#it feels like with this camp i’m kind of proving to myself that i’m actually really good at my job

[diffenbachiae]

today was such a freaking good day my D&D camp’s heroes climbed a mountain to fight a dragon and then in the afternoon we rock-climbed and i belayed for them and it was SO MUCH FUN. they figured out the puzzles and i made them JUST hard enough and their teamwork was amazing, their characters were doing combo attacks so it was all ‘NO GUYS LISTEN LISTEN. what if i use my electricity ring and you use your lunar sword-‘

one kid drew the dragon 🥺😭

[lily-alphonse]

Sam/Haley?

(Saley? 🤭)

Saley? Or Ham. LMAO

Hmmmmmmm this one. This one irks me. They sure would be pretty though.

I'm itching to put them in some kind of AU because my mind screams that they don’t make sense in their current context. There has to be an inciting factor like both working as camp counselors in a nearby town or going to college together or something. (Or… Scooby Doo AU? A little Fred/Daphne dynamic perhaps?)

Like maybe Haley has considered it, kinda liked the rogue skater, class clown thing Sam had going on. But she was always expected to be with the star athlete.

Ok wait maybe the inciting incident is Alex coming out as gay. That could work. Farmer shows up, we have an “oh no he’s HOT 😩” moment and Haley is left in the dust.

She’s pissed at first but then realizes she’s free. She can truly do whatever she wants. Who is going to care, now that the rumor mill is abuzz with Alex’s scandal?

She experiments with her fashion. Tries new hobbies. She goes to visit Emily at work and even gets a little tipsy and dances. And one Friday night she sees Sam there playing pool with Sebastian and she can’t help herself. He’s so fucking tall and edgy, it’s an exciting kind of intimidating. But Haley can be intimidating too, despite her size.

“Sebastian. Sam.” She greets them both with her arms crossed and an easy smile.

“Uh. Hi.” Sebastian is the first to respond, straightening up from where he was lining up a shot.

“In light of recent events I feel the need to ask if either of you are gay,” Haley starts.

“What?” Sebastian asks in disbelief.

“No,” Sam says immediately.

Haley meets his eyes with a predatory sort of smile. “Alright, prove it. Dance with me.”

Sam kind of chuckles and bites his lip, looking over at Sebastian. “Man I know we’re in the middle of something but…”

Sebastian rolls his eyes and points to Haley. “You, wait there two turns. If you still want him after I kick his ass you can have him for tonight.”

Haley chuckles. “Deal.”

It’s actually kind of torture, in a good way. She has a front row seat to watch his body move, his eyebrows furrow and tongue sticking out when he’s concentrating.

She doesn’t know much about pool, so she doesn’t care that Sebastian is right about kicking his ass. All she cares about is the man rounding the table to meet her, as Sebastian goes off to find Abby.

“Hi,” Sam says with a cheeky smile down at her. He isn’t shy, getting close and personal already.

“Hi,” she gives him her best flirty smile.

“Still up to dance with a loser?”

“Can’t really be considered a loser with the hottest girl in here on your arm.”

He chuckles at that, taking her hand to guide them to the dancefloor. She’s caught a bit off-guard by his forwardness but damn if it isn’t sexy as hell. And his hand is big 🫠

His hands move to her waist on the dancefloor and they sway with some distance between them to continue speaking.

“I don’t know how you can be so confident about that by the way," He says once their settled into a rhythm.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I mean, just look at Pam. You’ve got some stiff competition.”

“Oh har-har very funny,” she rolls her eyes but fights a smile.

“Ooo tough crowd.”

“I’m tough to please.”

“I can imagine. But correct me if I’m wrong Princess, seems like you’re already sold on me.”

The sudden nickname almost gets her flustered. She decides to ignore it. Ignore it and definitely not file it away in her brain to obsess over later. “Not sold at all, that’s why I asked for a dance and not your hand in marriage.”

“I see. This is my test drive then?”

“You could call it that.”

“You look beautiful.”

It’s obviously a line. But it comes so suddenly that Haley does get flustered this time. “I know,” she blurts, and then, “thank you.”

His smile widens at her blush. “I’m serious, I like the new look. You seem more like yourself.”

“Myself? And how would you know?” she raises a perfect eyebrow at him as its his turn to get sheepish.

“Oh, well I just mean like, I don’t know. It suits you. You seem happier.”

She thinks about that, looking at his shirt instead of his eyes. She has been feeling happier. She sighs and leans into Sam, closing the distance between them to lay her head against his pounding chest. He stops swaying, surprised. She smiles at how fast his heart is going under his facade.

“I am happier, I think.”

DAMN OK I DONE GONE AN CONVINCED MYSELF LMAO these two are kinda fire ngl I think theyd both be sassy and flirty the banter is top tier

Send me any Stardew Valley rarepair and I will tell you how I would make them work! (Even non-marriage npcs) If youre lucky you may get a mini fic out of it. Check the list below to see if Ive already answered yours

Rarepair Masterlist

[twstdreams]

Bumbling Love

For @yandere-daze (extremely late Secret Santa gift, I’m truly sorry!)

Content Warnings: fluff, reader is not athletic or a runner

Spoiler Warning: spoilers for Episode 1 and Vargas Camp Event, Deuce-centric spoilers for Episode 5

Word Count: 4K

Deuce likes you, romantically. He does not want to comment on the 10 stages of denial he went through to get to admit this, even if Ace is happy to recite the entire story including all the late-night breakdowns. Unfortunately, Deuce’s misfortune does not end there, because now he has to actually convey these feelings! He can practically feel his brain malfunction at the thought, but if he doesn’t tell you, who will? Actually, being outed by his friends or roommates is one of his worst nightmares, but more importantly, he thinks his heart might burst before he figures out if you would ever confess first. You’re kind and don’t let the little things get to you, but on the flip side when Deuce tries to leave subtle hints they seem to fly right past you.

Thus begins the chronicles of Deuce’s confession!

Attempt 1: Endearing Endorphins

Deuce knows running is one of his strengths and the accolades he’s gotten for it proves that. He might not be getting awards for his history grades or the questionable mushroom potion he made in alchemy class last week, but Deuce loves running. He enjoys the feeling of the wind and the rush that comes from being faster than your surroundings. So maybe you’d like it too? Plus, you’re supposed to share things you like with the person you like, right? That may or may not be what that article he read for a total of 3 minutes said before he closed it out of embarrassment. 

More importantly, it’s too late to back out. After a couple of failed in-person attempts and some advice from Cater, Deuce had invited you to join him on a run via text. You happily accepted and now the agreed-upon time was fifteen minutes away. 

Deuce keeps going over his plan mentally. First, stretching while making conversation. Next, run with you while hopefully looking cool. Finally, during the cooldown, Deuce would confess! It was simple enough and Deuce didn’t want to make it complicated. He could handle three steps! That’s what he told himself right after checking his phone for the umpteenth time to see if you texted him anything. The weather was good and there were no upcoming tests, he thinks, so there’s no reason for you to cancel, right?

“Hey Deuce!” you call out.

“HEY!” he calls back and does his best not to wince at how loud he is.

“Thanks for inviting me! I’ve been wanting to get into running for a bit, but I could never get the motivation by myself.”

“Maybe you could join the track and field club.” With me are the words he can’t get himself to spit out. 

“Nah, I’m mostly doing this for the exercise. I’m already in another club.” He starts lunging to stretch and you follow suit. When you bend your arm to the side and over your head, the two of you nearly touch hands and form a heart. If it were anyone else, Deuce wouldn’t have cared. But when you laugh and point it out, it becomes funny and refreshing. Part of why he loves you is how little mundane things become fun and how easy it is to be with you. Deuce knows there’s a chance things will go sour if you don’t feel the same way, but he doesn't want to lie. Somehow he feels like it’ll be okay. And the more he complicated things, the more likely he’d get stuck in his head.

By the time you two are finished with dynamic stretches, he’s hyped himself up to confess to you. Deuce has it all figured out in his head. He looks cool from running, then he tells you his feelings and asks you out! Simple enough, right?

“Ready to start?” he asks.

“Yeah, let’s go!” Your answer is paired with a smile that makes his heart skip a beat. You two start with a light jog and a warm-up lap or two. Deuce looks to the side to double-check your condition. You return his gaze with a smile and seem to be doing well, though perhaps breathing a little harder than him. 

Taking his chance, Deuce speeds up and begins to run with all his might. He focuses on running faster and faster until it feels like he’s as fast as the wind. Adrenaline pumps through his veins and he turns around to see your reaction. Unfortunately, you’re on the opposite side of the track, already giving up on trying to catch up. He immediately stops and shouts out your name. You wave in acknowledgement, a tired smile, but it doesn’t stop the flood of embarrassment from overtaking him. Ditching your crush halfway across the running track isn’t cool. 

“Sorry! I just got so excited and,” Deuce decides against spitting out ‘really wanted to confess’. 

“No, don’t worry! You were so fast! I can see why you got that award,” you pant. Deuce is so mortified he only hopes he’s not as red as his Heartslabyul uniform. He waits for you to catch your breath as he gathers his courage. If he delays this any longer, who knows what else will go wrong?

“It’s, the reason was,” the words are a mess but his brain keeps going anyway, for better or worse, “I like running just as much as you!” Now his heart must be thumping as fast as yours, but he’s sure it’s for a different reason even if both of your cheeks are red. Your eyes meet his yet he can’t figure out what you’re thinking, only knowing that the gears in your head are turning as you process his confession.

“Oh! I like spending time with you too, Deuce!” you chirp happily but Deuce is too stunned to speak. This has already gone wrong in so many unexpected ways and he has no clue how to salvage this. 

“Ready for another lap? Feel free to go at your own pace, you don’t have to stay beside me.” And with that, you start to jog away. Deuce and his feelings are left in the dust and gravel of the track. He chalks it up to a failure. When you leave early to go take a shower it feels like you take his courage with you.

Attempt 2: Sweet on You

Going at it alone didn’t work out so well, so now he decided to tackle the problem with the help of his upperclassman! Specifically, Trey is reliable and the best baker in the dorm. In exchange for manual labour doing chores here and there and peeling enough nuts to feed an army of squirrels for the winter, Trey would help him make your favourite dessert. 

He reads the entire recipe first, as Trey recommends. And then repeats that two more times just to make sure he gets it right. He listens to Trey carefully and measures out the ingredients with more care than when he measures materials in alchemy class. He mixes vigorously with all his might when whipping ingredients and then gently and with great care when folding together batters. Any feedback Trey gives, Deuce immediately accepts without question and implements on the spot. But thanks to the third year’s help, Deuce is able to avoid numerous failed attempts. Though there were several close calls including nearly mixing up the sugar and salt, almost over-mixing the batter before Trey stopped him, and a very scary fumble of the baking pan.

It’s difficult. A lot of delicate work he isn’t used to, learning cooking terms he was previously unaware of, and bits of chaos that always seemed to pop up whether it be in the form of a messy kitchen or nearly mixing up quantities. But when he imagines the smile on your face when you learned he made it for you himself, all his motivation returns and his energy skyrockets. If he’s going to confess, it’s going to be with a dessert he made himself and nothing less.

“Do you think it turned out okay?” Deuce asks while hovering around the finished product.

“You did a good job. The dessert turned out well and it’ll be a nice gift,” Trey compliments, amused as Deuce practically buzzes with nervous energy. The first year carefully packages the gift and heads straight for you. 

He calls out your name and you make your way toward him with a smile. Once you’re in front of him, with no preamble, he confesses, “I made this, especially for you.” A gasp leaves your lips but you quickly accept the gift and take a peek at what’s inside.

Cheeks pink due to both nerves and remembering his last failure, Deuce quickly tacks on, “Because you’re special to me!” His statement brings your attention back to him and the clear joy in your expression fills him with anticipation and hope.

“Aww, thanks, how did you know I was craving this? It’s my favourite, so I can’t wait to eat it,” you thank him but Deuce’s expectant gaze never wavers. A continuing silence passes by and you tilt your head, mouth opening and closing once. Deuce’s stomach drops. Maybe this is when you reject him. Tell him you appreciate the gift but could never reciprocate his feelings. He doesn’t know what he’d do if you tell him you could never date someone who used to be a delinquent. Suddenly, your posture straightens and your grin widens as if you’ve come upon a realization.

“I can’t believe you made this yourself. I’m so impressed. You’re such a good friend!” Your sunny smile doesn’t falter as you marvel at the dessert but that statement is the perfect line to punch him in the gut. Plans of a study date evaporate into thin air as another failed confession weighs heavily. Deuce can hardly recall what happened next but will forever have the feeling of his courage and optimism being popped like a balloon ingrained in him.

Attempt 3: Picture Perfect

This plan is a little cliche, but something tried and true must have a better shot at success. Or at least, it couldn’t be any worse than two failures. Deuce tries not to keep his expectations too high but something about you always has his hopes creeping up. He’s been waiting outside of the cafe for half an hour. It’s still another fifteen minutes until you two meet up, but the mere thought of being late made him so uneasy and restless that he ended up leaving early. At least this gave him time to go over his plan (and fret anxiously about anything that could go wrong). First, he’ll take you to a cafe to eat some sweets, next go see a movie, and then finally confess! Three steps and he’ll have finally conveyed his feelings to you. Or that’s what he tells himself as he paces back and forth for the umpteenth time.

“Deuce!” you call out, immediately stopping him in his tracks, “When did you get here? I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

“No! I, I just got here a few minutes ago,” he reassures while letting out a weak laugh. Deuce opens the door for you and asks, “Are you ready?”

“Yes!” Your eyes shine with excitement as you look around and Deuce thinks it was worth all the research. “It’s so nice to get to hang out somewhere off-campus and away from any textbooks. I appreciate all the last-minute study sessions, but I definitely needed a break.”

“Yeah. School is more fun for me when I understand the work, but after lotta hours in a row it’s too hard.” Deuce was grateful for the help of his dorm leader and friends when it came to him, but the number of times he was unable to absorb knowledge after a prolonged study session was innumerable. Even with you, nothing would allow him to read a textbook for several hours straight and actually recall its contents. 

“I could try running again with you! It’s supposed to be good for your health and clear your head too,” you add. He tries to not flush in embarrassment remembering his first failed attempt at confessing and instead awkwardly smiles. But your willingness to try something makes him happy again, in spite of how it turned out the first time, has him falling in love all over again.

“When I run, I can just focus on becoming one with the wind! I don’t have to think about anything else. I can run with you whenever you want to,” Deuce promises, and he means it. Because you’re someone worth making time for. 

“Okay, I’ll go running with you again. But, I’d love to pick outfits for you one day too! Even if we’re just trying on things for fun. I was so surprised to see you in something other than a school uniform, but you look so good it makes me want to see you in other things.” Deuce nods immediately, though you’re someone he’d have a hard time saying no to anyway. He’s drawn to clothes that leave a powerful impression, but the thought of having matching couple outfits fills him with unexpected excitement. Cater had been talking about how couple outfits had been trending on MagiCam and Deuce had immediately thought of you. He imagined how nice you’d look, what’d it be like to pick pieces with you, maybe a cool set with details that matched nonchalantly. He hopes that matching couple outfits with you will be a real possibility by the end of today.

“Anyway, there are so many options on the menu! I can’t decide what I want,” you muse. 

“I can pick them out! You can go find a seat,” wait no that sounds too demanding, he didn’t mean it like that, “I mean, I can choose if you don’t want to. And! You can sit, you don’t have to wait in line with me.” Dear Great Seven, that was so embarrassing. He wanted to order for you since he had looked up the menu in advance to pick out what you’d both like, but he conveyed it in the most awkward way possible.

“Alright, surprise me then! I’ll find us a nice spot.” His only consolation was that you didn’t seem bothered by his blunder. Deuce took a deep breath and tried to refocus himself. If he couldn’t even offer to pick out some desserts for you, how could he confess to you? Still, he manages to recite his list of desserts and orders your favourite drink.

Deuce points out and names all the different sweets to you, paying extra attention to which ones you linger on longer, what dish gets the biggest reaction, and feeling so much relief when you seem genuinely excited to try them all. He tries to focus on absorbing every single word you say about each dessert because whichever ends up being your favourite is something he hopes to get you again in the future. All your little comments are endearing and make him want to confess to you right now! But he holds his tongue because you’re in a public setting.

“I liked the floating island one. Which is your favourite?” Deuce asks, wondering if your answer will match his guess.

“That one was good. You must like it because you like eggs, right? For me, they all taste great! And it’s better because I get to share them with you.” His heart confirms that he’s head over heels for you because that statement alone gets it racing. He wants to be special to you so badly and receiving even just a hint that may be true has his hopes soaring sky high.

“Me too. Sharing is better.” Deuce so badly wants this to be the norm for him. He wants to get to share so many things with you that he could go on listing things for an entire day and it still wouldn’t be enough. By the end of today, he plans on being one step closer to that goal.

“By the way, how much do I owe you for all the food?” You say it casually in passing while double-checking the directions to get to the movie theatre, but immediately Deuce is alert and nervous.

“No! You don’t have to pay me back. It’s fine! I owe you for all your help studying,” he insists. Deuce is ready to ramble out any number of excuses to prevent you from footing the bill in any manner. He’s trying to be a model boyfriend right now and making you pay, especially when he didn’t even consult you about a budget beforehand, would be the opposite of his goal.

“Alright, alright, but don’t feel like you have to pay me back every time we study. It helps me too!” you concede. On the way to the theatre, he learns a couple new things about you. Your favourite movie as a kid and what your current one is, popcorn preferences, and the two of you share both fond and horrific movie memories. Deuce loves getting to know all the little things about you, which come out naturally as the two of you spend time together. He thinks he could spend forever hearing you talk about it and learning more about you. It would never be enough. He’s trying to make a mental note of it all for later but every so often Deuce gets distracted by how close your hands are to his, close enough to easily brush if he leaned a bit, and how he wished he could hold yours. Maybe he’ll get the chance to hold your hand during the horror movie! And after he confesses at the end of the date, hopefully, he won’t have to let go of it either. It might seem stupid, Ace would have laughed if he discovered it, but Deuce wanted to give it a shot anyway. The prospect has him excited and Deuce mentally recites his confession in his mind. Everything is going to plan! You’ve had a great time at the cafe, a lovely walk to the theatre, Deuce is getting your tickets, Grim calls out to you, and … Grim calls out to you? With Ace standing beside him? And other first years???

