in blood. Changing it every hour was a giant pain, but you'd rather have a bloody bandage than clothes.

Thinking back on it, you almost can't imagine the look in Tim's eyes again. Nothing strange. Nothing too out of the ordinary, but different enough to make the hair on your arms raise.

(You're the greatest anomaly in his life. Isn't it natural a detective wishes to solve such a damning mystery?)

How differently his entire composure grew once he saw you laying there, dirtied hands clutching your face. Was it normal for a guy like him to change his entire stance at such a moment? You'd be inclined to believe he couldn't care less about something like this, from all those diary entries spanning several years.

But seeing that look, when you'd stopped him from coming closer, putting distance between you two, as you thought there'd always been, how could you possibly think that? That look of worry, fingers twitching as he reached out, and expression of pure betrayal when you'd stepped backwards. Away. From him.

Wasn't that how it'd always been? You couldn't stop thinking. Maybe you were wrong? Maybe your spidey sense, for the first time in your life, was wrong?

They say that a fool's time spent thinking is wasted time.

You spent hours sitting at your desk pondering all of this. What it meant. Why your siblings seemed to all give you this strange, sinking feeling in your stomach. Raise goosebumps up your arms.

Soon, these thoughts spiralled back to your home. How you could help Reed. Speed up the process. Not wishing to mess with his delicate work nor rush him, but also getting restless with this family.

This family who's known you for their whole lives, yet seems to similarly know nothing about you. This you, their you, any you. Too little to care, too much to hate. The worst kind of balance that upset the universe and made your stomach twist with bile.

But at this point, you weren't too sure who was who, which was which.

If, tommorow, you'd lost everything and if you were caught in a blazing heat, would it be you who had died? Or somebody else? Would it be you in that coffin, underneath a stone who's name carved into it, did not belong to you?

The concept of being your own person, what did it mean? What could it mean when there were more of you, exactly the same, only shaped by their environment? An endless amount of copies, down to the genetic level, each in different worlds yet unmistakably the same?

When you stare into the mirror, nothing is the same except the red that flows down your knuckles when you slam your fist into it. Nothing remains the same except what you look like inside.

Though—in the end—even that belonged to them, didn't it?

You barely ever see your sister, nor her blonde friend. The ginger haired woman has more pressing matters to attend to than ever seeing you, it seemed—something you'd actually grown to appreciate, seeing how positively suffocating those other "siblings" had started to become.

Dick, who was thankfully off in Blüdhaven around now. Jason, who should be out doing his own thing, but seemed to always spare some time for you... as much as you insisted on him not doing that. Tim, who always stared with a little too much intensity and danger hidden behind a sharp smile.

And Damian—your only blood-related sibling, seeming to take great pride in such a fact as he brings it up far more often than not.

You'd begun to realise a distinct lack of a parental figure in your...—

This. This life.

Not yours. This life absolutely was not yours. Everything is seriously messing with your head. Belonging to another unfortunate soul, who happened to have your name, shared your face and voice, yet was everything you never were. Experienced things you never did, yet as you lived in a freedom they could never dream of.

You pitied them more than anything else. But that didn't mean you could just give everything you've ever known up. Your people, your city, your friends, your freedom. This blood that runs through your veins and makes your heart beat steady—it may belong to them, but you never will.

As it spills, you will be free. Losing that chain that binds you and perhaps you will be allowed to feel that wind hitting your face once more. Allowed to swing, fly, feel air and be everything you were destined to become.

Your suit forms over your body and you leap out of your window, leaving nothing but a gust of wind in your wake.

Because, despite everything, it is still you.

The Spectacular Spidey seems to swing and never sleep—the alliteration in the title of this news article you've read makes your head hurt. Said only as an unfortunate pun referring to how you swing from building to building, and only operate during night hours.

(Yet, still careful on avoiding your dearest family... as difficult as that may be—your senses are seriously saving your skin... wait, now you're using alliteration—)

You don't have anything against working during sunlight. In fact, it would be preferable for you. But escaping from school has now become increasingly more difficult after you'd "opened your heart" to MJ and Harry.

Both were completely convinced you were spiralling down a bad path after how you'd acted with Jason, or concerned for both your homelife and general wellbeing—sometimes you truly did damn yourself for picking such good friends.

Nevertheless, you couldn't possibly be worrying about something like that right now, when there's a much bigger problem right in front of you.

A man dressed in a rag-like coat lay beneath your heel, defeated and hands bound together with your webbing.

You'd originally expected to leave immediately, hoping to catch Reed before he was off looking for whatever new part he needed for his grandest project. But now, you can't even hope to move at this point—swamped by flashing cameras and microphones shoved into your face.

Suddenly, you're so incredibly grateful you wear a mask, because you aren't too excited at the prospect of having such unflattering photos of you taken.

"Spidey! What are you doing in Gotham?"

You stammer, "Uh—well, you know—"

"Spiderguy! What's your thoughts on the articles calling you a knockoff Batman?"

"How am I anything like him?" You gesture to your bright red suit. "Also, it's not Spiderguy—"

"Spidey! Spidey! How do you create that webbing fluid? Is it organic? And is it environmentally sustainable? Who's going to clean it?" The reporters move closer and closer.

You inch backwards, "Uh—well, you know, my webbing dissolves in a couple hours by itself, and of course it's sustainable—"

Before you can finish, a multitude of voices all ring through your ears at once. Piling atop eachother, all at the same time, forming into a mush of different tones and accents, indistinguishable from one another.

You can't even hear anything anymore, not until a voice, loud and clear, cuts through a multitude of others and strikes your ears with ease, "Hey, Spidey! Our viewers have a question for you—how have you gotten past Batman? I'm sure you know he doesn't allow metahumans in Gotham, right?"

You freeze. Shocked, but soon, that shock soon morphs into confusion at what exactly a metahuman is.

"I... uh—" You glance to the side. You know, doing this will spark way too much gossip for your own good. Doing this is practically asking for those headlines that, while technically true, are completely outlandish. You were a reporter yourself (for your alter ego, to be fair—but it still counts).

You know this can't end in any other way than complete disaster.

That's why you reach up, webbing to a building and wave goodbye to those pesky paparazzi, "No comment!" With all the wit a Spider must have, you decide that your flight or fight response instead chose: Web away with a sly remark.

"They should be around here, Batman."

Oracle's voice rings out through the earpiece. Barbara had taken the liberty of helping him in his little crusade after seeing that stunt on live television—that spider-hero running away after hearing that metas weren't allowed in Gotham... though, it provided more questions than answers.

Babs was growing restless. For one: that reaction possibly explained why they were so wary of any member of their family even coming close to them. Always running at the first sight of them, webbing away faster than they could hope to catch up. Escaping Batman and his Robin, Babs couldn't help but wonder about them.

They're good. Smart. They're not some new hero. Clearly whoever's behind that mask has experience.

But this raised far too many questions in it of itself. Why had you only popped up now? Why not years ago —if, judging purely by her own gaze, with the years of experience in crime fighting you must have? Why Gotham?

And perhaps, the most daunting question of them all, "Who exactly are you, Spider?"

Bruce's gruff voice reaches her ears, "What was that?"

Her eyes widen, not realising she'd spoken aloud. Shaking her head, she relents, "No... sorry, it's nothing. Right... according to witness sighting and where they were last spotted, you should be meeting them in the middle right now. Do you have any sightings?"

Bruce shakes his head, jumping over to the top of the next apartment block roof—cowl landing in a swoop behind him. "No. Not yet. See if there's any new sightings."

Bruce Wayne was beginning to grow tiresome of this new hero's antics. Running around through Gotham without a care in the world—all too bright and cheerful as if this was all that mattered. Running around as a meta—unchecked and absolutely dangerous.

Nothing good could come out of this. Not without knowing exactly who you were and what you wanted. He never was a dictator type—never had it in him—but with a crime-riddled city like Gotham, he had little choice.

One small mistake could ruin everything. Collapse all that he's worked so hard to create. A better city, a better future. A regular human—as he is—couldn't possibly ever handle a rouge meta... and in the end, this city may not want him, but he really is the type of hero it needs.

So, that's why, instead of patrolling through his sector—he asks Orphan, Batwoman, and Spoiler to take over for tonight, so he can do some much needed digging into this anomaly.

Tim told him that his webbing sample, one he managed to collect around a month ago, when he'd first come into contact with them, had dissolved within hours. Not enough time to perform any kind of intricate testing, not by a long shot.

Batman has taken the almost passive stance—uncharacteristic of him—but now, he realised with such a slippery Spider, he had to do what he does best, and corner them.

His whitened eyes dart up at the flash of red that flies past him. He snaps his head back and finds the Spider—the one he'd been looking for all this time—swinging from building to building, fast.

But not nearly fast enough. With one false swoop, Bruce is after you, grappling towards you, eyes narrowed and mind absolutely determined.

"Batman? Batman?" Oracle pipes up—he assumes she's been talking for the past couple minutes, but only realised she was speaking into his earpiece now. "Can you hear me? Do you have a visual?"

"I see them. Nearly have them."

The Spider darts their head over their shoulder almost frantically—moves stuttering when they see how close he's gotten toward them.

"Hey! Why are you so obsessed with me, huh?" Thrir voice calls out—unlike anything he'd ever heard. "I mean, okay—yeah, I get it. But if you want a fashion taste like mine, I can make you a suit of your own!"

He clenches his jaw to stop himself from saying anything back.

Their voice grows more framtic at his silence, "H... Hey! You're getting really close, there—let it go! I'm not a villain! I swear!"

More silence, and they seem to let out a loud groan of frustration, seemingly aimed at him.

They stop. Heels landing flat atop a building, and Batman, with his cowl wrapped around him like a cloak, follows on their heel, stalking closer towards them.

You raise your hands in defence, stepping backwards and shaking your masked head, "Waitwaitwait—! Don't get violent with me, I don't want to fight you!"

"Then what do you want?" His voice grows deeper, more gruff and cold. "No metahumans are allowed in Gotham without my permission. There's too much trouble that comes with it. Too many difficulties."

He pauses. "Too much crime. Too many deaths. Unnecessary, preventable ones. Who are you to be an exception?"

"I said wait—!" You shriek as he practically stalks into your personal space bubble. "I'm not a metahuman!"

He stops in his tracks. "... What?"

You let out a heavy sigh, now that he's stopped. Batman taps on his earpiece, "Oracle, can you hear this?"

"Reading, Batman."

You look around, to see nobody. "Oracle? Who's Oracle?" You never read anything about an Oracle.

"None of your business. Now speak. If you aren't a metahuman, what are you?" His whitened eyes narrow, and suddenly those pointy ears aren't so silly looking anymore.

You blink. Once, then twice. "Would you believe me if I said I was from an alien planet full of spider-people?"

Despite the reprocessing telling him your backstory would have on you being near non-existent—you still aren't too fond of the idea of the Batman, your father, knowing your secret backstory.

Besides, Oscorp really does exist in this universe, too—Norman is actually pretty nice. You don't want any unwarranted blame falling on him.

"Not a chance." He folds his arms over his bat-symboled chest and you falter with a sigh.

Worth a shot.

"Fine." Not to say he was the reason you finally relented—but his stare was pretty unnerving. "I was bit by genetically modified spider on a school field trip. It altered my DNA so I became stronger, faster, could stick to walls and became three times more flexible than the average person."

You finish with a winded breath, eyes scanning his expression for any hint of an emotion. You found none.

"Why should I believe you?"

Pausing, you glance away. Crouching down on that rooftop, on the ledge, staring down at the city below. Dimly lit roads and the people littering it. So much like your home, yet so different.

You could see why Batman was this city's protector. You could see why he was so careful about this world, and you almost respected him for it. At the same time, though, you couldn't help but think to all those chicken-scratched diaries.

By a helpless child, unable to depend on anybody but him in this world, and he had still failed. For that, you couldn't face him. Not now, not ever.

"You don't have to believe my story." You finally manage to unlodge the words from your throat. "I'm just saying that whatever your rules are—my existence doesn't defy them. You have no reason to keep chasing me down."

His sharp, whitened eyes narrow. It's the only thing visible in such deep darkness where he lingers.

"Actually..." Oracle's voice rings out through Batman's ears. "Their story... might have some truth to it. Check this out—Oscorp's been working on developing a, quote, super-powered spider. Says spider venom is the cure for disease and pandemics. They've been developing in this field for a while."

A super-powered spider sounds absolutely ridiculous, he thinks. But nothing he hadn't seen before. In a world full of aliens, heroes, personification of life, death, and everything in-between—he shouldn't be surprised at the prospect of gaining superpowers from spider venom.

Looking down at you now—slouched, facing away from him, and almost seeming restless... "Oscorp."

You look back at him, confused. "Huh?"

"Did that spider come from Oscorp?"

... You bite down on the inside of your cheek, hard. Looking back away before you could stop yourself. "No. I'm not from around here. I live far. Far away."

"What do you mean by far away? Why are you in Gotham, then?" He steps closer, to the point he's standing over you with all that intimidating bat-aura that makes the criminals of Gotham run for the hills. Still, you can't bear to see him. Because if you do, you know you'll spill everything you've been holding in like a waterfall.

"I don't know," you admit, honestly. "I don't know why I'm here. I want to go home, but I don't know where that is anymore. All I know is that, while I'm here, I might as well help people. Because... that's what I do."

For a moment, there's no sound other than the honking of cars on a busy road. He's quiet, as silent as he always is. Always was. For a moment, you think you almost see him as that father from so long ago.

But only for a moment.

"... How old are you?"

To your surprise, he doesn't immediately go to accusing you of lying again, or keep his standoffish persona any longer—only asking you this simple, yet strangely personal, question.

In simple words, you're really confused. "What? Why does that matter?"

"You sound young. Too young. And from the way I've seen you fight, you're experienced in fighting high, street-level crime. If I had to guess, I'd say you've been doing this for at least three years. Maybe more."

Sweat beads at the back of your neck, and suddenly everything starts caving in, crumbling like failed architecture. How did he know? How could he have possibly—

Batman continues, "The way you talk, and the way you behave in the public eye, you can't be an adult. I'm assuming you're a child. Meaning you've been fighting crime since you've been in your early teens, right?"

"What are you talking about?" You stand up at your full height, staring up at him. Glaring, as well as you can manage from underneath those refractive lenses. He doesn't back down. "I'm not—"

"You're a child," He repeats. "Don't carry this weight. You don't have to carry the weight of—" Gesturing towards the ground below, he stares down at you, strangely sadly, "All this. Especially not all by yourself. Not as a child."

The only word you want to spit out at him is hypocrite.

"Don't act all high and mighty. That Robin you have looks 12. You're saying a 12 year old is capable of fighting crime but I shouldn't? I'm nearly an adult, for god's sake! I'm—"

You slap your hands over your masked mouth, but still continue. "Don't treat me like I don't know better. You don't know me. You have no idea what has happened in my life."

"I only take Robin under my wing because he needs it. So I can watch over him."

You glare, "So what? So he can turn out like you?"

"So that he doesn't."

And to this, your lips feel sealed shut. You want to say something, but you can't. What could you possibly reply to this?

Even Oracle is silent. Not a word, not a peep. Nothing. The honking of cars has ceased, and it's like the world itself had just gone quiet for that one, stunning moment.

"You're not from here, so I don't know you," Finally, he speaks, and it's like the silence has been shattered like glass. "You're right. But... you're a child. You aren't obligated to this. This isn't your responsibility—to make this world better. If you can live normally, you should."

Isn't such normalcy why you ended up like this in the first place? All those entries, wishing to be like the rest of them—and here your father is now, telling you to be yourself.

If only they had heard this, you think, bitterly. Then, you'd know you were right. That he would only ever see you if you had become one of them.

The thought makes your stomach churn. How pretentious could this man—this devil—possibly be?

"You're wrong. To live normally like this, when I was given the strength to be better, to do things to be a better me... that's just wrong." You clench your fists, hard. "I already made that mistake before. It doesn't matter whether I'm 18 or 80. All that matters is that I'm doing what I know is right."

You pause, allowing the words to sink in. "But to discard the normally in your life is a waste. That's why I live the way I do. To protect the normalcy around me, the ones who can't protect themselves. With great power comes great responsibility... my responsibility is to be the best Spidey I can be."

...

You angle your wrist up and don't bother to look back at him when you walk away, "You and your birds can come after me all you want, but I won't stop doing what I think is right. 'Cause I'm a hero."

When you thwip away, you aren't so sure how you'd forgotten that. How a hero protects the ones they love above all else.

Your family aren't heroes. Perhaps, to the public, and even the whole world—but not to you. They'd failed to protect that child, a miserable, small child, left in that massive world.

To make it so they felt they had to save people, to take that responsibility of power to matter—that was their greatest failure.

"... Batman?" Barbara's voice is a dramatic shift from the silence that started to consume him. "Batman,are you okay? Batman? ... Bruce? Are you..."

He takes a moment to regain his composure, world still spinning as he speaks, "I'm fine. They're... they're okay." Saying the world's like they're hard to spit out, or like he's unsure himself. "I'm coming home."

Barbara wants to say something. About that spider. About what they said to him. Power, responsibility, protection, normalcy, love. But she doesn't. By the sound of his voice, he seems just as frazzled as she is. A conflicted Batman means no good for anybody, including her.

So, she will let him think. Oracle can take a back-seat for now. So can Batman. For now, she's just Barbara Gordon. And he's just Uncle Bruce.

Holding her tongue, "Cass and Steph aren't back yet. Kate left a while ago... said there was something she needed to do. ... Everyone else should be at home, I think..."

"Okay." He murmurs, quieter.

Barbara shuts her mouth and leans back in her chair. There's nothing else for her to say, so once more, there is silence.

...

When Bruce returns back to the Manor, he finds himself pushing past everything and everyone, including Alfred, and rushing up the stairs. Not even bothering to take off his suit fully—tossing his helmet behind him and walking away.

Down a hall to the left, then up right, then left again. Stopping once he, finally, stands in front of a door. Blank. Colourless, dull. Like the rest of the manor, blending in away from those extravagant suits and too-bulky armours.

After a brief moment of confliction, he brings his fist up, and knocks. Standing there, almost the size of the doorway, waiting for any kind of reply.

"Hello? What—"

You freeze at the sight of your father staring down at you—this time, his eyes were as blue as ever and his face was less grim. This time, you could see the greying of his dark hair and the crease of his brows.

This time, there was no escape.

"[name]." He says your name as if it's foreign, unfamiliar. Testing it out like a new spice or seasoning, then seeming to come to the conclusion that he likes it. "It's been a while."

You're frozen in place, mouth open yet unable to speak. What could you possibly do now? Run? Swing? Duck past—

A hand places itself on your shoulder and every siren in your body blasts itself tenfold. Blaring like the most buzzing and painful alarms—so awful that you have to grab the side of the doorframe to stop yourself from falling over.

Panic gnaws at every side of you, chest rising and falling erratically when your headache grows.

What is this? This is so much worse than when I'm with Jason—

His face morphs and blurs as does his words, yet you manage to catch the few, "I think we should spend more time together. Become closer, like how it was before. You are my child after all. The only one who doesn't have patrol or scoutings with me. That calls for more regular ways of bonding, right? That's my responsibility... as your father."

He's smiling. Hardly so, but you're about to collapse. A deafening buzz in your skull, you spit out any agreements you can manage through squeezed eyes, waiting for him to go, to leave, so for a moment, you can finally breathe.

"I'm glad you agree," he says, moving back. Clearing his throat, he looks down at you, recovering as he gives you space. "Next week, then?"

You clutch your head, jaw taut and stance tense. It's a wonder how he hadn't noticed your absolute discomfort, but you digress—just wanting him to go. "Sure."

"Good, then—" Before he can finish, your door slams shut in his face and once again, that barrier has returned. Bruce pauses, staring at that slab of wood keeping you from his line of sight.

Bruce lingers for a few moments longer, fingers hovering the handle, before retracting back and swallowing thick.

Batman walks away, but glances twice over his shoulder, cowl falling behind him.

You slump down your door with a heaving sigh, feeling your head start to clear and breathing stabilise.

That feeling of fear, of utter terror—it was the feeling you'd get with Jason and Tim, but tripled. It was torture. Absolutely awful. Unbearable. You'd not relt anything while you were Spidey on that rooftop, but seeing him here now send your senses spiralling into a whirlwind of chaos.

You grab your head and it falls onto your knees, pulled up to your chest.

Your eyes fall bleak and everything blurry again. Are you going to cry, like a child? To prove him right again, that you're afraid of this? Of him?

Maybe you were more similar to his version of you than you were lead to believe. Maybe—

Still, though, your phone buzzes.

