#its just terrible to see that regardless whether or not he did do it

[starwikia]

suicide cw

look i have been in this area before mentally. it sucks and i wouldn’t wish this on anyone. but, and this is going to sound callous, but i don’t feel any sympathy for james somerton. even if i hope he’s like. not dead. But thats all the amount of goodwill im willing to give him. The more i think about this really, the more angry i am. 

ngl this entire situation is another example of how white people weaponize their mental illness to avoid consequences. Im seeing it in real time.

this man has a continuous habit of using self-harm as a get-out-of-jail-for-free card. in both of his apologies, he has worded his supposed attempts in ways that were clearly meant to guilt people who displayed his plagiarism and overall horrendous history of racism and misogyny. i say supposed because, while i’m not saying those are lies and this would he such a fucked up thing to lie about that i don’t want to think he has, unfortunately, it’s been proven again and again that his word can’t be trusted, as he’s known to lie to try get out of consequences. Hes a proven liar. him lying about this is actually the best case scenario, because no one should go through this entire situation, wouldnt wish this on anyone, but you can only do this so often before people stop sympathizing with you. is this callous? Yeah, but like. I’m actually fucking angry he cant straight up take no as an answer. that this is how he reacts realizing he cant be one of the Cool Kidz™️ on youtube anymore. he acts like he DESERVES a career, like its not a privilege hes lost due to his own actions.

He lied about apologizing and forgiving people, he lied about giving the money to hbomberguy to give to ppl he ripped off (yknow, instead of doing it himself), he lied about the jessie gender situation and rewrote the narrative to make it so he isnt the bad guy, and hes the victim all along actually!

you can’t tell me that supposed last message of his isn’t meant to be a 13 reasons why esq attempt to deflect the blame “look i’m going to kill myself and it’s all YOUR PEOPLES FAULT for not letting me achieve my DREAM of being filmmaker IN PEACE!!! I just wanted Nick’s (the guy who I have thrown under the bus again and again) portfolio up!! Im just being a good friend dont you all FEEL BAD” he refuses to take ANY ACCOUNTABILITY of any of his actions and he IS STILL trying to shove the blame over to other people again.

it’s also pretty ironic people are like “uhhh well hbomber’s fans harassed him!!!” like hbomber outright told people NOT to HARASS JAMES!!! ALSO acting as if james doesn’t have a very real documented history of STRAIGHT UP sending his fans to harass and threaten smaller creators, more notably women, trans, and bipoc creators. especially after he’s stolen typically very personal anecdotes so he could profit from them. so why can he do it but the second people are like “hey this guys an actual piece of shit.” and he can’t handle it suddenly people are trying to white knight his shit? like no he doesn’t get that. he doesn’t get that at all just because he couldn’t handle the consequences of his actions. 

what? were supposed to stay quiet about a man profiting off of other minorities because he wanted to be the spokesman for all gay people? people tried to solve this on a smaller, more private scales for YEARS and he kept doing it. it was clear that the giant public video was the ONLY way to get people to notice. HE WOULDVE GOTTEN AWAY WITH STEALING 87 FUCKING THOUSANDS WORTH OF DOLLARS. HE CANT HANDLE THE FACT HE CANT GET AWAY WITH IT. 

am i supposed to feel bad for the guy who basically threatened a trans woman with the police? i don’t care what anyone says, it’s so fucking obvious that he threatened jessie by implying he was getting the police involved in their conflict. what am i supposed to act like that didn’t happen? are we supposed to pretend like he didn’t glorify nazi’s and outright said that gay people made up a good chunk of the nazis? That he didnt say america joined ww2 bc they were jealous of the NAZIS. WHAT WOULD POSSESS YOU TO FUCKING SAY THAT. but then? He gives women (not even women most of the time, he misgenders nonbinary ppl constantly) shit for writing mlm. are we supposed to act like he doesn’t straight-up sees himself superior and better than people of color and steals their works to put himself on a pedestal? Are we supposed to act like he didnt spit on our elders by saying “only the boring gays survived aids” like man! Fuck you! He BLANTANTLY MAKES UP HISTORY TO PUT HIMSELF ON A PEDESTAL!! HE ACTIVELY TRIED TO REWRITE LGBT HISTORY TO SUIT HIS FUCKED UP NARRATIVES!

yes this sucks ! no one deserves this but no one should be making him a martyr. Thats what he fucking WANTS! He wants to be immortalized as a victim!! (again, supposedly, it was reported hes alive but its not confirmed).

The shit he got isnt near the amount of fucking callous behavior hes done again and again. Again, to drill this point, EVEN IF HE DIDNT CALL THE POLICE HE THREATENED A TRANS WOMAN INTO THINKING HE DID!!! The fact he tried to use a head injury to justify years of the outright ghoulish shit fucking astounds me. Why the fuck did anyone in his life thought it was a good idea to let him TRY to come back. in the end, he had options. he didn’t need to try to make a comeback. HE DIDNT NEED TO FUCKING LIE OR IGNORE THE SHIT HE WAS CALLED OUT ON the reality is, he wanted to come back thinking he could shove it under the rug, was told that no dude, you’re not allowed to be a youtuber anymore. you’re done. you need to move on and went full nuclear. it’s not on anyone’s hands but his own. HES BEEN DOING THIS TO HIMSELF!! But nah man we cant call his shit out bc hell may or may not kill himself. Fuck the other minorities who have the same issues but worse and sometimes BECAUSE of him. This is going to SUCKKKK so bad when other ppl, specifically white gays, are going to weaponize this shit to get away with their stuff.

[unknownunidentified101]

ITS ME, NOT YOU

CHARACTER | Xavier, Zayne, Sylus and Rafayel x reader

SCENARIO | in which they confess their love for you after you wanted to move away from them

WARNINGS | hurt to comfort, suggestive?

ZAYNE

This is terrible. You groaned as your helmet was set on the rear end of your rigged bike. It was around midnight and you had received a call regarding your own physician.

Usually you wouldn’t mind picking up your estranged friend, Zayne, however your mind alerted you of your previous banter

Perhaps it was his late night shifts getting the better of him, regardless, his chilled persona faded at the mention of your work opportunities . Recently you had searched for a way to spice up your work life, taking in new commissions and staying up late.

These recent missions caused you to linger from doctor to doctor, leaving you to completely ghost Zayne for god knows how long. It didn’t bother you but it sure bothered him.

The way you preferred to visit another doctor or completely ignore his precautions and recklessly throw yourself into danger heated him to a breaking point.

Perhaps after getting use to your presence, Zayne yearned for more of it.

The only reason for your avoidance of him was because you wanted to ignore the blissful feelings of seeing him. Your relationship was strictly professional yet you find yourself fantasizing the presence of him.

You hated his cold personality yet you felt warm in those stern eyes when he brought up details that you had told him ages ago.

It was difficult maintaining your feelings for him, so in turn, you thought leaving him be would be for the better. This ended horribly however after he confronted you one day.

The confrontation left you storming out of his office after he continuously nagged you after every prolonged visit. It was hard to like someone that seemed to only want to make your life difficult.

Regardless, you roamed the empty streets of Linkon. Your eyes were peeled for any sight of the doctor. Surprisingly it wasn’t much of a challenge as the man seemed to be the outlier in an empty play ground

Your breath lingered in the foggy air for a moment, feet crunching towards the swinging man whose face was flushed with a red hue.

It was clear he had a few too many drinks, presumably from his colleagues. “ Zayne you’re going to catch a cold” you call out

Zayne’s head spins upwards, his eyes squint at you when you become more clearer to him.

“ you…” Zayne mutters a few words that are inaudible before you crouch in front of him

“ you are the girl from my dreams” he feels the need to point out. These words make you frown, ‘the girl of his dreams? What did he mean?’

“ it’s time to get you home” you ignore his murmurs, wrapping his arm around your shoulders in an attempt to support his standing weight

“ stop that” Zayne holds your wrist, halting your movements. “ stop what?” The purity in your voice makes Zayne focus back to your eyes

“ why do you avoid me?” You could smell Zayne’s intoxication, his eyebrows furrowed.

He was drunk, really drunk.

“ Zayne lets take you home” you try to focus on the matter at hand, rejecting your hand from his tight grip. Zayne’s hold on you was strong, balancing out in firm and being painless

“ these past few days, I worried about you. Whether you were eating well or if you missed me” Zayne’s voice softened, eyes pleading for some sort of reassurance from you as the moon coated him in its spell

“ and now you come back like none of that mattered” Zayne felt hurt, his breath being more ragged and shallow

“ Zayne you know I’m fine I just…been changing doctors because of my missions-“

“ so..? I’m your one and only physician. No place is far for me to go to you. I’m here to treat you” Zayne gently guided your hand to his swollen cheek. He was avoiding your gaze as if he was guilty of his actions

“ Zayne…you are drunk” you were skeptical, heart on the verge of plunging out your own chest

“ regardless if I’m drunk, I lov…” Zayne couldn’t finish his sentence. The words he meant to say caught up in his throat. Every single lifetime he was bound to a dreaded curse that forbid him from uttering those three loving words

I love you.

He wanted to say that. He knew even if he was sober he would never admit his true feelings towards you in fear of hurting you. He couldn’t stand for it.

“ Zayne what are you saying?” You leaned more closely, trying to hear him better with the view of his beautifully sunken face.

Zayne avoids your alluring gaze, instead, placing a light kiss on your cheek. “ I’m saying that I want to be yours” . There it was, that false sense of security that made you yearn for Zayne even more.

‘ Did he mean it? Was he that drunk?’ Your mind was spinning on a axis

“ I will never have the courage to say that to you when I’m sober so I’m letting you know now” Zayne’s large hands supported your own hands like it was a delicate snowflake

“ let me take care of you. Let me see you everyday, all the time” Zayne knew it was wrong, he knew he couldn’t but faced with the sight of you again, he couldn’t avoid losing you to someone else.

He wanted you again despite the pain he felt again and again.

He loved you so much even if he couldn’t utter those three words, I love you.

Silently after confessing, Zayne laid his head on your shoulder, accepting your invitation to take him home in the chilling weather.

Whether what he was true or not, you find your own hands repositioning around his shoulders in a hugging position. In one breath you let out, “ I like you too Zayne. I know now it was foolish of me to avoid these feelings” your arms tightly bound to him as you gave out your own confession

“ I promise I will have you for me only, I will not visit another doctor” you vow, feeling Zayne’s lips curve upwards at those words

“ and I promise I’ll cherish all I days the spend with you, my love. My only love.” Zayne replies, his delicate response leaving butterflies in your stomach. His hands coat your face, stroking it with a tender gaze

Zayne had reunited with his love again. This time, not intending to let go, sealing his promises into the form of peppered kisses

Sharing a longing kiss, Zayne felt greedy, stealing more than he intended.

XAVIER

Xavier knew he messed up. He hated it. How he couldn’t adapt to the new environment that you lived in. He couldn’t help his urge to sleep nor the lack of emotions he tended to exert

He felt bad it ruined the dates you had with him, how he would always be late despite numerous reminders. He felt bad and knew you were upset about it

Maybe that’s why you distanced yourself from him. Taking in more missions, spending more time with your other co-workers. He couldn’t blame you for that.

Xavier felt trapped in his own world due to the lack of communication. These feelings left him having the tendency to isolate himself away from you as well. However this night was an exception

“ careful” you and Xavier clashed around his apartment, stumbling to his bathroom

“ I’m sorry” Xavier profusely apologised for getting injured. The words that escaped your mouth seemed hurt and one sided to him

“ you should’ve alerted me. You know I hate seeing you hurt” you tone was lecturing, sounding more hurt than what Xavier actually felt

“ I’m sorry” Xavier repeated with innocent eyes, his back meeting the cold tiles of his restroom. “ stop saying that” you gritted your teeth as you couched before him

“ may i?” Your hands hover over his stained shirt. Xavier had nothing to do but bob his head slowly. You wasted no time, your hands tearing at the soft fabric, revealing the shallow gash on his chest

Your eyes averted the sight, feeling sorrow for him. If only he didn’t risk his life for a small wanderer. “ this is going to hurt…so brace yourself” your hands grasp the med kit you had brought over

Xavier observes your subtle movements, witnessing your hand unwrap the graze and alcohol. He itched to confess something, the feeling of guilt he had been feeling recently and the way he hated his habits

“ okay” you look into Xavier’s eyes as a form of mercy, pressing the cloth over his chest, cleaning the surrounding wound

Xavier’s groans were fairly quiet but his actions weren’t. You felt a tight grip around your free hand. Xavier had grabbed the closest thing to him, that being you

“ I’msososorry” Xavier quickly flocked back to his stilled state, realising his awkward actions.

“ no it’s okay” you reassure, only bring caught off guard. In an attempt to soothe his fragile state, you took his hand back in yours

“ you can hold my hand for support, I don’t mind” you reminded, continuing your patching

Xavier’s eyes wondered to your gentle behaviour in contrast to your previous actions. Your coating behaviour left his eyes drowsy as he felt at ease - at peace .

After you were done you decide to stand up in order to clean the area. That was your plan until a hand reaches out to you

“ [y/n]. I’m sorry I always nap. It was never my intention to skip out on our dates.” Xavier feels the need to bring up, knowing it was now or never

“ and I’m sorry I can’t express my emotions like you do. In truth I like you a lot. I really do and I’m willing to do anything for you” Xavier confesses all at once, making you even more stunned

“ is this what’s it’s always been about?” The change in your tone made Xavier shiver

“ Xavier I was never mad at you. I was mad that we couldn’t spend more time together and that’s…my fault” your words make Xavier’s ears perk

“ I’ve been avoiding my feelings for you all this time, I’m sorry if that affected you in any way” Your hands cup his soft face without any retaliation from the receiving end

“ You don’t have to apologise” Xavier’s lips curve into a smile. “ you too” you reply, placing a soft peck on his empty lips

Xavier pulls back so suddenly, surprised by your wits. Although it doesn’t take long for him to quickly adapt and move in to steal another kiss

“ alright then. Let’s both not avoid our feelings for each other and embrace it” Xavier’s hands cups your own while the other tangles around your waist

Your eyes close before your lips are invited into another lasting kiss. This feeling is all too familiar to Xavier, in fact, he remembers his past lives with you.

It’s a cozy and warm feeling, shielding him with that sense of security. This feeling leaves him smiling softly

“ I love you and I will never leave you, again”Xavier vows, hands wrapping around your waist in an attempt to pull you down on top of him

The kiss soon turns deeper when your body is supported by Xavier’s touch’s and reassurances.

“ beautiful” he calls out, taking in your breathtaking appearance that coats him with love. Your lips erupt a giggle, enough to make Xavier feel butterflies in his stomach. The feelings of butterflies was a moto he didn’t understand until now

“ let me indulge you tonight” Xavier whispers, coating to hands in his as he drags you into the endless night of stars

SYLUS

“ you told me to find someone to keep me occupied so I did? What’s wrong with that?” You yelled, standing your ground before the man in front of you

Sylus pauses, weighting his decisions. He wanted to tell you he meant himself, he wanted you to be with him. and yet his feelings created a wall he couldn’t cross

“ god Sylus you never understand do you? You keep me here and you always keep everything to yourself despite us being friends” Your frustrations were being let out.

In truth you weren’t mad at Sylus for ruining your date, you were just mad about work and evidently without thinking straight, you took it out on him

“ in fact we aren’t friends, our situation is more like enemies…you said you didn’t like me nor my guts” you voice softens

“ I never said that” Sylus is quick to defend, his tone neutral

“ yeah but it seems like you do.” You found yourself getting even more angrier than before. This wasn’t you, and you knew it. Opening your mind and thinking clearly you end it at that

“ just don’t go that again. And don’t send Mephisto after me again.” you coldly grab your bag, heading to the door. Sylus stands there Idly, having no words to express his emotions as he watches you leave.

It had been a few weeks by now, not that you kept count. Lately you had been miserable, taking in more work commissions to cover the pain from that night.

‘Why did Sylus worry all the time? Why did he always make time for you?’. All these questions made your feelings prominent, you were falling for Sylus and you couldn’t admit that fact

Perhaps you should’ve stayed to listen to Sylus. But what did it matter he seemed to stop bothering you, keeping his promise.

Although only occasionally did you receive letters checking on your welfare.

Walking through the pathway to your home you couldn’t shake the familiar feeling of eyes watching you. Strange because you seemed to be surrounded by swaying trees

Did Sylus send Mephisto again? You couldn’t help but long for an answer

“ l want you to leave me alone” you remembered your vow. Speaking out loud to the feeling you all too well. You knew Sylus was behind you, not Mephisto this time

Sylus shifts slightly on the gravel pavement, unmoving. He appears out of the blue, like a movie to you.

“ Sylus what are you doing here?” Your feet shuffle backwards, unsure if you were in a dazed and crazed state

“ I can’t bare this any longer.” Sylus’s hair is raffled, cheeks pink and appearance unkept as he moves in to your position

“ are you drunk Sylus-“

“ yes you were right back then, your argument was totally valid. I shouldn’t have ruined your date nor should I have sent Mephisto after you.” Sylus refutes, grabbing your attention by moving closely to you

“ but..You are the existence of my being. I love you dearly and I can’t spend a day without hearing you, touching you and seeing you. So no I can’t grant your request” Sylus admits as his tone softens. It almost sounds unbelievable, leaving you stunned

“ Sylus you look drunk, did Luke and Kieran sent you to do this?” You couldn’t help but have worry laced in your tone.

“ I don’t want to fight like this any longer” Sylus ignores your questioning, taking your hand in one motion, catching you off guard

“ sweetie, I’m sorry for making you feel this way” Sylus guides your hand to cup his face.

His smooth word swayed you. Sylus had never raised his voice at you and sometimes you hated that. His charming persona and sweet talk

“ don’t say things-“

Sylus acts on your word. Placing a quick peck to your lips. Your eyes widened and you stumbled back, escaping his loose grip

“ I truely adore you” his eyes shower you with a warm feeling.

You feel all your regret come to light. “ I didn’t know you felt that way…I’m sorry” you suddenly realise your true feelings for Sylus as well

“ perhaps you should go out with me instead” Sylus proposed, taking the burden of your worries off your shoulders

Those final words make the corner of your lips turn upwards. Finally you had smiling after a long time.

“ you could’ve started with that” your hands attach to Sylus, speeding him into a hug

“ then…can I request a kiss?” Sylus’s face shifts to in lock your eyes. You chuckle sheepishly, leaning upwards to place a lasting kiss to his lips

Sylus cups your head, supporting you as he prolongs the kiss. “ and one more request” Sylus makes another statement

Your face smiles, a mischievous look on your face before Sylus pushes tightly against his chest. “ could I perhaps…have you for the rest of the night too?”

RAFAYEL

“ have you ever thought of getting married?” A question sticks in Rafayel’s head. Marriage, a far fetched term that he longed for. Rafayel’s lips turn into a thin line

- “ no”

“ I pronounce you husband and wife” the middle announces, allowing the bride and groom to make amends. A purple haired man stands in the distance, swirling his cup as he simply observes

“ congratulations on your wedding, Thomas.” The sign reads. Rafayel couldn’t help but feel envy for his manager, although he gave him a hard time, Thomas always had better end of the stick

Rafayel’s eyes scanned around, his hands twitching at the thought of marriage. In his mind, he imagines a lavish wedding that is limited to his close circle. His bride? The girl of his dreams

Rafayel couldn’t help but chuckle at the situation. You and him had an argument before you left abroad. It had been weeks since he saw you and it was unbearable.