“What’s everyone else doing here?” Deuce manages to spit out after the initial shock passes.

“Wait, don’t you know? Yesterday while you were at practice, we were all discussing weekend plans so I mentioned that we were going to see this movie. A bunch of other people said they wanted to see it too, so we decided to all meet up here. I swear Ace said he was going to tell you.” You get swept up in the group and just like that, whatever atmosphere between you disappears.

Deuce does his best to keep a neutral expression but then you glance at his face and proceed to remind him there’s enough time to go to the bathroom if he needs to, so unfortunately he’s not succeeding at that either. Sure, a date can definitely be you, your crush, your roommate, and several other friends! No, that definitely cannot be a romantic date. Deuce knows a group of friends hanging out when he is in said group. Plans of confessing to you fade to black like the movie screen as the film starts to play.

The Best Laid Schemes of Mice and Men

Once again Deuce finds himself walking along the shoreline, feeling annoyed and unsure.  He knows he’s no genius, but it’s seriously starting to feel like this is hopeless. Cater said if he comes on too hard, it could scare you off. But at this rate, Deuce just wants to tell you outright, plain and simple. Frustration and affection keep building up inside. All this thinking and planning isn’t really his style. Shouldn’t he just be his authentic self? The lapping waves offer no answer but at least the air is refreshing.

He shouts your name to the setting sun, then continues, “I like you! Romantically! Please go out with me!” It feels great. Even if no one but the birds knows, it feels right. So, Deuce turns around and strengthens his resolve to see you, face the truth and what may come, and - 

“Okay.” Oh no. Deuce knows that voice. He knows it so well because it’s yours, and it usually never fails to brighten his day. But right now it’s activating his fight or flight instinct, and he can feel the adrenaline pumping. It’s at this point Deuce comes to the stunning realization that he has the worst luck. Nearly got expelled on the first day of school, had to fight an ink monster, then at the next training camp got attacked by a different ink monster and was forced to fend it off by himself, and to top it off several of his upperclassmen have tried to kill him. Now there’s this too, just the icing on the cake! All the times he purposely tried to confess to you? Failed. Absolutely none of his intentions reached you. Shouting his frustrations to the ocean? Message heard loud and clear in all its clumsiness without a speck of eloquence. 

“Let’s date,” you add with a smile bright enough to rival the setting sun. Deuce can feel his brain malfunctioning. It’s turning to mush just like when he’s blanking on a chemical formula for potions class or he can’t remember a certain time period during a history test. He wants to thank you, to tell you that you won’t regret it, he’ll do his best to be a great partner, with so many sweet and flowery sentiments.

“Huh?” is what leaves his mouth. You both stare at each other, clearly flabbergasted by the other. You press your lips together and wait to see if Deuce does anything else. The silence quickly becomes awkward. Are his palms sweaty now? This feels like the world’s most high stake pop quiz.

“I like you too, Deuce!” you blurt. You look at him expectantly with a bated breath. Oh, wait, he needs to reply properly, doesn’t he? Hasn’t he dreamed of this scenario? Yet his brain refuses to articulate a single emotion smoothly or in a timely manner.

“Uh, I,” Deuce makes a mental note to never overthink and plan again because every memorized word is nowhere to be found, “Thank you!”

“Umm… you’re welcome?” Your mouth is left agape and the way you’re fiddling with your fingers makes Deuce even more nervous. He’s definitely making a mess and any word he seems to choose ends up being the wrong one. 

“Please take care of me!” There’s a belated pause before he scrambles to add, “I’ll take care of you too!” Deuce can’t tell if this is the greatest or most embarrassing moment of his life. But once he sees you break out into genuine laughter, he doesn’t care. If it’s for you, he wouldn’t mind being a fool.

“Okay, let’s take care of each other.” You extend your hand and he takes it without hesitation. The feeling of your hand in his is new but it feels right all the same. Deuce hopes that eventually, it’ll be natural, something that feels like second nature. The warmth of your hand, the sound of your laughter, and your giddy smile, they’re all things he hopes to get to experience for the rest of his life.

[screechthewriter]

you crazy-assed cosmonaut (remember your virtue) | a god of war/titanfall 2 crossover

part 3/6:

He couldn't keep much from Atreus.

Not because they were friends, though that was part of it. Cooper had never been good at lying, and he was even less good at it when it involved family and friends. But even more than that, Atreus (and he was still getting used to thinking of Arthur by that name) seemed to have an uncanny ability to hone in on when Cooper was trying to be sneaky about something. Usually he minded his business, but…

Well, Cooper was being (badly) sneakier than usual. It'd be enough to make anyone curious.

"You know you don't have to prove anything to anyone, right?"

"Huh?" Cooper scrambled to figure out where that comment might have come from. "I mean...I guess? What are you talking about?"

"All the extra workouts. You're in perfectly good shape and everyone knows you pull your weight."

Oh. The extra workouts. Right. "Yeah, I know, just...pushing myself a bit. No sense in staying stagnant." Atreus's face was, in that moment, deeply unreadable. It made Cooper nervous. "No one said anything to me, if that's what you're worried about."

"Good, because then I'd have to kill them." Cooper couldn't tell if Atreus was joking. He was pretty sure, comments like that were usually jokes, but Atreus was protective, and something about the way he said it told Cooper that there were instances where he'd be fine with killing someone over a slight. "But seriously, don't overdo it. You're healed up, right?"

"Oh, yeah, that was nothing. Mild tissue damage." Maybe that's what that was. Their last big engagement had ended with the camp in tatters and the two of them separated. He knew Atreus felt bad about not being there to help, no matter how many times Cooper reminded him that a Titan pilot had been there. Cooper couldn't deny that the extra help in that whole mess would've been nice, but he didn't blame Atreus for not being there or anything. "They cleared me ages ago."

“But are you actually feeling better, or is this a ‘we cleared you because we need guys’ kind of deal?”

“I’m okay.” The wounds to the leg and shoulder still hurt a little, but only when he poked them. Obvious answer was not to poke them, but he couldn’t help it sometimes. It was like repeatedly looking into the fridge to see if the food fairy had brought anything, except he was repeatedly, pointlessly checking to see if it had healed fully. “How are you holding up? And don’t give me that look. I know you hate long ship deployments.”

Atreus looked like he was considering arguing the point, but ultimately… “Yeah, okay, if I don’t get to see a plant soon, I might lose my mind a little,” he admitted. “When are we landing again?”

Before Cooper could respond, he heard a familiar voice down the hallway. It took every ounce of self-control to act like he didn’t immediately recognize the individual in question. That self-control was a lot harder when the figure walked by. “Cooper,” said Captain Lastimosa with a friendly but not too familiar nod.

“Captain, sir,” Cooper said.

“Captain,” Atreus echoed. He sounded pretty neutral at first, but the second Captain Lastimosa was out of earshot, he turned to face Cooper with an eager expression. “Was that him?”

“Who?”

“The pilot, the guy you saved!”

"Okay, first of all? He did most of the heavy lifting…"

"Jack, he was in a wheelchair after that fight. You can't tell me he did most of the heavy lifting when you were the only one walking on your own when you got back."

"He did most of the heavy lifting," Cooper insisted, feeling his ears start to go red. Atreus held up both hands, backing off but definitely not buying it. "But yeah, that's him. Captain Tai Lastimosa. He's nice."

He was really nice, actually, but saying that would mean going into the thing Cooper was keeping secret, so he tried his best to keep his mouth shut beyond that.

"Seems that way. Hey, maybe since you saved his ass, he can get you into the SRS after all."

Cooper felt the blush spread down into his face. He just hoped he looked more embarrassed than alarmed. How does he...no, he doesn't know, but he does know you got turned down from the program and it would make sense to ask Captain Lastimosa for a reference…

"I don't know. Maybe." Change the subject, quick. "Why didn't you ever apply? They'd probably take you. You're one of the best fighters I've met." He wasn't saying that for the sake of flattery. It was the truth. Atreus had good aim, definitely some combat training outside of the Militia, endurance, strength...he was basically the complete package, as far as physical traits. Personality-wise, he was a bit irreverent sometimes, but they could work with that.

Despite that, Atreus shook his head. "Absolutely not. Even if people didn't think I was weird, have you seen how small those cockpits are?" Atreus gestured to himself. "I haven't been small enough to fit comfortably in there since I was a teenager."

Good point. There were taller pilots, but they were rare for that reason. Atreus had a good seven or eight inches on Cooper. It'd be a bit of a tight fit. "Fair point. I've gotta say, I can't really picture you ever being my height."

"Would you believe me if I said I was small for my age as a kid?"

"Yes, but only because that seems like a weird thing to lie about. Late bloomer?”

“Sick a lot. Sometimes I wonder if I would’ve ended up taller if I hadn’t been. Both my parents are pretty tall. Giant, even.”

He said it like it was an inside joke. Cooper thought about asking, but since the chances of Atreus explaining a family-based inside joke were roughly 50/50 (and even the explanations he did get were short), he decided to mind his own business this time. Especially since reciprocal business-minding might be the only thing keeping Cooper’s secret.

The thought was still there, though. Maybe I should tell him. Atreus certainly wasn't the only person he'd thought about confessing to, but he was the one Cooper saw the most frequently these days, which made the secret-keeping a lot harder. It wasn't like Atreus was going to rat him out or anything (he never would, definitely not), so technically there was nothing to worry about.

But it felt wrong expecting Atreus to keep a secret that big. And it didn't feel right to make that decision without consulting Captain Lastimosa (the guy who stood to lose a lot more if news of what he was doing reached the wrong ears). And since Cooper couldn't think of a good way to say hey, so, I don't know how much longer I'm going to be able to keep a secret from this One Particular Person, so is it okay if I tell him, I promise he's solid, he just...kept his mouth shut. Kept the secret.

Right up until the point when he couldn't anymore.

It was, in short, one of those days. The long ship deployment had been getting to Cooper, too, making him a bit overstimulated and scatterbrained. That meant he wasn't watching where he was going or who might see him. That meant when he was slipping away from another training session that left him feeling more scatterbrained, his reaction to hearing someone approach was to freeze instead of even trying to hide.

Damn it. Damn it. No, no. Everyone knew this was the part of the ship where the pilots hung out...a rifleman, much less a random class-three like him hanging around would just attract questions...what should he say? What should he do?! What…

"Psst!"

The sharp hiss caught his attention. Cooper turned around in time to see Atreus standing behind him, as if he'd just materialized out of the ether. Cooper didn't respond verbally, just stared, but fortunately Atreus seemed to pick up the plea for help. Atreus stepped forward quickly, gesturing for Cooper to follow. He was walking towards the footsteps, but Cooper followed anyway because at least if there was two of them there was safety in numbers…

"Falið," Atreus breathed.

"What?"

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Atreus said, this time loud enough that Cooper could hear him without straining. That had nothing to do with what he'd just said, not as far as Cooper could tell...then again, maybe he'd just been swearing. Cooper wasn't immune to the urge to swear in a non-English language. "This part of the ship's not haunted, is it?"

"No, just…" Cooper swallowed hard as he caught sight of the other guy walking down the hall. He was pretty sure his name was Anderson, but he hadn't really learned the faces of the other pilots yet. "...surprised to see you here."

"Regular firing range is full. I figured they wouldn't mind if they borrowed theirs." Atreus walked past Anderson without acknowledging him—and, to Cooper's shock, Anderson did the same. He wasn't even shocked that they'd walked right past a major without any kind of respectful acknowledgment—the Militia wasn't so stuck up on rank that you had to constantly be saluting people. Regular-grade respect was fine. But not even a friendly hello? A casual Private, Major exchange? It was like Anderson hadn't seen them at all.

Not that Cooper was ungrateful, because damn, bullet dodged. But it was weird, weird in a way that made him wonder if he needed another coffee or a prolonged nap.

"...kind of mad that they get the fun moving targets, but whatever. So, uh, any reason you're back here?"

Cooper's entire face went red. "Uhm."

Atreus had a slightly gleeful look, the cat that caught the mouse smile that said maybe Cooper hadn't been as slick as he'd thought. "You don't have to say anything, just...confirm or deny, Lastimosa's been giving you a leg up?"

Damn it. He couldn't back out now. Omitting the truth was one kind of lying, but outright giving false information? Especially now? Not happening. So, Cooper nodded, despite the pang of terror that it gave him.

Atreus didn't look mad; in fact, he looked downright gleeful. "I knew it…"

"You can't tell anyone."

"I would never. And for what it's worth, I don't think anyone else has worked it out, or if they have, they don't care. I'm just exceptionally clever." He grinned at Cooper brightly. "Can I just say, I am deeply proud? My best friend, getting secret special ops training..."

"It's not that impressive."

"It is. Don't sell yourself short. Just promise you'll remember me when you're some kind of big hero."

As if that would ever happen. Even if he made SRS, Cooper wasn't sure he was hero material. "I don’t bail on friends,” Cooper said. “And besides, you’re one of the only people crazy enough to be friends with me.”

Atreus shook his head. “I wouldn’t say crazy. No one else knows what they’re missing.” He held out an arm questioningly, only turning the gesture into a one-armed hug when Cooper leaned into it. “You’re going to do great. I believe in you.”

“Thanks, buddy.”

It was good to hear. It really was.

Over time, Cooper came to realize that plenty of people knew about him and Lastimosa, but as long as he wasn’t actively disrupting anything, no one cared. It made things a little bit easier, and a little less stressful. He was still glad that Atreus was the first outsider to learn. It made things less strained between them—not that things had been especially strained, but even a small amount of strain was enough to make him feel uneasy.

Having everything back to normal felt good.

[scrumpledorph-writes]

Koben’s Biggest Fan (A Seventeen Year Old Nerd)

I

Packed up just about everything I own, rather not take the chance on any looters or squatters finding it. Huxley gave me a strongbox and key for the valuables – I can’t imagine anything other than the credits would be at risk, but the security is appreciated. Guess all that’s left to do is go meet his son.

Figure if he knows me from security footage he’ll mostly recognize the armor. Fine by me, changing out of it would be a hassle. His room’s at the very back of the manor, I suppose he likes his privacy. Even if he’s young he’s still a criminal, should make sure to announce my presence – not catch a reflexive pistol bolt. ‘Jaxon, can I come in?’ ‘Yeah, sure, whatever.’

Covered windows, poor ventilation, dim lighting; a far cry from how his father styles his space. Now how do I introduce myself? I doubt my name’s been pinned down on any of those holovids he’s watched, and I’ve never had a fan before. Maybe he can take the lead once he recognizes me. ‘Your father told me you liked my work, could you turn around so we can speak properly?’

‘Yeah sure, whate- no way, are you serious?! You’re not just one of his goons in a costume he had whipped up, are you?!’ ‘I don’t have any way to prove that.’ ‘Oh shit you are, that’s just what you’d say! I’m Jaxon, but you already knew that I guess. I’d seen footage of you slaughtering that gang over in Dunton, by the way that was some of your best work – the way you crashed through that wall and towered over him at the end was an absolute masterpiece – but I never thought I’d actually get to meet you! Unless you were hired to kill me, of course.’ This feels wrong, somehow.

I’m no stranger to violence, but I don’t do it for fun. He sounds like a voyeur. ‘He hired me to-’ ‘Oh oh oh, can I touch your plating?! How is it always in perfect condition after every vid, do you have a dedicated mechanic? Can I meet them too?’ Seems like I should let him get this out of his system before I put him through boot camp. I can take an arm plate off.

‘There’s a layer of thermal weave under each plate, it absorbs most of the heat from blaster bolts. I check it after every mission and replace any spent fabric as needed. I also have a protective paint I reapply to the plates whenever it wears thin that prevents corrosion, rust, and other everyday weathering. Sometimes I need to take them to a specialist to remove dents, and I needed a new breastplate machined once, but they’re very durable when taken proper care of.’ It is nice to talk to someone else about this stuff, equipment maintenance is the most important part of the job.

‘No way that’s so cool, you can just swap the plates out whenever they get worn down. I thought they were just one big welded chassis, but I guess whoever built you must have wanted you to last forever! Where are your circuits though, is this fabric some sort of camouflage for your neural harness?’ What the hell is he talking about?

‘I’m not a droid, I’m a human.’ ‘What?! No fucking way, you’re kidding, can you just hold on a sec while I get my holovid recorder and say that again? That debate’s been raging for years on the forum.’ ‘There’s a forum for talking about me?’ This is getting weird.

‘Not just you specifically, it’s for fans of all kinds of bounty hunting footage! The section for outlaw bounty killers is a lot smaller, so topics get pretty insular and retreaded fairly often. Obviously I’ve always argued that you were a droid, because I mean, come on, the way you carry yourself is so exacting and precise, and you’re so big and strong, that you couldn’t blame me, right? Umm, you’re not mad at me, are you?’ ‘This sounds inconsequential, so no.’ Hopefully putting him through some real combat training will make this hobby less appealing.

‘Oh, phew, glad to hear it. I’ve kind of spent a lot of time theory crafting about your origins, do you want to hear?’ This feels like it could go on all day. ‘Maybe later. Your father hired me to train you. If you take well to it, we can talk more about this at the end of the day.’ Not used to reward based motivation, but Imperial punishments probably won’t go over well here.

‘Oh, in that case, yes sir!’ ‘I’m a woman.’ ‘You are? But I thought...wow. Okay, yes ma’am! I’ve never done anything like this, what should we do first?’ He looks so emaciated his arms wouldn’t even need leverage to snap, and I’ve never seen a chair with such well worn grooves. ‘Physical conditioning – we’ll get a feel for your limits, then start pushing them. I’ve been told this place has a gym, meet me there. Change into something more breathable, I’m going to do the same.’

It’s been years since I’ve had to exercise with anybody else, and these clothes I bought don’t leave as much surface area uncovered as I’d like – but it would be irresponsible to meet him in my underwear. He’s already obsessed with me, and Seline said that I have an attractive body. If anybody can be considered an authority on the subject it would be a prostitute. With how little exercise he gets, he might have a heart attack. I can double layer my casual shirt and roll the pant legs up as far as they can go, that should suffice.

II

‘W-wow, hey there ma’am. Could I get your name, by the way? It would be huge if you told me what it was, that’s another thing that people debate on the forums.’ He’s having a hard time looking me in the eye, his are darting all over the room. My first name shouldn’t hurt, a gesture of trust for a future partnership. ‘Koben.’ ‘Aww, seriously? Uhh, sorry, that’s a nice name, it’s just that that’s one of the going theories I didn’t believe.’ I’m actually starting to get curious about all this, how deep do these discussions go?

