#i know but for fucks sake its just so hard. i am so fucking incompetent

[katyspersonal]

These are my personal thoughts on stuff that has been bothering me for almost a decade now. I kind of went from "It would be more merciful to do an abortion because my child would live in horrid if not dangerous conditions and be taken away for their own sake" to "Maybe they'd conclude that they love living even if they were dealt a losing hand and had only adversity. Even if they DO get taken away from a person financially incapable of caring for them and live as orphan. What if they will be happy to exist anyway? I can't make this decision for them. This is something person can only decide themselves and it is called "suicide", (but I'd still do everything I can to not allow that)".

I know I speak as though it is 100% guaranteed I'd be a single mother, and it is true. I can only possibly get pregnant..... against my will, to put it this way. And yet I am always scared that this "fate" will find me anyway. I am pretty sure fixations on potential threats is some type of paranoia. I've just riched the conclusion that I do not have enough ambitions and life itself to refuse being bound to someone. I just go to work, play videogames and obsess over my interests. Why I believed I'd seek abortion at all cost is because I could not care for a child when I am myself like a child. In every sense of this word but physical. But, again, if it became THAT bad, someone else would, then. I've just been thinking about the whole concept of not letting someone to exist "for their own sake" and I think I grew out of it? Sort of? Because losing misery means losing happy moments too, and someone might see them worthy to suffer for, no matter how rare they are. I can't just assume someone else will be as depressed about existing as me. Everyone is different.

The dumb part? I've came to this conclusion upon overanalyzing fucking Soulsborne videogames. I wish it was a joke, but I just have this neurodivergency that keeps me in permanent disconnect from "real" things and "real" people, and only through prism of special interests and characters things 'click' to me. It is like I am deaf, and fiction is my hearing aid. I still think it is so fucking funny that years of religion-based guilttripping, all these fake inspirational stories of struggling single mothers TV is filled with and having optimism hammered into my head by other mothers didn't change my mind on how having a baby is possibly the MOST cruel thing I could do all things considered. But then like, Melina yapped some sweet nonsense about not deciding for others that they'd rather not exist than suffer, and it sort of have been slowly growing ever since.

I also questioned whether this stuff got hard-coded into these games, but I don't think so? Miyazaki definitely loves motherhood but that's literally it. He just poured love for archetype into some characterizations, nothing more. It is more about how existence itself and its meaning is explored here. And how it clicked with what's been bothering me, because I am always scared that I am not safe from... that. Nobody with a working womb is, but I am fixated on this fear, as if this is doomed to happen. But the most dreadful part of it is kind of.. dissolving? Nothing could convince me I am strong and capable and not as stupid and helpless, no power in the world. But something could convince me someone would still love to live even with the trauma of having a mother so shit they had to be saved from her incompetence and helplessness

[emmetofthestars]

hiiiii would LOVE to know whats going on between crow and spy!!! (if you have any others youd like to be asked abt please feel free to say, but the recent art of them.. soo good)

:3 ACTUALLY UHM WHICH ONE is it the one with the slugcats. hehehee....... i love slug

(oh also note, crow uses she/he, just to clear up confusion for the following text if you didnt know)

idk theyre fucking. they hates eachother. they dont like eachother. but also spy is a dumb fuck and kinda has a thing for crow (surface-level sexual attraction) which he only expresses by taking joy in constantly harrassing and trying to sneak up and back-stab crow, when shes just trying to chill and snipe (for petes sake /q). basically hardcore targets crow when he feels like it. uses dead-ringer too. he kind of doesnt have a reason to hard target more important targets like charon or minnie because BLU in general are incompetent enough in his eyes that he doesnt have to give a shit because. like. who cares. RED keeps winning anyways. also charon is edgy at least and threatening at most, and minnie is minnie. crow hates the shit out of him and has nothing for him. he doesnt, like, secrectly like spy, no he really really hates him and wants to kill him any moment possible. he will break any rule to get back at spy. but also she thinks about him alot. like she straight up loves to hate spy she has fun hating him. more than anything. so when he doesnt have spy to beat up or spit at, hes just kinda bored and has no points of interest. its also to a point she might purposely make herself mad thinking about him because the rush and anger makes her feel good. i actually havent been centralizing this as much in some things ive been writing but i am writing for fun... ill figure out how to centralize it blehhh. also uhm.. uhmm twiddles my thumbs IDK but... i kinda want quastions about daisy and achilles.... and uhm am i forgetting someone... oh i kinda wanna tallk about carl again... but im thinking moreso daisy and achilles rn... not them both together, just in general. i kinda have to develop them more

i was about to put this in tags but its too much and i wanna put it in the og post. its irrelevant to crow and spy tho

ocs are a never ending battle of developing and also balancing for me.. atleast for blu team i really have to make sure theyre all balanced out and also developed equally.... i actually didnt like that carl and iris used to both be too much of scaredy cats, as well as gary. so i left the scaredy cat job to carl and now iris is less scared and moreso numb and vindictive. gary used to dislike seeing people in pain but i thought that doesnt align with BLU teams theme at all so now its more like gary just doesnt give a shit. they dont want to murder not because its immoral but because its not fun to them, and they wanna have a splash in a pool instead or something.

[room-on-broom]

...

Ugh I hate having to train new boys at work, especially unexpectedly. Like twenty and under. Its that age and i know its awkward age but for fucks sake. In my experience, in this singular work place, bar like two or three the ones we get in on a trial basis fall in to one of three categories?*

1) never tidied up in his life before. Or mopped or hooved or washed or ironed. Like mum does everything. Shocked to actually have to be doing laundry and cleaning despite being a house keeping role. And just so hard to convince to just do it properly rather then making up 'hacks' ie doing half the job. Hard to tell whether genuine or weaponised incompetence

2) try and be macho/'chivalrous' by not letting me do my job while trying to train. Like overly so. Shit like snatching stock and cages out my hands. Especiallyif its heavy or has wheels. Sometimes it's just over eagerness other times I swear it's just sexism.

I find both types speak down to me too. Boo

(*There's also the don't put down thier mobiles for moment think its an easy job then get mad at me cos its not cunts.

But those come in all age and genders. I mean I am all in for only doing what paid for not giving everything etc but come on. If I'm trying to show you the place and where stuff goes put it down two seconds.)

[poprockrenaissance]

Test Results: ANA Pattern - Value : Nuclear, Speckled-Abnormal / Titer Value: 1:80 High

I'm scared. I thought all of my blood test results to rule out autoimmune diseases were going to come back normal... but two of them were delayed and came back the day after my follow up appointment with the pain specialist. He was going to give me a diagnosis of fibromyalgia (for now) as I fit the criteria, but now that these ANA test results are back showing ABNORMAL, it is very likely that I *DO* have an autoimmune disease like Lupus, rheumatoid arthritis, etc. After doing a little research on my own and talking to my doctor again, he agrees that the most likely contender could be... MS. Multiple Sclerosis. All of my other tests came back negative and I don't fit any of the other hallmark symptoms for things like Lupus. But I do fit MS symptoms, textbook at this point. My symptoms started after my concussion in October 2022, and MS has been linked to being triggered by head trauma. I've known there was something wrong with my body for a long time. Even before I hit my head. But ever since the beginning of 2023, I knew my vessel was malfunctioning. Nobody listened. My PCP failed me. My therapist failed me. My psychiatrist failed me. My Neurologist failed me. I AM SO SICK AND TIRED OF WOMEN BEING GASLIT AND DISMISSED WHEN THEY SEEK MEDICAL CARE. SO MANY PEOPLE DIE UNNECESSARILY DUE TO INCOMPETANT, MISOGYNISTIC, RACIST, and CORRUPT DOCTORS. AMERICA'S HEALTHCARE SYSTEM IS A LITERAL JOKE. I won't have answers till I see my new FEMALE neurologist in April and see a few more specialists and get more testing. But I know intuitively and am prepared for this battle. Everything I have been doing the past few years was all leading up to this. It is my purpose to spread the word and educate people on how important it is to fight for and advocate for the health of yourself and your loved ones. Don't just take one doctor's opinion for face value, especially if you felt like they didn't listen to you or their diagnosis (or lack thereof) feels wrong. The sad truth is the American healthcare system has become a GAME that involves A LOT OF HARD WORK and LUCK to actually get the right providers and care that you need. Its hard enough asking for help, yet people are expected to call dozens of offices just to get put on waitlists or find out the provider is terrible and you need to switch. I am angry. I am so angry at the world sometimes. I am mourning my youth. Mourning my family that keeps growing smaller and smaller every year. Mourning the heartbreak and devastation happening in every corner of the universe. I am not ready to slow down. I'm almost 32... I am just GETTING STARTED! Right now I have to believe in my own power and ability to make the changes necessary to live a healthy and active and abundant life, even if I might have more physical challenges than I was expecting. My dad had a wooden leg my whole life, amputation from the knee down after a motorcycle accident. I watched him walk through pain everywhere. He REFUSED to stop living life. Even when he got cancer and was weak and sick and miserable... he still kept going for the sake of LIVING. I miss him so much and every time I am in pain and start feeling sad, I will think of him. "I've got two legs". Bring it on autoimmune disease. Buck the fuck up. READY... SET.......... GO!!!!!!!!!

[makyougenkai10]

Cartoon Stans Know literally nothing About 80′s Cartoons.

You know saying that Thundercats and every other 80s cartoon as “cartoons just to sell toys” is grossly misguided, if not ignorant (then again, this is you we’re talking about). They were popular in the toy industry because the shows had engaging characters, gripping storylines, cheesy but enjoyable humour, creative lore and cool concepts. This just shows how shallow your understanding of cartoon and their impact had. By your logic, Star Wars was only popular because it was made to sell toys!

The sad thing is, despite how cheesy, corny and sometimes unredeemably bad are the 80s cartoons, their bad things can be seen as something to poke fun at. One can easily watch He-man and Thundercats and laugh at how bad some things are. This reboot, however, nothing is funny. There is no issue that can be made fun of. Even bad jokes in 80s cartoons can be laughed at how bad they were, but Roar's jokes just make people groan.

Honestly?, Modern People are way too hard on 80's American shows. I mean sure, stuff like TMNT, The Smurfs, Carebears, Thundercats and He-Man did mostly existed to sell toys, but at least they put back than the effort in creating an entirely new brand. This is more I can say about most of today's shows.  A lot of new cartoons today are just sequels or reboots. I do not care if they are even good or decent, I am thirsty for new stuff. Say about the '80s and '90s whatever you want, but those were actually a very good era for new ideas.

And you know, Any cartoon who thinks its audience are idiots will always turn out to be Garbage, but after reading a few comments on here I had to look it up to see if it's real. And yes. There is a Panthro skeleton scene in the Teen Titans Go crossover episode apparently referencing the death of Panthro's original voice actor. Now that may work on some Adult Swim cartoon like Rick and Morty (and that's a big maybe) but not on a supposed "just for kids" cartoon. The crew behind this is not only incompetent but apparently incredibly vindictive, which I've come to find is very common in corporate media circles, not just cartoons. I will always say that the difference between OK KO and this show is that Ian Jones-Quartey actually respects his audience and these people apparently hate theirs. Hollywood is 70% personal connections and 30% talent, and shows like this one thoroughly prove that.  I have no idea the exact details on how this petty vindictive production staff got the greenlight to work on the ThunderCats IP, but what I do know for certain is that traditional monopolistic media is dying and things like ThunderCats Roar are why.

I'm gonna present an argument I don't think anyone's made: Shitty reboots hurt families. Hear me out, watching an original show with your kids, it's fine but the show is clearly for the kiddies. An inspired reboot/revival/etc. is something special because you can mention growing up with that series as a kid yourself and you get to share a little bit of that wonder across the ages. A shitty reboot however... it's there, the kids will probably not even think about it cause it looks awful, and if they do watch it it's because they'll watch anything with bright colors and loud noises. So you're left with this sinking feeling of entropy, and the vain hope you can show them something from the old series that they won't dismiss because the age shows.

Imagine if zelda was turned into something unimaginably dull. Secrets? Gone. Puzzles? Nurtured beyond belief. Everything is literally told to you. And everything that isn't is in front of your eyes. All the exploration, any wonder the series has, that is completely absent in this theoretical new game. Now I'll imagine if I, as a 5 year old, played that game. I likely would have gotten bored as fuck and put down the game. Now, personally, even way back when, I was always willing to give games a chance. I played anything that I could, even Dora the fricken explora. But for the sake of arguement, let's say I dont since I bet most children dont. Let's say i refused to play the original zelda 1 and 2 because i found that new game boring. I would never have got to play zelda with my dad's help. And I would never have tried zelda 2 and have fun with it. (Although I never beat it) many memories with me and my dad had to do with zelda, including other games, (I found twilight princess randomly and asked dad what it was. Then I got a memory where he was at the part where he was talking to Ilia at the lake, for example) and even the cartoon. (Though it was only at the end of the mario cartoon) a piece between us would be forever lost if I never picked up that game. I went on for a while, but hopefully you get my point. Guaranteed, there are thousands if not millions of family's in this situation right now. They wanted to show something from there childhood to their kid which they know they'll like, but the kid likely saw some half assed interpretation of it and was like; nah, it's too boring. I know from the outset it looks like some boomers unhappy that their kids aren't like them, but this is an actual problem that can divide families. You'd be surprised at how many bonds between families have to do with entertainment. As if we didn’t have enough of a generational divide.

 Entertainment SHOULD be taken seriously. Entertainment is a large part of families. This shit is part of why the generational gap exists.

If you're gonna remake an existing property, coming up with the excuse that it's for the new generation is horse shit. It should appeal to both the new generation AND the fans. Just because the fans are grown up doesn't mean that they're not allowed to enjoy these reboots. It should be just as much for them as it is the new generation.

[slowpoke-fics]

The Good Doctor

Fandom: The Walking Dead

Pairing: Negan x Reader

Summary: You're the doctor in Alexandria and Negan comes on a supply trip, taking something that doesn't belong to him

Warnings: depression, death, mentions of off self, gets a little triggering, I know I'm missing some, Negan is off character, nothing is exactly right in this, it's writing for writings sake

A/N: This is my first fic in years please forgive me for mistakes, it's just me in this operation, probably gonna be a whole series, here is part two!

May 20th

Negan's trucks roll into Alexandria again, loudly pushing past the gate and up to the medical center. Your insides start to rumble at the nervousness you have to see the ruthless man who knows no bounds. You reluctantly step outside and wait for him at your door, not doing well at hiding your displeasure of the loss of supplies.

When Negan and his men get out of their loading trucks, Negan shoots you his oh so dangerous smile before directing his men to their collections, keeping two of his men with him, he finally approaches you. "Well good fuckin' morning Dr. Y/L/N," he holds the door open for you, "after you, doll."

You moved past him, smiling at him, and walked to the stockpile of medication you had collected yourself helping Daryl on runs. "Please, only take what you are owed." Negan's men glared at you viciously, "We will take whatever we damn well please." Negan turned to face his men, "Now, we have a peaceful agreement here with the nice fuckin' doctor, get the supplies n lets go." You smiled at him, "Thank you for keeping your end of the bargain." Negan nodded, "I may be a fuckin' prick, but I am a man of my fuckin' word, ain't that all that fuckin' matters nowadays?" You nodded, waiting in silence for the men to complete their tasks.

After the men went through the supplies that laid before them, they pulled Negan to the side, obviously keeping their conversation private, one of them turning to you and flashing you a gut wrenching smile, you leaned on the gurney, waiting for the problem. Negan turned to you, scratching his chin, laughing lightly, "See doc, my men seem to really think that you've tried to short us this week," your eyes went wide, remembering what happened to the last person that tried to short Negan and his group, "I know you wouldn't fuckin' do that so can you just clear this shit up for us."

Scanning over the pages in front of you, "No," you cleared your throat, "I'm not short, its all documented here," you handed Negan the clipboard. As he scans over it, looking at your logs for every pill that comes in and out of this faux medical center, every date and name, the two men he placed with him rips your bag from your shoulders, dumping it out on the table, displaying the contents. Negan glances up, taking in the items on the table; a knife, a ripped up pack of spearmint bubble gum, a few pens, a small first aid kit, a few hair ties, stray items and a small leather bound notebook.

Negan slams the clipboard down, smiling at you, "I'll be damned she's fuckin' right boys, pack it up, it's all in the goddamned charts." You let out a breath of relief, a little worried to be Negan's next lesson. One of the men came close to you, pushing you backwards toward the gurney, "Don't test me bitch," backing away while still staring at you, he picked up your knife and waved it at you, "mine now, doll." The nickname reverberated evil inside you, at least when Negan did it, it felt at least flattering, but this man dripped poison from his words. At that though, Negan perked up, "Come on, shithead we've got things to do." You panicked, "No!" They all turned to you, "You cannot have my fucking knife," you backed up a little when the man stared you down, "please, it means a lot to me." The man started to say something, obviously furious you would even try ordering him, but Negan stopped him, taking the knife and handing it to you. The man he took the knife from grumbled and picked up your pack of gum, "Fuck you, keep your knife bitch, I'll take something sweet." Flashing you his smile, Negan was gone.

As you watched his trucks leave Alexandria, you finally returned to your work, cleaning up the mess his hooligans had made. Straightening the bottles, subtracting inventory, picking up your bag and sighing at the small amount of happiness you had as you realized that was the last pack of gum that you could find in a 50 mile radius. As you were putting away everything on the table, you started to move frantically looking for your notebook, under the table, around the table, even been looking all over the room. You couldn't find it. Your coping mechanism for the world moving at a pace that you just couldn't handle. A sense of dread washed over you as you realized, Negan.

He just couldn't help himself, just has to know what makes the good doctor fuckin' tick. Now, he just happens to have an all access pass to your thoughts in the zombie apocalypse. Humming to himself and relaxing into his seat, he peeled the book back at the marker for your most recent entry, picked a random nearby page and began reading.

April 23rd

celebrating yet another round of people. at some point I hit my limit, just can't keep meeting and greeting. feels pointless, I never see half of them, and when I do they normally die in my clinic. is this what it's become? death after death? mercy after mercy?

April 30th

every time someone dies in my clinic and I slide a knife through their skull it just reminds me this is how it will end for us all. we'll all just be the walking dead in the end. when's my turn? when do I get to finally stop running this rat race and throw in my damn towel? everyone else gets to say goodbye seems fair

Goddamn, Negan thought to himself, there's an entry here for every fuckin' day. He readjusted, taking in where they were at and how long he had to read for now, planning to figure out how you worked. No shame in wanting the pretty doctor.

May 4th

so fucking stupid, absolutely incompetent, couldn't even find antibiotics. couldn't find any gauze or even disinfectant. what a waste of gas, we're beginning to pick clean every building, car and trash can in a 50 mile radius. how long do we have left with the saviors breathing down our neck

May 12th

found some supplies, couldn't find enough, not enough, people treat the medicine like it's never ending but I just can't keep up there's nothing left, there has to be something that I can do, has to be something out there for me to find, it can't just be all gone, I'm not thinking of something, there is something out there I just have to be fucking smart enough to find it

May 15th

risk is worth the reward, I finally found some more antibiotics, and hit the fucking jackpot, found some chewing gum, melted Twix for Judith, and a knife for henry after I lost his in that horde, indescribable emotion when I had that first piece of gum that reminded me of how it used to be, when I was surrounded by support and family, gotta make it last

May 16th

henry was carried in by rick and daryl. henry was conscious, talking, don't let me turn, he begged. rick said he fell from a third story window. daryl grabbed alcohol and gauze, rick grabbed the stitch kit while I cut open henrys shirt, glass, at least two dozen pieces, please be manageable. I grabbed the tweezers and pour alcohol on henry's chest, his screams. half an hour in, he's seizing, rick grab buccal midazolam, place it in his mouth, hold him still until it stops, wait for a beat, no beat, cpr, one hundred twenty seconds in, can't let him turn, wait for beat, no beat, knife.

had to be something more.

henry was carried in by rick and daryl. henry was conscious, talking, don't let me turn, he begged. rick said he fell from a third story window. daryl grabbed alcohol and gauze, rick grabbed the stitch kit while I cut open henrys shirt, glass, at least two dozen pieces, please be manageable. I grabbed the tweezers and pour alcohol on henry's chest, his screams. half an hour in, he's seizing, rick grab buccal midazolam, place it in his mouth, hold him still until it stops, wait for a beat, no beat, cpr, one hundred twenty seconds in, can't let him turn, wait for beat, no beat, knife.

Negan shifted uncomfortably, this went on for at least ten pages, questioning every move you made, reliving putting down a good friend of yours, is this how you mourn?

May 17th

This is it. surrounded by death, my turn.

Fuckin' christ, Negan thought, now realizing that the good doctor is too fuckin' hard on herself. Realizing that you had your own horrible demons, and that this world is starting to get to you.

May 19th

Guess not.

Negan felt horrible for taking this, he felt like he had taken a piece of you, just trying to figure out which buttons to press to make you want him like everyone else, he definitely didn't expect this. He had to give it back, had to find a way to make it better, and he just might have a plan.

May 21st

You woke up feeling empty, just going through the motions, getting dressed, brushing out your hair, brush your teeth, quarter of a piece of gum- no. Walk to the clinic, not hungry today. You sat in your chair, clipboard on lap, staring at the door, waiting for your next victim to come through. After about two hours, you hear a few bikes pull into the gate and getting closer. Taking a peak out the window, you see Negan at your clinic doors with a relatively large backpack on, and the same two men he had with him yesterday, and an extra woman who you had never seen before.

Negan walked into your clinic, the woman standing at the door but not stepping in, and you couldn't do anything but get your knife out. "What the fuck are you doing back here?" You pointed the knife at him, not going to let him take anymore of your hard earned supplies. "You raided yesterday and stole from me! The kind of nerve a selfish prick like you-" Negan pulled out your book and an unopened pack of spearmint gum. You lowered your knife, looking at him like a confused puppy, and then jerked the book out of his hand, leaving the gum. "It's a fuckin' peace offering, doll," Negan held out the gum, but you didn't take it, just stared at him. "I don't want it, you don't get to take all of our lessening supplies and steal from me after I've been nothing but honest trying to keep our deal for no violence and then just come offering a pack of gum your henchmen stole from me! I worked for that! I worked for all of this! I was good to your men! I was good to you, Negan!" You started tearing up and turned away from him, mindlessly putting your journal back in your bag, sighing in great relief that it was returned to you.

"Doll, I didn't fuckin' mean to upset you, I didn't fuckin' know what it was-" Negan stepped closer, setting the bag he carried on your table, "it's not the only peace offering, I've got two more." He sat the gum next to the pack and took your place in the chair, spinning around. You emptied the pack, meds, gauze, a Twix bar, and a few cases of extra supplies. You immediately turned to him, eyebrows raised, "What's the fucking catch? Nobody gets anything from you without a catch." Negan smiled, scratching through his beard, that trouble causing smile, "You gotta come back with me." You scoffed, gawked at that. "Are you serious? You want me to come back with you, with the saviors? Why? That's not even possible, I-I'm needed here, I'm the only one whose been studying the medical books, only one that can tell their ass from their end, that's just stupid-" Negan stands and points to the woman at your door. "Cue the next fuckin' offering, Amelia. She knows what she's fuckin' doing, she's a good one and fuckin' despises my fine ass, so I know that your fuckin' people are in good hands. You only gotta come for a week, just a fuckin' week."

You sighed, not sure what to do, but only had seconds to figure it out, "Okay," you moved closer to him, "on two conditions." Negan smiled, turned on by your big balls of courage to demand something from the man who mercilessly beat the shit out of people with a barbed wire bat. "I have today to train her on how to keep things in order while I'm gone, and next week, you leave Alexandria alone, and no taking extra in two weeks, we get to keep our extra supplies for next week." Negan scoffed, unbelievable that you'd demand that, he's gotta run his own group, "Are you fuckin' joking sweetheart?" You laughed, packing up the supplies and giving the bag of supplies back to him, "No, I am not," you pulled back and crossed your arms, "so how bad do you want me, Negan?"

[etherealxgenie]

Why Lila is Marinette’s Own Fault || Miraculous Why?

(Before I begin, note that this is my opinion over the topic and am no way am bashing anyone’s love for the ship and/or character. I respect who and what you like, therefore expect the same courtesy. However, if this is something you cannot handle, please click the back button as this will be a heavily discussed topic. No flames allowed. Other than that, enjoy.)

So usually in the story, there’s always one or two mean girls who is out to get the main character for some kind of superior reasons to justify. And there’s no reason as to why they act this way just for the sake of being mean.

Like the Ashleys from “Recess”, who tend to pick on kids just for the fun of it sometimes or cause they’re popular.

Same can go for Libby from “Sabrina The Teenage Witch” who was out to get something for what she wants or just to be superior to the other kids in school.

For Miraculous, we already have that kind of character, Chloe Bourgeois, who is the daddy’s girl of the Mayor to get what she wants. And until we had some small character development in season two (which season 3 took it away!!), we had no reason feeling sorry for her and she was just for the convenient plot in the social life for Marinette in the series.

And then… there’s Lila.

Before I get into hand in this, let me note that Lila is not a good person at all in the show. She’s a liar, a manipulator and will do whatever she can to get what she wants. She breaks into homes, steals and molests pretty models. She’s been pretty shown to be just selfish without consequences and unless we get a background story of why she acts this way, she has no excuse. Especially when she teams up with hawkdaddy to now have permission to invade and spy on Adrien whenever she wants? Fuck that.

So in Volpina, Lila is introduced as this pathological liar to get attention in season one. She obviously goes for Adrien cause he’s the famous model after all. Reasonable considering as the new person looking for attention, you seek out the most popular/famous person in the school. That would Adrien.

Though considering with her connections, it would’ve been smarter to try and impress Marinette instead if Lila did her research before she came into the scene. But of course, new person so she wouldn’t know, but whatever.

And we can see Lila easily just says things just to get Adrien’s approval and such.

And so, Marinette follows them around (stalking? really?) because Tikki points out Lila has the book Adrien took from his father’s vault and threw it in the trash.

Now the SMART thing to do would’ve been to see how Adrien would handle the situation and wait for him to leave, if to acknowledge Adrien has a mind of his own and knows when to walk away (which he does). Or at the very least, try to distract them as Marinette while Tikki retrieved the book.

But… no. You transform into Ladybug to lash out at a girl PUBLICALLY, for anyone including Adrien to hear, just to embarrass her and call her out on her lying because she… “hates liars”.

Marinette, you fucking lie ALL the time! Most of those times to Adrien! And I’m not just talking about when in regard to being Ladybug, you hypocritical- (groans)

I can list plenty of episodes: Gamer, Aninmaestro, Ikari Gozen and hell, even Reverser counts! If she hadn’t lied about Marc’s book, Nathaniel wouldn’t have torn it! (sighs)

And before you all start jumping at me saying Lila got what she deserves, I only agree partially. Ladybug, as a public figure and heroine, practically the face of Paris, acted irrationally lashing out at a bystander because of lies which were or were not believable. Lila was broadcasting a post or making the news, she was trying (poorly) to impress a boy. Ladybug gave Lila the Regina George treatment.