He only had the courage to look ‘ properly ’ for his friend, despite his crippling state. After all Rafayel owed Thomas for showing up as he hadn’t been keeping up with dead lines for his art projects

He had no motivation to paint, not after his muse was gone. Oh how he regretted it all, that petty argument and that painful bond that linked your lifetimes together

He had lost you again and he had no one to blame but himself.

All night he had spent looking at his phone, all the missed calls and texts he would send to you were never opened or replied too.

“ thank you for showing up” Thomas was now by his side, walking around to show his sincerity. “ I owe you” Rafayel simply nodded, the sassiness in his tone gone

Thomas gives an awkward smile, his attitude towards Rafayel had changed after Rafayel’s personality shifted to a rather cold one. “ well, have a good one” Thomas could only pat Rafayel’s shoulder in reassurance

Rafayel dismisses it, watching the crowd ahead of him dance happily with their partners. Such a grim reminder leaves Rafayel clenching his own fists

His heart couldn’t take it anymore, you were his purpose and now you were gone.

“ care for a dance?” A voice comforts him. That voice…it’s way too familiar to him. Rafayel spins around and meets an alluring pair of eyes

“ oh…it’s..you” the voice recognizes him in shock

“ you…

It’s you, [y/n].”

—- later

“ it’s so cold” you cursed the harsh weather of the night. If only you dressed for such an occasion. “ how am I going to get home” you huff, your driver who was your friend was too drunk to get you home. Adding more, you dreaded the fact you lost your phone

“ here” a cape drapes over your shoulders. The stern voice is difficult not to recognize. It’s Rafayel and he found you again

“ you found me” you mutter, shyly avoiding his gaze. “ your lucky other people got to me before we could dance” Rafayel stands beside you, reversing the roles of you being his body guard

“ why am I lucky” your sentence was quiet as you peered down at the cars racing past. Rafayel takes a peek at you, savoring every bit of your features

“ they stopped me from leaping forward to hug you” he confesses, erupting a long forgotten flutter in your chest

“ why did you come back?” Rafayel is confused to say the least, turning around to face you properly, one on one after some awkward silence

Your mind races for responses for him, “ I never went away”

“ really.” Rafayel’s tone is quiet while he collects his thoughts. “ I lost my phone so I..couldn’t talk to you-“

“ you should’ve visited me.” Rafayel interrupted, his voice sounding genuinely hurt after waiting you for endlessly

“ I’m sorry, I should’ve done that…that’s why I came to this wedding, because I knew you be here” your sweet words get to Rafayel. No matter how much Rafayel wanted to resent you, he couldn’t

Your voice was a siren that casted him into an irresistible trance.

“ if that’s the case..” Rafayel uses his hands to wrap around your waist, pulling you into a tight embrace in a split second. Your body feels limp after being caught off guard

“ let me take you home” Rafayel whispers softly into your ear, his hands cupping your hand

“ okay” you close your eyes, cherishing the long awaited hug.

—- Later

The clashing of kisses trailed down your neck. “ thank you for this” Rafayel praises, allowing you to climb on top of him

“ I’m really sorry” Your hands are bare on his chest, his chest who rapidly moves up and down in amusement. “ it’s okay, it really is”

Rafayel uses his hand to coax your face, his eyes softer than before, his personality had seemingly all but faded.

Instead he had a different look in his face. One that was complete admiration.

“ please…” Rafayel inhales. “ please don’t ever leave me waiting like this again” Rafayel inhales once more, his hands covering your cheeks

“ I won’t” you promise, your torso bending downwards to meet the man in a loving kiss

[kg-day]

I'm so tired of people telling those of us who are upset about the LA atla remake that we are "being too dramatic" or are just "finding things to be upset about". We are allowed to be upset that something that we love so dearly has been butchered, AGAIN. If you liked it, then that's your personal opinion, but don't sit here and tell those of us who didn't that we're the problem.

I personally think the CGI, costumes, and sets all look terrible. None of it is immersive. Sure, it LOOKS like atla, but it doesn't FEEL like atla. The heart of the og is gone, and people are allowed to be upset about this. They've altered characters to the point that they aren't the character anymore (looking at you Aang and Katara), which is a huge upset for me personally because Katara is one of my favorite characters ever. So watching her be turned into someone meek and docile is more than a slap to the face. Not to mention them removing her as the narrator as if Bryke themselves didn't state that Katara is the person the story is being told through. And before you start telling me that Aang is the same. No, he isn't. Major parts of his development through season 1 (him coming to terms with the fact that he's the avatar and embracing that role, and him also accepting the fact that he RAN AWAY and how he is never going to do that again, which is also pivotal to his character later on) are completely removed. And don't even get me started on what they did to Kataang. Regardless of whether you ship them or not, those 2 are deeply connected to one another from the start, and their relationship is a big part of the show, so to see that butchered is heartbreaking for me.

This isn't just about them "making some changes" or it not being a 1:1 adaptation. I'm fine with adaptations that aren't 1:1. What I'm upset about is that the changes they are making are VITAL changes to characters and dynamics between characters. They're rushing through the plot and condensing the story (and I will scream if I hear one more person say that it's because they couldn't fit it all in with their runtime. The runtime is an HOUR LONGER than the og, so yes, they did have the time). The changes they are making make it evident that they do not understand the og show, and if you don't feel like that, fine, once again, that's YOUR opinion, just as this is MY opinion. So stop telling us we have no right to be upset and that we just want to hate everything. That's not true. What is true is that we are expressing valid complaints about another bad adaptation of something dear to us.

Edit: If you also come at people who are upset bc they were expecting a faithful adaptation and didn't get it bc "its not supposed to be the cartoon," you're missing the whole point. An adaptation is ADAPTING SOMETHING from one medium to the other, not rewriting it. "Yall expected it to be just like the cartoon." No, I expected a FAITHFUL ADAPTATION and was met with poorly written fanfiction.

[qqueenofhades]

The thing that confuses me about the "don't vote" left (not the "I don't want to vote", I'm talking explicitly the "don't vote" left. I don't agree with the "I don't want to vote" left either but I can understand their logic) is they lose me at the final step of the logic. I've tried to connect the logic here, even if I don't agree with a political position I do try to understand where people are coming from (empathy for someones situation is not the same as cosigning it), but I just can't connect the dots here in a way that isn't deeply cruel. Does United States politics prioritize the lives of those in the US (and often white) over those in the Global South? Yes, it's a fucking atrocity. We should continue to make noise about it, cus Biden has used less drones and that shows progress, even if it's not enough. The part where I lose the plot is where the conclusion to this injustice is to let even more people die? Cus that's kinda how I see the idea of not voting: I can pick between shit and more shit, and at the end of the day, I'm picking whoever allows the most people to make it to the next day. Given Trumps stance on everything but specifically climate change, I feel like Biden is pretty significant harm reduction.

I don't think both things can't be true: that every life lost is a travesty we should not forget AND the more people we can save is worth fighting for.

The thing is, I have seen nothing among the "don't vote" far left (and I am talking here specifically about the people who both loudly announce their intention not to vote and try to convince others to do the same) to convince me that they actually care about harm reduction or stopping genocide. They only care about what makes them look the most Correct and/or superior to the Democrats. They yelled bloody murder about Obama using drones, they went dead quiet about Trump using them even more (even when he nearly started WWIII by assassinating the Iranian general Soleimani with one), and then said nothing at all when Biden reduced the drone program to almost nothing and withdrew the US from a failed war in Afghanistan it had long ago lost. Now they will yell all day about Israel/Hamas (something that Biden did not start and has had no direct military role in responding to) but they don't care about Russian genocide of Ukraine and Syria, Chinese threats to invade Taiwan, etc, because those governments are "anti-western/anti-American" and therefore should be defended. Their opposition to human suffering is extremely conditional and rests on whether they can look good out of it, and they never interrogate the hypocrisies of their own ideology.

Likewise: every country in the world prizes its own citizens above those of other countries. It's just a basic fact. Yes, the US has a grim history of intervening in other countries and causing untold civilian damage (especially during the Cold War and then in post-9/11 War on Terrorism). Yes, that legacy is complex and needs to be acknowledged. But literally none of that will be fixed, not to mention all the vulnerable people in America itself who will be punished, by Trump getting into power again. Biden is not just a grudging "lesser evil," but has done a lot of truly good and helpful things, regardless of the Online Leftists' constant lies, misinformation, and misrepresentation. If you spend all your time announcing what a champion you are for non-American marginalised people and/or those undergoing terrible suffering, and then deliberately and knowingly adhere to a course of action that will increase that suffering tenfold not only for those people but your own neighbors, friends, and family, then no, I don't believe you are a brave champion of social justice. You just want to know what categories of people you can gleefully and righteously punish and make to suffer for not believing the same things as you, that makes you just as dangerous as the right-wing fascists, and I can and will call out your ass accordingly.

[haptronym]

Hap's Adventures in Dadmight

aka “this experience was really strange so I’m going to write 6,000 words about it”.

Fandoms are bizarre. I know this, but I still keep doing the shocked Pikachu face whenever I join a new one. 

This time around, I really thought there would be no surprises. And yet, the fandom ended up having a really weird, really uncomfortable dynamic that confused the hell out of me for a long time. I met several others who said “Yeah, it freaks me out too,” but they couldn’t explain exactly why, and nobody really wanted to talk about it. So now that I’m mostly done with the My Hero Academia fandom, I’ll just go ahead and vaporize my bridges with a whole-ass case study about what on earth seemed to be going on here.

Warning: very long, very self-absorbed, as usual. Contains discussions of relationships, underage shippers, and how to influence whether something “feels” platonic vs. not.

Disclaimer 1: This doesn't apply to everything tagged "Dadmight." Just a select subset. But this subset appeared pretty consistently.

Disclaimer 2: I'm posting brief, fair-use-commentary examples of the content that made me question my sanity because it has to be seen to be believed, but I'm not including names or links because I don’t want to easily funnel negativity to them. If an author really wants me to, I’m happy to link directly to their story.

Disclaimer 3: I’m not trying to “spread awareness” or do a callout. I just like to write for fun and this time the fun was puzzling out why I, personally, had the experience I did. Many people feel differently and that's great. If all fluff has always felt 100% wonderful and charming to you, then this post isn't relevant to you. But if a supposedly "cute" story has ever made you squirm with discomfort, this might help explain why.

-

A few years ago, I took a terribly wrong turn in life and ended up in the My Hero Academia fandom. My kidnappers were these two:

In short: the little kid on the left, Izuku Midoriya, is exactly as dorky as he looks. He was born powerless in a world of comic-book superheroes and has a tendency to burst into tears under any possible circumstance. The series kicks off when the guy on the right, #1 hero and national celebrity All Might, sees potential in him despite all this. In a fit of inspiration, All Might decides to give Izuku the same chance he was given as a young boy. Despite being a notorious lone wolf, he (secretly) names Izuku as his successor and takes it upon himself to covertly train this weepy, noodle-limbed wimp into a hero, the hero, the next Symbol of Peace who will wield the world’s strongest superpower and safeguard the future of society. Surely they’ll pull it off just fine, right?

(Don’t ask how All Might switches from a bodybuilder to the skeleton pictured  above. The show doesn’t know either.)

I loved these two. I wanted eight seasons of beach training montage. The mentor/student shenanigans were hilarious and the found family potential was off the charts. They’re two awkward bumbling fools with several truckfuls of emotional baggage, brought together by purehearted heroic zeal. Wonderful.

However, I quickly discovered that the show shoveled approximately ten thousand new characters into every new episode and definitely wasn't going to slow down long enough to give me the All Might & Izuku content I craved. So I wandered off to see what kind of fanfiction was on tap.

...I wandered off, while bracing myself. I’ve been a weeb long enough to know that any characters who pass on power through “DNA” are never going to escape a fandom unscathed, regardless of pesky things like “Age Of Consent” and “Have You Watched A Single Minute Of This Show, He Would Never Fucking Do That”.

Their canon relationship is impressively alarming all on its own:

Izuku is 14-15. Underage character? Check. 

All Might is 55+. Enormous age gap? Check.

All Might is both Izuku’s secret mentor and his high school teacher. Teacher-student dynamics? Check.

Izuku is a nobody. All Might is a global celebrity. Staggering power imbalance? Check. 

Izuku’s superpower, which lets him go to the school of his dreams, accomplish his lifelong goals, and be the protagonist of this show, was given to him by All Might at great personal cost. Enormous sense of debt and obligation because of a huge sacrifice? Check.

Izuku is an outright fanboy. His room is full of posters and figurines of All Might in spandex. Other characters frequently comment on how obsessed he is. There is a whole plotline about him being so starstruck by All Might that he can’t think for himself. Literal hero worship? Check.

As the cherry on top, they spend most of the story pretending they don’t know each other and sneak around under the noses of every other character, including Izuku's mother. Secret hidden relationship with a minor that no other adult can learn the true extent of? Check. 

What a pair. Japanese fandom constantly cracks jokes about how Izuku is probably that kind of fanboy. Even official media is well aware of how sketchy it all looks:

With all this in play, I was pleasantly surprised to find that the stuff in their platonic-relationship fanfiction tag vastly outnumbered the stuff in their shipping one. Phew. Finally, a pair of characters who got something besides endless gross hornyposting. 

As I browsed, I kept seeing a certain tag: "Dadmight." This, unsurprisingly, was used by stories that decided to make All Might into Izuku’s biological father. But it was also used by... pretty much all non-shipping media that focused on their relationship. How interesting! I was used to ship pairings having nicknames, but not platonic ones. 

I could imagine why the name caught on. All Might was practically the definition of "goofy wholesome dad energy,” and his mentor/student relationship with Izuku was easy to see in a parental light. Plus, Izuku’s actual dad is never to be seen during the story. Clearly he deserves a replacement.

So I delved in. Man, this was going to be great! A huge amount of good clean platonic content, with an easy-to-find tag too. Reading about cute dadly shenanigans was going to be such a fun-

How he would love to fall asleep to the sound of his soft voice and the touch of his rough hands, telling him he was proud of him, caressing his hair. He was so mortified over having this need, for all kinds of reasons, but it became clear a long time ago that fighting it wouldn’t work, so he let himself dream.

Uh... well... Izuku didn’t grow up with a dad, so... maybe he needed a father figure... to... caress his hair with his rough hands...

More hums of contentment make their way from him, his body swaying with every push and pull from Toshinori’s long fingers. He uses them to massage Midoriya’s head, taking every moment to not just clean his hair, but to make him feel good; Toshinori can’t bear for this to be purely utilitarian.

Uhhh... okay... All Might was a rather isolated guy. I bet he appreciated being able to share time with his student... bathing time...

What if the boy would rather this stay simply as it has been, professional as mentor and mentee? What if Toshinori has read all of this wrong and the boy has no feelings above Toshinori being his teacher, and all Toshinori has done is fall harder and harder for him every day?

What was this? What exactly did people think kids got up to with their dads!?

Well, maybe I just found a few of the strange ones, I told myself. Fanfiction always has its odd outliers. But after more searching, I realized: no. There was wildly uncomfortable stuff all over. It wasn’t all Dadmight stories. But it was a lot. The most popular authors of the “Dadmight” tag wrote it and the rest of the Dadmight authors gave them big thumbs-ups. It was at least as popular as the “All Might is Izuku’s real dad” stuff and sat at the top of the kudos and comments sorting.

Were people just being polite? Or was I overreacting? I know how annoying it is when people deliberately take things in bad faith and demonize perfectly innocent human affectio—

He kept the contact to a minimum, not wanting to take advantage, not wanting to cross a single, unspoken boundary… but how could he possibly completely refrain, with both how proud and how worried Izuku made him?

There was a voice, in the back of his head, that didn’t agree. That voice – either logic or wishful thinking – told him that while Izuku didn’t initiate physical affection, he surely did lean into it, and seemed to crave receiving it as much as Toshinori craved giving it.

Oh god oh god oh god what is happening STOP—

This was horrible. I just wanted to enjoy cute fluff. I’d never had this reaction to platonic fanfic before. I’m a big found family fan and my worst issue with fluff is usually just that it tends to be kind of samey. I normally love reading about chaste affection and closeness between characters who care about each other. So why did these stories read like Lolita AUs to me? Did shippers in this fandom like to hide their softcore stuff in the platonic tags?

I was soon able to find out. I had been writing my own All Might & Izuku story, and got invited to a “Dadmight-centric” Discord server. Almost all the popular Dadmight authors were there, including the ones who wrote the particular stories that made my skin crawl. There were several channels where people brainstormed, critiqued, and discussed the motivations behind their writing. 

Cool! I’d be able to meet new people, make some friends, and get a better understanding of what the Dadmight dynamic really was. So I introduced myself, I chatted, I lurked. Everyone was really nice.

I found zero cheeky shippers. The writers claimed to be horrified by the idea of shipping the two of them. They would never disrespect the purity and innocence of this beautiful platonic relationship, they said, as they churned out stories about Izuku “coming undone” under the caress of All Might’s rough hands. Right...

I could’ve understood if this was coming from naive 14-year-olds. But some of these people were in their 30’s, with kids of their own. If anyone understood family dynamics, it should’ve been them.

But after I spent more time around the server, I began to notice something else... something which explained a ton of the strangeness. 

Baby Fever

To understand what was happening, you first have to understand that Izuku’s baby face inflicts instant brain damage on sight. I mean, look at him:

aaa his cute widdle cheeks oh my god—

This kid sets off maternal instincts like landmines, and in the Dadmight server, I found that the Izuku infantilization train had gone completely off the rails. Writers constantly cooed over the adorable antics of 2, 3, 5-year olds and constantly talked about how much they wanted to make Izuku act them out. And surely, if All Might could indulge in the parental joy of caring for an innocent young babe, then his emotional scars would be healed and he could find fulfillment outside of that pesky “saving the world” business.

Now, the bio-dadmight folks had it easy: they just wrote about Izuku in his toddler years playing with daddy All Might. The cuddling and tickles made sense and were very cute. But other writers faced a challenge: they wanted to keep him 14-15 so that canon events could occur... but they didn’t want to be left out of the fun. 

So... they decided to rationalize and egg each other on. I mean, how much does age really matter? Being a child at heart is always cute and wholesome, right?

Suddenly, a whole lot of very uncomfortable things began to make sense:

So Much Physical Contact

He loved the physical touch. It was embarrassing and he would never admit it out loud, but there wasn’t much in this world he loved more than receiving physical affection from his idol. Every single time it happened he would save the memory to replay it over and over again whenever he felt sad, or almost every night before he went to bed. He was glad no one in the dorms had a mind-reading quirk. And All Might always gave it more freely when he visited his apartment, so of course he went there.

Izuku is often written to have a near-pathological craving for hair stroking and cuddles. Which is cute when directed at, say, classmates or mom, but gets real weird real fast when directed at the adult man he canonically idolizes to a freakish degree. Ever work with teenage boys? Most of them would rather die than be physically affectionate with adults, even parents... unless, you know, they’re that kind of fanboy.

Even freakier is that the grown adult would then reply, “Hell yeah! I see nothing wrong with getting physical with this kid who worships me! I crave it so much! I can't resist!” Ever work at a school? They have rulebooks and seminars specifically about how teachers should never touch or be alone with kids.

Then again, Midnight exists at this school. Maybe U.A.’s infamous lack of safety standards extends to this too.

Either way, though: cute and wholesome for a parent to do with their three-year-old. Very creepy when a high-school teacher makes excuses about why he really needs to cuddle and stroke his fifteen-year-old student in secret.

