#like consider this a conversation rather than a debate

[linkspooky]

To add to my previous post, I think a lot of the current debates raging in the My Hero Academia fandom on whether My Hero Academia has failed because at the end of the story there probably won’t be major changes to the society it takes place in are kind of silly. You see to remove any political message MHA is trying to send out of the equation. I think the big problem with MHA  is much simpler than anyone wants to admit. 

The biggest problem is that... it’s boring. 

It’s boring the same way Marvel Movies are boring. It’s swapped out what are potentially interesting and layered hero characters, for what are essentially characters with costumes and superhero powers and not much else going on for them. Enji and Hawks are the only heroes that have character flaws, and they are largely stagnant characters, Aizawa is introduced to us as a ruthless pragmatist and trickster mentor and he’s now just a generic “I love all my kids” mentor and the only thing he really has done in a hundred chapters is use his power. I don’t think this is a controversial opinion either, a lot of people didn’t like the deku alone arc, a lot of people think the current war arc is less satisfying to read than the previous one and it’s not well paced and it drags. 

You could say the kid heroes are interesting characters with potential for growth, but have you noticed the kid heroes have been consistently sidelined for the adult heroes who are shallower, just because they have stronger more flashy powers. Heck, Enji gets more screentime in the Todoroki family arc than Shoto does and Shoto is supposed to be a main character. I think the hero kids just not getting plot importance they used to get and being sidelined because they’re not as powerful as the adults is not even an MHA exclusive problem, it’s the reason I don’t like the Young Justie Cartoon, it’s a pretty common flaw in adolescent superhero stories. Because why focus on the kids when the adults get all the cool fights against the bigger bads? 

I think the reason people sympathize with the villains so much is not because they find them to have better politics, that’s probably a ex-posto facto applied reasoning (though I think that’s part of it). (Also if people are invested in the story in MHA because of the political issues it expressed, and they are disappointed because we’re not focusing on that, that’s a valid response too because Horikoshi is the one who set these ideas up as themes and then failed t follow through). (Or even if someone wants to critcize the way Hori dragged race as a metaphor into the story, they’re free to be displeased with how HOri handled it but also can still be invested in the story as a whole.) I don’t think the villains are sympathetic because they’re societal reformers, I think they’re just interesting because they have severe personality flaws and character arcs. Enji is the same character from the pro-hero work onward, the exact same character, he even does the exact same action his only true action to atone is to just defeat a big bad in AFO the same way he roasted the Noumu alive. You can’t say Shigaraki is the same character he was at the beginning of his arc, nor Himiko Toga, nor Dabi, nor Spinner, not even Twice and he has a tragic arc. Negative character development is still development, a stagnant character is dull a dynamic character is interesting. Maybe everyone is excited that Toga, and Dabi are at extreme low points in their character arcs, because it’s a change, and it’s compelling to see the extreme emotions they represent. Like, there’s so much discourse today on whether or not the League of Villains is a healthy friend group for one another, and like they’re not, they’re codependent and heavily flawed but that’s what makes them interesting dude. 

Compare that to Class 1-A which is a much bigger group of kids where they are all unconditionally supportive of each other, and a healthy influence on one another, and because there’s very little conflict in that group bond there’s also little development. The only reason Class 1-A is in fact something people are emotoinally invested in is because of the conflict they had earlier in their arcs, Bakugo and Deku is a long running conflict based on an unhealthy friendship and fixation they have on one another, it takes a long time for Bakugo and Todoroki to interact regularly as friends, Deku had to literally beat up Todoroki to get him to accept help or even admit he needed it, Iida would have straight up killed a man without Todoroki and Deku’s interference, and even early on Uraraka felt inferior and more selfish to her friends, and Iida also drew a line that Deku shouldn’t expect unconditional support and teamwork from Iida during the tournament  because they are compettitors competing for number one. 

Conflict creates depth which creates audience engagement. 

The Teen Titans are my favorite superhero team ever, and they are a heavily dysfunctional found family. In fact Cyborg even jokes at one point that their life is a soap opera. They are constantly breaking up and getting back together, and sometimes the group’s decision to collectively either neglect or enable someone has a bad influence on their personality (the second return of trigon arc comes about because no one was paying attention to Raven, heck, Raven is kidnapped by a cult and just left there for months because Donna was a poor leader). These character conflicts are also what makes them interesting as a group dynamic, I don’t think you should break the group apart because they’re not healthy, because there’s a better story to be told in them working through their dysfunction into a healthier group bond. 

I’ve said this a thousand times but I don’t think the hero kids are bad characters, I don’t even dislike them, I want to see more of them. Literally all I talk about on this blog are the villains, but the only fanfic about MHA I’ve ever written and managed to finish, is about Bakugo, Todoroki, Momo and Uraraka and in particular the great potential I see in those characters to be interesting, 

You could write a story where society does not change as a whole, but still circumstances get better for people because the kids are deciding to help people and be kind. Bleach is all about the fact you can’t really change the whole world or save everyone. Ichigo is just trying to protect his hometown and it’s my favorite shonen manga. I also think those stories matter just as much as like revolutionary fiction, because oftentimes people can’t change the world as an individual, and yet the action of helping people still matters, and I think also for a lot of normal people they tend to be paralyzed into not taking any action to help people at all because they believe that it won’t make a difference in the grand scheme of things. 

At the most basic level we haven’t even gotten that yet. We used to have it! I really liked the Overhaul arc, and that entire arc isn’t about societal reform, it was about several people striving to save a young girl because heroes are supposed to save people. We are thoroughly in shonen battle manga punch em ups and fisticuffs. And as a shonen battle manga it’s not even that interesting because the fights suck, they’re not well choreographed, we don’t know what’s happening most of the time, they’re incredibly crowded, there’s no tension because the heroes despite supposedly being outnumbered way outpower the bad guys. We are given the promise that might happen in the future, there is set up for the fact that these kids are going to as their final act in the story save the villains and sympathize them but all we’ve gotten between then and now is a whole bunch of fighting. And once again it doesn’t come from a hatred of the kids but a genuine desire to see more of them, I want to see Shoto’s thoughts and feelings about his brother, I want to see Uraraka try to be a rescue hero and grapple with the fact villains are suffering, I want to see Deku think about what saving Shigaraki actually means. What I don’t want to see is new super powers, kids trying out their super moves, or kids helping the adults in fight. 

And once again this isn’t to criticize people who enjoy MHA or are still emotoinally invested in it. Like I’m sure I’m going to get replies to this post “Why are you even reading MHA if you’re bored by it?” 

Like... because you can engage critically with something even if you’re not entertained by it? There’s more purpose to literature and media then just whether or not ti’s personally enjoyable? I think there’s still a fascinating conversation to be had, in what works in MHA, and what does not work. I like superhero comics, and MHA is a shonen mangaka’s commentary on how they perceive western comics to be. 

But yeah, I think the biggest most fundamental failing of MHA right now is that it’s a real snooze fest. As a comic book story, it doesn’t work because the heroes aren’t fun, it doesn’t seem to have much to say about the heroes besides very generic statements of heroes good. Heroes help people. Deku good. Deku saves. Deku punches. Deku wins. 

So like can everyone collectively agree to just stop yelling at people who are emotionally invested in the villains, or even want to see them win? And like I think people should be allowed to post salt on their own blogs privately or even try to like comment on why they think certain fandom opinions are wrong, but gosh some of these posts guys they’re just like acting like a vast majority of readers are stupid. PEOPLE AREN”T STUPID! In fact I think most people are actually really good at interpreting stories because we are exposed to stories from a young age, and we think and feel in narrative, it’s just a lot of people don’t have the tools to either analyze stories or express what they find engaging. In fact if you think someone is wrong, or even think they have a vastly different take then you’re own, I think you should ask them why they think that way if you’re really interested in a conversation with them. Heck Thy and I usually agree about a lot of things, but sometimes I’ll make a pretty extreme statement, and they go “Oh, I don’t think that, or that’s wrong.” And then I just walk it back and try to explain my reasoning and then even if they’re not convinced to agree with me we just both move on. 

People root for the villains because they’re underdogs. They’re sympathetic and flawed. They are also not stagnant as characters and we spend more time in their head. People aren’t stupid for being emotionally invested in them or reading the story wrong necessarily, so much as MHA has kind of failed to properly establish stakes and tension and make things difficult for the heroes like it should be, that’s just how engagement in a story works. There’s a reason that everyone hates the Yankees, but Cubs fans can stay fans for like a hundred years without a world series victory. I’m not even trying to directly insult anyone, or say that My Hero Academia is bad fiction, or not worth reading, I just wish people would chill a little bit and stop jumping on villain stans for liking the unhealthier or darker aspects of the characters. 

Everyone’s like “I love my murderous meow meows covered in blood” and then you actually say the reason you like Shigaraki is because he’s heavily flawed, and at times a vengeful, hateful little shit and suddenly it’s a problem. Spinner’s a codependent enabler, yeah it’s called having a personality with flaws. He wouldn’t even have a character arc if he wasn’t those things, he’d just be a lizard. The thing that is deliberately written by a flaw, called out in the plot, and he gets punished for. God has punished him for his sins. Right now he’s just lying on the floor nearly brain dead. Also sometimes characters don’t have like, big, operatic flaws. Like as murderous and nasty as Dabi is there’s like a catharsis and power in the way he calls out his abusers. Sometimes people are annoying and needy. I feel like more ficitonal characters should be annoying and needy! Sometimes the most interesting characters, are characters you like would hate to be friends with in real life because they’d just be too high maintennance and put-upon. 