A strange sounding noise compared to the cheap, hand-me-down one you had in your other room. Probably spammed with stupid videos from MJ, and worried texts from Harry. Maybe even the odd "how are you?" from Matt, or something.

(You still don't know how he texts, but that's beyond you).

You pick up your phone, despite the lingering thought it could just be from one of your family members. Siblings, or father.

... You were half right.

From a contact customised to say, the #coolest auntie, there's a text.

Hey, kid. Let's go out. It's been way too long.

You stare down at the bright phone screen for a few seconds longer than you should've. Surprised, sure, but just as confused. Swallowing and considering your options for a second.

You haphazardly let your fingers fly over the keyboard. If your contact name for her was this comfortable, she must be a good person, right? Maybe she could provide an outside perspective on everything. Your family, their hero-lives, even you.

You press your lips tightly together narrowing your eyes down at her contact profile picture. Short, red hair and a smug smile. Pale skin, and the features reminiscent of your father.

Sure. Where?

When you watch the text bubbles pop up on the screen, you can't help but wonder what exactly you're going to do next.

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[dreamsofbroflovski]

Kenny McCormick x Reader - i luv your girl

Also available on ao3!

Summary: Being stood up when you have the absolutely perfect anniversary date planned would be enough to send anyone spiraling and make them question if anything is even worth it at this point. Luckily for you, the perfect loverboy is willing to sweep you off your feet and show you a good time to help you make a decision.

Warnings: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content (everyone involved is above the age of consent), Cunnilingus, Face-Sitting, Penis In Vagina Sex, Cowgirl Position, Semi-Public Sex, Cheating/Infidelity

A/N: Ugh, I am so fucking sorry. I had this thing like, 75% done on my Docs, and then something else on my life took complete chokehold on me and I couldn't make any progress on it at all for several days. I promise I'll try to write quicker and post more often in the future. Next up on the chopping block (I'm not actually chopping him up, though he deserves it) is Kyley-B, for a request (I'm taking those now) (Also sorry to the follower for taking so long to get to it I am a disgrace)

“Come on… Come on… Pick it up, will you…���

Clutching my phone in my hands firmly, close to my face as I stared at it with my eyes drifting between the ‘Call’ screen and the battery icon, I paced back and forth on the sidewalk. The sun shined bright and beautiful in the sky, still my mood was anything but - the nerves were exponentially starting to get to me, and I was on my last line.

It was supposed to be my two-year dating anniversary with my current boyfriend, and I had the whole day planned to perfection. Taking advantage of the fact that the weather forecast was announcing a very warm and sunny day - which is rare for our town -, I planned to spend the whole day with my man, starting off with a whole picnic in the park around the local pond. I was wearing my prettiest floral sundress and had a whole basket full of goodies to be enjoyed under the sunlight. Had made sure to arrive early and wait in a place that was of easy access for both me and my partner so we could walk to our destination together. It was all perfect.

Perfect, except for the absence of my other half.

For three hours now I had been waiting, sitting on a bench near a local restaurant that I usually frequent for lunch on workdays, looking around all the time for any signs of him, and he had not arrived. I called and called with my phone but they all went to voicemail, sent a bunch of texts that stayed on delivered - and worse, my battery was now close to dying out, since I forgot to charge it before I left, not thinking it was important since I didn’t plan on spending so much time on my phone anyway. It was currently running at 4% as I tried to call him as many times as possible before it died out and I had to think of another plan.

My heart skipped a beat as the call was answered.

“Baby? Baby! Where are you?” I exclaimed as I put my phone to my ear, my agitation clear on my voice.

“Mmmmm… Hey, babe… What’s up…” An extremely groggy version of my boyfriend’s voice came through the phone’s speakers, not nearly close to matching my anxiety.

“What do you mean, what’s up? Where are you?” My mind already had a faint idea of the answer, but I had a sliver of hope in my heart that it might be wrong.

“Huh… In bed.” 

Of fucking course. “In bed? How? It's almost 2pm! We were supposed to meet three hours ago!” It was not my intention to scold him, but in my exasperation it sounded exactly like that.

A few seconds of silence from the other side of the call as my partner seemingly processed the information. “Damn… Sorry, babe. I stayed up late gaming with the boys and slept through the alarm.” He sounded slightly less groggy now, like my revelation was a shock to his brain, but not by much.

“I called you so many times, though!” I countered, “Why didn’t you pick those up?”

“Yeah, sorry about that. I thought it was telemarketing or something.” His voice didn’t carry a hint of remorse.

I took a deep breath, trying not to scream or make a scene right there on the street. The day was so beautiful, I just didn’t wanna waste it arguing. “Well, you’re still coming, right?” I asked, trying my best to sound patient and less accusatory. “Can you give me an ETA or something?”

“Babe, let’s just… Let’s just take a rain check, alright? It’s late already.” He sounded as nonchalant as could be as he said that, as if the thing he was cancelling wasn’t our literal anniversary date. “I promise I’ll make it up to you some other time.”

“It’s our anniversary, baby! I’m already here! What do you-”

With a jolly ringtone, the call was cut short. I put my phone in front of my eyes just in time to see the animation of it turning off on the screen, my battery breathing its last before the device died completely.

And then there was just me.

In small, shaky steps, I made my way to a street bench nearby and sat down, setting my picnic basket to my side and watching with glazed eyes as the cars went by on the street, still clutching my phone in my hand. After waiting for so long, making excuses for my boyfriend’s tardiness on what was supposed to be a date to celebrate the day our relationship started, a date I planned from beginning to end and made sure was completely flawless, it all went to shit in the span of one phone call that didn’t even get to end because I ran out of battery before it could. I was left alone, heartbroken, stressed and with no way of going back home except on foot.

Allowing myself to have at least one thing I wanted, I lowered my face, hiding it with my hands, and let the tears roll fast and plentiful. My whole body shook as I sobbed, all the nerves of the day taking physical form in the salty droplets running from my eyes, as I recalled not just how much of a bad current situation I was in, but all the previous disappointments in my relationship that I swept under the rug because of love. And, deep down, I knew I was likely to let the broom of my self-neglect swipe this one, too.

For what felt like forever, this was all that I had. One of the prettiest outfits of my life, a basket full of food, painful memories running through my mind, tears that didn’t seem to be able to stop running down my cheeks. Until I got something else.

“Hey… Ma’am? Miss?” A gentle male voice called near me, seemingly out of nowhere, bringing me back to the world of the living, so to speak. “Can I help you? Do you need anything?”

I shook my head, still not looking to the source of the sound, now feeling deeply ashamed of myself. Engrossed in my own feelings, I forgot this was still public space and someone was bound to question me at any time, considering how nosy people in this small town tend to be. “I’m fine,” my voice cracked a bit as I said it.

“I am pretty sure you aren’t,” The voice responded, with a sliver of irony, but still gentle, like he wanted to make sure I knew he wasn’t laughing at me. I felt a hand on my bare shoulder - calloused fingers shook it with just as much kindness as I heard in the voice behind them.

“It’s alright, sir,” I sniffled while trying to steady my voice, hoping my fake reassurance would be enough to make this unknown person leave already. “I’ll be leaving soon, don’t worry about it.”

“‘Sir’ is my dad,” He chuckled, “My name is Kenny. At least to all the pretty girls. So call me Kenny.”

His response took a small giggle out of me, even if my whole mind found it inappropriate to do so considering the circumstances. Whoever it was that tried to talk to me was actually making an effort to make things better, not just ask questions out of obligation or curiosity. Slowly, I wiped my tears away with my hands, answered him with my own name and lifted my face up, trying to put an image to ‘Kenny’. And put an image to it I did.

It was almost like the head and body of two different action figures smashed into one. From the neck down, it was simple and rather elegant. The man wore all black, as was common for that restaurant’s waiters; The usual dress shirt with the restaurant’s logo had its first two or three buttons open, making it just slightly more stylish. The charcoal gray apron wrapped around his hips was perfectly spotless like it had never been worn before, and he wore a pair of dress shoes that seemed to have been recently shined.

Once my eyes went up, though, everything seemed to change. His blond hair was styled in some sort of shaggy mullet. The very visible dark circles under his eyes came as a stark contrast to his laid-back posture and the youthful energy I just felt emanating from his body. On the matter of his eyes, I couldn’t pinpoint their color for the life of me; Some trick of the sunlight was clearly at play in them, because in some angles they were blue and in others I could’ve sworn they were lavender. Some tiny reddish nicks speckled his jawline and chin, likely from shaving and not doing a very good job at it. When his mouth was open, I could see that his teeth were slightly crooked, and he had a bit of a gap between the front two on the top row.

The things that were the most startling about his appearance, though, were the scars and piercings on his face, and those he had several of. I could count two eyebrow piercings, a nose ring, a single earring on his right ear and an industrial bar on the other that seemed to still be healing. On the matter of scars, all of them were healed and faded, but screamed gruesome stories; One on his upper lip that went up to end at the side of his nostril, another one on his temple, and a third, the biggest, started on the right side of his jaw and went all the way down to the start of his neck.

To be honest, I liked the look of the top part more than the bottom.

As he saw me looking up at him, the corners of his lips curved into a smile, a genuine one filled with kindness. “Wanna talk to someone about it?” He asked as he pushed my picnic basket on the bench away and sat to my side, leaning forwards with his face towards me.

“Ugh… No, I just…” My fingers ran through my hair in stress as I threw my head back, feeling my eyes burn with tears again and trying to chase them away so I could at least leave this situation and go home without further questions.

“Let me guess… boy troubles?”

It was a rather sexist guess on his part, but I wasn’t about to fight it, because he happened to be right. “How do you…?”

I turned my face to look at him and he pointed to my hand on my hair, where on my ring finger rested a thin silver band with my boyfriend’s name engraved on the inside. “You’ve got a ring.” Turns out he wasn’t being misogynistic at all. He was just too attentive, something I’m not used to.

With a sigh, I slouched forwards with my face down again.

“Now I’m curious,” Kenny admitted as he leaned back on the seat of the bench, resting his arms on top of it, “What kind of monster made a goddess like you cry like that?”

I shook my head again and pointed to his shirt, specifically to the restaurant’s logo embroidered on the uniform. “Don’t you have somewhere to be right now?”

“Don’t worry about it. The place’s practically empty right now. Most people are at the mall or at Stark’s Pond anyway.” He shrugged. “And besides… I shouldn’t tell you this, but my boss is acting kinda crazy thinking you’re scouting the place to rob. So me being here probably puts his mind at ease because now he has a witness.”

Great. Just lovely. Now, on top of my whole shitty life situation, I’ll also have to find all the workers at that place looking at me funny whenever I go in for lunch. “So you told him you’d come here to teach the possible thief a lesson?”

“No. I told him there was no way in Hell someone as adorable as you was up to no good.” It was the third compliment on my appearance in less than five minutes of interaction. Apparently he was the type of man to not be deterred by something as ‘insignificant’ as a woman’s boyfriend, and I wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

“Well, your boss can rest assured,” I said, “I was just waiting here to go on a date. No robbery plans.”

“That’s what I thought.” He nodded slowly. “But I saw you while I was working. You’ve been here quite a while. What happened?”

“Well…” I took a deep breath, trying to put it all into words without bawling immediately - it still didn’t stop some tears from falling and my voice from cracking as I finally spoke again, “Apparently, my boyfriend slept past his alarm and forgot our anniversary date.”

Sudden movement to my side had me startled and I looked up again. Kenny was on his feet, an exasperated expression on his face. “What a bastard! YOU’RE sitting here, looking like a fucking snack for him, and your stupid ass boyfriend is at his place sleeping when he could be ravaging you?”

This man sounded genuinely indignant, even if extremely crude - in a twisted way, it only served to fill my brain up with more thoughts that maybe I wasn’t being treated as decently as I deserved, because I found myself not wanting to dispute him or make excuses for my boyfriend’s behaviour, either. “Don’t put it like that…”

“I always put it in in many ways,” Kenny sat back down next to me on the bench, the double entendre he spat definitely understood and ignored by me when I tried my best not to laugh, “And the only thing your boyfriend there seems to be putting is stress on your shoulders.”

He put his hand on my back and rubbed it gently slowly, as if trying to physically remove this figurative weight he mentioned - and, surprisingly, I felt it working even if just a little bit. My facial expression probably gave my enjoyment away, because he didn’t remove his hand even after he stopped moving it, and I let him keep it like that.

“I mean, it’s not that bad…” I avoided Kenny’s gaze as I uttered those words, and immediately the pain he had soothed came crashing down again. “It’s just one date. I’m sure it’s-”

“Don’t you start this on me now,” Kenny interrupted before I could continue my poor attempt at a dispute, “You know it is that bad. It’s your anniversary. Fuck, if I had a chick willing to do all that for me, I’d stick to her like bubblegum on a shoe,” he chuckled nervously as he ran his fingers through his hair, the thought of having someone who cared about him that much apparently making his brain run amok - he was probably the type of person to try to get things done for people instead of the other way around.

“And I’ll say more,” he took a deep breath and continued as he took note of my silence, “Even if it was just a date, you should still be pissed. You agreed on something and he fucked it up. And now you’re here, looking sad and hot. If this happened to any of your girl friends, you’d tell them to send the garbage dick to the gutters, wouldn’t you?”

I tried opening my mouth to argue further, try to defend my man’s behaviour or justify it, but found myself running dry of the excuses I usually had on hand. It was like something inside of me had snapped, and if there was one goddamn day of my relationship where I would allow myself to be angry and expect reparations, it would be this one.

“Thanks, Kenny,” I murmured, nodding slowly and letting my gratitude shine through my eyes as well when I gazed into his, “Means a lot.”

“Don’t mention it,” he shook his head, making his shaggy hair flow beautifully and frame his face even better, “Consider this my first real attempt at becoming employee of the month.”

In a weird way, Kenny’s presence and his charisma were starting to make me feel better. I felt drawn to continue talking to him, if just to hear his voice more.

“Are you a new hire?” I asked, signaling with my head towards the restaurant where he worked at, “I come here often and I’ve never seen you there before.”

“Oh, no no no, I’ve been there a couple of months now,” Kenny was quick to answer, waving his hand in front of him to emphasize the negative, “But I usually just do cleaning duty and help in the kitchen. They don’t want me waiting tables because I ain’t exactly got a face for customer service.”

I didn’t argue with his comment, but it wasn’t for a lack of wanting to. The man sitting next to me was absolutely handsome. Every single one of his features displayed intense personality and charm, and the words in his voice always sounded extremely seductive no matter the subject. Kenny had a natural magnetism to him that most men could never have no matter how hard they tried. However, he was nonetheless a bit rough around the edges, and the piercings and scars probably were a red flag when it came to employment. Not his fault and there was nothing wrong with him, the only one to blame was our current society.

“Anyway, today I’m actually covering for a friend of mine,” Kenny continued, “Got in some sort of trouble and couldn’t be here, so he asked me to cover for him and it was the least I could do.”

Using my amassed knowledge of the restaurant’s usual waiters, I went through my mental images of all of their faces to try and guess who his friend could be. There was this other young man, about our age… “Is it the other blond guy? Also with the… You know, over his eye?” I moved my finger in front of my left eye, tracing a scar I remembered the other man having. Were facial scars an integral part of the restaurant’s uniform?

“Butters. That’s him.” Kenny nodded with a smile. “Really nice dude. Reliable. He’s covered my ass a couple of times, vouched for me to get this job too. I gotta check on him later to see if everything’s alright, he never misses a workday.”

The sincerity in Kenny’s voice and the way he beamed about his colleague made my heart feel warmer. There was obviously more to their friendship than just being work buddies, and I was sure this ‘Butters’ guy was very near and dear to him. Maybe next time I went in there for lunch we could strike a conversation or something.

But all good things must come to an end. With a stinging reminder that I still had a phone with zero battery on me and a whole walk to my house ahead, which would set me back on my ‘not think of my life’ objective a lot, I decided I should just cut that umbilical cord and let my new buddy go back to living his own.

“Well, Kenny… I think I really need to go. Don’t wanna take up any more of your time.” I run my hands over my eyes one more time, even though the tears have already all spilled by now and are basically dry. “Thanks for everything. All the best to you.”

I get up from the bench and wave him a goodbye, but feel him grab my wrist and tug at it as I try to leave. When I turn to him again, he’s holding up my picnic basket in his hand. “You forgot your… your thing here.”

He pushes it toward me, but I don’t pick it up, instead just making a dismissing motion with my free hand. “Keep it.” I shook my head. “I’m not hungry anyway. Think of it as a token of appreciation for keeping me company.”

“You’re not hungry? That’s bullshit!” He gets on his feet as well and tries giving me the basket again, more insistently this time. “You were waiting here for hours without eating. You must be starving.”

Kenny wasn’t wrong. During our whole conversation, I could feel the familiar pangs of hunger in my belly, my body’s painful way of begging me for sustenance. However, just thinking of coming back home all alone and having to eat all the food I prepared for me and my boyfriend, knowing full well that it was supposed to be for a special occasion and I had instead been bailed on like it was nothing, was enough to make my eyes burn again with the threat of another crying session. I wouldn’t be able to do it.

To keep myself from crying again, I just let out a downcast sigh. “It’s alright. There’s too much for just me anyway, I don’t want it to go bad. If you keep it you can at least share with your buddies or something.”

“Well, I’m still not taking what’s yours, that’d be fucked up. But…” His eyes darted to the side, looking towards his workplace, then back to the basket his holding and then finally to me again.

“But?”

“Well, as it turns out, I haven’t had my lunch break yet.” His hand releases its grasp on my wrist and he picks up his phone in the pocket of his apron briefly to check the time, putting it right back after he does. “So I think you can still have that picnic.”

It was unbelievable. “You’d… Do that for me?”

“It would be a real mistake to let such a perfectly prepared meal go to waste.” He made a gesture with his hand, towards my picnic basket - a gesture that I could’ve sworn encompassed me as well, theory only made stronger by the mischievous glint I definitely saw in his eyes.

His boldness had me flabbergasted. In any other situation, I’d be nothing short of horrified at the thought of an unknown man inviting himself to my business like that and basically taking over my day - but Kenny had been so kind, helping me with nothing but caring words as I bawled my eyes out, taking time away from his work to make sure an unknown woman was safe and okay while asking for absolutely nothing in return. And he seemed so genuine about it, too - even if he had made some playful passes, I wasn’t the slightest bit uncomfortable around him. He was being extremely nice about all of it and I found myself not ready to go back home and face the music of my terrible life just yet; Maybe Kenny and I really could have a great time together, even if it wasn’t what I originally planned.

“If you really want to…” I give him a gentle smile. “Let’s go, then.”

His eyes light up like a child’s as he hears my acceptance, and he hands me my basket to hold before starting to walk with purpose past me, leaving me confused. “Just stay here for a bit, okay? Don’t go nowhere.” He calls out to me, but as he sees my eyes widening and a little sadness flash behind them - I hadn’t considered that I’d had to wait even more for Kenny now, and my whole experience with today had me a little paranoid -, he’s quick to add: “I swear I’ll be quick, it’s just to warn the other folk! Be back in a flash!”

With a deep breath, I decide to trust him on this one. “Go, go!” I yell with urgency, turning my attention to other parts of my surroundings while he goes do what needs to be done.

Luckily I didn’t have to wait long. After just a couple minutes my ears picked up rushed footsteps coming in my direction - Kenny was now straight up running to meet me. He looked mostly the same, with a few key differences; He had ditched his apron completely and was now wearing a big orange parka with brown details on the hoodie. It looked cheap , old and beat-up, with a bunch of very visible stitching on the seams, like it had ripped off and been sewn back together multiple times before. It also had a couple dried dark stains splattered around it, but I wasn’t about to ask what they were.

“Feeling cold?” I pointed at the new addition to his outfit.

Kenny shook his head and shrugged, the jacket making a very characteristic plastic-like sound with his movement. “Just thought I might need it.”

You’re gonna sweat in that was my immediate thought, but the judgement that followed was to not to waste any time debating his decision, he’s a grown adult and must have his reasons. I adjusted the basket on my forearm as I began to walk, but Kenny quickly moved to my side and pulled it away from me, locking his right arm with my left one and holding the basket with his other hand. I turned to him with a confused look, but he said nothing about it, instead choosing to go on about something entirely unrelated as we made our way to our destination.

༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩♡𓆪༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚

The trip to Stark’s Pond was quite short, but filled with fun and laughter all the way nonetheless. Kenny was making progress on his objective of keeping me distracted from my current situation, telling me lots of jokes and sneaking compliments every other sentence like it was second nature for him to say them, which it might as well be. I had no doubt that, for anyone who went past us on the street and didn’t know who we were, the only thing they saw was one extremely happy couple.