Narcolepsy Xtreme Edition

His student was never this affectionate or vulnerable when he was conscious, so he enjoyed the moment, even if it was a short one, as he moved to his room upstairs.

If you’ve read fanfiction for more than seven seconds, you’ve probably seen the “cram the character with booze/painkillers until they blurt out Vulnerable Things” plot device. It’s a beloved classic. But Izuku writers are robbed of the alcohol angle since he’s underage, and morphine is pretty niche. So authors who want to use this trick often just make Izuku tired after a long day, conclude that being sleepy is close enough to being five drinks in, and have him murmur “thanks, DAD... OOPS DID I SAY THAT OUT LOUD???” to awkwardly segue into Familial Confessions.

But quite a few stories took the “sleepy” angle to a new, very odd place. Instead of groggily dispensing convenient confessions, Izuku would just... keel over while doing homework and be utterly dead to the world. And instead of having All Might briefly rouse him to shoo him to bed, or worry about his student suddenly becoming catatonic, the writers would make him eerily fixated on the opportunity to physically carry Izuku to his bedroom (which would somehow not wake him up!!!) and tuck him in while waxing poetic about how vulnerable and helpless he looked. 

Before joining the Dadmight server, I was mildly alarmed whenever I saw this, wondering why so many authors were obsessed with roofying the teenager and making the adult fondle him. But after joining, I realized: they were just trying to act out the cutesy aww-the-two-year-old-fell-sound-asleep-while-playing, it’s-so-cute scenes that all those darned lucky bio-dadmight people got to indulge in so easily.

Bed Sharing

It wasn’t long before Izuku’s breathing slowed, and soon he was asleep, snoring peacefully. Toshinori, after a few minutes of debating with himself, said screw it and got into the bed with the boy.

Cue me SCREAMING internally in confusion and fear. But no, it was just that the cutesy-kid-trope obsession stretched all the way to “Well, I used to snuggle with my parents at night after I had a nightmare! It was super wholesome!” Which led to scores of stories featuring a celebrity crawling into bed with his student.

All in all, joining this server was a huge relief. I was so glad to see that these hair-raising scenarios were just the result of the authors forgetting to mention “Oh, by the way, the characters are acting weird because we made them all agree to participate in preschooler roleplay.”

Just picture this while reading and it all makes sense.

Fanfic is uniquely susceptible to this sort of “forgot to mention this strange dynamic that I take for granted” issue. After all, 99% of fanfic doesn’t bother to waste time asking “would this make any sense to someone who had never watched the show?” It’s not worth it to focus on such a broad audience. As a result, fanfic normalizes skipping huge swaths of context that would normally be mandatory in a story. Fanfic authors don’t have to practice asking themselves “did I explain this properly?” anywhere near as often as original fiction ones.

This would be bad enough on its own, but then, we go cloister ourselves away into little sub-fandom echo chambers, and spend months crafting obscure in-joke fractals, and get so absorbed in our tiny myopic corners of the community that we also fail to ask, “would this make any sense to someone who hasn’t spent the last 5 months marinating in this specific Discord channel?” 

Sometimes we know exactly how niche our stuff is and just don’t care. But too often, we just legitimately suck at guessing how our work might come off to other groups. We don’t have to practice theory of mind as much as original fiction authors do. Our fandom buddies see nothing amiss with our writing (since they know all the server insider lore!) and everyone outside our tiny clique politely ignores our word salad... so we never get proper feedback on how incomprehensible our work can be even to other members of the same fandom.

In this case, this resulted in a whole pack of writers seemingly getting lost in the fluff sauce and completely forgetting to address the fact that the stuff men do with their own five-year-olds generally becomes really weird and creepy when done with someone else’s 15-year-old, whether or not the 15-year-old seems to want it. Izuku was a cute widdle innocent baby in their heads, so they assumed he was a cute widdle innocent baby in everyone else's.

Once I realized where they were coming from, it wasn't so hard to adjust my mental framework and enjoy these stories on their own terms. That said... infantilization still couldn't explain stuff like “What if Toshinori has read all of this wrong and the boy has no feelings above Toshinori being his teacher, and all Toshinori has done is fall harder and harder for him every day?”

To explain why that paragraph makes me want to crawl out of my skin, we first need to answer: what makes a piece of writing feel “questionable?”

“Vibes,” A Primer

Love comes in many forms. The big four are platonic, familial, romantic, and sexual. Sexual is easy: you’re horny for the person. Platonic love is specifically non-sexual, and familial love is a subset of platonic love. Romance usually implies horny, though there’s definitely a difference between outright sexual behavior and the behavior we file under the “romance” label.

There’s also a difference between romantic and platonic behavior. And this is where a lot of “questionable” vibes appear: when you’d expect an interaction between two people to be platonic, but for some reason, it has uncomfortable romantic/sexual overtones instead.

But what causes those overtones? A dad can give his kid a kiss on the head, and it comes off platonic. A suitor can give their crush a kiss on the head, and it comes off romantic. In fact, most romantic gestures have nearly identical platonic counterparts. Kissing, hugging, hand-holding, cuddling, vulnerable confessions. So what gives? What makes something “come off” one way or the other?

The actual answer is: a ton of stuff, most of it subjective. Everyone draws their lines in different places, based on culture and personal experience and how gutterbrained you’re feeling on any given day. A lot of it has to do with context (that thing that us fanfic authors are notoriously bad at judging).

Online wars are fought every day about whether some glance or gesture or phrase means they're "totally into each other fr"

But if you want to draw broad strokes, one way to roughly separate platonic vs romantic love is by gauging the level of passion involved. “Passion” is “a strong and barely controllable emotion that compels action.” That last part is key. 

Stereotypical romantic love is incredibly passionate. It’s all about desire to act, desire to change, desire to progress the relationship to something more. It features overwhelming anxious preoccupation about the other person’s thoughts and opinions, feeling irresistibly drawn to them, feeling intense longing. It’s about confessing and hoping the other person also feels the same. It often involves attempting to label the relationship, make it “official”, and show it off. It’s about trying desperately to secure assurance that this love will last forever and ever. You have to do something, and every moment spent not doing something is torture.

Contrast this to typical depictions of platonic and familial love. Familial love is calm, encompassing, soothing. It’s secure. You don’t have to worry, because no matter what rough patches you go through, they’ll always be your family and will always have unconditional love for you. Yes, you’ll fly into action if your loved one is threatened, but at rest, platonic love is generally not “exciting” and there’s generally little sense of urgency.

Romance is usually an insecure, anxious thing that’s trying to get to that secure, grounded familial stage. That’s why people say they progress from being “in love” to just “loving” one another. Romance draws people together and kickstarts the bonding process. And as the steady, mature bond of a long-term relationship forms, the obsessive mania of romantic infatuation fades away. 

So the difference between platonic and romantic behavior is not so much about the actual actions. It’s more about the mentality. Is the person anxiously trying to secure their partner’s affection while treating the relationship as a really big deal that will make or break their lives? Then their affectionate actions may come off more romantic. Are they seemingly at home in their partner’s presence and not trying to deepen or change the relationship? Then their affection will probably come off more familial or platonic.

There are, of course, a ton of things that go into it besides this, and caveats out the ass. For example, people trying to establish a new friendship are often anxious too. But when it comes to determining the “vibes” of a kiss or a cuddle, this can be a useful litmus test. Failing this test is often what makes something feel Questionable. The characters seem too invested... maybe because it's not truly innocent.

Now, let’s take a look at our Dadmight characters.

The biggest challenge of writing familial closeness between Izuku and All Might is simple: they are not family. They have no long shared history to justify any sort of intimacy. Instead they have a teacher/student relationship that places them both into rigid, frigid roles. 

Usually, familial-style bonding just takes time. You wait a few seasons, the characters slowly get closer and learn to trust one another, and eventually they’re hugging. But these two clowns spent the whole show being the ultimate found-family blue-balls experience. They were just never very emotionally open or touchy-feely. Every time they had the chance for Vulnerable Conversation And Cuddles, they passed it up in favor of a pep talk and a fist bump. It took a near-death experience to extract one (1) brief hug and some tears. But in normal everyday life? Arm’s length.

Literally. For example: after five seasons of bonding and character development, they are separated and Izuku is embroiled in a deadly conflict that almost destroys the world. When they finally reunite after the harrowing ordeal, alone under the starlight, they greet each other with a loving, heartfelt… handshake. This, predictably, spawned furious fix-it fic.

Overall, there is a huge gulf that authors need to cross in order to get these two from “polite handshake” to “tender cuddling and kisses.” They could write 50,000 words of setup to slowly accomplish this, but most authors did not want to wear their fingertips to the bone just to inch these two into an embrace. They wanted to jump the gap within a oneshot, leaping from canon frigidity into an unbreakable lifelong familial love that was also super touchy-feely and extremely vocal.

Now, remember what I was just saying? How romance is generally about trying to establish new family bonds? How it’s all about trying to change the relationship into something more?

Knowing all this, what do you think might happen if an author tried to speedrun two characters to the Family Finish Line as fast as they could? What do you think their shortcuts might end up looking like, completely by accident? Especially if their “sane and appropriate human interactions” gauge was warped by an echo chamber of fluff tropes and baby fever?

You might get:

Was it even possible that his feelings could be reciprocated? Toshinori didn’t want to think about it. It would just pain him more. Young Midoriya only saw him as an idol, a mentor who would help him train his body for One for All. Midoriya did not see him in the way he wanted him to.

Or:

He wanted desperately, desperately to have the courage to cross that threshold, to ask him what he longed for, to ask him for that relationship that he dared not voice.

Or even:

Toshinori feels his heart rate pick up and his gnarled stomach twist with nerves. Is he really going to do this? Is he going to tell this boy what he truly thinks and risk everything they’ve built up together over the past year-plus? His palms are sweating and he wipes them on his suit pants, rubbing the pads of his fingers together.

I'll stop now. The point is that these quotes could all have been word-for-word ripped from a romance novel. These are some industrial-grade Questionable Vibes. And reading them in context really doesn't help that much, for me at least. It's almost comical when they throw in "...I crave the touch of your rough hands as a son! A SON!"

If you know the building blocks of romance, it makes perfect sense why stories like this could come off this way. Platonic love is great, but it’s also stable, calm, and slow. It simply doesn’t have the sheer explosive force needed to catapult two stilted dorks into a brand-new dynamic within 2,000 words. Most stories can only achieve that kind of mileage via near-death experiences... or by inflicting the characters with neurotic infatuation.

Not only that, but their canon relationship is uniquely poised to set off romance-adjacent warning bells. Because they are not actually family, it makes sense for them to yearn for a deeper relationship in a way that a normal family wouldn’t. It makes sense for them to be anxious and insecure about their relationship, because it’s a very strange, hard-to-define thing that has to be kept secret from those around them. And it makes sense for them to consider their relationship a huge deal, because in canon, it’s fundamental to the most important aspects of both their lives.

I actually think it’s kind of inevitable that their character dynamic will sometimes stray into places that feel romantic. But that doesn’t mean the writer is a secret shipper... because I don’t think that passion always has to imply sexual desire, especially in fiction.

I’ve spent some time around the asexuality community, and my biggest takeaway was that sexual desire is very different from the desire to make deep, lifelong connections. Most asexual people still yearned to find that special someone, their anchor, a partner who unconditionally loved them and would stay by their side forever. Family. They would fall for people... they just didn’t want to fall into their pants. But it was almost impossible to keep these partners unless they were asexual too. Every one eventually pushed to “take things further,” or they left to find another person who would. 

So I can understand the yearning for a world where sex is kicked to the curb, where two strangers can find each other and share intense, whirlwind, “you’re my #1” love... without any lewd overtones. This little pocket of stories seemed like a manifestation of that yearning. 

Nowadays, more and more stories are taking previously romance-exclusive intimacy and yanking off the sexual baggage. For example, looking on the Dadmight tag will reveal “platonic soulmates” and “platonic hanahaki” stories. Yes, platonic hanahaki. No, not parody. There’s a clear unironic market for this content. People really want to be able to indulge in passionate, “till death do us part” emotional bonding in a safe, nonsexual way.

All Might and Izuku sit in a unique place. Not related, but powerfully linked by something thicker than blood. And their relationship is easy to paint as “safe”. It makes perfect sense that these two would attract creators who want to explore this hard-to-define chaste side of passionate love.

In real life, passionate obsessive-style attraction between adults and kids is a huge red flag. We can never really know whether those feelings are innocent or healthy. 99% of the time, they’re not. But in fiction, the author gets to choose what people really feel and whether things turn out well. They can explore the most unbelievable scenario of all: not a world where everyone is a mermaid, but a world where it’s actually wholesome and healing for a high school teacher and his student to confess their deep, undying love for one another, where a famous celebrity can secretly invite his obsessed underage fan over, stroke his hair, tell him how special their relationship is, and sleep with him in bed, without it ending up on Law and Order: SVU. 

On Critique

“Hap,” you might be thinking, “surely these stories can’t be as bad as you say. If they were, someone would have pointed it out to these poor souls. You should have pointed it out to these poor souls. You were in their writing server for chrissakes, and now you’re gossiping about them like a heartless goblin.”

First: yes, I'm a goblin. Second: I did bring this topic up to several Dadmight authors one-on-one. After getting a bunch of head-in-sand excuses in response, I decided to just quietly munch popcorn and watch the fandom’s antics unfold like a slow-motion train wreck.

Third: people did try to point this stuff out.

It was fascinating to watch the Dadmight server whenever someone posted a comment expressing concern. Some comments were trolls trying to get a reaction, of course. But others were very gentle: “hey, isn't it kind of weird to have them hop into bed together? It comes off kind of shippy...” I learned that the reason I had never seen comments like these in the past was because they were usually quickly deleted by the fic authors.

After deleting a comment, the author would often flee to the server for reassurance. The other users would agree that the commenter was definitely in the wrong, since they could see absolutely nothing questionable about the writer’s story. Someone would inevitably chime in saying that, oh, one time they got a comment calling things questionable like that, and it turned out to be from a shipper who shipped bad things. So, you know, anyone who sees shipping in things is probably just a bad person.

Phew. Crisis averted. If you can successfully paint the critic as a bad person, then there’s no need to descend into existentialist dread as you’re forced to critically reexamine the foundational concepts of your writing and your grasp on relationship dynamics.

(Credit where credit is due: one of the rules of this particular server was not to bash or insult people who like things you don't like. In most groups this is followed with an unspoken "...unless you can clutch your pearls over it", but to my surprise, when stuff like the above started kicking off, the moderators did step in to remind people to keep it civil. So, good job, mods. More maturity than I usually see in online spaces.)

But still, if anyone actually bothers to read this long screed, I already know what certain responses are going to look like. They’ll smugly assert that people who see questionable things are just sex-obsessed weirdos, projecting their icky lewd thoughts onto every innocent interaction they come across. A morally pure person wouldn’t make such gross assumptions.

I’m familiar with this kind of response because I’ve spent a lot of time around another group that responds the exact same way to these kinds of concerns. That group is known as fundamentalist Christians, and their attitude fosters three things:

People are afraid to speak out when they feel uncomfortable, because they don't want to be accused of being dirty-minded. 

People fail to learn the ground rules of normal romance/sexuality and so fail to recognize red flags.

The community is absolutely infested with creeps who take advantage of points 1 and 2 to run rampant.

Sadly, these three things also seem to be true in the Dadmight community. Being a platonic pairing, it naturally attracts people uninterested in and inexperienced with romantic/sexual relationships. And then the vitriolic, derisive responses to people’s concerns teaches them that it’s wrong to bring up those topics around the community at all.

And so, point 3 blooms. I eventually confirmed that my initial suspicions were correct: shippers did camp in the Dadmight tag, and they got away with posting some impressively brazen softcore underage content in public, presumably because even the people who were suspicious knew that going “hey now” would trigger a circular firing squad. 

The Dadmight community wasn’t clueless about this problem. They were incredibly paranoid as a whole. They knew there were bad actors lurking in their tag, but since they had disabled all their own safety alarms and expanded the definition of “platonic” to a ridiculous extreme, they had no way of being able to determine what was shipping and what was not until characters started actively whipping their dicks out. I saw constant fretting over whether it was okay to click the “like” button on an affectionate-looking piece of fanart without knowing for sure the intentions of the creator. But asking intentions was pointless anyway, since shippers just lied to them and then laughed as the platonic group eagerly ate up their evil, dirty-minded content.

I get why these “wait, that feels shippy...” comments feel like attacks. It’s fucking awful when your intentions are pure but someone interprets them in such a horrifying, disgusting way. It feels disrespectful when you clearly label something “platonic” but people still doubt. 

But remember: Going from “mentor” to “dad” with these two generally means breaking down normal boundaries, to escalate the emotional and physical intimacy between an authority figure and a starstruck, needy, vulnerable kid, because they have such a special and unique bond that no one else understands. So special, in fact, that it needs to be kept secret from the public.

In real life, this scenario is known as Groomer Tactics 101. 

Seriously, stop and read that link. It’s short and non-explicit. This is why I called their canon relationship “impressively alarming”—the bullet points of stages 1-3 describe Izuku and All Might nearly word-for-word. This does not mean I’m claiming All Might is a groomer, or that Izuku and All Might’s relationship is bad. Just that, due to their circumstances, they happen to have all the building blocks of relationships that go horribly wrong. All that separates their scenario from tumbling into Bad is the goals of the adult. So when a fanfic then comes along and makes the adult suddenly really interested in excessive touching? And the only reason he gives is “I’m weirdly drawn to this kid and touching them feels really good”? Of course people will get nervous!

Noticing this does not mean someone is “obsessed with shipping”. It means they’re a normal human being with eyes. Accusing someone of being problematic for making the most obvious possible observations about adult/child interactions is like accusing someone of being an arsonist because they embarrassed you by pointing out that your homemade backyard fireworks setup is halfassed and dangerous.

This does not mean it’s wrong to write wish-fulfillment where escalating to bed cuddles actually turns out great and awesome. But it does mean that, if an author writes it ignorantly or carelessly, they risk coming off like they’re glorifying and normalizing Groomer Tactics 101. It’s the same as when careless Twilight fans glorify and normalize stuff that, in real life, is abusive controlling boyfriend behavior.

Yes, it sucks when people come and yuck the yum. I’m sure the Twilight fans also get sick of people who complain and demonize them instead of letting them write their vampire boyfriend fantasies in peace. But the concern usually comes from a well-meaning place. 

Proudly announcing “I ignore the most basic child/adult red flags because they ruin my fun” is not the flex that some people think it is. I highly recommend people reconsider before they try to paint anti-child-groomers as the bad guys.