I mean on top of that there are also stories where characters get worse, and only experience negative character development, and there are people who become engaged in those stories because of the dark turns it takes. 

You could say that the fandom downplays the darker aspects of these characters, but like that’s what every fandom does. Heck, don’t Bakugo and Deku have an extremely unhealthy friendship for a long time, that fandom likes to downplay because they want to see them in a much healthier version of their relationship? 

It’s also pretty much harmless. Beyond being frustrated with seeing an out of character version of a character being popularized, it doesn’t really harm people in any way that matters, you don’t have to yell at people for being wrong or even go out of your way to correct them. In fact, I think people having extremely different takes from the story that you do should be celebrated more. Isn’t it interesting two people can read the exact same events and interpret them in wildly different ways? Isn’t it weird, that we all have this collective agreed upon version of like “in character” and “Out of character” and yet people tend to either deviate or stay inside that framework. People also, tend to enjoy different aspects of the story. I don’t think the heroes are interesting at all, but if someone is a diehard hero stan and they like the heroes I’m glad they are having a fun time. 

Fandom is supposed to be a conversation, and like, you shouldn’t go out of your way to correct the people you’re talking with, because it’s a much more fun conversation to ask why people think the way they do and try to understand that then to just tell them they’re wrong and end the conversation there. The reason I have this blog is not because I think I’m right and other people are wrong, I just like to talk to people about my thoughts on the comic books I’m reading, and then other people ask me why I think the things I do and I try to explain it. 

Oh and by the way I’m not talking about people who disagree with me specifically. Like, Class1akids wrote a response to one of my posts. I think they have every right to disagree with me and they were pretty professional about the way they expressed their opinion, I follow them and like their takes because they’re good at stating the reasons behind what they think. I just didn’t interact with it because I was feeling lazy that day and didn’t want to type up a big response. I’m just in general asking people to chill and be nice and have fun. 

[3rdgymbros]

━ 𝐑𝐮𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐇𝐚𝐬 𝐈𝐭 (𝟐) !

— pairing; vil schoenheit x ramshackle! reader

— summary; vil's dad thinks you're dating, and comes down to meet you

— notes; here is part 2, part 1 is here. please donate to my kofi or consider commissioning me if you like my work bc im broke and need cash. and know that i am mentally smooching everyone who reblogs my stuff.

❋ It’s a bright afternoon at Night Raven College when Eric Venue arrives at Night Raven College unannounced, causing a minor frenzy among students and staff alike. They’re starstruck; after all, seeing a famous actor on campus is a rarity, and Eric is surrounded by a crowd of adoring fans as he makes his way to Pomefiore.

❋ Vil, however, is not thrilled to see him. His father’s obviously come here to snoop, and Eric’s wide grin tells Vil there’s no escaping him today.

❋ Ever the professional actor, Eric insists he’s just here for a little visit. “Can’t a father see his son and stroll around the college campus for a while?”

❋ Vil reluctantly obliges, but he’s wary. Every time they pass a group of students (many of them gawking and staring and pointing), Eric gives each and every one of them a careful once-over, as if expecting you to magically appear. Vil notices and gives his father a dirty look, but Eric just shrugs, the very picture of innocence.

❋ Despite Vil’s attempts to keep his father far far away from you, your paths do eventually cross. You run into both father and son as you’re heading down to the cafeteria for lunch, and Eric’s eyes immediately light up with recognition. He strides over before Vil can stop him, extending a hand with a charming smile. “Ah, you must be the famous Ramshackle student! I’m Eric Venue, Vil’s father. I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”

❋ You’ve seen exactly zero of his movies. Thanks to Ace and Deuce giving you the lowdown, all you know about this guy is that he’s some big star — Leonardo DiCaprio level, maybe? Not that anyone here would know who he is . . .

❋ Realising that Eric’s waiting for a reply, you quickly recover, shaking his hand with a slightly awkward but friendly smile. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Venue.”

❋ Eric immediately wastes no time in drawing you into a conversation, asking you about your interests, your studies, and — much to Vil’s chagrin — what you think of his son. He’s so friendly and warm, it’s almost like talking to an old friend, rather than a famous celebrity.

❋ (The shy tinge to your smile, and the way your voice softens when you talk about Vil doesn’t go unnoticed by Eric, and only serves to confirm his suspicions.)  

❋ Vil is unnaturally tense through it all, a bow string about to snap. It’s almost as though he’s debating grabbing his father and making a break for it, public image be dammed. But instead, Vil settles for hovering beside you both, looking mortified and slightly flustered when his father asks you something just a little too personal.

❋ Finally, Vil manages to pull his father aside, insisting that they should let you get to lunch (Vil makes eyes at you and you take the hint, dutifully acting as though you’re absolutely starving).

❋ Eric sees right through your little act, but lets you leave with a wave and a laugh, expressing his desire to see you again. Afterwards, Eric turns to Vil with a knowing smile, quietly whispering, “I like them,” like it’s the final stamp of approval for the relationship Vil absolutely refuses to admit he’s in.

[steddiealltheway]

Thinking about Steve who has not a single idea about how social media works, but he downloads a few things like Instagram and Twitter only to check in on the kids. Other than that, he has zero knowledge of pop culture and kind of lives in that blissful bubble. Every once in a while, the kids will get a bit exasperated with him, but he enjoys listening to them explain things - and he knows they secretly love being able to rehash all the gossip.

And honestly, being out of the loop has it’s perks. Especially when he’s on a plane to Los Angeles, California to visit the Byers while they’re there for a concert and to do some sightseeing in the meantime. He’s sat next to someone who sits by the window seat but wears a baseball cap and sunglasses, curly hair tied back in a ponytail. He seems strangely on edge - maybe suffering from a hangover or scared of flying.

Steve can’t help but tap him on the arm. When the stranger turns, he has his mouth in a flat line looking strangely done with the conversation before it’s even begun. “Sorry, I was just going to ask if you’re okay,” Steve says.

The man frowns and tilts his head. He hesitates to reply, “Yes, I’m just… a bit on edge.”

“Tell me about it. This is my first time on a plane.”

The stranger’s mouth twitches. “Is it really?”

“Yeah. What about you?” Steve asks.

“I’ve been on hundreds of planes - would rather be on the road though,” the stranger says reaching up to grab at the end of his ponytail and twirl it around his finger.

Steve smiles and replies, “I get that. I’m Steve by the way.” He holds his hand out to the stranger who eyes it wearily.

“Eddie,” he replies quietly and shakes his hand.

Steve gets distracted by the rings on his hands and finds himself asking about them. The stranger looks at him for a moment, and, even with the sunglasses on, Steve can tell Eddie is strangely taken aback. Steve is about to take it back and apologize for… mentioning the rings? But Eddie points to the first one and explains.

The rest of the plane ride goes well, amazingly well even. Steve finds himself chatting away with Eddie and throughly enjoying his company - especially when he holds his hand while the plane takes off. He especially enjoys the moment when Eddie briefly takes his sunglasses out to look at the clouds, and Steve gets to see his beautiful brown eyes.

A range of emotions pass through those eyes before Eddie puts the sunglasses back on. Steve almost asks him to keep them off - entranced by the way they express everything he’s thinking. But that can be a dangerous thing, so he doesn’t press him about it.

When the captain announces that they’re about to land, Steve is truly upset to think about not getting the chance to see Eddie again. Maybe it’s the fact that Steve has taken a risk and finally left Indiana for once or maybe Eddie’s just one of the first people he’s hit it off with in a long time, but Steve asks, “Do you want to get coffee? After we land.”

Eddie’s tongue rests on his top lip, tracing it back and forth as he considers it. He finally responds, “I would love to, but I have an appointment as soon as we land.”

Steve lets the disappointment settle in him but tries his best not to let it show. “It’s alright.”

But Eddie fidgets with his rings, tongue still resting on his top lip as he debates something. “Do you have an Instagram?” He asks.

Steve laughs bashfully. “I do, but I never use it. Well, I do sometimes just to keep track of some kids I used to babysit honestly, like Dustin who I told you about.”

Eddie’s smile turns into a full blown grin. “Of course. Well, do you mind if I get your Instagram so I can message you with when I’m free? I would give you my number but… I’m afraid of it getting out. Not that you would do that but… people listening and whatnot…” Eddie spins his rings so anxiously fast that it makes Steve nearly laugh.

“Yes, I hope I remember it correctly because I didn’t come up with it,” Steve confesses. Eddie passes him his phone with the notes app open. He types in steve.the.hair.harrington and hands the phone back.

Eddie takes it back and laughs as he reads it. “It’s fitting,” he explains and reaches out to mess with a few strands.

“I try my best,” Steve replies with a shrug, wondering how he can get Eddie to touch his hair again.

“My hair stylist would love you,” Eddie says then freezes.

Steve smiles. “You have a hair stylist?”

Eddie struggles to respond but is given an out as the plane finally lands. He’s immediately reaching out to grab Steve’s hand, and he forgets all about the question.

Eddie doesn’t let go until people start making their way off the plane, using his hand to tilt his baseball cap a little lower and tuck in on himself. It’s as if he’s trying to avoid having someone see him, but Steve doesn’t want to pry so he doesn’t ask.

Eddie follows Steve off the plane and glances around once they get to the terminal. Then, he quickly pulls him into a hug and whispers, “Thank you for a normal flight.”