I ended up learning lots of stuff about him, too. He opened up like a library book, probably to compensate for the fact that he saw me so vulnerable earlier. I found out that he was an extremely hardworking man, needing money not only for his daily expenses but also to help his little sister pay her university tuition - between that and his treatment of me, a person he barely knew, I had no doubt he truly had a heart of gold.

Besides the daily shifts at the restaurant and some odd jobs here and there whenever he got some free time, he was regularly busy during weekend nights, working as a bartender at a club in Main Street. I knew the place like the back of my hand. It was my old stomping ground - I had spent many a crazy Friday and Saturday night there, and it was also where I had met my current boyfriend, a drunk hookup that became a bigger thing. Ironically enough, once we made it official, he began to get bothered whenever I talked of going there and would give me the silent treatment if I did, so I eventually just abandoned it altogether to keep the peace.

“Well, if you ever feel like coming back,” Kenny said after I commented on the coincidence, “Then keep me company at the bar. Drinks on me. And not that overpriced stuff full of ice we usually make. Real alcohol.”

I told him he was full of shit and waved him off, but made a mental note of what he said… Just in case.

When we arrived at the lake, it was immediately verified that Kenny’s predictions about what the people in town were doing for the sunny day were correct. The park surrounding the pond was peppered with couples in love whispering sweet nothings to each other while watching the clouds, families with children throwing frisbees to their dogs, and groups of teenagers being as loud as they usually are and causing stress to everyone around them. My eyes scanned the space around me, looking for a decent open spot to sit down - meanwhile, Kenny just kept walking like he already knew where he wanted to go, and I absentmindedly followed him.

The realization that we had deviated a little from the main path only comes to me when the sound beneath my feet goes from soft grass to crunching twigs. We were breaching the forest nearby, Kenny bringing me swiftly around the trees like his legs had their positions down pat. I knew for a fact that there was a trail of beaten dirt through this same forest for those who wished to take a stroll in it, but we weren’t following that path. As I shoot an inquisitive glance and a frown towards my new friend, he just smiles, acknowledging my confusion but not missing pace over it.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, I have the perfect spot,” He turned to me, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb. “Unless you wanna go back and we can go sit next to those highschoolers with the speakers blasting 6ix9ine.”

I shook my head quickly and emphatically, immediately getting a pep in my step. “Oh no, I trust you on this one.”

Our little unexpected promenade didn’t last for much longer. Soon the trees started to spread more distant from each other, and we arrived at a small open area, a random glade I had never seen before. The tree canopies bunched together didn’t create their patchy roof over our heads any longer, so the sun was free to shine and warm up my skin. The branches fallen on the ground were few and far between, and the grass was decently smooth and level, perfect for relaxing on it. No animals were to be seen, probably scattered away much earlier after hearing our noises, but I could hear birds singing in the distance and catch one or two flying high above our heads.

“This is a nice place, Kenny!” I exclaimed, turning to him with a smile. “How much roaming around the forest did you do to find it?”

“I guess I’ve known about it for a while. Me and my bros come here all the time to have a smo- Think. We come here to think.” I laughed after hearing Kenny immediately try to correct himself, his sudden interest in a tiny pebble on the grass not going unnoticed either.

“You don’t have to hide it from me, I’m not a prude.” I shrugged. “Think anyone else might get the same idea today?”

“Nah, I don’t think so. And if they do, trust me, they’re gonna leave.”

Deciding once again to not question Kenny’s words or his methods, I opened up the basket in my arm and picked up a yellow and white checkered picnic blanket, opening it up and stretching it over the grass. My unexpected companion immediately started to help me spread the contents of the basket neatly on top of it, making all our food options easily visible.

And there were many of them. I had been quite proud of myself beforehand for managing to prepare a decent amount of stuff for my date, but it dawned on me that if I hadn’t had Kenny by my side it would have taken me a couple of days to get through it all on my own at home. Me and my improbable new friend talked a bunch more while we made quick work of the small club sandwiches, homemade chicken pie, carrot cake, some assorted snacks and drinks from the grocery store, and…

“Chocolate-covered strawberries? Seriously?” Kenny held up the small red box, shaking it slightly. “The big expensive ones too. You really went all out for this.”

“Hey, I forgot I had that! These are the best!” I let out a small squeal of surprise, the memory of having picked up the sweet treat earlier at the candy store having gotten lost in my head over all the stress I went through. I reach my arm towards Kenny, the tiny box too far away for me to get to it naturally. ”Can you pass me one, please?”

After I finished my request, my ears picked up some particularly close chirping, and I quickly turned my head around to look for any sign of a small bird that could be producing it, my hand still extended towards Kenny with my fingers wiggling as I waited for him to give me one of the sweet treats. I heard the characteristic noise of the box being opened, and something being shuffled inside of it, but nothing ever made its way to me. When I turned to see what was taking Kenny so long, I realized why - Kenny was staying put with one of the strawberries held between his teeth with half of it sticking out of his mouth. He couldn’t speak, but his eyes held the message of what he wanted me to do next.

I had to admit, I considered it for a brief moment. It was a simple act of play, but so sensual as well - I hadn’t been able to do this kind of silly stuff in quite a while, and it ignited something in me that had been dormant for a while now. I felt wanted. However, my moral compass was still blaring its sirens loudly in my brain, and I didn’t want to lead my whole life astray just because one guy I just met was giving me all the attention I needed. “Oh, come on, give me that!” I feigned annoyance and reached over to try and pick the fruit out from between Kenny’s teeth, but he quickly just gets all of it inside of his mouth and starts chewing.

“Had to at least try.” He chuckled, with his mouth still full, before picking out another strawberry from the box and handing it over to me properly this time.

“Do you try this with every girl who offers you food?” I inquired with irony in my voice as I plucked the small leaves off the top of the fruit, “The whole loverboy act?”

He swallows before answering this time. “Only when they’re as cute as you are,” He replied, “Which means I’ve never done it before in my entire life.”

If my eyes could roll back further into my head, they’d dislodge from it. “Like I said, Kenny, you’re full of shit,” I retorted right before popping the whole strawberry in my mouth, closing my eyes to savor its taste. My next words came slightly messed up, as I spoke with my mouth full, covering it with my hand. “I bet the girls are all over you with that.”

While I chewed on the fruit, Kenny stayed totally silent, his eyes scanning the plaid pattern of the picnic blanket under him. “What if it’s not an act, though?”

The sudden seriousness in his tone made my eyes shoot open immediately, and I flinched a bit, a frown creasing my forehead.

Kenny started scooting closer and wrapped his arms around me, suddenly pulling my body in one quick motion so I was seated between his legs while he hugged me tightly from behind. I tensed up completely in his arms, and didn’t dare make a movement even when his heavy breathing on my shoulder made the fine hairs behind my neck stand up. “Ken… I…” My uttering was almost non-audible, voice still strained from the surprise.

He grinned against the crook of my neck. “Ken, huh?” Kenny’s murmurs came out slightly muffled by my skin, “I can be that today, if you need me to. Just say it.”

“What are we doing, Ken?” My voice slowly started coming back to me, and I looked down towards the grass, seeing Kenny’s leg stretched right next to mine, barely touching it. He was too close now for me to be able to shake off his advances or pretend they’re just jokes; There was nowhere to go but right through them. “I shouldn’t be here…”

“What you should be is with someone who values you.” He cut my sentence with a firm and decided tone in his voice, getting a tighter hold of me between his arms. “A real man, not that sucker you’re dating right now. Someone who treats you right.”

I wanted to argue with him, ask him who he thinks he is to assume things about a woman he barely knows - but I knew his words to be true, there’s no point I can try to make that will make them not so.

Seeing that I was both not moving from my position and not disputing his claims, my guess is that he had newfound energy to get his point across, because he continued talking. “Do you know what I would do if I had a woman like you by my side, huh?” Kenny rhetorically asked, his voice almost a growl. “I’d wake up at the crack of dawn every day to provide for her. I’d make love to her every single night. I’d be the one planning dates and showing her a good time. I wouldn’t leave you alone to cry in the middle of the fucking street, I’d be too busy making you happy instead.”

“You said ‘you’ right now.” I immediately pointed out, even though it’s unnecessary. “Not ‘her’. ‘You.’”

“And I fucking meant it.”

With that, one of his arms loosened its wrap on my body and reached far for the tiny box containing the chocolate strawberries, and he picked one up in his hands, bringing it close to our faces. This one had a different design from all the others - instead of the usual white chocolate lines over the milk chocolate covering, this one’s got small red hearts as well. It’s more detailed, a tiny touch of romance to what is usually a very sexy treat in nature. Kenny cleaned the leaves out of the strawberry and took a bite out of it, holding the other half close to my lips. My nostrils immediately took in the sweet scent of the fruit, but I didn't open my mouth just yet.

“Look, I won’t force you to do anything you don’t wanna do. But if you let me, I’ll make you feel real good. Promise.” He murmured, digging his left hand’s fingers on the soft side of my belly one last time. The ball was fully on my court, but I could still feel the hints of his desperation for my body as he waited patiently for my answer.

Slowly and nervously, I parted my lips and let Kenny put the small piece of strawberry inside of my mouth himself, hearing him sigh in relief behind me as he did so. Once he withdrew his fingers from my mouth, that’s when I finally bit down on the small treat. This one isn’t as sweet as the others; It might not have been as perfectly ripe, so it had a tiny tinge of sourness mixed up in the fruit’s flavor. The milk chocolate around the fruit almost masked it up completely, though - the whole combination tasted absolutely heavenly, not just for the fruit, but also for the implications of it. I was in deep now.

Kenny almost doesn’t wait for me to swallow what’s in my mouth before turning my face to his and kissing me fiercely, his left hand getting tangled with the hair in the back of my head. I kissed him back with the same amount of fervor almost immediately, and all of my worries over this whole situation dissipated from my head like dry ice; Fuck what needed to happen for us to get to this point, fuck my problems and how I’d sort them out, fuck morals and especially fuck the outside world. This tiny little section of the forest was our own personal bubble, and I’d live in it for as long as I could.

When the tip of Kenny’s tongue brushed my bottom lip and I opened my mouth to grant it access, I realized I hadn’t accounted for one more piercing of his. The tiny little ball sitting in the middle of his tongue didn’t feel as cold as I thought it would, so it was more the sudden change in hardness and texture that threw me off a bit. I kept my cool, though, as I put my hands on both sides of his face and pulled it even closer to mine. I decided to try something out and touched his piercing with the tip of my tongue, flicking it ever so gently - I immediately felt Kenny’s hard-on twitch inside of his pants against my lower back.

As our tongues slid around each other and explored our connected mouths, his right hand slowly made its way up my thigh, sneaking under my clothes, ghosting over my bare pussy. I had been having so much fun with this man today, I’d completely forgotten I wasn’t wearing anything under my dress. Just this slight contact was enough to make my breath hitch and Kenny broke the kiss, his hand freezing in place.

When I opened my eyes, he was unapologetically staring at me. Mouth agape in surprise, pupils wide, it almost seemed like the whole galaxy was behind his eyes with the way they shined. Kenny looked like what someone would if you told them all of their dreams had come true at the same time.

“What a lucky son of a bitch.” He uttered almost non-audibly, the corners of his mouth slowly curving upwards into a delighted smile. For a moment, I wondered if he was talking about my actual partner or about himself. I wasn’t able to ask, though - Kenny’s left hand immediately grabbed my chin and tilted my head up, holding my face, ear and neck in perfect positions for him to start kissing, sucking and biting them voraciously.

The middle and index fingers on his right hand went back to gliding up and down my folds, picking up the building slick from my entrance and spreading it all over before settling over my clit and drawing quick tight circles over the bundle of nerves. Before I knew it, I was putty in Kenny’s hands, squirming and arching my back as much as I could in his grasp, my moans filling his ears and working as fuel for his ministrations.

Eliciting a whine of annoyance from my mouth when he did, Kenny took his hands away from me, not without planting one last wet kiss to my jaw. While I cooled down, steadying my breath, he brought his fingers over to his mouth, sucking on them and licking slowly. Then he sighed. “Fuck, no. This won’t do at all. Need you on my face, baby.”

I didn’t even have time to register what he said or the implications of it before he let go of my body and started moving behind me, stretching his legs under mine. When I quickly turned back to see what was up, he was already fully laid down with his head on the blanket, hands pulling at my thighs like he wanted to bring me closer to his upper body.

“Wait, what?” I tried to get up at my feet, but his pulling made me lose balance and I quickly sat back down as gently as I could, my knees now at both sides of his abdomen.

“Come on, over here,” he called, still trying to drag me over his body towards his face, “Or do you want me to beg? Because I’ll do it.”

Somehow the idea of Kenny begging for something like this made a blush spread quickly across my cheeks and ears, which probably burned bright like a beacon. How to explain to this man that I had never done what he wanted me to do?

My question was answered almost immediately - like everything else in my interactions with Kenny, I didn’t have to tell him, he knew straight away. “That fucking asshole,” he let out a disgruntled huff, rubbing his face with his hand as if completely stressed.

“Excuse me?”

“Your damn boyfriend,” he immediately responded, huffing again as if the mere thought of that man made him angry, “Can’t even eat out his own fucking lady properly.”

“I never said…” Once again with all my damn defenses, but this time it was aimed at myself. I’d feel awkward admitting to Kenny that even though I was fairly experienced, what with the long-term relationship, I still knew very little about my own pleasure.

“It’s written all over your face, baby,” he said, gesturing towards my beet red features, his expression softening. “But it’s alright. You take a seat and enjoy the show. This is my shift.”

He then started playing with the hem of my dress, twirling it between his fingers, waiting for my next move. Slowly, but surely, I started scooting on my knees towards his face, turning my face away as I got closer to his mouth. As I finally got to it, my bare cunt hovering above his face, his arms wrapped around my thighs and started pulling me down as if he wanted me to fall on him - was this guy trying to have his neck broken? To stop him from actually succeeding in this endeavor, I lowered myself steadily to where my folds were touching his lips.

And he got to work right away. His tongue started by licking tentative stripes through my slit, capturing on it my already plentiful arousal - I could hear Kenny’s satisfied groans as he tasted it, but the front of my dress falling over his head shielded me from any facial expressions.

His fingers splayed on the soft flesh of my thigh tightened their grasp as he started licking and sucking faster, and I leaned forward, putting my hands on the floor near Kenny’s head for stability.

“Yes, Ken! More! Aaah!” I called out once his tongue picked up speed, tugging fistfuls of my own picnic blanket as my fingers tried to dig into the floor. Seemingly content with my feedback, he mumbled something against my pussy, as if trying to speak, but the only thing that was definitely caught by my senses were the vibrations against my folds, all the way to my core.

Then and there I realized that Kenny might be an actual genius. Whenever his tongue would lap at my clit, or make its way to fuck my cunt again, I’d feel the tiny piercing on top of it - and it increased my pleasure tenfold. The extra stimulation of the hard metal ball with his soft tongue had me seeing blank before my eyes with every quick successive movement, and he knew it too, because I could hear him groan as he’d purposefully lap and flick and curl with his tongue mercilessly.

Before I could catch myself, I was rocking my hips against Kenny’s face, trying to get more contact, more of anything he could give me. His jaw and tongue followed my movements perfectly, like he was well prepared for this exact reaction. My thighs were quivering from the pleasure he was giving me as well as the strain of the position while I tried not to completely fall on his mouth. It didn’t take much long for me to figuratively do exactly that, though; With a loud cry that probably scared every single animal in a radius across the forest, I came on his mouth, my hands grabbing a fistful of the grass under them while I rocked shamelessly against Kenny’s face, riding it through my release. I could feel his nails digging at the flesh of my ass, but he never made a movement to pull me away, eating me up like a man starved.

Once I started coming to my senses again and brought back enough strength to my thighs, I lifted myself up away from Kenny’s face slowly and hiked up the front of my dress, looking down to be able to see his face at that moment. He looked back at me through half-lidded eyes, his cheeks and nose sporting a reddish flush that definitely didn’t exist before. My juices are splattered all around his mouth and he has this massive stupid grin on his face, showing almost all of his teeth.

“Gorgeous.” He uttered once he saw me staring back, his voice raspy and lazy. I merely chuckled, going backwards on my knees until I was close to his hips, where I finally settled, lowering myself back down to sit right on top of the generous tent formed in his pants.

Kenny lifted his upper body up on his elbows once he felt me positioned against his still clothed cock. “Oh, aren’t we eager now?” He teased, patting the ground next to him. “Lay down here, baby. Let me sort that out for you.”

I shook my head with a smirk. “I don’t think I will. This is my shift now.”

His eyes widened, astounded, as I put both my hands on his chest and pushed him back down with full force of my arms. His head was still lifted as his back hit the ground, and I made sure to maintain our gazes connected as my hands drifted to his pants, unbuckling and unzipping them with dexterity.

“Are you sure?” Kenny inquired, his eyebrows arched, but I was positive I could see the faintest hint of a smile on the corners of his lips. “I mean, I’m all for it, but aren’t you tired?”

“I’m fine. I wanna do this.” I tug down his pants and boxers just enough to free his cock, rolling my hips a couple times over it just to see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard. “Besides, it’s good thigh workout.”

“Not that you need it.” Kenny’s hands ran over my legs, giving my thighs a light squeeze. Once he saw my hand going towards his dick again as I prepared to take him inside of me, however, his grip released and his arm reached over somewhere. “Wait, wait, wait! Time out!”

I glanced confused to the side and saw Kenny dragging closer to us his parka, which had long been discarded to one end of our blanket, and he stuffed his hand inside of one of the pockets. “What is it?” I tried to ask, but he just rummaged around in it for two or three seconds more before bringing out a blue foil package.

So that’s why he needed to bring the damn jacket. “Someone’s well prepared.”

“I mean… Better be safe than sorry.” Kenny replied, handing me the tiny square. “Come on, I was about to hang out alone with the hottest chick in town. A guy can dream, you know?”

I twisted the wrapping between my fingers, analyzing the information in it. Average size - though that tells me next to nothing about what I’m really working with - and of the ‘Ultra Thin’ variety. This fucking guy. “You’re clean, right?”

“Oh yeah, absolutely!” He answered at record speed, nodding for extra emphasis. “But I mean… It’s for your best, right?”

I placed the condom right back on top of his parka. “I’m on the pill,” I reassured him as his face sported a totally confused expression, “So, if you’ll let me… I want to feel you, Ken. Really feel you.”

He swallowed hard again, his dick twitching with more precum leaking out of the tip as he took in my words. Still pleasantly surprised by my decision, he slowly nodded, closing his eyes and seemingly letting himself relax - though I could almost see all the little cogs in his brain moving wildly with all the lewd thoughts he had of me, and it made for great fuel to my ego.

My hand wrapped around Kenny’s cock again and I lifted my hips up to get in perfect position on top of it, moving the tip around my entrance teasingly, spreading his pre over it and getting it mixed with my own slick. When I finally slipped about an inch fully inside and my cunt gave one small initial clench around it, Kenny’s eyes shot open and he grabbed my thighs again, like he was fighting the temptation of pulling me down immediately.

“Tight… So fucking tight…” He grunted between gritted teeth, his dick twitching once again. His words like fire on my lower abdomen, I steadied myself over him before slamming my hips fully down and burying him to the hilt in one motion, both of us letting out loud groans as he stretched my walls with little preparation. Kenny’s nails dug at my thighs with this, leaving the tiniest crescent marks on them.

After a few seconds to adjust to his size - the longest seconds of my life - I lifted myself up agonizingly slowly before sinking back down again, trying to keep a slow and teasing pace, but failing miserably as I quickly began picking up speed and riding him in earnest. His enthusiasm matched mine, his hands on my thighs moving to my ass, feeling every jiggle and bounce of my flesh.

And that wasn’t the only thing of mine that bounced that he seemed interested in. Now that Kenny’s eyes were open, he basically zeroed in on the movement of my breasts, pupils glazed over with hunger. Determined to give him the show he was so interested in, I quickly removed the straps of my sundress from my shoulders and pulled down the neckline, so that my tits were on full display for him. That same stupid grin he had exhibited earlier showed up yet again.

“Mmmm… Like what you see, Ken?” I teased, brushing a wild strand of hair off his face with one of my hands, my soft touch lingering.

“Fuck yes,” one of his hands left my behind to knead at one of the perky mounds, “You’re perfect. Your boyfriend is a fucking-” I silenced him immediately with a particularly hard crash of my cunt on him. I needed not hear further from his mouth except for grunts or praise.