The Recipe

So, let’s summarize how to reproduce the Dadmight phenomenon. It starts with a canon relationship that has the most enticing found-family building blocks the world has ever seen: a downtrodden kid who really needs a dad + a lonely heroic mentor. However, their canon relationship also sits on top of a powder keg, coincidentally featuring all the “setup” stages of the sexual grooming model: 

a lonely, low-self-esteem kid

singled out by an esteemed, charismatic adult who is a pillar of the community

sharing a “special” relationship

constantly going off alone and keeping secrets 

A platonic fan community forms that is blissfully unaware of the above dynamics. They head off to fluff echo chambers, as platonic fans do. But due to the crybaby tendencies of the teenage character, they start projecting really aged-down toddler-play scenarios onto him. Eventually, as echo-chambered fans do, they decide that contextualization is for chumps. This results in fics that take the powder keg and add:

The adult craving to touch and hold the teenager

The teenager craving touch from the adult and mewling like a kitten when his hair is stroked (I’m not fucking joking)

Completely age-inappropriate stuff like stroking, kisses, and sharing a bed with a teenage student

Izuku and All Might also happen to suffer from loneliness and isolation, even more so in their fanon incarnations. This really resonates with most fans, who want to soothe and heal them. They also want to get to the healing cuddles within a few chapters instead of wasting time on super-slow buildup. So they make the two of them really strongly fixate on and angst about the agony of their loneliness, and how the other person’s love is the only cure that will fix them. In doing so, they insert:

Anxious passionate obsession

Love confessions

Coming-out scenes

Craving for exclusive relationship labels

Desire for exclusivity

Lastly, because platonic groups are either uninterested in or too young for spicy content, they tend to have very little experience with romantic/sexual literature and the tropes and catchphrases they lay claim to. So fic writers will innocently sprinkle in poignant-sounding things they’ve picked up here and there, such as:

Blushing and heart racing when looking at the person

The phrase “falling for each other”

The man “caressing” his partner with “rough hands”

“He came undone”

And because their communities condemn people who “read into things”, nobody points out any of this shit, and it all slides out into the public Internet unquestioned.

And so, we get the most impressively uncomfortable platonic content I’ve ever seen. It’s no wonder I had never encountered something like this before. It required a lot of unusual circumstances intersecting in just the right (wrong) way.

In the end, I think the biggest aspect was just that I'd never become a fan of characters that had such a potentially-problematic canon relationship. Usually adult and kid characters have very different dynamics, so if fics treat their social interactions with all the tact of a bull in a china shop, it just comes off as lazy instead of creepy. I'd be interested to know if other platonic adult&child fandoms suffer from this issue.

In any case, although it was fascinating to watch, I sure hope I never run into it again.

[snailfen]

saw someone say knife should've won because of how he's changed, and that suitcase didn't deserve to win because she's always been kind, and while yes, I would've also liked seeing knife win: suitcase winning goes beyond the narrative rewarding her for always being a good person. and even then, you understand that good behavior doesn't always have to be rewarded by the narrative right? in suitcases words: "doing the right thing doesn't mean the right thing happens back to you."

knife did change yes! but for the better part of the competition while he was helpful, he also shoved his feelings down because he believed its what he had to do in order to stop being such a jerk, acted like death didn't matter because they could always just be revived (ignoring the real hurt that comes with dying), and never addressed any actions he's taken to hurt others or sever their trust (like how he relentlessly bullied marsh in s1 or hid the fact that he knew taco was around). i'm not saying he's bad for this but he still had some ways to go- just like suitcase!

the finale wraps this up by unpackaging everything he tries to ignore or whatever he believes doesn't matter. by bringing in (seemingly at the time, but the revival system is gone after that anyways) permanent death, and re-introducing marsh back into the scene. now he can no longer shove his anger down. so he has to learn how to use his anger as fuel to take action and get past the things he's tried to ignore. when he sees marshmallow unable to keep going, he pushes past his history to risk his life and save hers, because its not right for her to die permanently. and him becoming a ghost was a risk/sacrifice he was willing to make to stand for what he believes in and do what's right, regardless of whether or not this would fix their whole relationship.

suitcase is also the other side of this- she learns to push past the fact that she's not real because that fact doesn't matter in the face of everything she's been through and what it means to her, and that's how she rallies everyone to leave together and take care of each other after they're all brought back. also, suitcase winning the challenge of stopping steve cobs goes beyond the competition. its her knowing how to stand up for herself and others in the name of what is right. both finalists are two sides of taking action for what's right: helping others, and fighting the problem itself.

suitcase wins, not as a reward for always being a kind person or having suffered the most- but she wins because she is strong and she knows what matters: that cobs is and always will be a terrible person and he must be stopped. plus, its very fitting that knife wasn't the one to kill him and win the challenge- his days of being a violent jerk who takes his anger out on others are over, and his arc ends with him sacrificing everything to save someone in an ultimate act of kindness.

not to mention, mephone confirms that knife was planned to win! but suitcase winning is an example of the contestants breaking free of who mephone made them to be.

talk about role reversal, in more ways than one!

[bright-side20]

Elriel 🌸🗡️

"The argument that Rhys knows Az better, that's why he was right to tell him to stay away from Elain."

First, I do think that Rhys knows it's not just lust, and his reaction was purely political. However, the way he attacked Az emotionally shows that he doesn't really know him the way he thinks he does. Here is the most obvious example throughout the series :

_In silver flames, Nesta noticed Az's behavior after he tortured people to get information :

Azriel went on, “In the week I’ve been watching her, I … learned what her next steps are.” The way he hesitated before he said learned said enough: he’d tortured it out of someone. Many people. Nesta glanced at his scarred hands, and Azriel tucked them behind his back, as if he noted her attention.

_Then we learned that Az thinks of himself as a sort of monster because of what he does in his job :

"She looked up at him, her face so trusting and hopeful and open that he knew she had no idea that he had done unspeakable things that sullied his hands far beyond their scars."

"Such terrible things that it was a sacrilege for his fingers to skin, tainting her with his presence."

_Back in ACOMAF when they captured the Attor and Az had to torture him :

“Break its legs, shred its wings, and dump it of the coast of Hybern. See if it survives.” The Attor began thrashing, begging".... " "The Attor was already screaming beneath Truth-Teller’s honed edge when I left the cell."

_After a while, Feyre asked Rhys about what Az thinks about his job torturing, and that's what Rhys answered :

“Does he mind what he does? Not the spying, I mean. What he did to the Attor today.”

Rhys loosed a breath. “It’s hard to tell with him—and he’d never tell me. I’ve witnessed Cassian rip apart opponents and then puke his guts up once the carnage stopped, sometimes even mourn them. But Azriel … Cassian tries, I try—but I think the only person who ever gets him to admit to any sort of feeling is Mor. And that’s only when she’s pestered him to the point where even his infinite patience has run out.”

Rhysand doesn't even know what Azriel thinks of himself doing that job. In fact, every time Feyre asked Rhys something about Az, he would respond with 'Well, Az doesn't speak that much.' Yet, when Az tried to express his feelings to him, Rhys emotionally attacked him to silence him, told him to go to the pleasure house, and questioned whether he thinks he deserves to be Elain's mate. Meanwhile, Azriel is already dealing with self loathing. Regardless of the political pressure, the way Rhys handled the situation was clearly WRONG towards both Az and Elain no matter how the antis try to makes it fit into their narratives.

_I want to mention the building up of Elriel:

Despite Azriel suffering from self hatred connected to his hand, he consistently offered it to Elain, and she always accepted:

Azriel, graceful as any courtier, offered her an arm. I couldn’t tell if she was looking at his blue Siphon or at his scarred skin beneath as she breathed, “Beautiful.”

“I can help her,” said Azriel, stepping to the table as Elain silently rose. No shadows at his ear, no darkness ringing his fingers as he extended a hand'... 'Elain took his hand, and out they went.

"Azriel, gently taking Elain’s hand in his own, as if afraid his scars would hurt her."

"The occasional brush of their finger."

_The way Elain wants him to touch her that she asked him "put it on me?", the way she "shivered" at his touch, the way "she pivoted into his touch", the way she "drifted so close one deep breath would brush her breasts against his chest".

But he called it a mistake 🗣️

Yeah, that's exactly what they do in the forbidden love trope. A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.

[yamazakura-shinden]

Violet flames scorch the once-usually quiet woods of the Land of Fire. A boy stands amidst the chaos, heaving and desperately trying to catch his breath. He leans against a lone tree in the embers. The boy's- Osuke- pale skin is littered with bruises and scratches from head to toe. His cherry blossom pink hair is matted and messy. Long and soft locks ruffled in all directions.

"How did it come to this?" Osuke bitterly asks himself. The soul-crushing guilt clouds his judgment. His gloved hands tremble in fear. The pink-haired boy loses control over his chakra-enhanced strength snapping the tree in half with a single curl of his fingers.

Before Osuke can calm himself down, the clearing just a few yards away erupts in a giant mass of light, stunning him in the process. The mass destruction before his eyes is none other than the works of a Bijuu Bomb- something only tailed beasts can create. "No." Realization dawns upon the pinkette. Be wastes no time to dash in the opposite direction and pushes himself to run as fast as possible.

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no, NO, NO, NO, NO!" Osuke chants to himself as he begins to feel even more distressed by the second. His breath is uneven and shallow, the stinging from his wounds sharpens, but he cannot stop running. He needs to get back to his friends- Suisen and Suzume. The former is badly injured and unconscious with only Suzume there to keep him away from the clutches of The Hidden Leaf Village, also known as Konoha.

Osuke maneuvers through the burning forest and swiftly jumps from one tree branch to the next while carefully avoiding the purple flames. His mind is only filled with images of his struggling friends, too preoccupied with them to notice the terrifying beast looming over his petite form. The beast is nothing, but a shapeless shadowy mass with a pair of lifeless white eyes. Despite being at least 20 times the size of its unassuming prey, its form is still incomplete and is a mere fragment of the Zero Tails.

A cold and disturbing chakra takes over Osuke's senses. The chakra is enormous and overwhelming enough to force the pink-haired teen to stop dead in his tracks. His battered and worn out body tenses and he slowly turns around to meet the animalistic gaze of his hunter. Before Osuke can get a better look at the shadowy creature, he's suddenly thrown into the chaos.

The ground splits open, and trees and massive chunks of the terrain fly across the scene. White hot pain swiftly spreads throughout the rogue ninja's body. The agony is an understatement to the pain he feels after the beast cleaves more than half of his left arm, leaving a small chunk of his upper arm intact, and splits his abdomen open.

...

"That was quite painful, wasn't it?"

There it was again. That obnoxious voice in his head.

"Although.. I'm quite curious about what happened next." The voice made its presence known seven or so months ago. At first, Osuke was startled and thought he'd gone mad after that terrible night almost 2 years ago from today.

"Well, well, well! Aren't you being uncharacteristically chatty and nosey today?" He sassily remarked, already used to the voice in his head. They had a strangely comforting and calm tone, but also baritone and weary.

"Seeing that I'm all alone in this dark place with so little to do to entertain myself, it's only natural to make use of what little I have."

The mysterious voice tried to reason, but he didn't buy it all.

"This is the fourth time you tried to pry into my memories!"

"And I failed every single time thanks to your freakish inner self!"

Another useless attempt to defend themselves regardless of whether they were in the wrong or not.

"It is as if he's your guard dog to your subconscious."

They crudely commented.

"WHY YOU LITTLE-"

His inner self chimed in as if he heard the half-hearted insult thrown by the disembodied voice.

"HOW DARE YOU COMPARE ME TO A DOG?!"

Inner roared in fury.

"There he goes again barking like a feral beast.."

They sighed tiredly. Something which Osuke's father did quite often at his childish antics from a time that was just a distant and bittersweet memory for him.

“AGH GET OVER HERE YOU SLY, OLD FOSSIL!”

The pink-haired young man's inner self cracked his gloved knuckles.

"Wait! Keep your hands off of me, you brat!"

“CHAAAA!”

Osuke grimaced. While those two were getting into petty fights, he tried to concentrate on concealing his chakra signature. He didn't want to be caught in a place heavily guarded by Hidden Leaf ninja. The rouge ninja meant to contact Orochimaru, but the only way to do that was to personally visit him.

It has been proven to be confusing and arduous to navigate in Orochimaru's hideout. The corridors were long, seemingly endless, their walls were adorned by serpentine patterns. The dim lighting illuminated by the few torches scattered around didn't help much. The interior was unironically befitting of the Snake Sannin.

"How the hell can Orochimaru work in such poor lighting?" Osuke wondered while he blindly sneaked into the darkness of the underground lair.

His silent musings were interrupted by a foreign chakra signature emanating down the dim hallway. The signature belonged to a Leaf Jonin patrolling the area. The young man unsheathed his tanto knife from its simple yet elegant sheathe attached to his thigh. The blade had a deep crimson color and the type of the hamon was kaen. Osuke planned on incapacitating the jonin quietly from behind. All he needed to do was plunge the glinting blade deep into his jugular and hide the body.

"Wait! Don't kill the guard. You might raise suspicion which will make it harder for you to come back here."

Osuke's disembodied companion interjected before he could act on his malicious intentions.

"Then what do you propose to do instead? I doubt you have any better ideas."

"As a matter of fact, I do."

...

​Meanwhile, a certain sannin tirelessly worked on making a breakthrough with an unknown substance that was brought to him recently. Orochimaru's golden eyes narrowed at the petri dish infront of him. Despite all the acids and bases along with the most powerful catalysts he has thrown at it, the contents inside remained all the same. In other words: no reaction whatsoever. Orochimaru had never come across any element incapable of reacting. The only acid didn't use yet was Fluoroantimonic acid, also known as the deadliest acid in the world.

The snake sannin's gaze lingered on the small glimmering chunks in the petri dish. They resembled familiar and commonly used elements yet also had an otherworldly appearance. As if they came from the distant stars themselves.

Suddenly, the sharp blade of a tanto was pressed against his throat. The cold steal against his jugular was held by Osuke Uchiha himself. Orochimaru easily recognized his chakra due to meeting many members of the Uchiha clan in the past. No matter how unique and distinguished their signatures were, they always shared one common characteristic- an inextinguishable flame that continued to burn even after death.

"You have some nerve to sneak up on me like that."

Orochimaru chided. He was unamused by the pink-haired Uchiha's audacity. He tightened his grip on his weapon. Osuke glared at him in silence letting the older man speak freely.

"I suppose you have some reason to come here- a place full of elite jonin who are being supervised by Captain Yamato directly."

From what was taught to Osuke during his days in the Academy, Captain Yamato was a seasoned ANBU captain and war veteran. He was described as a formidable opponent by his past jonin instructor when he was a genin.

"There's no way you could've gone this far without alerting anyone."

The snake sannin was curious about the lack of ninjas rushing in to apprehend Osuke for trespassing.

"Either way, how did you get in here?"

Osuke just ominously grinned.

"Well... I have my ways."

"I DID ALL THE HEAVY LIFTING, CHAAA!"

The "ways" yelled at his counterpart in the real world. His irritation with Osuke was more than obvious.

An awkward silence impregnated the tense atmosphere of the lab. That made the pinkette scoff indignantly and begrudgingly put away the tanto.

"I'll tell you why I came here to speak with you."

Osuke paused to collect his thoughts as he sheathed his weapon before continuing.

"You have some information I need.'

"Oh?" The sannin was intrigued. What could someone like him want to know from him? He'd seen Osuke a few times when the young Uchiha was still a child. The weak little boy with no self-esteem was a far cry from the daring rogue ninja before him.

"What information are you talking about?"

"I need Hashirama cells and the S-Rank jutsu Edo Tensei."

Orochimaru abruptly burst out in uncontrollable laughter. His cackles rang throughout the lab.

"So you came here, waltzed up to me like you own this hideout, and now you demand from me something you can only dream of?"

The snake sannin ridiculed Osuke in between fits.

"Do you hear even yourself, boy?"

The young man could barely hold back his rage and embarrassment.

"Hear me out, will ya?!"

He yelled at the older man who has cackled and mocked him for five minutes straight.

"I would be a fool to expect you to want nothing in return."

Osuke "calmly" stated after taking a deep breath and putting on a stern face.

"Therefore, I shall assist you with your research on your most recent project."

Orochimaru rubbed his chin while contemplating the young man's words.

"I made a few breakthroughs on my own and am willing to share them in exchange for the information I'm seeking."

Then he added to sweeten the deal. He knew that the snake sannin was frustrated with his lack of progress in his research. It was obvious due to the messy and aggressively written notes scattered across the desk. He watched Orochimaru's thoughtful and reluctant expression morph into a pleased grin, his sharp fangs peeking out the corners of his lips.

"Very well then. I accept your proposal, Uchiha Osuke. I look forward to working with you~"

To be continued…

[karatekels]

TIGmas Day #5 - The Steadfast Tin Soldier

Today's story is for @pinkspidxr, one of my OG readers who I love very much! It's Christmas, it's fluffy, and it's Twig! I hope I do a decent job of getting baby Terry right!

TW: loss of virginity, oral sex (female receiving, very slight male receiving), teasing, graphic sex, Twig *kind of* talking to ghosts (or at least taking their advice)

---

The Steadfast Tin Soldier

---

Terry’s POV:

It never snowed in California.

Still, he couldn’t deny that he’d been hoping for a bit of a miracle as he returned stateside, just before Christmas.

Not that the holidays held many fond memories for him, but he was craving something familiar, bright, American.

He doesn’t want to go home.

A cab finally agrees to take him – the first few drivers cursing at him, calling him a bastard, a rapist, a child murderer, and worse – his heart icing over with the emotionless steel he’d cultivated over the course of its training. It would be useful for something back home, at least.

They ask him for an address and he blurts out yours without thinking – it’s the only one that comes to mind. He’s not even sure if you still live there.

Regardless, he settles in for the long ride, thinking back to the last time he’d seen you…

---

“What the fuck were you thinking, Terrence?!” you hiss at him, fire blazing in your eyes. His lanky frame caves in on itself as you take him to task. He’d been expecting this.

“It’s just something I have to do,” he lies through his teeth, too ashamed to tell you the real reason.

There are a lot of things he’s too ashamed to tell you.

But he needs to get out from under his father’s overbearing expectations and his mother’s coddling; he needs to. Better to jump in the deep end and learn to swim rather than slowly drown.

He knows he’s a coward. And he knows you deserve far better than that.

“What does that even mean, Terry?” you ask, tears filling your eyes. He hates to see you cry. “You have to lie about your age for them to even take you!”

He isn’t too worried about that; he may be built like a beanpole, but he’s sure his height will help him to slip through the cracks.

“They’ll let me serve,” he says with a confidence he doesn’t completely feel. “I’ll be back before you know it!”

“You’re a terrible liar, Terry Silver,” you spit at him, your voice shaking. “How can you do this to me?”

Now, that was interesting. Thoughts of you begging him to stay with you have his heart stuttering in his chest. You were the only thing worth sticking around for; if you kicked up enough of a fuss, threw yourself at his feet and begged for mercy… he supposed he could be persuaded.

“This has nothing to do with you, Y/N,” he insists firmly, inwardly cringing as you recoil as though he’d slapped you. But he can’t help but goad you; too afraid to express his real feelings for you, he settles for eliciting any emotions out of you, by any means necessary, the same way a boy pulled on a girl’s pigtails.

“Maybe that’s the problem, Terry. I thought we were best friends! We’ve always told each other everything, and now you’ve gone off and enlisted without so much as telling me first?”

And oh, how he wishes he could say he’s told you everything…

“I don’t need your permission,” he huffs instead, watching your face crumple for a moment before your temper overwhelms you once more.

“Fine, then I don’t need you. Go on and live out your little soldier fantasy, Terry, but don’t expect me to wait around to see whether you come back in one piece, if you come back at all.”

You slammed the door in his face then, and he listened to your sobs until he could bring himself to get off your porch, his footsteps heavy.

---

“Alright buddy, we’re here,” the cabbie announces, bringing him out of his thoughts. Guilt, pain, and self-loathing all rattle around in the empty hollow that was his chest, as they always did when he reminisced about you. He tosses the driver more than his fare, eyes focused on the soft light emanating from what was hopefully still your bedroom window. Stepping out of the taxi, he throws his pack over a broad shoulder, vaguely aware of the cab’s tires screeching their departure.