‘What was your theory? Tell me while we warm up with some stretches, copy my movements.’ Basic aerobics so he doesn’t end up in a bacta tank doing the harder exercises. ‘Oh, you actually want to know? It’s kinda stupid, don’t worry about it.’ ‘Let me rephrase: as your instructor, I order you to tell me. And straighten your knees.’

‘Yes ma’am – Koben! Well, you don’t exactly talk while you’re on the job, I get it, you don’t want to give anybody clues. Not like the glory chasing bounty hunters who only take big flashy jobs so they can get a toy deal.’ Who’d want toys of a bounty hunter? If you’re going to be enthralled by violence, at least do it yourself. ‘I killed one of those yesterday. Stay focused, and switch legs.’

He seems distracted, far in excess of just his storytelling. ‘Anyway, most of the time when other people in your videos refer to you, they call you “trooper”. Working off my droid theory at the time, I figured that must have been short for a designation – Tr00p3r. In hindsight it was a bit of a shitty theory, I never could find a droid designation that matched that name, but the guy who kept saying it was just such an asshole about it that admitting he was right would have driven me up the wall.’ This forum is starting to sound like it has too much information on me.

‘How many people use this forum?’ ‘Well the main forum has thousands of posters, but if you mean how many people talk about you, it’s maybe a couple dozen at the most. I keep the place curated, anybody who shit talks you catches a lifetime ban.’ That’s a low enough number to track down, but also a low enough number to be unlikely to accomplish anything with that information. I won’t worry about it, if he’s their most powerful member then they’re harmless.

‘Noted, thank you. Let’s continue in silence for now.’ He’s having a hard time doing basic stretches, even the academy conscripts were better off than this. It would help if he could watch my demonstration longer than five seconds. I’ll bring it up after the set as something to work on tomorrow.

This is kind of nice. He really seems to appreciate my work. It felt uncomfortable at first knowing that there were eyes on me, but the only part anybody else ever appreciated about it was the results. Knowing there are people who can recognize all the training that went into being able to do it almost makes me feel like I owe it to them to keep going. Then again, with this payout I likely won’t need to work for a while. Losing a few fans is worth taking some time to relax.

‘Koben, can we please take a break? My arms feel like they’re on fire.’ He’d have gotten the rod for that in the academy, but I need to temper my expectations. There were plenty of washouts, but I don’t get paid if he quits. ‘Fine. You barely managing that gives me a good grasp on your physical abilities anyway. That was the more important part.’ Let’s go grab a drink.

This water is good. Is it fresh? Most of what I’ve bought on this planet has been reprocessed, has a chemical taste to it, but this tastes pure. He doesn’t seem to appreciate it. ‘There’s no use drinking that much at a time, your body won’t process it. You’ll just end up wasting it.’ ‘It’s water, we can drink as much of it as we need.’ Definitely spoiled by a life of luxury. ‘On desert planets like this, my squad used to get attacked for our water rations. Appreciate it.’ ‘Yes Koben.’ I should find out what his problem was during the workout.

‘You seemed to be having a hard time watching my demonstration.’ ‘Oh, uhh, yeah, sorry, I’m just not used to keeping eye contact with folks is all, I spend so much time online.’ Deflection. A nervous tone. It’s better to get rid of any obstacles now. ‘You looked me in the visor with no difficulty.’ ‘Well, I mean, that’s a visor, y’know? That’s different. I mean, c’mon, I thought I was talking to a droid, not a...’ I think I can piece together where this is going, but making him say it is the only way to drag him over this hill. ‘Finish that sentence.’

‘A really hot babe...’ That’s what I thought. This is awkward for me, but it must be a hundred times worse for him. ‘You have permission to speak freely about me. We’ll be spending the next week together, so we should get any difficulties like this out of the way now. No use wasting your father’s credits on ineffective training.’ ‘Well when you were in the armor you were just kind of a vaguely human shaped blob, nothing weird about that even when you said you were a woman, but then to go from that to this, like, immediately with no warning – like if you’d showed up wearing lighter armor I would have had time to get used to it, y’know? But you went from a faceless genderless droid suit to a muscle girl pinup poster in no time flat, that’s just not fair!’ This is getting somewhat endearing. I used to feel this way about a few of the disciplinarians.

‘I considered this before meeting you in the gym, and thought I took sufficient steps to mitigate it. I don’t consider my attire sexual – and I know this is going to keep being awkward, but could you describe specifically what about my presentation comes across that way?’ Now I’m starting to feel bad for pressing him, but this really needs to get taken care of if we’re going to be able to work together.

‘Well, I mean, okay, sorry – I didn’t mean to call you a pinup model. But, it’s just, there’s a lot of nuance to it that’s really hard to convey, and the fact that you didn’t even try makes it even hotter.’ ‘I’m willing to listen as long as it takes to solve this. Embarrassment is the least arduous thing I’ll be putting you through.’ ‘That, come on! That’s an innuendo, don’t say stuff like that!’ How could he possibly misconstrue that as sexual? That was a borderline threat.

‘I was referring to training. Knife fighting, blaster handling, and basic unarmed combat are all foundational to my work, and your father wants you to learn them.’ ‘Okay that’s – just say what you mean. I’m not dumb, I know that obviously there’s no way for there to ever...be anything between us – like it’ll never happen, but that doesn’t stop my mind from wandering when you leave a statement open ended like that. You must think I’m just a creepy little fucking freak, don’t you?’ I’ve been getting better at being emotional lately, but this is going to really test my skills. It helps that he reminds me of myself when I was his age, under all the training.

‘No. I understand exactly how you feel.’ ‘What, how? You’re so stony and focused, no shot you ever felt like this about anybody.’ That hurts a little. ‘I’m going to tell you a story, but only if you promise not to tell your forum. It’s personal.’ ‘Sure, you’ve already given me like ten times as much info as we managed to scrape together ourselves.’ ‘When I was in the Imperial Storm Trooper Academy-’ ‘You were a Storm Trooper? That makes a lot of sense actually. Sorry, that’s another thing we debate about, I’ll try not to interrupt again.’ What part of my life haven’t they dissected at this point?

‘When I was just starting, they used to discipline me for my accent. They said it was unbecoming of a Storm Trooper, because a representative of the Empire needed to sound clear and confident.’ I’ve never told anybody about this, almost can’t believe I am now. ‘What the fuck, that’s horrible!’ ‘For minor infractions it was just my instructor, but those minor infractions built up into major infractions. Major infractions were carried out by a dedicated disciplinarian.’ Hopefully me embarrassing myself will make him feel more comfortable. Talking about this feels good, somehow. Like someone taking a supply pack off my shoulders.

‘You seem to have a healthy sexual appetite, so imagine what this did to a fifteen year old boy’s brain.’ ‘You said you’re a woman though.’ Oh right, not everybody grows up the way I did. ‘I was a boy, who became a soldier, who became a woman, who became an outlaw. Regardless; how do you think you would react if an older woman, about the age I am now, in a skintight Imperial Black uniform locked you in a stockade and whipped you across the back with a crop?’ He doesn’t even need to answer, I can see him picturing it. I’m laughing. I guess this is all pretty absurd, why not laugh about it?

‘Holy shit I think I’d bust on the spot!’ ‘I don’t know what you mean when you say “bust”, do you mean-’ ‘Don’t say it, but the horniest interpretation you can think of is the right one.’ Dialects change so strangely. ‘Anyway, that’s – I mean damn, for one thing that’s awful, I’m sorry to hear it. But also, like on the other hand – holy shit. Why the hell do they need to go around conquering planets, the Empire could fund all the projects in the galaxy if they just got into the porn industry.’ He really is starting to sound like some of my old foul mouthed squadmates. The fun ones.

‘I think I’d have done a lot worse at that career than at being a soldier. The point is, I would think about that for days after it was done. We lived in barracks with a rigorously regimented schedule, so I never had an opportunity to-’ I still don’t think we’re familiar enough for me to say those words out loud yet.

‘Yeah, I getcha. So, uhh, and let me know if this is me reading it wrong – but are you saying you’re okay with me practically drooling over you? Because, I mean, like, that’s totally doable. I was looking away to try to be polite because otherwise I’d just have been thinking about, well – y’know; like, the whole workout.’ At least he knows when to be honest with an authority figure. ‘You’ve managed to maintain eye contact throughout this whole conversation. Have you been doing that this entire time?’

‘No. No, now that you mention it I haven’t. I guess, I dunno, now that we’re talking you feel less like a celebrity and more just like a person. A person who went through some really fucked up shit, by the way, just want to reiterate that part. But, uhh, yeah, I don’t really talk to people much, and women even less, so I guess – sorry for being weird about it.’ Not used to accepting apologies without reprimanding someone.

‘Well, if you ever need to be weird about it again, let me set a guideline so we can stop talking about this and get back to your training: I don’t encourage it, and I’ll certainly never participate in it, but whatever actions you take that don’t involve me and that I’m left unaware of; I have no say in. Do you understand?’ ‘Yeah, crystal clear. I’ll, uhh, well – I certainly won’t talk about anything I may or may not hypothetically do to relieve any theoretical awkward feelings that arise due to any potential opinions I have about any parts of your body.’ He’s a funny kid, not sure if he’s doing it on purpose or not. Huxley should cut him some slack.

‘With that many qualifiers you communicated almost nothing at all. You’d make a great officer. Now that we’ve got that out of the way, our break is over. You’ve had enough time to recover from your warmup, time to start the real workout.’ ‘Fuuuuck.’

[lifewithoutmeds]

may 20, 2023

journaling again! and read 20 pages of my new book this morning. and have done a lot of the things: run the vacuum, washed some dishes, light morning walk and work out, uploading and editing of some youtube content for my WIR, and awaiting its publishing.

today is day 7 of Andrew Huberman’s morning routine, coupled with weaning off of my depression meds, tripled with the most strict adherence i’ve had yet to my diet/exercise, that is, tracking my calories every week, and for the most part, being able to walk 15,000 steps, get 80 or more grams of protein, and having a caloric deficit. i suppose despite however sad i may have felt this week (and i did feel sad), at least i’m not double punishing myself for being lazy too. at least there’s a tiny bit less self loathing involved.

yesterday jadai texted and we went back and forth for a while, lovingly, caringly, and i wept and wept. i missed her, i loved her, but by the end of the day i felt rather tired and emptied of my tears, of my sorrow, of a lot of the sadness, actually. part of it was talking to nida and amir, not so much in that the talking itself helped, but in realizing how rather minuscule my issues are relatively. nida, who’s too busy to think/feel, amir, who’s just too sad to be able to truly empathize with my dumbass complaints. it was more in their lack of empathy that i kind of had to rethink the relative gravity of my complaints. also i was just physically seemingly of tears to cry.

so today feels better, despite yesterday crying at least on three separate occasions. i did all my things, as i mentioned. my am walk, my electrolyte water. reviewed my week while editing my youtube vid, and could see that i was making progress, or rather, i could see my efforts, and i felt something akin to pride that i had walked the walk and talked the talk for at least those seven days, and i had a video to prove it.

this weekend looks to be rather chill. i have a 5:00 p.m. scheduled happy hour with kendy and matt in santa monica at the Fig Restaurant, which we like, and for tomorrow i plan to hit up the montrose farmers market and see my mom for a bit. just a few hours of social activity and the rest for self-care, contemplating, and just .... working on whatever needs to be worked on, personally, whether that’s preparing for my upcoming camping trip, or trying to tidy a corner of my condo. maybe i should give a rating, occasionally, on my feelings?

Current Mood: 7

[shomagravity]

【 "Why did you choose Stephane as your coach?"】ー Exclusive Interview with Uno Shoma || 18th January, 2022 TRANSLATION

Q. We were able to interview Stephane the other day and asked him what he was able to teach Shoma-kun, and he said something like: "I only watched over him so that Shoma can believe in himself." How does this make you feel?

Shoma: Well... I always skated in practice while thinking and coming to conclusions by myself. So I don't listen if I am told "do this" or "do it like that". I really don't accept opinions that I don't agree with. I think Stephane understood that as well when he was around me. However, what Stephane believed in me was that I would definitely have my return like this. It's because he believed in things like my abilities, my feelings regarding skating and just how serious I was; rather than deliberately being like "do it this way!", you can say he waited, or watched over me.

The only thing is, so that I don't really overwork myself, he restrains me from taking that one last step. I think that's the kind of presence he was for me.

I felt this way with Higuchi Mihoko Sensei as well. I wanted to be someone whose coach will be praised by everyone, by proving myself to be a world-class athlete. For the first time with someone other than Higuchi Mihoko Sensei, I want to be an athlete who lets everyone know even more, that Stephane is a great coach.

He's a really good coach. He's a coach who, while serious, walks along with his athletes. I really want to give a performance which Stephane will be pleased with.  

Q. Did you internalize Coach Stephane's words from even before now?

Shoma: Hmm....No, not really, honestly. I really don't listen to what people tell me. I listen for the first time after understanding something myself.

However, I do think it's not good to reject things outright, so of course I always try things once. I make sure to do that but before he was my coach, he was really fun. I thought it was really fun to be with him. I felt that but if you're asking me if I always thought like "Ah, I'll definitely go along with what he's saying!", then it wasn't the case.

Q. Did you pick Stephane because he was "fun"?

Shoma: The first reason why I picked Coach Stephane is... Well, for starters it's kind of unbelievable that he would take me as a student during the season. But he accepted that. Also, I wanted to enjoy my remaining skating life. That's what I thought. I was able to take part in some training camps but I thought Coach Stephane's place was the most suited for me to enjoy it. With those feelings, I was thinking of doing it once the season was over, actually. But I couldn't afford doing that. He willingly took me in even though it was the middle of the season. Now I feel bad that I don't go to Switzerland at all but I practice where he can't see with the feeling of wanting to surprise Stephane with a surprising improvement.

Q. Last time when we spoke to Stephane he said that he felt Bolero was complete up to about 60%. As of now, what percentage do you think is Bolero completed?

Shoma: I agree with Stephane. It was getting better, I actually felt the feedback right before Japanese Nationals but since I had my accident, Bolero has been getting slightly worse lately. Honestly if I were to compare it to before the Nationals - it's not about jumps and such but things like transitions... I was thinking that "If I can do this in the competition it would be amazing." In these past 2 weeks... I think if I managed to do something once, it won't take too long to get it back. So I strongly feel like I want to get it back.  

This program really needs a lot of energy. Even if you compare it with other athletes, it's a program that needs a lot of physical strength. You stop, you move, you stop, you move. And each and every movement is dynamic. That's why I'm not supposed to show I'm tired. From start to finish, I think this program will 100% be something that makes others think "there's so much movement!". We've managed to get it quite close to that. Coach Stephane choreographed this Bolero because he thought it would suit me. Because it's something he created thinking it would suit me*, what was necessary for me was to put my personality into it with full-force, rather than how I can express Bolero. I think that's really necessary for Bolero. Day after day I did repetitive practices. Little by little I built up more physical strength. I think getting closer to 100% is something I need within me.

Q. About "Bolero", the music he's using for his free

Shoma: Ever since I started this layout, practices have been rewarding. That's why, I think it's because it's rewarding that I can keep practicing this very tough Bolero every day. It might be that Coach Stephane wants me to work on things other than jumps, like artistry, but because of this difficult layout Bolero, this energetic Bolero, can be even more refined, I think it can become something that stands out. "He moves so much and yet also jumps so much! And he can keep moving so much until the end!" I think that's what Bolero is.

This season doesn't end at the Olympics, there's World Championship as well. Coach Stephane probably will change the program after this year ends, definitely. I don't think he would like me to continue it two years in a row, probably. So there's only 2 competitions left for me to complete it.

Tweets

[rnelodyy]

c!Dream and the rules

(/dsmp /rp, all names refer to characters, not content creators)

I think one of the most striking parts of Exile is something that I rarely see talked about, and it’s Dream’s rules. Or rather, how his rules were made to be used as justification to hurt Tommy.

The thing about exile is that, outside of the initial rule of “Don’t go back to L’Manburg”, Dream never told Tommy the rules, yet constantly operated under the assumption that Tommy already knew them, and had accepted them. The rules also changed constantly, without Tommy ever being notified until he was already in trouble.

The second time Dream told Tommy to put his armor in the hole, he didn’t tell Tommy to do that right away. Instead, the conversation went like this (slightly edited to remove stammering and unrelated dialogue).

Dream: Do you have, uh… something you wanna put on the floor here? Tommy: Yes. (drops two pieces of red concrete as Dream digs a hole) Dre-eam! You’re evil. You’re evil. Dream: Anything else, Tommy? Tommy: Nope! Dream: Oh c’mon, I know there’s something else you wanna drop down here. Tommy: (panicking slightly) No, there… (messages BBH “take this and run”, throws him the disc BBH had gifted him earlier) Um… I don’t reckon there is! (pause) Dream: Okay, are you suuuure? Tommy: YES. Dream: Alright… How ‘bout your armor, Tommy? Tommy: Well, no, this is- I actually earned this myself. Dream: I know you did! Tommy: Leave me alone. Dream: Just drop it in the hole, Tommy. Tommy: Wh- no, NO, you can’t just come and demand things from me! I’ve been exiled, I’ve done your shit, what do you mean?! Dream: (sing-song) Tommy… Tommy: What? (Dream hits Tommy with his axe, taking over half his health) Tommy: (screams, drops his armor) OKAY OKAY OKAY OKAY OKAY OKAY OKAY!

The only rule Tommy was aware of at this time was that he wasn’t allowed to go back to L’Manburg. Dream had taken his armor the night before, but there was no indication that he expected Tommy to do this constantly. Taking his armor upon initially arriving at Logstedshire made some kind of sense, allowing Tommy to keep it would run the risk of him trying to fight his way back into L’Manburg. Taking his new, very shitty armor (seriously it was an iron chestplate and a pair of golden leggings he got from a ruined portal chest) made no sense at all, so the fact that Tommy was confused and refused to cooperate at first isn’t unexpected in the slightest.