With every roll of my hips and slap of my skin against his, I wondered more why I took so long to surrender to him. My decision to let him hit it raw might have been irrational, but I didn’t regret it one single bit; He filled me up so perfectly, his length like the perfect massager to my inner walls, bringing me bliss like I hadn’t felt in quite a while. My hands grabbed and tugged at his shirt while I moaned with the full force of my throat, throwing my head back as his cock hit that sweet spot inside of me with every movement I made.

“Ken… Ken… Aaaah…” His nickname left my mouth like the chorus of an earworm song, ever present, the only thing I could think about in life. And I continued to say it over and over, making sure that it would permanently stick to his brain as well, my voice his only true companion even with the deafening music of the club he worked nights at.

“Hell yeah, baby,” he groaned between gritted teeth, “Let it out… You keep saying my name like that and I’m gonna lose my fucking mind here…”

Even if he said it like something that was yet to happen, lowering my gaze to Kenny’s face told me that he was already absolutely going through it. His eyes were tight shut and his eyebrows were furrowed, almost in a manner of deep concentration; He was trying his hardest to not finish before I did, and it was awkwardly endearing.

The pace of my hips slowed briefly as I lowered my upper body down towards Kenny’s chest, keeping balance by holding myself on my elbows bent to the sides of him. Once he’s not as overwhelmed with pleasure and felt the tip of my nose ghosting against his, he dared open his eyes to meet my caring gaze and soft smile. He immediately wrapped his arms around me and lifted his head from the ground just barely, his lips chasing mine, yearning for their velvety touch - which I granted them gladly, taking him in a luscious kiss as my hips slowly regained their previous momentum.

“Beautiful… Like a damn angel… Heaven’s got nothing on you…” Kenny whispered against my lips as soon as they parted from his, and those words on his voice made my heart skip a beat yet again - it was like he knew all the buttons to press to make me melt for him, even though we barely knew each other - but I knew that after all this I was definitely keeping him in my personal circle.

Our slight experiment with real affection didn’t last long, though. In my new position, my clit was making contact with Kenny’s skin and being stimulated with every movement I made; Soon I had to take my face away from Kenny’s to bury it in the crook of his neck as I moaned, feeling my orgasm fast approaching again from the combined effort on my pleasure spots.

My thrusts became shorter and even quicker as I felt my muscles tightening again, the upcoming climax threatening to consume me, with my thighs also trembling and burning from the straining ‘workout’. I continued grinding on him with wild abandon until I came on his dick with a shuddering cry of his nickname; the sun in the sky feeling almost cold in comparison to the electric warmth that coursed through every inch of my body, sparks of pleasure jolting through my muscles, making my cunt contract wildly around that man’s dick as if trying to make him a whole part of me.

As a tough roar reached my ears, the motion of my hips was abruptly interrupted by Kenny’s hands grabbing the sides of them and holding me firmly in place; He replaced my movement with his, bucking upwards in an intense burst of stamina as he now allowed himself to chase his own release. Given how long he had been holding back and how quick and powerful each of his thrusts were now, it doesn’t take long to catch up to him - soon his hips jerk up one last time and stay firmly in place, and I feel his cock twitching as it fills me up with jet after jet of his warm seed.

He stayed put like this for a while, with his hips raised to meet mine, the sounds of our heavy breathing the only thing audible in the little clearing at that moment. When I decided to make the first move and get up, Kenny’s softening dick sliding off of me and allowing his cum to start dripping down my legs, his arms fell to his side and he stretched his legs, letting out a deep sigh of contentment.

“Someone’s happy,” I commented with a smile as I laid down beside him, watching the sunlight hit his golden hair just right.

“Ya think?” Kenny responded with a rough chuckle, immediately wrapping his arm around me and pulling me closer so I’m resting on his chest with my legs draped over his. “Damn, baby… I’m never letting you go now.”

Coming down from my high, I expected all of the usual occurrences associated with descriptions of cheating you see in fiction to wash over me: Regret, sadness, anger at myself - or, if I was a narcissist, at this man for indulging me -, despair, maybe I’d even start running some excuses in my head. Absolutely none of these thoughts came to pass. Instead, as I laid on top of the picnic blanket soaking in the warm sun with a peaceful Kenny lazily petting my hair, I felt a sense of absolute bliss; After so many things that seemed wrong in my life for the past two years, I was finally having a moment where I’m certain something is right, and the definitive decision was made in my heart to never let it be otherwise again.

༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩♡𓆪༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚

We unfortunately didn’t make it back to the restaurant before Kenny’s lunch break ended, which meant he’d probably get a scolding from his manager for being unpunctual. When I apologized for making him late, though, he didn’t seem the slightest bit worried about it - his boyish grin stayed on his face the whole time, and he was actually acting more mad about having to leave me and go back to waiting tables.

He did bring me inside of the restaurant through a door in the back and led me to the employee’s break room, where one of his colleagues had a charger I could borrow. I used it just enough to be able to call an Uber and have battery for the ride home, not wanting to overstay my welcome when Kenny was already on thin ice because of our escapade. Before I left, though, he still made sure to put his number on my contact list, under the pretext of ‘me sending him an album I mentioned earlier that he might like’; However, as he winked and blew me a kiss before being called over by one of the cooks to pick up an order that was ready, I knew music would not be one of our top 10 subjects in conversation.

Only two text messages were sent from my phone that night. One very long paragraph to my now ex-boyfriend, listing all the problems I had with our relationship with several examples and telling him to disappear from my life before blocking his number - not wanting to give him even the slightest chance to manipulate me - and deleting it for good. Another much shorter message, to a contact just named ‘🧡’, containing detailed information about my favorite drink in the whole world and telling him to have it ready by 10pm.

Dividers by

@cafekitsune

[lucidlabyrinthine145]

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐁𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐚𝐦 𝐱 𝐍𝐞𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝!𝐂𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

AN: Hello! Sorry for the long wait, college was kicking my ass and I had a severe case of writer's block. Here's this preview of a new AU I made while I write Part 3 of Elle Woods!Reader :)

For the first years of your life, you grew up in a small barn in the outskirts of Georgia. Your mama was the only family you ever had, you knee nothing of your extended family. Your mama was a nice woman, really. Though she'd beat you sometimes and was a bit of a drunk, she wasn't too bad. But sometimes she'd get so drunk she couldn't get out of bed, and you'd have to do the house chores and take care of the animals all by yourself.

You didn't have too many friends. The school you went to was far away and there the teachers would sneer at you, whispering about how you were the child of a whore whenever you passed. But you didn't care, they could go eat dirt for all you cared. Your classmates didn't care about you much, and your only friend was a girl named Luna, she was a girl from a richer area and was an aspiring ballerina. Overall, while your life back then wasn't particularly good, it wasn't all that bad either.

That was until the accident

You came back from school to see your home in flames. Firefighters and paramedics were called, and you were forced to see the charred body of your mama being hauled into an ambulance on a stretcher. She died in the hospital. You didn't even have time to process her death when they revealed there was only one person willing to take you in. Your biological father Bruce Wayne. Some rich schmuck living in Gotham.

You've heard of the place through the whispering of classmates―a shithole of a city where the crime rates are an all time high and where the elusive Batman was dwelling. You were being taken from your quiet country life and forced to live in some cold mansion in a dank, rainy city where everyone hated each other and criminals lurked everywhere.

After being carted off to the local orphanage, the days went by in a blur. Soon enough, a sleek, black, expensive-looking car rolled up to the entrance. Guess it was time. You dragged your small suitcase, full of stuff you managed to salvage from the fire, including your mama's old hat she used to wear as a girl and an empty pistol. You didn't know why you took the pistol, you just wanted to feel safe, you supposed. You hopped in the back seat, and you saw the driver was an old man.

"You are (name) (last name), correct?" The man spoke in a posh British accent. "Yessir." You mumbled back. He didn't say much after, just started up the car. You were almost relieved you were leaving now, you weren't sure you were able to take anymore of the pitying glances sent at the orphanage.

This wasn't fair. Why did this have to happen to you? You just wanted your mama.

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

AN: That's it for now! Part Three of Elle Woods!Reader is coming out in a few days, so be prepared :)

[numberonetrashwitch]

Some observations about Baldurs Gate 3 that hit too close to home.

After another few runs i will probably just make an in-Depth Character Analysis for every character simply because they are good reflections of actual trauma-manifestations and how abuse can manifest in people. They are also so well written that it serves a narrative purpose to explore all the material that is out there about them. I am also personally cursed with actual medically-relevant levels of Empathy and Hyperfixation; so writing this helps me put a pin in it and move on.

But so far here are my highlights

(SPOILERS and obviously content warning bc these are deep)

before you ask; i have almost 300h in this game.

You have to convince Shadowheart to eat the Noblestalk. She actually stells you she rather get her memories back from Shar but when you hit the persuasion or intimidation (what the fuck) check to get her to eat it she'll tell you about her childhood friend. Not her name, not her parents but her best firend. Possibly because she has had a closer bond to that person after being abducted and indoctrinated. With her believing herself to be an orphan, she would've looked elsewhere for comfort and sought out her own family, this is why she falls hard and heavy for Shar and builds the backbone of her indoctrination. She is literally ripped out of her home & given a new identity to server her from all she has known. Religious indoctrination, Gaslighting, Abduction, being forced to let go of your personality are her main themes.

There is a scene out there floating around in which you see Astarions pespective of the night when he bites Tav for the first time, in his meditations he is confronted with the rules Cazador put on him, including that he can't eat intelligent creatures, can't be away from Cazador unless allowed to, has to obey every command and that they are should know that they are property. Which in turn means that Astarion literally didn't just have any autonomy, he was objectified (and not just through seductive/sexual measures) and that is really the crux to understanding why he doesn't believe in kindness, but rather shows self-serving behavior in most cases. Since we know that Astarion was extremely young for an elf before he died and became immortal (literally stopping the aging /maturing process) it is also very telling that Cazador constantly calls him brat, boy or other very juvanile names, refering to them as a family... well it is also the story of a very controlling parent. Themes of (Bodily) autonomy, infantilization ( & puer aeternus, forever-child), slavery, depersonalisation, corruption of life and torture to break someone.

Gale isn't just a guy hung up on his Ex, but also a victim of abuse. In this case a power imbalance none of us can fathom; She is described as being a jealous goddess and rules over the domain of mysteries and magic. So with Gale being a Wizard, she is literally his boss. He admits that he was foolish enough to aspire to be an equal to her, but she is so jealous that she tells him he can't really be worthy as long as he takes breath. She could just take his powers away and be done with it, that would be more than enough punishment for a guy who literally made Mystra and her domain his life's purpose, but she rather makes him do it himself. Add to that, that she literally only tells him this after years of self-isolation (after he put down so many wards that he could've blown up a whole army as he says if you click the right dialogue) to really fuck him up well. He also talks about death pretty much constantly, not surprising giving your situation, but he will tell you that he will kill himself at several points in the game, for instance after he comes clear about his nethrese orb. Themes of romantic abuse, power-imbalance, toxic work enviorment, self-isolating behavior, suicidal ideation

Wyll ... well from the looks of it he is the most well adjusted of all the companions (my opinion) but he has something that i'd describe as the "eldest daughter"-syndrome, more commonly known as parentification. This pattern usually occurs within single-household parents and is commonly described as a parent looking to their child for emotional or practical support, rather than providing it to their kid. We meet Ulder and see that he talks over Wyll a lot, not listening but expecting him to follow the standard he sets for him. That is also why Wyll repeats his fathers words like gospel (because this is what, in his mind, fullfills the expectations bestowed upon him) and why he loves fairytales / bard tales so much (because they are an ecapist view of the job he set out to do) Ulder literally exiled his teenage son because Wyll did the only thing he could to save an entire city, by sacrificing himself. Thats a lot to expect from a 17 year old - even more so, he doesn't stop with the heroics. He expects himself, as a human who hasn't even reached the age of 30 to hold up to mystical creatures such as Astarion or Karlach, or even Gale who is a accomplished Wizard. Themes of parentification, escapism, self-harming through putting himself in danger, chronic-self-sacrifice

In plain words; Gortash, Karlach's Idol sold her to a Devil. But add to that that she must have been pretty young when she was sold (late teens to early twenties possibly) and being that if you play as a Tiefling, you face a lot of predjudice she was likely forced into that position as well. Starstruck she was, with a juvenile naitivy that Gortash used. Appropriately, as he is the chosen of Bane the god of "tyrannical oppression, terror, and hate, known across Faerûn as the face of pure evil through malevolent despotism" (Source: Forgotten-Realms Wiki / Bane) So she pretty much was raised in a toxic enviorment, which forced her to become a killing-machine, first figuretively, then with the extraction of her heart, literally. Themes of slavery, oppression, misuse of trust, being taken advantage by a more powerful/older(?) person, being drafted.

Jaheira - to be honest, you need to know the lore of the previous baldurs gate games or just listen to her dialouge, ask her all the questions. She is a war-veteran against Bhaal, the good of ritual murder, and has a long history of fighting to achieve some sort of balance of power. She lost her husband and several close people all to this, or any other war, but due to her wisdom and strength people look to her for guidance. Themes of: Survivors Guilt.

Halsin - he is really closed off at first but then just casually hits you with "i was captured in the underdark and spent 3 years chained to a bedroom wall by a pair of drows who used me as they pleased". He is reprimanded by some of his druids for leaving the grove as soon as opportunity struck, just to get back and leave the next day, and if you talk to him about his position in the grove he is actually very forthcomming. He actively holds himself back; indulging in simple hobbies because he knows what lies within his heart. He is afraid of himself and his potential (canonnically he can't control his wildshape, which is very weird for an ARCH-druid) Themes of: impostor syndrome, avoidant-based self-harm, sexual opression, loss of control, emotional regulation.

Lae'zel is a very tragic case, and one that closely resembles the stories of Shadowheart and Karlach. Her entire existence is based upon a matriachial war society allowing her to live if she proves she can be of use and that in a culture which only values brutality, dominance & service. All of that culimating in her finding out that her oh-so-beloved Queen is actually just an imposter, and that everything she has lived for up to that point is merely political propaganda created to make her, and the rest of her entire species, willing pawns in a war that has no longer bearing on their survival alone, but is fought to justify Vlaakith's (the reigning monarchs) personal ambitions. Not only is she forced to reconcile that she is turned into the thing that controlled her kind for hundreds of years, that the only cure she knows of would kill her and then on top of that, that her hopes and dreams were lies and that she is now the Nr 1 enemy of the person she has served with all her being. themes of: oppression, propaganda, casual violence, objectification, child-warfare, eternal warfare

Minthara in short, her story is about being shamed for growing up in the same scenario that Lae'zel grew up in. Lolth, the god of the Lolth-sworn drows is a crazy queen who values scheming & backstabbing so much and is so volatile that you can't know what to expect of your deeds (and i mean it; there were people who were appraised by her for scheming against her, but also those who were killed. It's almost random.) She considers Lolth to be cruel and abandoned her for the Absolute, only to then be used and abused the same way Lae'zel has. Not with promises, but erasing her memory and exposing her perceived weakness. Themes of: casual violence, violent culture, her own ambition colliding with her desire to be safe, being a pawn in a larger game.

[mononijikayu]

casual — geto suguru.

You nodded, trying to keep your expression neutral. "Yeah, it was nice. Just, you know, casual." "Right, casual. I know, doll." Suguru echoed, his gaze lingering on you a moment longer before he looked away. "No strings attached." "Exactly, yeah…." you said, forcing a smile. "We're both busy, and this doesn't have to mean anything more than... what it was." "Yeah." he said, his voice a bit quieter. "Just a one-time thing. No need to complicate things."

GENRE: Alternate Universe - Canon Convergence;

WARNING/s: Angst, Unrequited Love, Romance, Casual Friends with Benefit, Falling In Love, Lack of Communication, Hurt/Comfort, Depression, Food, Disassociation, Smut, Depiction of Sexual Intercourse, Depiction of Depression, Depiction of Food Withdrawal, Depiction of Disassociation;

WORDS: 6k words.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: this took me awhile to write and i wish it didn't but i was busy trying to help my brother heal up from his own fever and then i also felt unwell after going out and visiting my cousins. crazy week so far, but i'm glad to be writing again!!! i'll be publishing pasilyo tomorrow!!! i hope you enjoy this and see you soon <3

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YOU HATE THIS APARTMENT. You know you picked it out. You went through the painstaking process of finding the best you could afford in all of Tokyo, sifting through countless listings, visiting countless open houses, and scrutinizing every detail with a critical eye. You even reached out to Nanami, seeking his advice on how he had found his own place, hoping his insight would guide you to something perfect. 

But now, standing in the middle of the empty apartment, it just feels overwhelming. The walls seem to close in around you, their pristine surfaces a harsh reminder of the solitude that awaits you. The space, while objectively beautiful and well-chosen, feels alien and unwelcoming. The soft, neutral colors and high-end finishes that once seemed so appealing now appear cold and impersonal, like a display in a showroom rather than a home.

Each corner, every room, is meticulously arranged, yet it all feels distant, disconnected. The furniture you carefully selected—elegant, stylish pieces that should have brought comfort—now feels like mere props in a stage set, lacking the warmth and familiarity of a true home. The shelves stand empty, the walls bare, and the lack of personal touches only amplifies the feeling of displacement.

You had envisioned this place as a haven, a refuge where you could build a new chapter of your life. Yet now, it feels like a stark reminder of everything you’ve lost, of the gaping void left by Suguru’s absence and the weight of the decisions that brought you here. The reality of living alone in such a polished, empty space contrasts sharply with the vibrant, chaotic life you once had, and the dissonance is almost too much to bear.

The once-anticipated comfort of the apartment now feels like a cage, trapping you in a space that reflects the isolation and emotional distance you’re struggling to overcome. You try to imagine filling the space with personal belongings, with memories that would make it truly yours, but the task feels daunting, almost insurmountable. Each step you take feels heavy, burdened by the weight of unfulfilled expectations and the deep, pervasive sadness that lingers in every corner of this new, unwelcoming environment.

Since Haibara died and Suguru defected, the world has felt irreparably altered. Their absence has left a void not just in your life but in the very fabric of the world you once knew. Their departures were seismic shifts, upheavals that have reshaped everything—your sense of security, your understanding of your place in the world, and the very essence of who you are. The bonds you once relied on have frayed, the connections you took for granted have been severed, and you are left grappling with a reality that seems both unfamiliar and unkind.

The change is not just in the external world but within yourself. The person you were before all these events feels like a distant memory, replaced by someone who struggles to find meaning and connection in the aftermath of loss and betrayal. How could you not change when everything around you has been transformed so drastically? The world has moved on, and you are left to navigate its new contours alone.

People are worried about you. The concern is palpable, especially from Gojo Satoru, who has always been like a brother to you, a constant in a world that has become increasingly unpredictable. His worry is perhaps the most poignant, reflecting the deep bond you share and the impact of your struggles on those who care about you. His concern is a reminder that while you feel isolated, there are still people who want to help, who see the pain you’re enduring, and who are willing to support you even as you grapple with the overwhelming weight of your new reality.

He’d been trying to reach you for weeks, his calls and messages a persistent thread in the silence of your days. Each notification from Gojo felt like a distant echo, a reminder of the world outside the narrow confines of your apartment. Yet, each time you saw his name on your screen, you hesitated, unable to muster the energy to respond. The weight of the past was a constant companion, keeping you awake through endless nights.

The dreams, when they came, were a cruel mockery of the life you once knew. Each night was filled with hauntingly vivid memories of better times with Suguru—laughter shared in quiet moments, his touch, and the warmth of his presence that now felt like an elusive phantom. The contrast between those dreams and the stark reality of your waking life was almost too much to bear.

Food, once a source of comfort and nourishment, had become a meaningless necessity. The meals you prepared, though carefully chosen, lay untouched on the counter. Their taste had lost all appeal, a reflection of the emptiness that now colored every aspect of your existence. Eating had become a mere act of survival, a stark reminder of the joy that had been stripped away.

The outside world, with its bustling streets and vibrant energy, felt distant, almost foreign. Tokyo’s vibrant chaos seemed to exist in a different realm, one that you could observe but not truly engage with. The city that once felt like a living, breathing entity now felt like a backdrop to your solitary struggle, its noise and activity a harsh contrast to the silence of your own life.

It was on one of these evenings, shrouded in solitude, that Gojo finally appeared at your door. His concern was palpable, a stark reminder of how far you’d retreated from those who cared about you. When you opened the door, he stood there, his face a mixture of frustration and worry.

“I’ve been calling you for weeks.” he said, his voice heavy with concern. “Are you okay? I haven’t heard from you in ages.”

You tried to muster a smile, but it fell short, your exhaustion too profound to conceal. “Oh, Gojo. I didn’t expect you.”