Steve has no idea what he means by that, but he just squeezes him back tighter. Eddie pulls away and lingers in his arms. Steve wants more than anything to take off his sunglasses and look into his eyes again.

There’s a sound of a camera going off that has Eddie jumping away and putting his hands in his pockets. “Think we’re near someone famous?” Steve jokes.

“Oh, I know we are,” Eddie says with a small smile that makes it seem like he knows something that Steve doesn’t. Before he can ask, Eddie is saying, “I hope I’ll see you again. Goodbye, Steve.” And with that he’s rushing off, pulling his baseball cap a little lower and directing his gaze towards the ground.

He’s strange, but Steve likes him.

The rest of his day, he has a spring in his step. And by the time he gets to his hotel, he collapses on his bed with a sigh of relief. He pulls out his phone and checks for any notifications before he realizes his phone has been on airplane mode. He turns it off and waits for a message from Robin or Dustin to appear on his screen.

Instead, he’s bombarded with notification after notification - including 27 missed calls from Dustin. He calls him immediately.

The phone rings for not even a second before Dustin is answering with a scream of, “Steve Harrington, why have you not answered your phone?!”

“I’ve been sightseeing. Is everything okay?”

“Check the photos I sent you!”

Steve rushes to his messages, finding them filled with people he hasn’t heard from in years. He ignores that and goes to his pinned messages with Dustin. He clicks on the first picture he sees.

It’s a poor quality photo of him and Eddie hugging in the terminal. He swipes to find a photo of him and Eddie holding hands on the plane. Then another one of him lingering in Eddie’s arm looking… very smitten. “Dustin where did you get these?” Steve asks swiping and even coming across a video of them talking on the plane, with Steve laughing as Eddie dramatically tells some sort of tale.

“Better question, how did this even happen Steve? Why didn’t you tell me?!”

Steve is thoroughly confused. “Dustin, I just met Eddie today. But seriously, how did you get these?”

There’s a pause on the other line and a breathed out, “Oh my god.” He can hear Dustin take a deep breath before he asks, “Steve, please tell me that you know who Eddie Munson is.”

“His last name is Munson?”

There’s a muffled scream on the other line before Dustin is launching into a speech about how Eddie is one of the most famous up and coming artists right now. And yeah Corroded Coffins does sound familiar, but it doesn’t click until Dustin explains that’s who Steve and the Byers are going to see in concert.

Oh.

Steve thinks back and everything clicks - especially the number of people who were staring at him and trying to sneak photos while he was out. He scrolls to a screenshot of a Twitter post with the caption, “did anyone else know that eddie munson has a boyfriend???”

Steve’s eyes widen. “Dustin, how many people think we’re dating?”

“The entire internet so basically the whole world,” Dustin says, and Steve doesn’t have time to even process that statement before Dustin is yelling, “Oh my god!”

“What?”

“Eddie Munson just liked a photo I was tagged in! Holy shit, he’s seen my face!”

“Yeah, dude, I told him all about you on the plane,” Steve says. And boy, that probably will not help with the kid’s ego.

Steve opens his Instagram, ignoring Dustin’s little screams on the other line, and takes in the sheer number of notifications. He quickly goes to his requests in his messages and finds one from therealeddiemunson. “Hey, Dustin, what does a blue checkmark mean?”

Dustin groans on the other line asking why it was Steve who got to meet him before finally explaining it. Steve accepts the request and stares at the message hey, you still on for that coffee?

Steve clicks on Eddie’s profile and his heart thuds. He’s pretty sure people aren’t supposed to have a “K” in their follower count. He looks at the recent photos and feels himself turn a bit red. He almost has no clue how the Eddie he met on the plane and Eddie Munson are the same guy.

“Dustin, if I turned down Eddie Munson for coffee would you ever be able to forgive me?”

“Don’t you fucking dare, or I swear to god I will never let my mom bake anything for you again.”

Steve laughs and with that he goes back to the messages and sends Absolutely :)

[eldritch-nightmare]

Can you make a scenario about how the pastas would react after an argument? Like, if the reader left to get some fresh air? (I crave angst)

-💫Anon

a/n: indeed i can my friend here's a healthy amount of (very mild) angst just for you. i'm so totally gonna use this idea in a future chapter for the silly lil scenarios book as well because uh angst. maybe the prompt got away from me just a little bit i won't lie.

how do they react after an argument?

includes: jeff the killer, laughing jack, slenderman, nina the killer, eyeless jack, jane the killer, candy pop, clockwork, ticci toby, nurse ann, x virus, kagekao, jason the toymaker, the puppeteer, homicidal liu, sully, the bloody painter, the doll maker, zalgo, and hobo heart.

warnings: the aftermath of an argument, relationship disputes, some of these are healthy and some of these are not, inconsistent length.

JEFF THE KILLER would honestly be more upset if you walked out after an argument. he's already upset enough as it is, so you turning your back to him and storming out just makes his blood boil. he won't follow after you, but he'll definitely disappear for the next few days. he really isn't the best at resolving arguments, no matter how small they are. and unless he really fucks up, then he isn't going to apologize even if he is in the wrong. he's jeff the fucking killer, what the hell does he have to feel sorry about? you should consider yourself lucky that he didn't gut you for pissing him off.

if you want to have any form of resolve to this argument, you'll have to force the conversation because he will actively try to shut you down. he can't. he literally can't. resolution is not something he is good at, and unless you're the one to apologize, even if you aren't the one who is at fault, he's just not going to let any of this resolve. does that make him an asshole? yeah, it does. does he feel guilty? just a little. does that change anything? no, not really.

LAUGHING JACK, similar to jeff, would feel more upset over you walking away from the fight rather than the fight itself. he can come off as pretty scary during an argument, especially if it's one where he feels like he's in the right. he gets frustrated easily, and he's just overall a very expressive person, so. and he can get pretty fucking mean if he wants to, so yeah honestly you needing to walk away makes complete and total sense and he knows that it makes sense but that doesn't make him any less upset.

he'll just blame it on his abandonment issues or something because seeing you leave just to go and calm down should not have hurt as much as it did. and he debates going after you but he ultimately decides it would be best if he didn't. he wants to resolve this though, and he'll try but it'll be painfully awkward because, i mean, yeah.

SLENDERMAN is, by default, a pretty scary being the begin with so i imagine an argument with it would be pretty unnerving. it isn't used to people arguing with it, that's for sure. i think it would be more amused than upset, seeing such a small being stare up at it as if trying to intimidate it... it's a cute sight to see, that's for sure. it'll keep that thought to itself, of course. it imagines that saying such a thing out loud may only make things worse.

slender won't be upset when you walk away. it understands that you're just going to cool off. it'll take this time to clear its own thoughts until the two of you are ready to talk again and clear up the tension.

NINA THE KILLER would be immensely frustrated seeing you walk away. she'll probably let out a groan and tell you to come back, but she won't follow after you. she understands that if the two of you kept arguing any longer, things would only get worse. she knows that, so she'll use this as a chance to calm down herself. nina gets over things easier than you would think, and if this argument wasn't over anything major then the next time you see her, she'll most likely be back to her usual self.

she'll probably be the first to apologize as well, even if she feels as if she's not the one at fault. she can't stand when you're upset at her, so just accept her apology so the two of you can move on, yeah?

EYELESS JACK is always viewed as mature and in control of his emotions. and he is. a little too in control if we're being honest here. for most arguments you guys may have, he'll keep his cool and will try to understand your point of view and where you're coming from. there are times, however, when the control he has over his emotions slips, and you get reminded that oh. your boyfriend is a cannibalistic demon that can literally kill you in the blink of an eye. he really doesn't mean to scare you, but it's definitely a good thing you choose that moment to walk away to cool off because he has to physically force himself to not go after you.

and once he calms down, he will apologize. it's a genuine apology, one written all over his face. he never wants to or means to invalidate you and your emotions, and he never wants to make you scared of him.

JANE THE KILLER would probably be the first to walk away from an argument, if we're being fairly honest. if this is richardson we're talking about, then she's definitely more mature about it and politely suggests that you both take fifteen minutes to cool off before continuing the conversation. she does it because it's one, a healthy thing to do for your relationship, and two, while she is heavily in control of her emotions, the liquid hate running through her veins enhances her anger and it would be really bad if she genuinely got angry.

if this is arkensaw, i think she'll be a little less mature than she would like. she portrays herself as someone in control of her emotions, but her emotions and her hatred are what drive her. she does her best to her burning-hot anger in check but if you two have an argument, then it's fairly difficult. if you walk away first, then it'll only serve to upset her more, but she won't go after you. honestly, she'll probably even avoid you in the coming days because her anger lingers. it always lingers.

CANDY POP thinks it's cute that this little argument of yours got you so worked up that you had to walk away from him. honestly hell yeah if i were you i'd walk away from him as well because there is simply no winning with this guy. worst man you could ever argue with, to be honest.

but as we all know, his mood can change in an instant with no warning so. one moment, he thinks you walking away from him is cute and adorable. the next, he's getting frustrated and following after you because you don't get to walk away from him, silly. haven't you realized that he owns you?

CLOCKWORK, while she has her own anger issues and tends to get easily frustrated by the smallest of things, does try her best to keep her emotions in check if you two ever have an argument. it's not easy, and there have been times when she's snapped at you, but she always apologizes immediately after.

you walking away would make sense. she understands, she knows that you both need to take time to calm down before things get too heated. she gets it. but depending on what you two are arguing about, doing so could only serve to make her more angry. it's... frustrating, really. she won't follow after you though, because she knows it's what is best.