And the thing is… Dream was aware of this fact. Throughout the conversation, he never really sounded annoyed, and was actively teasing Tommy at times. This isn’t a good thing btw, it’s a sign that he was fully aware that Tommy didn’t know what he wanted from him, and that that would create a situation where Dream could “put him in his place” as it were.

If you’re a parent, and your kid does something that’s not allowed, without knowing it’s not allowed, you don’t start off with a beating. You sit them down, calmly explain the rules to them and explain why those rules are there, then send them on their way with the knowledge that they shouldn't do it again.

This interaction wasn’t an instance of Tommy acting out and Dream correcting him. This interaction was a trap. Dream set Tommy up to fail by not telling him the rules beforehand, and when Tommy offered even the slightest bit of resistance and asked why he needed to drop his armor, Dream jumped straight to beating him. It’s a powerplay, plain and simple.

This is demonstrated again with the destruction of Logstedshire. Dream got pissed that Tommy disobeyed him by having hidden chests with gear under his house, and retaliated by destroying everything Tommy had built, destroying every item he’d collected, killing his pet and only foodsource, barring him from the Nether, banning everyone except himself from visiting, and telling him to start over from scratch after a whole lecture about how Tommy betrayed him.

Again, I wanna point out some specific lines from this lecture that illustrate my point very well.

Dream: You were lying to me! You were lying to me. Tommy: No- Why was I lying?! Dream: What do you mean, why were you lying?! Tommy: I wasn’t hi- I wasn’t- Dream: You hid things in a chest knowing they were things I wouldn’t want you to have! And you hid it in a way that way I would never find it!

Except Tommy didn’t know that. The contents of the stash were all items that Tommy had obtained previously without any issue (diamonds, emeralds, iron, ender pearls, some pickaxes, and some purely sentimental items like flowers, a jukebox, and pictures of Tubbo and L’Manburg). In fact, the vast majority of them came from Tommy’s aboveground storage, which Dream had full access to, and had looked through before!

Dream also never said Tommy wasn’t allowed to hide stuff, and there was nothing to suggest he didn’t want Tommy to keep secrets from him.

There’s been a theory floating around for a while that Dream knew about Tommy’s item stash beforehand, since it was a very strange place to dig a hole (like, right in front of the house in the center of Logstedshire itself, instead of out in the plains where the TNT wouldn’t damage any structures), and Tommy had previously forgotten to cover up the entrance ladder. While Dream hadn’t looked inside the house, he would’ve definitely heard Tommy place the block back.

If this theory is correct, then this was yet another trap. Dream knew Tommy had a hidden room, and instead of just saying “hey, I don’t want you to have a hidden stash, go put this back and fill in the room” (which would’ve still been bullshit btw), he went COMPLETELY ballistic, destroyed EVERYTHING Tommy had, and while doing it, kept admonishing Tommy for betraying him, said shit like “I thought we were friends”, and even accused him of preparing to attack Dream. Again, a powerplay.

Hell, even the exile conflict itself is this! Tommy was exiled for griefing the king’s property while being a high-ranking official in L’Manburg. Except Fundy, the then-president’s son, CONSTANTLY griefed Eret’s shit after the L’Manburg war, ranging from ripping down one of their towers to “shrink” it, filling another tower with water, and multiple elaborate plots to steal the throne from under their nose. But apparently, between all of that shit and the exile-conflict, the rules were silently changed, meaning Dream could exile Tommy for breaking a couple blocks and placing some rude signs in George’s house. Even the punishment itself was changed without warning, as Tommy went from being exiled from L’Manburg to exiled from “everywhere that’s ever been touched.”

...I was originally gonna make a different point here. I may put it in the reblogs, because I still think it’s very interesting. But, in the middle of writing this essay I had to stop because it was late, then I spent the entire next day packing up because I’m in the middle of a move. It's now the next evening, I'm sat in my new room, on my camping bed, I opened this doc because I pretty much forgot what I typed, I reread it, and then I realized… This isn’t an isolated series of events. This is a pattern for Dream.

Before Tommy first joined the server, there were only three set rules: no stealing, no griefing, and no killing people. Except by that point, those rules weren’t enforced at all. In fact, Dream broke all three at once at one point, by killing George and burning his diamond armor because he didn’t feel it was fair that George got to run around in full diamond when everyone else still had iron.

Tommy joined the server, and broke the rules like everyone else. He stole shit, broke shit, killed George for funsies… and he got exiled for it. Seriously, they dumped him in an empty snowfield for breaking rules that nobody had enforced for weeks. So technically, the Exile-arc isn’t even the first time something like this has happened to him!

During the events that would eventually spark the Disc War, Sapnap stole a bunch of Tommy’s items (including the only Netherite chestplate on the server at the time), and told him he’d only give the stuff back if Tommy helped him with a conflict he had with Ponk. Long story short, Dream tried to intervene and was killed by Tommy and Sapnap, and Dream stole Tommy’s discs to force him to apologize. He then kept the discs, and the Disc War followed. Sapnap, despite being the aggressor and arguably forcing Tommy to participate in the conflict, was never punished.

This proves not only that the rules can change whenever Dream feels like it, but that they’re arbitrarily enforced. Dream refuses to punish his friends for the same crimes he endlessly fucks over Tommy for.

L’Manburg was created in part because of the fact that the rules were unevenly enforced. Tommy, Wilbur, and later Tubbo were repeatedly killed, stolen from, imprisoned, and even held hostage for very minor crimes, while the people killing, imprisoning, kidnapping and stealing from them were able to do so without impunity.

This was also the point where Dream just started making up new rules; there was no rule against having governments on the server, or making a separate area where Dream’s rules wouldn’t apply, so Dream banned governments, and used this new rule as an excuse to kill them, take their items, and tear their land to shreds.

And that’s another thing: the punishments for breaking Dream’s rules are INCREDIBLY harsh.

Kill him non-canonically one time? Your most prized possessions will now be dangled over your head and used to hurt you for the next few months.

Make a country with different laws that doesn’t infringe on anyone’s territory, has no desire to expand, is explicitly pacifistic and open to trade negotiations? You’ll be forced to fight a war you’re in no way equipped to fight, you’ll be betrayed and murdered and have your land destroyed in front of your very eyes until you literally have no choice but to surrender.

Mildly vandalize the king’s house, which nobody else has ever been punished for? You’ll be dragged into court, exiled from your home, and subjected to weeks of abuse until you believe that all of your friends hate you and you actively want to kill yourself.

Hide some stuff in a secret chest? Your only shelter will be exploded, your pet/only food source will be killed, all your items will be destroyed, you’ll be banned from the Nether, and none of your friends will be allowed to come see you.

This is all such disproportionate retribution it’s ridiculous. It’s like punishing someone for speeding by blowing up their car with a ballistic missile.

So to sum up: Dream’s rules are arbitrarily enforced, and he can just straight up make them up on the spot if he feels like it. Sometimes, he won’t tell you a rule exists until you’ve already broken it, and you’re treated as if you broke it out of malice instead of genuine ignorance. And if you do break a rule, and he decides you have to be punished, it will always be a punishment so harsh it doesn’t even ATTEMPT to fit the crime.

I don’t know about you, but that sounds pretty fucking corrupt and tyrannical to me.

When people say Tommy deserved exile, or made Dream spiral into villainy, or abused Dream somehow (seriously I’ve seen this take multiple times and every time it makes my brain melt) by breaking the rules, I would invite them to take a step back and ask themselves, why did that rule exist? Did Tommy know it existed? Was it enforced for everyone other than him as well? Does the punishment fit the crime?

Dream has a bad habit of making up rules, or enforcing old ones that were never enforced before, to punish those who threaten his power. None of the Dream Team were ever punished for anything, despite committing the same crimes as the L’Manburgians. That is, until they founded Mexican L’Manburg (i.e. went against Dream’s rule), at which point they were attacked by Dream and George was dethroned for “not being neutral enough.”

Tommy should’ve faced consequences for what he did. But those consequences should’ve come naturally, and been carried out by the people he hurt. Like, if Dream hadn’t intervened, griefing George’s house would’ve resulted in George griefing Tommy back in revenge. In fact, he DID do that, by turning Tommy’s entire house into granite and putting the Jump In The Cadillac picture on his front lawn.

These are natural, proportionate consequences. Exile was none of that. The Disc War was none of that. Everything that happened to L’Manburg was none of that.

Dream’s rules and how he enforces them are inherently corrupt and tyrannical. To pretend it’s anything but is disingenuous at best.

[justminawrites]

Why Souma and Erina make Great Foils but Terrible Lovers (ft. EiRin)

See, there’s a very simply explanation for this: they never got to be friends. And with the way the series has progressed, it’s hard to imagine that they ever will, even in the future. Let me tell you why.

Souma’s character development is fairly standard throughout seasons 1 and 2, but starts to get worse halfway through season 3, when the story becomes heavily Erina-centric. 

He wants to be the best, he wants to prove everyone in this uppity school wrong for looking down on diners and small scale restaurants, especially one of the first people he ever meets there, his examiner Nakiri Erina, who fails him just because he  presents her with a low class dish. Along the way we meet multiple side characters who help him grow on his journey, notably: Tadokoro Megumi, Isshiki Satoshi, Shinomiya Kojiro, Mimasaka Subaru, Hayama Akira, and Arato Hisako, who teach him various lessons that help expand his world view. There may be a few others but these are all the main ones that I could think of. 

He goes from no small scale is The Best Way to Hold Up maybe these weird rich people are onto something after all. His interactions with these characters put him in difficult positions from where he always learns something, and we as an audience get to explore Souma’s personality through the way he reacts. 

With Isshiki we see his willingness to fight and since Isshiki is one of the first people he comes to respect in the academy, the first person who’s cooking skill absolutely floors him, we see Souma immediately humbled but still eager to learn from his gifted senior. Isshiki becomes a sort of standard here, not a real rival. 

With Megumi we see his protectiveness, his courage that borders on recklessness and when he’s put into a situation where he has to let her take the lead and just support (during the Shokugeki at camp) we see him finally come to terms with the consequences of that reckless behaviour. 

With Hayama we see his deep competitive streak, and his willingness to put aside his pride so that he can learn from someone who he considers his rival (Takumi doesn’t  count  because Souma doesn’t take him seriously 90% of the time). This is actually one of his more emotionally intelligent moments, which is rare to see in a character with such a one track state of mind.

With Mimasaka we see him start to question what really defines his own cooking; although this plot point is explored further in later seasons, the shokugeki with Mimasaka is where the seeds are sown because he has to compete with someone who is essentially a perfected copy of him. We even get IMO one of his best lines here: “It’s almost like I’m chasing myself.”

With Arato Hisako we see him come to terms with the fact that he wasn’t trying to surpass his father all this time, but just chase after him, content to remain one step behind like Hisako had so often done for Erina. 

With Shinomiya Kojiro we really really see him humbled (during the stagiaire) as he finally gets the feel of what it’s like being in a gourmet restaurant, where he’s completely out of his depth in every possible way, but doesn’t let it stop him from pouring his heart and soul into ingraining such an experience. Here, we really get to see his passion for cooking and how devoted he is to his craft. We also get to see his first speciality.

So all the way through your the first few seasons not only do we see how brave, smart, eager and persistent Souma is, we also see by contrast how Erina is none of these things. 

Blessed with her God Tongue ability and trained in Totsuki curriculum since she could walk, Erina has a kind of overpowered superhero energy- she never really has to work for any of her victories, making her the exact opposite of Souma. She wins everything with incredible speed, barely breaks a sweat during hell camp and to top it all off, she’s the only freshman who’s considered a part of the Elite 10, essentially one of the best students in this entire school.

Even during her Stagiaire arc we see that Erina has no intention of adapting or learning anything from the industry professionals, (technically failing the second intention of the exercise but I digress), preferring to run the kitchen herself like a queen and deliver results- but she does notably learn something from Megumi here. 

Souma and Erina don’t really have a good relationship in these first few seasons, what with her general dislike of any food she considers not gourmet, the clubs she closes down, and with his constant struggle to prove her wrong but there’s something lacking in this dynamic that really hits home once we get into the third season. 

It’s clear in nearly every situation they’re put into, Souma at the very least respects Erina as a chef. She, however, does not. No matter who he wins against, Erina refuses to acknowledge his cooking, actively being against him competing in the Autumn elections and expecting him to fail at camp. Her opinion of him is so low that she subsequently loses respect for people who fail to beat him, i.e. the way she abandoned Mito Ikumi after her Shokugeki. 

All of this comes to a head when, during the third season, Erina is forced to accept Souma’s help by hiding out in the Polar Star Dormitory when she “runs away” from home. This is the beginning of her redemption arc, and the beginning of Souma’s really bad character development. 

Once we learn about her backstory, Erina’s behaviour is a bit more explainable, bad parenting and brainwashing takes a heavy toll on a teenager indeed and while everyone else is immediately sympathetic towards our main heroine, Souma is not. 

When Senazaemon straight up BEGS for his help, the LITERAL DIRECTOR of Totsuki begs for his help, he responds with an indeterminate way of handling things which was along the lines of: “...their family situation seems pretty wack but that’s none of my business. But at the same time I’m not going to abandon her either so dw.”

He basically leaves her in the care of the dorm, and let’s not forget that at this point he barely knows anything about Erina except for the fact that she’s really pretentious and a stickler for that gourmet life. There’s no friendship here, there’s a borderline truce at best. 

During the advancement exams we see Erina take front and centre stage as she coaches the other PSD students and friends alike on how to pass it, and while it does seem that Souma is also benefiting from this exercise, their relationship doesn’t progress much. So we can assume their truce is in effect. We don’t see her outright respect him as a chef, but we don’t see her put him down either.

Once they go up against the elite 10 and everyone fails however, the focus shifts entirely. Here we see Souma’s confrontation with the latest member of the Elite 10, Hayama Akira, and this is where we start drawing parallels to the fifth season. 

Souma and Hayama’s relationship during the Bear meat arc is very similar to his relationship with Erina during the BLUE tournament, albeit for different reasons. 

When Souma finds out how Hayama lost his home and fell into Azami’s clutches, his first reaction is to yell at him about focusing on the match. Similarly, when he finds out Erina’s reasons for participating under duress in BLUE, her mother, he comes off as extremely cynical and just mean about the whole thing. 

This behaviour is extremely tone deaf from a guy who we know has the ability to be kind and sympathetic when the situation calls for it. He’s been kind with Megumi, with Takumi, even with Hisako on occasion. So why is he being so insufferable here? 

Why is his character taking such a downward turn from the original arc?

Most of it can be attributed to really bad writing, tension for tension’s sake and all that but I can argue that isn’t really out of left field for him to be so unbothered. This is because of his relationship between the two people in question. Hayama Akira and Nakiri Erina are arguably the only two people in the whole series that Souma genuinely considers his Rivals, i.e, the only two people he’s hell bent on proving wrong or showing up. 

They are in his opinion, everything wrong with Totsuki; both extreme purists when it comes to cooking, while Hayama does creatively make use of fragrance, both with Hypersensitive Gifts that give them an enormous advantage in their respective fields, and both who fail to acknowledge him as a chef. Hell, the two even say really similar things when they first meet him: “You don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of surpassing me.”

In Hayama’s arc, he doesn’t take Souma seriously even after the autumn elections, relegating himself to top of the pyramid in line for the tenth seat after Erina, and sidelining the other two contenders: a fact that drives both Ryō and Souma quite mad. Even after he suffers crushing defeat during the Bear meat duel, he’s still completely unable to comprehend why Souma would go to such lengths, only for the other boy to turn around and tell him to his face that it was all for him. To beat him. For him to actually stop and recognise Souma as his equal, as his contender. 

This is one of the only two times where Souma goes out of his way to cool for a specific person, like his dad has been saying all along. 

We see this parallel drawn again in the fifth season where Erina, a chef he definitely respects, is pinning all her hopes on some magical dude who’s skill literally makes no sense (but I don’t want to talk about that), instead of trusting her own abilities which can definitely beat him. She’s undermining herself and by extension, him, and it irritates him because even After he beat Asahi, she doesn’t change. 

Obviously this is because she’s going through her own self doubt and abandonment issues but Souma doesn’t consider any of that, the same way he didn’t think about how losing the Shiomi seminar would affect Hayama either. 

So the second time he makes a dish for another person, to once again remind them of who they are (note: he used Hayama’s own subtract and emphasise technique in the bear meat), he uses Erina’s very first dish, the Eggs Benedict that she made at camp. This works, bringing Erina’s character development in full circle, she went from snooty elitist to bearable rich kid to someone so lost in herself that she’s forgotten what the core of her personality was: the actual culinary queen. 

Souma was always essential to Erina’s growth as a character, she wouldn’t have changed if it wasn’t for him- but Erina is only useful as a foil to him. There are lots of moments where instead of helping or giving any actually advice, she works as an instigator instead (note: Mimasaka’s Beef Stew arc) which doesn’t teach him anything on its own, but pushes him to learn from elsewhere. 

By sacrificing any possible harmony between these two, the story has continually driven the plot further than before; in fact, the show itself addresses this during the final Team Shokugeki battle between Souma and Erina against Rindou and Tsukasa, in season four. 

All throughout the season we saw what Rindou gives up for Tsukasa, so she doesn’t lose him: She votes for Azami despite deeply disagreeing with his views, she enforces the new curriculum even though she thinks it’s stupid, in the manga she even gives up the possibility of first seat just so she doesn’t get in the way of Tsukasa’s dreams! We never see her compete with him once, not even through booths during the Moon Banquet festival! 

But Rindou is an important part of his character arc nevertheless. She pushes him to grow as a person, to be more confident, to put more of himself in his food while he helps temper her otherwise fiery and impulsive nature. They compliment, not just challenge one another- there is a natural balance between them, which isn’t there for SouEri. 

That’s not to say they don’t have their faults too. Their relationship scales have been tipped with the introduction of Azami and we can see this clearly with the first and last meal Rindou is asked to make during the season. 

Her first match against Megishima had her make something that was 100% show stopper of a main dish, but when she was tasked to work with Tsukasa, Rindou was assigned the appetiser. Even though it was just an appetiser she still managed to add her own little signature twist (ants!), showing how even if she has to play second fiddle, she’s able to do it for Tsukasa. 

(This pairing was very well handled in season 5, where Tsukasa was relegated to the decoy as Rindou went and put an end to the Noir chef’s plans, but since we still got more screen time of Tsukasa it felt kinda like a cop out ngl.)