Yeah, so you caused an akumatized situation and Lila hates your guts. Hell, I would hate you too. That’s like a celebrity jumping at an innocent bystander when they’re whispering to their friend about a rumor that only the two of them were talking about. You can’t jump to try and stop them and should just let it dispel on its own. At that point, Lila had no real power but you just influenced her.

And… oh boy did things get worse because of this.

Look season 3 was trash (except for moments in certain episodes) and I feel talking about the infamous ‘Chameleon’ physically hurts me but… yeah gotta point out a few things. The whole episode was unrealistic, and it was an obvious ploy to be sympathetic to Marinette with Lila back… but… you’re not fooling me.

So, Lila is still on her lying game, being able to fool the students and the staff?! Okay if you believe a student has so many disabilities without any paperwork proof, you can actually get fired for that for fraud. As someone who worked with education before, that’s just pure incompetence.

So yeah, Marinette comes to school seeing the seats changes to accommodate Lila and upright begins to plot to discredit her for her lies. UM… what happened to trying to start over with Lila after failing to do so the first time?

Oh, that’s right. She gets that way (at least partly) because Lila is sitting next to Adrien. I can understand if it was because they rearranged the seating without her say so but let’s face it. Lila sitting next to Adrien was her real trigger.

So since Marinette failed to acknowledge her mistake the first time, she spends all day trying to prove Lila is lying and in return the class is angry at her. Alya even comes to point out that Marinette is jealous of Lila.

And you know what? Alya is right.

Alya knows at least what Marinette is capable of doing so when it comes to Adrien and how far she’s willing to go. Remember that Alya is the one who encouraged her to break into his locker and steal his phone. So of course, she’s worried Marinette is gonna do something to the new girl.

I don’t blame Alya for doing one of the most competent things in the show: Warning Marinette to NOT go off the handle without proof and not make herself look bad in the process.

And because Marinette failed to do so… she made Lila her enemy AGAIN. It was bad enough you had her as your enemy as Ladybug, but now you get to deal with twice the drama!

Your own fucking fault, Marinette.

Also, the advice Adrien gave? I don’t blame for him for it and neither should you. Yes, his advice is not perfect, but with the options he has on his plate, its hard to do something otherwise.

For every encounter Adrien has had with Lila, it ended up with her being akumatized or a disaster no matter how he tried to handle her. We didn’t get to see how he would resolve in Volpina because of Ladybug’s intervention, but he would try at least in Chameleon and try to get her to see she didn’t need to lie and actually tried to befriend her. At this point, Lila was already triggered by Ladybug and Marinette so she just might have to take Adrien by force instead.

At that point, Adrien just wants to stay away and which he was trying to tell Marinette don’t interact with Lila or confront her cause there’s no way to do so at this point. Maybe he was trying to tell her to wait until her rumors got discredited, but he didn’t say it clear enough for her to understand.

And keep in mind, Adrien is a sheltered child with little to zero social skills taught to him by Nathalie and Gabriel. Hell, we don’t know how his childhood was really like even with Emelie around either and Adrien seems more like the pacifist unless he needs to absolutely step in. And he did by cleaning up Marinette’s mess in ‘Ladybug’. So now he’s gotta suffer being around Lila more because of Marinette making Lila her enemy.

But once again, this is bad writing as the writers of the show obviously forgot what it’s like to live in reality. In the real world, Lila would be immediately discredited without any proof the moment she came back. Not to mention, some of the class have their own connections and have more braincells proven in the previous episodes. Google search and such. A 5-year-old wouldn’t believe these lies in these times. Hey, I believe that because I once had a kid in kindergarten during my time as an afterschool art teacher look at one of my books I illustrated before and said they liked the ‘graphics’.

Kids are fucking smarter nowadays than you think.

The only reason anyone would believe Lila’s lies is if she’s magically influenced with some kind of ‘silver tongue’ spell or something and honestly? It looks like that’s the reason.

I dunno if Thomas Astruc or Zag is trying to insult the kids/adults or insult themselves to say Paris people aren’t that smart. If it’s the latter, you should see what you are doing because I don’t want to believe that because that’s disrespectful.

I know it seems I’m trying to stand up for Lila this portion, but I’m just looking things in a  more realistic and logical way. Did Lila take things too far? Yes, waaaayyy too far and should be arrested for it since she works for Hawkmoth. But it could’ve been handled better and that makes Marinette at fault too.

Part of me wonders if she’s done this before because in Zombiezou, she also causes Chloe to ruin her gift for Ms. bustier. If Marinette didn’t antagonize Chloe in the locker in front of the class, maybe she wouldn’t have done anything. Again, I’m not saying Chloe was justified, but if that was the reason, yeah I can see her doing it for payback.

So to all those fics where I’m supposed to be ‘Boo-hoo’ for Marinette because of what Lila did? Fuck you guys because you need to dig deeper into the story to see both sides and not just make it a pity party where Marinette is the innocent victim.

It’s called “Cause and Effect”.

And considering she made Lila her enemy, Marinette is gonna get effected enough because that’s how karma works.

[buckysgoldenheart]

Unexpectedly Bitten

Vampire!Henry Cavill x Reader

Summary: Your ex gets into some trouble with Vampires, and his mistakes lead the bloodsuckers back to you. After seeing you, one vampire gets a little attached and he’s taking his time deciding what he plans to do with you, but whatever it is, you’re not afraid. In fact, you might just be a little attached to him too.

Warnings: cursing, smut, violence. (Count on spelling mistakes or repeating words too often. it’s very likely.)

Notes: Let me emphasize this: there is little rhyme or reason to the way this story is broken into parts. I did my best though, and I stuck to 7. I tried not to make each part too long.

This is a Vampire!Henry x Reader story where each chapter, while chronological, is a different conversation or event during the course of their evolving relationship. 

Words: 1310

Part 3: Nighttime Activities

Henry ran into the kitchen the instant the yelp left your lips. The knife in your hand clanged to the floor, breaking the silence surrounding you, and thick red droplets were splashing on the metal of the blade when Henry grabbed your hand in his. You winced and looked up at him.

“What did you do!”

“I was just—”

“What did I tell you, huh? Either Chris or I will cook.”

“I didn’t mean to cut myself.”

“I’d hope not. Now let me see,” He said, slightly irritated as he ran a thumb over your blood-stained palm, careful to avoid the wounded forefinger. “You’re dripping blood all over the floor.”

When he saw the expression on your face, he sighed and rolled his eyes. “I won’t drink all of your precious blood, Lamb. Not unless you ask me to.” Examining the cut closely, he continued. “It’s not a scratch, that’s for sure.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Seal the cut.”

“How?” You tried to yank your hand back, but Henry gripped it firmly.

“Just trust me.” He stared into your eyes, as if he had the ability to bend you to his will.

You tentatively extended your finger to him and he wrapped lips around it, slowly sliding his tongue along the edges of the cut. It stung and your eyes snapped shut, but within a minute the pain subsided to a delicate, tingly heat that seemed to flow into your veins.

When he was done, he slid your finger from his mouth, licked the remaining drops of blood from your palm, and let you go. It was fully healed; only a little, pink scar remaining in its place. The new flesh shimmered dully, reflecting under the light of the kitchen as you angled your hand in different directions. It was beautiful. He’d taken something broken, and with the smallest amount of power, restored it past perfection.

You’d never heard of this, not in the rumors or stories. Then again, something good a vampire could do wouldn’t be found written anywhere. It was unknown and would clash with the ideas had of how horrid they are to humans; how they show them no mercy.

“I won’t deny it though, Lamb. You do taste delicious.” He smirked and you felt the violent blush rising from your chest to your cheeks. Your eyes traveled from his blue ones down to his lips, now coated in your blood, and you had to resist the urge to touch them and feel their plushness.

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

You huffed as you watched Chris flip through the pages of some dusty old tome with a bored expression on his face. He didn’t like this babysitting job, but according to the blond vampire, Henry had begged him to stay behind and watch over you while he went out into the night. You’d all but stomped your foot like a spoiled child when he refused to leave you unprotected despite how well you argued you could take care of yourself.

“This is ridiculous,” You mumbled.

“Yes, it is,” Chris sharply flipped a page, “But Henry seemed laughably desperate for my help.”

“Laughably desperate to make me feel incompetent.” You crossed your arms and slumped back further into the oversized armchair.

“Believe me, sweetness, it’s not about that.”

“Then what is it about?”

Chris looked up and closed the tome with a dusty slam. “Why don’t we play a little game to entertain ourselves, yea? How about we—”

“Do vampires love?”

Chris’s mouth closed fast, and his eyes narrowed at the question. “Now why would you ask something like that?” He asked, and you thought you saw, just for a half-second, a tiny quirk of his lips.

“I’m just curious.”

He hummed, unconvinced, then shoved the book away. “Love is complicated with us. It’s not…common.”

“Why?”

“It’s unusual for vampires to find more in one another than temporary companionship.”

“So, you don’t love.”

Chris chuckled at your ignorance. “We love, but rarely one another, in that way at least. Being a vampire can be a lonely life. Sex is one thing, but true connection is hard to come by.” You couldn’t ignore the twinge of sadness that made its way into his tone, but then it faded, and he said, “Now let me ask you something.”

You nodded.

“Was that blood-bag really your love?”

“At a time,” You said, “Why?”

Chris only shrugged.

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

It was the fifth time Henry had returned just before dawn with a sour mood that would undoubtedly last throughout the day. Usually you slept while he was gone, after you and Chris exhausted all your resources for any potential fun, but not last night. You stayed up, waiting for him out of irritation since he refused to tell you what he was doing, but you weren’t an idiot.

He met your eyes the minute he walked through the front door. The expression on his face did not change despite the obvious tense air circulating in the room, and he crossed his arms, matching your guarded stance.

“Are you making deals for bodies,” You asked. “Is that why you’ve been going out every night?”

He snorted at the clear beginning of a long lecture and slipped the leather jacket off his broad shoulders to toss on a nearby chair. “Don’t worry yourself over it,” He said, and went to walk past you, but you sidestepped, blocking his path the way a feather might a bulldozer. He cocked his head as if amused.

“I’m going to worry if I’m to end up in a group of women for some sacrifice.”

Oh, that made him mad. Everything in him took a sharp shift. His features twisted darkly, and his fangs peeked out. “Why the hell do you think I’m trying to make deals anyway, huh?” He began. “Chris and I need more if I’m not going to give you up. But half of you humans have grown stupid, and you can’t get anything done right! I ought to just start giving the deal makers to the Lord for fucks sake!”

Your eyebrows knitted and your arms dropped to your sides at his explosion. “Why are you so mad?”

“Why am I mad?” Henry all but growled in your face, then louder, said, “Do you think it’s easy to get bodies? If it were so simple then we’d get them ourselves, but your kind don’t go out after dark anymore, so I have no choice other than to make deals! I have to get more, and soon, otherwise you will be sacrificed to the Lord, is that what you want!”

He yelled the way a lion roared, with such ferocity it rustled your hair and threatened to shove you backwards.

“No, but—”

“But nothing!” He snapped. “Let me and Chris handle this. Just keep your nose out of it!”

He moved to slip around your body, but you once again sidestepped in his path, provoking his hefty groan. You placed a firm hand on his chest to make your intentions clear. He wasn’t going anywhere.

You looked at him sternly. “If word got out that you and Chris killed Jason, it’ll be a long while before anyone will be willing to accept any deal you try to make.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“Then why did you kill him?”

“He fucked up! He didn’t finish the job!”

“He might have if you hadn’t killed him.”

With a step back, Henry scoffed. “Oh, so now you wish I spared that little pest for you? It’s not like he bartered your life or anything!”

“You didn’t have to let him die.”

“Yes, I did!”

“Why!”

Henry’s face fell at your shout, and he stared at you before shaking his head, then said, “For more than one reason, Lamb. None of which are your business, so let it go.”

---

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[honeydots]

127 with shuake would be good.

"My hands are not clean, and maybe they never will be, but they can still carry you home when you're ready to sleep."

once again. didnt forget abt these. im working thru em. 

Summary: Goro wakes up one day in a hospital bed with only a bullet wound to keep him company, and not a single memory of who he used to be. 

-

(ao3 link)

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He was almost certain the last few weeks had been a dream. 

Or maybe, several long and white coated dreams. The kinds with bright lights at an arm's length, and ill-fitting clothes, and men coming in waves carrying their clipboards as flags. With deep voices all at once whispering, echoing, “what is your name?” 

Maybe he was in a hospital. 

His first day of full consciousness was slow and lonely. His second day too, time spent wiggling his toes and counting ceiling spots. Day three he asked for a glass of water and scared a nurse out of her skin, and his week was kickstarted. Which only really meant an actual doctor came in and declared retrograde amnesia the only explanation for his condition.

His “condition” was quite the word to use. Which condition? They could play bingo. Was it his memory loss (obvious, weak narrative), or could it have been the state of comatose he’d been in (intriguing), or even the bullet wound (now here was a mystery, what a plotline) he’d heard remarkably little about? Amnesia, the fickle bastard, was the type to bring one answer to dinner, and disappear by morning. 

But what did he know? 

Well, he knew that this was a pretty shitty hospital.  As far as how he assumed they should be managed, this one was on a low tier. And according to the nurse, as was their police station. Incompetent, and uncaring of his case, which had apparently been made. 

It’d been a week now. He could get up. Limited, with his IV, but he could. The nurse said later that maybe the police would listen to him now, since he was conscious, basically up and kicking. ‘Listen to him now,’ was also an interesting phrase, because he hadn’t been speaking in the first place. 

He wasn’t injured. His vitals were fine, the nurses had told him, and commented he was taking up an unnecessary bed. Not that he could actually make any kind of sound argument, which was frustrating enough on its own, but this didn’t seem like proper procedure. 

He was, once again, very alone in his room. He thought about going to the police station. Incompetent as they may be, there would be no answers here. There was no one here to help him; some healthy boy in a hospital bed. 

He got up. His IV was stuck in poorly, the tape just barely holding on. They’d disconnected him from all sorts of machines. Nothing was roping him down except for saline solution and his own two feet. 

And, he was already standing. 

It wasn’t hard to pull out. 

His hospital gown was tied all the way down, falling just past his knees. He had odd socks on, their texture was weird, and they were several sizes too big. They were thick and patterned, maybe slip proof? But shoeless as he was, they would do.�� 

The hallway was very empty. He was on the ground floor, but he wasn’t sure there were other stories. Maybe one, or a basement. It didn’t matter much. There just wasn’t anyone around. His concern was in that he didn’t know how long their absence would last. 

There was a glass door at the end of the hallway.

To the police he’d go. A medical bill dodging amnesiac would probably get him some attention. Enough to get a name? 

The door was not locked. That was probably good, for a hospital, and not a security breach, which is where his mind had initially gone. 

Doors are meant to be opened, he thought. There really isn’t anything wrong with that. 

It was just a little bright outside. The sun was up but not too far. He was in the parking lot, and it was almost entirely devoid of cars. Small, small hospital. 

He didn’t exactly have a map, and no nurse was around to give him any condescending directions. He’d might as well go forward, then. He started walking, and thought to himself how odd his feet felt on the concrete. 

No one was out. He hesitated to call it deserted, just maybe a bit early. He kept walking, nerves high, still worried he might get mauled by a stray doctor.

It seemed like this was a very small town, going by his surroundings. Lots of trees, and cracked roads, and old buildings. He didn’t think much of taking it all in. He’d have time for sightseeing when he remembered his initials. 

A bit farther ahead was a woman, leaning on a car parked on the side of the road. She was glaring down at her phone. She looked— maybe irritated? Or tired. He wondered if he could ask her for directions. An aimless stroll through town wouldn’t take him to where he was going, after all. 

“Excuse me,” he called, “Ma’am? Do you know the way to the police station?” He approached her with just enough caution to call it looking out for himself, ignoring the sorry state he was already in. 

She glanced up from her phone. Her hair was short, and dark, and it bobbed around her face. She registered him for a moment, and her eyes went big. 

“Holy shit.” 

He knew enough to know that wasn’t the answer he was looking for. “I need to go to the police, please.” 

The woman kept staring at him. “You—” she stuttered, “are you Goro Akechi? You are, aren’t you?” 

This encounter was already going awry. Did she know him? “Do you know me?” 

“Uh…I mean, no, we’ve never met.” She pushed herself off her car, and slowly put her phone back into her pocket. 

That wasn’t really what he meant. He needed to persist, here. This could be a lucky hit. “No I— Do you know who I am?” 

Blatant confusion spread across her face. “Uh…  Are you not Goro Akechi?”

“I don’t know,” he answered. 

She stared at him again, almost suspicious. Then she looked him up and down.

“Are you… coming from the hospital?” 

“Yes.” He watched her mouth open just a bit in disbelief. He wondered how this woman knew him. If explaining would get more information out of her, then he’d do it. Privacy only existed when you had something to protect, after all. “I’ve been given an amnesiac diagnosis, you see. I’m going to the police station to see if I can find any sort of lead on myself.” 

She looked shocked. “Amnesia? And you’re going to the cops?” She blinked, and suddenly looked very serious. She grabbed one of his shoulders. “Wait. That’s bad news. Don’t go to the police.” 

He (Goro?) hadn’t expected to hear that.“What? And why shouldn’t I?”  

“You… holy shit, kid, do you actually have amnesia?” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Listen you need to— oh good god, this is gonna sound like I’m trying to kidnap you— I definitely know who you are. I can tell you but we shouldn’t… here. If someone finds you… ” She exhaled hard, and looked him dead on. It made Goro freeze. “Fuck, okay. The gist of it is— you’re in more danger than you realize. Like, a lot more. Will you come talk with me in my car?” 

Alright. So, a lot to process, and a lot he didn’t know how to. He didn’t even know if he should process it, or if that was the kind of story that should be immediately disregarded. Someone telling you to not go to the police and please get in their car seemed like a textbook stranger-danger red flag. There had been something uneasy about her tone, though. Like genuine concern— not that such a thing couldn’t be perfected and acted, however. 

But she’d given him a name. And it felt almost tangible, the more he thought about it. Less bendable and more sturdy. It was very easy to attach to himself. And it was a lead, wasn’t it? 

“Hey, did you get discharged, or are you just wandering around? Cause they’re gonna be looking for you if they didn’t let you out,” said the woman, jump starting Goro (almost certainly, Goro) out of his head. “And kid, I cannot just let you turn yourself in to the cops.” 

‘Turn myself in,’ he thought to himself. Such particular wording. It made his stomach drop. This woman knew more than him, clearly. And really, for fucks sake, if he died, he died. Obviously he hadn’t left enough of a mark on anyone to warrant not a single visitor during a five year coma. According to the nurses, it was more evident that he’d simply been dumped in town— like someone had already been trying to get rid of him. 

Well, whoever they were, they’d forgotten to bury his bones. 

He straightened himself up. “Okay.” 

She looked surprised, at first. She swallowed around it. “...Yep, okay then. Hop in before you change your mind.” She popped open her car door, and Goro circled around the side and followed suit. 

Her car was messy. It was filled with food wrappers and empty bottles, but papers and notebooks were scattered around, too. So she kept busy, it seemed. He decided he’d consider this a point in the not-about-to-murder-you direction. Too much here that could be used as evidence against her. Too personalized. He was almost envious. 

She adjusted her seat forwards and turned on the ignition. She was a bit jittery, Goro noticed, as she scratched the back of her head vigorously. 

“So, I’m gonna drive us somewhere that isn’t here but I can talk and drive so, just— like,  just a second, okay?” 

He nodded. She drummed her fingers against the steering wheel. “...Goddamn,” she muttered, and then pressed down on the gas, turning her car onto the barren road. 

She kept her eyes forward, but kept true to her promise of talking. She sighed. “Right. So, uh, to start… Okay, first, my name’s Ichiko Ohya, I’m a journalist. Get that cleared away. Next comes you which is a bit more complicated, but you probably wanna know why we’re dodging cops so I’ll start there. Or, as close to there as I can.”

He would take anything he could get from her, actually. The cops situation was undeniably concerning, but right now he was essentially a sentient empty shell, absorbing everything for the first time. A kid in a metaphorical candy store, but the store was a dodgy reporter who still might be kidnapping him and just stalling.  He’d call himself the kid, but it dawned on him he didn’t even know how old he was. Fantastic. More things the hospital staff hadn’t bothered to tell him. 

“Your name’s Goro Akechi. I told you that already but, that’s you. At least I’m like, ninety percent sure.” She spared him a glance. “You do look a bit different but all in all I’m— I’m pretty sure. Just the hair and the stubble, you know.” 

Goro hadn’t exactly looked in a mirror recently, so no, he didn’t know. He knew he had long hair— certainly longer than Ohya’s. He rubbed his jaw and felt the rough and gritty bristles that had prickled onto him. It bothered him that he didn’t know. It bothered him that he didn’t know what he looked like. 

Ohya continued, not letting him dwell for long. “You’re also sort of famous. Well, you were, and it was mainly with teenagers and moms in the city, but you were a popular detective. So, that’s how I know you. And I swear I’m getting to the running from cops part, but you have to know this first first. Oh, shit, it’s right here.” She took a sharp turn into a grocery store, and Goro had to grip the side to keep steady in his seat. 

She didn’t act very sheepish about it. “Sorry, for that. We’re gonna talk in here.” 

She paused her explanation to pull into a spot, which Goro felt a little thankful for because, under his circumstances, that felt like a lot of information to take in. He was well known, but not well known enough that anyone out here knew him. ‘Famous detective’ raised some weird alarms in his head, a position absurd enough that it might be true. It felt unfortunately right, like a disappointing truth. It was different from his name, more unwelcome. But it didn’t click either. Nothing had been clicking at all. 

There was a pit growing in his stomach, like something was in there, chewing down on his insides. But he’d found he didn’t care for ignorance, so he would put up with it for as long as it took. 

Ohya turned her car off, pushed her seat away from the wheel, and got herself comfortable. She faced him, nonchalant but sincere. “So this is where the really juicy stuff comes in, alright? So like, listen up now, if you weren’t.” There was something very serious about her eyes. 

As if he’d have let any of her explanation slip under his radar. “I’m listening.”  

That was a good enough answer for her, it seemed. 

“I’m trying to think of the best way to explain this, honestly,” she started, thumbing the back of her hand. “You… okay, there was this guy. He was a really big politician that you were involved with, and it’s kind of a gray area as far as what you were doing for him, but you and him worked together. Kind of. He was a really shitty guy.” 

She looked like she was considering her words. She turned her focus out the windshield for a moment, and sighed again. “He basically ended up confessing because this group— well, actually, they don’t matter right now. He confessed, and he talked about you. For some of it. It was a long fucking confession. But half of what he said wasn’t even coherent. He was talking about some crazy shit and no one knows what he meant by it. You were part of that whole section.” She paused again, thinking. Goro let the silence sit. He didn’t want to jump to a conclusion until he’d heard her out. Which was proving difficult, truthfully, because this all left a sour taste in his mouth, one that had almost certainly been there before. 

“They wanted to take you in for questioning, but you disappeared. And, to add fuel to the fire, they were having a hard time getting any actual concrete evidence,” she began. “Can’t make an arrest based on a confession alone. He did other things, too, and that's what he ended up being indicted for, but there's still that problem. This whole chunk of confession is still there that technically lines up with his timeline of events, but there’s no way to prove it. That’s why they want you,” Ohya’s expression darkened. “At least, publicly, that’s why they want you.” 

She readjusted in her seat again. She faced him fully. “This guy— Shido’s his name— he’s got goons. Not to mention, he had complete control over the police, and there are other higher up’s who worked with him. Some of those guys got busted with Shido’s confession, but there’s a few where there just isn’t enough evidence to put ‘em away. These are the ones who you need to watch out for.” She took a deep breath, not finished. 

“I’m gonna be frank with you,” she continued. “They want you dead. They don’t want a single loose end, and you’re still dangling. The police are on their side. Are you understanding me?”

Goro tried to let the words sink in. That was more than a lot to think about. The creature in his stomach was grinning now, he could tell. But, this was also no time to get overwhelmed. If her words were true— which, the overwrought familiarity of her explanation compelled him to trust them— he needed to keep his head above the water. 

“So these— subordinates. You’re saying they’re after my life? They can’t be actively hunting me down, if they have the influence you’re implying, or I’d have been found by now,”  Goro said, deciding to ignore the fear creeping up his spine. “So then, what’s my public status? How unlikely was it that I was the egoless comatose patient they were searching for?” 

“Uh…” said Ohya, seeming like she was the stunned one. “Well, you’re right, they don’t really have a manhunt right now. I guess I don’t need to worry about beating around the bush here— you’re presumed dead.”

Interesting. “That doesn’t surprise me,” he said, furrowing his brow. “But, obviously, a body was never found. They’re probably prioritizing morgues then, not hospitals. That does explain why I wasn’t discovered after all this time.” Though, if they’re smart, they’d also keep an eye on cases like his. They probably were, in fact. He’d gotten lucky that the police here were clueless. 

Ohya gave him a very funny look. “You know, it’s almost creepy how well you’re taking this. You were in a coma this whole time?” She shook her head. “I’d have thought you’d be more out of it, honestly.” 

“Is this not what you’d consider a wake-up call? I’ve been ‘out of it’ for a week. It’s common sense that I’d react like this,” he told her. Just going outside had cleared his head. He had a feeling hospitals had never been a fitting place for him. “Yes, I was in a coma,” he added, as an afterthought. “They said I’d been shot.” 

Just as the words left his mouth, he realized the implications that had. 

Ohya noticed just as fast. “You said shot?” 

They’d certainly both had the same assumption— maybe an attempt had already been made after his life. 

But there was something that felt wrong about that scenario, too. “I’m not… entirely sure it’s what you think it is,“ he replied. Maybe wrong wasn’t the correct word but, it wasn’t completely right either. “There’s no benefit to not making my body public. And, if they’re really after me, it seems messy, to say the least, that they didn’t finish the job properly.” He tried to speak confidently. The effort was familiar, too. Part of him wondered when he’d get the chance to do some self-analysis and tear himself apart. 

Ohya caught on very quick, rolling with every punch Goro gave. “Christ, kid. What kind of shady shit were you into? So we’re thinking you’ve got another group after you?” 

“I don’t know.” 

He really didn’t. There were missing pieces, but that was evident. He had no end of missing pieces. If he was supposed to be some detective, then maybe he should get on with acting like it, and figure out whatever the hell this was.

Whatever business he’d wrapped himself into. 

Ohya, again, spoke too quickly for Goro to finish digging through his own head.

“Maaan, I’ve really got myself into something haven’t I?” She rubbed her eyes, like she was already exhausted. “Look, I’m a busy woman. Don’t expect much out of me, but apparently I’ve got a bad habit of adopting puppies. So I’ll see if I can at least point you in the right direction, okay?” 

He didn’t have much of another choice, other than to let himself be killed. He nodded again, not sure whether to call himself pleased or solemn. 

She buzzed her lips and looked at him, obviously thinking. Then she opened her car door. “Well, okay. First things first, you gotta get some clothes, ‘cause you can’t go walking around like that. God, you don’t even have shoes…” She got out and stretched, and then turned back to him for one last comment. “Don’t expect much, okay? I’m not made of money. Don’t you dare go anywhere, either.” 

She slammed the door shut and started walking into the store. 