TOBY would want you to walk away. he needs it, to be honest. he tries to avoid getting into arguments with you for various different reasons. arguing with you stresses him out more than he would like it to, and it reminds him of the hold you have on him. you walking away from the argument would give him time to clear his head and cool off.

once you've both calmed down, he'll probably be the first to approach you because he cannot stand the awkward tension that always lingers after arguments with people. he wants to clear the air so this can all just be water under the bridge. it'll be a painfully awkward conversation though. he's not good at... resolving arguments. never had a positive example, to be honest.

NURSE ANN struggles to speak, so i think she would try to avoid getting into an argument because she feels as if she won't be able to properly get her point across. but arguments are bound to happen sooner or later, even in the healthiest relationships. and ann, to put it simply, is a very angry person. she keeps that anger in check when you're around, but it's literally impossible to not slip up a few times.

since ann rarely ever vocally speaks, her anger is typically conveyed in her stares and her jerky gestures as she signs. you walking away is the smartest thing you could do in that moment, leaving her alone to stew in her always-burning anger that she'll choose to take out on any nearby destructible objects or some sad poor soul that just so happens to trespass at her hospital in the coming hours.

X-VIRUS seems like the type of guy who has never really been in any arguments, to be honest. maybe when he was at the orphanage he got into a few petty arguments between the other kids, but nothing that would warrant needing to walk away, y'know? and i definitely don't think he'd treat the argument seriously, brushing off your words and whatnot.

he only realizes that you were genuinely angry with him when you walked away. it's definitely like... a slap in the face that oh. i'm a fucking asshole. he's not really sure what to do in this moment, and he waits until you come back on your own to try and apologize. but he's not the best at apologies.

KAGEKAO wouldn't treat the argument seriously at all. at least, not at first. honestly, he'd probably purposefully get you even more upset just to get a reaction out of you. does that make him an asshole? oh, most certainly. he just likes seeing you feel anything towards him, even if it's anger. he likes getting a reaction out of you because it's him you're reacting to. and it's entertaining as well, though you don't need to know that.

when you walk away, he'll feel a little frustrated at not being able to see you but he won't follow after you. he knows when to stop his antics. shocking, i know. and, if you're lucky, he may even hold you in his arms once you calm down. it's his way of an apology, i suppose.

JASON THE TOYMAKER fucking hates arguing with you. you're his other half, so arguing with you makes him feel sick to his stomach because what if... what if you aren't the one? he likes you too much to lose you, so you have to be the one. he definitely seems like he'd try to keep the argument short, and he'll be relieved when you walk away to cool off.

you don't try to leave him afterward, even if he was at fault for whatever you two may have been bickering over. that's good, really. that means you want to stay with him, even if you two have arguments like this. that's... that's so good.

THE PUPPETEER can't stand when anyone argues with him, so yeah, any argument you may have with him will be horrible and tense and it will not be pretty. he has to be the one to get the final word. he has to be the one in the right, even if he isn't. you must be aware of this, right? i mean, you're (hopefully, i assume) willingly sticking around this guy, right? so you should know that there's no winning with him.

and you walking away is simply not something he'll take kindly to. it's something that'll more than likely get a how dare you reaction out of him. you're a fool if you think he's just going to let you walk away. no, he'll either follow after you, or he'll pull you back with his strings. the conversation isn't over until he says that it's over.

HOMICIDAL LIU definitely does try to avoid any potential arguments with you. to be honest, most of your arguments with him will more than likely stem from his almost blatant disregard for his health and safety when he's injured as well as his almost suffocating habit of needing to protect you and keep you safe. it's inevitable, even if it's something he tries so desperately to avoid. that desperation is what tends to lead to arguments as well, if we're being honest.

he's not upset when you walk away. honestly, he's glad that you do. he always feels pretty damn awful whenever you two fight, and he patiently waits until you're ready to pick things back up so you two can resolve things and move on.

SULLY listens to everything you say with rapt attention. the only thing that matters to him at that moment is whatever you two are arguing about. hell, he doesn't give a shit about the argument itself rather than what you say, the expressions you make, and your tone of voice. every little gesture or movement you make catches his attention. honestly, if you asked him what you two were arguing about, he'd just look at you with a slightly confused expression because he's already forgotten.

and when you walk away to cool off and get some air, he has to restrain himself from following after you. he forces himself to sit down and he bites his fist as his mind hyper-focuses on every word you said and the way you looked at him and just... yeah, he's already moved on from the argument he just wants to see your face and hear your voice again.

THE BLOODY PAINTER is definitely not someone you want to have an argument with, honestly. not because he's an angry person or scary to get into an argument with or anything like that, no. he's just... very apathetic. it'll feel like you're arguing with a brick wall rather than a person, and you'll maybe even feel as if he doesn't care about you or your feelings. he just stares at you, blank-faced and monotoned.

once you realize that this argument is going literally nowhere, you leave to calm yourself down and he stays behind. it's not that he doesn't care about you and your feelings, he does, truly, he just... well... i could go into heavy heavy detail about his apathy when it comes to arguments but to spare you the length of that, just know that he does care, he's just absolutely horrific at showing it. once you come back, he will apologize for not better expressing himself and for unintentionally invalidating you and your feelings. he'll be better, though it will take time for him to become expressive.

THE DOLL MAKER seems like the type of person who wouldn't handle arguments well, i think. he's a fairly closed-off person and has some trouble conveying his thoughts and feelings sometimes, so i think it would stress him out a bunch if he got into a fight with you. depending on how bad the argument is, he'll either try to diffuse the situation or he may get angry and make things worse.

the moment you walk off, vine will be throwing himself into work to both calm himself down and distract himself from any potentially needless thoughts. he'll certainly try his best to resolve the conflict with you once you've both taken time to calm down but it'll definitely be stiff.

ZALGO would be very amused if you try arguing with him over something. you, a silly little mortal that somehow managed to catch his interest, are trying to argue with him, an eldritch horror beyond human comprehension that literally creates chaos for shits and giggles? how adorable. he's not going to take you seriously at all, i hope you know that.

and even if you walk away, you won't exactly be alone. zalgo is always there with you, even if not physically. a part of him is stuck with you, so he's always able to watch you, to talk to you. he thinks you're being dramatic for getting upset over something that he deems to be so utterly insignificant. there won't be any form of conflict resolution with him, so don't expect any form of apology or empathy or anything of that sort.

HOBO HEART you gotta be careful with, i think. the last time he felt as if he'd been wronged by the person he loved, he tore her heart out. not to say he'd tear your heart out over a minor argument or anything like that, no, that would be pretty petty and... he doesn't really think he's a terrible enough person to do that. maybe. depending on how serious the argument is.

he'll be a little disheartened when you walk away because he would rather clear up the air and tension immediately rather than wait but he understood, somewhat, that it'd be better if you both took time to cool off before either of you tried to resolve the conflict hanging in the air.

[mae-gi-writes]

let it be me | kuroo tetsurou (3)

In which you, as a new divorcée, can't help but crush on your 4-year-old's new PE Coach.

genre: singleparent!reader x coach! Kuroo, fluff, acquaintances-to-lovers

taglist: @patpatspatz @matchagirliris @multi-fandom-fanfic @alittlebirdahgaselx @kuroos--little--kitten @menacejelly12 @aeshiue @dreamlessnight @altheades @loonalockley @not-your-average-fangirl @bertqut1 @sunlixfl-blog @nabboo007

a/n: enjoy! <3 thanks for all the love given to the first part of this story! here's the second part. Third part is coming soon ~

---- previous | part three | next part >>>

"Seems like the night out helped then?"

Osamu can't hide his grin from the way you're flushing a deep red. It's so cute and adorable to see you this way, after months and months of just having the corpse of your soul wander around his coffee bar like you didn't know where else to go.

Now it seems, is a completely different story. You're glowing.

"How do you know that?" you almost splutter out your coffee as you gawk at your cousin from the other end of the bar.

Osamu proceeds to wipe down the counter. It's a Monday afternoon and it seems that the activity has slowed down somewhat, giving him a chance to catch up with you. He tries to stop the smile from spreading across his face as he answers, "how do you think I know?"

"Your brother can't keep his mouth shut now, can he?" you mutter into your coffee with a scowl.

Osamu laughs, "can you blame him? This is probably the first time since your breakup that you've even considered the possibility of going out and meeting new people. Let alone go through with it. You should be thanking him--"

"He takes too much credit for my happiness. He doesn't need more stroking to his ego."

"Point taken," Osamu can't argue with that. His brother is somewhat of an egocentric bastard. One with a kind heart and a nice smile nevertheless. But still a bastard. Done with the cleaning, he walks over to you as he leans atop the kitchen counter, "so? How was it then?"

"Fine."

Osamu's brow raises, "give me a bit more than that, y/n. I'm not stupid."

You pause, "it was..." the words feel weird swimming along your tongue, "...fun."

"Right?" your cousin breaks into a grin, "and how's the little chica doin'?"

"The little chica is a little too obsessed with her PE teacher."

"At least she likes him."

You hum, "point taken."

Talking to Osamu is a lot easier than his twin counterpart, solely because he isn't as dramatic and is rather subtle, able to control his emotions better and easier to have a conversation with actual sense without going off the rails every five minutes. It was refreshing, despite the fact that you didn't spend as much time as the grey-haired young man due to clashing schedules.

"So...this Kuroo guy..."