Relationships, like Set Meals, require understanding and compromise. In contrast Souma and Erina were a wreck of a team.

 I was actually very invested in this because this is the first time we see Souma actively not wanting to work with someone throughout the whole series. During the prior team battle, we see him, Takumi and Megumi flawlessly execute their respective dishes under due pressure without breaking a sweat, even borrowing one another ideas, so we know Souma isn’t disagreeable or anything. He’s perfectly fine working in a team or solo- but he particularly doesn’t want to work in a team with Erina. 

Souma even goes so far as to spell it out for the audience when he says, “How can there be any teamwork between us?”, and “This is a Shokugeki between me and You.” And for that most part that was true. They completely disregarded the aim, which was to create a Set Meal, and opted to instead create individual masterpieces- obviously they won because the food was just excellent, but it doesn’t change the fact that they were never a team. And it certainly doesn’t change the fact that he didn’t want them to be. 

He doesn’t want any kind of cohesion between them; she is his rival and that’s all there is to it. During the BLUE tournament this happens again, every time she seeks sympathy or understanding, that the others give her readily, Souma refuses to sympathise with or understand her. It’s not because he can’t- sure, he’s not great at comforting people, but he comforted Megumi to the best of his ability in season 1- but because he doesn’t want to. 

This hurts her. There’s no two ways about it. Erina almost never opens up. She never makes excuses for herself and always holds her food to the highest of standards, and the only few times she’s sought help are under extreme pressure situations but he still refuses to give up his prejudice. 

It sounds pretty bad at first but you have to remember that Souma tried to befriend her. In the beginning during the second season he admits that he can’t really get along with Erina because of her prickly personality and the awkwardness between them. While his relationship with Hayama improved marginally, Erina still continued to tsundere her way into distancing him from her quite a bit until her dad came along and flipped tables.

So for Souma it’s probably just flat out weird seeing Erina make such a drastic shift between how she normally is and her trauma response, and he straight up doesn’t want to get into why. He just wants her to go back to normal, all smug and critical so he can wipe the smile off her face with one of his dishes.

He cares about her as any normal person would but he doesn’t care about her feelings and she’s never really cared about his either. 

Souma’s chosen method of communication is FOOD. It’s his cooking that speaks for him 90% of the time, because that’s the only language he’s become fluent in under his Dad’s tutelage. If Erina understands this about him (doubtful), she doesn’t show it even once; she puts her pride above complimenting his food, even if it’s well deserved, and comes off as ungrateful solely so she doesn’t admit defeat. 

To be fair, she’s like this with everyone in PSD, so it’s safe to assume it’s just her personality- possibly even her way of showing affection, giving critique freely when it’s been something she’s paid to do. But with Souma it’s turned up to 100 and there’s barely any critique and a whole lot of pettiness. 

The way these two communicate is at such extreme odds of the spectrum that quite frankly it’s like they’ve been built to compete. Built to one up the other, but not really built to understand each other at all. It’s Pride and Prejudice forever. No middle ground between the two of them, which is ridiculous because the way to solve their problem is right there. 

In Souma’s mom. 

People who haven’t read the manga probably have no idea but Yukihira Tamako passed away from a terminal disease that was hereditary, leaving Souma and his dad all alone when he was around 5 ish. TERMINAL DISEASE. Literally similar to how Mana wasted away because of the God Tongue until she picked up and abandoned Erina and her father too. The answer was RIGHT THERE bro. 

If SnS had just had these two bond over their parents and going through similar experiences during season 5, the transition between rivals to begrudging friends to ohmygod-this-person-actually-understands-me-more-than-I-first-thought would have been iconic. It would’ve been a Zuko/Katara moment: the true enemies to lovers trope. 

But the author sacrificed all of that for the sake of the plot (and Asahi ig idk I hate him.) so the story just chugged on like it always did before a six month time skip and suddenly Erina admitting she loves him or something? How? From where???  When did that happen??? Did you just realise one day when you woke up?? 

How did Erina win BLUE in the first place- didn’t the castle explode??? What is even going on??? 

It would have been so EASY to fix the writing in season 5, because all you had to do was have them realise that they have more in common than they thought, and then have Erina act like a slightly more petty version of Ikumi (MY QUEEN) and you have yourself a solid foundation for a romance at least. 

Okay it doesn’t fix ALL the problems in their dynamic but it gives them a starting point to work with for sure. It’s not a relationship, but it’s not whatever the hell it was after the BLUE tournament either. I can even live with the fact that they basically threatened chefs with eating good food, so that they could report them to the police. I can live with that. 

TLDR: Anyway long story short, canon SouEri ain’t it. Have a nice day everyone. 

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

What would happen if you were sent back and ended up in the orphanage with Tom Riddle—and say you also had magic?

Oh boy.

Well, there's a lot to question here. Judging by the... spirit of this ask, I presume I'm... pretty much reincarnated. I'm in the orphanage, I'm much younger than I am now and a child, I'm pre-Hogwarts age, and I retain my current knowledge.

For the purpose of this ask I suppose I also retain my current mental faculties. Despite being in the body of an eight-year-old, I'm not The Carnivorous Muffin at eight.

Welp, there's a lot to consider here.

First, I probably don't realize I'm in Harry Potter for quite some time and instead assume I've been reincarnated to some parallel universe. It's the 1930's, I'm in England in the depression, WWI has occurred and the vast majority of major historical events I know about seem to have happened in the right order, and this Earth is eerily similar to the Earth I left behind.

Strange that I appear to remember everything of my past life with my adult mental abilities, but alright universe, I guess that's how we're going to play this.

What I do know is that I'm dirt poor, presumably still a woman which does not bode well for my career prospects, and if I want any prospects in life period I'm going to have to fight tooth and nail for it. It'd be great if I got adopted to help with this, and might be nice to have people in my life who love me, but there's a lot of orphans in the world and a lot of orphans who are much less weird than I am.

The orphanage is the orphanage and not great, Mrs. Cole is overworked, the orphanage is chronically understaffed, and the kids are running wild beating the shit out of each other.

Being a girl, I probably don't have to worry about getting the shit kicked out of me quite as much, but I still probably try to keep my head down and don't aggravate the particularly beefy looking orphans.

Yes, there's some very angry gremlin named Tom Riddle around who will shove you down the stairs in retribution, but that's just a weird coincidence. And then supernatural shit starts happening. Billy's rabbit hangs itself, people get injuries when Tom is nowhere near them, and I start wondering if this is really the Tom Riddle.

I'm in Wool's Orphanage, my matron is Mrs. Cole, Tom Riddle is running around lighting things on fire. It's possible, though it could all be a strange coincidence.

Now, how things go from here depends on how controlled my own magic is. Since accidental magic typically does manifest at least once or twice, it probably does manifest for me for.. something. If Tom Riddle's there to witness it then...

Well, I imagine he's very offended. Here he was, special, different, better than everyone else, and then some girl in the orphanage (who dares to get very good grades on her assignments in school) has it too.

And I just stand there, smiling, going "Tee hee".

He probably confronts me to prove that he's better at it than I am, and he probably is unless the universe hates both him and me, but having someone else with the Shining around probably prompts him to take me as his protégé (in part so he can show off and in part because he's genuinely excited to be able to share this super cool talent).

I am now apprentice to eight-year-old Tom Riddle. Whoop de doo.

Well, I don't remember this part of Harry Potter, so now I'm probably confused as to where I am again. Regardless, I try to advise Tom on how to tone it down and not, say, traumatize Amy and Dennis for life and antagonize all the other orphans forever. He probably doesn't take me seriously. What do I know, I can't even light that patch of grass on fire?

Hanging around Tom Riddle gets me a reputation to, given the difference in genders, probably a fairly nasty one at that. When Dumbledore arrives he's undoubtedly told hot gossip about how eleven-year-old Tom and I have had sex in a ritual to summon Satan. Dumbledore takes this seriously.

Dumbledore probably meets us both at the same time and it's a disaster. I tried my best to prep Tom without revealing I'm a prophet, Tom first doesn't believe there might not be others, then doesn't believe they would be antagonist/anything but amazed by how awesome he is.

Well, Dumbledore lights his wardrobe on fire while I sit there. Dying inside. Dumbledore probably also does something to me too, to teach me some kind of lesson about something.

I imagine he temporarily disfigures me/makes me appear very ugly, then sticks a mirror to the wall, that way I realize that looks aren’t everything/being a whore is wrong. Tom, still traumatized over the wardrobe, is no help and my magic’s probably not controlled enough to do a thing about it.

I spend a day looking like a pig, Tom and I are given just enough money to buy new wands and second hand/barely functioning everything else and given the world’s worst directions to Diagon Alley. Thanks, Albus.

Well, months pass, we get our wands, Tom gets excited for Hogwarts and I... start seriously considering the future. WWII is coming, the Blitz is coming, Tom and I live in east London and must be able to evacuate during the bombing of London (which went on well past the Blitz to the end of the war). I also start considering my future in the wizarding world. Do I now actually have career prospects?

Probably not because I’m muggle born and a woman. My best bet is doing very well in useful subjects and finding employment with the goblins, I can’t imagine they have the same hang ups as the wizarding world.

Tom wants to go to Slytherin, of course, I tell him this is a bad idea. “Gee Tom,” I say, “Not sure how I know this but I have this feeling that Slytherin is filled with people who loathe our very existence and will shank us. Why don’t we pick Ravenclaw or Gryffindor instead?”

No one shanks Tom Riddle! Tom says. Tom is still eleven and while he admits that sometimes I may, in retrospect, have been right about certain things that doesn’t mean he wants to go to the house known for hard work. That’s code word for everyone there being a moron and having no other redeeming features than tenacity. As for the other two, Ravenclaws sound like smug, elitist, nerds and Gryffindors like dumb jocks.

Better to be known for ambition, cunning, and actually being competent.

Well, there’s no talking him out of this one, and goddamn it we’re all each other has.

I’m the closest thing Tom Riddle has ever had to a friend in all these years and in the orphanage the only one who could hold a decent conversation with him. And while it’s not my moral obligation to keep Tom from becoming a domestic terrorist, and there’s no guarantee I even can, dumping him for one of the other houses and drifting apart won’t help.

Not to mention that, after all these years, I’m undoubtedly lonely, I’m in this foreign land, and he’s now the closest thing to a friend I have.

Looks like I’m going to Slytherin, YOOOOOLLLLLLLLOOOOOOOOO! I shout as a battle cry as tears run down my face. I may have to convince the hat to put me in Slytherin, but like all human beings I am a mixture of many qualities. I’m not cunning in the least, mind games exhaust me unutterably, but I’m full of ambition. 

This confirms every bad opinion Dumbledore had regarding me and Tom.

For the next several months, Tom probably beats the shit out of dormmates who steal his things/harass him. He beats up mine too because feminism (TM) means that he should treat all people equally when guilty of the same crime. I... am not sure I can win that fight so I just resign myself to having to adopt some of Tom’s tactics to make sure I’m not shoved in lockers, have tampons thrown at me, or pig’s blood dumped on me at the prom.

Once again, everyone thinks Tom Riddle and I are dating. I don’t even know if they’re wrong at this point.

Well, being in class with eleven year olds who seem to have had little to no prior education, Tom and I are undoubtedly blazing through class. I imagine I’m bored out of my mind (the Hogwarts curriculum sounds unbelievably boring) and Tom is... well, probably devouring the library but probably also bored. I decide to try and see if I can find some real history texts on this world (there are probably none, the wizarding world seems to only have two historians and both... have a different approach to history than current modern thought as I know it) and discover what magic even is. That shit is fascinating: wingardium leviosa is not.

Dumbledore likely gives neither me nor Tom points in class, I think the house cup is stupid, so I really don’t care. I have no interest in playing quidditch, neither does Tom, so that doesn’t happen.

The second world war starts up, Tom, me, and the muggle borns are the only ones who give a flying fuck. I work harder on figuring out how to get lodging during the Blitz/the bombing of London. Unfortunately, Mrs. Cole hates me too for being the Bride of Satan, so that’s a no go. Third year, 1939, I probably write her in earnest anyway telling her to PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, send Tom and I instructions for the summer/where the orphans are staying/how they’ve been dispersed to the countryside. As a back up plan, I try desperately to shmooze shopkeepers in Hogsmeade during every Hogsmeade weekend to get myself and Tom part time jobs and lodging over the summer. As a back up back up plan, I spend my time badgering Tom to become very good at survivalist wandless magic and if the Lord has pity on me gain some ability in it myself.

Hopefully, either Mrs. Cole or one of the Hogsmeade shop owners take pity on us. If not, then Tom and I are going extreme camping. Given Mrs. Cole (and the brain damage brought on by Dumbledore erasing memories left and right) and the likelihood of Hogsmeade shop owners just not getting it, Tom and I probably go extreme camping.

(Tom, meanwhile, asks Dippet and Dumbledore if we can stay in Hogwarts over the summer. He’s told no exceptions. London’s being bombed, you say? No exceptions. Toodles. Tom is never the same.)

Me, Tom Riddle, a tent we made ourselves, several rabbits we had to catch and skin ourselves, and the pitiful fire that we can keep going through pure will alone because if we try to use real people spells then we’ll get arrested. It has the benefit of making Tom feel very manly and impressive, catching his own food, but both of us are well aware that this sucks.

But hey, we aren’t dead.

Well, I’m sure Tom doesn’t appreciate that and this is where I imagine he seriously starts talking about violent revolution. I imagine much of my time is spent discussing the merits of not violently overthrowing our ant overlords. I imagine a thirteen-year-old Tom isn’t impressed by my pacifism, but he’s not married to Voldemort yet (probably).

Then I imagine the horcrux thing comes up and... Well, I will argue hard against it. Humans die, it is a truth of the universe, and simply something we have to accept. Horcruxes are not a measure against that, they can be destroyed, given infinite time they will be, and the sacrifice they require is too high: human life as well as the very essence of who you are.

What is a soul? I’m not sure, we never really learn in HP canon, but whatever it is, it is in some way the essence of yourself. If you take half of it and throw it somewhere else, you will cease to be you, someone or something else is walking around in your body while the other half of you exists in endless agony.

If you must chase immortality, create a philosopher’s stone (as I darkly wonder why it was that couldn’t be replicated and what Flamel had to do to make it in the first place). On second thought, maybe we should search for the Holy Grail.

Whether I can talk Tom out of this or not is... unclear. I’m going to say that I can, in part because I imagine he’ll want to show the chamber off to me, tell me when he realizes he’s Heir of Slytherin, and in doing so I can prevent the basilisk incident from occurring. Without that, there’s no dead Myrtle, which means no first victim. That summer, when he goes to the Gaunts, I’ll go with him and convince him that it’s not worth it. He can just turn around and leave these people alone, I hopefully can talk him down. Which means no second victim.

I start writing Flamel to see if Tom or I can get an apprenticeship (Dumbledore probably beats us to the chase and poisons him against us, but it’s worth a shot).

Then, should all go well, I can convince Tom to find employment with the goblins rather than shady antique dealers on the bad side of town. Hopefully, I can convince him to never become Voldemort, and instead we travel the world together looking for the origins of magic or something.

Dumbledore goes around taking people’s memories of us in preparation for when Tom becomes a dark lord and I his lady of the night darkness.

TL;DR Apparently my life would become an SI/Tom Riddle fic. So, thanks anon.

[howtobangyourmonster]

TomTom the Minotaur, Pt. 1

Minotaur man with human woman, vaginal fingering

When attempting to traverse an eldritch forest hell bent on leading you astray, it's vital to hire a guide with an excellent sense of direction. It's less vital that he be charming and sexy, but it sure helps pass the time.

“Worth every penny.” That's what his reviews say.

Seeing him in person, I feel less anxious about the journey ahead. Tall and broad, his skin a gorgeous dark brown speckled over in white freckles like stars, horns gleaming and wickedly curved and broad as his shoulders. He'd be intimidating if it wasn't for the kindness of his face. He's damn handsome, but that's not why I hired him. Well, not the only reason.

His mouth curves in an easy smile as I approach. He looks down at me as he finishes rolling the sleeves of his plaid button-down up, revealing the sculpted muscles of his massive forearms. “You must be Stella.”

I shake his hand, my own completely swallowed in his, though his grip is gentle and warm. “Yes, and you're Tom?”

“Yes, ma'am. Your email said this is your first time crossing the Briarwood?” he asks, friendly brown eyes crinkled at the corners in polite curiosity.

“It is, and I'm pretty nervous about it actually.” I admit.

“Understandable, it's a very disorienting place, especially for humans. I'll get you through it, don't you worry. My family has been guiding people through for generations, I practically grew up in there. I've never lost a traveler.”

His confidence is earned; he's legendary even among guides and has the rating to prove it on NaviGate. His services have the price tag to match. Too many people try to cross on their own, or turn to disreputable-but-cheap “guides” who most likely ditch their charges and pocket the money. Disappearances are commonplace. I don't want that to be me.

“I'm counting on your reputation's accuracy, TomTom.” I smirk.

“Are they still calling me that?” he grimaces, one hand rubbing the back of his neck(and putting his glorious biceps on display). “Embarrassing nicknames aside, I don't want you to worry. I'm taking you the safest way though the woods. It's the slowest route, but we won't run into trouble. Should be very boring.”

“Boring is good! I've got all my gear,” I gesture with my head to the large camping backpack I'm sporting. “I'm trying to just think of it as a long camping trip.”

“That's good, that's basically what it is. We're not getting anywhere near any settlements or dens in there, we shouldn't see anyone else the whole time. I hope you brought something to keep you entertained.”

“I've got a bunch of digital books and podcasts downloaded, and a solar battery. And a couple print books.”

“Good call, sometimes the sun doesn't break through the canopy for a few days.” Tom hefts his own massive pack onto his back, hooking his thumbs into the straps. “Shall we?”

I follow him as we take our first steps onto the trailhead that, with his help, should deliver me safely through the Briarwoods, one month from now.

“I kinda expected it to be more...creepy in here.” I say.

Tom chuckles. “Yeah, I hear that a lot. I think it would actually be less sinister if it did look more creepy and dark and gloomy. It's not just that the path shifts and changes, it's that the forest tries to distract you as well as disorient. Like...look up ahead there.”