The worn soles of his combat boots don’t make a sound as he walks up the path to your front door, eyes scanning every window for a hint of motion as his adrenaline spikes. He clenches a fist tightly and takes a breath, trying to relax and deprogram himself from the instincts he’d been forced to develop; it would do him no good to be paranoid during your reunion.

He’s pictured this moment a thousand different times, a hundred different ways, starting from the moment he left the country. He can’t let himself ruin it now.

He forces his feet forward again, up the steps and onto the porch, a worn welcome mat greeting him just before the door. He sets down his pack, his feet precisely in the centre of the mat, and knocks firmly.

There is some vague shuffling around from the other side of the door that he can hear, and he briefly considers that even if you do still live here and didn’t still hate his guts, you may not be here alone. A wave of jealousy, hot and vicious, washes over him until he’s seeing red, and he braces himself for a fight against whoever opens the door.

A curtain flutters off to the side, the person flitting away before he gets a good look at them, but then the door opens and you stand before him, a worn housecoat wrapped tightly around your slender frame, and his anger dissipates, his gaze softening. You look different, the years of early adulthood firmly settled into your features, but he finds that you just look right.

You inhale deeply, your face flickering a dozen different emotions until you finally bring yourself to break the silence.

“Terry.”

---

Reader’s POV:

At first, you think you’re seeing a ghost – your very own Jacob Marley haunting you into learning some profound life lesson. Never leave anything unsaid, or Don’t let pride blind you.

Terry Silver, decked out in military fatigues and probably thirty pounds worth of muscle, delivered to your doorstep on Christmas Eve.

Your throat constricts, overwhelmed by the joy-relief-guilt-anger-pain-sadness of seeing him again.

“Terry,” you croak, finding it difficult to breathe, and then you’re throwing yourself at him, jumping up to wrap your arms around his neck. His hair is so long now, tied back in a ponytail that stands in stark contrast to the traditional, clean-cut hairstyle you’d grown accustomed to during your decade of friendship. He braces himself to take your weight, his arms taking an extra moment to slowly wrap around you, returning the hug.

“Y/N,” you hear him breathe your name into your hair as he sets you on your feet, though he keeps you in an embrace. You’re not sure how long you stay like that, but eventually you force yourself to release him, looking up into his pretty blue eyes. His features are harder now then they were before he’d left, but he seemed healthy and whole physically from what you’ve been able to tell.

“When did you get back?” you half-ask, half-demand, despite knowing you’re in no position to have a say in his life. No, he’d made that perfectly clear the last time you’d spoken…

“I landed a couple hours ago.”

You blink. “What are you doing here?!”

“I didn’t know where else to go.”

You swallow heavily. You knew that Terry didn’t have a good relationship with his parents, but to not want to see them after years of being in a War… as someone who’d lost their own parents as a teenager, it was hard for you to imagine not needing to throw yourself at them after going to hell and back.

“Well, come in then,” you invite him awkwardly, stepping to the side to allow him through the door into your small home. It wasn’t much, but you’d made do with the small sum you’d had left over from your parents’ inheritance after settling their medical bills coupled with your small but survivable salary. Terry lifts his rucksack, throwing it over a broad shoulder and stepping into your home, placing it by the door and bending to remove his boots. You look down at your own slippered feet, debating changing out of your pyjamas but decide against it.

“Can I get you something to drink?” you offer, trying to push past your own discomfort to play hostess. “I don’t know what your liquor of preference is, but I should have something you like.”

“You drink now?” he asks, surprised, and you give him a wry grin.

“We’re adults now, Terry; my tastes have changed.”

You’d been just shy of seventeen when he’d left, and had always been something of a goody two shoes; underage drinking hadn’t been your style before he’d left.

But then he had left, and on the one-year anniversary of his departure, having heard nothing from him, that had changed…

---

“Will you please stop moping around, Y/N? This is a party!” your friend pouts, trying to pull you up from the table in the corner where you’re sat with a drink for company. You’re not sure what your tolerance for alcohol is but this is your third Harvey Wallbanger, the orange juice helping the vodka go down easy, and you’re now in a comfortably numb, floaty space.

“I’m not moping,” you deny with a scowl. “You know I’m not a party person, and you dragged me here anyway.”

“I dragged you here because there’s someone I’d like you to meet,” Roberta insists, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and bending down to talk in your ear. “He is very cute, very single and very interested.”

“That makes one of us,” you joke, lightly elbowing her in the side. Roberta sighs, sitting on the edge of the table to stare you down.

“Y/N, it’s been a year since Terry left. I know that you miss him, and that you’re hurt, but you told him yourself that you wouldn’t wait around for him.”

“I’m not waiting around for him,” you snap, grumbling at the insinuation. “I just don’t want to be with anyone right now.”

“But Y/N, don’t you think –”

“No!” you interrupt angrily, standing up from the table. “I don’t want to get to know someone else, anyone else. I just want to be alone.”

You gulp down the rest of your drink, grabbing your bag and leaving the party without another word, crying to yourself the whole walk home.

---

That night was your first time getting drunk, and you’d turned to the bottle on many occasions over the past few years when your grief and loneliness got to be too much. It’s not something you’re particularly proud of, but it is something that you’ve managed to get under control. No one was worth grieving over like that, not even Terry Silver.

Turning back to him, you catch him looking at you with a confused, slightly frustrated expression before he meets your eye.

“Any tea?” he asks hesitantly and you nod in response, busying yourself with the kettle. You grab two teacups, part of a set gifted to you by him from a birthday during your school days, and set them of a tray along with milk and sugar, bringing them over to the coffee table in front of him.

“How long have you had the ponytail?” you ask casually, trying to make conversation as you head back into the kitchen to fill the teapot and bring it over. Terry takes a long time to respond, and when you turn back to him you see that he’s tense on the couch, his jaw clenched.

“Almost a year now,” he finally answers in a hoarse voice through gritted teeth. You busy yourself fixing his tea, hoping he still takes it the same way; Terry had never been good with speaking his emotions before the war, and you doubt that his time in Vietnam cured him of that habit.

“I grew it out in honour of a friend,” he continues, not looking at you as he accepts the proffered cup, and you bite your lip as an expression of absolute anguish crosses his features. You don’t know what to say to him, or what not to say…

“I don’t know how to do this, Terry,” you confess to him, frustrated by the discomfort you feel. Speaking with him had been easier than breathing for so long, and the difficulty it’s giving now makes your heart ache. He looks up at you blankly.

“Do what?”

“I don’t know, talk to you. It used to be so easy, and now I’m not sure what to focus on and what to avoid. I’m sorry,” you apologize with a grimace, feeling terribly awkward. He had come here, come to you, immediately after coming home, and you imagine he now regrets his decision after seeing how horribly you’re handling his return.

His large hand comes down on your shoulder, squeezing it gently, the way he used to comfort you when you were anxious or stressed, and you take a deep breath, looking up at him gratefully.

“Hey hey, it’s okay. I’m not exactly sure how to do this myself. You’re doing fine,” he coos, his thumb stroking your shoulder. You can’t remember the last time you’ve felt as relaxed as you do now, under his soothing touch. You climb onto the couch beside him, still tucked under his arm.

“Thanks. Is there anything you want to talk about?” you ask, hoping to avoid anymore sensitive topics.

“Did you ever think about me?” he asks immediately, and you turn to the side to face him so quickly his arm slips off your shoulders.

“What?” you ask in disbelief. He cocks his head to the side and gives you a calculating look, like he’s trying to read your mind.

“While I was gone. Did you ever think about me, or miss me or anything?”

He seems genuine, but it’s such a ridiculous, inane question that it sparks your short temper.

“What kind of question is that?!” you hiss, glaring at him. He opens his mouth to respond, but you cut him off, shoving him away from you, trying to ignore how muscled his chest feels under your fingers.

“Of course I missed you, you dolt!” you shriek, angry tears filling your eyes. “Of course I thought about you, every fucking day, from the moment you told me you were leaving! How can you even ask me that, Terry?!”

You can’t catch your breath through your sobs, as much as you want to continue yelling at him; you always ended up crying this way when you cried for Terry, and everything you’d lost when he’d left you alone.

Terry slides off the couch onto his knees, carelessly shoving away the coffee table to make space for him as he kneels in front of you, looking distressed as he watches you wrap your arms around yourself tightly like you were trying to squeeze yourself shut, trapping your pain inside of you.

“Sweetheart, shhh,” Terry pleas, trying to replace your hands with his own as he moves to console you. You fight to get your breathless under control, your sobs eventually quieting to stuttering whimpers.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he murmurs, running his hands up and down your arms soothingly. “I didn’t think I was leaving you alone. I thought your other friends –”

“If you think that any number of friends could fill in the void you left in my life, you overgrown giraffe, then you’re an even bigger idiot that I thought,” you interrupt him with a huff, your arms now crossed defensively across your chest as you scowl down at him.

He takes your change in mood as a good sign, and continues.

“I thought everyone else would take care of you; if I hadn’t believed that, I never would have left,” he speaks firmly, his gaze locked with yours, and you believe him.

“I thought about you all the time,” he confesses, tucking a lock of your hair behind your ear; it feels like such a natural gesture coming from him. “I wrote dozens of letters to you, but I never sent them because I was scared that you hated me, and I didn’t want to upset you more than I already had.”

His blue eyes are piercing as they look up at you unblinkingly, and you feel overwhelmed by the conviction that you hear in his voice.

“I went to war to become less of a coward, Y/N,” he admits, looking at the ground with his brow furrowed. “I wanted so badly to become someone that you deserved. But I failed. I’m still a coward, and even if I wasn’t I know I’m too late.”

You can see the tension in his shoulders as he sits in silence, his words lingering in the air between you.

“Too late for what?” you ask in a whisper, unable to bring yourself to speak any louder.

“I know I’ve probably missed my chance to be with you, but –”

“I’m not with anybody, Terrance,” you inform him curtly, your heart pounding so hard you worry it’s going to burst from your chest. Terry wanted to be with you?

He finally brings himself to look back up at you, his eyes flickering as he tries to determine your honesty. You decide to reassure him.

“I’m not with anyone. I’ve never been with anyone,” you admit, sincerely hoping that he felt the same way as you did and that this confession wasn’t going to blow up in your face.

“I promised myself I wasn’t waiting around for you, I said I wouldn’t and I meant it, but no one made me feel anything close to what you did. Nobody could get through to me.”

Terry’s face lights up with hope and euphoria, and it seems to take the last few years of pain and suffering away from his features. He climbs back onto the couch next to you, giving you the same slightly-shy smile he’d always given you. He looks like the Terry you remember, the Terry you love.

The Terry that casually broke your heart one day, leaving you without a second thought to spend years worrying about his safety. As much as you adore him, you can’t let yourself forget that reality.

“I wanted it to be you. I still want it to be you, Terry, but how can I know if I can trust you? You left me,” you accuse, moving off of the couch to the armchair next to it. He hurt you, and you can’t let yourself be swept away by his presence the way you normally did. Terry’s eyes are sad as he watches you move away from him, but he grants you the space.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he murmurs brokenly, his eyes trained on the carpet by your feet. “I’ll never forgive myself for it, as long as I live. I’ll do whatever it takes to get your trust back. Please just give me a chance,” he begs, getting down on his knees before you once again. You’re not proud of the thrill that runs through you at his supplication, something in your belly clenching with desire.

“Ask me anything, sweetheart, and I’ll answer, no matter how hard it is. I promise, I’ll tell you the truth about everything.”

You curl your legs up onto the couch and away from him, wrapping your arms around them as you look down at him. What questions could you possibly ask that could repair the damage done to your friendship?

“Did you have to kill people?” you ask in a hoarse whisper, feeling guilty as the question appears to cause him physical pain.

“Yes.”

“A lot of people?”

“Yes.”

You can’t blame him for his short responses. And, at least he’s being honest.

“Did they at least… I don’t know, deserve it?” you ask, though you’re not sure how you could possibly determine whether or not anyone deserved to die.

“Some. Most of them didn’t.” Terry’s eyes are shut tightly, like his body is trying to block out the question, or maybe the memories that it evokes.

Alright, you’d tortured him enough with this line of questioning. Reaching down, you lay one hand on his arm, and he opens his eyes to look at you, his expression gaunt.

“How are you, Terry? Physically, you don’t seem to have any lasting damage, but…” you trail off, biting your lip. He gives you a sad smile.

“I’m doing the best I can; I’m sure it’ll get better with time,” he assures, almost nonchalantly shrugging off his trauma. “Physically I’m fine, just still a bit malnourished.”

“Malnourished? You look like you’ve doubled in size since I saw you last, at least!” you tease, hoping he’s not offended. Fortunately, he cracks a smile that becomes an outright smug grin, and bats his eyelashes up at you.

“At least,” he echoes your words, sitting up straight. “Wanna see for yourself?” he leers, his hands moving to the hem of his shirt. You squeak, blushing furiously, though you’re burning with curiosity and something decidedly less innocent.

“Knock it off, Terry!” you warn him with a giggle, burying your face in your knees. He chuckles softly at your reaction, the sound sending shivers up and down your spine. Eventually, you peer over the tops of your knees down at him, unsure if you really want to know the answer to your next question.

“You’re very different from the shy boy that would blush when he so much as accidentally brushed up against me,” you point out with a raised eyebrow, hoping you’re playing it casual. “Have you been with anyone?”

There is a prolonged silence, and you brace yourself for the worst.

“Almost, but no,” he admits, his hand going to the end of his ponytail and giving it a tug absent-mindedly.

“What does that mean?” you ask, feeling unsettled by his reaction to the question.

“Some of the guys in the unit got on me about being a virgin, tried to get me to give it up to a hooker,” he admits, a blush blooming across his fair skin. Your Terry was still buried somewhere inside this new, bulky frame.

“Why didn’t you?” you ask. While you’re glad that he didn’t, you know that Terry has historically been susceptible to peer pressure, especially by older men.

“Johnny,” he breathed, the name escaping from his lips with absolute reverence. He looks up at you, devotion shining in his eyes as he speaks of this other man. “Captain John Kreese. I owe him my life; I owe him everything.”

“What’d he do?” you ask, glad that Terry may have found a male role model worth looking up to.

“I… I had told him about you,” he admits, looking sheepish. “He caught me writing letters to you, told me to burn them if I wasn’t going to man up and send them to you so that no one would find out and give me a hard time. He had a girl back home, Betsy, they were going to get married…”

“And he died? How awful,” you reply, your heart going out to the couple.

“No,” Terry said tonelessly. “She did. Car accident.”

“Oh, Terry…” you murmur, your hand coming down to stroke his arm comfortingly. Terry leans against your chair and into the gesture.

“But we didn’t find out until after this. When he found the guys trying to push me into a brothel, he told them to leave off and they did. Everyone listened to John. And then he told me that it was worth waiting for the right girl, so I did.”

Your heart skips a few beats at the explanation, and Terry uses your silence to stand up on his knees, gently pulling your feet down in front of you so that you aren’t hiding behind them. You’re nearly at the same height now, and he leans forward to stare deeply into your eyes.

“I wanted it to be you too, Y/N. I always have.”

He slowly closes the distance between you, giving you plenty of time to refuse or move away, his eyes locked onto your face as though he was afraid that if he closed his eyes, if he so much as blinked, you would disappear. One large hand comes up, his knuckles lightly brushing the side of your face, and you let out a content sigh.

The kiss is chaste and sweet but still sends your heart thrumming, your lips trying to chase after him when he finally lets you up for air. He takes your cheek in hand once more, his gaze not leaving yours as he reaches down to your hand, interlacing your fingers with his own.

“I love you, Y/N, and I’ll do anything and everything to be with you. I’ve waited this long, and I’m happy to keep waiting until I’ve earned your trust back.”

“Terry Silver, I’ve spent years worrying that I’d never see you again. Even before that, I didn’t think I’d ever get to be with you. I love you, and I’m not letting you go. We’ve both waited long enough.”

Terry’s smile grows with your words, framed by his adorable dimples, making a pleased noise in the back of his throat as you wrap your arms around his neck, sliding yourself closer to him. Impatiently, you tug his head towards yours once more, kissing him deeply, every brush of his lips against yours making your heart sing. You feel him gasp into your mouth as your tongue traces his lower lip teasingly, his hands moving to your hips and squeezing them firmly. He lifts you out of the chair and to your feet, further emphasizing how strong he’s become in the past few years, and you reluctantly break apart, the difference in height frustrating you. You can think of one way to mitigate the issue…

“Do you remember the way to my bedroom?” you ask coyly, looking up at him from beneath your lashes. He gives you a slightly wicked grin in response before sweeping you off your feet and into his arms, carrying you bridal style to your bedroom door and kicking it open. Apparently not wanting to be too presumptuous, he sits on the edge of the bed with you in his lap, and resumes his task of kissing you breathless.

It’s everything you’d been imagining since you were twelve years old, and more. So, so much more…

Being wrapped in his strong arms like this makes you feel the same bone-deep sense of comfort and safety that Terry always made you feel, but tenfold. He could keep you in his lap like this forever and you’d consider yourself more than grateful, but you also desperately need to touch-see-taste-feel more of him.

You squirm, getting him to loosen his grip, and when he does you throw a leg across him, straddling him and pressing yourself against his chest. His grip tightens in response, his hands low on your hips. Gathering your courage, you trail your hands down his chest to the hem of his shirt, your fingers disappearing beneath the fabric. As you explore the contours of his abs he hisses into your mouth, sliding back on the bed and taking you with him. You push him to lay down, hands pushing his shirt up as your eyes greedily drink in his chiseled abs.

“Like what you see, Dollface?” Terry leers up at you, giving you a wink. You huff in response, sitting back on his thighs and crossing your arms as you turn your head to the side. This gives him the element of surprise as he grabs you by the waist, flipping you onto your back on the mattress and leaning over you.

“Don’t be shy, sweetheart. I like what I see; I have from the minute I first laid eyes on you,” he murmurs, eyes warm with affection and underlying desire. He pulls his shirt off over his head, muscles on full display, and while you’ve been in love with Terry for the better part of a decade, when you were both scrawny kids, you can’t deny that the way he looks now, and the confidence it’s given him, has your body humming with need. You look back to his face with hooded eyes, reaching up to pull him down to kiss him, teasing his tongue with your own. Eventually, he sits up, looking down at you in a way that has you squirming. His eyes could be so intimidating sometimes, and now the rest of him matched.

Idly, he toys with the belt of your housecoat, the fabric tied in a bow at your waist.

“You’re wrapped up like a present for me,” he teases in a low voice, making you blush. “It’s not quite Christmas yet, but maybe I can unwrap mine early?”

You giggle, turning to bury your head into your pillow to hide your face. “You’re an idiot, Terry Silver,” you inform him, your voice muffled, but your gasp comes through loud and clear as he takes advantage of your position and starts kissing your neck. “Terry!” you moan, feeling dizzy as his lips and tongue claim every inch of sensitive skin they can find. Terry lets out a growl against the front of your throat at the sound of you moaning his name.

“Do I get to open my present or not, sweetheart?” he murmurs against your skin, pulling back to look at you with his stunning, glittering eyes.

“Yes!” you groan in exasperation, throwing an arm over your eyes. You feel him slowly pulling at the frayed ends of the strip of fabric, and shyly peek out from under your arm, wanting to witness this. The knot comes loose, and you feel his hands shake slightly as he pushes the robe to either side of you, revealing thin dark blue pyjama pants and a baby blue tank top. He licks his lips, and as you follow his gaze you see that your nipples are hard and very prominent through the lightweight fabric.

“Please,” you cry out in need when he makes no move to, well, ravish you.