A groan can't help but fall from your lips as your head hits the counter, "Osamu, I'm twenty-nine. I don't need any boy talk--"

"Oh yes you do honey," he sing-songs and leans even closer, grey eyes sparkling. It's in these moments that he resembles Atsumu so much you wish to whack him one, "just because your father ain't here doesn't mean you get to do whatever you wa--"

"Enough." your hand shoots out, slapping onto Osamu's mouth.

He pulls away with a cackle, wiping his hands along his apron, "I'm serious though. Kuroo's a good guy, but if he ever does anything out of line--"

"Yeah yeah I got it."

"--I'll kick his balls so hard--"

"Osamu!"

"Okay okay," he chuckles and holds out his hands in surrender, and you glower at him from your seat.

It's bad enough that Atsumu has constantly been wheedling some answers out of you. Adding Osamu to the mix is not something you want on your agenda. Ever since that night, you have been exchanging messages with the said PE Coach despite the growing anxiety about where this will all lead to. But in-between organizing events for your job, baking cakes and debating on whether to sign those darned papers, it's been a welcome distraction.

Okay, maybe more than a welcome distraction.

It's been...amazing.

Something to look forward to. Someone that seemed to understand you, your sense of humor, who doesn't judge and makes you smile no matter what mood you might be in. And somehow, it's hard for your heart to just close off when Kuroo is so insistent on making it melt into a puddle of goo.

Like that one time you were late to pick up Sakura from athletics practice for instance, having been taken up with a client on the other side of the city centre only to have rushed through traffic like a madwoman, arriving when the courtyard was practically empty. Panicked and more than a little worried about Sakura's whereabouts, you had found her at the entrance of the gymnasium, playing footsie with none other than Kuroo.

"Oh," Kuroo noticed you first, golden eyes lighting up just as your daughter's head turned towards the source of curiosity, "Mum!"

She'd dashed over and you'd cradled her in your arms, your heart finally able to resume its normal beating now that you knew she was safe and sound.

You'd looked up at Kuroo then, with his ball tucked under one arm as he casually strode over to you. The words felt pathetic and useless as they tumbled out of your mouth, "I'm --thank you, for staying with her."

"It's no problem," he stopped before you, a smile dancing across the curve of his lips, "it's a good excuse to see you, I suppose."

You blinked at him, "huh?"

And then the words hit you like a truck.

Your face colored so fast even Sakura took note, tilting her head up at you as her eyebrows furrowed in concern, "mum are you okay? You're all red--"

"Oh I'm fine, just--you know, the heat--" you were glad for that excuse. Your entire chest area felt on fire, "I--uhm--It's nice to see you too, I guess--Kuroo-sensei."

It was just impossible to miss the sparkle in Kuroo's eyes and you swore you could feel the warmth from him, like a cozy blanket on a cold night wrapping around you. That was before you'd quickly excused yourself and practically bolted.

Another time you'd been late in dropping Sakura off, having slept in and barely being able to shove a few bits of toast down your throat in hopes of beating the morning traffic. Kuroo, it seemed, had been assigned to morning duty that time, and as you'd rushed through the gates with Sakura in tow, you quickly bowed to him before ushering Sakura to her class.

"Go now," you pressed a quick kiss to your daugher's forehead, "I'll see you after school okay?"

"Yes mum," and Sakura had sauntered away as you watched, breathless and chest heaving, a piece of hair stuck to your lip.

"Everything okay, Kosuke-san?"

When you turned to see Kuroo, hands in the pockets of his basketball shorts and looking all too fine with his PE jersey draped over his broad shoulders like a runaway model, your eyes flitted away with embarrassment.

"Yeah," you nodded, "morning traffic is terrible."

"I bet," Kuroo's eyes flitted down and you followed, only to make a small sound of embarrassment as you spotted two different pairs of sneakers on your feet, "someone woke up late today."

You really want to hide. Maybe duck your head in a whole. Maybe ignore him—

But you can’t, and so you can just shuffle awkwardly like a penguin, “I—was trying out a new style.”

Lame. But what else could you say?

Kuroo’s laugh bought warmth to your cheeks and before you knew it, his fingers had come up to untangle the hair stuck to your face. He pushed it back behind your ear.

“Suits you,” his voice drops to a murmur.

Every single cell in your body had exploded and you’d quickly fumbled for an excuse before rushing into your car as far away as you possibly could.

You tried your best to push him to the back of your mind, for there were a million other things to take care of. Like the divorce papers for example, which had been glaring at you from your coffee table ever since the mailman had deposited it right outside your doorstep.

You were all for signing it, but every time you mustered up the courage to, Atsumu’s words rang like an echo inside your head:

Don’t do it unless you’re getting something out of it.

It keeps eating away at you, the mixture of guilt and remorse. Not to forget the fact that you’ve been adamantly staying away every time you see Aoi’s name flashing across your screen. That all comes to an end one Friday evening when he rolls up in his car to pick up Sakura for the weekend.

Your daughter, unaware of what’s going on, is quick to stick her face to the window, “papa!”

Her shriek makes you wince. Once, this name had made your heart warm.

Now, it just hurts.

“Hey,” Aoi lets himself in with practiced ease and you turn away to stuff the remaining items in Sakura’s bag, all so that you can avoid watching the scene because it hurts a little too much.

“Papa, I’ve been playing a loooot of volleyball recently!” Sakura’s jumping around like an excited pup, “—and I even scored a point once!”

“You?” You hear Aoi chuckle and zip up Sakura’s bag a bit too harshly, “you barely have the height to reach the net!”

“It’s not the actual net Papa!” Sakura scowls then, “it’s a children’s net! Papa, you really need to come pick me up more often. You’ll understand what it looks like then!”

“Yeah you’re right Kura, maybe I should.”

Ache and longing seep through your chest. You couldn’t help not listening in when they were right in front of you, but you did your best in blocking out your ex-husband’s voice as you wrap up the last of her belongings just as Sakura’s voice belts out in surprise:

“Kuroo-sensei?!”

Huh? Your head whips up so fast that you feel the ache of it at the back of your neck. Sakura meanwhile, jumps up and down in barely restrained excitement while pointing at the window, “mum! Mum did you see?! Kuroo-sensei is here!” She turns to look at you, “Why is he here mum?”

Sure enough, the said young man stands at the doorstep, hands in his pockets and leaning against the threshold in a manner that has your heart racing.

You scramble to your feet at the same time that Aoi straightens and swivels towards the door.

Surprise flits through Kuroo’s eyes, lasting a millisecond before he’s grinning and extending a friendly hand, “hey,” he directs it towards your ex-husband, “I’m Kuroo, Sakura’s PE coach.”

“Nice to meet you,” Aoi gives his hand a deft shake and you want nothing more than to disappear, “I’m Sakura’s father.”

“Yes, I see the ressemblance,” Kuroo smiles wanly just as the said child bounds straight into his arms, “Kuroo-sensei! What are you doing here?”

You ignore the way Aoi is drilling holes into your skull. Now is definitely not the time for explanations.

What kind of explanations do you owe him anyway? It's not like he's asked for your permission before he went and played love island with some kind of bimbo you barely knew existed.

“Hey munchkin!” Kuroo sweeps her up and she shrieks in delight before settling her back down, “I’m here for your mum today.”

He is? Your eyes widen, finding his own golden irises in a silent question that Kuroo only responds with a bashful grin.

“Really? Where are you taking mum? Can I come along?” Sakura, as clueless as ever, bounces up and down in delight.

You’re quick to intervene, “Sakura, you’re spending the weekend with Papa remember? He’s been waiting all week to spend some time with you.”

“Yeah, don’t you want some time alone with your dad, kiddo?” Aoi spreads his arms, “come on! Didn’t you want to go to the zoo?!”

Sakura gasps at that, her eyes going round, “we’re going to the zoo?!” She all but squeaks.

You can’t resist smiling at her reactions, leaning down towards her before tucking her hair behind her ear, “that’s what you wanted wasn’t it?”

But her chubby hand grabs onto yours, “are you coming?”

The words pierce you and you take a small inhale. Your eyes find Aoi’s from across the room and though you know it’s not his fault, you know this isn’t something he did just on a whim, your eyes say everything you cannot: you did this to us.

Instead, you’re forced to smile down at her, smoothing one hand over the back of her head, “it’s just going to be you and papa today alright Sakura? And then I’ll see you when you get back tomorrow.”

Her face falls and something twists in your gut, “okay,” her voice is small when she answers.

But you have no choice but to let her go, watching as her father grabbed onto her hand and walked out of the door. You can’t look at Kuroo’s face, knowing that there’s probably pity written all across his features. Definitely not something that you’d want if the situation were reversed.

You’re surprised he still hasn’t high-tailed it back to his car up until now. But maybe he’s just being polite.

“I’m sorry,” is the first thing that makes its way out of your mouth when you finally gather up the courage to face him.

Your eyes stay glued on a spot along his shirt, glad for his tall height as you continue muttering out, “it’s just a bad time, I didn’t know you were coming—“

“Actually I’m the one that should be sorry.”

Your eyes flit up to his, the gentleness in his voice throwing you off guard and what you find in those golden pupils make your heart flutter slightly.

Kuroo just gazes down at you with a small smile,looking a little sheepish, “I realize I just barged in when I wasn’t really welcome.”

“No—no, no! Not at all!” You lift your arms in a sign of surrender, “I’m curious though… why did you? Come, I mean. Is there—“ you hesitate slightly, “—is there something you need?”

“Well,” his smile blossomed into a grin. Pressing against the countertop, he leans forward towards you, “I wasn’t kidding when I said that I came by to see you.”