He points off to the left, up along the trail, to a meadow of golden grass waving in a gentle breeze. The edges of the meadow disappear into a grove of quaking aspen trees, leaves shimmering like golden coins as they catch the light. Suddenly, the whisper of wings reaches me as hundreds of iridescent green butterflies rise from the meadow in a dazzling display of color.

“...Wow.” I breathe.

“Yeah. It's pretty. And absolutely a trap. You set one foot in there, you'll be asleep in seconds.”

I peek into the grass as we pass the meadow, making sure to keep my feet well within the trail. I see bones poking out of the dark earth, and a sunbleached skull staring eyeless at the sky. With a shudder, I turn back to Tom.

The first week of our journey is pretty straightforward. He points out the forest's traps and lures to me. After one incident where I nearly wandered off, following some windswept notes of birdsong(“That wasn't a bird...” he warns), Tom takes to holding my hand as we walk through particularly dangerous stretches of the trail. I certainly don't mind. At night he sleeps in front of the entrance to our shared tent, to keep me from wandering off without waking him. When it happens, he turns me back to my sleeping bag and gently hushes me until I lay back down and sleep. And then teases me mercilessly in the morning.

“If you're so keen on a night stroll, just wake me up, I'd be happy to keep you company.” he winks.

“It's not my fault! It's the damn sirens!” I laugh.

“They're not really sirens.” Tom says. “It's just the forest trying to trick you.”

We're sharing a meal during a lunch rest in a rather lovely spot next to a river. The sun has actually made an appearance today, so I have my solar charger out.

“What's the scariest thing you've ever encountered in the forest?” I ask.

Tom is very still for a while, brow furrowed as he considers his answer. “I think...the scariest times are when the forest has gotten to know you, and it knows what you're afraid of, and it uses that against you.”

He says this very quietly, with the manner of someone who speaks from experience. I don't pry further.

The river is safe, he says, and clear. We take the opportunity to wash clothes and refill canteens.

“Do we have to get back on the trail, or can I wash? I feel pretty grimy...”

“You set the pace, Stella, I'm just here to keep you out of trouble.” he grins. “I wouldn't mind getting clean either. You go ahead first, I'll keep my back to the water, and you just keep talking to me so I know you're alright.”

“Such a gentleman, respecting my modesty.” I tease. I peel off my trail clothes from that morning and give them a quick wash, hanging them up to dry on the line with the other clothes, while I chat with Tom's back. The water is cold and bracing, but invigorating.

“It'll be a few days before we come across another safe water source.” Tom says. “There's a spring we should run into tomorrow but you can absolutely not touch it.”

I drag my nails through my hair, raking the dirt and debris out of it before rinsing it in the river. “Is it cursed? Haunted?”

“It's a mouth.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

I dry off with the superabsorbent camping towel I bought for this trip, slip on my pajama shorts and a tshirt, and join Tom where he sits on a log. “Your turn!”

Tom stands and steps back over the log toward the river. I keep my back to him as he strips off his shirt, but my curiosity gets the better of me and I glance back over my shoulder. He bends down to take off his boots, and I take in the sight of his impressive backside straining the seams of his jeans. I'm lost in daydreams when he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of the jeans and pushes them down around his hips, taking his briefs with them. The lines of muscle in his back, the play of light and shadow over the planes and curves of his body are stunning. He bends down to remove the clothes and catches me staring, doing a double-take at my expression.

“Hey, what about my modesty?” he asks with a cheeky grin, one eyebrow lifted in challenge.

I whip my head back around, cheeks burning. “I'm sorry, that was...so inappropriate of me!”

He laughs, voice like warm caramel. “Minotaurs bathe communally, I'm not shy.”

I keep my eyes focused on my shoes. “I went to a minotaur-owned bathhouse in Alberta with my mom once.”

I cringe. Why did I feel the need to say that?

“Yeah? What did you think?” he asks.

“It was nice, I really loved the olive oil soaps.”

“I have some in my pack, can you fish one out for me?”

My mind short-circuits for a second. I dig through the pockets of Tom's pack until I find one of the small bars. When I turn to face Tom, my mouth goes dry.

He's standing hip-deep in the river, sunlight reflecting off the water and making his rich sable coat glisten. His head is tipped back, arms up as he arches his back, and it's obvious he's putting on a show for me. So I indulge myself, and let my eyes trail over his biceps, his horns, the thick corded muscles of his neck, rivulets of water dripping down his body. The firm planes of his abs ripple under the smooth skin that replaces the coat of his shoulders and back. Those white starry freckles splash here, too, and I follow their trail down to a thicker nest of hair where his hips meet the water.

When I manage to drag my eyes back up to his face, he's watching me with amusement.

“I love the way your skin pinks like that when you're embarrassed.” his voice is a deep rumble. He tips his head down to look at me, the gold rings in his ears and nose sparkling at me. “Or...maybe you're turned on, not embarrassed at all.”

Feeling bold, I wade into the river, not caring that my shorts and tee are now soaked and clinging to my skin. From the way Tom is staring, he doesn't care either. I hold out the soap.

“Did you need this?”

“Thanks.” he plucks the soap from my hand, lathers it up, and begins working the suds over his chest, never breaking eye contact. “Your clothes are all wet, Stella. You should hang them up to dry.”

I consider the implications for a moment, before deliberately turning away and wading back to the shore, acutely aware of my clothes clinging to the curves of my ass, my breasts. I peel them off, bending at the waist with my ass directed Tom's way, and I'm rewarded with his deep rumble of approval. Straightening, I wring the clothes out and hang them on the line, glancing over my shoulder at Tom. He's washing his arms, flexing them more than is strictly necessary.

In for a penny, in for a pound...

I wade back out to him and hold my hand out for the soap. “Looks like you could use a hand?”

The smile he graces me with is wickedness incarnate. “Obliged, ma'am.”

I lather up the soap in my hands and move around him to his back, running my hands up along his spine and fanning them out over his shoulders, as high as I can reach. He makes a pleased sound, deep in his chest, as I massage the soap into his shoulders, where his coat is thicker. I use my nails to rake the soap through, gratified as his head tips back and he moans. Moving on, I scrub down his back, appreciating how hard his muscles feel under my hands. I palm his firm ass and he laughs over his shoulder at me.

“Enjoying the view?”

“Extremely so. Are you typically so hands-on with your clients?” I ask.

“Are you this hands-on with all your guides?” he counters.

“Only when they're as gorgeous as you.”

“So not frequently then.” he says. I laugh at his brazen confidence, deserved though it is. “Here, let me.”

He gently turns me around and massages the soap into my back, his large hands feel heavenly as they work out the knots and soreness in my muscles from a week of sleeping on a camp cot. I moan and lean into his touch.

“I like that sound. I'd like to make you make it again.” he says, digging his thumb into a stubborn muscle. I moan louder, my knees nearly buckling. I can feel his cock hardening against my back. His voice is low and heavy with promise in my ear. “I'd like to do a lot of things, if you're interested...”

I reach up and take hold of his hands, pulling them around to my breasts. He kneads them, slippery with soap, thumbs brushing over my nipples until they peak.

He reaches one hand down below the water and brushes his fingers between my legs, a tentative questioning touch. I nod eagerly and spread my legs more to allow him access. Tom uses his other hand to guide my arms up around his neck, my back arched and pressed to his chest.

“Hold onto me.” he whispers as his fingers slip between my folds and find my clit. I whimper as he starts rubbing small, slow circles. His cock is hard and hot against my back as I buck my hips into his hand. His other hand reaches under my thigh to lift up my leg, spreading me further. “I've got you, I won't let you slip.”

I let go of his shoulders and grab onto his horns as he bends his head over me to kiss the top of my head. The finger on my clit pauses to push back the hood, then resumes its assault. The increased sensation has me crying out, emboldened by our solitude.

“Fuck, I'm so close, Tom...”

He slips a finger inside me, slowly working me open on his hand, then adds another. The stretch combined with the pressure on my clit is deliciously agonizing. I'm only dimly aware that I'm begging him to fuck me.

“Oh, you're not ready for that, Stella. Not yet.” he says, pumping his fingers in and out of me with deft turns of his wrist. “Need to work up to taking my cock, don't wanna hurt you.”

I whimper. “Please, I need more...”

Tom works his fingers deeper and faster, dragging them against the sweet spot inside me that has me seeing stars, and I come gasping. He slowly works me through it, whispering how good I feel spasming around his fingers, how he wishes it was his cock, how he wants to watch me ride him.

I'm limp as he lifts me out of the water and carries me back to the shore, the soap long forgotten and lost downriver. He balances me on one of his massive thighs as he digs in his pack for a towel to lay out, then lays me down on it.

“Wait, you didn't come.” I protest, reaching out for him.

“You can make it up to me later.” he winks. I watch him take down our dry clothes and the clothesline, pulling on his fresh clothes and boots. He brings me a change of clothes and helps me pull them on. “How're your muscles feeling?”

“They feel great.” I admit with a lazy smile. “You have some magic hands.”

“I look forward to showing you what else I can do.” Tom helps me shoulder my pack and we continue down the trail, away from the river's edge and into the deeper woods.

[brawltogethernow]

@mirrorfalls​ submitted: Came across this while searching for James Bond’s scrambled-eggs recipe (long story). Your thoughts?

~~

But did you find James Bond’s scrambled eggs recipe?

In this article, Scocca laments his inability to find accessible, lighthearted superhero comics suitable to read with his young son, while also demonstrating a mysterious aversion to looking at DC and Marvel’s lines of comics for children, which is where the accessible, lighthearted superhero comics suitable for reading with young children are. He wants his elementary schooler to be able to safely have the run of all superhero media so he doesn’t have to touch the yucky baby books.

This is not an industry-wide crisis. This is just one dude who got paid to write an article where he accidentally exposed one of his personal hangups.

The child headed toward the trade paperbacks of Marvel and D.C. superhero titles on the side wall […] a few steps in front of me. […] Is he with you? a clerk asked me. I said he was. You know, the clerk said, we have a kids’ section. The clerk gestured backward, at a few shelves near the entrance. I said, Thanks, we know and tried throwing in a little shrug, as the kid kept going.

You can’t just turn a seven-year-old child loose in a comic-book store to look at the superhero comic books. […] My seven-year-old really wanted to see that last Avengers movie […] that is, he wished it were a movie he could see, but he understood that it was, instead, a movie designed to scare and sadden him—a movie actively hostile to people like him.

They have a children’s section. Because comics are a medium suitable for stories for everybody, and they are sold in comic book shops, which have sections, like bookstores. You can use this organization to find books that you know in advance are suitable for children. What goes in that category is determined by industry professionals. This area will be bigger the bigger the shop is. These comics are not lower quality that titles from the main lines. They are actually slightly better-written on average.

Your local comic book shop has considerately wrapped Empowered in a plastic bag, so your child will not be drawn in by a colorful superhero and accidentally read a graphic scene. If you think your kid might find a memoir about internment camps upsetting, it is your job to notice them picking up They Called Us Enemy and read the blurb on the back before you let them have it. This comic adults are meant to read is in a comic book shop because that is where comics are sold. Not every public place is supposed to be Disneyland.

Movies have ratings systems. If you do not want your child to watch a PG-13 movie, you will find that most superhero cartoons are for children. They are about the same characters. Some are quite good! I really enjoyed Earth’s Mightiest Heroes. Your child may like Avengers Assemble. At least I think that’s right. I’m always mixing those titles around.

This is a deeply weird bias for Scocca to casually demonstrate, because he identifies in the article that real childishness is striving for empty maturity.

He compares an old comic,

[…]a 1966 Spider-Man comic in which Spider-Man meets, fights, and defeats the Rhino; participates in a running argument between John Jameson and J. Jonah Jameson about his heroism; buys a motorcycle; breaks up with his first girlfriend, Betty Brant; flirts with Gwen Stacy; and reluctantly agrees to let Aunt May take him to meet her friend Mrs. Watson’s niece, Mary Jane.

and a new comic,

[…]a 21st century comic book in which Thor, brooding in a Katrina-destroyed New Orleans, beats up Iron Man. He also yells at Iron Man a lot about some incomprehensibly convoluted set of grievances, including involuntary cloning, that he believes Iron Man perpetrated against him while he was dead(?), and then summons some other Norse god from the beyond somehow for reasons having something to do with real estate. I think. Where the 1966 comic is zippy and fun and complete, the whole contemporary one is muddled and lugubrious and seems to constitute a tiny piece of a seemingly endless plot arc—simultaneously apocalyptic and inert.

and concludes that the edgier comic is actually less mature. This is true. (This is not news about mediocre comics.)

It also has nothing to do with either comic being child-friendly, the article’s nominal thesis, except in the sense that ASM #41 (yes, I eyeballed that from that summary, yes I am just showing off now) is better written, making it more everyone-friendly. It also has practically more space dedicated to word balloons than art and is about a college student juggling girl problems and a part-time job with a tyrannical boss. But the immature one, as Scocca points out, is dour.

These are both teenagery issues, separated only by quality. It’s true that lots of new comics published by the big 2 are bad in the specific way Scocca describes here, taking themselves too seriously and hauled down by associated stories instead of buoyed by them. Some are not! Some titles from these companies’ main continuities are zippy, contained, and child friendly. Give your child The Unbeatable Squirrel Girl! Or if you like vintage comics so much better, why don’t you…buy some?

The books on the kid’s rack are good and fun and totally suitable for parents to read with their children without wanting to scoop their eyeballs out. Scocca cites the Batman ‘66 comics as the brightly colored, tightly written all ages solution to his problem about sharing superhero stories with his son. My local comic shop stores this title in the kid’s section. I am glad that Scocca’s does not, as he seems to have a peculiar aversion to looking for comics to read with his son there.

Scocca cites Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse as a superhero movie he could watch with his kids. (I was surprised when this line made it sound like he has several. I don’t want to assume the other one isn’t in this article because they’re a girl, but I very much am assuming that.) Great! Go to the kid’s section and look for Marvel Adventures: Spider-Man. It’s a fun, zippy title directly inspired by ITSV where Miles, Gwen, and Peter superhero together. It’s much more tightly written than most of the various Spider-Verse comics, which are ambitiously messy ubercrossovers. You may not want to give those to children because they include murder and so on, but also you just have the choice between the two as an adult reader deciding how much continuity you want to deal with. Adventures is one of the only titles I would buy on sight before corona. The kid comic rack is a reliable place to take a break from How Comics Get Sometimes regardless of how old you are.

This article makes me feel quarrelsome. Maybe it’s that it doesn’t seem like exploration of a single idea so much as a loosely grouped bundle of things to kvetch about. Maybe it’s that the experience of getting into superheroes that Scocca describes experiencing, projects his seven-year-old son will experience, and from which he extrapolates a metaphorical microcosm of the history of the genre is completely alien to me.

Comic books [and] comic-book movies—are […] trapped in their imagined audience’s own awful passage from childhood to adolescence. A seven-year-old has a clean […] appreciation of superheroes. They like hero comics because the comics have heroes: bold, strong, vividly colored good guys to fight off the bad guys and make the world safe.

But seven-year-olds stop being seven. […] They become 13-year-olds, defensively trying to learn how to develop tastes about tastes.

The 13-year-old wants many things from comics, but the overarching one is that they want to prove that they’re not some seven-year-old baby anymore. They want gloomy heroes, miserable heroes, heroes who would make a seven-year-old feel bad. (Also boobs. They want boobs.)

Not because of the boobs line, although that does illicit an eyeroll that this gloomy thinkpiece is fretting over preserving the superhero experience of little boys who resemble the little boy the writer was while casually dismissing everyone else. I was one of those unlikable little seven-year-olds with a college reading level and the impression that maintaining it was the crux of my worth. I only read Books - distinguished media you could club someone with. I have a formative memory of pausing, enraptured, in front of a poster for Spider-Man 3, preparing to say that it looked pretty cool, and being beaten to the punch by my mother making a disparaging comment about how the movie was trash. It wasn’t out yet, but it was a superhero movie. That meant it was for loud, brainless children.

That was the total of my childhood experience with superheroes, excluding being the unwilling audience to incessant renditions of “Jingle Bells, Batman Smells” that left me wondering why in god’s name Batman’s sidekick was named Robin. I certainly never visited a comic book shop. I got into TvTropes, which got me into webcomics, which got me following David Willis, who got me into Ask Chris at ComicsAlliance, which led to me rewarding myself for studying like a demon for the AP tests with three volumes of Waid’s Daredevil, pitched as a return to the character being colorful and swashbuckling. I was seven…teen.

This is of the same thread as Scocca’s point that immaturity is running from childish things. It leaves me baffled that he doesn’t follow that maturity is embracing them.

I will disclose here that while I think it was dumb I had to overcome my upbringing’s deeply embedded shame associated with enjoying arbitrarily defined lowbrow media and children being childish, I think it’s fine that I was allowed largely unchecked access to technically age-inappropriate content. In my limited experience, content small children are too young for is also content they’re too young to understand, so it kind of just bounces off of them, and what actually ends up terrorizing them is unpredictable collages of impressions that strike out at them from content deemed perfectly child-friendly. I would not forbid a seven-year-old I was in charge of from seeing an MCU movie unless I had a reason to believe that specific child would not take it well. These are emotionally low-stakes bubblegum films. It will probably be easier to socialize with other kids if they have seen them.

But then, when I picture being in charge of a hypothetical child, I usually imagine this being the case because they are related to me, and the pupal stage in my family strongly resembles Wednesday Addams. ALL children love death and violence, though, right?? This isn’t a joke point. I know it looks like a joke point.

The MCU thing seems especially weird in light of the article’s particular focus on Spider-Man, which is the kiddie line of the MCU, even if they refused to waver from their usual formula enough to get a lower rating. Though I am more inclined to describe it as “preying on the young” than “child-friendly”.

(MCU movies are increasingly dubious propaganda, but I would not judge them in front of a child who wanted to watch them for that reason, just in case this led to them partaking of them without me the second they were old enough to and then they grew up to run a blog about them while our relationship suffered because they didn’t feel like it was safe to talk to me about their interests…Mom.)

I tried to overcome the philosophy of letting anyone read anything while compiling this handful of mostly-newish superhero recs for the road that anyone can read. (Handily, I have been in spitting distance of being hired as a comic shop clerk enough to have thought about it before):

For actual children:

Marvel Adventures Spider-Man (the new one is reminiscent of ITSV, the old one is more like 616) any DC/Archie crossover, Archie’s Superteens The Unbeatable Squirrel Girl (for bookish children who think they’re too good for comics and adults afraid of the kid’s section) Teen Titans Go (even if you hate the show) Superman Smashes the Klan

For teens:

Ms. Marvel Young Avengers (volume 2) Unbelievable Gwenpool Batman: Gotham Adventures Teen Titans Go (the tie-in comic based off the old show was also called this)

Here are a bunch of relevant C. S. Lewis quotes.