Goro was glad for the moment of peace. He let his jaw relax, closing his eyes. He hated how familiar the stress felt, and how desperate he was to welcome the feeling. A life or death promise was about as thrilling as one day should get. 

Getting any memory back was his top priority. But he didn’t have an inkling of where to start. He didn’t have a phone, or a computer, and certainly not a home. He guessed he could use a public computer at a library, but just searching himself might raise more questions than answers. They’d be important questions, he was sure, but he wondered about the bias, the assumptions, the fact that it’d be an outside perspective looking in. He didn’t know how delicately he should go about regaining his memories. 

Not to mention, he had only the word of a stranger and a low feeling in his stomach confirming he was even Goro Akechi. And now, with the reputation he’d had, if he even wanted to be him was questionable. Memories of such a life seemed… unpleasurable, at best, but he hadn’t set himself up to be able to just start over. Remembering his past was his best chance at plain old survival. 

He wanted to have some kind of plan before Ohya came back, but he was drawing blanks. What he really needed was someone who knew him personally. Beyond media attention, if there was a single poor soul around who’d actually known him. He found himself doubting such an existence, past anyone who was out for his head. 

He heard the car doors unlock, and he opened his eyes. Ohya was walking back with two bags, and she was on her phone again, barely looking where she was going. Well, there goes him having a plan. Bouncing ideas back and forth was the last thing he wanted to do. It was time wasted and he knew he would get frustrated, but his choices were limited. At least Ohya seemed pretty knowledgeable. It was possible she knew more than she was letting on, too. 

She opened up the car door and tossed the bags onto his lap. “Hey,” she began, setting herself back into place, “I got your stuff but— I remembered something in there that might be a good starting place for you, if I can run that by ya.” 

Or, of course, he could hear Ohya out and avoid idea bouncing all together. Something solid had come by much quicker than he thought. 

*****

Ohya’s plan wasn’t bad at all. 

She’d told him she had a contact from a few years ago, who was in charge of a bundle of self storage units. Apparently a certain “Goro Akechi” had registered himself one a couple months or so after Goro’s public disappearance. They’d told her once they noticed the name, but Ohya hadn’t taken up the lead at the time. When Goro asked why they’d even told her that, she left it at “no reason important,” and kept the topic adamantly off the table. Goro would push the envelope if it weren’t for the fact that his life (a life he didn’t even know he had, for the record, and one that still bothered him) was on the line. 

If this unit did belong to him, there could be a very solid lead on himself in there, and leads on his acquaintances, too. Ohya didn’t know if the garage still existed, though. So she said she’d give them a call and see if they could figure something out. 

Which is what led to Goro sitting in a barber’s chair. After he’d gotten dressed (an ensemble of sweats, a sweatshirt, and tennis shoes) Ohya had commented that he looked like he belonged in a homeless shelter, and “really needed a haircut.”

She said something about how he’d always kept himself looking clean, and Goro believed it. He was already feeling discomfited the way he was. So unkempt and basically filthy. So, she decided that while she was getting her contact all in order, she’d pay for him getting a trim and a shave. 

She was helping him more than he’d expected her to, in ways he didn’t really expect. But he’d take what he could get. He’d hardly had a reason to say no. 

He sat waiting in front of a mirror. He hadn’t gotten a good look at himself until now, but god, she was right, he looked pretty fucking bad. 

The first thought that came to him was sickly. Eyes sunken in, deep bags under his eyes. You wouldn’t expect him to have just been in a permanent state of slumber for the past five years. Or maybe the correct assumption would be, a coma hadn’t been enough sleep for him. 

His hair was just below his shoulders, and he had a very pitiful looking beard. He didn’t recognize himself. He didn’t think that would change much after his haircut, but it made him itch. It was a face that didn’t feel like his. He wanted to rip it off and replace it with a new one, one he knew better. 

Maybe he’d never liked looking at his reflection. 

Ohya had spoken to the barber for him. The one he got either wasn’t the talkative type, or really got his vibe of not wanting to speak to anyone. She went to work in silence, washing his hair with fruity shampoo and dressing him in a long black apron. That was all fine, albeit uncomfortable, but once she started cutting, Goro found he couldn't watch. The snips were loud, and definite, and it left his chest feeling tight. He couldn’t do anything but let his thoughts run blank. 

He wondered if that was hair he’d had before his incident, now falling away. He’d have the same eyes, and organs, and teeth, too. But he felt all wrong in this body. Like it had gone on without him. 

He was thankful when she moved to his beard. Just for a moment, though, because having someone so close to his face made him want to retreat as far back into himself as possible. A blade so close to his throat. He wondered how hard of a push it would take to make a cut. He wondered how deeply he’d have to go to make it bleed. 

 Maybe he’d always hated barbers, too. 

When she’d announced she was finished, and Goro forced himself to look back in the mirror, it actually took him aback. It had taken years off him. She’d styled his bangs, and left no hair on his chin, but most importantly, it was clean. Soft looking. Pleasant. 

It was almost enough to distract him from the discolored scar plastered on his forehead. 

He stared for probably too long. His disheveled bangs had kept it clearly out of view on his first glance, but now that he was fresh and groomed, it pushed its way into the limelight. It was reddish, and almost shiny, and painstakingly circular. 

He could feel dread bubbling up. He tore himself away from the mirror, and found an instant sense of relief when he wasn’t staring anymore. 

Reflections and barbers. More to read into later, he supposed. He was learning he had been quite the hassle. What an annoyance. 

Ohya met him at the entrance. Pure amusement was all over her face. “Shorter than I expected, but you’re looking pretty smart like that.” Her eyes went to his scar, but she made no comment on it. She frowned, but that was all. 

Goro didn’t mind her reluctance on the topic. He raised his eyebrows, and spoke with the silent mutual understanding of  “that is one gnarly goddamn scar” between them. “Ah, and I’m sure the sweatpants add to the look.” 

“Watch it,” she snapped back, sliding into her usual demeanor. “Not like I could get you Levi’s, kid.” 

She paid for his haircut, and out of the shop they went. They walked to the car in anticipating silence. She had her phone out again, texting someone now. Goro didn’t want to get his hopes up. Texting could mean anything, or nothing, or half of one or the other. 

She pushed her seat back getting into the car, and pulled one leg up with her. Goro waited for her to speak, keeping himself tense. He really wouldn’t be able to loosen up if he tried, like a wound up doll who’d gotten stuck. 

Ohya broke the quiet. “It’s still there.” 

Goro sucked in, but didn’t let himself relax. Nothing ended there. It was one check off a list, but not all of them.

 “And can we go in?” 

Ohya blew air out of her mouth. “Well, she said she wants to make sure it's you, because there's only so many privacy laws she wants to break.” She shrugged at him. “But honestly, looking at you now, there's not a doubt in my mind you’re Goro Akechi. So, you can chill about it.” 

He leaned back into his seat. The tensity had not left him. Something was making him lucky today, and he hated it. He would feel much more comfortable in the mitts of misfortune. But he couldn’t help feeling giddy, too. Like something was rubbing circles into his back, easing, but not erasing, bits and pieces of his concerns. It was something to focus on, and a goal to achieve. Above all, that relief made him feel pathetic. 

“I was gonna ask if you wanted to go today or not, but you look more thrilled than I think I’ve ever seen you, so I’m just gonna take that as a yes.” 

He hated the way she worded that. He frowned. “Only if you’re as concerned about my identity as you seemed to be earlier. You’re welcome to take your time, I’m surely not going anywhere.” 

“You’re snarky! I never realized you had an attitude,” Ohya laughed. 

She got the car going, and they were on their way to the unit. Apparently it was quite a ways, and Ohya advised him he’d better buckle in for a long one. 

He could feel his eyelids getting heavy. He had things he wanted to think about, and questions he wanted to ask. Working up a tolerance to being active was not something that could be done in a day, but fuck if he wouldn’t try anyway. 

But, despite how he tried to fight it, Goro fell asleep. 

*****

He woke up when they were about ten minutes from the units. Ohya commented she’d thought it was a little funny that he’d been so exhausted doing just about nothing all day, but admitted too that his body was probably pretty weak, and he really should take it easy. As easy as he could, at least. 

They were both quiet for the remainder of the drive. The sun was getting low now. They were passing by suburbs between grassy fields, driving past exit by exit. He had no idea how long they’d been going for. Ohya had called herself busy, and Goro believed it, so her continual help felt unusual. People weren’t just like this, he was almost sure. 

She also knew things that felt… almost inappropriately relevant to him. The topic of the unit still tingled in the back of his mind. Why had they called her about his storage? And for that matter, why had she even known so much about him? The information she had felt intimate— like the results of a deep investigation. Had this all been yielded from that politician? 

But Ohya had a distinct air of privacy. There could’ve been something personal about her aid, but Goro figured that she wouldn’t crack easily. It might be better to leave it— personal matters tended to yield lasting effects, after all. At least, he assumed so. He really wasn’t sure if that was as big of a plus as it appeared on the surface, though. 

When the centre came into view, Goro let those thoughts ease into the back of his mind. He could focus on Ohya’s MO later. This was leaps and bounds more important to him; if anything was going to last, it was this. He could play detective, just like he was supposed to, and maybe come across some special clue. Perhaps he could test out his muscle memory and flex whatever skills he presumed he’d had. 

They arrived, and it looked extremely closed. Like the only customers they’d been expecting were ghosts. The lights in the windows were off, and the gate guarding the units was shut tight. It wasn’t encouraging. 

Ohya read his expression pretty clearly. She bumped his shoulder with her fist. “She knows we’re coming, my contact’s still here. The front just closes at 6:00. I’ll deal with it, so just stay put for now.” 

And just as she said, after she hopped out of her car and approached the office, the door swiftly opened and a woman joined Ohya outside. The two of them seemed friendly. Goro watched as they talked, noting quizzically to himself that Ohya was someone who talked with her hands. 

Ohya gestured to her car and they both looked over to Goro. He watched them walk over, and obeyed smartly when Ohya signaled him to roll down his window. 

 The woman peeked her head around to look at him, her eyebrows arched high. “Wow,” she said, completely staring now. “I mean, he looks like him, that’s for sure.” 

Ohya grinned. “Sure does. That enough for you to let us in?” She didn’t really say it as a request, more like an expectation. Goro appreciated the tone. 

She fiddled with her bottom lip. “Hmm. You said amnesia? He got any doctor's notes about that?” She asked, giving cue to Ohya’s sour expression. 

“You didn’t say a word about notes 

on the phone, you know.” 

The contact clicked her tongue, and looked back to Goro. She bit the inside of her cheek, and sighed. “Just cause it’s you, Ohya, I’ll take that nasty scar on his forehead as my confirmation.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “Come with me inside, I’ll get his key.” 

Ohya made a haughty noise of achievement, and followed the woman back in. Goro rolled up the window again. 

They were taking a little while. He rubbed at his scar absentmindedly. So obviously a bullet wound, maybe that had been the real reason his barber hadn’t made much conversation. Whoever tried to kill him had shot just where it counted. You don’t fire a warning shot into a head. He wondered if he’d deserved it, and doubted he didn’t.  

Goro removed his hand when Ohya reemerged from the building, and she was looking confident. She slid back into her car and jingled the key to his unit victoriously. “Easy peasy. She’s gonna open the gate for us in a second. Your unit number is 508.” 

They waited for a little while, nerves ever growing, until the automatic gates opened on their own, groaning and creaking until fully extended. Ohya started her car and drove in, squinting at the unit numbers in the low light.

Rows upon rows of garages awaited them. This must’ve been a pretty large lot, by the looks of things. The dirt road was the only uneven piece of scenery, the repetition was endless. He kept a watchful eye on the unit numbers, as well, skipping between the evens and the odds. 

After a few right turns, and one very tight u-turn, they were there. 508 stood wedged between its neighbors, almost at the end of the row, but not quite. Not a thing stood out about it. It was just as gray and worn and untouched as the rest of the facility. Not even the dirt was remarkable. It reminded him of the hospital. 

Ohya held the key out to Goro. 

“I’m assuming you want this to be a ‘just you’ kinda thing?” 

The gesture was something he should’ve expected, but didn’t. It made him hesitate for a moment. 

He took the key. “I appreciate it,” he said. 

“No sweat.” 

He got out of her car, and she drove off to the end of the row. She stayed parked within general sight of the unit. It was essentially pseudo privacy, but neither of them knew how long he’d be in there, and who knows what this could trigger. Ohya also didn’t seem like she knew a thing about amnesia. He wouldn’t look to her for comfort of any sort, but there was reassurance in her being a safe figure. 

He took a deep breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth. This was his step one. He’d gotten himself into some deep shit, his past self hadn’t seemed to have a shred of self preservation in mind. Had he not encountered Ohya, he could’ve been dead by the hands of the crooks that call themselves the police by now. He had a lot more steps to cover, and each one would be riskier than the next. He was much more on his own than he realistically should’ve been. Most people had friends, as far as he knew. But this was seemingly his own fault. He wanted to know why exactly it was his fault. 

One more deep breath. 

He inserted the key into the lock, and grabbed the handle of the metal shutter. He pushed up, and with a squeak of rust and a bang of metal, he opened up his door to more dangerous times. 

And it was nearly empty. 

It was barren concrete. Newly disturbed dust was floating about. It was eerily quiet, and the stale air made his throat itch. Cobwebs stuck in the corners, barely visible in the low light of the setting sun. Though he wouldn’t call it underwhelming. 

In the center of the floor was a cardboard box. About medium sized, without a lid. It matched well with the rest of the room, lined with dust and unaltered. He kneeled in front of it. 

It was its contents that felt much more exciting. There were papers, lots of them. Thick manila envelopes full of information for him to flip through. He scooted back towards the entrance and pulled the box along with, trying to get the last of the light funneling in to help him read. 

It was heavier than he expected, and he didn’t know how much to attribute that to his current lack of strength. He took out the first envelope and it, despite the dust, was clear and candid. When he flipped it around, he noticed with eagerness that there was writing on the front. He tried to make it out as clearly as he could, and in careful handwriting, it read: “05/21/2020— Case No. 1471” 

It was a case file. He pulled out another envelope, and it was similarly marked. His interest was surely piqued. There must’ve been some sort of relevance to these, if they were going to be so pointedly left here. He pulled out a third, and then a fourth, and from the weight he’d expected many more. But, the pile ended there. Instead, what filled the rest of the box was another, smaller, wooden one. 

He took it out delicately, gripping it securely around the sides to ensure he didn’t drop it. This seemed much more… personal. Shiny cherry wood, latched but not locked, just small enough to sit on his lap firmly. A thought that couldn’t help but be excited came to mind. 

This could’ve belonged to me. 

He wasted no time. He undid the latch, and it gave a satisfying click. The hinges creaked just barely as his clammy hands lifted the lid, and pulled all the way back, until it rested hanging by itself. 

Inside sat more papers. Some were crisper than others, some had obviously been crumpled and then flattened out again. But there was consistency in each of them being folded neatly in half, stacked neatly on top of each other. 

He picked up the one from the beginning of the pile, unfolded it, and was surprised to find it had hardly been written on; a simple “To you,” at the top. This was a candidate that had been clearly wadded up and discarded. He set it down carefully, and picked up the next. 

This one hadn’t been written on much, either. It said even less, just “Hello.” 

He picked up another, and another. It was all soft stationary, each topped with slightly different wordings, and some decorated with a couple lines, even. But they were all just about the same, a simple greeting, and then resigning. 

They were letters. Or rather— drafts for one. So he’d learned today that he was indecisive, maybe a bit quick tempered, but potentially also at least organized. He assumed the existence of these drafts meant he’d never gotten around to sending his letter, either. And perhaps he’d never get such a chance, if this visit didn’t convince any muggy memories to creep out of their caves.  

As he pulled out drafts and read his pathetic one-liners, he came across a page that was different. There was actually a fair amount of content on it, over a paragraph's worth. It had obviously also been cast aside, but even a spare scrap could be useful to him, in this state. He used the last of the remaining light to read it. 

“To whom it may concern, 

I would like to skip the inherent shamefulness of writing a letter to you, of all things, in my introduction, and I will title this ambiguously under the assumption that if you believe this does truly not concern you, that you will save me the mortification of reading through it anyways. 

I won’t formally phrase this as a farewell, but you should take it as one. 

Our unknowns are too great to write, and while you were not innocent, neither am I, and there are truths between the two of us that shouldn’t have remained unspoken. I’ve never thought to run from the blame. 

My hands are not clean, and maybe they never will be, but they can still carry you home when you’re ready to sleep. 

Perhaps a fact I recognized too late.

I do not want to say goodbye, however I—“

It cut off. 

The letter left a lump in Goro’s throat. He read it through once more. He wanted to analyze each sentence down to its core, but the light had died out. But there were bits and pieces, words that suck out in his mind. “Farewell,” “Innocent,” “Unspoken.”

“Too late.”

Goro bit down on his lip hard. The case files— those he understood. With the life he’d allegedly lived and the people he’d known, of course something like that would be predominant. They were fact on paper, ignorant of bias, they’d be full of names and leads. They were important. But, he didn’t understand why these almost-letters had been left here. Out of anything that could’ve been kept. Had there been someone he’d felt so strongly for? To be kept in safety behind lock and key? 

To identify this person— that could be his next goal to achieving his memories. To ignite the fire of their eventual reunion, and perhaps they could know what happened to him. They could come easy, though he suspected that anyone who he’d decided to be so rottenly open with wouldn’t be typical. But, they would also know him, past the media, past the appearances. 

And, though he wasn’t going to admit it, he’d needed something more hopeful to work towards. 

He put the papers back where they belonged, placed the entire case back into the cardboard box, and stacked the case files back atop it. 

There was no telling how old these letters were. They could’ve been from much before his incident. But this set him up for a goal, a big one, that might get him back to whatever meager place he’d left himself in. 

He picked up the box, and prepared himself to head back outside to Ohya. He needed to muster up his resolve, because this was only the first out of two very important clues this visit could provide. 

He positioned the box onto his waist, and took one last look into the dark before closing up his unit. He returned to Ohya’s car, pulling open the door without so much as a greeting, and set the box on the floor in front of his seat. 

Ohya leaned forward, interested. “That a box you got?” 

He wasn’t going to talk about the embarrassing letters he found. Even if he wanted to, his second clue came first. “It’s not that important right now,” he lied. “Is your contact still here?” 

She raised her eyebrows at him, but let the topic drop. “Sure is. She can’t leave ‘till we leave.” 

Good. “I need to speak with her.” 

She hummed in reply, seeming very curious by his idea. They drove back up to the entrance, Ohya not questioning his motives, but still giving him an inquiring side eye every so often. 

They got out of the car together this time, and walked into the front office. The woman was reading behind the counter, almost completely in the dark, with only a desk lamp lighting her work area. 

She glanced up at them, and placed her book upside down. “Hey there. You got that key?” 

“Yes,” Goro replied. He placed it lightly on the counter. She took it without a word, and got up to put it back on its hook. Goro stopped her before she turned. “I have a question for you.” 

She seemed a little surprised. She glanced between him and Ohya, and then put her free hand on her hip. “Okay?”

He hoped he could push his luck just a bit further today. He’d made it this far, after all. 

“Is there any way I can see the documentation that was filed when this unit was made?” he asked. 

The woman pursed her lips. “Ohya?” 

Ohya put her hands up defensively. “Don’t look at me. This is all him.” 

The woman stared at Goro. He stared back. This was arguably the most important part of the visit. He needed to see those papers. Just a single particular part, it was the one factor that needed an explanation. He would not leave until he got that documentation, and if he had to stand his ground and pull her leg a bit to get it, he would. 

After their staring contest lasted just a moment too long, she folded her arms. “Jeez. Only because I feel bad for you, okay?” she huffed, turning on her heel. “And because my niece liked your food blog.” 

She disappeared into the back of the office, leaving Goro feeling just a bit full of himself. He would think about the food blog comment later.

Ohya lightly punched his arm. “Okay, good going. But whatcha going to do with that?” 

“There’s something I need to check,” he replied flatly. It made Ohya grunt unenthusiastically. 

The woman returned with a few papers, all paper clipped together. She tossed them onto the counter. “This is a customer copy, okay? So feel free to keep it.” She glared at Ohya. “And, I’m going home now. So, get out, please.” 

That got a laugh out of Ohya. “I know I can always count on you to bend a couple of rules for me.” 

“Out.” 

They left the building, Ohya waving her last goodbyes while Goro rushed to the car. He needed to get some light on these papers, it was long past sundown now. He slid himself into the car, clicked on one of the lights, and went to work reading, all while Ohya was still walking over. 

Ohya opened her door and stood outside watching him, leaning on the frame. First, it was with interest, but it soon turned into irritation.

“Kid, tell me what you’re looking for. You’ve got your eyeballs all over that thing,” she said. 

He didn’t let their conversation stop him from reading. He kept his eyes glued to the page, checking each word and box before moving on. 

He did owe her an explanation. Getting his thoughts out would help him focus a bit, anyway. 

“These sorts of things— storage units. Wouldn't they be paid for recurrently?” 

Ohya went quiet for a moment. “They are,” she said, and joined him in the car. “Shit. Those funds can’t be coming from you, can they.” 

“Exactly. I’m looking for the responsible billing party.” He turned onto the next page. None of the handwriting matched what he’d seen on his papers and files, which further confirmed to him that this unit hadn’t been one he’d purchased himself. Whoever this was had put all that information in there, those cases, those letters. He suspected they weren’t his mystery recipient, but he could confirm that with them once they’d met.

Why this had been done in his name, though, was beyond him. 

He flipped onto the last page, and found his prize. Big black bolded letters asking for the responsible parties name, and neat penmanship filling in the blank. 

“Sae Niijima,” he read aloud. 

Ohya gawked. 

“‘Sae Niijima?’ Seriously?” she scoffed to herself, and sunk down further in her seat. “She’s an attorney. A damn good one, too.” 

An attorney? He wondered how she could’ve known him. “She’s the one paying, apparently.” 

Ohya tapped long slender fingers onto her steering wheel again. She dropped her head. “Guess that means she’s our next lead, huh?” 

Goro adjusted himself in his seat. “It does.” 

“Ahh, man,” she complained. “You’re really somebody who’s in with the big guns, you know. You better let me have some exclusive with you after all this is done, or something.” 

Goro gave way a hint of a smile. Probably his first since he’d woken up. If this would be the last of his luck, so be it. He hated to rely on something so shifty and mischievous, anyways. This was a start, barely a sprout, to whatever his big picture was. But he’d see himself to the very top. 

Really, he’d already died once. Hardly a way to go but up. 

“We’ll see.” 

[lightsandlostbells]

wtFOCK season 3, episode 5 reaction

This whole episode I kept doing that Marge Simpson groan. You know, the one that’s like tight-lipped and this low, exasperated mmm from deep in the throat? That was me constantly.

Episode 5

Clip 1 - Jens gives Robbe sex advice

Robbe texts his mom and says to her he can’t visit, lying that it’s because he’s sick. One repeated element that does exist in this season is Robbe listening to music on his headphones, which is him retreating into himself, or using music to cope. The song lyrics reflect that: “I used to feel so alone, now I’m feeling better on my own.”

Since I’ve been trying to think of ways to rewrite this season, they could expand Robbe using music as a coping strategy even further. Music should have been something that Robbe bonds with Sander over. And not just Sander’s recommendation of Bowie, either, which is all they’ve done so far - it seems like Robbe should give recs or insight as well. Talk about how important music is to him with Sander. Make it a serious point in their developing relationship.

Jens skates up and talks to Robbe. Robbe wants to get high, but Jens doesn’t have weed with him at the moment. He asks Robbe if he’s thought about the Brrrothers, because they’re not the same without Robbe. Robbe snaps and turns away from him, then lies and says his bad mood is about Noor. Jens has already heard that they’re fighting.

Jens’ talk to Robbe, knowing that Noor wants to have sex and Robbe doesn’t, is actually pretty sweet. Even though he doesn’t understand the real reason why Robbe doesn’t want to, his talk is thoughtful and not shaming Robbe for being a nervous virgin, it’s considerate of him. Considering the Brrrothers have been obnoxious about sex and girls all season, this was a refreshing change. One question I do have is how Jens knew that Noor wanted sex and Robbe didn’t, but I guess it was implied that this explanation was part of the rumor mill. 

Of course, the downside is that Jens’ advice prompts Robbe to text Noor about how he misses her and wants to meet up. Bad, Robbe! I don’t know if Jens’ talk encouraged Robbe to text her because Robbe was like “Yeah, I’m supposed to like Noor, better get back on that,” or because maybe he genuinely told himself, “I just don’t want to have sex with her because I’m nervous, yeah, that must be it,” and decided to just move forward with it. 

I do like drama that comes from characters trying to be helpful but unintentionally saying or doing the wrong thing - that’s what happens in the locker room scene with Isak and Even. When Isak says he’s better off without mentally ill people in his life, he’s telling Even this as a way of saying that his mother won’t cause problems for them, he doesn’t care what she’ll think of them dating. So taken on its own, I think this scene is fine.

HOWEVER. The pacing of this season is again, SO SO weird, because this scene would have fit right in around episodes 2-3? Right after Robbe tried and failed to have sex with Noor, you know ... the first time? Or the second, or the third? Like … have it be in line with Isak’s episode 3 sexuality crisis, all the “why does he have to be so gay” stuff. It would’ve worked well to have this talk at like, the beginning of episode 3, and then have Robbe making the “that guy is so gay” comment as an unintentional result of this - by trying to convince himself he is just straight and nervous and distancing himself from being gay. We had three entire scenes of Robbe failing to fuck Noor, so narratively, why did we need to wait this long for Jens to talk to him about it? 

Clip 2 - AGAIN?

Robbe invites Noor over to bone. He’s lit about a million candles and is trying to make this a big romantic deal, except lmao, he has on David Bowie’s Life on Mars … Robbe … what u doing…

Actually, I’m not sure if this is diegetic music or not, if Robbe is blasting Bowie from his phone as mood music or if he’s only hearing this song inside his head. I think we’re definitely meant to take away that Robbe is hearing the song since it gets distorted as he slinks down Noor’s body, and that it’s not just there for the audience. In either case, Sander is supposedly the shadow hanging over this sad hetero affair.

Tbh listening to Life on Mars is the best part of this season and I wish I could just like … listen to this song play against a black screen instead of watching poorly written, repetitive clips.

They start to get it on and he takes off her shirt, unhooks her bra, yadda yadda, he doesn’t look happy but he soldiers on and it’s implied they went All The Way. On the one hand, I will rage if they actually had sex. On the other hand, if they don’t, it’s yet another clip where the same shit happens, Robbe tries to bang Noor and fails.. 

Clip 3 - Robbe’s not turned on by Noor and this is BRAND NEW INFORMATION

… okay, so he didn’t have sex with her AGAIN? He couldn’t get it up?

For fuck’s sake. I mean, on the one hand I’m glad it was actually Robbe’s choice (apparently) to put a stop to the sex instead of like, someone else walking in and interrupting yet again, but on the other hand, I feel like we have done this scene SO MUCH. We KNOW. About the only thing that’s changed I guess is that Robbe kissed a boy and now he’s trying to be straight? If this was only like the second time this scene had happened, it would have been fine.

I just don’t have a coherent idea of Robbe’s arc. This season is going in circles. 