He stepped inside, his eyes quickly taking in the state of your apartment. The neatness of the space did nothing to hide the emptiness that pervaded it. “You don’t look well.” he said, his cerulean gaze moving to the cold meal on the counter. “I’ve been worried. What’s going on?”

You shrugged, feeling the weight of his scrutiny. “It’s nothing. Just... struggling, I guess. Food doesn’t taste right anymore.”

Gojo moved closer to the counter, his eyes scanning the untouched food. “This isn’t just about food. You need to take care of yourself. When was the last time you had a decent meal? When was the last time you really slept?”

You looked away, your voice trembling as you tried to suppress the tears. “I don’t sleep much. When I do, it’s filled with dreams of Suguru. It’s like he’s everywhere, but also nowhere.”

His expression softened, a flicker of empathy in his eyes. “I get it. You’re missing him. But you can’t let it consume you. You need to find a way to move forward.”

You shook your head, the enormity of the situation pressing down on you. “It’s not that simple. The outside world feels so distant now, almost foreign. I’m just... lost.”

Gojo’s hand gently rested on your shoulder, his touch a grounding presence. “I know…But you can’t do this. He…he wouldn’t want this either.”

You knew that. But you felt a pang of guilt as you tried to reassure Satoru about your well-being. The effort to project a sense of normalcy, to offer him even a glimmer of hope that things might improve, weighed heavily on you. You knew that your struggles were far from over, and while you didn’t want to burden him with the full extent of your despair, the pretense felt like a delicate dance on the edge of honesty.

Because you don’t know how he does it. How he keeps himself from going insane. You wished you did. You wished you could be him. Because you’re exhausted. You wanted to move on. You wanted to be free. But still, you’re here in this cage of grief, living like this. Being in pain. Being empty. 

Your graduation, which should have been a moment of triumph, was marred by his absence. The empty chair next to you was a constant reminder of what you’d lost. Now, in the stillness of your apartment, the silence is deafening. The memories of laughter and shared dreams haunt you, and the loneliness seeps into your bones. 

You can’t help but wonder where he is, what he’s doing, if he ever thinks of you too. Suguru’s defection was more than just a betrayal; it was a fracture, a deep wound that hasn’t healed. And as you sit in the vast emptiness of your apartment, you wonder if it ever will.

Back when you lived in Jujutsu High's dorms, life was different. Shoko would pop by unannounced, always ready to share the latest gossip, her presence a comforting constant. Those moments of laughter and whispered secrets felt like a lifetime ago. Back then, you had Digimon show nights with Satoru, the two of you arguing over favorite characters and plot twists, the banter and camaraderie a soothing balm to the stresses of your training.

And then there were those cold nights when you needed warmth, and Suguru Geto was there. His presence was a refuge, his arms a sanctuary. The conversations you'd have, the plans you'd make for the future, they were all wrapped in a cocoon of shared understanding and affection. His departure left a gaping hole, one that you haven't been able to fill.

Now, you are all alone. Anyone is, with your one’s grief. And now you truly are, separated from everyone else. The silence is oppressive, the loneliness a constant companion. The walls of your new apartment seem to close in on you, a stark reminder of what you once had and what you've lost. The memories of Shoko's gossip, Satoru's laughter, and Suguru's warmth are ghosts that haunt you, their absence a painful reminder of the life you once knew.

In the stillness of the night, you sometimes catch yourself hoping for a knock on the door, for Suguru to walk in with that familiar smile, as if everything could go back to the way it was. But reality is harsh, and you know that those days are gone. All you have now are the memories and the lingering hope that somehow, someday, things might change.

Geto Suguru left without saying anything, that day he went on his mission. He was supposed to be back in a day or two—at least that’s what he said during the phone call you shared when he was on that train. His voice, calm and reassuring, echoed in your mind long after the call ended. But that was the last time you heard his voice. The last time he called you. It was him getting off your seesaw game, finally stepping out of your world and leaving you with nothing but a broken heart.

And yet, he was never your boyfriend. You and him kept up the pretense, a delicate dance of closeness and distance, never truly naming what you had. The word "casual" was used way too much, a shield to protect fragile hearts from the vulnerability of the word "love." You remember the nights spent together, the conversations that felt like they meant something more, but neither of you dared to cross that line.

You often think back to that call, replaying every word, every nuance in his voice. It was supposed to be just another mission, nothing out of the ordinary. But something shifted, something changed, and Suguru never came back. His departure was like a cruel twist of fate, leaving you grappling with unanswered questions and unspoken feelings.

In the aftermath, you were left to navigate the wreckage alone. The routines you shared, the subtle intimacy of your connection, all shattered. The memories of his touch, his laugh, the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t watching—they haunt you, a bittersweet reminder of what could have been.

You’ve tried to move on, to piece together a semblance of normalcy, but the void Suguru left is vast and unrelenting. The "casual" facade you both maintained now feels like a cruel joke, the missed opportunities for something deeper, more meaningful, a constant source of regret. You wonder if he ever felt the same, if he ever wanted to bridge the gap between you, but the answers are lost to the silence he left behind.

The seesaw game you played, the delicate balance of give and take, is now a lonely ride. You’re left suspended in midair, longing for the weight of his presence to bring you back down. But all you have are memories and the lingering ache of a love that was never fully realized, a connection that was always just out of reach.

The room was quiet, the only sound was the soft hum of the city outside the window. You lay there, the sheets tangled around your legs, your mind spinning with a mix of emotions. Suguru was next to you, propped up on one elbow, his dark eyes watching you intently.

"That was... something." you finally said, breaking the silence.

Suguru chuckled softly, a sound that sent a shiver down your spine. "Yeah, it was," he agreed. "Unexpected, but not unwelcome."

You nodded, trying to keep your expression neutral. "Yeah, it was nice. Just, you know, casual."

"Right, casual. I know, doll." Suguru echoed, his gaze lingering on you a moment longer before he looked away. "No strings attached."

"Exactly, yeah…." you said, forcing a smile. "We're both busy, and this doesn't have to mean anything more than... what it was."

"Yeah." he said, his voice a bit quieter. "Just a one-time thing. No need to complicate things."

You felt a pang in your chest but ignored it, keeping your tone light. "Right, no need to complicate things. We have enough going on with our missions and training."

"Absolutely, you’re right." Suguru said, but his purple eyes told a different story. There was a flicker of something deeper, something more, but it was quickly masked by a casual smile. "We're just two friends who had a good time."

"Exactly." you repeated, wishing you could believe it. "......Just two friends."

Suguru reached out, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face. "I don't want this to change anything between us, doll." he said softly. "I value what we have."

You nodded, your heart pounding. "Me too. This doesn't have to change anything."

He smiled, but there was a hint of sadness in his eyes. "Good. I'm glad we agree."

You both lay there for a moment longer, the weight of unspoken words hanging between you. Finally, Suguru sighed and rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. "So, breakfast?"

You laughed, the tension breaking slightly. "Yeah, breakfast sounds good."

You felt like crying again, and you hated it. You hated yourself for it. Because there was nothing between you and Suguru. You were casual. It’s been a year, and there was nothing after that. He left you. He chose his path. He chose to burn the world to free himself from torment. But now, you are in torment. 

You sat on the edge of your bed, the weight of the silence pressing down on you. The memories of that night haunted you, the way he had looked at you, the way his touch had set your skin on fire. It was casual. Just a one-time thing. That’s what you told yourself, what you both agreed on. But the lie felt like a knife twisting in your gut now.

Suguru had left, and with him, he took the future you had secretly hoped for. You were in love with him. You didn’t want anything to be casual with him. You didn’t want it to be nothing. You wanted more, so much more, and now you knew you would never get anything.

The tears threatened to spill over, and you clenched your fists, trying to hold them back. You hated how weak you felt, how vulnerable. The world moved on, but you were stuck, trapped in a web of your own making. Suguru’s absence was a constant ache, a reminder of what you had lost, what you could never have.

He chose his path, and it led him away from you. It led him to destruction, to a darkness that swallowed him whole. And now, you were left to pick up the pieces of your shattered heart, alone in the vast emptiness of your new apartment. The echoes of your own thoughts were deafening, and the realization that you would never see him again, never hear his voice, never feel his touch—it was almost too much to bear.

You buried your face in your hands, the tears finally escaping, hot and bitter. The sobs wracked your body, each one a painful reminder of your unspoken feelings. You had wanted so much more, but you had been too afraid to ask, too afraid to risk the fragile balance you had. And now, it was too late.

Suguru was gone, and with him, any chance of something more. You were left with memories and regrets, with the knowledge that he had chosen his path, and you were not a part of it. The torment of unrequited love consumed you, a relentless ache that you couldn’t escape. You cried for what was, for what could have been, and for the future that would never be.

There was a strange stillness in the air, a quiet that felt almost suffocating. It felt different tonight. You sat on the edge of your bed, staring blankly at the wall, your thoughts a tangled mess of memories and regrets. The knock on your door was so soft, you almost didn't hear it. For a moment, you thought you had imagined it, but then it came again, more insistent this time.

You wiped your eyes, forcing yourself to stand. Each step toward the door felt like walking through quicksand, your heart pounding in your chest. You weren't expecting anyone. As you reached for the doorknob, a part of you wondered if you were dreaming, if the grief had finally driven you mad.

You opened the door slowly, the hinges creaking in protest. And there he was. Geto Suguru stood in the doorway, looking every bit as if you remembered him, but different somehow. His eyes held a depth of sadness, a haunted look that mirrored your own. He seemed exhausted. As much as you, you think. But you say nothing for a few moments. You just stare at him, as though trying to be sure you weren’t hallucinating. 

"Suguru?" Your voice was barely a whisper, the word catching in your throat.

He gave you a small, almost hesitant smile. "Hey."

"What are you doing here?" you asked, your voice trembling with emotions. “Why—”

"I needed to see you, doll." he said softly. "I just had to see you tonight….will you let me in?”

You don’t know how he found out your address. Or how he was able to know which apartment block yours was. But you didn’t say anything. You didn’t want to force anything tonight. You nodded and stepped back, allowing him to enter. The silence between you was heavy, filled with all the words that had been left unsaid. You closed the door and turned to face him, your heart aching with a mix of hope and fear.

"Why now?" you asked, your eyes searching for him. “Why come back to me now? I….I’m not…”

He looks at you, almost longingly. “I don’t know.”

The weight of Suguru's confession hung in the air, but before you could process it, he spoke again, breaking the silence. "I know this is unexpected. I know I don't have the right to just show up here like this, but I need to talk to you.”

You stepped back, the doorway now feeling like a chasm between you. "Suguru, this is a bad idea. You shouldn’t be—”

He took a hesitant step inside, his presence filling the space. "I just want to talk. Please."

The room felt smaller, more suffocating, with him in it. The tension was palpable, a fragile thread that could snap at any moment. He glanced around the room, his eyes lingering on familiar objects—things that hadn't changed since he left. Things he wished wouldn't change. From the corner of his eye, he could see it. That uniform button he left behind. He purses his lips.

"How are you?" he asked, his voice low and careful.

You crossed your arms, trying to hold yourself together. "How do you think I am, Suguru? There's an order to kill you on the spot. If people find out you're here with me, the higher ups will get me.”

He flinched at your words, a shadow passing over his face. "I know the risks. I wouldn't have come if I didn't think it was important."

You shook your head, frustration and fear mingling in your chest. "Important? You think this is important? You left, Suguru. You choose your path, and it has nothing to do with me. Now you show up out of nowhere, and you want to talk?"

"I had to." he said, his voice almost pleading. "I've made so many mistakes, but leaving you was the worst one. I had to see you, to tell you how I feel."

Your heart ached at his words, but the reality of the situation loomed large. "And what do you expect me to do with that information? Do you want me to just forgive and forget? To pretend like everything's fine when it's not?"

He took another step closer, his eyes searching yours. "I don't expect anything. I just needed you to know. I needed to try and make things right."

You looked away, the emotions swirling inside you too much to bear. "Suguru, you don't understand. It's not just about us. If they find out you're here, they'll kill you. And I'll be branded a traitor."

He nodded slowly, understanding the gravity of your words. "I know. And I'm sorry for putting you in this position. But I couldn't stay away. Not anymore."

The room was thick with tension, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on you both. You wanted to reach out, to bridge the gap between you, but the fear of the consequences held you back.

"I don't know what to do." you admitted, your voice breaking. "I don't know how…I don’t know how to handle this."

Suguru stepped closer, his hand hovering near yours. "You don't have to do anything. Just let me be here, even if it's just for a little while. Let me be with you."

You looked up at him, the pain and regret in his eyes mirroring your own. The risk was enormous, but the pull of your heart was stronger. For a moment, you allowed yourself to imagine that things could be different, that maybe, somehow, you could find a way through this together.

But reality crashed back down, harsh and unyielding. "Suguru, this can't last. You know that."

He nodded, his expression filled with sorrow. "I know. But for now, can we just..."

You took a deep breath, the conflict tearing you apart. "Okay. For now."

Suguru’s eyes softened at your words, relief washing over his features. The air between you was thick with unspoken emotions, the tension palpable. You could feel your resolve wavering, the walls you had built around your heart crumbling with every passing second.

He took another step closer, closing the distance between you. His hand reached out, gently brushing against yours. The touch was electric, sending a shiver down your spine. You looked up at him, your breath catching in your throat as his gaze held yours.

“For now.” he repeated softly, his voice filled with a mixture of hope and longing.

You couldn’t hold back any longer. The months of separation, the endless nights of aching for him, all came crashing down in that moment. You closed the gap between you, your lips finding his in a desperate, hungry kiss.

Suguru responded instantly, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you closer. The kiss was intense, filled with all the emotions you had both kept bottled up for so long. It was as if you were trying to make up for lost time, to pour all your love and longing into that single, searing connection.

Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, needing to feel him, to assure yourself that he was really there. Suguru’s hands roamed over your back, his touch igniting a fire within you. The kiss deepened, growing more fervent, more desperate. You broke the kiss just long enough to catch your breath, your foreheads resting against each other. The intensity of your emotions left you both breathless, but neither of you pulled away.

“Suguru.” you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of everything you felt.

“I know.” he murmured, his breath warm against your lips. “I know.”

You kissed him again, this time even more passionately, your need for him overwhelming any lingering doubts. His hands slid under your shirt, his touch sending sparks of electricity through your body. You gasped against his lips, your body responding to him in ways you had tried to forget.

The world outside ceased to exist, the only thing that mattered was Suguru. Being here with you. The kiss grew more intense, a fierce clash of lips and tongues, as if you were both trying to make up for the lost time, for all the moments you had been apart.

Suguru’s hands moved to your waist, lifting you effortlessly and guiding you toward the bed. You didn’t resist, your body craving his touch, his closeness. As he laid you down gently, his lips never leaving yours, you felt a sense of rightness, a feeling that this was where you were meant to be.

His body pressed against yours, the heat between you growing more intense. Every touch, every kiss, was a reminder of what you had lost and found again. Your hands roamed over his back, pulling him closer, needing to feel every inch of him.

“Suguru.” you whispered, your voice filled with a mixture of need and desperation.

He responded with a soft groan, his lips trailing down your neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. “I’ve missed you so much, doll.” he murmured against your skin. “Too much…”

You arched into his touch, your body responding to him in ways you had almost forgotten. The intensity of your desire for him was overwhelming, a force you couldn’t control. You pulled him back up, capturing his lips in another searing kiss.

As the kiss deepened, the intensity grew, the passion between you igniting like a wildfire. And for the first time in a long time, you allowed yourself to hope, to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for something more.

The walls themselves felt like they were closing in, drawn tighter by the charged energy of the moment. The temperature seemed to rise with every movement, the warmth of your bodies pressed together creating a cocoon of intimacy and passion. 

You moaned against the kiss, feeling his hand around the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair. He was always so good at making you defenseless when it came to him. When it came to Suguru, you surrendered without a fight.

His lips trailed down your jawline, planting heated kisses along the sensitive skin of your neck. Each touch sent shivers down your spine, your body arching into him, craving more. His other hand roamed over your back, his touch firm yet gentle, as if he were memorizing every inch of you.

"You have no idea how much I've missed this." he whispered against your skin, his breath hot and tantalizing. “How much I missed you.”

You could barely form words, your mind clouded with desire. "S–suguru…." you breathed, your voice trembling with need.

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his own gaze dark with intensity. "Say it, doll." he urged, his voice a low, husky command. “Use your words.”

"Suguru, please." you repeated, feeling the heat of his name on your lips, the weight of it in the air between you. “I need you.”

A satisfied smile curved his lips before he kissed you again, deeper this time, his tongue exploring your mouth with a fierce, possessive hunger. You responded eagerly, your hands clutching at his shoulders, pulling him closer, needing to feel him, to lose yourself in him.

His hand slid down from your neck to the small of your back, pulling you against him, your bodies fitting together perfectly. The sensation was almost overwhelming, a mix of intense pleasure and deep, unfulfilled longing. Your heart pounded in your chest, the sound echoing in your ears, drowning out any remaining doubts.

As the kiss grew more fervent, more desperate, you felt yourself melting into him, your defenses crumbling with every touch, every caress. Suguru had always had this effect on you, this ability to make you forget everything else, to make you feel like you were the only two people in the world.

"I missed you." you whispered against his lips, the confession slipping out before you could stop it.

He groaned in response, his hand sliding up under your shirt, his touch searing against your skin. "I missed you too, doll." he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "More than you know."

As he continued to kiss you, his hands exploring your body with a reverence that made your heart ache, you realized that no matter what happened next, no matter the consequences, this moment was worth it. Being with Suguru, feeling his love, his desire, his need—it was everything you had ever wanted, everything you had been missing.

And in that instant, you knew you would face any danger, any threat, just to keep him here with you, to hold onto this feeling for as long as you could. Because when it came to Suguru, you were willing to surrender without a fight.

The heat between you was almost unbearable, the intensity of your desire for Suguru consuming you. His hands continued their exploration, each touch sending waves of pleasure through your body. You could feel his need, his desperation, mirrored in your own.

"Suguru…" you whispered again, your voice a mix of longing and urgency.

He responded with a deep, passionate kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth, tasting, exploring. Your hands roamed over his back, pulling him closer, needing to feel every inch of him against you. The sensation of his body pressed against yours was intoxicating, driving you to the brink of madness.

His hand slid under your shirt, his fingers tracing a path up your spine, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. You arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips as he reached the clasp of your bra, deftly undoing it. The feeling of his hands on your bare skin was electric, every nerve ending alive with sensation.

"You feel so good, doll." he murmured against your lips, his voice husky with desire. 

His words sent a shiver down your spine, your body responding instinctively. You tugged at his shirt, needing to feel his skin against yours. He helped you, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside, revealing the toned muscles of his chest and abdomen.

You ran your hands over his chest, your fingers tracing the lines of his muscles, feeling the heat of his skin beneath your touch. He groaned softly, his hands moving to your hips, pulling you closer. The feel of his arousal against your thigh sent a surge of desire through you, your need for him growing more intense with every passing second.

He lifted your shirt over your head, his eyes darkened with lust as he took in the sight of you. "You're beautiful." he said, his voice filled with admiration.

You blushed under his gaze, feeling a mix of shyness and exhilaration. "Suguru." you breathed, reaching for him.

He kissed you again, hungrier than before. You could feel his hands sliding down to your jeans, unbuttoning them with practiced ease. You helped him, pushing the fabric down your hips, kicking them off along with your underwear. The cool air against your skin was a stark contrast to the heat between you, heightening your senses.

Suguru's eyes roamed over your body, his expression one of reverence and hunger. He reached for you, his hands gentle yet firm as he guided you back onto the bed. You lay there, your heart pounding, as he stripped off the rest of his clothes, revealing the full extent of his arousal.

He climbed onto the bed, his body hovering over yours, the heat of his skin radiating against you. He kissed you again, his lips trailing down your neck, your collarbone, his hands exploring every inch of you. The sensation was almost overwhelming, your body arching into his touch, craving more.

"I need you." he whispered against your skin, his voice filled with urgency.

"Then take me." you replied, your voice trembling with anticipation.

He positioned himself between your legs, his hands gripping your hips as he slowly entered you. The sensation was exquisite, a mix of pleasure and pain that left you gasping, your body adjusting to the fullness of him.

"So deep, Su…." you moaned, your hands clutching at his back, your nails digging into his skin.

He moved slowly at first, his strokes deep and measured, his eyes locked onto yours. The intensity of his gaze, the connection between you, was almost too much to bear. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, urging him on.

He responded with a groan, his pace quickening, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through your body. You moved together in perfect rhythm, your bodies melding into one, the world outside fading away.