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

The Sommelier (Hannigram x Female!Reader) pt. 22

Hannibal and y/n arrive at Camp Big Brother and receive an unusual greeting.

@dovahdokren @deadman-inc-bikeshop @lov3vivian @wisesandwichshark @scpdragon

Trigger warnings: guns, threats of violence, cult stuff, brief mention of North Korea 

The car ride up to the mountain introduced you to a new feeling. You thought it similar to that of prisoners on their way to be executed. The comfortable numbness of accepting your rapidly-approaching demise. 

The road only brought you so far. It turned into a dirt path, which then turned into just the imprint of tire tracks. Your car wasn’t equipped for mountainous terrain, so you had to get out and walk. You weren’t ill-prepared for a hike; you made a point to change clothes before leaving the house, and your work shoes were worn-in enough to withstand a trek through the forest. You only feared losing one of your gloves.

It was Hannibal you were worried about. You’d never seen him in anything but a full three-piece suit and today was no exception. He’d taken off his jacket and vest, but having to hike in suit pants and dress shoes was far from ideal. 

You were in the middle of a game of ‘how many 12 gauge bullets can I fit on my person’ when you heard the rumbling of an ATV coming down the track. You loaded a shell into the gun and watched it turn the corner and stop in front of you. Hannibal stood behind you, looking dignified as ever. 

The driver dismounted the vehicle and took off their helmet. The woman beneath the helmet looked like she’d either lived a hard 20 years or an easy 50 years. You didn’t pay much attention to her face. She looked nourished and had a head full of hair, so she wasn’t one of Chase’s slaves. 

“Are you ‘prefect’?” You asked, squinting at her from behind the gun. “Or ‘Aunt Lydia’?” 

“You must be [F/N] [L/N].” The woman said. “Vanguard sent me to pick you up, but didn’t say anything about a guest.” 

“What’s to stop me from blasting your head off, taking that ATV and going up there myself?” You spat. 

The woman disregarded your question. She pulled a walkie-talkie from her belt and clicked it on. “Vanguard, [L/N] is here and she brought a friend.” 

The device crackled, then Chase spoke. “Is it a cop?” 

The woman scanned Hannibal up and down. “No.” 

“Let her off with a warning, then.” Chase instructed. “She knew the rules.” 

“You heard the man.” She pulled a pistol from her holster and pointed it at Hannibal with full intentions to shoot him dead. He put his hands behind his head, but didn’t seem at all fazed. 

You aimed the gun at the woman’s head. “I don’t think you want to do that.” 

“Don’t waste your ammo, love.” Hannibal said to you. “She’s obviously bluffing.” 

“You want to find out?” She pulled the hammer back. 

“Hannibal, she’s not bluffing!” Your voice started to shake. 

“Yes she is, darling.” He insisted. “Nobody would be stupid enough to fire off a shot this close to an active naval base.” 

She lowered her pistol. “What are you talking about, there’s no military base up here.” 

“Of course there is.” He refuted. “Camp David is within a few miles of here.”

For a moment, she looked genuinely fearful. You thought you saw her cult mask begin to slip as she remembered that there was a world outside of the one Chase cultivated. 

“Oh.” Hannibal feigned surprise. “That is, unless, Chase Mulvaney didn’t tell you.” 

The woman narrowed her eyes. “I’m his right-hand woman, he tells me everything.” 

Hannibal clicked his tongue. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but it seems he sees you as just as disposable as Catherine Miller. He sent you down here to kill anyone [F/N] brought along with her, catching the attention of the military personnel on base and ultimately throwing you under the bus.” 

“He wouldn’t.” She snapped. “Chase loves me like a sister.”

“I’ll bet that’s what he tells the other girls.” You commented. 

Judging by the look on her face, you were right. And you struck a nerve. 

“But, if you are so inclined to do Chase’s dirty work for him,” Hannibal said, loosening his collar. “At least try not to get blood on my suit pants.” 

She held the gun out for a few moments, then dropped it. “He would want to kill you himself.”

“That’s more like it.” You said, mounting the vehicle with your gun slung over your back. 

“Vanguard doesn’t mind two armed strangers on his property?” Hannibal asked, having to yell over the revving of the engine. 

The woman scoffed. “It doesn’t make any difference. Bullets don’t work on Vanguard.” 

You furrowed your brow. “What?” 

“Vanguard is blessed with the armor of Christ.” She said, with 100% conviction. There wasn’t a trace of irony or sarcasm in her voice. “No bullets can pierce his earthly flesh.” 

“Do you actually believe what you’re saying, or is this all some kind of fucked-up extended metaphor?” You asked. 

“Vanguard proved it in chapel.” She insisted. “He fired a gun at his chest and it didn’t puncture him! The bullet just crumpled against his chest.”

“Wow.” You said, flatly. This person’s rationality was so scrubbed away, she could be fooled by even the lamest of magic tricks. 

“The people of North Korea believe that Kim-Jong Il is responsible for inventing the hamburger.” Hannibal whispered to you. “Because they don’t have access to any information that proves otherwise.” 

“Yeah, we’re about to ‘prove otherwise’ alright.” You muttered back with a smile. 

After a few minutes, the outline of a building appeared. As you grew closer, you saw a cheaply-constructed cabin made for quantity, not quality. Next to it was a chapel, but it was only identifiable as such because of the massive cross. With industrial metal siding and no visible windows, it resembled a bomb shelter. 

The woman unceremoniously dumped you both off the ATV at an opening in the razor wire fence.

"Morning devotional is at eight." She explained. "You'll hear the bell ring. You'll be expected to attend, of course."

"I don't give a shit what you expect." You shook your head. "I don't owe you fucks anything."

"But you owe Jesus everything." She said, matter-of-factually.

“What in the Midsommar fuck is this?” You said, squinting in the early daylight. 

“Come on.” Hannibal took your gloved hand in his. “Let’s find our Will.” 

The sun was just beginning to rise over the mountains off in the distance, coloring the sky as red as the blood on Chase's hands.

"It's going to be light soon." Hannibal whispered. "We only have so long before people start to wake up."

"So where do we check first?" You asked.

"At eight, the chapel will be full and the cabin will be empty." Hannibal pointed out. "That gives us fifteen minutes to search the chapel until people start filing in."

You nodded. "Sounds like a plan."

You snuck towards the entrance to the chapel and crept inside without a sound. One look and you knew you had a lot of ground to cover in only fifteen minutes.

The chapel looked like the inside of a shipping container. You knew that growing up Catholic gave you a certain image of how church should look, but this was hardly a structure, let alone a place of worship. Much like the outside, the only feature that identified this building as a church was the massive cross, which was not even mounted on the wall or suspended from the ceiling. It just laid lazily against the back wall. A couple of folding tables with some linens draped over them made up a bare-bones altar, decorated with nothing but a couple of candles. The high windows gave the chilling feeling that the room was underground.

"You'd think with ninety million dollars, they could afford some real chairs." You commented, looking disgustedly at the rows of folding chairs.

"This isn't a summer camp." Hannibal observed. "This is a military base."

Your foot hit a loose tile on the ground. You took a knee and grabbed it. A whole patch of tiles lifted with it, revealing a small secret door. 

“I think you might be on to something.” You said, looking up at Hannibal. 

You slung your gun over your back and carefully descended the ladder while Hannibal kept watch. 

“It’s dark down here.” You called up. You heard the striking of a match and Hannibal handed you a lit candle. You were about to thank him when the sharp tones of a bell cut through the silence. 

“Shit.” You cursed. “Hannibal, close the hatch.” 

“I’m not going to leave you.” Hannibal’s voice hardened. 

“This bunker is narrow as Christ’s asshole.” You said. “I can handle it. You need to investigate the cabin.” 

“Darling-” 

“Go to the cabin. Now.” You demanded. “I’m not asking.” 

Hannibal smiled down at you, feeling a sense of pride. He knelt down beside the trap door, and reached for your hand. He removed your glove and pressed his lips against your skin. “Godspeed, my indulgence.” 

You saluted. “And also with you.” 

[captainderyn]

[Fictober] 10. “It’s my name on the line!”

Prompt: 10. “It’s my name on the line!”

Genre: Fanfiction (LOTRO)

Rating: T

Pairing: Raenor/Wulfwryn

CW: None

--

Raenor had never seen Wulfwryn this restless. 

This was a new kind of unease, characterized by her pacing the room like a caged animal. She raked her hands through her hair. 

The heavy canvas flaps of the rounded tent they’d been given in Aughaire rustled with the cool breeze blowing through the camp. Through the fire burned bright it didn’t bite through the chill seeping in. 

Despite this Wulfwryn was flushed, unbuttoning her overtunic and tossing it aside. She interlocked her hands behind her neck, loosing a string of curses too quickly to follow. 

“Wulfwryn…?” he broached hesitantly. 

“We’re getting nowhere!” she exploded, and though it wasn’t towards him he still winced, “They’re sending me on all these ridiculous quests to ‘prove’ myself to them and they won’t even give you the time of day!” 

It was true, while the people of this land would give audience to Wulfwryn they scarcely would give him a second look. Except for the young children and the teens not pulled away, who wanted to gather round him and marvel over the stories he could spin and the intricate metalwork of his elven jewelry. 

“They’ve granted you many honors in our short time here, it seems their way of assuring you can actually offer aid.” 

“Bah!” Wulfwryn dropped her arms to her sides with a sharp smack, “Corunir should step in and set my feet on the right path. How is his company meant to help us find the true evil that drives all of this?” 

Raenor crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back. He was walking on very thin ice, that much he knew, “I’m certain you would’ve heard something from Aragorn if you were beginning to stray from what he foresees for you.” 

That sent her pacing again and Raenor made a face. He had gambled as to whether it would soothe or ruffle her and he had gambled wrong. 

“That’s exactly it! I shouldn’t need him to hold my hand.” Wulfwryn growled, throwing herself onto the bench next to Raenor with enough force that it rocked unsteadily. 

“I need to prove that I can handle this.” She buried her face in her hands, “I’ve already failed so many times.” 

Though she still kept many details of her time before Rivendell close to her chest, Raenor knew enough of her tragedy to sigh in sympathy. Platitudes and reminders of exactly what she’d accomplished since leaving Bree and what they’d accomplished together in the Trollshaws would not ease her mind. 

She just needed to let it out. 

Wulfwryn pressed her palms against her eyes, “I don’t know what I’m doing. I feel as though I’m just following a wild hare and eventually I’ll lose the trail. I can’t fail, I can’t. It’s my name on the line here, my chance to prove myself to the one I left everything for.” 

Her shoulders drooped and Raenor dared to rest his hand on her upper back. She learned into his touch, collapsing against his shoulder. He allowed his arm to slip around her, for her head to rest in the crook of his neck. 

“Promise you’ll stick with me?” she whispered, spent, “Please.” 

“I’m with you.” Raenor murmured, “Through to the end.” 

[amazingmsme]

Hot Boy Summer

AN: Here’s my fic for the @ticklesofcolor fic exchange! I wrote for @calmturquoise & I had a blast writing this fic for you! So sorry for the delay, I just finished up with my associates & I had to write 2 final papers. I hope you’re okay that I was liberal with your prompt, since I went with Zuko & Sokka it would kind of be hard for him to use his bending to tickle someone, but I still tried to incorporate it! I also completely threw in the towel with this title. I hope you enjoy it! Sokka & Zuko just play off of each other so well.

Zuko was hot. Like strictly temperature wise Sokka told himself. But firebending proved to be quite useful to him. When they were camping, he was the warmest to sit next to. Not to mention, he made great fires for roasting weenies and marshmallows. But Sokka's favorite thing about it was that it meant he was pretty easy to tick off, which made for good fun.

He would never actually get too angry, so he assumed he didn't actually mind it all that much. And the truth was, he didn't. Zuko never really had friends of his own, and the playful teasing, if annoying, was actually fun. The others picked up on the habits too. It ended up with Toph claiming Zuko as her body pillow to hug against while she slept.

"Hey, can you hold this?" Without waiting for an answer, Sokka shoved a wet clay bowl in Zuko's warm hands.

"Wha- uh- sure," he said, perplexed but not setting it down. Sokka's cheeks were puffed out like a frog from trying to contain his laughter. Zuko realized what he was trying to do and huffed to keep himself from chuckling along. "Hell no, go find a kiln," he said, shoving it back in Sokka's hands.

As annoying as it was, it made Zuko feel... accepted. Like he was actually a part of the group instead of the outcast he was so used to being. He thought that they would all hate him: fearing his flame and mistrusting of everything he did. But that wasn't the case. And it felt good. He felt like, maybe, he could return the playful teasing. Toph was surprisingly easy to embarrass when he mentioned how "hot" she must thing he is from cuddling him all the time. Coincidentally, an embarrassed Toph and an angry Toph we're pretty much one in the same, and a sharp rock had launched him several feet in the air.

Katara could see right through his attempts at teasing, at being friendly, but she was still not amused by him. Aang was too happy all the time to get a rise out of him, though it was still fun to mess with the young avatar. Sokka was the most fun however. He had a sense of humor, and even though Zuko's wasn't what you'd consider "good" the other boy could still recognize what was meant to be a joke or a tease and deliver one right back. He was dramatic, and therefore, very easy to evoke a reaction.

He couldn't help but notice how the rest of them were very physical. Like, they'd constantly be touching each other. At first he found it a little unsettling, but they had done a pretty good job of making him get used to it. And eventually, he began reaching out to them.

So when Sokka grabbed his wrist and squeezed a pressure point to make a flame shoot out to toast a mallow. He snatched his hand back and shakes a finger in his face to scold him. "Alright I've had just about enough of you using me as your personal lighter!" he admonished, the smirk on his face revealing his amusement. Sokka's smirk was even wider. More smug and full of pride.

"Why? It's not like you'll do anything," he taunted, crossing his arms over his chest. Zuko glared at him. He was right, he'd probably just let it slide. Except he'd watched how they all play with each other and wanted them to know he could be fun like that too. He always hesitated to reach out, but he wanted to change. So they were both a little shocked when he shoved Sokka to the ground and sat on his legs, just above the knee. He blinked a few times then chuckled. "Nice try flambo, but it'll take more than just sitting on me to teach me a lesson," he sassed.

"I know," he said, looking down at him. He'd seen the others tickle Sokka to tears when he won't knock it off with the lame jokes, so he knew this method would be affective. Except, he didn't really know where to start. He'd never been in many tickle fights with his sister, and when he did he usually didn't win. But it had been years since he'd engaged with someone like this. But he'd watched enough, he was sure he could figure it out!

He gave a tentative poke to his belly, eliciting a quick squeak. Sokka's eyes widen and a nervous grin breaks out as he shook his head. Zuko placed a few more pokes to his stomach and sides before wiggling his fingers over the skin. Sokka was squirming and giggling lightly which... wasn't right. He'd seen the others get him, he should be howling with laughter. So why wasn't he?

"W-wohow you're really bahad at this," Sokka spoke fairly easily. Zuko huffed and shoved him against the ground and clambered away to stand. Sokka sighed and reached up, snatching his wrist. "Hey don't go, I was just teasing."

Zuko glared at the ground, lower lip jutting out slightly in a mix between a scowl and a pout. "Why not? It's true." When he didn't move to sit back down, Sokka yanked him to the ground, none too gently he might add.

"Ow! You didn't have to do that you know!" he complained, leaning to the side so he could rub his sore butt. Thankfully the grass cushioned his fall, but unexpectedly crashing down on your tailbone was never fun.

He shrugged. "I know, but it was the easiest way to make sure you wouldn't leave." He offered a softer, more genuine smile. "Besides, it's not your fault you don't know how. I doubt you had much time for goofing off like that," he said, his voice sympathetic. Zuko nodded shyly.

"Yeah, once mom was gone, things really picked up. And they were never easy before, but everything just got a lot more intense after that," he admitted. After keeping things bottled up all his life, it felt good to get it off his chest. Not all at once, but slowly; small things, like now.

Sokka seemed to mull something over in his head before deciding, "I can teach you if you want." Zuko blinked in surprise.

"Really?"

He nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! I mean, I can't leave you all defenseless like that," he teased with a poke to his side. His lip twitched in a smile and he jerked away.

"Hey I can defend myself just fine! But um, who's our first target?" he asked slightly confused, staring out at the others spread around their small camp. "'Cause I think Aang'll be our best bet-" he rambled on, unaware of how Sokka was creeping up from behind.

"You are!" Zuko barely had time to process what he said before a pair of arms wrapped around him and pulled him back against Sokka's chest. He gasped as realization dawned on him and he tried to pry himself free.

"What? Why me? I-I can't learn like this!" he yelped. His friend only laughed.

"You will. You gotta know what different techniques feel like so you can get the best reactions. You gotta try different things 'cause certain things work better on some people," he explained. The way he was so casual about it just embarrassed Zuko even more.

"I appreciate the sentiment but I'm really more of a hands on kind of learner," he said as he squirmed. Sokka practically lit up.

"Then this is perfect! See? Hands-" he held them up for him to see before immediately diving for his stomach. "On!" Zuko practically screamed.

"Nohoho! Thihihis ihisn't fair!" he squealed through his laughter.

"What do you mean, of course it is! I'm giving you a lesson in tickling 101!" he chirped happily, kneading at his sides. Zuko cackled and doubled over, hands weakly prying at his wrists.

"Nohohot ohon mehehe!" he protested.

"Like I said, in order to tickle someone, you gotta know what different techniques feel like. There's light skittering," he said, demonstrating by spidering his fingers over his ribs. His laughter turned breathy and giggly, the squirming dying down as it became slightly more bearable. "Also quick squeezes," he said as he rapidly squeezed down his sides, making him squeal and twist back and forth. "Oh, and poking! But you seem to have that one down," he said, delivering quick pokes all over his torso.

"Ohohokahay I gehehet ihit! Stohop!" he cried out. Sokka shook his head.