His words cause a blush to spread across your cheeks, “don’t—say things like that,” you stammer out, “people will misunderstand.”

“Misunderstand what exactly?”

“What we are, our relationship,” you let out a breath and shake your head, “anyway, it doesn’t matter. So? What’d you come here for?”

“Like I said,” his eyes are golden glimmers, sparkling with mischief, “I came to see you.”

“Surely it’s not just that,” you splutter.

“More specifically I came to hang out,” he continues, “I heard there’s this new italian place that just opened up a few streets down. Since you seem free, would you like to accompany me?”

“I—uhm—“ the request is so sporadic it sends your brain into a fuzzy cloud, thoughts scattering and making no sense as you try and piece together a reason as to why you cannot make it out.

Your subconscious is begging you to go, practically kneeling on both knees and jumping up and down in excitement. Your brain though, the logical part, is pulling her hair out at the atrocity of it all.

“Fine,” is what you blurt out. Before you even realize what you’ve said. But when Kuroo gives you that million-watt smile you think that maybe it’s all kind of worth it.

———

“No way, he wouldn’t do that—“

“Oh no, he did.” Kuroo snorts into his drink. Leaning back against the parisian chair in which he’s seated as he splays his legs out before him, you fold one leg over the over, all too aware of how physically close he is. If you moved your leg any further you’re certain to brush against his knee.

A delicious, yet terrifying thought.

Kuroo chatters on with the story about Atsumu being kicked out of the boy’s dorm, “when the manager finally found him, they made him do two-hundred pushups and thirty laps around the training grounds. Was a pretty worthy sight, if you ask me.”

“That sounds exactly like what Atsumu would do,” you can’t help but roll your eyes. Trust your cousin to go through all that incessant stuff just because he’d opened his big mouth.

“How come I’ve never seen you around before?” Kuroo leans back in his seat, golden eyes scanning your face as if trying to piece together his memories of whether he’d seen you or not, “you’re related to them. You should’ve popped up sometime in the picture.”

“I—“ a lump fills the back of your throat and you press your lips together, look away, “we weren't close as we were growing up. They were so--so overwhelming and I was a shy kid. Until Sakura came into the picture."

Kuroo's eyes are warm. Warmer as he keeps on gazing at you with a softness, with the kind of gentleness that makes your heart ache. He's not supposed to look at you like that. Most people will clear their throat at this point in the conversation, or turn their head away.

But he doesn't. He just keeps his eyes on you at all costs. Like you're the most important thing in this room.

You're not sure how to feel about that.

"But when they heard I was pregnant, Atsumu and Osamu were there practically every day," a small smile flickers across your face at the memories that resurface, "they took care of me a lot, especially since my parents were so angry."

You let out a small chuckle, but it's definitely far from funny. It sounds hollow even in the bustling restaurant.

Kuroo leans forward so that his arms rest atop the table, muscles bunching and tensing as he does so. Gorgeous, you think to yourself as he says, "you were alone during your pregnancy?"

"Not actually alone," the smile you show now his bitter, "I had Aoi. At the time he was a really good husband. We got married quickly, just civil, because our parents didn't approve of us keeping the baby. It was quite a shock for them. And I had my two cousins to help me out whenever Aoi wasn't there."

"That must've been hard."

"It wasn't that bad," you take a sip of your water, glad for the distraction.

Kuroo shifts, his knee brushing yours. The warmth sizzles up your leg and a knot forms in your chest. God, you really can't take this.

Almost out of impulse, you find yourself blurting out, "Kuroo-sensei, can I ask you something?"

He tilts his head to the side, a sign for you to go on.

"Why--" the words get clogged up in your throat, "why are you being nice to me?"

The last few words are said in a whisper, for fear of what he will say in return. You hide your hands in your lap to stop them from shaking, but it seems your leg takes on a life of its own as it starts jiggling up and down.

"Kosuke-san."

And that's when Kuroo's hand rests atop your knee. Barely there. Yet searing hot.

Your breath hitches.

You blink at him, heart racing.

He cracks a small, comforting smile. The kind of smile that is crooked at the corners and makes his eyes crinkle up, "you're not scared of me, are you?"

"No," you mumble out, "just scared of your answer."

You shouldn't be so comfortable with him touching you like that. It's gentle, barely there, feather light. It should be scandalous. You should be technically ripping his hand off because in any other normal setting this would count as perverse.

And yet.

Yet, his touch ignites heat that sears right through the material of your jeans. Your heart flutters at his touch and your leg freezes in mid-shake, unsure of whether to continue when his gaze makes you feel a multitude of things, things that you're not sure are good considering what happened in the past.

When Kuroo answers next, you almost swoon right out of your chair. His voice dips into a murmur, one so raw and throaty it turns your insides to mush:

"Because I think you deserve some kindness."

"So," your forehead creases as you attempt to decipher his words, "do you pity me, then?"

“No, well—maybe a little, at first,” he catches himself, cheeks suddenly blazing full pink under your gaze, “obviously, it’s hard not to sympathize when I see a single mother doing her best for her daughter.”

“Surely I’m not the only single mother in that entire school.”

“No, but you’re different,” Kuroo’s eyes fill with warmth, “and also, not all parents are as kind as you are."

"That's not really--"

“You’d be surprised,” Kuroo cuts you off with a raised brow, “don’t be so naive, Kosuke-san. People aren’t as nice as you might make them out to be,” his eyes lock on yours, “but you are.”

You look away and swallow thickly, “yeah— I suppose.”

His hand is still on your knee. One part of you wants to move away. The rational part screaming that this shouldn’t be appropriate at all. Yet another bigger part of you is squealing in delight in hopes that he never takes it off.

You don't know which part of your brain you wish to turn off and trample on until it's just an afterthought in your subconscious.

Thankfully, the waiter approaches and Kuroo's hand drops away from your skin. He insists on paying the bill despite your best efforts and even goes as far as to drive you back home in his beat-up truck.

"Thank you," you mumble as you spot your front door, void of any activity now that Sakura's at her father's. It's always like this; lonely nights, with thoughts of what-ifs trickling through the back of your brain like a never-ending stream of water that gets muddied the more time passes. You understand and are happy that she at least has a father who wants to be in her life. That's the least you could've asked for from your ex-- well, soon to be ex-husband once you sign that darned paper -- but it's the thought of the other woman that makes you sick in the stomach. Jealousy churns like an ache that spreads and knots and tightens. What if Sakura likes her stepmom better? What if the other woman gives her everything she wants, everything she needs without batting a single eyelid?

You're so caught up in your own head that you barely hear Kuroo's murmur, until he's calling out your name from the driver's seat.

You quickly spin your head towards his, a guilty smile curving across your lips, "sorry, I got lost in my head for a second," you chuckle in hopes that it will dissipate the sudden tension filling the vehicle, glancing out of your apartment complex and glad that, for once, there's a bit of light flickering in the corridors.

"Thanks for bringing me home," you tell him.

"Pleasure is all mine," Kuroo replies. His eyes are on you though, as if reading right through you.

So you quickly try to dispel his worry by saying, "I'm just going to go up and rest. It's been quite a day and--"

"Do you--" he hesitates, purses his lips in thought, "do you want me to hang out for a while? Until you're sleepy and kick me out."

You're not too certain what to do except gawk at him. Which he takes as a cue that you might've twisted his words in the wrong way. For he quickly adds in a scramble of words, "Not--Not like you're inviting me over or anything. Just--I mean, as a friend. I just--I could keep you company."

His words echo in the silence and something in your heart swells at the kind gesture. Kuroo says that you're kind, but he clearly doesn't see how much effort he does for you. And here he is, sitting there looking bashful and embarrassed about asking to keep you company. Your heart melts a little and you agree, showing him the way to the guest parking.

Just as a friend, you try to tell your heart, just as a friend. And nothing else.

-----

If someone had asked you, a few weeks ago, whether Kuroo was a fine catch. You'd probably answer yes and move on with your day.

But now, your life seems so entwined with his that you're not sure whether that's a good or a bad thing.

After your little outing a few weeks ago where he'd decided to keep you company in the dark hours until the very early morning, you'd seemed to have crossed a bridge that you cannot back-pedal no matter how hard you try. If you close your eyes, you can still imagine the vivid picture of the two of you; first at the kitchen table sharing a glass of wine as you kept babbling about random stories and tales from your childhood, before you'd finally landed on the couch playing a crazy game of Mario kart, courtesy of Aoi's mistake of having forgotten his Switch when he'd first decided to move out.

You'd never had so much fun in so long that you'd almost cried yourself to sleep that night, right after Kuroo had stumbled out of your flat. He'd blatantly refused your couch as guest room, saying that staying over would just be more of a hassle when he had early classes the next morning.

But that doesn't stop him from seeing you when he can. Nor you him. And it's become something of an addiction.

He drops by every week now whenever Sakura's gone to her father's place. These nights are spent playing scrabble, watching reruns of Harry Potter like the nerds you are, and holding conversations that run longer than you'd expect them to. It seems like routine for Kuroo to clock out around one in the morning and every time he does walk away and disappear down the corridor, something in your heart clenches at his absence.

The flat does feel a little too lonely once Kuroo's gone. But you'd never tell him that small fact.

Today he's come around a little earlier than usual, due to a special meeting between teachers and parents that the school had organised. He's busy playing house with Sakura while you're preparing the pizza base for your night in, something that you hadn't done since--well, ever since Aoi had moved out actually. But now, you're even humming to imaginary music and glancing at the living room couch where Kuroo is currently giving a full-on review about Sakura's imaginary cooking skills.