Every touch, every kiss, every movement—each a story of love and desire you felt for each other. The intensity built with each passing second, your moans mingling with his, the sound of your bodies coming together filling the room.

"S–suguru!" you gasped, feeling the tension building, the climax approaching. “I….I’m close!”

He kissed you deeply, his movements becoming more frantic, more desperate. "I love you, doll." he whispered against your lips, his voice raw with emotion. “More than you know.”

The words sent you over the edge, your body convulsing with pleasure, your vision blurring as the orgasm washed over you. Suguru followed moments later, releasing a powerful, shuddering wave that left him breathless, his body collapsing against yours.

You lay there together, your bodies intertwined, the aftermath of your lovemaking leaving you both spent and sated. For a moment, the world was perfect, the dangers and fears forgotten. In that moment, all that mattered was the love you shared, the connection that bound you together.

Suguru propped himself up on one elbow, his gaze tender as he looked down at you. You turned to face him, your eyes heavy with a mixture of satisfaction and lingering emotions. He stroked your hair gently, his touch soothing. 

"I know I’ve been gone for a long time.”

“You have.”

“I’m sorry for leaving you without any explanation." He whispered to you. “For making you suffer.”

You sighed, closing your eyes as you listened to his words. "It’s been really hard. I didn’t know if you were ever coming back. And when you did… it was like opening old wounds all over again."

Suguru’s fingers traced patterns on your back, his touch calming. "I understand. I’ve had time to think about everything, and I realize now how much I hurt you. I didn’t mean to. But I needed to see you, to try to make things right, even if I’m not sure how."

You looked up at him, your eyes filled with a mix of sadness and hope. "What do you want from me, Suguru? What do we do now?"

He took a deep breath, his expression serious. "I don’t expect things to go back to how they were before. I just want to be honest with you.” 

The sincerity in his voice touched something deep inside you. You took his hand, squeezing it gently. "You’re someone dear to me, Suguru. You always will be.”

You could see how painfully beautiful his smile was. And just as much, how easily he started to grieve this moment. “I know.”

You snuggled closer to him, your body seeking the warmth and comfort of his embrace. As the weight of the conversation and the exhaustion from the emotional rollercoaster began to take their toll, you felt yourself growing drowsy.

Suguru’s arms tightened around you, his presence a soothing balm to your restless heart. "You should get some rest," he murmured, his voice gentle. "I’ll be here until you fall asleep."

You nodded, your eyes fluttering shut as the comforting rhythm of his heartbeat lulled you into a peaceful slumber. The feeling of his body pressed against yours, the gentle caress of his hand on your back, was all you needed to drift off.

When you awoke, it was to the soft, hesitant brush of Suguru’s lips against yours. You stirred, your eyes blinking open to find him gazing at you with a mixture of sadness and affection.

“I have to go, doll,” Suguru said quietly, his voice filled with regret. “But I’ll be thinking of you. Always. Wherever I go, wherever I am. I’ll only love you. Only you.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. The weight of his words hung heavily in the air, each syllable resonating deep within you. You wanted to respond, to find the right words to express how much his declaration meant to you, but the lump in your throat made it difficult to speak.

Instead, you simply reached out, your hand finding his, holding it tightly as if trying to anchor him to this moment. His fingers intertwined with yours, and for a brief second, you found solace in the connection, the warmth of his touch providing a bittersweet comfort.

Suguru leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering as if trying to imprint the memory of your skin on his own. His eyes met yours one last time, filled with an intensity that spoke of a deep and unspoken promise.

“Take care of yourself, doll.” he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath. “Live for me.”

You nodded, your eyes misting as you tried to hold back the tears. “I will. You too, Suguru. Be safe.

He kissed you one last time, a tender, lingering kiss that seemed to hold all the words left unspoken. His lips brushed against yours with a softness that belied the intensity of the emotions swirling between you. It was a kiss that conveyed both farewell and the depth of his feelings, a final, aching promise wrapped in the warmth of his touch.

As he pulled away, his eyes searched for yours, filled with a profound sadness that matched the heaviness in your heart. There was a moment where time seemed to stand still, where every second stretched into eternity. The look he gave you was a mixture of regret and deep affection, as if he were trying to imprint this final moment into his memory, to hold onto it even as he had to let go.

With a final, loving glance, he slowly rose from the bed, the movement reluctant and heavy. The contrast between the intimacy you had shared moments before and the distance growing between you now felt like a cruel irony. He began to dress, his actions slow and methodical, each movement a reminder of the separation that loomed ahead.

You watched him, feeling a hollow ache settle in your chest. The sight of him buttoning his shirt, pulling on his jacket, seemed to magnify the reality of his departure. Each piece of clothing he put on felt like a barrier, a wall being erected between you. The warmth of his touch was replaced by the cold distance of impending goodbye.

When he finally finished dressing, he paused by the door, turning back to you with one last, lingering look. His eyes were filled with a mixture of sorrow and determination, the kind of gaze that promised he would carry you with him, even as he walked away. The sight of him standing there, so close yet so far, was almost too much to bear.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, and then slowly walked toward the door. Each step he took felt like a betrayal to the moment you had shared, each creak of the floorboards a painful reminder of the separation. As he reached the door, he turned to look at you one last time, his expression a final plea for you to understand.

“Goodbye, doll.” he said softly, his voice breaking slightly with the weight of his emotions.

With those final words, he opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, leaving you alone in the room that now felt unbearably empty. The door closed behind him with a soft click, and the sound echoed in the silence that followed.

You sat there, feeling the overwhelming sense of loss, the weight of his absence pressing down on you. The room, once filled with the warmth of his presence, now felt cold and desolate. You reached out to the space he had occupied, your hand trembling as if trying to grasp at the remnants of his touch.

The tears finally came, streaming down your face in silent, aching sobs. The finality of his departure settled in, leaving you with the bittersweet memory of his touch, his kisses, and the love you had shared. As you buried your face in your hands, the pain of his absence was a stark reminder of the reality you had to face, the love that remained but was now out of reach.

You lay back down on the bed, the lingering warmth of his presence a bittersweet comfort. Yearning for what remained of him. The reality of his departure settled in, slowly. Tears kept falling and you couldn’t stop them. When you closed your eyes, all you could see was him. 

You cried until you were too tired to do it. And as you drifted back to sleep, you held onto the memory of his touch, his kisses, and the promise that, despite everything, he would always be a part of your heart. He would always be your ghost. He would always haunt you, even when you’re old and gray — he would always be more than a casual memory. He’d always be the one that got away. And you knew….you were his too.

[therealmylesmorales]

Hi! ive read some of ur work lara croft x reader and I love them so so much you write her so well, I was wondering if u could write one with lara and fem reader asking her to give up being an archeologist (live a more safe life with her) and settle down

thank u if u ever consider this 🩷 and ty for your previous works

Anon, I hope you know that I love you and sorry this took a while

Another pick I stole borrowed from the pookie @laracroftsfiance 🫶🏾 featuring Lara’s resting sad face

WC: 1k

Do I Look Like Him?

You hesitated by the large double oak doors. There was a hint of light you could see through the cracks so you know Lara was in there. But whether she wanted to talk to you was a different story.

Her latest research led her to South Africa; an amulet that her father had suspicions about but never had the chance to see if it was true. She was within arms reach of the jewel but multiple surprise explosions from Trinity caused it to fall into the ocean, forever lost to the sea.

But maybe it was better that way. Now, no one had to worry about it landing in the wrong hands.

Lara thought differently. She never told you what happened during this trip like she normally would. If anything, she was quiet—tense even. It worried you.

You finally tapped your knuckles on the wood before cracking it open. Lara was sitting in her chair, hunched over her desk with an old journal opened in front of her. You thought your presence in the room went unnoticed until she finally spoke to you when you walked next to her.

“Why are you still up?” She asked quietly, her full attention still not on you .

”You weren’t in bed,” you said. “I figured you would be in here especially since you should be resting.”

”I’m fine.”

”Lara, you got shot in the stomach,” you said, your tone getting sharp. “You almost died.”

She muttered out a response. “It’s not the first time I got shot, love.”

”You almost died,” you repeated. “You passed out twice as I was patching you up. Figuring out where Trinity is can wait, you need rest.”

Lara didn’t answer but seeing her jaw tightened, you could tell she was getting annoyed by the conversation. You took a second to calm yourself.

”Listen, Lara, I didn’t come here to argue with you,” you said softly. “I wanted to talk to you…about you retiring.”

”Retirement?” Lara parroted, finally giving you a look.

”Everytime you come back from wherever the hell, you seem to get closer to death,” your voice was shaky but you powered through it. “And one of these days, your luck might run out and I couldn’t live with that! A-and not to mention this obsession you have with Trinity. I get it, Lara, I really do but you’re acting like your fat—“

Lara’s sudden and sharp tone cut off your small rant, not wanting to hear those words coming from you. “Y/N! I don’t have time for this right now. I’m trying to focus but I can’t do that with you here. So…please leave.”

You both sat in tense silence. Lara never yelled, at least never at you, so safe to say this was uncharted territory. You could only stare at her back in shock, noticing that she paid more attention to the written words rather than the ones said to you.

“Fine, Lara,” you scoffed, leaving the brunette to her endeavors.

The pencil tapped against her desk, the words in front of her not being processed. “Retirement,” she repeated, the word foreign on her tongue. “I bet you never considered that.”

The picture she was talking to, one of both of her mother and father, only answered her with silence. Over her years growing up, Lara couldn’t remember most memories with her father. It was always her and her mother, and the severents of the manor. But what she did remember of her father was the arguments he had with her mother, regarding him prioritizing his over his family. Then when her mother died, he only buried himself deeper.

Maybe if he did consider retiring, things would be different for Lara. Maybe her parents would still be alive.

And instead of listening to your words, Lara seemed to be following in her father’s footsteps.

”Fuck,” Lara muttered, rubbing her hands over her face. She sat alone with her thoughts for a little longer, thinking on what to say to you.

Lara stalled for time when she cleaned up the little mess that was in her office before walking to your shared bedroom.

Lara carefully pushed the bedroom door opened, expecting to see you still awake waiting for her. Instead, your body was turned away from her, body completely covered by the heavy blankets. Lara wasn’t sure if you were awake or pretending to be asleep but she was still extra quiet when she crawled into bed next to you; she left a small amount of space between you both, not sure if you were up for cuddling.

”I’m sorry,” she whispered. Lara could hear you release a soft sigh at her apology, but you didn’t interrupted her. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

”I was only trying to help, Lara,” was all you said.

”I know. I know, and I appreciate that—you very much.” Her hand reached to caress your shoulder, urging you to turn and face her. “And…and I understand what you want. And you’re right.”

”I’m right?” Those were words you never really heard from Lara, at least seriously, so hearing this was new.

She had a hard time getting her words together. “I never…considered retiring, until you. The adventure, that’s all I’ve known. I guess you can say that I’ve grown accustomed to it, even despite my injuries. But, if it comes to you or my job, I will choose you every time.”

”Lara…”

”I will retire,” she said, placing her palm over your cheek. “And as long as you’ll have me, I’ll be with you.”

You stayed silent, searching her face for any sign of her second guessing; but all you saw was her undying love for you. Your own hand reached to cover the one that was holding your face, rubbing your thumb over Lara’s scared knuckles.

A wordless acceptance that eased most of Lara’s nerves.

”May I have a kiss?” Granted, she could get one whenever she wants but Lara didn’t know if you were too upset.

A soft smile was her answer before you softly pressed your lips against her pouted ones. And when your forehead rested against her own, Lara felt at completely ease.

[divorceblogger]

Hi,I feel like I'm being gaslighted into thinking that AR wrote Marius & Armand"s relationship in a positive light? That wasn't my impression at all. Am I mistaken? I ask you this because you seem to have good Armand takes.

Hm. I do consider the vampire chronicles a study in power, abuse and sexual violence, personally. the books often take advantage of elaborate metaphors and heightened violence to do this and the different perspectives sometimes distort the narrative to either reveal or obfuscate abuse so they’re not always straightforward which can sometimes complicate interpretations. the victims have incredibly complex and realistic reactions to the abuse they face.

so where I approach this from is - ‘they said a child had died in the attic’ -> opening line of all time to me. particularly in terms of how TVA is concerned with exploring csa + the narrative structure of armand’s history in the book being bracketed by chapters which involve him trusting his children into marius’s care only for marius to betray it and every single principle he stands for to turn them (in TVL he advises lestat to allow people to live full human lives before turning them while confessing that he failed armand by not giving him the same grace) in order to entrap armand by establishing a bond with benji & sybelle that can never be severed. this is specifically because armand rejects the invitation to resume a domestic relationship with him in the first chapter of TVA. this generally sets the tone for how their relationship plays out over the course of the book. ultimately it’s also narratively important that armand is unable to fully come to terms with the abuse marius inflicts on him and is able to express how betrayed and angry he feels only when the bodies at stake belong to people he cares for very deeply - he’s able to better articulate his feelings through secondary subjects who’re similarly abused, i.e. namely sybelle and benji (and lestat! he feels very deeply about gabrielle’s neglect of him).

that said I cannot emphasise enough that I feel it’s impossible to interact with renessaince venice without the historical context for how sexual relations were organised at the time- and homosexuality was practiced almost exclusively through pederasty. anne is extremely conscious of this - she rarely shies away from examining how power differentials play a role in generating conditions where abuse is fostered. it would be antithetical to the premise of the vampire chronicles to do so. I think people may often find it distasteful that she eroticises dynamics which feature abuse but it works for me because I find it to be brutally honest and prefer to see depictions of abuse that encompass their complexity - so although this post is about lolita I do always come back to it when I try to express why TVA being an erotic text doesn’t particularly bother me (and speaking of lolita. I do also like to make a point about the very intentional ways in which immortal humbert humbert marius chooses to identify armand - armand/dolores being ignored in favour of amadeo/lolita which is a sexual identity that marius specifically bestows).

I talk a bit more about TVA & armand’s complicated feelings about the abuse he experiences here although it was typed out very hastily and I think this conversation between marius and armand from an initial draft for TVA where armand makes very confronting statements is incredibly revealing about anne’s thought process while she was writing their relationship.

[a-guy-named-e]

do you have any favorite Riz fics/series? I've been enjoying your writing and would love to know the kinds of things you like reading!

thank you for asking! you have No Idea the storm you just unleashed

okay so first up, absolutely ANYTHING by honeyfluent is going to be good, lots of very strong riz-centric writing but also just fantastic characterization of all the bad kids and some fantastic group fics. if you're in a fabriz QPR kinda mood (and have some time to kill), their pirate-verse is a godsend. start with year one at sea and move from there, the sequel series are all linked, and it's still being actively updated. the town of esterie is also a personal favorite.

ad nauseum is another good fabriz fic, not a QPR but still a fantastic read. timeloop meets "popular fabian" AU, obviously a bit more fabian-centric, but some really strong characterization of both him and riz, and particularly gut-wrenching at times.

Not a monster (…right?) is another gut-wrenching one, an aroace riz hurt/comfort that explores some strong emotions post-Baron's Game. i don't often cry at fics, but this one for sure had me in tears.

...this wasn't in the parenting guide is a fantastic series about the gukgak family, for the most part some alternate POV rewrites of fantasy high, from both sklonda and pok's POV.

It's What You Do is another alternate reading of specifically My Green Heaven featuring an aroace riz who is at first morbidly relieved that he might be more like his father than he thought. getting to see riz's thought process through this scene is absolutely crushing, truly.

satisfaction brought it back is a fantastic riz & kalina fic centered around the idea that post-transmutation kalina goes back ot just being a familiar. very sweet and lighthearted at times with just the right amount of angst to balance it out.

hang ups and hanging out: how to successfully exit a summer paranoia spiral is a sweet slice-of-life fic about riz learning how to fucking relax. a little saccharine if you're not in the mood for it (i found it looking for some specific angst, my mistake for having Paranoia tagged but not Angst) but a spectacular comfort read.

Before I Wave Goodbye is a heartbreaking fic about several times riz dies and sees his dad post-My Green Heaven—including one time that's self-inflicted (not in a suicidal way but in a very misplaced "i found a way i can see my dead dad and i'm overconfident in my ability to pull this off" way)

whether by accident or fortune, you and i is a very sweet fic, technically a 5+1, about the lists riz keeps on his friends and the ways he loves them (and is loved in return).

fated strings (the red means i love you) is a baron/riz series, which i didn't know i would fall in love with until i did, with demiromantic ace riz, sympathetic baron, and a not so great cassandra/ankarna. to quote the summary, "Baron joins the Rat Grinders and their boyfriend at the Aguefort Adventuring Academy, and all hell breaks loose." frankly anything from massivdisaster (the wonderful @highfiveheroes here on tumblr) is going to be good, so make it a point to poke around his account if you're looking for good fic about fantasy high in general.

and of course this is all barely scratching the surface. i would write more, but i'm technically on my prep right now and really need to go make copies for my beginning percussion class. but i would encourage you, if ever you want my thoughts on good fic, to browse my bookmarks! i add to them regularly (seeing as i'm still working through all the d20 fics tagged Riz Gukgak), and rarely if ever do i private them, so feel free to poke around! there's almost certainly going to be good works there that i missed while writing this that are absolutely worth your time <3

[orangepanic]

Any tips for writing Iroh II? I wanted to put him in a fic of mine but LoK gives us so little to work with, but I’ve seen you’ve done so much with him in your works.

Any advice would be appreciated <3

Wow, I'm honored (get it?) you reached out! I love Iroh II very much - obviously - and am always excited to see him included in other fics.

The thing is, as you said, there's so little in canon that you can honestly do whatever you want. I have my own headcanons about him but they're just that, headcanons, and there's no right or wrong answer here. I've seen him written very differently by different authors and no one take is more valid than another. Go nuts.

That said, I do think there are some characteristics that can be inferred from his small on-screen presence.

He doesn't talk a lot. Compared to his total screen time he has very few lines, and all of his lines are very functional and spoken to others (as opposed to monologue). Ergo, I consider Iroh an introvert who processes a lot internally rather than someone who is chatty and gregarious.

He has short hair and is in the United Forces, not a topknot serving in the Fire Navy. He mentions his mother and grandfather but doesn't share any screen time with them. Therefore, I think Iroh has a complicated relationship with the Fire Nation and is someone comfortable with or even seeing to break with tradition.

Iroh both acts bravely and respects bravery. In nearly every scene he's in he puts himself in physical danger. He notes Bumi is "one of the bravest commanders." He also nearly dies many times over trying to save his and Bumi's troops. So, Iroh is someone who sees his and others service primarily as protection and will not hesitate to physically put himself in front of others. The Avatar RPG even says "expect to see General Iroh leading from the front." I also interpret this as him having somewhat low self-esteem, or at least a reckless disregard for his own safety.

Iroh will bend the rules but not break them and is quick to adapt. In book 1 he essentially goes rogue because there is no one to stop him, and pivots his strategy several times: on the ship when the fire cannons can't hit the planes, after Korra leaves with Mako, and again after he, Asami, and Bolin are captured. In book 2 he instantly devises a strategy of military exercises to support Korra's cause, then casts it aside as soon as Raiko orders him not to but tells Korra to go to the Fire Nation. In book 4 he mounts a defense a week early with four hours' notice, then surrenders to Kuvira when ordered but tells Korra to run for it even though the Avatar's surrender was included in the order because he knows he reports to Raiko but she doesn't. So, I conclude Iroh is very smart but also knows what he can and can't get away with, would generally prefer to do what he considers the right thing and will tell others to do what he can't when he's stopped, and will defend his actions on technicalities.

He doesn't change his clothes. In book 1 his uniform is soaking wet and shredded. Yet except for his missing sleeve, he's immaculate. Buttoned up, cravat knotted, medals attached. Could Gommu have scared up another outfit? Almost certainly. But Iroh says no. Compare this to Bumi's unbuttoned dishevelment and I think it's safe to infer that Iroh is a neat and clean individual who holds the image of his office in high regard. This is the kind of guy who folds his socks and labels his leftovers and never forgets to shave.

Dude is hot. Hottttttt. Yet there's no mention of a Mr. or Mrs. Fire Nation, and he's not exactly hitting on anyone on screen. So, Iroh is either shy or socially awkward or married to his job or finds himself in some other way unfit for companionship or - in my writing - often all four.

From the above I get an intelligent, brave, intellectually agile, determined, ambitious, orderly individual who thinks before he speaks, is somewhat alone in the world, and is ready and willing to die to protect others both because it aligns with his own values and because he sees himself as somewhat disposable. If there's an attack, he's between whatever it is and innocent people. If there's a party, he's in the back of the room wondering how soon he can leave. If there's a job to do, he's working at it until it's done to his satisfaction or he's directly ordered to stop, in which case he'll secretly tell someone else to do it instead.