“Terry, please! You don’t have to treat me like I’m made of glass. I want you, I need you, please touch me!”

He hums in approval at the sound of you begging, his thumbs rubbing your hip bones in small circles, savouring the soft skin visible between the hem of your shirt and your waistband.

“I know you’re not made of glass, beautiful. I just want to savour you, take you in just like this before I worship you the way I’ve been dreaming of.”

He lowers his head to taste your again, his lips exploring your now-exposed shoulders and collarbone, and you clutch his head to you, pulling him closer still. He lets out a sinful chuckle, a far departure from the shy, self-conscious boy you were used to, and the vibrations of his lips make you arch up against him with a needy whine.

Lips never faltering, he blindly snatches up your wrists, pinning them again the mattress to either side of your head. He slowly explores every inch of bare skin, his hot, wet tongue following the featherlight touches of his fingertips as he traces patterns from the sensitive underside of your wrists up your arms to your breastbone, sliding down your body to lay kisses on your stomach where your shirt has ridden up, his tongue swirling around your bellybutton and making you shriek.

“God, I love the sounds you make for me,” Terry groans, laying kisses straight up the middle of your chest over your clothes, intentionally avoiding your breasts. The devious smirk he gives you afterwards lets you know that he knows exactly how much he’s tormenting you.

“Will you let me up so that I can have a turn?” you ask grumpily, fed up with the teasing. Or, at least, how one-sided it was.

“No,” he says mockingly, clearly enjoying antagonizing you. “But I will reward your patience…”

Terry’s POV:

Ponytail’s lewd advice over the years came to the forefront of his mind the moment he laid you out on your bed, and Terry decides he’ll borrow more than just a hairstyle from the older man. He can practically see Ponytail in the corner of his eye, leering at the pair of you as Terry put his lessons to practice. Based on the way you were responding, it was apparent that the guy hadn’t been all talk, at least before…

He latches onto your breast, his saliva darkening the fabric of your top, focusing on you instead of dwelling on the past. Your whispered pleas come even faster now, as his other hand slides up your body to tease your other nipple, the sensation nearly overwhelming him. He can’t believe he’s finally here, finally doing this, and with you of all people.

He hadn’t lied to you before; it really had always been you in his mind, in his heart, in his soul…

He forces himself to continue to go slow, carefully keeping his erection from brushing up against you. He’s already so close, and he hasn’t even gotten you out of your clothes yet. He’s waited long enough for this, and so have you; he needs it to be perfect.

He slips his hands beneath the hem of your shirt once more, pausing in his ministrations to look you in the eye.

“Can I unwrap the rest of my present, doll?” he leers, burning the way you blush into his memory forever. You bite your lip, staring up at him with wide, needy eyes, and you’ve never looked more beautiful. You nod wordlessly, and sit up as he pulls your pyjamas over your head, tossing the top to the side.

He stands corrected, taking in your bare breasts, the curve of your waist, the way your blush continues down your neck to the top of your chest. You’ve never looked more beautiful than right now.

Your breath comes hard and fast under the weight of his stare, nearly panting with desire.

Take it slow, Twig. Make her beg you for it. Ponytail’s voice echoes in his head, and he lunges forward, pinning you back against the mattress, claiming your lips again as he brings his fingers up to play with your nipples, only pausing in his attack to knead and squeeze your breasts, cataloguing your responses to his every action as you writhe underneath him, whining into his mouth.

“Terry, you’re driving me crazy!” you manage to tell him between kisses, your chest now covered with love bites that give him a primal sense of satisfaction and ownership.

“Good,” he coos, finding it easy to be dominant in this arena. Watching you come apart for him has given him such a heady sense of control, he thinks he could happily do it forever.

Maybe he will.

Your hand, which had formerly been obediently laying down by your side, runs across his thigh to his cock, squeezing it experimentally over his pants, and his restraint all but disappears as his hips reflexively buck into your palm. You bat your eyelashes at him with mock innocence, and he snarls, reaching down and yanking your pants and underwear down your legs in one quick motion, making you yelp and press your thighs tightly together. Oh, now you were shy?

Reining himself back in before he forces your knees apart, he slows down once more, running his hands from your ankles to the tops of your thighs, relishing the feeling of your soft skin and the way that your muscles jump beneath his fingers.

“You’re so damn pretty,” he whispers, his awe carrying over into his tone. “My dream girl…”

He buries his face between your breasts, switching between them to ensure they both receive equal treatment from his lips and tongue. It isn’t long before you relax the lower half of your body, your legs moving to either side of him to wrap around his waist as your arms mirror the movement, locking themselves around his neck as you cling to him, trying to pull him closer. Terry thinks he’d happily let you pull him closer until he disappeared inside of you; his cock twitches at the thought.

“What is it, love?” he teases, though his tongue tingles around the pet name. “What do you need?”

You give him a glare, though its effect is weakened by the fact that you are practically vibrating in his arms.

“Stop teasing me, you big dumb jerk!” you complain, even as you roll your hips up against him. He bites the inside of his cheek to distract himself from the burning hot arousal that jolts through his body at the sensation of your soaking centre rubbing against him, even through his clothes.

“Well, that was just plain hurtful,” he says with false sadness. “Maybe I’ll just go…” he trails off, peeling you off him and keep his eyes on the sheets as he makes to move off the bed. You launch yourself at him, taking him by surprise as you knock him back onto the bed, straddling him with a pout.

This time, he knows that you feel his cock twitch against you.

“You’re not going anywhere, Terry Silver,” you say imperiously, even as you bend down to kiss his chest, your tongue boldly and thoroughly exploring his torso. He hisses, and feels you smirk against his skin. “I just got you back, and you’re not going anywhere, especially not before you finish what you started.”

He nimbly rolls you onto your back, hooking one leg around his hip, his hand stroking the inner thigh of your other leg and making your breathing come heavier once again.

“Is that what you want, Y/N?” he asks, cracking a wicked grin. “For me to help you finish?”

Instead of telling him off, or stubbornly refusing to say anything, you look up at him demurely.

“Yes,” you tell him bluntly, staring up at him unflinchingly. “Make me come, Terry, make me yours!”

He growls and slides down your body again, forcing your knees apart – not that they need any forcing. He takes in the sight of your wet, pink pussy, and it briefly makes his brain short-circuit.

“Christ,” he breathes out, before throwing caution to the wind and burying his face between your legs, eating you out like you’re his last meal on earth. You literally mewl as he latches onto your clit, tongue swirling around the sensitive bud, your grip on his head stinging deliciously as you tug at his locks. You try to grind yourself against his face, but he holds your hips down firmly; all of the pleasure you felt tonight would be because of him.

His tongue probes your entrance next, your walls tight but inviting, and he brings a hand up to assist, one of his fingers continuing to tease your clit. He hears you moan his name, and he moans yours right back, the vibrations adding to your pleasure until your soft inner thighs are quaking.

“Terry!” you cry out, your thighs clenching around his head, but he is relentless in his pursuit, knowing that you’re close. “Oh God, Terry!”

“That’s it, my sweet girl,” he purrs approvingly, stretching you out with a finger joining his tongue. “Come for me, Y/N, let me taste how much you want me.”

He dives back in, adding a second finger, his thumb rubbing your clit in circles that you mirror with your hips. Secretly, he writes his name on your centre with his tongue, claiming you as his, and with one final swipe at your clit you’re coming apart for him, screaming his name in ecstasy as your thighs tighten their grip even further, the pressure a testament to how hard you’re coming.

“Fuck!” you groan between stuttering, whiny breaths. “Fuck…”

He patiently waits for you to catch your breath, content to be trapped between your legs, laying kisses all over your inner thighs and breathing you in. Eventually, your legs collapse bonelessly to either side of him, releasing him, and he crawls up your body, his cock aching from being pressed against the seam of his pants. Still slightly dazed, you look up at him with a shy smile that makes his heart skip a beat. Still so innocent, even after all that…

“Does this mean it’s finally my turn?” you ask, brazenly reaching for his belt. Kneeling next to your head, he allows you to remove his belt, pulling his zipper down and tugging his pants down to reveal his tented trousers. You let out a whimper of desire, though he also detects a note of anxiety. You have nothing to worry about, sweet thing; he’ll never let anything bad happen to you.

Not on his watch.

You gather your nerve, pulling his underwear down to free his cock, and he swiftly divests himself of the clothing kicking them off and to the floor, his erection bobbing with the movement. Your eyes follow it as though hypnotized, and he finds himself staring at you with a downright hungry expression. Mine, a possessive voice growls in his mind as he watches you stare, awestruck at his member.

Slowly, like you were scared of scaring it away, you move your head towards it, your tongue peeking out from between your swollen, pouty lips to lick the precum off of his tip.

He nearly blows his load then and there.

Instead, he climbs on top of you, spreading your legs to either side of him.

“Ter-ry!” you whine, pouting up at him. “I thought it was my turn!”

He bends down, silencing your complaints with a kiss until you’re laying pliant against the sheets.

“I won’t last long if you do that now, love,” he admits, trying not to be embarrassed or ashamed. “The first time I come, I want it to be inside you.”

Your expression softens at his words, and you pull him down for another sweet kiss. He reaches between your bodies, getting his fingers slick with your juices and stroking himself, his eyes rolling back in his head at the sensation. You break apart, but his forehead stays rested on yours as he lines himself up with your entrance.

“I’ll be gentle, I’ll go slow,” he vows, the promise as much to himself as it is to you. He would have control; he would not hurt you.

“I trust you, Terry,” you tell him earnestly, and the words mean more to him than he can possibly express.

“I love you, Y/N,” he breathes, slowly sliding himself inside of you until he feels himself come up to your hymen. You tense up slightly at the intrusion, or perhaps at what’s to come, but you nod at him to continue, responding to the question reflected in his eyes.

“Don’t draw it out – just do it quick, and then it’s over,” you ask quietly, shutting your eyes tightly. That won’t do.

“Look at me, sweetheart,” he requests, and your eyes flutter open. He doesn’t hesitate, thrusting himself past your barrier and fully into you, watching the pain cross your features with a perverse sense of satisfaction before he immediately moves to soothe, stilling his hips as he peppers your face with kisses, cooing sweet nothing and words of encouragement and running his hands comfortably up and down your body.

The distraction is appreciated; it gives him something to focus on other than how incredible your cunt feels wrapped around his throbbing member.

“Just relax, Y/N,” he coaxes, feeling you tighten around him when he says your name. He wants to spend eternity figuring out all the ways to make your body respond to him…

You nod up at him, your body’s grip on him loosening just enough for him to pull out slightly before smoothly thrusting back inside, hearing your breath escape you with a moan. He stills again, not wanting to push his luck, but you have other plans, rocking your hips up towards him, your legs tightening their grip around his waist.

“Don’t stop,” you beg him quietly. “I can handle it, I promise.”

“I’m not hurting you?” he asks doubtfully, taking in the tears at the corners of your eyes.

“I like it,” you admit to him bashfully, and he can tell by your embarrassment that you mean it. He groans at this confession, feeling his self-control slipping away, and he lets it, deciding to just be in the moment with you. Burying his face in your neck, he slides his hands around to your butt, kneading the plump flesh as he holds you up, his hips setting a slow pace, savouring the delicious friction of moving inside you. You let out a wanton moan of approval, breathless pleas escaping your lips as you run your fingers through his hair.

Your cries are music to his ears, his own need for release growing with every thrust, every noise you make spurring him on.

“Terry,” you whimper his name, trying to meet his hips thrust-for-thrust, eventually settling for just hanging on, begging for more as he chases his orgasm, rutting against you and making your toes curl. “Come for me – Let go for me, love!” you moan in his ear, and he finally does, feeling your pussy tighten around him and milk him of every drop.

It isn’t until after he’s caught his breath that he realizes his still whispering your name like a mantra. Forcing himself to pull out of you, no matter how much he wants to stay buried in your tight heat, he rolls onto his back, pulling you on top of him and securely wrapping you both in the blankets. You nestle into him, fitting quite naturally against his side just as he always knew you would.

“You’ll stay?” you ask hopefully in a tired voice. It was now well after midnight, and you had already been dressed for bed when he’d shown up.

“If you’ll have me.”

“Always, Terry.”

He kisses the top of your head, wrapping his arms around you protectively. He can’t remember the last time he felt tired, relaxed enough to sleep deeply for any length of time, but he senses it won’t be a problem tonight.

“Merry Christmas, Y/N,” he murmurs, recalling your fondness for the holiday as children. Maybe that was why he’d been so attached to it, despite having few personal memories about it himself.

“Merry Christmas, Terry,” you reply sleepily, kissing the pectoral that you’re using as a pillow as you drift off.

He’ll count this as a Christmas miracle.

---

Just look at this cute little fucker in his little bucket hat, thinking about his own girl back home 💕

[slurpi13]

Demon Delivery

Summary: There wasn’t much Aziraphale wouldn’t put up with for a truly superb meal. But while dining out both luxuriously and otherwise was certainly typical, occasionally the angel desired a private night in.

Crowley had been the first to tempt his angel to the earthly pleasure of a good meal, and it was only right to see him through. Regardless of the meal being a takeaway, Aziraphale deserved no less than perfection, and that’s what he would have.

(OR: Crowley is one hell of a food delivery demon. Aziraphale rewards him thoroughly for his efforts.)

AO3

Explicit - 4127 words

The angel loved to dine in all forms, whether it be an unhurried evening of the finest wine and multi-course dining or a plate of greasy fish and chips.

By all means, Aziraphale preferred the luxurious experience of dining with Crowley at the Ritz—the hum of mild chatter, the soft piano melodies, and the posh excellence as he delighted in his dainty bites of decadence under the demon’s attentive observation. He did always appreciate the finer things, standards and all.

Nevertheless, the pair just as commonly frequented Aziraphale’s favorite chippy despite its typically boisterous crowd and modern decor, the angel mentioning the latter as if they were dirty words. The seating was lackluster, sleek stools and stiff booths, not accommodating to long, lavish dining events. The small shop was narrow and noisy, locals and tourists alike crowding around for their turn. A stray, accidental elbowing from said overexcited patrons wasn’t unusual, inciting warning hisses from the demon when Aziraphale was the recipient of such. Despite the atmospheric shortcomings, it was the best in London, according to the angel.

There wasn’t much Aziraphale wouldn’t put up with for a truly superb meal. But while dining out both luxuriously and otherwise was certainly typical, occasionally the angel desired a private night in.

Often, it was on a Tuesday—first of the month.

Crowley lounged upon his grand throne, one leg dangling over the armrest and chin balanced precariously against his palm. The screen of his phone glared back at him as the digital clock ticked over to five on the dot. Ever punctual, his phone began to vibrate with an incoming call. Straightening up in his seat, Crowley smirked, trying his best to keep it out of his voice as he held for an additional buzz before answering.

“Hello, angel.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale began, delight in his tone as if it were half a surprise to find him on the other end, as if he didn’t know Crowley’s number by heart, as if he hadn’t just dialed it purposefully on the antique phone he kept in his shop. “Are you busy? I was wondering if you might like to come over.”

“Sure. M’not doing anything. Hungry?” He should have waited for Aziraphale to suggest or at least allude to it, but he couldn’t help himself, his own appetite already getting the best of him. Crowley had no doubt the angel noted it, despite no indication.

“Well, now that you mention it, I suppose I am feeling a bit peckish. Would you mind terribly picking up something on your way? Dreadful weather.”

The weather was dreadful, a steady pitter of cold rain dribbling down the window of Crowley’s flat. While Aziraphale did appreciate a sunny day, if rain and a chill stopped the angel from venturing out into the streets, he’d rarely leave the bookshop. Regardless of what excuse the angel may have, Crowley knew that it simply just so happened to be raining on this Tuesday, the first one of the month, when the pâtisserie Aziraphale favored rotated their offerings.

“What do you fancy?”

Aziraphale hummed, making a show of debating over what exactly he had a craving for, as though it hadn’t been on his mind before he’d called, if not all day. It was a formality, as was his polite insistence that Crowley choose something else if he’d rather when he finally settled on his request—three courses of Italian from a restaurant that would balk at the idea of a takeaway.

The angel was letting him off easy tonight.

Nothing crisp that needed to stay that way in a steamy container on a damp evening. Nothing that would spill and slosh onto his Bentley seats if Crowley didn’t cradle it gingerly with his free hand and drive at suboptimal speeds. Nothing that deflated once it reached a few perilous meters away from the oven or started melting the moment it touched room-temperature air. No celebratory towers of fragile pastry meant for parties being tucked away by a single, prim angel.

Slightly disappointed, Crowley’s smirk faded. “Anything else, angel?”

“Perhaps something for our dessert.”

Full fic on AO3.

[reasonsforhope]

Thank you, stranger, for making this blog. You are truly a kind, beautiful soul. Thank you for existing for the world. Many of us appreciate you!!!! Thank you!!!!! /vvvvvvvgen

...now to me. I'm sorry for adding for your huge askbox as is, genuinely...

I naturally, without thinking, don't act like my real personality because it's been shunned dozens of times across my entire life. It's not fundamentally flawed (I know that, 100%--we all have flaws, ad I absolutely wasn't a terrible person for expressing them). Nonetheless, all I know is that the person I act like everyday of my life since I finally snapped and started doing this whole thing two years ago -- almost three -- is not who I really am. You know when you put on a shoe that, while your foot can fit inside and you can walk around just fine, you know it's just not your size because it doesn't feel right at all? That's me and my "personality"...people thought I was weird when I showed my genuine personality. I was just...pretty different than most. some comments I've got on my old personality:

"You're ...... Weird." (said with a thinly hid derogatory tone)

"Stop. You're not one of us."

"Why are you talking like that?"

"Sensitive. No one likes you."

And the one that finally made me snap:

"Stupid." (the person who said this then continued top he conversation as normal. Not acknowledging my stunned reaction.)

In addition, for a couple months I got treated like a dog. A literal dog.

I basically got treated like an outcast.

I know the personality I've left buried for so long has grown on its own, with me. It wasn't totally neglected and in fact is still here. It's just hidden behind this mask...which I can't take off. Because I literally don't know how. It's become such a habit to be someone else that I don't even fully, consciously know who I genuinely am today...it's hard. I hurt. A lot. I'm terrified of being vulnerable in any way, now. Just curled up in a shell.

...what am I to do? Where am I even going to begin? I feel lost. All I know, in the depths of my heart, that there is hope. There is always hope yet. That is something I've always known.

So what now? I'm scared, tired, and unsure. Is there anything I can do, anymore, at all? To figure out, and then be, who I know I am, deep down?

Thank you for reading, if you did. From the bottom of my heart--thank you. Thank you.

Sincerely,

#🎈🌠🐘

<3 <3 <3

Thanks so much <3 And fwiw for anyone wondering, it's not HUGE huge, I've got like 45 asks and dms to get to, but it still feels pretty big for me, a person who has def never had that happen before. Hoping to try to answer a batch of 2-4 of them on the weekends

Also, in terms of the rest of it.... Sorry if I'm overstepping, and definitely not to do that "diagnose people over the internet shit," but have you ever looked into whether you might be autistic or some other flavor of neurodivergent. Because as an autistic person, I see a Lot of my own experiences in what you've written

Regardless of whether you have or not, and whether you're autistic or not, I definitely know what it's like to deal with that kind of shit and bullying, and how trying to mask your own differences can twist you up inside. I had a problem with compulsively lying for a while in high school because of how ingrained "covering for myself" became - so I get how unsettling it feels when this shit becomes something you can't consciously control

Because there's so much overlap, I'd actually recommend looking into books and resources from the autistic community in masking and the difficulty of unmasking, regardless of whether you're autistic or not. A lot of the traumas are similar, too, so if you're at that level of "burying," I really think you'll be able to get something out of it no matter what

(This applies to anyone reading this who has also had to deal with that kind of shit or has found themselves doing something similar.)