Your heart swells tenfold and you swear the sight makes you cry. It's what you crave for, it's what Aoi had done for you once, for your family. Before he'd decided that you weren't good enough and had moved on to someone else.

"--perfect combination of sweet and spicy. I think I'mma gives this Mac and cheese a perfect ten out of ten," Kuroo was saying just as the front door rang.

You went to open it, wiping your hands down the front of your jeans before unlocking the door.

The sight of Aoi always made your heart sink and your stomach churn.

But not today. Today, your heart barely acknowledges him and you think it's good progress. You even go as far as give him a smile, "hey Aoi."

"Hi Y/N," he keeps glancing behind your back and you're pretty certain why; it's the sight of Kuroo with his daughter, probably, that unnerves him.

Your suspicions are proved right when he mutters, "what's he doing here again?"

It's low, like a grumble, so that only you can hear it in this vicinity.

You straighten, "he's my friend. He's spending the evening with me today."

"Like he's been doing every week?"

"Yes," you raise a brow, prop a hand on your hip, "is that a problem?"

"I have one problem, yes," Aoi scowls back, "why is he spending time with our daughter like he deserves it?"

"Why is that a problem? Do you not let--what's her name again? Josie? Jodie? -- do you not let her play and spend time with Sakura?"

"It's Judy, and she's going to be my wife, Sakura's stepmother," Aoi hisses and you can't help but flinch, "don't you think you're just making it harder for Sakura? It's been bad enough with the divorce and everything--"

What? You chuckle and that ignites into a laugh so hollow and void of emotion that Aoi flinches, "excuse me?" the nerve of this man. Your voice hardens, "I'm the one making it harder for Sakura? Tell me Aoi, who's the one who left?"

"I left because I was unhappy--"

"So was I!" you suddenly spit out, anger rising through you. You don't care that Kuroo can hear you now. Well, you should care that Sakura's witnessing one of the many fights you will have with her father. But you can't take it. Not all this belittling.

Not when you're finally feeling something other than this overwhelming grief that plagues you and breaks you into tiny pieces every time you look at that fucking darned document.

Your knuckles shake so hard you have to tighten them into fists that you glue to your sides.

You continue, "I was unhappy and guess why? It was all because of you! Because you always had something--you barely spent time with us after Sakura was born and--and we barely talked! You didn't want to talk. Heck, you made sure to steer clear of me whenever we were in the same darned house," your voice rose with each sentence, the clench in your stomach finally unleashed after restraining it, holding it in for Sakura's sake.

"But I endured. I endured it, because we had a daughter. We had a child, and goddamn it I was responsible enough to think of her first, and not myself," you snarl, for once glad that Aoi seems at loss for words, almost panicked, "and--what? You're lecturing me about making it hard for her? About being selfish?" you snicker and spread your arms wide, "look around Aoi. You know who's responsible for this mess, and it's definitely not me."

The silence that follows your little monologue is so heavy and laden with emotion that nobody dares break it. Even Sakura has stopped talking, though you don't know what's happening behind your back, wanting to keep your eyes on that fucking bastard and end this, once and for all.

When Aoi does nothing to answer -- because what's he going to say when you're right?-- you swivel, go to retrieve the signed divorce papers atop your kitchen table you've been dutifully ignoring until now, and storm back to him.

"And here," you thrust the papers at him so suddenly he shrieks as he grapples with the folder, "you can take your damned divorce papers. I don't need them, and I don't need you."

And before Aoi can say anything else, you've slammed the door in his face.

Bang.

Silence.

You can hear a pin drop.

You're heaving, chest rattling with every breath, gaze fixated on the door.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

It's the relief that sweeps in first, through the cracks of anger that slowly melt away.

And then, realisation that nothing will ever be the same.

Then, grief.

It hits you like a truck.

Everything you've worked for. Everything you had lost.

You're not sure when your body decides to crumple to the ground, just that there are warm arms to catch you this time before a soft baritone echoes through the side of your head, through your chest and making you want to cry.

Kuroo is talking, and somewhere in-between the lines of numbness and pain you make sense that he wants to take Sakura out for a bit, just enough time for you to recollect your thoughts. You're so lost in your own thoughts that he has to repeat a question twice for you to snap to attention.

"Do you want me to stay? Or do you want me to go? Up to you, anything that makes you happy."

Kuroo is babbling, but the fact that he even asks you for what you want, for once, makes your chest ache with terrible sweetness. You don't deserve him in any shape or form.

You nod, and Kuroo takes it as a good sign, for he prompts, "what do you want me to do Y/N?"

As if on impulse, his hand pushes stray hairs away from your face. The action is gentle, kind. Almost loving.

Almost.

"Take her out," you manage to mumble, "please, Kuroo. I--I don't want her to see me like this."

"Got it." And Kuroo's off, scooping up Sakura with a playful tone, distracting her from the mess that you are huddled over in the corner of the living room as he shoves his shoes on and strides out of the flat so that all is left is you, the echo of silence that remains, and the feelings lying in the pit of your stomach.

-----

It's some time later that you hear the lock twisting in the door. You've managed to pull yourself together by then, finishing up the pizzas so that they're warm and fresh out of the oven. Sakura's footsteps echo against the wooden floor as she runs over to you.

"Mum!"

You force a smile. It comes a little easier when you see your daughter so excited, "hello, you," you coo. She slams her entire body right into your mid-section and your arm wraps around her, "how was the walk with Kuroo-sensei?"

"We saw ducks! And--And Kuroo-sensei let me play on the swings. He even pushed me so that I went up high!" Sakura's chubby finger pointed towards the ceiling to show just how high it was, and you chuckled before hugging her close. Feeling the warmth of her small body against yours is something you'll never really get over. It's like she fits and moulds right into the crevices of your broken parts to make them whole again.

Your eyes travel over to the said young man in question who's been responsible for so much of her happiness, and you soften, "thank you," you mouth to him over the kitchen counter.

He shakes his head and sends you a smile. It melts your insides, warming your tummy and instantly causing your cheeks to flush bright red.

You look away with a sharp swallow, "I've made something that looks like dinner," you propose tentatively, "if you'd like to stay."

You don't look at him as he strides over, big steps closing the gap between the front door and the dining table. He shrugs off his coat in the process, "I'm always in for food."

It would be stupid of you to think that such a normal dinner routine might make Kuroo forget all about what happened a little earlier. But it's the way his eyes search your face when he thinks you're not looking, the way the concern swims in his entire demeanour, like he's not sure whether he can completely relax yet.

Part of you is more than horrified by this turn of events. You don't want Sakura's sports coach thinking you're an unsuitable parent, nor do you want him to know about your personal matters considering he's a bit too close to home. It's embarrassing and humiliating and every time you meet his eyes by accident across the table you make sure to look away as quickly as you can.

The other, more selfish part of you, though, is suddenly relishing in the warmth that Kuroo's presence brings to the flat. And you can't help but crave for more, despite knowing this is not what's best for you and your little girl.

After all, even if Kuroo did think of you that way -- which he doesn't by the way -- he'd be tied down with a liability that's too hard to bear when it's not your own child.

Cleaning up after dinnertime in silence, Kuroo volunteers to take charge so that you can put Sakura to bed. You send him an apologetic smile, quickly going through the bedtime motions with your daughter before you can tuck her into bed.

"Mum," Sakura's voice is merely above a whisper as she cuddles into her blanket. The sight is so cute, it makes your heart swell and you resist the urge to coo, "Are you okay Mum?"

You pause, hiss in a breath.

What are you supposed to tell her?

What exactly are you supposed to say?

You manage to choke out a soft, "I'm alright."

"Is Papa okay?"

"Yes," your heart breaks a little more. You barely manage to murmur, "yes he's okay sweetie. Just--It's been a hard time."

"Why Mum?"

You don't know what to say, so you opt for pushing her hair away from her face, "well, sometimes adults face difficult decisions. And those decisions ...they hurt us. Sometimes."

"Did Papa hurt you today?"

Tears well at the corner of your eyes but you refuse to sniff, refuse to show her that you're as battered and beaten as what your heart says.

"No sweetie, he didn't--he would never hurt me, or you. Because he's your Papa and he--he loves you very much."

"Does he really?"

"Yes," you wrap your arms around her in a hug, hoping that this will dissipate all her queries, all her suspicions of her father, "yes he does. He really does love you. A lot."

From the depths of your arms, you hear your daughter's soft echo of, "okay."

It takes more than just a few minutes for Sakura to doze off. But you tuck her in gently when she does, rearranging the blankets around her frame before slowly backing out of the room. You find Kuroo still at the kitchen sink with your supposed apron around his waist, and the sight of him -- so domestic, like he's been living here all along -- makes you want to cry all over again.

"She's asleep?" Kuroo's voice causes your shoulders to jump. You nod and walk over to where he stands, taking note of the amount of dishes left.

"Thank you," you gesture towards the squeaky clean plates hanging off to dry, "it's all good now, I'll take over--"

Kuroo throws you a look and tuts, "sit down. I'm gonna make us some tea."

"But--"

"Kosuke-san," the dip between his brows deepen, "go sit down."

It's non-arguable and you let out a soft sigh of defeat as you pad over to the couch, grumbling something incoherent under your breath. Does he have to be so perfect at everything? It's almost like living in a fairytale dream.

Or is he just being nice because he wants something out of you?