Anyway, that's more or less how I wound up with my characterization of Iroh II. Happy writing! I'm excited to see what you come up with.

[ziggyzolch]

Your Prettiness is Seeping Through II (Wanda Maximoff x Reader)

Warnings: maybe bungled the medical stuff and process of being admitted, suicidal ideation, aftermath, descriptions of self harm kind of? its not like currently happening. Bulimia and what comes with it. Those r the main things I think. Previous Chapter

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

-------the shame is manifest in my resistance------- ❅❅❅

“So they’re admitting you?”

You could feel the snow being crushed beneath your weight as you leaned back on your hands. The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon and your best friend was sitting next to you on a random curb, taking the pack of cigarettes from your hand.

It was mid-winter. The city streets bustled with the cheer of festive Christmas decorations and the harmonies of carolers. It almost makes you feel better. You never cared for Christmas, or religion in general, but the joy in the little kids’ faces at the snow blanketing the streets, and the laughing of teenagers having snowball fights was cute.

It helped.

You sigh, turning towards your friend, “No, I don’t think so. Most that’ll happen is I’ll be in therapy, I guess.”

She rubs her hands together in an attempt to warm up, “I think I’d kill myself if I got caught. Kidding, you’ll be fine. Probably.”

You scoff, “Thanks,”

You snatched the pack from her hand, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it.

You had gotten over the fear of throat cancer a long time ago. It’s more of an expectation than a fear now. Smoking and purging at the same time kind of makes it an inevitability. The thought of death didn’t scare you. Not that you were cripplingly suicidal. You didn’t desperately want to die anymore, you just wouldn’t mind if you did. If you died from all of these habits, it was fine, great even. If not, whatever.

Passively suicidal.

Tomorrow, you’ll have your long awaited psych evaluation. You were shocked that it wasn’t the first thing they’d done. You weren’t that big of a risk anyways. A week has passed since your parents caught you, and you’d been made to take a number of medical tests to determine the severity of your bulimia, or something.

The first one was a general physical assessment, the most simple yet most uncomfortable. You had been made to wear a hospital gown, which you felt was overboard but whatever. They wouldn’t be able to admit you just based off of a BMI measurement, you were sure. You weren’t very underweight, most bulimics you knew weren’t. In fact, most of them were normal, sometimes overweight, but you just assumed it was because they were bad at it. You didn’t feel anything looking at your weight. Numbers mattered, sure, but with every binge and purge, your weight fluctuated like crazy, so you learned to just look for signs of weight loss via mirror.

She read your BMI out loud, you knew it wasn’t low enough to be a concern. You internally celebrated, until you noticed her eyes glancing down to your arm.

Shit.

Burning was your preferred method of self mutilation. Cutting was unsatisfying, messy, and a pain in the ass. Burns look disgusting when they heal though, which was the only downside. The scars are easily passable as cooking accidents and such. When they’re still healing, though, charred, blistered, and disgusting, they’re almost impossible to excuse. Your mom had caught you once, with your worst burn nonetheless. One offer of taking over the chores for the day and she was off your back, already taking her place on the sofa.

The burns weren’t fresh, not at all. Most of them were years old, but you panicked nonetheless. You’ve seen how batshit they get at any sign of self harm. You watched as she glanced towards your arm, then turned back to her clipboard, writing something down. Subtly moving your other arm behind your back, you cover up the bruises on your knuckles.

You also had to go to a dentist appointment. Last time you went, you had just gotten your braces off and permanent retainers in. You still have glue on the back of your teeth from when your top retainer broke, they had never gotten rid of it. With how often it fell off, you were glad the dentist had given up on putting in replacements.

You were more worried about this appointment than the physical assessment. You couldn’t keep food down, smiling with your eroded teeth was uncomfortable, and your breath was horrible. The dentist would definitely notice something, at the very least that you were a smoker. Your mother would hate that more than bulimia.

Honestly, despite all of these effects, you got the benefit of barely having a gag reflex. Which, now that you think about it, doesn’t really matter considering you don’t even like men.

Surprise was clear on your face when your dentist complimented you on the health of your teeth and sent you on your way.

You didn’t really know what the other tests were, something about heart arrhythmias and electrolytes. You didn’t care, you were so over it. It was all bullshit. You weren’t sad. You weren’t suicidal nor were you a danger to yourself or others. You were just bulimic, not on the brink of fucking brain collapse.

All of this was bullshit.

❅❅❅

Wanda’s senses come back one by one. Her ears pick up the soft whirring of machinery and occasional beeping of monitors. The soft footsteps of nurses and patients walking past, the opening and closing of a door as doctors enter, the scratching of their pens against their clipboard. The lingering scent of antiseptic reaches her nose, and the bitter taste in her mouth makes itself known. Her fingers pinch the stiff material of her gown, and she can feel the IV in her arm. Finally, she opens her eyes.

Waking up in the fiery depths of hell would’ve been better than where Wanda was right now. She mumbled curses under her breath as she looked around, taking in the hospital equipment around her.

“Natasha?” She croaked out when she caught sight of her friend sleeping on the hospital chair in the corner of the room. Natasha jumped up, wiping the drool off her chin and rushing towards Wanda. “Oh, thank god.” She sighed, pulling Wanda into an awkward hug.

She pulls back when she realizes Wanda wasn’t hugging her back. “How do you feel?” Wanda cringes at the pity on Natasha’s face. “Peachy.” She turns away, not stopping Natasha when she reaches to grab her hand.

The widow sighs, rubbing circles into Wanda’s hand, making her fingers twitch slightly. They sit in silence, not knowing what to say to each other. Wanda was glad Natasha had found her. She didn’t want to be found at all, but at least it was Natasha.

She was so stupid, so fucking stupid. Of course it wouldn’t have worked. She should’ve just shot herself in the head, like a man. She’d read somewhere that men have higher suicide rates because they carry it out in more extreme ways. Girls usually go for lighter, prettier deaths. Overdoses, slitting their wrists in a rose petal filled bathtub, and such. More survivable, and less of a burden for whoever cleans up after them. Men don't feel the same obligation. So what if it's more work for the cleaners? A shotgun to the head is easier for them, that's what matters. They don't think about how puffy their face would get if they hung themselves, or how awkward they'd be positioned on the ground if they jumped off a building. They don't think about the possibility of surviving afterwards and dealing with the deformity.

Pietro’s lifeless body flashes in her mind.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

Wanda finally notices the iron grip she had on Natasha’s hand.

She didn’t want to talk about Pietro. Never. “What’s going to happen to me?”

Her friend looks away, “You’re suspended until you get help.”

“What! No!” Wanda sits up, snatching her hand out of Natasha’s grip, “This was the first time! Bruce tried to kill himself, why isn’t he suspended?”

“That was before he even joined.”

Wanda sighs, “So, what like, therapy for a week?”

Natasha raises her eyebrows, “Wanda, you tried to kill yourself. You need to be monitored.”

“I’m not a fucking child. Jesus, Nat!”

“It’s not up to me, Fury’s orders. Either get help or you’re fired, basically.”

“Don’t I need a psychological evaluation or some shit?”

“Wanda, you swallowed a whole bottle of whatever-the-fuck pills. I can evaluate you right now. You’re fucked in the head, babe.” Natasha attempts to joke.

She sighs in relief when Wanda huffs out a laugh, “So, you’re sending me to the loony bin?”

“Yup. It’ll be great though, perks of being an Avenger.” Natasha places a comforting hand on Wanda’s shoulder.

“How long will I be there?”

Natasha grabs Wanda’s hand that’s picking at her gown, “Until you’re better.”

The sound of a girl yelling stops their conversation.

❅❅❅

“Inpatient would be the best option…”

The ringing in your ears blocks out whatever the doctor was saying. What the fuck. You were not crazy. So what if you were bulimic. You didn’t constantly starve yourself and avoid food so you were chill, but you also were not getting fat, so you were hot. It’s like a win-win.

You’re sitting with your parents, a doctor across from you. He must be a therapist, or psychologist…psychiatrist? Potato, Tomato.

A hand on your shoulder brings you back to earth. Tears are pooling in your mothers eyes, your father is sighing into his hand. “What about my classes? My life!”

“Lower your voice. You aren’t being sent away to the fucking Alcatraz.” Your father grits out.

The doctor chimes in, “I’m sure you’ll be able to do your school work, most institutions let you have books and supervised computer time.”

You push your mothers hand off your shoulder. “Why are you doing this to me?”

She scoffs, “Me? Why are you doing this to yourself!”

“You can’t make me!” Passersby can hear your voice through the closed door of the office.

It was true, they couldn’t really. You were a legal adult, they couldn’t make you do shit. Your mother pinches the bridge of her nose before turning to your father expectedly. You look back and forth between them with an eyebrow raised.

“We won’t support you anymore if you don’t do this.” He finally pushes out.

“What? As if you’ve ever supported-”

Oh. Financially. College and such. Housing and such. Food…and such.

You’re not that level of adult, yet.

“What the fuck-”

“Language!”

“No! What the actual fuck! I’m not sick!”

Your father’s face contorts in anger, “Did you not hear a single word the doctor said? Your potassium levels, electrolytes, and heart are all fucked! You could have a heart attack!” He takes a breath,

“You are killing yourself.”

“What?” You don’t know what to say. Why is your heart beating so fast?

You let out a frustrated shriek, getting up to leave. They don’t know what they’re saying. You storm out of the office, narrowly avoiding passing nurses and stretchers, trying to ignore the sense of dread building within you.

Heart attacks were a lame death. You could imagine how stupid you'd look; jaw wide open, leaning back in your desk chair, clutching at your chest. The door to your room is always locked, so your parents wouldn’t care to check for a while. They’d just assume you were isolating yourself.

Stiffening up in that position, rotting and decomposing. So lame, so ugly.

It didn’t scare you.

Your head ricocheting off a wall interrupts your spiral.

Natasha winces, peaking over the door to find you on the floor, rubbing your head. Wanda had asked her to check what was going on, and you happened to be passing by at the same time she opened the door. You push yourself off the floor before Natasha could help you up. Black spots appear in your vision and you start swaying. You must’ve stood up too fast.

Natasha holds you up as you fall into her for a second, before you regain your bearings.

“Get off me!”

She lets go immediately, raising an eyebrow when you double-take at the sight of Wanda.

‘She’s so skinny.’

Wanda looks up at you, confused when she takes you in. You could’ve been the same weight as her, if not a little more. She doesn’t read people's thoughts if she can help it, but yours were so loud. You blush when she makes eye contact with you, turning and stomping away.

Your footsteps fade as Natasha closes the door, making her way back to Wanda. The widow smiles at Wanda, poking her side, “I think she has a crush on you.” Wanda’s eyes widen, “No way; she said I was skinny.” Natasha tilts her head, “Like in a disgusted way?” The witch looks down at her hands.

She assumed it was envy at first, but you didn’t look like you weighed significantly more than her. Nor was it disgust, based off of how you looked at her.

“Not…really. I don’t know.”

Natasha sighs, “Well, it doesn't matter. We’ll fatten you up in no time.”

She winces at Wanda’s obviously forced laugh.

She didn’t like being skinny, but it was an effect of her depression. It wouldn’t be that easy to reverse. The only reason she was open to this treatment was so that she could go back to work. She’ll just pretend to get better, go back, and work until she can’t take it anymore. Next time, she’ll use a gun. Actually, would she subconsciously stop the bullet with her powers? The pills almost killed her, maybe she’d just lock her door next time. She could pick up smoking, maybe that’d be like a backup. A slow, eventual death could be happening in the background while she found short term options. Multitasker.

“What’re you thinking about?”

Wanda is taken out of her reverie as Natasha pokes at her stomach again. She smiles, shaking her head and curling up into the bed. The older redhead pats her shoulder, “The squad’s going to visit before you leave. Just thought I’d give you a heads up.”

Wanda groans, she didn’t need any more people up her ass.

She stiffens at the sound of sniffling, looking up when she feels her shoulder dampen.

“Don’t ever do that again.”

Natasha leans over her frame, hair masking her face. The brunette stammers, racking her brain for a reply. She’d never seen Natasha so emotional. It was like hearing Steve use slang.

She sighs, curling further into herself and ignoring Natasha. She wishes she could reassure her. Tell her that even the thought of trying again made her nauseous, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t live the rest of her life seeing her brother's corpse every time she blinks.

Living with the memory of Pietro’s death for the rest of her life was worse than any torture she’d ever endured.

She ignores the flashing images as her eyes drift close, falling asleep to the sound of Natasha’s sniffling.

❅❅❅

A/N: I lowk regret writing in in second person but yolo. reply to this post if u wanna get tagged in the next chapter. I hope you enjoyed!

Tags: @mathxa @nikkinss

[elwenyere]

AO3 Wrapped

Even though 2024 was my worst year for fic-writing by almost any numerical metric, it was also a year when I wrote some of the pieces I'm most proud of, including stories and ships that the me of several years ago would never have thought were in her wheelhouse.

In order of composition, here are five fics I wrote for five different fandoms that helped me discover something I loved.

-----

Separation (Top Gun, Icemav, 7k, M)

This fic started with me asking what it would look like to write a Top Gun story that leaned into the context of the Reagan 80s and the AIDS crisis rather than bracketing it. It was very different from anything else I'd written, and I feel quite attached to the version of Ice that emerged in this world.

Rope's End (Star Wars, Codywan, 17.8k, E)

a.k.a. the Pirate AU. When I conceived of this WIP, I thought it was going to be a fun, self-indulgent romp to write, and while I did certainly indulge myself, the fic also grew in many directions I hadn't anticipated. I'm very happy with the Cody and Fett family layers it developed.

More Like Misery (TOG, pre Booker/Andy/Quyhn, 1.4k, M)

I love this sad little character study, which was born when I started thinking about Booker and Quyhn dreaming about each other for hundreds of years while she died. Writing it helped me indulge a very particular craving, for which I hope the sequel will offer even more tasty food.

Hypnagogia (Inception, Arthur/Eames, 15.9k, E)

I had such a good time writing this: probably the most unhinged (positive) I've felt while writing this whole goddamn year (derogatory). It started as a note that said "Arthur x Eames sleep paralysis demon?!?" and ended up being a story about what self-concept means to a forger and what happens when they lose it.

However Stern and Iron (MCU, Stony, 19.7k, T)

[movie trailer announcer voice] The fic that took me three whole years to write... I'm hugely relieved I finally found the focus to put in the groundwork for this story: a Victorian AU that led me in unexpected directions and relied on what felt like a fairly risky experiment in style. It was a slow, challenging process, but I'm happy with the result.

-----

Thank you to everyone who shared the joys and struggles of creating with me this year: I appreciate you all very deeply, and I wish you the best energy possible for 2025. <3<3<3

[fbfh]

whoever sent me an ask probably years ago at this point asking if I'm into DC (specifically Jason Todd) congratulations your manifestation subliminals are working!! also a PHAT shout out to janitor ai's lovely creator jellboop for sucking me into the delicious hell of Jason Todd and his meaty meaty thighs.

so yeah it's happening. we're at a point where I'm making self ship fanart with this bitch so lemme spill some thoughts because apparently I'm writing for Jason Todd now.

the first thing that comes to mind when I think of Jason Todd is that clip from isle of dogs, my friends think I like to fight. Sometimes I lose my temper and blow off a little steam, but... I never liked it. I'm not a violent dog. I don't know why I bite. so you can tell what kind of start we're off to to begin with. also take this with a bitty grain of salt, I don't claim to be an expert in DC canon/lore so disregard anything if I get it wrong lol. anyway Jason is the definition of GODDAMN YOU'VE BEEN THROUGH THE WRINGER HUH?? CAN'T CATCH A BREAK OR PROCESS YOUR FEELINGS WITHOUT FEELING LIKE YOU'RE DROWNING LOOKIN ASS. right off the bat (pun intended) we have his childhood which is already deeply fucked up. bitch was STEALING TIRES OFF CARS to support his DRUG ADDICT MOTHER. first of all this bitch has been parentified and neglected since birth. he is a provider deep into his bones, yes, but at what fucking cost???? also deep and severe mommy AND daddy issues this early on in the game. wow. after that he gets caught JACKING THE TIRES OFF THE GODDAMN BATMANMOBILE BY B*UCE W*YNE HIMSELF. now he's gone from robbin' to robbin. from robbing to robbin-ing. he's in his rockin robin era. he's having a ball as far as I'm aware. he's in a mansion with all the food he can eat and psychological security he could ask for, he sort of has a dad, a sort of grandpa, AND a sort of brother. AND his brother's name is literally Dick, which is a GOLDMINE for any younger sibling. and I think he liked it. being the youngest. I think he liked being treated like a kid, and found a deep and sorely needed respite from the world when he was suddenly being babied by three adults (or almost adults depending on how old Dick was at the time.) and I know that even though he fought it and he acted like he hated it, being babied started to really heal something inside him. it wasn't easy or comfortable, and it was slow going, but... things were okay. consistently okay, which was the freakiest part. the consistency. I don't think he would have really had much time for girls or dating, especially with knowing that the stability of his life depends on the stability of Bruce's position as batman. I think especially seeing how many women try to seduce information out of Bruce and Dick he would immediately corollate love and sex with power and control and manipulation. and I think that Dick and Bruce and Alfred would have no fucking clue just how deeply that distrust of vulnerability is starting to run inside him. one training session leads to another, one call from the police leads to another, one tip from their hotlines and informants leads to another until all the jobs start to look thrillingly blurry.

then he's tied up in a warehouse while a grown man beats his still ambiguously teenage year old self to death.

again, I know there's continuity errors in some places and different versions of the story in others so bear with me here. I could go into detail about how he probably kept telling himself it's almost over, this is what heroes do, he'll be here any minute, any minute while getting viciously crowbar beaten and possibly bombed until he literally died, I could talk about how the damage to his face and teeth were so severe they couldn't be shown to identify his body, I could go into detail about the devastating silence that followed the two sentence exchange between Bruce and Alfred "Shall I place a call to his next of kin on his behalf, sir?" "Don't bother. There's no one to call." or how Dick screamed so loudly you could hear it all throughout the manor. I could. But for everyone's wellbeing I will not do that.

anyway AFTER getting viciously stick beaten by park moms, the next thing Jason knows he's being dragged out of some disgusting bubbling magical pit or clawing his way out of his own grave like he's Eric fucking Draven. time is... fuzzy after his resurrection. it takes a while for his short term memory to come back online, and even longer for his long term memory. so he spends weeks, months, who knows how long stumbling around like a disoriented, confused monster out of a Mary Shelley novel. when he starts to settle back into himself, when he starts to get his footing a little, he feels like a child again. lost and confused and just trying desperately to survive and seek out safety anywhere he can. but he knows there is none. if batman of all people couldn't protect him, his sidekick, his ward from... whatever the hell his mind has fought so hard to block out, than nothing can. no one can. except him. unfortunately the lazarus pit or the superboy prime punch or whatever lore you wanna go with worked a little TOO well, and Jason has now been hit by the puberty fairy hard. repeatedly. with a crowbar. and a bomb. he was still gangly and awkward when he died, pretty strong in a lean way (mostly because Dick made him do pilates and acro to get flexible which failed spectacularly but was hilarious). For the first time that he could remember, he even had a little puppy fat. most teenage boys would roll their eyes at anything standing between them and a six pack - if they even cared enough about their body to think that far - but Jason... Jason loved his little pudge that he'd gotten as Robin. he loved the softness that filled out his cheeks, that made him feel less boney.

but that's gone now too.

it takes him a while to realize he's not bumping into things because he's still clumsy and disoriented. it's because he went from concerningly short and scrawny (I've seen sources say 4'6 and 80 something pounds) to at least 6'0 and 225lbs of pure raw rippling muscle. he's sharp and jagged again, but it's different this time. this time he's at least strong, too. and truly that knowledge, that at least he's stronger now, is the only thing keeping him from crashing the fuck out more than he did for a long time.

he feels like his body will never quite fit him right. the little scars and cigarette burns he's had since he was a kid are all stretched out and distorted now, like a piece of bubble gum getting thinner and more see through the bigger the bubble gets. and there are the new scars, too. the little dents across his face or pearly little seams the pit couldn't get rid of completely. there are tiny textured burn marks across his forearms, a memento of the moments where he used all the strength he didn't have to try and shield himself from the blast. and of course, there's the autopsy scar. it's the biggest one, a giant jagged Y shape that goes from his collar bones all the way down his torso and stops right above his hips. it's an angry reddish purple and raw and surprisingly fresh. even if he didn't have it, he'd still feel it. every breath, he feels the seams inside himself where the pit regrew his sternum, where his organs regrew or were reattached. he traces his fingers on the stretch marks slowly fading from red to pink to a pearly white all over his shoulders and arms and thighs, trying to make sense of it all. he feels too old and too young, like an adult trapped inside a child walking around in a body builder's skin. and it's scary. it's disorienting. it makes it hard to breathe if he thinks about it too much or too long. when he first saw the shimmering strands of grayish white streaking though a front lock of his hair, he thought for a moment the pit did its job TOO well, that it aged him too much too fast, that he'd start withering away just as quickly like rip van winkle. but no. Talia or Ra's or whoever's looking after him at that point (if anyone is) explains it's just the stress of resurrection.

and now he lies awake day and night, trying to reconcile his past with what he knows now. how did they not look for him? how is the bastard that did this to him still running free when the only thing that kept him clinging to life was thinking about how Bruce would decimate the Joker's ass the moment he stormed into that warehouse? how is he alive? why is he alive? why did any of this happen in the first place? he rots and spirals until he gets sick of it. until he tells himself how fucking pathetic he sounds. so he decides to take matters into his own hands. his bloody, too big too strong hands that once shook from adrenaline now tremble from rage. he is going to kill the Joker. and he is going to protect people. he'll do it. the dirty work Bruce could never stomach. he won't turn a blind eye to bad shit because of some soulless ethical bullshit, like- he bites his cheek, not even wanting to think their names. not yet, not when it's still so painful. he needed him. he needed Bruce, and he wasn't there. because Bruce doesn't get it. he doesn't get Jason, and he never will. he's off in his little bubble with his money and charity galas and brooding one liners that look so great in the papers.

let him stay in the papers, stay in the spotlight. Jason will do the heavy lifting. Street justice needs to be served. and who more perfectly equipped to serve it than someone from the streets?