"Not yet, the lesson's not over!" Suddenly, his hands shot down to squeeze his thighs. Zuko shrieked and kicked out, feet scrambling in the grass. "There's squeezing, oh! And kneading!" he said, switching tactics and demonstrating the new technique on his stomach. His laughter deepened as he desperately tried to squirm away, sucking in his belly and leaning away from the touch. This only succeeded in him pressing against Sokka even more, trapping him further in his hold.

"I can't believe I almost forgot one of the most important steps," Sokka said, managing to bring one arm up to smack himself on the forehead for being such an idiot.

Zuko didn't want to know what he meant by that, but then again, he kind of did. Curiosity killed the cat. "W-whahahat's thahat?" he asked. Now that the other boy had brought it up, he simply had to know.

"Teasing of course!" he exclaimed. Oh no, he really shouldn't have asked. "Sokka nohoho dohon't!"

"Why?" he asked, cocking his head. "Are you too ticklish to handle it?" he asked, raising the pitch of his voice in a mocking tone. For some reason, that made the sensations even stronger and all the more maddening.

"Shuhuhut up mahahan!" he squealed, doubling over and pushing at his tickling hands. "You're really not in a position to be making demands," he said smugly. Zuko managed to growl through his laughter. Sokka chuckled at the noise.

"I can't believe it: even when you're giggling up a storm you still try to appear all broody and grouchy!" he taunted. His cheeks turned pink upon hearing this and he tried to hide his face in his hands.

"Sohohokka ohohokay! I gehet it nohohow!" he pleaded.

"Alright, last lesson. You know what raspberries are, right?" he asked. Zuko could remember how his mother would play with him when he was younger, sometimes blowing raspberries on his pudgy tummy or neck. His eyes widen and he shook his head.

"Don't you dahahare!" he tried to scold.

"Oh, I dare," Sokka said with a sly smirk, placing his lips on the nape of his neck and blew hard. A loud, wet fart noise filled the air along with Zuko's wild cackles. He arched his back as much as he could, squirming and thrashing in his hold. He managed to twist away and shoved Sokka's face back with a little more force than necessary.

Sokka's shit eating grin remained plastered on his face. "You're the worst," he spat out between panting breaths. He closed his eyes and shrugged, clearly pleased with himself.

"You're welcome." Zuko's blush burned brighter and he playfully punched his shoulder. "I didn't say thank you!"

"Yeah but you were thinking it," he teased further. "If you still suck at tickling then there's just no hope for you," he said, patting his back consolingly. A rare glint of mischief shined in Zuko's eyes.

"I think it's coming back to me... Only one way to find out." Before Sokka could react, he slammed into him with his shoulder, knocking him on his back. He wasted no time pinning him.

Sokka stated up at him in shock, already giggling with nerves. "C-can't we talk about this?"

Zuko smirked, cracking his knuckles. "Nope."

[atlabeth]

transferred part twelve - atla smau

masterlist | part eleven | part thirteen

this takes place about 2 weeks after the last chapter

summary: trying to run from your past is hard, but falling for your brother’s roommate is even harder. little do you know that he’s falling for you as well. 

wc: 3.6k 

a/n: i’ve been writing bits and pieces of this since the start of this series so. enjoy. that’s all im gonna say lmao 

warning(s): cursing, mentions of familial death, mentions of abuse, some angst but also some fluff. this is kind of a heavy chapter because both zuko and y/n talk about their past, but there is fluff at the end. 

~~~~~~~~

You pushed your hair out of your face and tried to blink the sleep out of your eyes, catching a glimpse of the time on the corner of your laptop. 

3:23 AM. 

You should’ve been asleep a long time ago, but all of your professors had decided to schedule tests in the same week so it was one of many, many late nights you had had lately. You thought that they would cool down because midterms were coming up, but BSSU professors kept proving you wrong. Late nights like these were becoming a regular occasion, and right now you just needed a break. 

The tea dates with Zuko were the only things keeping you sane. But could you even call them dates? 

It was the two of you, together, sitting and talking over tea for hours, and they were happening multiple times a week. In fact, you and him had gotten tea together exactly 9 times in the past two weeks — and that wasn’t even counting all the talking during your shared shifts. 

Katara, Suki, and Toph told you that they were dates, you wanted them to be dates, but there was a part of you that was so incredibly scared that you were wrong — that moving past that bridge would ruin the friendship that you cherished so much with Zuko — that you kept things solely platonic. No matter how much you wanted to kiss him every time he gave you that smile. 

But thinking about the complicated relationship you had found yourself entangled in with Zuko wasn’t a break, no matter how many times you had pondered over it before falling asleep in the wee hours of the night. 

You closed your laptop and grabbed your jacket that had been carelessly tossed on a stool at the kitchen island, making sure to sneak out of the apartment as quietly as you could. You opted to work in the living room, choosing to camp out on the sofa whenever you had to stay up as late as this, just so you wouldn’t wake up Sokka. Your brother had no idea how much you did for him. 

The cool breeze hitting your face and the shining stars in the sky were a welcome change of scenery from the lifelessness that was your apartment at night and your computer screen that you were sure was going to cause you eye issues later in life with how bright it was. 

You took a deep breath, inhaling and exhaling the crisp night air, and started to walk. You were sure you looked like a mess. You were wearing some flannel pajama pants, a BSSU tank top, tennis shoes, and Zuko’s jacket.  He had never asked for it back after that night at the party, and when you had showed up to one of your hangouts wearing it, he told you that you could keep it — “it looks better on you anyways” — so you did. 

There was something calming about the atmosphere. You knew that a lot of women were anxious about going out at night, especially alone, but that was why you had taken self defense classes. Being friends with Suki was a self defense class in its own, and it was very much appreciated. You allowed yourself to get lost in your thoughts, trying to give yourself the break that you deserved, when the hairs on the back of your neck stood up. 

“You know, it’s not safe to be out alone at this hour.” 

You let out a scream at the unexpected voice and whirled around, your fists already up to defend yourself. When you saw who it was, you laughed, completely shocked, and hit your hands against your legs, trying to calm your rapidly beating heart. 

“Holy shit, Zuko, you can’t just sneak up on someone like that!” you wheezed. You had no doubt that he only had good intentions, but for a second you thought someone was going to try and kill you. You had to admit, the scare was worth it to see the mix of horror and embarrassment on Zuko’s face.

“I’m so sorry!” His hands were held up placatingly in front of him and he let out a nervous laugh as well, but it did nothing to cover up the wide eyes he stared at you with. “I am so sorry, I didn’t even think about that. I- I was just up studying too, and I heard you leaving so I thought you could use some company- I swear, I wasn’t trying to scare you or anything!” 

You shook your head but couldn’t stop the smile on your lips, gesturing for him to come closer while you caught your breath. “It’s fine. Come on, walk with me.”

He fell into step beside you and the two of you walked in silence for a while, the only disruptions being the occasional car that drove by. It was eerily quiet, but with Zuko, it was nice. 

“So-”

“So-” 

Both of you laughed when you each interrupted the other, and when you motioned for Zuko to go first he shook his head. You paused for a moment, the question on the tip of your tongue, before you decided to take the plunge. 

“I’ve been wondering since I got here; how did you end up as friends with—” You gestured around with your hands. “—this whole crew? It’s kind of a weird combination of people, so I guess I just wanna know how you became a part of it.” 

Zuko sighed and ran a hand through his hair, causing your eyes to widen a little bit as a stammered apology came out. “You don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to-” He gave you a tight smile and shook his head. 

“No, it’s fine. You should know about my life if— if we’re going to keep living together.” He knew the moment he met you, the moment he agreed to let you live with all of them, that he would have to explain his past to you. Hell, your siblings might have already told you some of it — he could only hope you’d still want to be his friend after he was done. 

“”I.. I wasn’t the best person in the past. I was a horrible person actually, and I consider myself extremely lucky that I was given so many chances to change. I hurt people. Bullied people. Got into fights just because I could. I was just- horrible is the only way to describe it. But your siblings, Toph, Aang? They were all people that decided to give me one of those chances, and they’re a huge reason that I am who I am today.” Zuko spoke slowly, and you could tell that this was something he didn’t open up to many people about. You smiled softly at him and nodded, letting him know that he could go on. 

“I don’t know how much you know about my father, but he’s the CEO of our family company. He’s been this huge presence in the business world for as long as I can remember, and he’s responsible for all the wealth and fame that our family has today. And when I was younger, I idolized him. I thought he was the greatest man in the world, that he could do no wrong, and I just followed him blindly. He was the most important person in my life, but.. I was nothing to him.” 

“He didn’t care about his friends, or- or his family, he only cared about power. My mother left when I was young, we haven’t heard a word from her since, and- and I don’t even know if he cared. My father would do whatever it took to become as powerful as he could, and that meant—” Zuko’s voice was getting louder and he cleared his throat, trying to keep his cool. There was a certain hollowness behind his eyes, and it tore you to pieces. “That meant hurting anyone that went against him. Including his children.”  

“I have a sister, Azula. She’s a prodigy in every sense of the word, and my father used it, used her. She was clearly his favorite, and it drove me insane. I mean, I did everything for his approval, but he only cared about Azula. We had a good relationship when we were younger, but my father molded her into the kind of person he wanted her to be, and— and I was jealous of her. He used that against us, purposefully staked the fire of our competition, one that I thought I could somehow win. But we had both already lost the second we started fighting against each other.” 

“It took me a long time to realize that.. that he was abusing us. I mean, he gave me this scar all because I spoke out of turn, and— and I still thought that I could earn his favor, that he deserved to earn my favor! He threw me out of the house when I was thirteen, and I went to live with my uncle. It took an even longer time, but with his help, and the support of your siblings and their friends, I was able to break the cycle. I was horrible to them at first, all of them, and I hated my father for what he did, but it was probably the thing that saved me.”  “And Azula.. leaving her will always be my biggest regret. My biggest mistake. I should’ve forced her to come with me when I was kicked out, I should’ve done something sooner, because maybe she wouldn’t have turned out the way she did.” He swallowed hard, his voice strained. “I came back for her once I was stable, and I helped her get out. I helped her get a therapist. It’s been a long process, but she’s getting better every day. But not a day goes by where I don’t think about what I could’ve done to help her more.”

You instinctively reached out for Zuko’s hand, and to your surprise, he took it without question. You gave his hand a small squeeze and led him over to a nearby bench — without realizing it, the two of you had entered a public park that was near the complex. When you sat down together, you moved so that one of your legs was crossed in front of you and the other was hanging down so you could face him. 

“Zuko.. I am so, so sorry. I don’t think any amount of apologies will be able to get how I feel across, but.. you didn’t deserve to go through that. No one deserves to go through that.” You took both of his hands, thankful for the warmth they provided. “Listen to me. Are you listening to me?” 

He gave a pained smile and nodded. “Yes, Y/N. I’m listening to you.” 

“You are not who you were in middle school. You are not who you were in high school. Okay? Your father is a horrible man, and you wouldn’t have done any of those things if it wasn’t for him. What you did when you were younger wasn’t okay, but the fact that you have so much remorse for it today proves that you’re a good person. Zuko, you are a good person, one of the best men that I’ve ever met in my life, and I’ve only known you for a few months.” 

You were subconsciously rubbing calming circles into the back of his hands —  hands that were still holding yours — while you talked, but it was all Zuko could think about.  “I know you feel guilty about leaving your sister, but you did what you had to do to get out. You came back for her, and you’ve helped her get better. She’s grateful for it, Zuko, I know that much.” 

“Everyone else has forgiven you,” you murmured, staring deep into the fire he held in his eyes. “You deserve to forgive yourself.”

The silence that passed while you gazed into each other’s eyes felt like it lasted an eternity, when really it was only about a minute. Zuko was the first to break it, clearing his throat and looking everywhere but at you as his words tumbled out. “I’m sorry- I didn’t mean to dump all of this on you at once.”

“It’s okay, Zuko, really. I understand; sometimes you just need to talk to somebody. You don’t know how much it means to me that you trusted me with all of that. And.. if we’re still baring our souls to each other, then I guess I have some things that you should know as well.” 

You bit the inside of your cheek; were you really about to tell Zuko about what happened? Most people knew that your mother was dead — killed in a drunk driving accident when you were ten — but you had never told anyone, not even your father or your siblings, about the full effect it had on you. But his eyes told you more than he ever could, and in that moment you knew it would be okay. You could trust him with something you had never trusted anyone else with.

“I’m sure you know that my mother died when I was young.” He nodded and you swallowed, trying to get rid of the sudden dryness in your throat. “It was.. hard. Really hard, on all of us. It was just so unexpected that we didn’t know what to do. We didn’t really have any money to spare, so my dad had to keep working, and I had to take care of Sokka and Katara. I was only eleven, but I basically had to take over the ‘mom’ role. Our grandmother came down to take care of us so we wouldn’t just be a bunch of kids living on our own, but even with her and Katara’s help, it was still hard. Sokka and Katara had to grow up much faster than they should’ve, even though I tried to shield them as much as I could.” 

“It was.. a lot. I won’t lie to you, it was a lot. Maybe too much.” A mirthless laugh hung in the air and you had to blink back the tears threatening to spring. “My mother was.. amazing. She was the only one who truly got me, you know? She was just this— this beautiful spirit in the world, and she brought light wherever she went. And when she died, it left this.. huge, gaping hole in my heart, one that I’m still trying to fill. I- I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to fill it. I thought as I got older it would be easier, but i-it’s not. The three of us joke around by calling Katara mom because of how she is, and they sometimes do it to me, and I know that’s all they are, jokes, but some part of it still hurts.” 

You were rambling now, spilling your soul to Zuko, going into the most mundane details that you had never told anyone. You had taken away the dam that had been holding back the waters of your emotions for so long, and now Zuko was going to drown in them. But you couldn’t stop.

“It’s the reason why I didn’t drive for so long. I didn’t want to, I was terrified of it because of what happened to my mother, but someone needed to be able to take Sokka and Katara around. And- and as I got older, and I started going to parties and people started drinking, I never did. I couldn’t, I was always the designated driver, because I couldn’t leave that in someone else’s hands. I had to be in control, because if I let someone go, then it was like I was killing my mother all over again, and it’s the reason why I always have to be the one driving—” 

You paused to take a deep breath, and as you looked down at your hands, you realized they were shaking. Not just your hands, but your entire body. What the hell were you doing? You let out a tearful laugh, covering your mouth with one hand and shaking your head. “God, I am so sorry, I— I don’t know what got into me.”

Zuko’s eyes never left yours, his own glassy, and he shook his head. “You don’t have to apologize. Like you said, it helps to tell someone. A-and— I know how you feel, what it’s like feeling like you have to give up the world for your siblings. But you have to take care of yourself too. You’re not just what you can give to other people. You are your own person.”

He was thankful that you trusted him enough to tell you something like this about yourself, something that your own blood didn’t even know, but it also made him realize that you had always trusted him. 

Your point about driving. You liked to be in control so that if something did go wrong, there wouldn’t be any thoughts of what you could’ve done. If something happened, it was because of you and only you. And on your first day of classes, and many trips since, you had let him drive. It was something so small, so insignificant to anyone, but to you it was a sign of trust. 

You trusted him. 

“You’re shivering.” Your voice snapped Zuko back to reality and he shrugged, the smallest smile playing on his lips. 

“I wouldn’t be if someone had given me my jacket back,” he joked. You elbowed him in the chest and stood up, holding out your hand for him to take to help him up as well. Zuko took it and you ignored the butterflies that erupted, setting a steady pace as the two of you walked. 

“We should get back to the apartment. It’s late, and you need to sleep,” you chided. 

“You have bags the size of baseballs under your eyes. I think you need sleep just as much as I do.” 

“I’m special,” you shot back with a grin.

Yeah, you are, Zuko thought. 

The walk back to the apartment was shrouded in comfortable silence and intertwined hands, something that neither of you made any move to change.

~~~~~~~~

Soon enough you had gotten back to your rooms — such a small apartment meant that they were right next to each other — and as you turned on your heel to face him, a shy smile played on your lips. “Thank you. For, uh- coming after me. For listening to me.” 

“Of course,” he nodded. The two of you stood in silence for a while, and then Zuko reached out his hand. Your breath caught in your throat as he brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear, and the close proximity combined with the surprisingly intimate act caused your cheeks to heat up once more. It was like you were caught in a trance.

Your gaze flickered from his eyes to his lips for just a moment, and you could’ve sworn that he did the same. The air between the two of you was crackling with unseen electricity, and before you could question yourself you were leaning forward. 

You felt him lean in as well as your eyes fluttered shut, and his lips ghosted over yours. Your eyes snapped open and you stared at him, your lips slightly parted in disbelief — he just kissed you. Zuko just kissed you. It was like time had stopped — and then it all came crashing down. His lips came back to yours with an intense fervor, cupping your face in his hands to get as close to you as possible.

It was bliss in the purest sense. You reciprocated immediately, tangling a hand in his dark hair, letting out a soft gasp as your back hit the wall. Despite how many times you had imagined this moment, nothing could compare to the real thing. It was passionate but gentle all the same, and the warmth that spread through your whole body was familiar — it was Zuko. 

Your mind was a jumbled mess. It was split a million different ways; one part suddenly very worried about how your hair looked, one hoping that Sokka and Aang couldn’t hear you, another that didn’t care, but most of them were just screaming about how oh my god you were kissing Zuko.

You knew your whole face was flushed when you finally pulled away, and the warmth of his lips lingered as the two of you stared at each other, breathing slightly labored. You tentatively reached out your hand and softly, carefully traced your finger over a part of his scar. He flinched at the contact instinctively, but you felt him relax and even lean into your touch. It meant more than you could ever say, especially knowing what you knew now. 

“You’re so beautiful,” you murmured, your touch impossibly soft against the cracked skin of his scar. “And you’re stronger than anyone knows. Than you know.” 

You kissed him again, shorter and sweeter than the first but just as tender, trying to memorize the feeling of his lips against yours as he returned it. You smiled at him and pushed your door open behind you, equal parts nervous and exhilarated about what just happened. “Goodnight, Zuko,” you whispered, shining eyes never leaving his until you closed the door.  

As soon as you were in your room you turned around and leaned against the door, smiling to yourself like an idiot. Your hand ghosted over your cheek, the spot where his hands had been, and you sighed dreamily. You had no idea how you were going to be able to finish studying. 

This was definitely more than a small crush. 

~~~~~~~~~~

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