Anyway, Robbe couldn’t get it up, Noor is sympathetic, she asks if it’s her, Robbe says she’s amazing, he looks sad and haunted blah blah we’ve already seen this play out.

Why were these separate clips? In the first clip, we have Robbe seemingly determined to have sex with Noor, and then in the second, he can’t get it up. So why not SHOW THE MOMENT OF CHANGE? Are these filmmakers on drugs? This is storytelling 101. Like there’s no reason to split up these clips except to cause a bit of anxiety if you happen to be able to watch the clips at the exact time they’re posted, and from a real-time perspective I get it, but that’s ineffective for the vast majority of people who will have to watch later and then will watch these two clips together at the same time. I mean, the fact that it’s not even 10 minutes in between clips … just SHOW THE WHOLE SCENE. Holy fuck. How are they this incompetent?

The pacing of the scenes themselves is so weird. So many of the clips are oddly short, we don’t NEED them to be split into parts. It makes me really appreciate Julie’s pacing: Skam S3 episodes had 4-6 clips each, and in those clips, we got rich scenes packed with details, often multi-tasking within different story threads. wtFOCK’s pacing is simplistic and choppy and unnecessary.

Clip 4 - Milan gives Robbe a pep talk

Robbe is Googling erectile dysfunction which is honestly kind of funny (but again, probably would have been a better fit for earlier in this season, before Robbe had already kissed a dude ...) Milan comes in wanting advice on two shirts, Robbe is annoyed.

Milan tries to get Robbe to talk to him. It takes some prodding (and I do like how Robbe is swiveling in his chair and not looking at Milan) but Robbe admits there’s a guy who likes him and, after Milan asks, admits that it’s mutual. 

Tbh … I don’t find it so hard to believe that Robbe opened up to Milan even though they’re not anywhere as close as Eskild and Isak, because I do think another gay guy is a “safe” person to talk to about this situation and I can see Robbe doing it. What I do NOT get is why, here and now, Robbe is now openly admitting it. Why did we go from Robbe trying to fuck a girl and, before that, calling the boy he kissed a pervert and a homophobic slur, to admitting his attraction for a boy? Why the sudden turnaround? Based on the clips themselves, all we have to go off as a turning point is that he couldn’t fuck Noor, BUT this is nothing new for either Robbe and the audience, AND not being able to fuck a girl does not actually mean that Robbe would be able to fuck a guy, or that he’s into guys, and it especially doesn’t mean that Robbe would accept that he likes a guy.  I mean, he’s Googling “erectile dysfunction” not “am I gay?” which tbh seems still more like denial than anything. He’s blaming his lack of arousal on a medical issue, not his sexuality.

This scene would feel more true to me if Robbe was like, downplaying his side of it, or playing it off as only Sander had feelings and it wasn’t requited. That’s more in line with the characterization we have just been given, that Robbe is denying his attraction to Sander.

Another way would be to not split up the sex clip and to show like, Robbe flashing back to his kiss with Sander while he’s making out with Noor, so we get that it’s not just that he’s not into Noor, it’s that he’s very into Sander, and we see him grudgingly admit to himself that yes, he’s attracted to Sander (at the very least.) which would make it believable that he admits it to Milan. Cause and effect, etc.

MIlan is like, are you so nervous to tell me you have a crush on another guy (...????? um, yes, Milan, you have to know it’s hard to come out???) but is pretty supportive and says Robbe’s lucky to have him, Milan would have wanted himself when he was going through this. Robbe is just like, I don’t know what I feel and I want everything to be normal, there’s too much shit going on right now. Milan says Robbe IS normal and he doesn’t want to bottle up who he is, the pressure will get too real and he’ll explode, he’ll hurt people. Robbe seems to take this advice seriously, so hopefully this scene will actually lead to cause + effect.

Again, this scene is fine on its own? There’s just something about the pacing of the season as a whole that feels strange.

I don’t know if this is supposed to be the equivalent of the Pride clip, because Robbe doesn’t say anything offensive and Milan didn’t get upset. Milan’s advice is good about not pushing away who you really are, but there’s nothing specifically confronting internalized homophobia, which Robbe desperately needs seeing as he’s had some extremely homophobic outbursts. I think it’s a shame to lose that part of the scene, because it’s got a very pointed and urgent message. (EDIT from the future: We got the Pride clip later in the episode, so that’s good.)

Clip 5 - Robbe tells Jens he likes someone else

Robbe is sitting on the sidelines listening to music again. Jens comes over and asks how things are, Robbe says he took his advice with Noor and Jens is happy that he’s a matchmaker. Robbe is like no, there’s someone else. He says he thought it would go away, but it didn’t. 

For a moment it seems like this might be a sudden coming out scene, but Jens finally asks who it is and Robbe clams up and finds it hard to get out. Jens asks if she goes to their school. Robbe is saved by Moyo wanting to play a game against some guys.

This is some plausible conflict, at the very least, Robbe not being able to tell his friends that he’s into a guy. It would have been way better to focus on this instead of Robbe flinging a slur at Sander. Robbe’s friends seem like the clearest explanation for his internalized homophobia. 

Now Jens needs to follow up on this development, or else turn in his Jonas card. Because there’s dropping the subject if he senses Robbe doesn’t want to tell him yet, and then there’s forgetting about the subject because Jens isn’t that engaged with what’s happening with Robbe, and unfortunately the latter vibe has come across far more than the first. Like why does it seem like Jens is always walking away?

Clip 6 - Robbe breaks up with Noor

Old Town Road is playing as Noor meets Robbe in a cafe. One thing I do notice is that there are a fair amount of gay musicians on the soundtrack this season, so that’s cool.

Robbe is stressed because we can tell he’s gonna try to break up with Noor. He doesn’t order anything to eat. Noor is sympathetic about him not getting it up with her, but Robbe says he needs some time for himself, he has so much shit on his mind. Noor says she can help with that, he’s like nah, Noor is crying and reaching for him desperately. He gets up and walks out.

L O L I heard all about how Robbe supposedly handled this better than Isak, and I mean … on the one hand, I certainly agree that he did Noor a solid by officially breaking up with her and not just running away from her in the hallway. But er ... first of all, Robbe went wayyyyyyyyy farther with Noor than Isak EVER did with Emma. Robbe and Noor had an actual relationship for what, a month? Isak and Emma made out twice and flirted a bit. They were not exclusively, seriously dating. So yeah, Noor is owed this breakup. 

Second, Robbe still cheated on her with Sander before he broke up with her. The fact that they were naked while they made out in the pool frankly adds an on-screen sexual element to the cheating. And technically Isak making out with Even in the pool was not cheating … for sure it was a dick move to lead on Emma and then ditch her like that, I’m not going to say it was NBD, but like I said, they weren’t exclusively dating. I mean, in all my years of Skam fandom, it’s pretty rare that I’ve heard anyone refer to what Isak did as cheating - it’s usually talked about differently than Even cheating on Sonja. Robbe and Sander BOTH cheated on their girlfriends here. 

Third, it’s nice he did this with Noor but lmao, kinda small potatoes considering what Robbe said to Sander. 

Fourth, Robbe just gets up and leaves while she’s crying, lol. He let her order soup and then he ditched her! That’s cold as ice! Bro, you need to stick around until she tells you to leave, or you needed to pick a breakup location where both of you can leave ASAP without someone coming by with the meal you ordered.

And to be clear, I don’t think Robbe not handling this perfectly makes him a terrible person or anything. It’s more the comparison to Isak with how Isak is supposedly worse and Robbe is much nicer. Nah.

Sucks for Noor and all, but whyyyy are they making the Emma character so tragic and emphasizing this het relationship so much? We don’t even end the clip on Robbe’s POV. Because how he feels about this breakup doesn’t matter, I guess. Does he feel guilty? Free? Unsure? Conflicted? IDK because we close on her, not him! I’m sorry, but it’s not her season!

I mentioned this in an earlier reaction but I’m just super tired of gay storylines that have this intense focus on how much someone being gay hurts a straight person. I believe I mentioned Love, Victor as a prominent example, because Victor’s relationship with his girlfriend seemingly gets more screen time than the relationship with his actual male love interest. And I get why this storyline is relevant to a coming out arc, of course I do, but it really bugs me when the het relationship seems to overshadow the gay relationship, as it does here. At this point I feel like Robbe/Noor has been given equal plot relevance as Robbe/Sander, if not more, and that should not be the case. It’s not about shipping, it’s about wanting a story about a gay kid’s journey of self-acceptance to focus more on the life-changing love story that is the catalyst for embracing his sexuality, than the fake passion-less relationship that is doomed to failure that is just a momentary stumble in said journey of self-acceptance. There is no need to demonize Noor, but there is actually a middle ground between treating her with respect and empathy and making her the real victim of this story.

This narrative choice also does not exist in a vacuum. It is completely fair to be skeptical of the prioritization of a het relationship over a gay one. It’s fair to wonder why we’ve gotten multiple scenes of Robbe getting hot and heavy with a girl, why Robbe spends a pivotal clip being so sad about Noor that he doesn’t seem to really notice or care that he’s alone with the guy he supposedly likes. 

I mean, fuck, Robbe seems more upset about hurting Noor’s feelings by breaking up with her for legitimate reasons than he does about hurting Sander’s feelings by calling him a f*g and accusing him of sexual assault.

Clip 7 - Robbe tries to speak with Sander

Robbe goes to school (not his school, Sander’s) and asks where the art room is. He’s in a way better mood, a spring in his step, but LMAO you better pray that Sander actually wants to talk to you rather than kick your ass or avoid you for all eternity because of what you said to him.

Sander is sketching a nude male model. Robbe seems happy just to see him. He walks away and goes to the bathroom, fixes his hair, stares in the mirror, takes a deep breath. Then he goes up to Sander after the bell rings. Robbe wants to talk, Sander is not having it and walks away. Robbe is sad, angsty music plays. 

Uhhhhh, serves you right? No offense but I can’t even feel sad for Robbe in this scenario, because what he did crossed a line. Internalized homophobia is a hell of a drug, but there’s such a difference between Robbe just denying that the kiss meant anything or blaming it on being drunk or whatever, and essentially accusing Sander of sexual assault and calling him a slur. It’s not an ignorant mistake, it’s a malicious one. I feel bad that Robbe ever had such self-hatred that he made those comments in the first place and I certainly don’t hate him or think he should be forever alone, but it is 100% understandable why Sander would not want to speak to him after that.

Also, going up to Sander at his school was not the best move, because he’s basically ambushing him. Sander doesn’t have a choice whether to deal with Robbe in that moment. It would’ve been better if Robbe sent him some kind of apology text or voicemail first and left it up to Sander whether he wanted to meet. I get that’s not as good for televised dramaaaa, but it’s kinder to Sander. (And if Sander doesn’t respond, or if he’s blocked Robbe, well, those are just consequences of Robbe’s actions that he’ll have to live with.)  EDIT: Robbe actually did contact Sander first via text, wanting to meet up so he could explain. That does make it somewhat better, although I still think he shouldn’t have approached him at school. If Sander doesn’t want to talk to you? Then give him space. Maybe he’ll be willing to hear you out in time, or maybe he’ll decide he’s better off without you, but Robbe’s the one who did something wrong and it’s not up to Robbe whether Sander forgives him.

Clip 8 - Robbe and Sander make up and kiss

Angsty music keeps playing as Robbe walks home. He sees a mom and her kids playing, more sadness presumably due to his own family troubles.

Sander has followed him and says he has five minutes. Robbe’s like “Why don’t you want to talk?” LMAO IDK ROBBE, WHAT COULD IT BE. 

Robbe says he’s sorry and that he loves Sander. LMAO WHAT. Is this a nuance of translation where “I love you” isn’t as strong as it is in English? Are you kidding me? 

First of all … he LOVES Sander when they’ve barely interacted? They’ve spoken only a handful of times. Hell, they only met in episode 3, and this is episode 5. It’s been like two weeks since they’ve met, and while I could buy that some ships fell in love in that short of time, this is sure as fuck not one of them.

Second … Robbe goes from shoving Sander and calling him horrible things and trying to fuck Noor, to professing his love for Sander, WITHIN DAYS? And this is the character who’s supposed to have a big coming out arc? What is nuance, what is good writing, what is a coherent idea of this character’s struggles with his sexuality and himself... The talk with Milan might convince Robbe to accept his feelings, but it would make way more sense if Robbe was more tentative about them. He doesn’t need to come out swinging the big epic declarations in order to accept his romantic interest in Sander.

Like this isn’t even based on what I personally think is believable for a romance, this is based on what wtFOCK has told me about this character! They made the choice to make him say more viciously homophobic things. They made the choice to have him go back to Noor and try to have sex with her for the millionth time.

I’m glad that Sander doesn’t buy the confession at first, at least. 

Robbe says that he was really fucked up and hat Sander is the first dude. There is a cute moment where he’s like “that kiss (mimes fireworks)” but then things went Chernobyl. Would have been great if we saw exactly what made him go Chernobyl and make him regret the kiss. He says he’s sorry but asks for one more chance.

Sander steps in, leans in for a kiss. “What about Chernobyl?” “Fuck Chernobyl.” They kiss, it’s really sweet, but lol they’re kissing in public??? Robbe is ok with this?? I just have abso-fucking-lutely no idea where this kid’s head is. Like ... how is he so cool with this considering where he was just days ago? Apparently Robbe’s internalized homophobia was so extreme that he was all “get away from me f*g” toward Sander with no clear catalyst, but also not so extreme that it couldn’t be fixed with a pep talk from Milan? Okay!

This scene would have been totally fine if Robbe’s mistake was less cruel and amounted to blocking Sander or telling him to stay away or w/e. It doesn’t feel satisfying for what Robbe actually did say.

Also, sigh, because Sander did forgive Robbe just like that, and I don’t buy it. I mean, if anything, it makes me sad for Sander. I want to tell him that he deserves better. I suppose I can buy this as part of his fear that no one will ever love him, that he’s desperate to be accepted and loved and so is quick to forgive.

It would have made more sense for Robbe to have a longer period of self-reflection, have him come out to his friends, etc. and then reunite with Sander an episode or so later, similar to how Isak and Even reunited at the end of episode 7. Or to have Sander take some time before letting Robbe talk to him, during which Robbe works on his own issues.

Sander gets a call from Britt, which he ignores, saying Britt’s the past, he and Robbe are the future (as the song lyrics talk about the future and the past … they’re going pretty on the nose this season. Fine by me, OG was also on the nose.) Lmao but Robbe has no right to be upset about Britt after he explicitly told Sander to stay away. I mean, it’s dubious of Sander to keep dating her after cheating, but he also thought Robbe was no longer an option sooo don’t be surprised Sander is still with her, dude.

Sander goes to meet Britt, but not before some make outs, some handholding. I think their chemistry is good! It’s just that I don’t really buy the depth of this relationship. It legit makes me sad that these actors are getting served this half-assed material. 

Clip 9 - Zoë gets a letter

Robbe goes home and gets a text from Sander, with a sketch of them, saying their kiss was Chernobyl. Well, that’s cute.

Milan is telling Zoë about seeing some straight-looking dude on the bus who melted when Milan looked at him. Robbe is in a good mood and is gonna do the cooking. Milan observes that he’s happy and asks if things went well with his (Robbe looks toward Zoë) “lovely girlfriend”. At least Milan covered for him! (EDIT from the future: Ahahaha, funny considering how casually people out Robbe this season...) 

Robbe hands Zoë some mail that turns out to do with Viktor, the apparent Nikolai in this version, about the case going to court. She has to testify. She is upset and walks out of the kitchen.

I complained a bit about Zoë/Senne drama taking up time in Robbe’s season, but to be clear, I have no problem with them following up on this plot point from S2. It’s a hugely important story. But I also think it works best if you integrate it into Robbe’s story, by drawing a parallel to their situations, finding a common theme, etc. And it depends on whether Robbe’s story is otherwise satisfactory, because if the writing is pretty tight, I’m not really bothered by digressions in other characters’ subplots. 

Clip 10 - Robbe and Sander get cozy

Oh hey, it’s the big cuddling clip! Robbe and Sander goof off, pillow fight, smoke a joint, make out. Mostly make out. Sander shows Robbe a sketch of him (Robbe) and implies how good it would look on a wall (big). 

Robbe’s fave actor is Leonardo DiCaprio, because hasn’t Sander seen Romeo + Juliet? It’s fucking beautiful.

Man, on the one hand, sick Skam reference, and it’s just a simple, cute little nod to OG, not something complicated. I can dig that. But on the other hand, now I’m annoyed at how Isak got all of this beautiful development and watching R+J actually meant something for his character, and Robbe has absolutely nothing like that. Stuff like the fact it’s Robbe who likes R+J instead of Sander, WHICH IS FINE, but like … doesn’t say anything about Robbe’s view on masculinity or w/e, doesn’t do much for his characterization.

Sander takes pics of Robbe. Their chemistry is cute. Once again I despair at gifted actors being given subpar material leading up to this clip.

LMAO at them copying the dialogue from OG, Sander being all life is like a movie. Again, irrationally annoyed because this dialogue MEANT something to Even. Even was a huge film buff and an aspiring director. Sander hasn’t mentioned movies at all, he’s into art and David Bowie and photography. So why not have Sander quote some Bowie lyrics that explain his thoughts on life? Mention what art means to him? Personalize this dialogue so that it’s specific to Sander. Or, if you’re going to borrow this chunk of dialogue, at least establish Sander as a film enthusiast prior to this clip.

Also that Isak brought up the multiverse theory because he was smart and inquisitive, but I have no idea who the fuck Robbe is. Does this make sense with Robbe’s prior characterization? Shrug.

I do like the multiverse reference to Spider-Man because HELL YEAH Into the Spider-Verse!!! Fucking masterpiece! I could be watching that for the 20th time instead of the upcoming gay-bashing hate crime.

I do like Sander’s acting in this scene and his reaction, how the music (“Ocean Eyes”) stops when Sander starts talking about multiverse theory. His dialogue is a little different here than OG, about thinking about what he’s done and wondering why he thinks something, his thoughts never stop, which fits in with bipolar disorder.

Robbe notices he’s a little agitated, Sander says the only way to stop your thoughts is from dying. So I guess we’re putting in the suicidal thoughts in this version?

“Sometimes I forget how young you are.” Are they the same age in this version? Lmao. It’s a joke so it’s not a big deal.

Robbe starts kissing him and asks when Sander fell for him. Sander is like, before you! When Robbe was spraying the graffiti he knew Robbe was the one. Robbe is like … you were there??

I mean. this is cute and all, but doesn’t it kinda take away from later events, if Sander goes back to Britt, then like … knowing Sander has been Pining All Along should create way less doubt in Robbe’s mind? When Even went back to Sonja, there was room for actual doubt in Isak’s mind (and the audience’s) about the sincerity of Even’s feelings. I think people forgot that the “I saw you the first day of school” moment at the end of the season was a surprise. I was in the fandom and I don’t think a lot of people thought Even had fallen for Isak that early. So Robbe now knows that Sander fell for him well before they even talked, doesn’t that remove some of the tension about Sander’s motives? I suppose it depends on how the story goes from here, but if it’s similar to OG, then I think it slightly lessens the ambiguity and tension.

Also, another reason why it would have been good to actually see the graffiti scene play out in episode 1… and to see what Robbe tagged on the wall … come on. COME ONNNN. Let’s see what got Sander’s attention! Did Robbe create something funny or clever or insightful? Wouldn’t that have been a great detail to show their connection? This is basic storytelling, hello? 

I guess if I’m being fair, we don’t know exactly what Even saw in Isak that first day of school, either. But then again, we didn’t see the first day of school in a clip, while we definitely saw the graffiti scene. Just a missed opportunity, IMO.

They kiss and Sander gets a text from Britt. According to Sander, he told Britt about him and Robbe, but she doesn’t believe him, which is what I assumed of Sonja too, btw. At least, that’s what I thought at Emma’s party where she initiated the kiss with Even. Sander says Britt is so controlling. Robbe seems uncertain.

Sander says there’s probably another universe where Sander is still with Britt, but he’s glad to be in this universe. I do like this part.

Clip 11 - Milan schools Robbe on Pride

Robbe’s alarm goes off in the morning. He smiles a bit, though, presumably because he’s got Sander in his life. He gets a good morning text from Sander, which is cute and makes him smile more. Goes into the bathroom and Milan is there. Sander texts Robbe that he’s been thinking about him in all universes, Robbe is happy.

Milan is like, when can I meet your boyfriend??? Robbe says soon. Awww, this interaction is pretty sweet. Milan is like, welcome to the club! You know, “our” club meaning dudes who like dudes.

Robbe is like, just because I’m with Sander doesn’t mean I belong to some club, I’m not like you. Milan is like … and how am I? Robbe gives the usual Isak-ish response of dressing up and talking about BJs, Milan gets upset. Robbe says there’s nothing wrong with being gay but when people think of being gay, they think of that and it’s not fair to those who aren’t like that. Robbe’s not going to put on leather pants and dance at pride just because he likes Sander!

Milan gets very upset and goes into the Pride speech. I always appreciate this scene and I’m grateful that it’s one thing the remakes don’t really fuck with, since it’s so important (I think the remakes all recognize that it’s amazing, heh). 

Senne wanting to use the bathroom is kind of a jarring thing, they should’ve just let the moment sink in.

Robbe takes a Good Hard Look at himself in the mirror which is on the nose but like, better than nothing. I think there was a mirror earlier in the season? I confess that I’m so hung up on the basic writing fumbles that I might be missing stuff that’s actually supposed to be symbolic.

Anyway, all things considered, I think they did fine with this clip. Robbe coming out to Milan earlier in the episode did help pave the way for this talk since they didn’t have the close relationship as Isak and Eskild. Like, any issues I might have with it are related to the bigger issues in the season, but on its own, I felt like it was decent, and the “welcome to the club” comment is something I can believe Milan would say and something that would make Robbe reply with a boneheaded comment.

Clip 12 - This fucking scene

Robbe and Sander flirt in a bar and get touchy-feely with each other. For some baffling choice, we start with some rap/hip-hop song and then it cuts to “Two Men In Love” by The Irrepressibles … like … you could just start the clip with that song instead of this weird non-transition?

They kiss and then move outside the bar and then kiss and cuddle some more (again … I ask, where did Robbe’s boldness with gay PDA come from ...) Robbe jumps on Sander for a piggyback ride. They kiss passionately in the street.

Ahahahahahahahahah HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAA FUCK YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU

Some homophobes spot them and call them slurs. Robbe and Sander try to grab their bikes and quickly leave. The bigots manage to grab them and beat the shit out of them. It’s really brutal, like we get POV shots from the ground as the guys kick them. The guys call them f****ts once more before leaving Robbe and Sander crumpled on the ground in the fetal position. The wheels on the bike go round and round.

I mean … where do you even start.

OK, I’ll start here: worst decision made in a Skam S3 remake yet.

“Yeah, Skam season 3 was a masterpiece and all, but you know what I could have used more of? Violent gay-bashing,” said no one ever.

I don’t get triggered by media, not really, but boy am I glad I was spoiled for this. Because I do get fucking angry at media. And I’m angry now, but if I was watching this unspoiled? Man, I would’ve popped a couple of blood vessels. And I feel so, so sorry for people who watched this unprepared and were triggered. Because yeah, it is a remake and not 100% like the original, you can’t predict everything that will happen. But this isn’t something that you expect in S3, because you expect the writers to know enough to leave this shit out. This isn’t made with kind intentions for the audience, it’s made for shock value.

Consider that the WHOLE POINT of this very, very short clip is the hate crime, btw. It’s like two minutes long! They dropped a clip just for a cute kissing montage and then to interrupt it with a brutal beating! Something about that makes it even more repugnant than if it were like … a long involved scene about something else, and this happened. IDK, something about it feels even more tasteless, like this beating is their cinematic setpiece.

The first-person POV of the beating = not necessary. Like of ALL the fucking times in your season to actually give a shit about the importance of POV, lmao. This isn’t a video game. I’m not shooting zombies or getting jumped by bandits.

Remember when Skam faded to black on Noora’s blackout? And cut away from Even walking naked out of the hotel? Yeah, there are plot and POV reasons for those, but they were also ways to respect the audience and not include pointlessly triggering, exploitative material. 

There’s just so much to say about this bad choice that I’m at a loss. Why did we need to go here? In particular, why did we need to go here knowing how the rest of the season plays out? Because for me, that’s what clinches this as a terrible decision. This isn’t a shitty scene with a satisfying follow-up. The resolution - or non-resolution, as it turns out - of this plot development is what exposes wtFOCK’s true character.

There is an AMAZING Evak vid set to Two Men In Love and I recommend you watch it to get the bad taste out of your mouth from this scene.

HOW I WOULD REWRITE THIS EPISODE:

Sigh.

This is just textbook bad writing for coming out stories, not to mention packed full of tired cliches.

Closeted gay guy is violently homophobic (Robbe calls his love interest homophobic slurs and accuses him of being a pervert) - I’m sorry but I am so tired of the “dating your bully” trope and this is what it fell into for me. Why should Sander take back Robbe after that? After Sander told Robbe he was afraid no one would ever love him? 

Gay-bashing For The Drama, to make sure you know homophobia is bad, really bad.

Overemphasis on the heterosexual love interest (“love interest”) and how it’s hurtful to her, like I get that it’s a delicate topic with not demonizing her, but I always feel like there is SO much interest on straight characters in these stories! It’s not about them!

The hate crime has to go. Really. What is even the POINT of it in this particular story? As if there wasn’t enough angst in S3? Especially if you consider: they wasted a few episodes on repetitive nonsense. Their pacing is fucked up. And now you have to insert this monumentally offensive storyline and its fallout into a season already full of problems? Next.

Okay, I will offer ONE way to incorporate the hate crime, and that is simple: Make the rest of the season about the fallout. Similar to Noora’s season with her assault, dive deep into the trauma, spend a few episodes with Robbe and Sander recovering, telling their friends about it, going to the police about it. Cut back on other drama from S3. Don’t fuck around with Sander going back to Britt, unless you tie it in directly to him being afraid to date a guy after the hate crime. Don’t fuck around with Noor outing Robbe considering he has enough shit on his plate. If you want to bring her back, make her support him through the trauma. Honestly? Don’t fuck around with the hotel incident. Like I truly hate to lose Sander’s mental illness as a vital part of the season, but adding a full-blown manic episode on top of gay-bashing is way too much misery porn. I think you could probably show how the hate crime and resulting trauma affect Sander’s mental state without pushing it into full-blown wandering the streets naked while manic. 

Do I particularly like this plot? I mean, no, not compared to the original, and I feel like this is better off as its own thing rather than a S3 adaptation. But at the very least, I can see the attempt to take the hate crime seriously. You cannot just throw in this type of scenario to shake things up and leave it at that. This show is specifically made for teenagers, to take their struggles seriously and to give them positive examples of how to handle problems. If you prioritize the violent act itself because it’s dramatic and shocking, rather than the recovery (because that’s like, boring and uninteresting, amirite), then you’ve shown your ass. You don’t understand the purpose or the appeal of Skam in the first place.