[cacophonouscatharsis]

I've perused the Arcane critical tag somewhat, and a lot of people have a lot of valid points that I agree with. I haven't seen anyone talking about my biggest issue in terms of the events of the plot. My biggest overall issue is the writing which feels rushed, but like, an actual event that happened in the story that drives me nuts is Viktor and Jayce in the alternate reality. Maybe I'm missing something and my "media literacy" is garbo but I don't understand what happened. Keep in mind I know nothing about LoL lore so maybe there's some lore for some other thing that explains these things. Also keep in mind I am very verbose and I like to cover all my bases so things will be rambly

So the wild rune beneath the hex gate as I understand it from only watching the second season once. Is an unthinking unfeeling force. Just raw random arcane that can send you to alternate dimensions and timelines, and probably a host of other weird things. So it sends Ekko and Heimerdinger to an alternate reality where seemingly everything is exactly the same except Vi died, which has a butterfly effect that leads to a wholly different Piltover. Okay cool. Jayce, for whatever reason gets sent to a different reality. I presume it's because Jayce had the Hextech hammer and rune in his armband which set him apart. Unless Viktor from the doomed timeline somehow controlled the wild rune from across realities and intentionally summoned Jayce to his reality, but it didn't seem like that was the case. Anyway so Jayce gets there, see Old Viktor who then vanishes. Jayce sees doomed Piltover and walks its streets, getting spooked by Old Viktors robo slave people and then falls into a fissure, severely hurting his leg in the process.

My first issue is, why does Old Viktor just...let Jayce suffer? I know it's thematic or whatever to give Jayce a busted leg like Viktor, but why would a character whose all modus operandi is to reduce suffering just let his old partner starve and writhe in a hole in the ground? It doesn't seem to make sense for his character.

So he just kinda chills atop the hex gate until Jayce gets there, no doubt almost dying a bunch of times along the way. I'm sure Viktor coulda just teleported/fly up there with Jayce at any point. Jayce sees himself holding the hammer, which we later find out is the exact place he'll end up in our own reality. Therefore, I assume this doomed reality is exactly the same as the reality Jayce is from, only Viktor wasn't stopped, and achieved his "glorious evolution." By exactly the same, I mean Viktor was shot by Jayce and was resurrected to become evil Viktor in his own timeline just like he does in Jayce's.

In how the show plays out we don't see Old Viktor till the last episode, but Jayce does, and is sent back to prevent his own reality from becoming doomed. From my perspective Old Viktor and Jayce's actions from this point make no sense. Let's handle the former first. So if this doomed reality is exactly the same as Jayce's, other than Viktor getting his way, couldn't Old Viktor tell Jayce exactly what to do in order to avoid that from happening? I feel like if Jayce just let the Viktor of his timeline touch him and see what he saw, just like what happens later, Viktor would've come to the realization that his plan is wrong. He wouldn't have made the deal with Singe and Ambessa, Vander wouldn't have gone nuts and everything probably would've turned out a lot better.

In telling Jayce almost nothing about how to fix his own reality, Jayce decides "Okay so I gotta kill my Viktor and everything will be okay." Which leads me to my issues with Jayce. He....just kills Viktor. No talking it out, no allowing Viktor to see what he saw in the doomed timeline. Nothing. It seems absurd. And ONLY later when Viktor is super evil is when Jayce tries to talk it out.

"I just want my partner back." Then why did you try to kill him on sight? I'm sure from his perspective he doesn't know that Viktor is not yet wholly evil. He sees Salo being possessed and is like "Oh man it's already started." That being said, I don't think it makes sense for Jayce to go full murder mode from the getgo.

Again, maybe there's some big answer I'm missing that makes all of this make sense, but this is one of my biggest issues and I haven't seen anyone else talk about it yet, so yeah.

[bloopitynoot]

What I Read This Week: 03/16/2025

I am a librarian, and unrelated to stereotypes about my profession, I do read a metric shit-ton in a week. Most of it is fanfiction but hey, I thought maybe it's time I share my reads?

This is what I read this week:

1 AN IDIOT'S GUIDE TO A HAPPY MARRIAGE by tagteamme (156, 682)

Summary: In order to pay off a debt that's not his, Shang Qinghua agrees to marry a man that's as cold and unyielding as he is stupidly rich.

“Marriage?” His voice breaks over the word like it’s a curse. “Really? Doesn’t it feel a bit irrational?” “Are you planning to pay off an eight-figure debt with this job and a host job?” Mobei Jun asks, and Shang Qinghua almost wants to throttle him. Though, if his wallet didn’t have a direct funnel to his dad’s bank account, Shang Qinghua might actually have been a little comfortable. “That’s not what I meant!” Shang Qinghua huffs, his head still spinning. As far as being a married man goes, Shang Qinghua is nowhere near ready. “What?” Mobei Jun raises a single eyebrow. “Were you looking to marry for love?”

THIS WAS SO GOOD. What a solid start to my reading week!

I cried several tears reading this- and not even because it was tragic. The way the author writes emotional vulnerability had me in a choke hold.

Moshang cuties!!! Side luo bignhe/shen yuan

Ugh no notes, such a good modern day au.

2. Heaven Official's Blessing by MXTX Chapter 63-67

Summary: Born the crown prince of a prosperous kingdom, Xie Lian was renowned for his beauty, strength, and purity. His years of dedication and noble deeds allowed him to ascend to godhood. But those who rise, can also fall…and fall he does, cast from the Heavens again and again and banished to the mortal realm.

Eight hundred years after his mortal life, Xie Lian has ascended to godhood for the third time. Now only a lowly scrap collector, he is dispatched to wander the earthly realm to take on tasks appointed by the heavens to pay back debts and maintain his divinity. Aided by old friends and foes alike, and graced with the company of a mysterious young man with whom he feels an instant connection, Xie Lian must confront the horrors of his past in order to dispel the curse of his present.

I am roughly 2/3 through book 4! I'm reading about a chapter a day and live blogging the experience. you can follow along on the Bloopitynoot reads TGCF tag

NO SPOILERS PLS.

I am so soft for Hualian

3 Taking Small Steps Towards You by machiemellow (59,315)

Summary: All it takes is a chance encounter between a young cultivator dressed in olive and gold and the son of a prostitute to send the world barreling full speed in a new direction.

(Aka exploring what might have happened if Meng Yao was made privy to what a scumbag his father was much earlier. And oh, he adopts a bunch of younger brothers in the process.)

I love fics that are Meng Yao centric and allow him to eventually thrive. He does go through it in this fic but he makes it through

we get 3zun!!! Yes yes yes! Though there is trauma

side wangxian; and they are cute.

Meng Yao is everyone's emergency contact.

Everyone we love gets a good ending.

4 Xicheng by Glicker (94,849)

Summary: What happens after Guanyin Temple is destroyed? Do the brothers reconcile? How does Lan Xichen get over his betrayal?

Y'all know I am weak for Xichen going through it and healing- especially with a Xicheng plotline and this was that.

The characterizations were a bit ooc but I was in it for the story less so for the writing.

I especially enjoyed how the healing arc perspective shifts between Wen Ning & Lan Sizhui, Lan Xichen & JIang Wanyin, and Lan Wangji & Wei Wuxian with the occasional epistolary thrown in (I love some romantic letter writing).

Happy endings all around, this was what I would classify as a solid palette cleansing fic/easy read (it is very straightforward in the story telling).

5. Lost and Found in Limitless Clarity by TGP (75, 325)

Summary: When Shen Qingqiu died again, a final time, Luo Binghe knew it was all his fault. How could it not be, the way things ended between them? It would be a reward to follow after him, so Luo Binghe must instead live within the consequences of his own actions.

He grasps for anything to distract himself from the aching hole in his very soul and that's when he meets Shang Yuan, a man just as hopelessly miserable as he is.

(Or, the one where Luo Binghe is extremely depressed, runs away to the middle of no where, and makes a hatefriend with a Past that he maybe wants to kiss a lot.)

What an emotional journey- this fic was incredibly written!

CW: suicide, suicide ideation, self-harm, depression

This is perfect for those, like me, who like to see their fav blorbos go through the worst emotional turmoil (but also recover and make it through to the happy ending).

It has a solid ending I swear!!! It really is such a good fic!

6 Hanguang-Jun and His Beloved Pet Rabbit by 96qutie (In progress fic, read chapter 34 this week)

Summary: A gentle touch stroked his back, and Wei Ying stiffened in surprise. He looked up to find pale-gold eyes staring down at him intensely.

He gulped.

“Are you hurt?” The young cultivator asked in a soft voice, as if he expected an answer— even though he was already prodding Wei Ying’s ears and legs to see for himself. When he didn’t find evidence of injury he seemed to relax. “Are you frightened?”

If Wei Ying were human, he would have blushed and tried to crack a joke to hide it. As a rabbit, he could only kick his feet like a shy toddler.

“Wangji? I heard a commotion. Is everything alright?”

With the swiftness of a child being caught up past their bedtime, Wei Ying was shoved inside a billowing sleeve.

“Mn.”

—

This is a ‘The Disabled Tyrant’s Beloved Pet Fish’ AU for Wangxian. That series captured my heart, so then this happened. For those who don’t know that story; you don’t have to read it to read this. I don’t follow the plot at all, and I even changed the premise a bit. It’s only loosely inspired by it.

Also just to be clear: Wei Ying is not a rabbit 100% of the time.

This is a good read in general, it is an in progress fic!

This fic has a unique take on WY ressurection/life/abilities? and I really love that about it

This chapter was pre angst for sure! We got some paperman WY.

7. In your arms by luobinghelover (52, 176)

Summary: The brightness from a computer screen was the only guiding light he could use in the dark. Hands fumbled for an inhaler, the sound of ragged, loud wheezing in the dark room. Vision blurring, it was clear there just wasn’t enough time. Not enough time. As he reached for it, his finger hit it, and knocked it out of sight. Without any balance, he stumbled to the floor, and crawled towards it, his eyesight darkening.

By the time he reached it, his body was weak, and there was suddenly a blinding light. His eyes fluttered shut. Was this what it meant to die? Did he struggle for years on end, just to die so meaninglessly? But he hadn’t even finished the shitty novel he loved dearly—nor college, and he didn’t get to tell his sister he loved her again, or hold his niece. It wasn’t fair. It all just wasn’t fair. Everything he’d done, and this was all it would amount to?

-+- Shen Yuan nearly dies and wakes up in another world. For better or worse, it was his favorite, shitty novel, and in a strange twist of fate, he is Shen Qingqiu’s biological brother. Can he survive?

Yay for disabled and trans representation!

The author felt young or was a new writing but honestly the story was good! I am surprised the metrics on the fic aren't higher.

luo binghe/shen yuan relationship BUT Shen qingqiu gets a happy ending too (Liu Qingge is wonderful in this) :'3

Worth a read honestly. I will note cw mentions of sexual assault and some dubcon from sex pollen tropes.

8 Beyond the Rose by DizziDreams (52,852)

Summary: Shen Yuan wouldn’t call himself a romantic. That said, when he was offered the helm of The Bachelor, his favorite guilty pleasure show, he couldn't say no. He had a vision and was eager to get going. Things were going to change under his guidance. No longer the awkward, semi-scripted drama that plagued the last decade of seasons under Shang Qinghua’s leadership. Now that he was in charge, things were going to be different. Things were going to be real. Luckily for Shen Yuan, he’d found the perfect bachelor to execute his vision. A young man who was as accomplished as he was handsome…and he was very handsome. He was also courteous, a good cook (don’t ask him how he knew, it wasn’t his fault the man insisted on bringing homemade baked goods to casting), and physically…suitable. Very suitable. Yes, Shen Yuan thought this season was going to be different. With Luo Binghe as The Bachelor and a cast of truly remarkable and beautiful women to woo him, they were sure to make a romance for the storybooks…

I'm crying LOL this was absolutely absurd in the best of ways XD The miscommunications were truly outrageous

The embarrassment I felt was enough for me to ascend it was so rough at times (I live for this though so like 100% am into the most embarrassing scenarios).

I LIVE for a reality TV au- they always bring such crack! fic energy which brings me so much joy

This was so well written. I am glad I end my reading week on this one!

That's what I read this week!

What a mix, honestly so many good fics. I hope yall find one you haven't read in this list that you like!

I am down to 1 page of MFL on AO3 (sadness) and will be doing a sweep soon- specifically for some MDZS fics (maybe a little svsss but I still have a bunch to read through).

As usual if you have any banger recs and feel like sharing I am always open and love getting them!! In addition if you want a personalized fic list I am offering lists for Wangxian (some other MDZS pairings) and bingqiu (and some other SVSSS pairings) -just send me a dm with your theme and criteria!

[magpiefngrl]

hey! curious new writer here. which fix of yours were the easiest to write and which were the hardest? in what way?

Hello anon! Thanks for an interesting ask.

OK I'll start with the disclaimer that every fic has its difficulties as well as moments when it flows, but there have definitely been some that poured out of me with great ease than others which were a constant struggle.

The Miseducation of Draco Malfoy, my first drarry, was written at the height of my obsession and it poured out of me. I wrote like a fiend all day and would go to bed at night and reread what I wrote. I breathed that fic day and night for the weeks it took me to write it. It was also the most fun I had writing, prob because I was a complete unknown and there were zero expectations from me. Similarly, The Full Monty, written just after TMODM, was an easy fic to write. I remember I read the prompt and was immediately assaulted by images and started laughing on my own and was like, OK I need to claim this, the fic is writing itself.

Similarly but in a more tortuous way, dirtynumbangelboy poured out of me too. More tortuous because it took me ages to find the right beginning, and by then I was behind with my deadlines and got stressed. Also, I wrote it in a sort of dread of the Erised fest, because it had some amazing writers that year and I was intimidated. I remember my goal was to "at least not embarrass myself" .

But, aside from the doubts and stress, dnab itself flowed like nothing else. There are passages that I really love, even now years later, and they are exactly as they came out the first time. I did very little editing (compared to other works).

With The Boy Who Died I made a fun post on tumblr about a mdzs AU of drarry and then the idea wouldn't let me go so I had to sit and write it. Luckily it was summer and I didn't work and I could spend my days writing it. There were moments I got stumped but it mostly came out easily.

Finally, a lot of my short fics poured out of me in one go and came out almost perfectly formed. The Dare, A Perfectly Normal Reaction, and my MCD The Death You Carry are good examples.

Fics that took ages at first:

so my thing is that I have to find the right opening to begin the story, otherwise I can't proceed. I don't plan; the first scene/chapter is my plan. And sometimes I get stuck for yonks. With The Unquiet Grave I began with a Draco POV, him being a politician and Harry his bodyguard, had an interesting first scene and then---nothing. It's like I hit a wall. Zero words come. When I have this feeling, I know I need to go back and revise. Long story short, it was when I changed the POV to Harry that somehow the whole gothic mood came about and I felt the auspicious click: I got it. That's what the story is. A gothic romance. After that, it was easier.

The same thing happened with Hush, darling. I rewrote a first scene fruitlessly several times until a random bit of inspiration fell into my hands: the visual of a card game. I began with it and I let it guide me and the whole plot/stakes/cast fell into place.

Fics that needed a LOT of work and had to be dragged into existence:

The Gift is the first that comes to mind. First couple of chapters were pretty easy and then I was stumped. Writing it felt like dragging myself up a slope, step by step and also not being happy with anything, so that was fun. :/

The other is 9 ½ Days, which took actual years to finish. In that case the middle part was the hard one. I wrote the beginning fairly easily and the last chapters, the plotty ones, also flowed. But the middle. Zeus almighty. It took me years and I thought and thought and thought about it a lot. Finishing this fic was an immense relief but also a source of pride, especially because I really liked the result, and judging by the comments I get, people seem to love it too.

Thanks for an unusual ask! It was good to ponder about my fics and my writing process. The same issues seem to crop up with my original works too, and it's helpful to remind myself that I got over those issues before and I can get over them again.

[seyaryminamoto]

Fic-to-Art #38: Ozai carries Azula to the physicians' wing

This has been done for A WHILE now, but I didn't post it because the past days have been chaotic and not just on a personal level. For one thing, I really wasn't eager to drop this when people were losing their shit massively over the liveaction and its recontextualization of Azula and Ozai's dynamics, I didn't look forward to releasing this just to be told that whatever I've done in my story is somehow wrong, sooooooooo... that held me back, for a few days.

Then? The AI-Tumblr deal started to be talked about and I may or may not have freaked out about that too. Sooo... this is the first glazed and nightshaded piece of my creation, as consequence. The original, clean and proper version is available in my Patreon. Is this me being a dick to Tumblr-only people? Unfortunately, it very much isn't, I'm not trying to say that if you want the best iterations of my art, you should pay me for it... this is squarely, entirely, at staff/the CEO's feet. Obviously, there's the insecure side of me that goes "what makes you think they'd steal YOUR art when there are so many better artists out there!" but ultimately? AI is about taking everything en masse. It isn't a matter of developing a criteria about who makes the better art... it's just taking EVERYTHING and trying to repurpose it in whatever twisted way it needs to. Therefore? I think my choice is more of a matter of caution than anything else. Once AI bullshit dies out (and I really hope it does), we may just return to the same level of quality across all my accounts. For now, it is what it is.

ANYWAY! Point is this artwork is very much what my Patrons happened to vote for this month, a very shocking scene where Ozai reacted in the least foreseen way to Azula being attacked. Azula's confusion/terror comes from a place of not knowing what to do and being powerless to stop her father even if she doesn't feel comfortable with his help... but for once, Ozai isn't making a dreadful choice that will only devastate his daughter. He's actually worried about her health... and feeling genuine guilt over what landed her in the situation where she was in danger in the first place. Yes. I like me my complex Ozai who finally learned actions have consequences. He bores me to death otherwise :') if anyone STILL doesn't know that this whole situation is Gladiator-specific, then I shall clarify fully: this is artwork based on my fic. It's about a story that has been developing these characters for ALMOST ELEVEN YEARS now. It has nothing to do with whatever's going on in canon or in the liveaction, the scene in question was written almost two years ago and the artwork proposed and voted for several days before the liveaction aired. Ergo: there is no connection between this and that. Nor am I saying through this piece that Ozai is a good father. He is not. He can still be an interesting character to work with on a narrative level anyway :')

Alright. With that out of the way, hope you guys like this piece! The big one I haven't posted is ALSO finished, also glazed and nightshaded, but I think I might just end up posting it on the 26th if I don't have time to do anything big for our eleventh anniversary... yep, I'm so busy I don't even have a huge project in mind this time. Also? I have a lot to write and I'm finally happily writing it, and I would like to continue doing that...

Anyway! If you would like to be part of the creative process behind this piece, as well as see it in its proper, OG, less color-bleeding clunky version? A $1 Patreon pledge gives you the chance to join in suggesting prompts, voting for them and reading Gladiator snippets 6 days before a new chapter is released!