Also, you should definitely look into trauma work (and "complex PTSD") and see if there's anything helpful to you there--there's a lot of really effective, evidence-based stuff out there about how to untangle your nervous system, because that kind of social rejection and isolation is absolutely/inherently traumatizing

Some Resources

Masking stuff:

Seven Steps to Unmasking as a Neurodivergent Person

What Is Complex PTSD (C-PTSD)? from Healthline

Autism Masking: To Blend or Not to Blend from Healthline

This is an assessment for social masking. It's written about autism, but I think a good amount of it would be applied to other types of masking like this.

Trauma stuff:

What Is Rejection Trauma? from TherapyMantra

Healing from Rejection Trauma from CPTSDFoundation.org

The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma by Bessel van der Kolk

What My Bones Know: A Memoir of Healing from Complex Trauma by Stephanie Foo

And if none of that helps you...there's definitely a lot of other stuff out there. There's things like journaling, which are a huge help with this sort of thing. Figuring out who you are underneath it all takes time and feels super weird and it's not easy, but I have faith you can do it. Don't give up, just keep moving forward

[delectablehallway]

Abby was written well and complexed like any other character in the first season. That hate is irrational. But here are the real reasons~ 1. She's a woman and that's obviously a problem 2. Certain shippers despise any/all LI past and present outside Eddie/Buck regardless 3. The fans infantizied poor baby Buck early on, which leads to 4. People thought they age gap was "weird and gross" 5. They say how she contacted Buck was unethical and she was a "stalker" and a "creep" 6. She didn't prioritize Buck over her sick, dying mother 7. She chose to grieve and find herself AND 8. Connie didn't return (initially) and they fucked her character up! So instead of breaking them up properly offscreen, they wrote that she ghosted/ignored Buck and had him wait "unknowingly" for over a year and their relationship became a running joke that she was "fake" because of her absence... and of course, 3x18 came around, and Abby returned for the train derailment. With a fiance and step kids! 😅 Certain characters' reactions to Abby being there were used out of context to fuel a certain ship... They also didn't like how Buck helped save Sam, the fiance 🙃 and they absolutely hated the "non apology/apology" as it wasn't "good enough" and Abby didn't "deserve" to "make excuses" and Buck didn't get closure because it was "so bad" and they used it to "confirm" how "terrible" she was. They saw it as Buck put in "more effort and cared deeper" than she ever did and Buck had to be "groomed into the relationship" to even date her (sound familiar) And yes, they actively bashed Connie outside of of Abby just like the other (non problematic) actresses/love interest because of their ship.

Yeah this was exactly what I was thinking. Just a whole lot of bullshit.

1) my number one leading theory

2) also my theory

3) and 4) I didn’t think about these, but yeah, I can see that. He’s literally like 26 in the first season gang. Please relax. She was like. In her 30’s. not that bad like. At all.

5) I would say dodgy, probably not a stalker or creep tho. I’d agree that it’s unethical because I’m sure irl you couldn’t get away with that, but sometimes you gotta ignore stuff for the plot. I believe this is one of those times.

6) yeah that’s fucking crazy. Idk what to say here.

7) LIKE BRO. Actually drives me crazy cause this is the one I feel the Abby haters don’t understand about her character. It’s like they see buck as three dimensional and see all his issues, but when it comes to Abby (or any of his (female) love interests) they just see a cardboard cut out and not like. A real person. Who is suffering and needs to start over. Like I think when Abby left, that’s all she could do. She really did need to ‘find herself’ because she’d defined herself by her treatment of others, and not by her actual personality, and she’d spent so long taking care of others she’d neglected to even know who that was.

8) yeah she defs could’ve hit him up when she first knew she wasn’t coming back, but this side of her character is completely off screen. We have no idea what she’s going through or how she’s feeling during this. And like, she hurt Buck and that was not okay, but it’s not inexcusable death penalty justifiable behaviour. Let her be a human being for the love of God.

9) (Sam bit) WHY WOULDNT HE. If you watched any of the show you’d be able to understand that there was no way Buck was leaving that train car without BOTH victims. It’s proven time and time again with him, he will never leave anyone behind. Whether or not Sam was his exes fiancé or a complete stranger, Buck still would’ve fought to save him and put his life on the line for him, because that’s who he is.

10) (apology) I completely disagree. I thought the apology scene was good for both of them. Buck needed to get that off his chest and explain how Abby had hurt him, and Abby needed to explain why she did what she did.

This fandom drives me insane with its treatment of women, particularly love interests of Buck or Eddie. There’s no need to hate someone just because they got in the way of your ship. I love buddie, but I also enjoyed watching Abby and Buck, and I thought they were really cute and good together. I’ve only just gotten to Eddie and Ana’s first date, but they seem cute and I like her, yet the fandom makes her out to be a literal witch. I liked Shannon when she was around and was on her side cause wtf Eddie. But he doesn’t get shit on for the way he treated her?? Hello that’s insane. They hold female characters to a much higher standard than any of the male characters, I hate it sm.

[recoveringdreamer]

TIMING: current LOCATION: teagan's house PARTIES: @closingwaters & @recoveringdreamer SUMMARY: felix and teagan decide to hang out. there's a lot of fun rhyming throughout! CONTENT WARNINGS: none!

Okay, so they were cursed. Big deal, right? There were worse curses to have! In all honesty, this one was almost fun. Felix kind of liked sounding like Dr. Seuss, just a little bit. They knew it would probably snowball into something terrible, because things usually seemed to in this town, but was it so bad to let themself enjoy it a little bit while it lasted? Looking on the bright side was important, wasn’t it? After everything they’d been through recently, didn’t they need to look on the bright side just to survive? 

They thought Teagan might get a kick out of it, too. They didn’t tell her why they were coming over, only asked if they could. And, when she seemed open to it, they wasted no time. They knocked on her door, grinning in a greeting when she pulled it open. “You’ll never guess what happened to me,” they said, wiping their feet and slipping their shoes off by the door. “I’m not going to tell you, but I’m pretty sure you’ll see.”

—

It wasn’t atypical for Felix to come over, or to even ask. Anytime a message from them made Teagan’s phone ring was a delight, and she prepared the way she always had. Lots of snacks, plenty of blankets, and catnip for both Felix and Alffi to enjoy. Though, it did come in the form of liquid. A wine she saw on the internet so they could both drink together and have a few laughs that such a thing existed. It also helped that Teagan could get on Felix’s level if she needed to with the help of a few small rolls of paper.

“Is that my lovely Felix I hear?” The nix skipped to the front door and let them inside, “You sound a little poetic today. What’s got you all rhyming?” She quirked a brow and closed the door just as Alffi trotted up to greet Felix, who seemed to be his visitor and not Teagan’s. He chirped and meowed happily, rubbing himself against the balam’s legs. “Looks like I’m not the only one happy to see you, but I think he knows he’s going to get a good dose of catnip since you’re here.” With a wink, she led Felix to the couch and plopped herself down, offering them their usual blanket, already warm. 

“Hm…so you want me to guess what’s happened. You gonna gimme any hints?”

Teagan’s house felt safe in a way the boiler room never could. Maybe that was part of why the curse seemed more enjoyable here than it did in the stifling space between those four concrete walls. The fact that Felix knew Teagan would probably find it funny only added to their own amusement, made them almost excited to share the news with her. Things had been heavy lately. Things were still heavy, would get heavier the way things always did. But they could find the lightness in between, could revel in it. They were good at that. Teagan was, too. 

“It’s Felix, all right!” They called with a grin. “Ready for a fun night!” Their grin only widened as Teagan made her way to the door, kneeling down to greet Alffi with a scratch under the chin. Teagan noticed the rhyming pretty quickly, just as Felix had figured she would, and the balam laughed. “He gets catnip when I’m not here, too, doesn’t he? It’d be a little sad if he only got to do it with me!” Straightening up, he turned to Teagan with a shrug. “Well, uh, it’s the kind of thing that sounds bad at first. But then, when you get into it, it’s kind of not the worst?”

—

Sure, rhyming for no reason had its charm, could even be fun when the moment called for it. What Teagan couldn’t put her finger on though was whether or not it was a conscious choice for Felix. Regardless, they seemed to be having fun, and the nix wouldn’t dare get in the way of that. She decided to join in on it. “Alffi gets catnip most days, but he likes when you visit because he gets that extra haze.” 

Picking Alffi up, Teagan rested him on her lap while she arranged the snacks and drinks, chuckling along with Felix as they continued the little rhyming show. By the looks of it, they seemed to not be able to speak without doing so. She narrowed her eyes and poured them each a glass of their respective wines, a multitude of questions and theories dancing around her mind.

“‘Spose making the best of it is what matters. What’d ya do anyway?” Taking a sip of her wine, Teagan paused to think about her next rhyme, leaning in with a look of victory. “Piss off a spellcaster by not having manners?” 

Teagan joined in on the rhyme, though the look on her face assured Felix that it was voluntary on her part and not an extension of the curse. And that was a good thing, really; Felix had inadvertently spread the curse to enough people already and, sooner or later, someone was going to get tired enough of it to go off on them. That was the last thing they wanted, really, especially now that they’d decided to let themself have a little fun with it. It was a nice way to… forget about their problems, even if only for a moment. Grief was a heavy thing; rhyming was far lighter.

Reaching over, he continued scratching Alffi absently as Teagan began arranging things. She was quick to pick up on the nature of the change, they thought; the look on her face told him that she knew almost right away that this wasn’t a choice they were making. “Not a spellcaster, no,” they laughed, shaking their head. “I did get cursed, though. I bought a glass orange from a thrift store. I guess I got a little more than I bargained for. It’s been… a little weird, to say the least. But I think my irritation towards it has kind of decreased. I figured I might as well have fun with it for now. You know, enjoy it for as long as it will allow.”

—

Teagan let out a roar of laughter despite her worry that there was a curse on her friend. Of all people, Felix didn’t need to be burdened with something as trivial as a curse, but she thanked the waves that it was only that and nothing more. They could’ve just as likely been afflicted with something sinister and painful, so when she saw that they were completely okay, Teagan wiggled into her seat and prepared herself further for some rhymes. 

“All right, boyo, we can have some fun with this,” She took a sip, “And while we do so, I think I’ll have a bite of this swiss.” Pointing at the charcuterie board, Teagan picked up a piece of the cheese and swiped up some jam with it, leaning into her seat as she plopped it into her mouth. “Any idea how to make this go away? Or do we gotta do this until our hair turns gray?”

As far as curses went, this one really wasn’t so bad. Felix had had a rough go of things, and compared to all that, this felt almost like a vacation. They regretted the number of people who’d gotten caught up in it, of course — they never meant for so many of their friends to touch the cursed egg that started this whole mess — but once they found a way to break it, they were sure everyone would think it was funny. (Maybe they were a little delusional in their confidence.)

In any case, Teagan seemed willing to roll with the punches and keep them company by challenging herself to rhyme, too. Felix grinned as she picked up the cheese with a rhyme, shrugging his shoulders. “I’m looking for a way to break it,” they replied. “But it might take a bit. A few other people have gotten wrapped up in things. But there’s a kind of… camaraderie that that brings! It’s like I’ve got a team. You know what I mean?”

—

Teagan snorted and she felt the inebriation from the wine warming her cheeks. Her snort turned into a chuckle, and then a bellyful laugh. “Well,” She cleared her throat, plucking up a few berries, “You might need a caster, but if they’re gonna break this curse, they better be a master.” Tossing the berries into her mouth, Teagan hummed in thought, motioning for Alffi to join her on her lap. He chirped and purred, curling onto her with a happy meow.

“Who’s all in this team? Are they the kind of group that’s a dream?” She arched a curious brow, “‘Cause if they’re not, you might find yourself stuck in a plot that stays until you rot.” Teagan took a sip, “Not that I would let that happen. You’re my best lad, and I will gladly tap in. Just say the word, and your call will never go unheard.”

“I’m hoping it won’t be too hard. I think it’ll be easy enough to get out unscarred. Luckily, I don’t think anyone is really mad. If they were, things could have ended up pretty bad.” After the initial shock of realizing they were cursed, most of Felix’s friends had been pretty gracious and forgiving, assuring them that it really wasn’t their fault even if they still felt like it kind of was. They were hopeful that things could turn out all right. As long as things didn’t get worse, they figured it would be fine.

They grinned as Teagan spun some rhymes of her own. Knowing that she was doing it by choice and they hadn’t actually cursed another friend made the situation much easier to feel good about, which they suspected was Teagan’s intention. “Well, there’s Beau, but… I’m not sure he realizes it, you know? It got Ariadne right at the start. I think she’ll help, she seems pretty smart! Charlie and Anita came in later. I think Anita might want to eat the curse’s creator. There’s Thea, too — she works with me at the Pit. I feel bad she got caught up in this, I have to admit. But I think between all of us, we can find a way out. I mean, there’s really no doubt. Especially if we’ll have you helping us, too! Put it all together, and we have a real who’s who.”

—

There were a few names that were easy to recognize, and she sympathized, truly, but she also couldn’t wait to speak to them. “My, my! What a large lot. I’m sure all this rhyming is causing quite a stir to the pot!” Teagan finished off her glass and poured herself some more wine, narrowing her eyes in thought as she tapped on her cheek. “Say, does this curse have an effect on texts? I think I’d like to run some tests.” 

With a grin and a bite of some cheese, a few teases came to mind. “I know Anita, Beau, and Ariadne, but I can only bother two of them.” Teagan snorted and began to shake her head, recalling when she could no longer see the other fae’s account. “Beau didn’t like my teasing, so my account was blocked as his way to condemn.” She shrugged and made a small plate of the meats and cheeses so she wouldn’t have to keep picking at the board. 

“You want a plate for yourself, calon?” Oh. It seemed as if Teagan had made a mistake in bringing on her own language without thinking. Her eyes widened and her expression fell, but only for a moment. After some pause, she finally said, “I’m sure all this rhyming has made your appetite…come upon.”  

They really had gotten a lot of people caught up in this, hadn’t they? Felix looked a little guilty, shuffling their feet and shrugging. “They all touched this thing I bought. I wish I’d known sooner, but I did not. At least I don’t think any of them are mad at me. But I guess if it continues, that’s when we’ll really see.” They perked up a little, proud to know the answer to at least one question. “Oh, texts seem to be immune! Me and Charlie figured that out the other afternoon.” 

It wasn’t entirely surprising that Beau wasn’t a fan of Teagan’s teasing. He was a sensitive guy, after all. Felix often felt as though they were walking on eggshells around him, which was… a little scary, sometimes. But that wasn’t Beau’s fault. Felix was the one who’d tried to eat him, after all. “Like I said, I’m not even sure Beau is aware. He only hung out for a little while, then he got upset with me and went elsewhere.” More guilt crawled up their throat, and they tried to ignore it. “Anita figured it out pretty quick. It really only took a few minutes for things to click. I’m not sure about Ariadne yet. The day she got cursed was only the second time we’d ever met.” Which they did feel badly about. Ariadne seemed nice. Nice people shouldn’t get cursed by strangers.

They watched Teagan’s eyes widen as she seemed to realize she might have messed up her rhythm. It was hard not to laugh, and Felix only managed to suppress the giggle for a moment or two before it bubbled up and escaped from between his lips. “That was a good save,” he offered with a grin. “For a second, I thought you were going to cave.” After all, Teagan wasn’t tied to the rhymes the same way Felix was. She could stop any time she wanted. But… it felt kind of nice, knowing she wouldn’t. Maybe friendship was having someone who was willing to step into something ridiculous with you, even when it wasn’t required of them. “Oh, definitely, yes, please! I’d really love some of that cheese.” Except… “I do have a thing with dairy. But, hey, I don’t mind it, even if things get hairy!” 

—

“Damn, I suppose that’s a relief for them, even if it cost me a few jokes, and one or two would likely be a gem!” Teagan sipped from her glass and smiled with every gulp. She couldn’t believe that her friend had gotten themself into such a strange position, but it likely couldn’t be helped. Most of the time, no one knew what lay behind any door in a town like theirs, and Felix was lucky that the curse wasn’t deadly or fatal. 

They were lucky in that way, and Teagan was happy it was only that. Considering the struggles Felix dealt with day to day, they deserved something a little more lighthearted and fun. The smile on their face was deserved, and the laughter she heard beckoned her own despite the way she saw a twinge of something flashing across Felix’s features. Knowing their heart, Teagan could only guess it was guilt or something in that vein. She sighed quietly to herself and scooped up a few items onto a plate before handing it to Felix, offering a kind smile as she did. 

By the time they had it in their hands, the balam had saved their own mood and kept the atmosphere light. Who was Teagan to question and prod when it was obvious they just wanted to have some fun? Besides, they seemed to fall back into that positivity of theirs genuinely, and Teagan couldn’t help but laugh along with her friend. With a few scritches to Alffi’s head, she wiggled back into her seat and finished her glass. “‘Course I wasn’t gonny cave! You’re my friend, so I’m going to, as they say, ride the wave!”

“I think if we all had to rhyme in texts too, it would get a little unbearable. Everyone would start avoiding talking to us at all, it’d be terrible!” It had come as a relief, really, even if Thea had seemed a little disappointed about it when they’d spoken to her online. Of everyone, Thea seemed to be enjoying the curse the most. For her sake, Felix actually felt a little guilty looking for a way to break it.

But at the same time, they knew it wasn’t feasible long term. It was harmless enough around friends, but in the Grit Pit, things could get… dicey. If they said something that rhymed with promise or thank you, they might be compelled to end their next sentence in a way that could land them in any multitude of new binds. Thea faced the same danger, given her proximity to the Pit. It was better for all of them, Felix thought, that the curse end soon. But that didn’t mean they couldn’t enjoy it while it lasted, did it?

Plopping the cheese into their mouth, Felix silently apologized to their digestive tract for the inevitable consequences the snack would see them facing later. It was worth it, anyway. Teagan always had the best cheese. “You’re a really good friend,” they said softly, bumping their shoulder against hers fondly. “I should have known you’d never bend. I’m lucky to have you on my side. No one could find a better person to be around no matter how hard they tried.” 

—

Had the wine not been in her system while she was surely too emotional as a person, Teagan might’ve been able to keep the tears from building in the corners of her eyes. She sniffled and chuckled, putting her glass aside to free up a hand to ruffle Felix’s hair. “Not sure if that’s true. If I were to say that about myself, my whole body would feel like poo.” Because fae couldn’t lie without consequence, and with Teagan’s record for self-loathing, it felt wrong to agree with her friend. 

She could name countless others that she felt were better suited to be around Felix in their time of need, but she bit her tongue, ignoring the acrid taste in her throat. “But I won’t argue anyhow. We’re having fun, and I think there’s a movie in order now.” Teagan bumped Felix’s shoulder back and retrieved the tv remote, sighing gratefully that her friend’s heart offered her enough grace to see the person she was beneath the blood she was covered in. “I love you, dearie. What do you think, though?  Want to watch something cheery?

“It’s true to me,” Felix told her gently, offering a small smile. “I know it’s harder for you to see. But with me, you’ve always been so kind. That kind of thing can be really, really hard to find. It’s not something I’ve dealt with a lot. But with you, I know it’s something I’ve always got.” They could probably communicate just how much she meant to them a little easier if they didn’t have to rhyme, but… it was kind of fun to make it a crude kind of poetry, anyway. They weren’t exactly Frost or Dickenson, but maybe Teagan would enjoy it all the same.