Jumping ahead, I think this is exactly where wtFOCK exposes its true intentions. wtFOCK does not care about helping vulnerable teenagers find solutions to tough problems. wtFOCK does not care about healing or educating. wtFOCK is about shaking the audience so hard that viewers get whiplash. If wtFOCK gave a shit about helping the audience, the rest of the season would focus on Robbe and Sander dealing with the assault, giving them options to report it, showing them ways to cope with the trauma. Things that might help audience members who unfortunately also found themselves victims of hate crimes or homophobic violence. Those are not present in the rest of the season. It’s just a fucking soap opera. 

If you MUST have a homophobic incident to go with your dark ‘n’ edgy season, you can still limit it to some assholes yelling homophobic slurs without resorting to violence. That’s bad enough, and it did happen to Isak and Even later in the series. Even if you decide you MUST have a violent angle to this incident for whatever reason, I don’t fucking know why but OK, you don’t need to film it in this super exploitative manner where our heroes are getting viciously beaten on the ground. But there are so many ways to incorporate external homophobia without this shit.

Wouldn’t this dreadful scene make more sense at least if it had happened after the pool kiss? Like they go out a few days later, the hate crime happens, and then THAT’s why Robbe pushes away Sander and calls him names? Because now he’s afraid and he’s internalized what the bigots said? It’s tragic and gross, but at least there’s some character-driven logic in that sequence of events.

Another thing that really doesn’t work is that they’re straying so far from the original script, but at the same time they keep jamming in scenes from the original, except there isn’t the same buildup. Or any buildup, sometimes. This results in an incoherent mess of a season and of a POV character, where Robbe is part-Robbe, part-Isak.

I think all the remakes do this to a degree: there are certain beats they feel they must hit, and they hit them even though they’re off course. You need to commit either to doing a mostly faithful adaptation of the original, or to doing a remake with your own spin on the characters, but you need to be very, very careful not to just haplessly mix ‘n’ match the two. Does a scene from OG make sense within this remake universe? No? Then drop it, rewrite it, do what you need to do, just don’t carelessly recreate it if it doesn’t fit.

The way they’re writing Jens is bizarre because he seems to care enough about Robbe to ask him how he’s doing, but also not care enough to stick around and listen once the next shiny thing comes along. From the beginning they’ve set up the friendship tension with the boy squad as not just Robbe’s fault, but as a failure of his friends to pay attention as well. Like in the first episode Robbe is trying to talk to them and they just ditch him! They really need to make Jens more aware of how he himself has messed up with his friend, and not act like this is all Robbe’s doing.

We don’t need another Noor blue balls scene, thank you, bye. But if we keep this one, then we absolutely needed to see what exactly made Robbe stop in the act of sex with her, such as him flashing back to his kiss with Sander. Or even just letting us see him make the decision, because goddamn, what’s with wtFOCK not letting this young actor actually act out some of the meatiest material?

Overall, give Robbe more baby steps in his personal development, and not unbelievable leaps and changes in his behavior because the plot demands them.

I did try to think of a way to incorporate much of the same material from this week, including a hate crime, in a way that made more sense and was not ridiculously OTT or offensive. It’s hard because I really think you need to go back to the beginning of the season, but here’s what I came up with, borrowing some elements from the last episode as well.

Robbe wakes up the night after kissing Sander. He’s happy and glowing, he sees a cute text from Sander and smiles. Then he goes to the kitchen and Milan is there with a black eye or something, he’s talking to Zoë and Senne, maybe they’re tending to his injuries. Robbe asks what happened. Milan had a date last night and some homophobes started giving them a hard time, Milan wasn’t having it, punches were thrown. Milan is very shaken and upset. So is Robbe, who panics. Is this what he has to look forward to if he’s dating a gay? Will people harass him just for being out with his boyfriend? The implications of what it means to be a gay person in this world hit him really hard. He looks at Sander’s text again and ignores him and possibly blocks him. At some point we will establish that Robbe is also ignoring texts/calls from everyone else, too: Noor, Jens, his mom...

Sander shows up the next day outside Robbe’s place after Robbe has been ignoring him. He tries to talk to Robbe, but Robbe is freaked out and visibly nervous, his eyes darting around - he’s paranoid now about being seen with Sander, due to Milan’s incident. He’s worried about being a target for homophobic violence, understandably so. Sander doesn’t realize that Robbe’s frightened, however, and keeps talking and being nice. Robbe tries to play off the other night as just him being drunk, it was a mistake. When Sander physically gets too close to Robbe, Robbe yells that he’s not gay and runs inside, leaving Sander alone.

Robbe encounters Milan at home alone. Milan is still bruised from the homophobic incident. Milan is unusually subdued. Robbe says he’s sorry for what happened to Milan, it’s terrible. Robbe then sticks his foot in his mouth by saying something well-intentioned but hurtful and ignorant about how maybe Milan shouldn’t be so gay in public or w/e, since that will just attract homophobes, and that not all gay people act like Milan (meaning flamboyant, etc.) Milan gets really, really upset and snaps at Robbe about how gay people have been beaten and killed for just being who they are - basically a version of the Pride speech with a somewhat different context - and that it takes bravery and strength, Robbe doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about. So that ends on a bad note for them.

Now trying to get out of the house since he’s fought with Milan, Robbe meets up with Jens, or maybe Jens finds him at the park or whatever. Jens comments on how it’s been a while since they’ve talked. Robbe says he was just worried about what the guys would say since he blew up at them previously. Jens is like, dude, we’re your friends. You have to talk to the people who care about you, you can’t just ghost them and avoid facing your problems. Robbe takes this advice to heart. Jens tells Robbe that he’s ready to listen when Robbe wants to talk.  Maybe Robbe sees something that reminds him of Sander, like graffiti on a building, and despite his fears, we can see that he really misses Sander, and that his feelings for Sander are stronger than his fears.

Next he meets up with Noor. She’s really upset that he’s been ignoring her. He apologizes and a version of the breakup scene goes down. When Robbe leaves, we see him walk away with a conflicted expression. Sorry that he’s hurt Noor, but understanding that this was the right call, and relief that he doesn’t have to pretend any more. 

Robbe sees Milan again and apologizes for what he said last time. Milan accepts his apology. Robbe admits that he’s been confused lately because he likes a guy and he doesn’t know what that makes him. Milan says something like that’s great Robbe likes a guy and that Robbe doesn’t need to label himself right now, he should just follow his heart. Maybe that liking boys is scary (Milan points to his black eye) and sometimes you need to be careful, but at the end of the day, Milan has to be himself and live his life honestly, and so does Robbe. After Milan leaves, Robbe takes out his phone and texts Sander saying he wants to talk.

Sander meets Robbe somewhere and Robbe apologizes for ignoring him, says he freaked out because that was the first time he kissed a guy, but now he’s made up his mind that he wants to be with Sander. They kiss and make up, yayyyyy.

This is by no means a perfect solution (like the thought of then going into the shit with Britt next episode on top of this makes my head hurt), this is just an attempt to include stuff like homophobic violence, Robbe’s ghosting Sander, scenes with Jens and Noor, etc. in a way that makes a little more linear sense to me and doesn’t feel as haphazard, and isn’t super triggering or exploitative. I think if you have a hate crime happening to Robbe himself, that really needs to be the main focus from here on out, for at least a few episodes; if you have something off-screen happening to another character, you can address the topic of violent homophobia without having it dominate the season or featuring triggering scenes. And hopefully it would still have some emotional impact, because we see how it affects Milan, and some clear consequences for character development, because we see how it affects Robbe, as the situation he may find himself in one day.

If I missed anything, cultural notes, translation nuances, let me know!

[pikapeppa]

Felassan/Lavellan modern AU: Habit

Chapter 3 of Inadvisable (professor Solas AU) is posted!

In which Tamaris gets pulled into an odd conversation with a strange man named Felassan, then pulls him back into something that involves considerably less talking. 👀

Drop-dead gorgeous art by @elbenherzart​!!

~3400 words; read on AO3 instead.

- TAMARIS -

Tamaris should’ve stayed home. 

She propped one elbow on the cocktail table and idly looked around. The campus bar was full to bursting with faculty and grad students. Many of the grad students looked younger than her, and all of them were bright and shiny and enthusiastic about starting their grad careers.

Good for them, she thought flatly. She took a sip of her whiskey and raised an eyebrow at Athera. “You’re drinking that cider awfully slowly, considering the day you had.”

Athera sighed. “I wish I could get buzzed, believe me. But the last thing I want to do is show up at work hungover tomorrow and have Abelas — sorry, professor Abelas — thinking I’m a drunk as well as an incompetent baby.”

Tamaris curled her lip. “I still can’t believe he insisted on you calling him ‘professor’. What a dick.”

“Shh,” Athera hissed. She elbowed Tamaris. “Keep your voice down! He might be here. Or one of the other faculty will hear you.”

“I don’t give a shit who hears me,” Tamaris said.

“Okay, then you can find me another research coordinator job at this university,” Athera said brightly. “Make sure it’s a history or social studies lab, though. I’m a little rusty in my organic chem. I wouldn’t want to go blowing up a building by accident or something.”

Tamaris rolled her eyes. “All right, all right, I get it.” She sipped her drink again, then glanced at Nare, whose big blue eyes were scanning the room as though she was looking for someone. She was also already nursing her second cocktail of the night, which was unusual for her.

Tamaris nudged her. “What’s up with you?”

Nare glanced at her. “Hm? What do you mean?”

“You’ve been weird all afternoon since you got home from the museum,” Tamaris said. “Did you have an artistic epiphany or something while you were there?”

Nare smiled distractedly, but her eyes were still shifting around the room. “Uh… um, no. It was a good exhibit. You should go.”

“I will,” Tamaris said. “But seriously, you’re being cagey as fuck.”

Athera snorted a laugh, and Nare finally turned to face them fully. “I’m not being cagey!”

“You are too. You look like you’re being hunted,” Tamaris said matter-of-factly. “Or like you’re hunting for someone. I can’t decide.”

Athera pulled a little face. “You are acting kind of weird, lethallan. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine!” Nare said brightly. “Just excited! First day jitters, you know. Almost first day, I mean.”

“Uh-huh,” Tamaris said. She eyed Nare skeptically, then tilted her head. “I like your dress.”

Nare smiled and smoothed a hand over the short flowy skirt of her cranberry-red dress. “Thanks! It’s my favourite.”

Athera brushed a bit of lint from Nare’s shoulder. “Isn’t this the one you usually wear on first dates?”

“You’re right, it is,” Tamaris said. She raised her eyebrows at Nare. “Why are you wearing your sexy first-date dress?”

Nare scoffed. “You guys are such stalkers. It’s not a first-date dress, it’s a confidence dress.”

Athera shrugged affably. “Red is the colour of confidence.”

“Exactly,” Nare said. She took another sip from her drink — more of a gulp, really — then looked at Athera. “So you didn’t meet Solas today at the lab, then?”

“No, but Merrill said he should be here tonight,” Athera said. “That would be nice if you met him tonight, hey? Get it out of the way so it’s not so nerve-wracking tomorrow.”

“Yeah, that would be nice,” Nare said, and she drained the last of her drink. 

Tamaris narrowed her eyes at Nare, but before she could pick on her some more, Athera straightened up and tapped Nare’s arm. “Oh, speaking of Merrill, she’s over there with Dagna and Tamlen! Come on, you should meet them. I’ll introduce you guys.” She looped her arm through Tamaris’s elbow, but Tamaris balked.

“You go ahead,” she said. “I’ll wait here.”

Athera’s face fell. “Why? You should come meet them! We’re probably going to end up spending a lot of time hanging out with them.”

Tamaris shook her head and extracted her arm from Athera’s grip. “It’s all right. You guys go have your ancient Elvhen lab chat. I’ll be here.”

“Seriously, Tam, are you okay?” Nare asked.

Her expression was apologetic, and Tamaris frowned. Nare and Athera both knew she hated making small talk with strangers. “I’m fine,” she said testily. “Why are you asking?”

Nare pulled a little face. “I don’t know. I just… now I feel kind of bad dragging you here.”

Tamaris gave her a chiding look. “Don’t feel bad. It’s fine. You meant well.” She rolled her eyes. “Getting the fuck out of the house is apparently good for people sometimes.”

Nare smirked, then squeezed her arm. “All right, we won’t be gone long.”

Tamaris nodded and watched as Athera and Nare slipped away into the crowd. She sighed and finished her whiskey, then leaned her elbows on the table and watched the new students chattering with each other and making nervous attempts to talk to the faculty members.

“Well, you look out of place.”

Tamaris rolled her eyes at the strange male voice. Some men just couldn’t get the hint to fuck off even if it was practically stamped across the back of her leather jacket. 

She glanced dismissively at the man who’d spoken to her, then paused in surprise. He was a tall lean elf with unusual violet eyes and a cocky little smirk. But it was his hair that really surprised her. His midnight-black hair was long and lustrous, probably longer than Tamaris’s if it was loose, but it was pulled into a neat bun at his nape, with two understated braids that coursed from his temples back into the bun: a style that was both classic and foreign.

“Like you should talk,” she said. “You’re from Arlathan, aren’t you?”

The stranger smiled. “What gave me away? The accent? The sense of superiority?”

Tamaris smirked despite herself. “Definitely the accent. The superiority hasn’t reared its head yet.”

He chuckled and stepped a little closer to her. “Yet, you say? I’ll keep that in mind and try to hide it for as long as possible.”

She huffed. “Don’t bother. If you’re an asshole, might as well just admit it up front.”

“But then you would stop talking to me,” he said.

“Yeah, I would,” she said bluntly. “It would save us both a lot of time.”

His smile widened, and he held out his hand. “Felassan.”

She hesitated for a second, then shook his hand. “Tamaris.”

“Tamaris,” he said slowly. He released her hand. “That’s a classic Elvhen name. Do you know what it means?”

Oh boy, she thought ruefully. “Let me guess: you’re going to tell me,” she drawled.

“I could, if you like,” he said.

She eyed him skeptically, then turned to face him and folded her arms. “Go on, then. Tell me.”

He leaned casually against the cocktail table and folded his arms as well. “‘Tamaris’ means ‘my forever second’. The meaning is not unlike ‘best friend forever’ or ‘partner forever’.”

Tamaris barked out a rough little laugh. “What a line. How lucky for you that it doesn’t mean something unflattering like ‘thorny weed’.”

“It is lucky, isn’t it?” Felassan said pleasantly. “But then again, one man’s weed is another man’s favourite flower.”

She stared at him incredulously. That was smooth as hell. How had he come up with that response so fast? “I’m sorry, who the fuck are you?” she asked. “Are you a student?”

He lifted one eyebrow. “Do I look like a student?”

“No, actually,” Tamaris said. “You’re dressed like shit compared to everyone else here.” To be fair, Felassan wasn’t badly dressed; his black jeans and Converse sneakers were well-fitted and clean, and his Veilfire t-shirt was also a flattering fit that showcased his lean but muscled chest. All the same, he was wearing jeans and a t-shirt when every other man in the room was wearing blazers or collared shirts.

He snickered. “I could say the same about you. I don’t see any other women here in combat boots.”

“Well, I’m not a student,” Tamaris said.

“Neither am I,” Felassan said. “Not anymore.”

“Oh,” Tamaris said. “Congratulations.”

He tilted his head. “Why do you say that?” 

“I…” She trailed off, feeling a little nonplussed. “I assumed you finished your degree.”

“What degree do you assume that I finished?”

“Uh… fuck, I don’t know.” She stared at him with growing bemusement. “Did you finish a degree?”

“I did, in fact,” he said. “I finished my PhD two years ago.”

“Oh,” she said again. Then she frowned at him. “Then why the fuck were you giving me such a hard time about saying congratulations?”

He smirked. “For the pleasure of seeing the confusion paint your pretty face.”

She stared at him for a second longer, then scoffed. “Fuck’s sake. You’re a real menace, you know that?”

“Thank you,” he said cheerfully. “I try my hardest.”

She huffed in amusement and reached for her whiskey glass, then realized it was empty. Felassan nodded his chin at her glass. “Would you care for another?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Why are you talking to me?”

“Should I not be talking to you?” he asked.

She shrugged. Now that he was talking to her, she didn’t really mind, but it didn’t explain what had brought him over in the first place. “I don’t exactly look inviting,” she said.

“That’s true,” he agreed.

“So what then?” she demanded. “Why did you bother me?”

“Because I like the look of your face,” he said.

She raised her eyebrows. “My face? You mean my resting bitch face that you totally ignored?”

He smiled, but his tone was serious. “I mean that you weren’t smiling. Yours was the only face in this crowd that wasn’t smiling.”

She shot him a look of rebuke. “So what, you came over here to make me smile? Did you think smiling would make me more pretty?” 

“You mistake my meaning,” he said. “You were not smiling, but you looked as if you were seeking a reason to smile.”

Something in her belly twisted uncomfortably. She huffed and looked away from him. “Aren’t you a fancy fucking fortune-teller.”

“Not at all,” he said. “Just someone who recognizes the feeling.”

She glanced at him once more. For the first time since he’d come over to her, his expression was completely serious. 

She dropped his gaze again and shrugged. “All right. I could use another drink.” 

A small smile lifted his lips, and he gallantly ushered her to the bar. A minute later, he handed her a glass of whiskey before lifting his own. 

“Enansal’in,” he said. “Or ‘cheers’, as you would probably say.”

“Cheers,” she said. She tapped her glass to his, then eyed him as she sipped her drink. He was undeniably smooth, which instantly made her suspicious. He’d also obviously been watching her, since he knew exactly what she’d been drinking. 

Some women might find it charming. Tamaris found it creepy. On the other hand, he was hot and clever, and she hadn’t had sex since she and the girls had moved to Orlais a few months ago. And if Felassan wasn’t a student anymore, she probably wouldn’t get stuck running into him through Nare or Athera. 

She gulped down the rest of her drink, then placed her glass on the bar. “Do you smoke deep mushroom?”

He grinned. “Deep mushroom isn’t legal in Orlais.”

“I don’t give a fuck what’s illegal in Orlais,” she retorted.

Felassan chuckled. “You really are my kind of woman.”

She scoffed. “Come on, then,” she said. She pushed away from the bar and headed for the door, and a minute later, they were standing against the wall in the empty alley beside the campus bar. 

Tamaris pulled a joint of elfroot and deep mushroom from her purse and deftly lit it, then offered it to Felassan. He took it with a smile and brought the joint to his lips, then took a deep drag and released the smoke in a series of perfect rings. 

“Show-off,” Tamaris accused. 

He treated her to another handsome grin, then handed her the joint. “Where do you hail from, then, if you smoke deep mushroom with such impunity?”

“Kirkwall, most recently,” Tamaris replied.

He nodded. “Ah, Kirkwall. I’ve heard tales. Is it true that it’s possible to get anything there if you know the right people?”

Tamaris huffed in amusement. “Pretty much, yeah.” She took another drag of deep mushroom and handed him the joint, then eyed him thoughtfully as he smoked it. “You’ve never been there, then?”

He shook his head and exhaled a cloud of smoke. “Orlais is the only place I’ve been since leaving Arlathan.”

Tamaris nodded slowly. “Orlais is… honestly, there are better places to visit. You should travel more.”

“Are you well-travelled?” he asked.

“I wouldn’t say that, really, but I’ve visited a few places,” she said. “Rivain, Antiva, a few of the Free Marcher states…”

Felassan raised his eyebrows. “That sounds well-travelled to me. You have been many places more than I.” He held out the joint.

Tamaris took the joint and brought it to her lips. “Our reservation is just east of Starkhaven, so it’s pretty well-situated for making trips along the east coast.”

“Reservation?” Felassan said. “You’re Dalish, then?”

Tamaris frowned. She hadn’t meant to tell him that. She didn’t usually like getting into the ‘are you actually Dalish’ conversation with strangers.

Serves me right for smoking deep mushroom with a stranger, she thought ruefully. She took another deep drag, then held out the joint to him. “Yeah. I’m really Dalish. This vallaslin isn’t just a ‘cute aesthetic’.”

Felassan nodded thoughtfully. “That tattoo means something to you.”

“Of course it does,” she said. Then she gave him an appraising look. “I’m kind of surprised you don’t have vallaslin.”

He smiled slowly before exhaling a mouthful of smoke. “Why is that?” he asked.

“Vallaslin is an ancient Elvhen tradition,” she said. “I thought you Arlathani elves knew those traditions better than we do.”

He laughed softly and handed her the joint. “I would no more compare Dalish and Arlathani traditions than I would compare a dragon and a lizard.”

Tamaris narrowed her eyes. “And who’s the lizard in this scenario? Us or you?”

“Either,” Felassan said. “Take your pick. The dragon and the lizard are so far removed as to defy comparison.”

Tamaris lifted her chin. “You’re telling me you don’t think the dragon is more powerful than the lizard?”

He gazed at her in silence for a moment before replying. “I’m saying there might be a reason I am still in Orlais even though I finished my degree two years ago.”

Tamaris studied him wordlessly. His lips were curled at the corners with humour, but there was something about his eyes on her face that felt… piercing, somehow. Like he was seeing more on her face than just her vallaslin.

She looked away from him and took one last deep drag from the joint, then dropped the butt on the ground. She blew out the smoke in a long exhale, then turned back to Felassan.

She stepped very close to him and curled her fingers in the fabric of his t-shirt, and a wicked smile lit his face. “Is there something I can help you with?” he said.

His voice was laced with mischief and a hint of heat, and a little seed of lust bloomed deep in her belly. “Yes,” she said, and she kissed him.

His lips parted beneath hers, and Tamaris dipped her tongue into his smoke-perfumed mouth. His hands rose to cradle her neck before sliding into her hair, and Tamaris savoured the warmth of his palms on her scalp.

Felassan’s tongue slid smoothly around her own, a slow heated caress inside of her mouth, and Tamaris was surprised to feel her shoulders relaxing at the slow and soothing movement of his mouth over hers. Then his fingers tightened in her hair, and he gently tugged her head back. 

She gasped as a rush of lust fanned through her body. A second later, she was pressed against the cool alley wall with Felassan’s hands in her hair and his mouth at her throat. 

She gasped again and clenched her fingers in his shirt. His teeth and lips were trailing slowly along the tendon in her neck with a torturous sort of delicacy, and the frantic pulse between her legs was a total mismatch with how slowly and carefully he was kissing her neck. 

He lapped gently at her neck, and she dragged in a breath. “F-fuck,” she whimpered. 

He dropped another tantalizing kiss on her throat, then leaned away slightly and stroked her neck with his palms. “Tamaris, I thought you should know. I… don’t make a habit of this.”

“A habit of what?” she panted.

“Kissing strangers in alleyways outside of bars,” he murmured.

She scoffed. “Uh-huh.”

He quirked one eyebrow. “You don’t believe me?”

“With how smooth you are?” she said archly. “Of course I don’t fucking believe you.” Not that it mattered whether this was a habit of his or not; she was primed and ready for him, and she didn’t care if she never heard from him again after this, not if he was able to fuck her as well as he kissed.

He smiled slowly and stepped even closer to her — close enough that the hard ridge of his groin was pressing against her belly. Her eyelids fluttered at the feel of his hardness, and he chuckled softly. “I can understand your suspicion,” he murmured. “Words are cheap and easy, aren’t they?” 

She nodded distractedly, and Felassan tilted her chin up with one hand. “This is a conundrum, then. How to convince you that I’m not the playboy that you take me for?”

“I don’t care if you’re a playboy,” she panted. 

He brushed his lips over hers. “I do,” he whispered. He kissed her softly, then coaxed her lips apart with little careful laps of his tongue before sealing his lips over hers. 

Tamaris whimpered, but the sound was muffled by his tongue sliding smoothly along the length of hers. He was so gorgeous, and his kisses were so careful and delicious, and when was the last time anyone had kissed her like this? That anyone had taken the time to really kiss her, like the kissing in itself was an act worth enjoying in its own right rather than the necessary prelude to something more? 

Not that she didn’t want more – gods, did she ever want more. And her apartment was just a fifteen-minute walk down the street… 

She gripped Felassan’s hips and pressed herself firmly against his front. He broke their kiss and groaned: a gorgeous, bone-melting sound that trickled down her spine and lit a fresh pulse of desire through her core. 

Then he released her and stepped away. 

She stared breathlessly at him. His cock was a visible ridge in his pants, and he was smiling broadly.

“Goodnight, Tamaris,” he said. “It was a pleasure to meet you.” He bowed his head politely, then turned and walked away. 

Tamaris watched in disbelief as he turned the corner and disappeared. By the time she was able to move her lust-paralyzed limbs and step out of the alley back onto the street, he was gone. 

Un-fucking-believable, she thought. She stood on the sidewalk for a second, torn about what to do next. Should she go home and get herself off, or should she go back into the campus bar and get rip-roaring drunk by herself? She honestly couldn’t decide which option was more tempting or pathetic. 

She sighed heavily, then pulled her phone out of her purse to find a number of texts from Athera.

-Athera 22:37- Where are you? Did you go home?

-Athera 22:37- Nare abandoned me to talk to someone else lol  

-Athera 22:45- Taaaaaaaam don’t ghost me ilu ToT

-Athera 22:48- Seriously though I should probably get going soon, early work tmr ugh. Are you guys gonna come home with me? Hot choccy when we get home? I’ll make it :3

That was about ten minutes ago. Tamaris sighed and shoved back her hair, then tapped out a reply. 

-Tamaris 22:58- Just outside for some air. Coming back in

She dropped her phone back in her purse, then realized something: neither she nor Felassan had thought to get each other’s phone numbers. 

She froze for a second, then laughed bitterly to herself. Of course she hadn’t gotten his phone number. And of course she hadn’t gotten any sex. That was just her luck. 

“Fuck’s sake,” she muttered, then shoved open the door to the campus bar and went back inside. 

[lustresky]

kahit ‘di mo alam [james ‘bucky’ barnes x f!filipina!reader]

summary: After an emotionally taxing mission, you and Bucky share some stories— and maybe also some leche flan along the way.

wc: 5200ish. (might have went to town on this one.. haha woops)

themes: angst (i need to chill tf out i’m sorry:’’/), some fluff ig, happy but kind of ambiguous ending (mayhaps a sequel....), mention of ptsd/trauma, hydra being shitty, bucky trying his best to comfort reader (this is my first time writing him so sorry if he’s kinda ooc..), filipina!reader, also kinda cliché idk

a/n: psa, i do not know how to bake. all i am is your typical filipina girl who has a soft spot for bucky and also thinks that there needs to be more poc centered readers. that is all<3 thanks to @ panlasang pinoy for da leche flan recipe lmao. also! title is a song by december avenue, which i think fits this story. check it out if you want!:]

requests are open! & pls don’t forget to like and reblog, thank you! c:

You hum quietly to yourself, beating the yolks with a silver balloon whisk that Tony had.

Out of all the things that you would never have thought Tony would own when you first joined the team, a full on expensive ass baking set was on the top of the list. Hell, you don’t even think that he’s ever opened the oven door before; but then again, the guy’s loaded, so maybe it wasn’t really a smart idea to wonder what he did or did not own.

Whatever— you thought to yourself. Pondering about what the billionaire did with his money wasn’t really what you should be focusing on right now, anyways.

You continue with the repetitive motion of your hand, stopping once the eggs were smooth. Gradually, you add the condensed milk, followed by the regular milk and then finally, a few teaspoons of vanilla extract. You mix the concoction once more, your bottom lip caught in between your teeth as you focus on the task at hand.

You didn’t hear the gradual shuffling of feet into the kitchen, nor the opening and closing of the refrigerator door; and so you were startled out of your concentration when Bucky Barnes himself ended up in front of you, a bowl of oatmeal in his hands as he positions himself properly on the island chair.

He doesn’t greet you— and honestly, you weren’t expecting him to anyways. You two were never really close; acquaintances at best, with how high both of your walls were built.

You really only knew Bucky from what Steve had shared. You knew that he was part of the Howling Commandos, that he’s Steve’s life long best friend, that HYDRA had brainwashed him and used him against his own will...

Even just thinking about that acronym still makes bile rise up in your throat.

HYDRA had also imprisoned you, beat you, used your body for their own gain. Your stories were similar. Two unwilling and unlucky humans— taken against their own volition, experimented on like a pack of mouse labs, memory and history wiped out to store target information…

You take a breath, trying to steady yourself.

Baking had been the only thing that you remembered from your past. As much as HYDRA tried to erase your history, the memory of your lola’s kitchen came back time and time again, relentless and the only sense of soundness that you found yourself with. The cartons of eggs, the measuring cups, the light dusting of flour all over the table, the rays of the hot afternoon sun peeking through the curtains, the smell of the freshly baked pandesal wafting through the air…

It was comforting, sometimes it was the sole thing that made you calm down. The only pleasant memory that you had left of the simple life that you barely remembered, but greatly missed and longed for.

Hence, before you knew it, you were in the spacious kitchen of the compound; making leche flan to calm your nerves and trying your best to forget what had just happened a few hours ago.

The mission had ended with the team’s victory, sure, but you don’t think that you’ll ever forget the image that had seared itself in your mind. You desperately wanted to forget the sight of Bucky, vulnerable as he lay on the ground with his metal arm torn off of his body, right before an enhanced individual gave him a powerful blow square on his abdomen.

Blood had spluttered out of his mouth, red, bright, coating the brick walls that you were both enclosed in. The mission should’ve been simple: break in, grab the information needed, and then bring said information back. There should’ve only been a few guards. It should’ve been a quick mission— but the sight of Bucky being plummeted with no remorse brought you back memories. Memories that you had tried so desperately to forget.

You bite your bottom lip harder, unintentionally gripping the bowl and whisk in your hands tighter as your arm mixes faster— faster and faster until you suddenly find yourself with a splatter of batter on your cheek.

You groan. Nice one, Y/N, you thought.

You hear a small snicker in front of you and you look up, embarrassed and annoyed. Bucky just stared back at you, a hint of a smirk on his face.

Taking a quick but good look at him, you notice that he had cleaned himself up. His hair was still damp from a shower. It was wavy, pulled back into a small ponytail behind his neck. His face was clear of soot and blood, and he no longer wore his combat outfit.

You can’t help but flicker your eyes over to his left arm, familiarity getting the best of you. You know that you should be rational, but you still feel your shoulders sink as your gaze missed the glint of metal that you were accustomed to.

Bucky senses your wandering eyes. He shakes his head, head dipping back into his bowl of oatmeal. “It isn’t your fault.” He mutters, voice raspy.

You huff, setting down the metal bowl on the marble counter with a bit too much force. You take off your apron and with it, you hastily wipe the splashed part of your face clean; or at least, as clean as you can without a mirror.

“No,” You argue, feeling your throat tighten as the memory and your emotions flashed through your mind once again. You ball up the now dirty apron, throwing it onto the counter. “It is.”

When you had seen him lying on the floor, taking hits every single second, you were unable to move. You had felt helpless, weak... cowardly. It was dumb. You were an Avenger, for Christ's sake. Your life was plenty of danger— seeing people getting hurt had never shook you so hard to the core before. Hell, you survived HYDRA.

Yet the memories were enough to make you freeze up.

Thankfully, Steve had showed up right before the enemy had landed his final blow. If it wasn’t for him, you highly doubted that Bucky would’ve been sitting in front of you right now, casually eating his oatmeal as if he didn’t almost just die a few hours ago.

When Bucky tilted his head up to look at you, ready to retaliate, you stood your ground and stared right back at his light blue eyes. Neither of you said a word.

You were angry. Mad. Furious. At Bucky? Maybe. Him dismissing the fact that you almost let him die and treating your mistake lightly was a thing in its own, but fuck. You were mad at yourself.

You feel incompetent. Useless. You almost let a teammate die, even if physically, you were completely capable of saving them. You drop your head down, unable to continue looking at someone whose life was in your hands just a few moments ago. A life that you were fully capable of protecting, but couldn’t, just because of some stupid fucking memories coming back to haunt you.

Before you know it, a hot tear ran down your cheek— and you hurriedly wiped it away with your arm. Now isn’t time, you hiss at yourself. Baring vulnerability in the middle of the kitchen? Ha. you thought to yourself.

Pathetic.

You grip the edge of the marble tiles, steadying yourself and trying to control your breathing. In and out. In and out. One, two. One, two. It was shaky at first, but after a few seconds of repeating the exercise, you managed to get a loose grip on it. Just enough of a hold to straighten your posture and set aside your mixture, before bolting away from the kitchen and into your bedroom a few doors down the hall.

Once inside, your resolve crumbles. You didn’t even have time to lay on your bed, your legs just giving up and leaving your body down on the carpet. Fresh hot tears ran down like rivers on your face, your nose stuffed, your eyes blurred. Your lungs heaved, just trying its best to give you enough oxygen, but you’re sniffling, your throat’s dry, and your mind’s weary and everything just feels like absolute shit.

You don’t remember how long you had sat there, your legs against your chest, head in your knees and hands on the back of your head as the rest of the water in your body leaves in tears.

You hate feeling like this. Emotional, vulnerable, sensitive… You aren’t supposed to be like this. You have a job. You can’t let your own personal problems get in the way of accomplishing what needed to be done. There isn’t any backing out in what you’re doing. There isn’t a delete nor reverse button. If you fuck up, you fuck up, and that’s that.

Your bedroom door suddenly opens, the unexpected sound making you flinch. Fuck, you forgot to lock it.

Still, you hold your head down against your knees. You don’t want to see anyone right now, you don’t even think that you have any energy left to make a proper conversation. Your throat’s dry, your nose is stuffed, your eyes are sore. You absolutely feel like shit.

The intruder continued their pace, before stopping in front of you. You hear a shuffling of legs, and something being set on your nightstand, until you feel a warm hand lay itself on the side of your left leg. They gave you a couple of soft pats.

From your position, you can’t really see who they are; you had a gut feeling that it was Wanda— but then again it can also be Nat. Or maybe even Steve.

Whoever it was, you know that they’re just trying their best to help, and you appreciate their concern, truly, but you just don’t think you’re capable of talking about something so close to your heart with someone else.

At least, not right now.

Except, you also know that they wouldn’t leave without any verbal cue, and so you force a smile, a truly fake and horrible one as you lift your head up to try and convince whoever it was who decided to check up on you that you’re fine, thanks, and that you just need some space— but as soon as your eyes focused on the person in front of you, your act drops, as the one who you expected the least stared back.

Before you can even ask him to leave, he beats you to it. “Here,” He says, getting up on his knees and retrieving the bottle of water that he had placed on your night stand. “Drink this.”

Wordlessly, you comply. The quench of the water on your tongue clearing your head, hydrating your body back.

Eyes glued to the carpet, unwilling to look anywhere else, you pass him back the glass. Bucky takes it and places it back to where he had originally put it.

He clears his throat. “Listen, Y/N… I— I know that we aren’t really… we aren’t really on the best of terms but— if you want to talk about it, I’m all open ears— but if you want me to leave and forget about this, I’ll head straight out the door.”

“I just—“ Bucky continues, and although your eyes were still fixating on the tufts of wool of your carpet, from the corner of your eye you could still see him shuffle awkwardly on his kneeling position. “I just want you to know that I’m here for you. We all are.”

You… didn’t really know what to say.

Here Bucky was, a soldier, another person who had undergone through HYDRA’s torment, someone whose walls have since been taller then, a teammate who you respected but aren’t close to— hell, barely even really friends with; offering you comfort, a place to vent, a shoulder to let your head rest.

As much as you barely knew him, you feel a pull in you to let him stay.

Bucky, however, takes your silence as refusal. Your eyes catch his legs unfolding from their position, straightening out as he stands up. He doesn’t say anything else as he turns towards the door.

“No, wait—“ You croak, cringing mentally at your voice. Looks like the water didn’t do as well of a job as you thought did. Letting out a much needed sigh, you finally let your gaze strike his, and once it made contact, you saw him. Clearly.

His eyes are cloudy, concern evident in his features. His dark brows are furrowed, lips set in a straight line.

You muster up some courage, and whisper, “Stay.”

Bucky’s expression flickers for a moment, concern turning into total surprise for just a millisecond, and if you had more energy you would have maybe laughed— but you didn’t. Instead, you cast your eyes back to the floor as you hear him shuffle back to you.

He sits to your left, legs crossed, arm on his lap. He doesn’t say anything for a while, the sound of your breathing and his being the only sounds filling your bedroom for a few minutes.

It wasn’t exactly a comfortable silence, some awkwardness from you both definitely seeping through... but nevertheless, your eyes start to get heavy.

Bucky, somehow sensing your current situation, clears his throat— effectively gaining your attention. Your head snaps up to meet his eyes.

“If you want… you can, you know…” He gestures to his right shoulder with his hand. He doesn’t continue his sentence, knowing that you had caught on to his proposition.

Too tired and sleepy to say no, you let out a breath and say fuck it.

You shuffle closer to his body, and as you lean your head down, a wave of fatigue washes over you. You hear Bucky inhale a breath as you finally drop, the left side of your face colliding with his shoulder.

As much as your body was pleading for you to simply close your eyes and just… rest— it still feels too awkward to do so. The silence is deafening, and as much as you appreciate Bucky lowering down his walls just a bit, you can’t help but let the next words tumble out of your mouth;

“What was it like in the ‘40s?”

You feel him stiffen beside you, and for a moment you worry that you had asked for more than you can chew, but within the next second Bucky lets out a small chuckle. He shakes his head slightly, a few strands of his freshly washed hair subsequently grazing over your face. It tickled.

“It was…” He starts, seemingly finding the proper words to say. “It was definitely a different time.” He concludes, sounding nostalgic and full of wistfulness.

His voice: deep and gravelly, began to lull you to sleep. You’ve never heard him quite like this before, often, his words were quick and precise and straight to the point. Never full of sentiment, never so… warm.

You want to hear more. So you hum in response, wanting to know more about his old life, urging him to go on— and go on he did.

He talked about the memories that Shuri had helped him remember from his time in Wakanda. His secret rendezvous, his childhood with Steve, their adventures and misadventures. He went on, his own memories making place in your own mind and pushing aside the ones that had you freezing up before. The ones that had broken you down are now being replaced by silly anecdotes, wistful memories and nonsensical stories.

Without even noticing it, you find yourself asleep on his shoulder, a small smile on your face as Bucky recounts another thought from the past.

You don’t know how long you had fallen asleep, but the crank in your neck was enough to tell you that it might have just been a bit too long. Your bottom aches, sore from the not so cozy flooring, and your back definitely needs to be stretched. Your body hurts, but at least your chest feels lighter.

You lift your head up from Bucky’s shoulder, feeling him flinch from your sudden movement. His head pulls back from its resting place on your wall. He looks back at you, confused.

He meets your eyes, and it seems that he had just woken up as well… had he fallen asleep too?

Bucky just continues gazing into your eyes, and you can’t help but just… stare back. Thankful for his comfort.

“I…” You whisper, about to thank him, until you remember the dessert that you had just hastily cast aside before bolting to your bedroom. “The leche flan!” You cry out, worried— fuck, if you leave it out for too long it could spoil!

Bucky, however, became even more confused at your outburst. You calm yourself down for a moment, letting out a sigh.

“My— uh, my dessert.” You explain, embarrassed. “It could spoil if I leave it out too long— I need to… I need to get back to it.”

Bucky’s eyes widen, thankfully understanding your dilemma, giving you a nod. So you lift your body up, stretching it just a bit, your bones popping themselves back into place.

You’re almost out of your door when you hear footsteps from behind and to no surprise you see Bucky, hair disheveled and lounge clothes wrinkled. You fight an urge to giggle. The all powerful soldier, looking all messy and drowsy... It’s definitely a sight to behold, maybe even a precious one at that.

He runs his hands through his hair, loosening his ponytail and settling his hair tie around his wrist with one hand. You try to ignore the way his fingers easily managed to do that. “If… I mean if you need a hand… I can— help?” He suggests, voice dropping to an unsure whisper by the end of his sentence.

You feel your mouth pull into a small smile, and this time, you let it do so. “Sure.”

So to the kitchen both of you went, a comfortable silence and understanding settling between you two. You quickly spot your metal mixing bowl from before, alone on the island counter. A relieved sigh falls from your lips as you peek an eye into the container to see the mixture untouched.

“So…” You start, grabbing the apron that you had thrown onto the counter in a fury. You don’t bother with getting a new one— it’s only slightly dirty, anyway. You put it on, tying it around your waist and patting it down slightly in less than a second. “Let’s get you an apron, shall we?”

You open the cabinet in which you keep the aprons and pick one up at random, giving it to Bucky with one hand— your back still turned away from him— as you use your other hand to close the door. When you turn back to face him, a complete look of hesitation is on his face.

You raise an eyebrow. “What’s up?”

Bucky clears his throat. He looks up at you, and then at his arm, sheepishly. “Can you…?”

Eyes widening, you quickly nod, ashamed that you had forgotten about something so important. “Yes, of course.”

You walk to his side, grabbing the piece of cloth on his hand and positioning yourself behind him. “Here.” You say, grabbing the bib part and looping it around his neck. You brush his hair out of the way, inadvertently appreciating its softness, as the neck ribbon then lays itself properly against his neck. “Arms up.” You order, Bucky complying instantly. Taking the other two pieces of ribbon by his side, you wrap it around his waist and tie it by his back with a small little bow, tightening it just enough for it to not fall off but still be comfortable. “There.”

“Thanks.” He mutters, turning around to face you with a grateful smile, hair swishing as he did so. You smile, but then you realize that he should probably tie it just so that it won’t get dirty or in the way.

Before you know it, you ask him, “Want me to tie your hair, too?”

Bucky’s eyes widened, and upon realizing what you had just said too, your eyes did the same. Was that too much? You quickly open your mouth, desperately trying to apologize. “I’m just— it could get dirty or in the way if you don’t… and doing it with one hand must be…” You explain, inwardly cringing at your own words and not even trying to finish your statement.

Thankfully, Bucky quickly catches up to what you were trying to say. He flashes you a reassuring grin. “I would appreciate it, doll.”

You tried to ignore the butterflies swarming in your stomach at that little nickname.

Getting the hair tie from his wrist, you desperately ignore the way your hands brushed against his. You angle your body towards his back once more, raking your hands softly in his hair, grabbing it gently and putting it into a comfortable ponytail.

“Thanks again,” He turns around to face you, gratitude clear in his eyes. You just smile back at him, feeling the heat creep up to your face. Thank God your skin doesn’t easily show colour.

You had never been this close to him before— and the bedroom incident (You had decided to label that... ’moment’ in your mind like that as of right now.) just a few minutes ago didn’t quite count as you weren’t looking at him, nor were you a hundred percent conscious during that encounter.

Before things get even more awkward, you quickly turn your body back to the kitchen island. “Well then— let’s continue with this, shall we?” You announce, wanting to just calm your feverishly beating heart and the rise of heat in your cheeks. Maybe agreeing to let him bake with you isn’t as good of an idea as you had thought.

Bucky just gave a hum as a response, and so you went about and explained to him each and every step that needed to be done. Thankfully, you had already finished mixing up the batter, and so now all you really had to do was heat up the sugar, pour the batter into the moulds, and then steam it all up. Just three more steps and you’re done.

“So,” You start, grabbing the metal containers that you had already pulled out from the cabinets before you had started. “This—” You lift one up, pointing at it with your index. “Is called a llanera. What we’re basically going to do is pour some sugar in it, heat that up until it’s nice and brown and syrup-y, and then we add the batter. Got it?”

“A yah-neh-rah?” Bucky asks, rolling the word over his tongue, getting the feel of it. You smile at his well-executed attempt.

“Yep,” You reply, placing the mould down onto the counter. You grab the sugar jar and a tablespoon, dipping it into the container and sprinkling a generous amount all over the metal container. “Actually— I’ll heat up the sugar and then you can pour the batter in, that sound good to you?”

Bucky just gave a hum once more, signalling his approval of your plan.

After about two tablespoons, you put it aside and walked towards the stove top, Bucky following beside you in earnest with the metal bowl containing the egg mixture in his arm. Turning the dial up, you put on an oven mitt as you wait for the range to get hot enough; and once it does, you hold the metal tin a few centimetres away from the top of the burner. Within minutes, the sugar caramelizes, turning into the familiar, brown syrup.

The scent that then fills the kitchen is heavenly, pure sugar wafting through the air. You hear Bucky sniff, and you let out a smile, happy that he liked it too.

You place the hot tin onto a cooling rack. “Your time to shine.” You smile up at Bucky, motioning for him to go ahead and pour the batter in.

With a gentle and cautious hand, Bucky slowly tilts the bowl into the mould, the creamy mixture pouring itself out. After a few seconds, you say, “Okay… that’s good— you can stop now.” He swiftly follows your instruction, stopping when there‘s only 2 or more so centimetres left in the pan before the batter touches the rim. He looks up at you, expectant.

Before you know it, the thought passes by your mind. How cute.

Biting your lip, you set aside the flutter in your stomach. You give him a huge grin. “That was great,” You praise him, genuine pride rushing through you. “Now let’s finish the other ones, shall we?”

Bucky and you then continued on, filling the rest of the llaneras up. It was a pleasant experience, discomfort and awkwardness not present at all while both of you worked on your respective tasks. It was… soothing, you could say.

“Nice!” You cheer, clapping your hands together as Bucky finishes filing the last of the moulds, setting down the empty metal bowl in the sink right after. “Now, let’s cover it with aluminium foil and then we can steam it and eat it.” You grin up at Bucky, who simply nods back at you.

You grab the aluminum foil, eyeballing the sizes for each of the containers. It doesn’t really matter anyway, they just had to be big enough to cover the pans. Within a few, quick minutes, all of the llaneras were ready to be steamed.

Opening up the steamer, you place three of the moulds in— mentally telling yourself that you should ask Tony to buy more steamers so that you can simply just cook the next batch of leche flans all at once. You then close the handle, setting it on medium heat and the self timer on. “There.” You announce, hands unintentionally going to and resting at your hips, proud.

You face Bucky, who seem to be just as proud as you are. It seems like he had something on his mind, though, and so you tilt your head. Curious. “Something on your mind?” You ask.

He hums, hand going back to scratch the nape of his neck. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to…” He starts, giving you a reassuring smile to show you that he meant it. “But… how’d you learn how to bake?”

Your breath hitches in your throat at his question, caught off guard as the answer flashes in your mind. To say you were surprised was an understatement. You had assumed that he would ask you when the leche flan would be finished— not about your… past.

Though, you figure that he deserves to know about your history, now that you basically know all about his own. He had recounted his entire life to you just an hour or two ago, after all. It’s only appropriate that you share some of your own life with him back.

You let your hands fall from your waist, resting them in front of your stomach as you fiddled with them as you compose your answer. “Well—“ You start, taking a deep breath. Bucky, patiently, urges for you to go on with a small nod. “I don’t— I don’t really remember much from my past… just a few memories here and there.” You take a pause.

“But— there had always been this one memory, which… always stood out from the rest.” You bite your lower lip, the recollection taking place in your mind, making you smile. “I was in my lola’s— my grandma’s kitchen, dough in my hand and flour everywhere and we were—“ You feel your throat tightening up, making you take another pause. Bucky, still as patient as ever, gives you a small smile and wordlessly urges for you to go on. “We were making pandesal… a type of bread…” You continue, smiling, remembering the sticky hands and the rays of the hot southeast sun passing by the blinds. “It was a calm afternoon… just me and her, baking...”

“That’s all I really remember of her, and so I… every time I feel overwhelmed or every time I’m having a bad day I just— bake.” You conclude, looking up at him. There was more to the story, more that you have yet to tell him, memories that are still hard to share; but even with the small piece of it leaving your chest, your whole body feels lighter, grateful for having been listened to.

Bucky just stares back at you, respect evident on his face, a small smile still on his lips. “I’m… thankful that you shared that with me, Y/N.” He says, and as your name rolls off his tongue, you can’t help but smile back.

You were about to say something, but the moment was cut off by the steamer's angry beeping. You let out a small giggle as you see Bucky flinch. “Well— let’s check up on those lil’ things, shall we?”

Opening up the steamer and waving the steam away from your face, your mouth waters at the sight before you. They looked perfect.

Quickly grabbing a serving plate, you take one of the tins out and place it upside down on the ceramic— it would probably be even better if you let it cool down first in the fridge, but you can hardly wait. You give it a couple of taps, stopping once you hear the familiar ‘plop’ sound.

You take off the llanera, and a pristine and perfect looking leche flan greets you back. You hear Bucky hum in approval beside you as you take out a fork, getting a slice. Turning to your side and raising the utensil up at him, you ignore the slowly rising heartbeat in your rib cage as you muster up the courage to say, “Want the first bite?”

Bucky seemed to be taken aback at first, and for a moment you fret that you might have overestimated and overstepped your boundaries, but a small nod from him eases your worry. Lifting it up to his mouth, he lets you give him the slice. You decide to ignore the intimacy of the moment, as is the heat in your cheeks; instead focusing on his expression.

He doesn’t show nor say anything at first; and you furrow your eyebrows. Was it too sweet for his taste? Had you accidentally let some egg whites mix in with the yolks?

Before you have the chance to ask him what he thought of it, Bucky swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as his lips curled into a huge grin. “Damn... that’s really good Y/N.”

Relief rushing through you at his approval, you laugh, happy that he likes it. Not wasting another second, you open your mouth and give yourself your own slice; savouring the creaminess and sweetness of the desert. It tasted heavenly.

Looking back at Bucky, you startle yourself out of your sweet paradise as he stared back at you. Light blue— almost cerulean— eyes gazing back into yours.

“Thank you.” were the only words out of his mouth, but that still didn’t stop your heart from fastening it’s pace nor the butterflies from welcoming themselves into your stomach.

His deep and raspy voice clearly enunciated every single emotion, and you know, deep in your heart, that he wasn’t just talking about the dessert.

You smile back at him, eyes crinkling, as you say, “You’re welcome.”

[samthemarvelfan]

Goodbyes: Chapter Six

Summary: Ella Monroe is the Avengers newest recruit, handpicked by Steve Rogers himself. Indebted to him for reasons unknown, Cap pairs her up with Bucky Barnes. He is tasked with training her to relearn and hone the skills that have long since rusted. Bucky is cold and distant, and Ella can’t seem to break through the wall he’s built up for decades. He sees something in her though, and it scares him to death. Has the fate of these two strangers been sealed? …or will they always be longing…

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC, feat Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson

Warnings: DARKER THEMES AHEAD. Angst, Bucky is a dick, mutual pining, self sabotage, male-on-female violence, description of injuries, PTSD, mentions of medical talk? Sloooooow burn ahead. Fluff!

A/N: guys guys GUYS! Get ready for a lil fluff! The balls gonna get rollin’ and its a non-stop ride now. I hope you all enjoy, any and all feedback is appreciated! <3 Happy Valentine’s Day!

Taglist: @iheartsebastianstan @jjlizz @stuckysbabe @sk493494 @lefoutoir @nickangel13 @marvelismysafezone @lilulo-12 (strikethrough means the tag didn’t work! I’m sorry!)

Ow. That’s the only thought going through your head. Your eyes open and judging by the IV’s in your arm, you’re in a hospital. The events that landed you here start flooding your mind. You remember the HYDRA base, the agents, and the pain, but where is everyone? Where’s Steve? Sam? Where’s Bucky?

You sigh, Bucky.

He’d been so mad at you for ignoring him...a commanding officer. You’re in a huge amount of trouble—no doubt about that. You decide now isn’t the time to think about that, after all you were just shot.

You wanted to know if you’d dreamt him carrying you into the jet. If it was all just delirium from blood loss when you thought he was caring for you, assuring you that you’d be okay. You wanted to see him. Hell you needed too.

“Shit...” you seethe. Your right arm is in a sling and your shoulder is bandaged tightly. You scoot attempting to shimmy your body up so you could sit up some more. The sound of the door opening caught your attention, and when you saw him walk in you almost fainted.

Sergeant Barnes entered your hospital room, two water bottles in hand, dressed in black sweats with a tight, black cotton shirt. He’s being quiet as to not wake you. When he realizes you’re up he freezes, though. Unsure if he should be there at all.

“Hey...” you practically whisper. He says nothing, but takes this as an approval of his presence. There’s a chair next to your bed... right next to your bed. So close that the arm of the chair is indenting the side of mattress. Bucky grips the chair and moves it out from the bed a foot or two, then sits in it.

“Where am I?” You ask him quietly. It is then you notice that his jacket had been hanging on the chair he moved from your bed. Had he been here while you were asleep?

He opens the top of one of the water bottles, and hands it to you. “You’re at the compound. This is the med unit.” He speaks softly.

You take a sip of the cold water, relishing the hydration it gives your body. “I didn’t even know we had a medical unit on-site.” You say in an attempt to make conversation.

He stops to lock his gaze on yours. “And you wouldn’t have, had you just listened to me last night.” He sounds annoyed with you already, but also worried.

“Sam was in trouble. Steve didn’t respond to his distress call and neither did you, I did what I thought needed to be done.” To you it was simple. Your friend was in trouble, and you helped him.

“You defied a direct order, Ella.” There he goes, using your name again. “There could be serious consequences to that. If I wanted to, I could have you dismissed from the Cadet program all together.” His tone was serious but he wasn’t threatening you, he was just stating a fact.

You cleared your throat, before looking at him and fiddling with the head of your shirt. “Is that what you want?” You ask.

Why wouldn’t that be what he wants? He makes it pretty clear you’re a huge thorn in his side, and he doesn’t enjoy your company. This is an easy out for him, get rid of you and ease his work load in the process.

He smiled softly to himself. Smiled? Was that a smile on those perfect lips?

“No,” he said softly. “I just—“ 

Bucky was cut off by a tap at the door, causing him to stand quickly and move away from you even more.

“Knock-Knock...” You knew that voice. “Hey Ella, how are you doing?” Steve asks, sitting at the edge of your hospital bed.

You smile at him, unsure of what you’ve done in your life to deserve such a good friend. “I’m okay I promise. I’m just so sorry for all the trouble I caused.” You glance to Bucky, who’s gaze seemed to be locked on your shoulder.

“Can we get you anything?” Steve asks sincerely.

You shake your head, “I’m okay. I swear, I’m not looking forward to the scar this is gonna leave, but at least Sam is okay.”

Sergeant Barnes’ demeanor changed suddenly. You felt the tension in the room build and you didn’t like it. Why does he do this when other people are around?