They grinned when she agreed not to argue, and it felt like a victory even if they weren’t entirely sure it was supposed to. The idea of a movie was a fun one — rhyming commentary would probably make it all the better — so they nodded. “That sounds like a really great plan,” they chirped, leaning into her as she bumped their shoulders together. “I can’t think of anything better than.” Maybe there was another word they wanted to say there, but the curse cut them off at the rhyme and maybe that was okay, anyway. It got the point across, at least. “I love you, too. Let’s watch something good for you to review. We can get you a Letterboxd account! I’d love to line up a whole list of movies for you to recount.” They grinned, settling into the couch. This, they thought, was far from a bad way to spend an afternoon, curse or no curse.

[lunar-years]

everyone has different interpretations of scenes, but for real that scene with jamie and roy was just plain sexist. roy seriously said "i don't know if we're getting back together because she's a woman and you never know". like what the absolute fuck was that line? they showed up to her house condescending, completely unapologetic about their behaviour, and treated her like a trophy prize. she deserved to beat them up. jamie and roy have always been troubled characters, but they were never (not even in season one) sexist assholes. the show went out of its way multiple times to establish that even when they made mistakes it was due to personal insecurity and not misogyny.

and whenever it was something misogynistic, it was heavily criticised as such, which, in this episode, it was not. a lot of people did seriously not catch the blatant sexism of it at all and went "that's how these men act" (again, what the fuck?). jamie spent season three being respectful of roy and keeley's breakup and not making a move on her, out of consideration of roy's feelings. roy, who knows how abusive jamie's father is, probably better than any other male character on the show, physically assaulted him. despite the fact that throughout the season roy has been approaching jamie with affection, realizing that's what he needs to feel secure (complete disrespect to 2x08 too, one of the best episodes of the series). and while we're on the topic of violence, roy and jamie were never this violent with each other, even when they hated each other's guts. jamie, who gave keeley a truly heartfelt apology about the leaked video, making a point to not victim-blame or engage in literally ANY other sexist behaviour, just brings it up to upset roy in a dick-measuring contest. and one episode ago, one fucking episode ago, they were all getting along, keeley and roy were obviously trying to get back together, and jamie wasn't one bit bothered by it. they were holding hands on his bed and he saw them and smiled! regardless of whether you think the roykeeley arc was rushed (i do), jamie might have been heartbroken or sad, but he wasn't, not once, established as jealous of them. and this entire season was devoted to roy and jamie becoming friends by slowly growing comfortable around each other and actually trusting each other. every single one of those things was thrown into the trash. and yeah, sure, progress isn't linear and perfection isn't possible for people, but that WAS NOT regression. roy and jamie were never sexist dicks. those were two completely different characters.

ALSO, this scene normalizes the idea that it's perfectly forgivable to revert back to sexism whenever emotionally distressed, even if you are generally not like that in your life. it's not. in reality, you're either sexist or you're not, and doing this in one scenario will absolutely mean that you will be sexist in different scenarios too. nobody in real life will be sexist in some areas of their life and feminist in others. implying that this isn't the case shows a very poor understanding of feminist theory and ted lasso has more or less done a good job at not being sexist. i feel like this really excuses unacceptable behaviour that the show itself tells us, with rupert particularly, has very real consequences that perpetuate violence against women. to me, the light-hearted resolution of that whole scene was terrible and poorly written at best. people in the writers' room typed that scene, read through it, and did not find it weird at all. though it's not the first time in the third season, see: forgiving jamie's dad and far-right bigots (???).

and lastly, when people were asking for a love triangle resolution, they meant something fitting for the year of our lord 2023. healthy communication and conversations, mutual respect and love between the charactets, maybe even polyamory (3x11 had a great ot3 set up, too). nobody meant we wanted something from the fucking 1950s. literally the only worse way this could have played out would have been if keeley ended up with the one that caused the other more damage. legit disgraceful ending for roy and jamie as characters, and for the show as well. considering everything it has stood for so far.

(i'm sorry if this reads like i'm calling people out, i'm not, really, i'm just very mad. and also really sad, because i did not go into the ted lasso finale expecting unaddressed sexism. like that was Really Very Bad. for this show especially).

woahhh there's a lot going on here, anon. For anyone wondering, I'm assuming this is a response to this post of mine. While I don't mind discussion or being called out... this does feel like something that could've very well been your own post or an open response to mine instead of an anon note. Because if you've read my meta, you'll probably already know I'm not going to agree with you on this.

Just gonna drop a few short thoughts because I don't have energy to write a think piece when my broader thoughts are already contained in my original post:

I'm not sure where you think I was trying to excuse their words or pretending they weren't being sexist or like they weren't treating Keeley as a weapon in their own games or a prize to be won. I think there's a difference between excusing someone's actions versus trying to understand where they were coming from for the characters and where they are at now.

"while we're on the topic of violence, roy and jamie were never this violent with each other, even when they hated each other's guts" Roy & Jamie were literally beating each other up in the locker room and brawling right out there on the pitch in season 1, anon.

"Keeley and Roy were obviously trying to get back together, and Jamie wasn't one bit bothered by it." this is just not true. Roy was trying to get back together with Keeley. Keeley wasn't shown to be reciprocal (beyond sleeping with him, which is a repeated pattern of behavior for her on the show, and something she in fact did with Jamie in season one), and Roy misinterprets it, as Jamie misinterpreted it. In fact, I'd argue Roy deciding it was a good idea to try and make him and Keeley happen right there in Jamie's bedroom with Jamie crying to his mum one room over, shows he wasn't thinking about Jamie, not when it comes to Keeley. Roy wants what Roy wants and he assumed he was going to get it. And Jamie went through a whole journey of expressions when he opened that bedroom door, so I don't think it's fair to say he "wasn't one bit bothered." I think we've established at this point Roy and Jamie both love Keeley and have always been weird and jealous about it with the other.

"this scene normalizes the idea that it's perfectly forgivable to revert back to sexism whenever emotionally distressed" this scene didn't normalize anything, because the show immediately acknowledged that Jamie and Roy were both in the wrong and had Keeley rightfully kick them to the curb for it. The narrative was not that this is okay or acceptable behavior. I definitely didn't see the scene as light-hearted

"nobody in real life will be sexist in some areas of their life and feminist in others." i am a woman who considers herself very much a feminist. That doesn't mean I've never had moments of internalized misogyny or made harmful comments that buy into a patriarchal narrative, despite myself. Well-intentioned people make mistakes. We are all works in prog-mess trying to get through life as the best people we can be. Jamie and Roy, in my opinion, are fictional iterations of the same principle. I don't think this comes even close to destroying their entire characters in the way you are implying.

All the best x

[thelunarfairy]

Omg I love your analysis they're THE BEST thing to read in freetime- like- they give such an insight to the story, it's always interesting!

Also can I just talk about Nene?!?! SHES SO COOL WJSJSJ ESPECIALLY IN THE RECENT CHAPTERS-

I've never been the type to hate characters or people unnecessarily. If I do dislike them, there's some reason or its just their vibe or attitude. The thing is I've never faced that with Nene. She has that childish type of personality with a sense of maturity we can say? Idk how to explain that- but she's so imaginative, and it makes me so sad how boys shoot her down because of her legs- SHES LEGIT SO PRETTY WHY- I also read that Nene analysis of yours as to why she's still being dreamy about boys when she was kissed by Hanako. Always makes me sad- MY GIRL DESERVES THE BEST-

The best thing about Nene is that she's determined and brave. Once she sets her mind on doing something, she actually manages to do it. Take that one panel for example with Nene and tsukasa, where she's getting chased by him and she swiftly ducks while that one thing hits him in the face. I always thought that was such a cool move. And I'm always so proud of seeing her go through character development. Who would believe that the Nene in the first chapter and the Nene in the recent chapters are the same- it's not even the personality change, it's the maturity level. I'm always screaming things like "SHES SO COOL SHES SUCH A GIRLBOSS" because she's IS one.

Man I'm one of hell of a Nene supporter, she's a bit naive but she's still mature enough. Makes me feel like we don't have the exact idea of what she feels most of the times. My girl has suffered in her own way.

I also really wanna know about her background! I'm pretty sure we haven't talked much about her parents right? I would love to see them sometime in the chapters since we already got mother reveal of kou, hanako and Mitsuba.

Awww thank you for your kindness ♡

I love it when you all say you like the posts hahaha because I love making them :3

How excited are you to talk about Nene! I liked it!

Hahaha I'm not the type to hate characters either, I like to appreciate every detail of their personality, even if they are terrible. Don't get me wrong, but I like to see whether a character is well constructed or not, regardless of whether he is a villain or a "hero", I will speak in these words so as not to prolong it.

Personally, I always thought that Yashiro was very wronged. I've seen many people saying that they don't feel affection for her because of the way she treats Hanako, in short, because she doesn't reciprocate Hanako's feelings in the same way or because she still feels attracted to other boys.

What happens is that Hanako has become the public's favorite, Nene is left out next to him, people will always care about him first. Damn, Nene was kissed by Tsukasa without her consent! Who did people focus on first?

Hanako, the poor boy crying inconsolably because his little brother kissed and kidnapped the girl he likes, but what about Yashiro? She was the one who was forcibly kissed, she was the one who was kidnapped. Baby Nene clearly shows how unhappy she is but no one seems to care!

"Look Yashiro is so annoying as a baby, Tsukasa is putting up with so much!"

But how did they want her to react???? She was kissed by force, she was kidnapped, she was forced to "play" with Tsukasa with the threat that he would rip off her arm (we don't know if he meant it literally because Tsukasa is Tsukasa, right) she had a part of her life stolen and is still being forced to remove the yorishiros even though she knows that if she does so she will die.

And people still expect her to react well to this? Can you understand how wronged Yashiro is? I really like the characters but I like to be fair to everyone, EVERYONE.

Yashiro has a very strong comedic side, so many bad things that happen to her end up going that way, people find it funny or think she is doing something wrong and everything bad that happens to her is because she deserves it. This is complicated, because it shows how people are failing to understand how she is developing in the story.

I'm glad you brought up Yashiro, because you were literally the first person who asked about her without having anything to do with Hanako. She is one of the protagonists and almost no one sees the potential she has. Yashiro has all these qualities you mentioned.

Yashiro is brave and protective, how many times have you seen her protecting Hanako?

She is selfless and Hanako knows that, he hid that he was going to sacrifice Aoi because he knew she would be against it, she went there not only to find Hanako, but also so that her best friend would stay alive. Yashiro took the blame in Hanako's place, since this was all his idea.

As well-intentioned as he was with Nene, it wasn't the right way. And since Hanako was unable to fulfill Nene's wish of prolonging her own life, she gives herself up for good, even though she doesn't really want to die. This arc in number 6 shows how selfless Yashiro is, she didn't have a grudge against Aoi when she threw her into that pit, she didn't tell Hanako that Sumire was a yorishiro because she knew he was going to tell her to remove it, she asked Hanako letting Sumire leave the village with them so she could have a new life, she refused until the end to remove Sumire's seal, do I need to list more than that?

Sumire herself says that Yashiro is too good to be able to remove the seal. Sakura had to show her what happened because Nene didn't remove the seal and Nene deeply regretted it because she didn't know it would end like this.

But people are worried because Yashiro thinks other boys are cute….

The girl went to a ghost as a last solution to find a handsome boyfriend to PROVE to the other guys who rejected her that she is also attractive. Her self-esteem is low, there is always someone making fun of her legs that she suffers so much and is insecure about, she is not envious of Aoi, even though her best friend is so beautiful and almost all the guys are interested in her.

Just put yourself in her shoes, can you imagine having to go and beg a supernatural person to have a boyfriend? She's always trying to learn things that boys like just so they'll look at her. Yashiro has his own problems, his own complexes and pains. I think it's sad that people haven't realized this.

She's developing, she's in love for the first time in her life, and her first love is a ghost boy who won't be able to offer her what a human can. But she insisted, didn't she? She is learning that looks are not everything, that there are many boys out there who think she is beautiful but she doesn't care because she wants to prove to people that even though she has those legs, she is still attractive, the way she finds to do that is thus.

Of course Yashiro has her bad sides, and that's a good thing. What kind of character would she be if she were perfect? The important thing is not for the character to be good all the time, but rather to make a lot of mistakes and learn from those mistakes. This is how a well-constructed character works. I see her development, she said she wouldn't get involved with someone who wasn't her type, but look who she's in love with. And now she takes over. You understand?

We see Yashiro's weaknesses all the time, and we're seeing her develop too. I think the main problem for people not to notice this is precisely the "comic" factor, you see, when they talk about Hanako's past, we have that air of seriousness, of sadness, that heavy air.

When it comes to talking about how Yashiro feels about boys, self-esteem, her legs, or how she feels about having to change to attract boys or something like that, it always has that "comical" air.

Look, she hates being called radish legs, let's call her that, it's funny. Have you ever imagined if people spent the whole time making jokes about the characteristic that you are most insecure about yourself?

It's funny when it's with others? But imagine if they made fun of Hanako or judged him all the time for killing his brother?

It wouldn't be nice, would it?

People get angry because Yashiro says Hanako isn't her type or when she comically refuses his advances, and they still get angry because poor Hanako can't be rejected by her.

Did you see the difference?

Hanako can make fun of Yashiro, call her a radish, everyone laughs, but Nene can't refuse Hanako's flirtations, because she doesn't deserve the love he offers her. Hahaha it's really funny when you clearly see who people's favorite is. That's because I didn't even mention him wanting to imprison her in a false world, or sacrifice her best friend… It doesn't matter, they will always find justifications for Hanako's actions.

Look, I love Hanako a lot, but we have to face the reality of the facts, imagine this in the real world. The boy you like wants to kill your best friend to save you. Do you understand how dangerous this is? People forget that Hanako is a dangerously charismatic boy, his attitudes send off a very high red alert, what he does is not justifiable, as he himself says! He knows this, the public has to understand it too!

Hanako has good intentions, he wants to save the girl he loves, but he goes about it the wrong way!!!

Saving someone's life by killing another???? Is this right?

But, to be completely fair, what bothers me most about Yashiro is that she still remains "friends" with Teru. It doesn't make sense after everything that has happened in these recent events. At this point I hope she wakes up and stops letting him hang around, and of course, stops flirting with him too, although Yashiro does this to make Hanako jealous, did you notice that? I hope so haha

Anyway, I thought the answer would be shorter hahaha but I was really excited to finally have a question about Yashiro! \O/

Yes! I'm curious to know about her family, she is a Kannagi and has unique powers, she can remove seals and purify. It means we'll learn more about her past in the future! I agree with you, I also really like Yashiro, one of the female characters that I find most fun.

I hope people give her more chances. She is a good girl who has her flaws but also her own qualities, like anyone else in the world hahah

I hope you liked it! Thanks for the ask! ♡

[prosperdemeter2]

Teaser Tuesday - collision

“Ow!” Eddie grunted, jerking his chin out of the cradle of Buck’s hand.

He couldn’t help but flush at the look he got in response. Buck sighed, dropped the alcohol swab on the table next to the first aid kit open on the counter in the bathroom sink, and pressed a piece of sterile cotton to the wound over Eddie’s eyebrow. “Sorry.” He said about as half heartedly as he would do when bandaging a patient that had gotten hurt doing something even mildly idiotic. Buck was sorry, to a point - Eddie wasn’t under any illusion that Buck wanted to cause him any sort of pain - but Eddie had… done something more than mildly idiotic.

Honestly, he was lucky that Chris had been sleeping when Eddie had come home because he didn’t exactly know how he was going to explain the bruises to him when he saw them. “Shit,” Eddie mumbled and resisted the urge to press his fingers to the sluggishly bleeding wound himself. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have moved.”

Buck hummed, pressing against it ever so gently with the gauze. “It’s an automatic reaction.” He pulled the fabric back, frowned at the cut and then pressed it again.

He had been surprisingly… quiet about the entire thing.

Maybe not so surprisingly, though. Eddie knew Buck well enough to know that he was terrible at confronting people when he hadn’t been sitting up waiting for them to come home from what was supposed to be a friendly sparring session at the gym after an eight hour shift. Lena had done an okay job of patching him up herself, her laughter infectious and the lethargy to Eddie’s limbs weighing him down in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time. You did good, Lena had said with a laugh. If you ever want to blow off some steam again… just let me know.

Only the peaceful lethargy hadn’t lasted even his entire drive home. His body had begun to ache, the crude bandaid Lena had laid over the cut above his eyebrow had bled through, and Eddie had a bruise, right in the middle of his ribcage that he knew was going to look terrible in the morning.

The gauze left his brow, a thin, butterfly bandage taking its place and a throbbing starting to set into the area around it. Really, it looked worse than it actually was. Eddie had known that Lena’s spinning right elbow would catch him off guard and the guy that taught it to her had proven that it would. It had clipped him before he could block it, but wounds like that had a habit of looking worse than they actually were.

Buck tapped his elbow. “Up.”

Eddie grumbled. “It’s fine.”

“Eddie,” Buck cautioned. Eddie hadn’t heard him use that tone quite so seriously before. He swallowed and straightened his fingers on the curve of his knees. “Do you need help?” Buck asked after a moment of Eddie simply staring at the floor in front of the sink with an ever deepening frown.

“No.” The thing about fighting, Eddie remembered as he stood, was that it felt good for all of a moment. And then the adrenaline disappeared and, yes, the anger was gone but in its place was a shallow empty pit that only held misery and everything else that he used the anger to hide. He stood up with a sniff and Buck, even if he was cautiously frustrated with him, offered him assistance regardless of whether he needed it or not. He trailed his hand over Eddie’s elbow and around to his back, fingers pressing lightly until they landed on his side and Eddie couldn’t hold back the pained scrunch of his face.

Buck’s silence as he lifted up his shirt to get a better look at the bruise was… unnerving. “You should see the other guy.” Eddie joked in an effort to lighten the mood.

It didn’t really work. “Why?” Buck asked in a deliberately light tone. “Did they get shitty first aid too?”

Eddie snorted, took the fabric of his shirt from Buck’s hands and held it up for him. “Nothing’s broken.” He assured as best as he could.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Buck rolled his eyes. “Are you an x-ray machine?”

“No,” Eddie wanted him to look at him, though, not just at his injuries. Buck did this thing when he was upset and trying not to make it obvious, where he would steadfastly ignore making any sort of eye contact. He did it when he was uncomfortable, too, but Eddie knew the way he frowned to know which of the two he was dealing with. Buck was upset, he didn’t like that he was upset and he didn’t know how to deal with his upset without potentially making everything worse. And so he was hyperfocusing on the one thing he could do, and that was patch up Eddie’s wounds with a practiced precision to remind him, and anyone else, just how Buck had broken several records at the Academy both times he took the test. “And Bosko didn’t do that bad of a job.”

Buck’s hand stopped, for a moment, before he shook his head and went back to the task at hand. Eddie knew what he was doing - pressing his fingers to see if anything felt out of place, checking to see just how bad the bruise was. It hadn’t fully developed, and it would look worse as the day went on, but Eddie knew how broken ribs felt and the ache in his body wasn’t telling him anything was more than injured on the surface. “You knew she was there.” Eddie reminded him, kept up this one sided argument like it was going to change anything.

Really, he’d rather if Buck just argued with him about it. “Isn’t sparring supposed to be in a controlled environment with protective gear in place?”