“Sergeant Barnes,” you call to him, when his eyes meet yours you feel you heart do back-flips. How can someone be so gentle one moment and so cruel the next?

“Thank you for staying with me, and for helping me last night. I don’t know what would have happened had it not been for—“

He interrupts you, “Get this straight, Cadet. Out there—that’s the real world. The threats were dealing with are real,”

His eyes shift between yourself and Steve, who is looking at his friend with disappointment.

“The consequences are too. You get hurt, or worse...” Bucky’s jaw clenched. “The shit storm comes down on me, and people wonder why I put up with a recruit who can’t follow a simple instruction in the first place.”

Your heart falls into your stomach. “All I can do is apologize, Sergeant.” What else can you say? He clearly doesn’t wanna hear excuses, so there’s no point in trying to defend yourself.

“Despite all that,” Steve starts, “You did great out there. I don’t know if Sam,” He looks to Bucky, “or any of us would be here if you didn’t take the initiative.”

A small smile creeps across your lips, “Thanks, Cap.” The wound in your shoulder starts to throb from your elevated blood pressure. You grit your teeth, adjusting yourself on the cot.

“You’re sure you don’t need anything?” Steve asked, guilt painting his word. He rested his hand on yours, earning a stern glare from Bucky. You watch him subtly out of you peripherals, his jaw was clenched as was his metal fist.

You close your eyes momentarily, wrestling with the pain you feel in your shoulder.

“I’m alright. I just need...time.”

Bucky scoffed. “Time? You need to learn to listen to orders.”

“Buck—“ Steve started, removing his hand from yours.

He continued, “You wouldn’t be in a hospital if you could follow a simple command. You risked everyone’s safety because you’re too stubborn to do as you’re told.”

My eyes narrowed at Sergeant Barnes. Why does he do this? He treats you so differently when Steve is around, and you’re about fed the-fuck up.

“Ya know what? You’re absolutely right.” You say firmly, attempting to stand from the bed.

“Ella, just relax. He didn’t mean—“ Steve interjected.

“No Cap, I know exactly what he means.” You got to your feet; pride being the only thing hiding the pain from your face.

“Sergeant Barnes has made it very clear from the beginning what he thinks of me. What was it you said a few weeks back? Oh right, that I’m incompetent, I’m lazy, and I’m spoiled. I’m a rookie who would run from a fight the minute it started.”

Steve’s thumb and forefinger pinched the bridge of his nose, before looking at his friend. He subtly shook is head at Bucky, who kept his eyes locked on you, jaw tightly clenched.

“Guess what Sarge,” you say with disdain, gesturing to your shoulder. “I didn’t run did I?”

Bucky doesn’t speak, and his gaze on you is unyielding. “From now, keep your two-faced ass away from me.” You felt that all too familiar sting prick your eyes as you rip the IV from your arm. “You don’t know a God damn thing about me, Barnes.”

You pushed by them both, finally allowing the hot tears to stain your face as you head for your room.

“Mother...fucker...” You groan. You’re attempting to change your bandages, but unable to get it wrapped fully around your shoulder. Even with a mirror, it was impossible to do using your opposite hand.

You almost had it when a knock at the door made you jump. “Shit! Yeah, what is it?” You call, looking to the door.

The door opened slowly, revealing a casually dressed Bucky on the other side of it. You turned your back immediately, tending to your bandages again.

“What do you want?” You sneer.

He was quiet for a few seconds. You almost didn’t think he was going to say anything, until that familiar, irritated sigh passed through his lips.

“Christ, let me help you.” He said taking a few steps into your room.

You groaned. “I do not need your help.”

He scoffed. “Fine. Wrap your bandages poorly and get that wound infected.” He knew you wouldn’t protest, and shut your bedroom door.

You sigh, rolling your eyes so hard you thought they’d get stuck. You stood from the seat you had taken at your desk, walking up to him with as much attitude as you could muster and shove the gauze into Bucky’s chest. The force doesn’t move him an inch. “Just hurry up.” You command.

He unrolls the gauze, ripping it with his teeth when he deems it long enough. Bucky looks at the half-assed job you did on yourself and let’s out a chuckle.

“What is so damn funny?” You ask, annoyed to your core.

“Nothing, I just think it’s ridiculous you’d risk losing an arm for the sake of your pride.” He jested.

“What, not something you’d recommend?” You joke, nodding to his metal appendage.

He lets out a breath of laughter, “Not exactly, no.”

Bucky undoes you’re bandages, watching the pain form on your face as he moves over the open wound.

“Shit...” you intake a sharp breath of air causing him to pause. He watches you grip the edge of the table so hard, your knuckles go white.

He softly grips the spot above your elbow. “Just...take a deep breath. I’ll move as fast as I can.“ Bucky’s voice coaxes the tension from your muscles, and you relax.

Doing as he says, you inhale deeply through your nose and out through your mouth. Bucky attempts works quickly, seeing the discomfort in your face. The rough tips of his fingers cause chills to go through your body. He notices, and you hear him swallow hard.

The skin he passes over is burning, calling out for him to touch you again. You feel his warm breath on your neck, as you shudder. His body heat keeping your muscles relaxed.

“Almost done. Keep breathing.” He whispers in your ear. The smoothness in his voice coats your eardrum like honey, sending your body into a hypnotic buzz.

When he finishes he places his right hand on your bicep. His thumb stroking the smooth skin of your arm a few times. “All set, Els.” He speaks, using his nickname for you again.

You spin around to see he’s mere inches from you. “That um, that’s perfect.” You whisper. Your eyes flicker over his lips, and his do the same to yours. 

He’s so handsome. You think, Ya know, when he’s not being a total dick.

He stands to his feet quickly, breaking the intimate trance you shared. He disposed of the used bandages, and you realize that you indeed needed more help than you were willing to admit.

“Thank you.” You mumble in his general direction. You hated this, how you wanted to forgive him for all the horrible things he said to you and about you.

“You’re welcome.” He says softly.

Another moment of silence passes between you two. This is the Bucky you wanted all the time. This Bucky was kind and gentle and actually cared about you, or at least he made it seem like he did.

“So why did you come here? To my room? The last time you were here, you made it clear you didn’t wanna see me again.” You ask.

“That’s not true.” He said quickly defending himself. “You left the med unit before you were suppose to, I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Well as you can see, I’m fine.” You retort.

He looks at the ground for a moment. “I’m glad.”

You nod, as a sigh escapes your lips. The way he affects you isn’t insignificant. It means something, at least to you.

“Bucky, what are we doing?” You ask softly.

He doesn’t protest as you use his name, but rather looks at you confused. “What do you mean?”

You stand with a scoff, “This! I mean here you are, in my room...again. We’re alone and it’s private and it’s intimate so you’re being,” he steps closer as you fumble over your words, “I don’t know, you’re being the guy I wish you were all the time. When we get around people and it’s like you can’t stand the sight of me.”

He takes a step towards you again.

“I wanna know where I stand with you.” You say shyly.

He swallows hard, “This is the second time you’ve been hurt on my watch.” His face was pained as he looked at your wound.

You reach out for his hand instinctively, trying to show him that it’s not his fault. When your hand grasps his, he gently pulls you into him, playing with your fingers for a moment.

“I don’t know how to stay away from you. I’m trying, Doll. Really I am. Every time you’re around me you’re in danger and this,” he gestured to you shoulder, “This just proves it.”

He’s holding your hand with both of his now, “I want to keep you safe.”

“I’m okay, Bucky. I promise.” Is all you can say.

A breath of laughter leaves his lips, “You’re always okay, aren’t you?”

You smile, and nod. “I am...but I’m better when you’re around. Like this,—this feels...”

Bucky held you closer, encroaching your small frame with his. He’s mere inches from you now.

“It feels right, Buck.” You say, look up at him through your lashes.

He drops your hands gently, and cups your cheek with his right, holding your waist with his cool left one.

He swallows hard as he presses his forehead to yours, “I know it does, Doll. I know.”

You’re gripping his arms as he holds you. His eyes closed, breathing deeply. 

“What are you doing to me, Ella?” He whispered so low, if he wasn’t holding you, you wouldn’t have heard it.

A small smile graced your lips, “I could ask you the same thing, Sarge.”

Bucky holds you like that for a moment or two, before he gently lets you go and takes a step backward. He ran his hands over his face and through his hair.

He sighed thoughtfully, “Don’t think because you’re injured it excuses you from training. You may not be able to do hand to hand combat, but we will train your non-dominant arm to do everything your dominant one can.”

Ah, there he is. Reminding you once again that he is your commanding officer and you are his...burden.

Despite his words, a smile graced your face. “Y-you’re training me?”

He nods, and you notice the corners of his mouth turn up. “Yes. At least that way I’ll be able to keep an eye on you, and try and get some of Sam’s sloppy habits outta your head.”

“What time?” You ask happily.

He looks at you. His cerulean eyes mapping your shoulder up to your face. He reaches out and strokes your cheek with a smile, “7 A.M. Not a minute later.”

You stand from the edge of your bed, “Sir yes Sir.”

“Goodnight, Els.” He whispered.

You smiled softly, “G’night, Buck.”

That night, you had the best sleep you’ve had since being here.

...and so did Bucky.

Chapter Seven: Left

[loreleywrites]

The Gateshead Engine

If you bought the itch.io game bundle for racial justice and inequality a month ago, one of the games it contains is a single-player ttrpg called The Gateshead Engine by Adam Roy (Follow the link to buy and play yourself!)

The basis of the game is simple: It is Victorian England, and you have been commissioned to built a steampunk mech. You flip cards from a tarot deck to give you situations for your diary entries, and you can finish...basically whenever you want.

I enjoyed it greatly, and wanted to publicly share my game. Content warning for a bit of body horror and minor surgical stuff at the end? It’s not like, explicit though. Anyway, I haven’t stretched my horror muscles in a while, and I love how this game started vs where it ended. Hope y’all enjoy!

Starting Questions:

—Who are you, and why did you agree to build the Engine?

I am Loreley Weisel, German thermodynamicist on the brink of bankruptcy. Europe is corrupt, and my will careens towards destruction.

—Who is your patron, and what, if anything, do you know about them? Why did they tell you they wanted the Engine?

My patron is an English aristocrat, Thomas Boroughshire III. All I know is that he has deep pockets and a fascination for thermophysics. He wants my Engine as a mechanical marvel, a party trick for a boy with too many years behind him.

—What is your community like? What do they value and what do they fear?

The community is wealthy. Large estates line a well-kept road. Dogs are bred. Horses are shoed. Foxes are hunted. Gardens beg for release from their clipped restraints. The air itself is made of brick. They value stability, power (or the projection of it), and greed.

—What will the Engine do when it’s completed, and what will it change? (This may shift during play; for now, decide what you think the answer is when you agree to build the Engine.)

My Engine is a herald of death. The aristocracy will be beaten into submission, and England will follow France in the march towards the guillotine.

My Engine:

Diary:

Monday, April 26, 1880—

I do not belong here, in this kingdom, in this estate, in this…garage. Hope’s Paradise is far from the largest house in this community, and His Highness can barely provide enough space for me to work. He does not respect me, nor does his staff. Dinners will be cold on nights I work late. There will be no hot water when I go to draw a bath. They do not want me here.

Fitting enough; I do not wish to dwell here any longer than I have to.

The neighbors are no better. Squire Duncannon of Blah Blah Blah invites me to speak German whenever he harasses me with what he calls conversation, but refuses to use the tongue himself. His wife has never uttered a word beyond her scowl. When I pass by Covington Place, the children stop and watch, twittering among themselves. I wonder what the Duke and Duchess have told them about me. I would not know, for I have never been allowed inside their gates.

England will burn, and this wretched grove of greed will be the tinder.

Wednesday, April 28, 1880—

That godforsaken child has entered my workshop again. Grease smeared all across the floor. Handprints of coal dust cover every box and bench. Every fire hazard should come at the cost of a finger. The little brat will have nubs by week’s end.

Friday, April 30, 1880—

Saturday, May 1

A song. Melancholic, but strong. Thunderous, but ephemeral.

How many hours have slipped by tonight? Dream grips my mind like a starving urchin with hardtack. Maybe these gears and pipes are singing me a lullaby.

Oh for heaven’s sake it’s half two. To sleep with me.

Tuesday, May 4, 1880—

Fucking Third of Family horseshit-brained fool. Every thief with deep pockets thinks themselves a scientist just because they bought opium from one once. I know how to build my Engine. Fuck off with this talk about gas compression. My math is sound, and changing one element means redesigning the entire boiler system.

His Highness has been placated with some minor aesthetic downgrades that better cater to his asinine tastes. For now.

Wednesday, May 5, 1880—

Fucking Third of Family horseshit-brained fool. If it weren’t for the coal dust handprints, I’d think he was the child ransacking my workshop with relentless fervor. Instead, he has simply decided to rearrange my supplies to the garage entrance. My ankle will heal in a few days, but I cannot work on my Engine until it mends. Time is money, and he has more money than I have time.

Sunday, May 9, 1880—

The ankle works.

Monday, May 10, 1880—

His Highness invited his dearest, most important friends to dine in his atrociously cultivated garden. The Wells boy snuck off and found me in my workshop. I have never met another child like him. His curiosity is insatiable, and he knows more about thermodynamics than most learned men I’ve met.

He asked me a question I could not answer: “If this machine is meant for war, how can you fight a navy with it?”

I suppose this will be a larger problem when the revolution hatches from England and threatens the mainland. For now, I must keep focused on this single-minded task. If we make it that far, I will find an answer.

…Perhaps I am naïve and misguided.

Wednesday, May 12, 1880—

The entire community has decided to roll their porcine asses to the south of France for holiday. Such a shame I contracted a bit of a cough and elected to stay here to recover. The travel would have been much too hard on my delicate frame.

Two weeks of uninterrupted work begins tonight.

Friday, May 14, 1880—

For. Fuck’s. Sake.

Her Highness fainted at the pier moments before they were to board a ferry across the Channel. Feared she had come down with the same pestilence I had contracted. Now the entire extended Boroughshire rabble is returning posthaste.

The quiet? Gone. Their need for attention? Only I can sate it. My Engine? Still incomplete, and will be for some time.

If I drown myself in enough whiskey, the mystery of my death should keep their tiny minds occupied for at least a week.

I intend to refill my lamps and work as long as I can tonight. May their arrival home tomorrow wake me at noon for all I care.

Saturday, May 15, 1880—

I was awoken at nine in the morning. Forty minutes of unrestful rest.

Tuesday, May 17 18, 1880—

Knocked the fucking lamp looking for my pen. Lucky I didn’t burn this entire estate to ash.

…Perhaps unlucky.

He even haunts my dreams, touching my Engine and reducing it to rust at the moment that should have been my victory. What Hell of idiocy have I gotten myself into? Fucking aristocrats standing in the way of their own downfall by sheer incompetence. Back to sleep with me.

Tuesday, May 18, 1880 (again)—

I’ve read a number of fascinating papers that I received in the mail today. While I admit I know little of the burgeoning field of electrical engineering, the work being done in the States is fascinating. I intend to take a short trip into London to seek more research (And get a right stein of beer; this house and its occupants are worthless.)

Friday, May 21, 1880 (London)—

I have been granted access to ~~Royal~~ archives. Despite my distaste for locking knowledge away from the public, I am nonetheless grateful for this opportunity. All the kingdom’s brightest minds (what few there are) have recorded years of research on every possible thread of science.

Galvanic principles are fascinating to me. To think, all these thousands of years, we have had electricity inside us! Thoughts percolate, but I do not yet know to what end.

I shall return to the cursed Golden Land in the countryside tomorrow. Between my notes and a few papers, I have been allowed to abscond with, I am reinvigorated with hope for my work.

Saturday, May 22, 1880—

I should extricate and boil every last one of their tongues!

The entire community’s patriarchs were waiting in the living room of Hope’s Paradise (Clearly not my hope.)  Word got out of my project, and every cock-waggling primitive decided that this was a matter that required ending their holiday early. While their offspring splash in the Mediterranean, their sagging eyes are now fixed on that fucking garage.

I don’t know who is merely curious, who else feels inadequate enough to lie about their scientific credentials, or who wants to break my Engine merely because I’m a woman. Too many men in my workshop. Had I less restraint, an axe may have been all I needed to solve this annoyance.

Hopefully the dullards bore sooner than later. I may need to beat Mr. Duncannon with a German dictionary regardless.

Tuesday, June 8, 1880—

Between the constant need to shun nosy men from my workshop and the actual work itself, I have not had the constitution to keep my diary.

But today…ah, today! The control platform appears to be totally functional! I have toiled too long to have failure spring from my fingertips. Rotational velocities are stable, cranks and gears are greased and mobile, the Gatling guns are…gatling.

For the first time since I began my work here, I feel like I have accomplished something great. The aristocracy’s days are numbered.

Monday, June 14, 1880—

Work continues to sap my focus. Boiler…not cooperating. I fear I will lose all the work I’ve done on it due to some unforeseen flaw. A redesign at this stage would be costly, but so would continuing with a faulty boiler. Either way, I’m taking tomorrow off from work to clear my head.

Thursday, June 17, 1880—

Time off has proved productive. I finally finished reading the documents on loan from the ~~Royal~~ archives, and there is a fascinating bit of research by a man by the name of Frankenstein. His work on galvanic sciences from earlier this century are far beyond anything I’ve found from English archives in the last decade. This even only seems to be his initial work; perhaps I can track down his true masterpieces of intellect. Maybe I don’t even need to redesign a boiler…

One blight on my day over lunch: that coal-handed bastard child has returned. I think it’s Constance.

Wednesday, Jun 23, 1880—

The Andersons down the way lost one of their bitches last night. She was a beautiful hound, but her memory will live on in my diary. I wanted some hands-on experience with Frankenstein’s work, so I was able to procure the corpse for a small fee (to His Highness who is paying my bills).

Wondrous! Such are the things I learned. A body, made of muscle, controlled by electricity. I suspect I may need to seek out an anatomist or some other scholar of the biological sciences to continue this research.

My mind is alight with so many ideas…

Wednesday, June 30, 1880—

June ends and takes the boiler with it. My Engine shall have a grand new design. Thomas has been placated by promises of surprise. “The most groundbreaking work in thermodynamics!” I lied. His is a mind easily led astray by spectacle.

Sunday, July 4, 1880—

Constable came round today. Mr. Duncannon hasn’t been seen in three days. He left for an important business meeting in Paris, but missed his boat. Coach is missing too. It’s all very curious. I did everything I could to keep that sniveling pig out of my workshop. Given the way his nose recoiled into his skull, it seems the stench of grease and ozone was enough.

In more academic news, I received notice that more of Victor Frankenstein’s research papers are being released from an archive in Switzerland. I should have them by week’s end. My excitement radiates like the sun.

Friday, July 9, 1880—

Wolfgang. Heinrich. Fuchs.

At my forsaken door. With my forsaken research papers.

How the fuck did he find out I was working on galvanism? Who is he still connected to? Which one of my friends betrayed me (besides him)?

He was in this fucking house asking me fucking questions about my fucking work. Fuck him. He better not stick around. After what he took from me…fuck.

Tuesday, July 13, 1880—

Chaos reigns.

Wolfgang has shacked up with the Andersons. He swings by almost daily. When I’m not actually busy, I try to look it.

Constance has gotten her hands into the coal again (I haven’t disposed of it for appearance’s sake.)

The Duncannons are planning a funeral for…whatever his name was. I don’t think I ever bothered to remember anything about him other than when he would finally leave this hellish corner of England.

Thomas has been migrating in and out of Hope’s Paradise. Something about a trade deal in India. It sounds very important for a man who makes riches off the backs of foreigners.

I could use a big stein at a small biergarten.

Sunday, July 18, 1880—

Widow Duncannon speaks! Her first words spoken to me in the months I’ve resided her are accusations that I have something to do with the death of her husband and his driver. Utter nonsense. The police found the driver at the bottom of a pint in a pub last week. The way gossip echoes around these families, however, I won’t be surprised if they begin to turn on me.

My work must accelerate.

Thursday, July 22nd, 1880—

Widow Duncannon, Duchess Byron. Mrs. Boroughshire. All the Andersons. None of them will speak to me. They glare if they see me, so I try to keep to my room and my workshop as much as possible. I’m lucky Her Highness is so subservient to Thomas. This house would be unbearable if she had any willpower over it.

Tuesday, July 27, 1880—

Celebrations are in order! I have poured over work by Golgi, Frankenstein, and Schwann. Every guide I could find on electrical engineering. Trial after trial, failure after failure. And yet…

And yet.

It’s not that I have hope my Engine will work, it’s that I have knowledge that it will. My designs are so clear to me. My protypes are all working as planned. The path to revolution has been laid out before me. Now it is up to me to walk it.

Tomorrow is the beginning of the end.

Wednesday, July 28, 1880—

Coal hands. Inside my workshop. Inside. My. Workshop. And this time, ha! This time, I have a culprit.

I made it very clear to Constance that she will not be loitering in my laboratory anymore.

Saturday, August 7, 1880—

What have I become?

Why did I begin building my Engine? Something about a war? Who can say. Time marchers onward. My Engine will march with time. Every experiment has made it clearer to me that I have stumbled upon the greatest discovery of this era.

No one celebrates with me. Not Thomas. Not Her Highness. Not Constance, nor the boys, Timothy and Franklin. Even Wolfgang is silent (at last).

The neighbors have stopped visiting. I wave when I pass them by, but they just sneer and hurry past. Finally, I can work in peace and silence. Finally my genius can become reality. Finally all of Europe will know what Loreley Weisel is capable of.

I have become the herald of great change, a conduit of the very building blocks of existence.

Tuesday, August 10, 1880—

A toast to the Duke and Duchess! May their patronage live forever in my greatest work! Soon I hope to bring the Andersons into this project as well.

Wednesday, August 18, 1880—

The Engine lives! The support of this community has been invaluable as the final construction has occurred. Everyone has poured their hearts into my work, and it’s truly a masterpiece that could not have been built alone.

My galvanic calibrations have been finalized. My circuits have been tested. It is nearing time for me to put all of myself into my work. I will see success.

Saturday, August 21, 1880—

The loneliness is getting to me. Not even the dogs bark anymore. I talk to my Engine, but its flesh is silent.

Monday, August 23, 1880—

The constable returned. With six policemen. He had questions about His Highness and the Duke and Duchess and Widow Duncannon. I told him the truth: I could help him find them.

I cooperated.

I have a surplus.

Wednesday, August 25, 1880—

Why shouldn’t I? It worked for them. Shouldn’t it work for me? All the principles are the same. They’re muscle. I’m muscle. They’re electric. I’m electric. Why shouldn’t I be in control?

Thursday, August 26, 1880—

Wolfgang, that bastard! He said he knew everything that I had been up to. That is outrageous! He knows nothing!

I have destroyed my room in rage. Fucking Fuchs! What does he think he knows? Who has he told? I should have killed him. Why didn’t I kill him? He doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve my creation. He covets it. He wants it for himself. I know it. He got me kicked out of university, he got me run out of Germany. He is jealous. Jealous! He knows I’m better. He knows I’m smarter. He wants what I have, my Engine, my child. He can’t have it. He can’t. He won’t. Where did he go? Fucking Wolfgang I will fucking kill him. He knows nothing. He’s bluffing. He just wants my success. My genius. He is nothing. He will be nothing. Nothing. Nothing. He nothing. Nothing. nothing nothing nothing noth

Sunday, August 29, 1880—

This will be the final entry to my diary. The morning air is heavy with the musk of summer. It’s strange to me how calm I am given what I am about to do.

My Engine has come so far from its days as a sketch on a piece of parchment. Veins of red pulse behind the metal. Sinew, steel, and lightning working in harmony. Every stitch and every suture as perfect as the one before it. So many died for its creation, and so many more will die when I am finished today.

I expected my hand to shake more as I inked the incision lines across my skin. I expected my mind to be foggier as I tried to remember every nerve that would need work. Even the pain I am about to endure has not shaken my resolve.

I am uncertain what the scientific community will think of my work. Of the sacrifices I made. But I have proven a radical truth: All the money in the world does not stop one from being built from the same parts as another. And that’s all we are: Animals with organs and muscles and electricity surging through us. If machines can harness that energy, why can’t we? If new machines can be invented, why not new humans?

All I can hope for now is that my composure holds through the entire procedure. Once I am integrated into my Engine, I will command a mind and body unseen by man. Unparalleled by any of God’s creation. Magnificent in its genius. My genius.

Today I will change humanity forever.

[kbstories]

Axiomatic

ax·i·om·at·ic (adj.) Self-evident; unquestionable.

The best part of battle is the afterparty.

(Or: Kidd wears a fur coat, Killer is thirsty. Zoro is there until he isn’t.)

Tags: Established Relationship, Drinking, Fluff and Smut, Blow Jobs, Anal Sex, It’s a PWP what can I say?

Read Chapter 1 here. Post-Wano setting. Content warning for mentions of Body Dysmorphia (relating to Killer).

***

Killer is drunk.

Technically he’s tipsy and on-his-way-to-drunk. There’s a bottle of sake in his hand, half-full or half-empty depending where his head is in a given moment. The straw between his lips is growing brittle, already frayed at the edge – he’s been toying with it rather than drinking for a while now, distracted by the feast running its course below.

With his ass firmly planted on the stone weight of one of the roofs – the inn’s, perhaps? Killer can’t recall why he got up here, much less which house it is – he’s got a view over all of Okobore Town, from where the outskirts are swallowed by the Wasteland to the pitiful square still lit by the bonfire’s embers. Whoever’s in charge of feeding the flames has obviously left their post or followed the siren song of free booze. They wouldn’t be the first to do so, the streets littered with those passed out or making out or both, somehow.

It reminds Killer a little of home. Well, the place they used to call home, him and Kidd, a town so small it isn’t really worth considering it one. Nothing more than the scrapyard of the bustling capital right next door with the people to match: Too poor to live, too stubborn to die and so they got carried along, forgotten by history.

Same bullshit, different island, Killer muses via the wisdom of too much sake in his blood. Different ocean altogether, and there’s no fondness in that.

Home isn’t a place for Killer but a feeling, the one he gets with full sails fluttering above and Kidd up front, hair wild in the wind.

Freedom’s a fickle thing, as quickly lost as it is gained with how complacent the masses tend to get. At sea it’s just them and their ship against the elements, life and death a matter of seeing the storm coming and having the guts to spit in its face.

Alone on that roof, Killer grins around the straw. That’s the shit worth living for, day after day after day.

Down there is Kidd, the red flash of his hair one Killer seeks out by sheer habit; his silhouette against the dying bonfire is imposing, that ridiculous coat hanging big and imperial off his shoulders. If he focuses, Killer could probably make out what he’s yelling about with… Strawhat’s navigator? Killer squints, infusing his sight with Haki where the dark and the holes in his mask fail him.

Yeah, that’s Nami. She says something, hands on expensive fur. She’s grinning, innocent and cunning all at once and that’s why they call her a cat, huh?

Killer considers cranking up the audio sensitivity on his helmet. Considers it, and tosses the thought right out the metaphorical window. Kidd’s a big boy, he can defend his precious coat from a thief. Nami, presumably, also knows what she’s getting into, poking the bear like that.

A long sip of sake later and Killer nods to himself. A good, rational choice.

His bottle is decidedly past half-empty when Roronoa Zoro finds him. Killer is not surprised, has felt him wandering around for a while now – there are two bottles of sake in his hands, his gait utterly steady despite the rosy tinge to his cheeks.

A heavy drinker, Killer’s heard that. He polishes off his drink to gesture to one of Zoro’s.

 “You’ve got good timing, Pirate Hunter.”

“Who says it’s for you?”, Zoro asks with a snort, and gives him the second bottle anyways. When he sits, he does so with the kind of controlled grace many of Wano’s people wield, that flawless rigidity speaking of a life of discipline.

The way he drinks is the exact opposite of that. Interesting.

Killer concentrates on getting the straw through the narrow neck of the pitcher for a moment. The first sip proves it’s decent stuff; Killer’s mouth shapes itself around a pleased hum.

“You ever think about why the Marines call us what they do?”

It certainly makes Killer pause. Zoro doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to dabble in meaningless small talk – then again, what does Killer know? He turns his head to be able to see the look on Zoro’s face, watches the man nurse his sake with a pensive expression.

“‘Pirate Hunter’… Been a pirate longer than I was hunting ‘em. They could get the hint, y’know.”

They’re doing this, then. Pretending they weren’t at each other’s throats a mere week or two ago, like Zoro didn’t witness the side of Killer he loathes enough to hide it, always.

Fine. Killer can roll with that. “Which would you prefer? ‘Demon of the East Blue’?”

Zoro laughs and it’s so easy for him. “Now that’s one I haven’t heard in a while. You’ve been snooping, huh?”

“Sure as fuck not going into an alliance blind”, says Killer and it’s a bit pointed, a bit of a warning. They came back from war mere days ago but there’s room for blood when it comes to protecting their own.

“Mh. Wonder what that’s like.”

… Right. The guy’s the right hand of Strawhat Luffy, after all.

They drink, and Killer watches his captain. “The Marines don’t know shit, anyways.” A low hum to his side, prompting. Agreeing, perhaps. “Incompetent bastards thought I was the one to look out for when we made ourselves known, back in South Blue.”

“So ‘Massacre Soldier’ was, what, a misunderstanding?”

That makes Killer chuckle, a low ff ff ff sound. “Nah. Just that Kidd’s worse.”

“Ah.”

And it seems whatever else Zoro wants to add to that will have to wait. Even from afar Killer can feel it when Kidd’s eyes land on him and he sighs. “Speak of the devil. You might wanna get out of here.”

The sake stops on its way to Zoro’s mouth. “Huh?”

“Just giving you a fair warning, ’s all. Kidd kinda hates your guts over the whole”, a vague gesture to his own chest, “thing. He likes to keep grudges.”

“… Huh?”

Killer shrugs. It’s too late anyways. “Here he comes.”

“Hey! You!”

It doesn’t matter if he’s tipsy or drunk or whatever: Wrangling Kidd is something Killer grew up doing, and he stares him down now as Kidd pulls himself towards them by the metal in Killer’s mask. Hands up, no hesitation – Killer catches Kidd by the scruff of his coat, an arm winding around Kidd’s waist with enough strength to crush a smaller man and barely enough to drag this particular fool away.

To his credit, Zoro stays exactly where he is, his face blooming into something strangely close to delight. “Hah! You weren’t kidding.”

“Never am”, Killer tells him. He’s wheezing a little with how hard Kidd is struggling against his grip. “Captain! Fucking hell, you promised.”

“Didn’t promise shit”, Kidd hisses, a distinct slur to his words that Killer recognizes without trouble. Wasted indeed. “Roronoa! Hands off my partner!”

Zoro laughs – not the best of moves, Killer thinks with a wince – until his swords start vibrating. The smile drops real fast, then, becoming more of a tense smirk as he grabs on to that white katana of his.

“Oi, Spikey. Play nice now.”

All Kidd does is redouble his efforts, a whirlwind of bulging muscle in Killer’s arms and oh, Killer has had it. He presses his face against Kidd’s neck, his mouth only an inch or two away from his ear where they’re separated by Killer’s mask.

“Eustass fucking Kidd”, he growls. “Stop it or I will end you.”

Wasted or not, a shudder goes through his partner at that. It always does when Killer says his name like that. Killer knows, whatever happens now:

They both have a long night ahead of them.

*

Frantic hands, gasps of breath, lipstick smeared beyond hope between one kiss and the next. A moan, quiet against the sounds of belts being undone.

Killer pushes Kidd, gaze on him and only him as he bounces a little on the bed – their bed – and stares up at Killer. Eyes red as dusk, shining with the feral grin on his lips.

Killer gets on his knees for Kidd, always for him, and even if his blood wasn’t a-buzz with residue anger and alcohol, the way Kidd says “Fuck, Killer, yes” would get him there for sure. Trembling with it, Killer’s fingers hook into the waistband of Kidd’s pants to pull him closer, just where he wants him.

Kidd’s boots land on solid ground with a wooden thud. Legs splayed and Killer in the middle.

“You always have to make a mess”, Killer tells him, holds him down with one hand and the other working on his fly, “always so reckless”, and fuck, Kidd’s hard already. Hot and velvet-smooth in Killer’s palm and Killer forgets about chewing him out, for a moment.

It’s been weeks. Weeks since they’ve had time for this, hell, since Killer could even think about needing Kidd beyond the comfort his mere presence brings. With that infernal smile on his lips and his lungs clenching around the need to laugh, nothing would’ve come of it anyways.

Killer leans over and breathes Kidd in, gives him a gentle kiss, over the delicate vein that throbs under his lips. “We’re not done”, he lets him know, voice having lost most of its edge; Kidd laughs, runs a hand through the messy bangs falling into Killer’s eyes.

“I sure hope not. C’mon, don’t–”

Whatever Killer isn’t supposed to do gets lost in a moan. Kidd is big in Killer’s mouth, big and so familiar and Killer feels Kidd’s fingers tighten where they make a desperate grab for his hair. It makes him groan around the cock sliding over his tongue, again as he swallows around him and Kidd’s thighs jolt under the weight pinning them down.

Kidd is loud, it’s who he is, but there’s something about the cut-off calls of Killer’s name that gets to him. That makes him throw any sense of taking things slow to the wind and suck cock like he means it, lids fluttering shut and painted lips wide as he takes his captain as far down as he can get him without choking.

It’s been a while and it feels so good.

“Just like that, K. Keep goin’ just like that, don’t stop, fuck–”

And Killer feels his muscles shift under his hand, fingers splayed across Kidd’s abs straining with the need to move. Later, he might let him – can feel his own cock ache in too-tight jeans with the thought of Kidd holding him down and using him until he’s sated.

For now, he wants to get Kidd off, to hear his voice crack as it only does when he’s trembling on that edge.

It doesn’t take long at all, Killer’s lips and tongue and mouth dragging him there with no mercy for how breathless Kidd gets. “Kil”, Kidd gasps a warning; Killer hums, pulls off to catch the tip between his lips and jack him off the rest of the way, his hand easily gliding over spit-slick skin–

Kidd comes just like that, spilling into Killer’s mouth in twitching spurts. Given the garbage Kidd calls a diet he doesn’t taste the best but it’s Kidd, it’s the man Killer has hardwired his brain to adore no matter what. Killer moans softly, reaches down to rub himself as Kidd’s fingers release their death grip and sort of… pet him instead.

“Fuck me, darling, next time I’m horny I’ll just piss you off on purpose.”

Wiping his mouth, Killer huffs, “You already do that”, follows the trail of red leading up to Kidd’s navel with his lips. “You’re insufferable.” Licks along the valleys of his ripped stomach to kiss away the sweat gathering in the scar bisecting his pecs. “And we’re not done.”

Kidd rumbles a groan, pulls Killer into an open-mouthed kiss. The cold touch of metal worms its way under Killer’s shirt, in stark contrast to the need in Killer’s veins. It makes him shiver. “Kidd”, whispers Killer into that filthy kiss and it sounds like please, like more.

“Mh, I got you. Take this off, baby, let me see you.”

A demanding tug to Killer’s jeans. Killer doesn’t think twice about it: It’s a relief to get rid of them, the fabric starting to cling to his legs with how hot he’s running, and Killer throws off his boots and shirt to places unknown while he’s at it. Rolls his shoulders where they’re still a bit stiff from carrying his scythes all day.

Kidd is watching him, a hand on his own cock even if it won’t get hard quite yet. Leaning back in a sea of fur with the effortless grace of a king and the look of arrogant expectation to match. Killer meets it as he ties his hair into a loose knot to get it somewhat out of the way, nodding at him.

“You too. Or do you want me to tear ‘em off of you?”

How dark Kidd’s eyes can get. Those are his favorite pants though – Killer decides to be nice about it, unties Kidd’s boots enough for him to kick them off and save the rest of his clothes from an untimely demise.

Well, most of them. When Kidd makes to shrug off the coat Killer stops him. “Keep it.” His hands are on those suede-clad shoulders he’s been salivating over for hours now. “Keep the fur, Kidd”, an order he has no right to give, fingers clawed as they burrow between that softness and a heat that’s all Kidd.

It gets a look of genuine surprise out of Kidd. That, along with a pleased smile, closed-lipped. “Like it that much, do ya?”

Killer hums, “It’s soft”, kisses him, hides his own smile against demanding lips and the warning bite of teeth. “Makes me want to fuck you on it. Got a problem with that?”

“Shit, you kidding? Let’s ruin it.”

As much as he’s an impudent little shit anywhere else, here, coming alive under Killer, Kidd is all eager compliance and greedy hands across Killer’s back; it shouldn’t be as addicting as it is, the notion that this – the needy panting in his ear, the flush high in Kidd’s cheeks and spilling down to his chest – is all Killer’s. Only his, nobody else’s.

Killer slows down, then. Once Kidd has scrambled for the slick they keep around and Killer’s got his hands warmed up, he takes his time. Pushes one of Kidd’s legs to the side, keeps him there while he stretches Kidd finger by finger and fuck, he’s tight, clenching impatiently where Killer pushes in knuckle-deep.

“You’re killing me”, Kidd says, whines really, easily worked up by the twist of Killer’s fingers in him. Kidd’s prosthetic clings to Killer’s shoulder, his other hand in his own hair and tugging. “I’m ready, just – get in there!”

Killer is willing to rush a lot. Not this, though, never this.

“Shut up and relax”, he grumbles but he kisses Kidd, too, along the jagged edges of the scar down his face and his neck to suck on his clavicle. Kidd moans shamelessly, hips bucking into Killer’s curling fingers as he adds another.

Seeking that burning stretch before Killer can stop him. Killer curses, pulls out.

“Don’t complain later. You wanted this.”

Kidd tosses his head back into the covers and laughs. “Yesss. Fuck me, c’mon.”

Smug asshole. More slick, dripping from Killer’s cock to the fur below. The glide of his hand as he spreads it is already a lot, the sight of Kidd’s muscular neck bared and vulnerable hitting Killer somewhere instinctive, primal.

Deep down, Killer doesn’t want to wait either. He props himself up on one elbow, a mere inch or two separating their faces – and he stares at Kidd when he guides himself inside. At the way his mouth goes a little slack with it, the flare of his nose at the threadbare breath that follows.

“Good”, Killer tells him, catches Kidd’s gaze that’s barely past half-lidded. Licks over his bottom lip and kisses him, chaste as to not distract him from that first, long thrust.

“Doing so well, Kidd, almost there.”

Kidd feels sinful around him, warm and fluttering with tension that melts under the gentle thrusts Killer opens him up with. Leaning up to nip at Killer’s beard, his chin, and Killer indulges him, pushes his tongue into his mouth, slowly, languidly. Swallowing the soft noises Kidd makes as Killer hoists him up higher in his lap, Killer’s knees sliding apart in sleek fur.

He fucks him just like that, arms steady around Kidd and locking him in place when Killer finds a pace he can keep up for a while. Kidd fights it at first, he always does, not the kind of man to lie there and take it – Killer nuzzles his jaw, “It’s okay, let go, let go”, words that he knows Kidd needs to hear, cocky as he may act. Kidd’s breath shudders out of him and he does, finally relenting against the angle that makes him come undone each and every time.

Letting Killer sink in to the hilt and he groans, bites at Kidd’s throat and the pulse thundering there. “Good, so good for me.”

He rocks them both, hard enough to make Kidd shift against the fur. Kidd’s legs tighten where they’re tangled with Killer’s and he whimpers, far enough out of his head not to care what he sounds like anymore. A sound that burns in Killer’s gut, his chest, mouth open and panting over Kidd’s skin as he does it again and again and again.

It’s Kidd’s fingers going for the bundle of Killer’s hair and holding on; the feeling of Kidd’s prosthetic drawing red, stinging lines down the length of Killer’s back. “Kidd”, Killer mutters, demands, “Kidd–”

Kidd pulls at blonde strands coming loose, hard. “Whatever you want, K. Whatever you want, please–”

Voice gone, hoarse with the things Killer is doing to him.

Something in Killer snaps. The coat is torn open: Killer hears some of the seams pop in some places and he doesn’t care, mind and soul focused on turning Kidd around and getting him on his hands and knees.

“Fuck”, Kidd half-gasps, half-moans, “fuck–”

Then Killer is inside him again, sweating skin slapping against sweating skin, and his lips trace the shivers racing up Kidd’s spine, the faint freckles dotting Kidd’s shoulders. Kidd, Kidd, Kidd, his senses sharp as knives and hands roaming over what’s his, all his.

Whatever sounds Kidd is making, they are beyond words as he drops to his elbows and bends his back, pushing back into every hard shove of Killer’s hips. Killer moans, loud and breathless – feels Kidd clench around him and he gets a hand on Kidd’s cock, hard and leaking all over the coat, that fucking coat.

For the second time Kidd’s voice trembles, breaks apart on a high ah! as Killer squeezes him tight, so tight. Kidd comes around a choked noise and Killer keeps fucking him, his own peak tantalizingly in reach, not quite–

Kidd goes utterly boneless but there’s determination in the sliver of his eyes, the rasp of “keep goin’, want to feel ya”, and Killer grabs onto his hair just to tilt his head to the side and kiss him.

Over and over Killer takes him, covering Kidd with his bulk and it melts his brain, how Kidd just lets him. How Killer doesn’t have to hold back with him, going as deep as he possibly can and barely coming up for air until he loses himself in it, in Kidd.

Shaking apart above him, head bowed against the nape of Kidd’s neck. Killer rolls the last few thrusts just to feel how slick Kidd is, how well he takes him like this.

After that: A head full of static, numb limbs, cooling sweat.

“Hey, Kil.”

It’s Kidd’s voice that guides him back, “You there?”, the gentle motions of Kidd’s hand brushing the tie out of Killer’s hair and letting it fall around them. Killer pushes into that touch, humming. So comfortable.

“Babe, I kinda need to breathe here.”

Killer laughs and it’s fine like that, low and muffled against Kidd’s neck. “That so?”, he mumbles but he gets the hint, pushing himself to the side with a tired groan.

“Mmh. My head’s all fuzzy.”

“Yeah?” A hand slaps down on Killer’s chest, rough knuckles rubbing over the half-healed wound there. “From drinking or from fucking me to oblivion?”

Ff ff ff, Killer makes. He feels so light.

“Both, probably.”

Yeah, Killer is allowed a little smugness, too: Kidd’s hair is all mussed, lips red from kissing, neck covered in fresh, rose-colored bruises. Well used and looking like he doesn’t plan on moving even if the Punk’s cannons started firing around them.

Definitely worth slaying the coat over, Killer decides.

Still, when Killer takes Kidd’s hand in his, it’s all tenderness. Killer’s thumb brushes over Kidd’s knuckles, the same spot he presses a soft kiss to. Kidd lets him, squeezing back.

Their fingers entangle without really having to think about it, years of partnership in a single touch; and with the Punk's gentle sway all around them, they allow themselves to drift.

[kob131]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6XgKp9jj4Is

*sigh* Great, yet ANOTHER ‘Let’s rewrite Adam’ argument made by miss ‘It’s hard to keep track of RWBY characters like Zwei.’

“Degredation of Adam’s character from Blake’s mentor to an abusive ex to a whiny incel who makes insults like it’s his Pokémon name.”

A. “Blake’s mentor” is not a character. It is a description and not even a bare bones one.

B. What is the difference between an abusive ex and an incel exactly? They’re both used to describe despicable people in relation to romance.

C. That is not what incel. You’re using it as a generic insult and thus that last description may as well say ‘Adam bad’ for all the substance it has.

D. Adam always made stupid insults. People laughed at his voice in the Black Trailer and in Volume 3 for fuck’s sake.

And E. What WOULD you make Adam that wouldn’t just make him every generic freedom fighter?

“We’re gonna drop the abusive angel completely and go with Monty’s original plan-”

Done.

You just killed your own video by assuming a dead man’s intention with no fucking reason other than ‘mouthpiece.’

I have no reason to accept anything you say in good faith after this. Before you say that you wanted to change as little as possible then change a massive aspect while using a corpse as a meat shield from criticism.

You are owed nothing from this point on.

‘You don’t doodle your abuser in your notebook-”

Unless, you know, think about them. But hey, why use your brain when you can rely on the inevitable RWBY haters to drown out all criticism?

‘The abuse angle is the worst explored in the show-”

Proof?

No?

Considering your history, I HIGHLY doubt that.

“*Insert Adam into the Volume 2 train fight instead of the WF Lieutennat because he was an out of nowhere threta*”

...

So the Black Trailer and the Volume 2 finale never happened...or you’re an incompetent idiot.

“It gives the scene more weight because we know who Adam is-”

We also know who the WF lieutenant is AND we don’t waste an important character for a worthless fight that amounts to nothing as the train fights ultimately mean NOTHING.

Congrats, you made Adam worse because his first in series fight had him giving a good performance. Here, he can’t even kill Weiss (and in fact, as I am about to explain, he’d get CURB STOMPED by Weiss.)

Just as well, you’ll need to completely change his weakness. Adam is a glass cannon, he can dish out a lot of damage and move quickly but one good hit knocks him down. Makes sense since he’s not exactly big and buff and he can’t fight back when someone isn’t intimidated by him. It also makes him dangerous to Yang as she relies on taking hits at first which she can’t do with Adam because she often flings herself in ways that make dodging impossible. It also makes sense why Blake can fuck him over and why she can get fucked over: she’s also fragile but evasive which connects her with Adam too.

But say he fights, I dunno, someone who can zip around quickly in a manner that he can’t block the attacks and would logically get fucked over quickly by. Like say, a Semblance that zips you from spot to spot like WEISS’. 

Yeah, he’d lose in an instant against Weiss because he’s never seen to be able to block attacks moving that fast and he’d get fucked over quick. So you’d need to up his durability and suddenly he loses a logical weakness that is represented by his personality, connecting him to Blake, basically making him a Yang clone and now you need a NEW weakness. Suddenly a lot of Adam’s interesting elements SHATTER.

This is why Adam rewrites suck. None of you think through your writing. You make the same mistakes that Miles and Kerry made but with less experience, less insight and less care and then pile on EVEN MORE flaws.

Worst of all, the bullshit you give about ‘knowing his threat level’ ignores other factors like appearance, attitude and fighting style. Oh wait, I know why. If we include those, the WF Lieutennat suddenly becomes a clear threat. His appearance is distinctly different from the WF goons, with his tall and thick frame indicating he’s strong and durable while his choice of weapon shows he would have a strong but slow fighting style and his attitude shows that if Weiss loses she could very well die a PAINFUL death by a sadist chainsaw wielding terrorist. (’More tension’ my ass.)

You throw out so much just for ONE point that was accomplished in the original anyway. What the fuck else are you gonna muck up?

“Have adam be there to show Adam working with Torchwick-”

Which Blake would already assume since the WF is working with Torchwick and Adam LEADS the WF. But I guess Blake is too stupid to do basic math.

“Then have Adam let Blake run away-”

WHAT THE FUCK?!

Run to where?! They are in an enclosed space! Adam should be chasing after her! He has every reason to chase after her, both personal and professional!

“Then we can have dialogue that goes something like this in Volume 3: Adam: “I don’t want to have to fight you but I will if I have to. Blake: No no, Humans aren’t bad people! Adam: I have seen what they can do. Your family kept you safe. I wasn’t so lucky-”

Cool, so he’s every generic ‘sympathetic’ freedom fighter now.

Instead of being a deconstruction of the noble wounded freedom fighter, showing how such a person would be impossible for such a situation from the extremity of the harm done to him, the manipulation by his superiors for their own ends and his own faults, he’s just a generic pity bag now.

No wait, a SHITTY generic pity bag now because in the Black Trailer, he explictedly tried to blow up innocent people on a train. Blake even questioned him on it and he said ‘So?’. That isn’t the reaction of some noble but misguided person, that’s the reaction of someone so far off the deep end they’ve lost basic sympathy.

Trying to make him out to be noble here would be like trying to make me believe Raven is this secret loving mother or this protector: their actions in the past CONTRADICT this.

‘But Twiinks never said that-’

Her choice of words did. The words you choose your characters to say speaks about how we are suppose to view them. Adam’s word choice in the original communicates a dangerous sadism and madness built from pain and a lack of emotional maturity. This version communicates a sadness stemming from a supposed kindness that Adam SHOULDN’T have.

‘But it tells us what they’re stances on humans are-’

So did the original while also why we should route for Blake over Adam (i.e. she’s still sane and tries to be kind while Adam has lost it and is being cruel and vindictive.)

We literally lost something here.

“He truly feels like this is the only way to help Fanaus-”

So we're now working off the assumption he cares about the Fanaus and not just himself and his own pain, deconstructing how real life movements become corrupted from their original purpose by focusing on their own personal pain than a universal kindness.

Cool, so Adam isn’t Adam anymore.

“Adam still stabs Sienna but it’s about the orgnazation instead of a lame power grab-”

*rolls eyes*

I really hate these rewrites. Why do you even bother with Adam if you tear out the character and insert someone completely different? 

“Adam is remorseful, Sienna says something like ‘I would rather die than give you the organization’, and Adam apologizes. Perfect scene.”

A cheesy line that rings hollow and more OOC. Wonder-fucking-ful. I also looked ahead and saw that you are changing Adam’s character short to be about getting his scar. (More on that mess when we get to it.) So Adam being used by Sienna to push for her more violent agenda over Ghira’s peaceful one, something used by the show to show we shouldn’t be shitty to each other (AKA A core theme) still exists. Meaning that what should be Sienna paying for her sins by having the very person she used to push her agenda take it to its logical extreme, kill her in turn and destroy her work is just nonsensical pity begging.

I also assume Adam declaring his idea of Fanaus Supremacy and basically quoting Mein Kampf is still in the show since you never address that. Cool, so either I pity a woman who screwed this man’s life or I pity Furry Hitler. *slow claps*

“During the Volume 5 fight, his breaks and we see his scar-”

...

I’m not even surprised by how dumb this shit is. 

Adam’s scarf reveal in Volume 6 was wonderful and one of the best moments in the show. For so long, we saw Adam as someone who was destructive and hateful for no reason and right there, the audience is forced to see that while his actions are inexcusable, his reasons are very human and very real. He’s not a monster, he’s a person whose consumed by pain. At the very end of his life, Adam wasn’t a monster: he was a sorrowful reminder of what pain does to a person.

What does the scar reveal do here? ... Nothing. Seeing his face in full means nothing. Twiinks doesn’t even say anything about it. It’s just there because she wants a look of remorse and thinks that can’t be accomplished with the mask. Even though we could see him cry or have a look of sorrowful anguish. Adam can emote fine without his mask.

I just-I can’t believe this.

”The Adam short is now instead of a bunch of emotionless fight scenes now about how Adam got his scar-”

...

Just more pissing on what makes Adam good. Yeah yeah...

The Adam short is not just a bunch of emotionless fight scenes. The fight scene you show (of Adam protecting Ghira) shows so much. It shows the struggles of the peaceful White Fang, it shows Adam being shocked at killing a human as he hadn’t fallen yet, it shows Sienna using Adam to push her violence without concern for his well being and it shows how he got it into his head killing was fine.

That was ONE scene. ONE. Your scar replacement as a whole would have less impact (as we can tell how got it from context clues) than ONE scene.

Are you guys getting WHY I hate rewrites of RWBY so much?

“Adam finds Oscar-”

If this doesn’t end with “and then he kills Oscar” I don’t care. Even this version of Adam would jump at killing a human and would have no idea Oscar knows Blake.

And it doesn’t. Great. BTW, Oscar wouldn’t know about the plan at this point so him showing up at the CCT tower isn’t explained and this scene is pointless.

“Adam would show up at the CCT tower, killing the CCT guards while ranting about equality and justice. Blake jumps in, leading him away to the waterfall. She says ‘Adam, you’ve gone too far! You’re just as bad as the people who hurt you!’“

Gee, that wasn’t clear when he tried BLOWING UP A TRAIN FULL OF INNOCENT PEOPLE?!

Also, Twiinks tries to push this idea that Blake wants to reconnect with Adam (which makes no sense as she LEFT Adam).

“Now we have the decapitation scene-”

We know she’s not gonna die, the fear came from the destruction of beacon and Yang being injuried. Of course Blake isn’t gonna die here.

“-moved to a thematically appreciate moment in the story-”

Considering you didn’t give two shits about thematic before, why the fuck would I care now?

“-Yang isn’t involved as to not muddy how if it was self defense.-”

So Yang’s arc is just scrapped and instead of having someone around who went through similar shit as Adam with a similar mindset and personality to dislay how wrong he is, we have a far shittier version that doesn’t even serve it’s purpose as protecting friends and family is covered by self defense and the people who bitched now would still bitch because Adam dying is the issue, not self defense.

“We see regret in Adam’s eyes-”

Means nothing because he was just a loon at this point out of nowhere and he’s still a terrible person. See, the thing is you can give a pitiable side to characters like Adam but you have to accept there is still good reason to hate him. Trying to hammer sympathy at us is just gonna make him less sympathetic.

“We shouldn’t be developing the budding relationship-”

It wasn’t.

That wasn’t a fucking romantic scene, it was an emotional breakdown after a stressful 

“By making Adam an understandable character-”

This is perhaps the most insulting part.

Adam IS understandable. Just because you don’t sympathize with him doesn’t mean you can’t see how he became this way. He was enslaved at a young age, branded in a way that robbed him of so much, he tried to make things better but because of forces outside of his control and his own issues, he lost his way and became what made him: someone cruel and uncaring of others. And yet, even as he does terrible things, we can still see that even he is a victim of the world, lamenting his fall and who he could have been.

That is something that fits the tone of RWBY so much better than a generic freedom fighter turned crazy person. Not to mention all the brilliant details you scrapped for shallow and boring details that any run of the mill show could do.

You improved NOTHING here. You just turned Adam from an interesting deconstruction and a cautionary tale of what we can become to every revolutionary in western media which, considering America’s origins, are a dime a dozen.

I’ll say it again: This is why I hate rewrites. You didn’t put nearly as much thought and effort into the show as the creators did and yet you stand on their work, rot it from the inside and try pedaling a worse version because it fits some people’s delusions.

Every time I look into you Twiinks, you become worse. How far will YOU fall?