A shudder suddenly makes its way up your spine and you shake your head, ridding yourself of all negative thoughts. No, he won't do that, your brain chides, he's not like that.

He's not like Aoi.

"Here."

You look up to find none other than the said man settling down beside you, nudging a cup of what seems to be hot water into your hands.

"Sorry," he mumbles, "I couldn't quite find your tea. Your place is a bit like a labyrinth."

"Yeah that's what happens when you have a toddler," you grimace, "but thank you. I do appreciate--" you hesitate, a small smile flickering across your lips, "hot water."

Kuroo chuckles, "right? It was made with love."

You sip on your hot water as a comfortable silence settles over you, with only the hum of the fridge and distant cars from afar filling the room. The weight of all your troubles are finally getting to you, making your body sluggish as it succumbs to the comforts of your pillows.

"Kuroo sensei," you bite down onto your lower lip, before your eyes flutter up to his face to find that he's already been looking at you, "I--"

"It's Kuroo," he interrupts, "we're friends, right?"

You try to bite back your smile, "yeah. I suppose," your head dips back down to your lap, "I just--I wanted to say thank you. For everything. But...especially for today."

"Kosuke-san, I think it's fair enough to say that you were having a hard time," Kuroo answered, "I just did what I thought was right. And--also, not to be that person, but he didn't have to do it in front of his daughter."

"Yeah you're right," you sigh, "well, that's Aoi for you. Selfish, self-centred, always wants what's best for himself."

There's a moment for the words to digest in the air. You sip on your hot drink, not wanting to meet Kuroo's eyes for fear of what you'll find there.

If you had any doubts about Kuroo questioning his interest for you, that had to be long gone by now. Nobody in the world wanted someone who already had baggage, and a physical baggage that would forever be a reminder of your past.

The truth hurts. It punches you straight in the gut.

You suck in a sharp breath, loathing yourself for even thinking about it. For even entertaining the idea.

But then, Kuroo asks you a question. One that instantly breaks down your walls no matter how much you fight it.

"Are you alright?"

You can't help it.

You break.

It's as if all tears once bottled up are suddenly let loose. Pressing your hands up to your face to muffle your cries, you feel Kuroo's arms wound around you again, pulling you insistently to his chest despite your best tries at resisting. But he's warm and for once in your life you don't feel like fighting, which is how you find yourself sobbing into his shirt, hands gripping it tight like he might disappear at any given moment.

All that time, Kuroo merely lets you cry, one hand smoothing over the back of your head while he presses his cheek against your temple.

"Shh," he keeps murmuring into the shell of your ear, "it's okay. It's going to be okay."

Some time later finds you in his arms, practically cuddled up to his chest and your cries reduced to mere sniffles. Kuroo has leaned back onto the couch so that you're resting against him, soft curves pressed to his firm ridges and hands absentmindedly running through your hair in a way that makes your eyes flutter with the heaviness of sleep.

It's comfortable. Too comfortable you might just fall asleep here.

Kuroo dares to peek at your face, noticing that you're staring off into space.

Your phone suddenly buzzes from your pocket, startling you out of whatever daydream you'd concocted. Quickly fishing it out of your pant pocket, you unlock the screen only to find Atsumu's message.

Atsumu: I suppose you're with Mr. Hotshot? Any chance of getting laid tonight? ;)

Your face colours right when you feel Kuroo's chest vibrate with a laugh.

You quickly whip the phone away from his view, "y--you're not supposed to read other people's texts!"

Your heart is practically cartwheeling at this point and you swear you feel sweat dot your hairline as Kuroo throws his head back with even more laughter.

You scowl at him, "what's so funny?!"

"Nothing, oh--god, nothing at all," he can't seem to control himself, shaking his head with a grin so wide it makes the sight adorable for some unknown godforsaken reason. He runs a hand over his face, trying and failing to calm down, "I just--oh man Atsumu. Do tell me more."

"Like I said, it's rude to read other people's texts," you snap.

"Oh I'm sorry, you opened it in front of my face though," Kuroo's grin is so wide that it frustrates you to no end. But before you can shove him away, his hold tightens as he pins you closer.

Your eyes widen, fluttering up to meet his golden brown pupils in surprise. He's warm, and firm, and just about as delicious as you had imagined. It makes your stomach knot, makes you slightly dizzy as you get a whiff of his deodorant--something musky, something that smells just like him.

When he speaks next, his voice has dropped two octaves.

"So how long were you going to keep it a secret from me?"

His murmur sends a chill up your spine. Your hands, not knowing what should be done with them, curl along his shirt.

Your eyes find a blank spot in the middle of his chest, "it's...not a secret. It's just a--a joke. Of some sort."

"A joke?" his smirk widens, "well share it with me too."

"It's none of your business."

"Pretty sure you made it my business by opening it in front of me."

Oh god. You can't even stop your heart from beating so loudly it's like a hummingbird. You're pretty certain Kuroo can hear it. "I--uhm--"

Your brain tries to scramble for words. But it's impossible. Not when he's so close. Definitely not when he's looking at you like that. With those eyes.

"Something tells me you've been holding out on me."

"Not at all."

You're still very adamant on averting your eyes. But his hand finds your chin, tilting it up until you have no choice but to look straight into those beautiful swirls of golden shimmering with amusement and what seems to be -- tenderness? Affection?

"Tell me," his murmur is raw, throaty. Like warm, melted chocolate.

You take a soft breath. Your chest constricts. It's impossible to breathe.

"Atsumu," you start in a shaky whisper, "he thinks--" you swallow, "he thinks that we might have... a--a thing."

"A thing?" his arm laced around your middle tightens slightly, "what makes him think we might have a thing?"

"Well I don't know, I--' god, is this supposed to be this hard? To admit that you have a small crush? You suck in air in-between your teeth as you bite the inside of your cheek, turn your head away, "I guess I talk a lot about you."

He hums in reply, "I like the sound of that."

And with another tug at your chin your eyes have no choice but to lock on his. There's a softness there in those beautiful pupils flecked with long, drawn out eyelashes.

""The sound of what?" you blink.

"Us having a thing," Kuroo's hand seems to find it fun to caress up and down your hipbone. His touch is searingly warm against your skin, "you talking about me, you blushing because of it."

"Well don't be so full of yourself," You huff out, "you're a good friend, and I'm grateful--"

"Y/N."

Woah.

You've never imagined the sound of your name falling from his lips. But here it is, laced with some kind of attentiveness, with some sort of affection that makes you weak at the knees and causes warmth to drip to your lower belly.

Your lips part. But you find you can't seem to formulate words. He continues, "I like you, not just as a friend. I think you're brave, incredibly kind, smart--"

"What are you doing?"

"Huh?" Kuroo frowns, "I--What does it look like I'm doing?"

"I don't know," you're starting to panic, pulling away slightly in the process, "that's what I'm asking you."

"Well I--" a small chuckle echoes past his lips, "I guess what I'm trying to do is ask you out."

"Oh." the words take a few seconds to register in your brain.

Oh.

"Oh." you repeat like an idiot. Oh shit.

He's actually serious.

Oh shit.

Oh fuck.

"Uhm--" your throat has suddenly gone so dry that nothing seems to come out of It no matter how hard you try.

Kuroo just lets out a small laugh before his hand goes up to push a few stray hairs out of your face, "cat got your tongue?"

"Kuroo-sens--I mean, Kuroo--" you try to stutter out through the butterflies rippling through your chest at his gentle action, "It's not that simple, I--I have a daughter. It's a responsibility. A liability. And I'm no casual dater, I'm more of a long-term relationship type of girl."

"And?"

"And there's absolutely no reason for you to like me other than as a friend, because I have baggage. I'm not a single woman, I'm on the brink of a divorce and I have a four--almost five year old -- always running around," you realise you're babbling but it's impossible not to, especially not with him looking at you like that, "trust me, that's probably the last thing you want--"

"When I say I like you," Kuroo murmurs, "I mean all of you. And that includes Sakura."

"You don't mean that, until you actually experience--"

"I do mean it."

You shake your head, "Kuroo I--"

"Can I just take you out?" There's a slight note of desperation in his tone. In a smooth motion, the hand twined around your waist slips up to your hand, thumb drawing soft circles over your wrists as his eyes pin you down with an intensity that makes you want to squirm, "just one date. That's all I ask."

Your immediate response is no. Because why would you? You're literally just getting out of a relationship. The last thing that you want is another of these holes that you'll take months to recover from. And what if Kuroo decides you're not what he wants after all? He's younger than you, dashingly handsome, and can get whoever he wants in this entire world.

So why you?

But as soon as you open your mouth to tell him no, your thoughts fly back to this afternoon; the way he'd cared for Sakura when you were having a mental breakdown, the way he'd cradled you in his arms like you were fragile porcelain, the way he hadn't hesitated the moment you'd asked for help.

Even back then, Aoi hadn't taken charge this way. Aoi hadn't even bothered. And so you'd gotten used to not asking. To do things all by yourself.

Looking back into those golden-hued eyes makes you hopeful. And that's the worst thing that can happen to you, hope. But still, it's impossible to say no when Kuroo's gazing down at you so fondly. Like you're the only thing holding his world together. like he'd do anything to be with you.

So you say yes.

[megwritesriddles]

Call Me (Anytime!) ༊*·˚

18+ MDNI !!!

Pairing: Mike Schmidt x Fem! Reader / You

Summary: Kinktober 2024 Day 17 - Sexting/Phone sex. Reader and Mike only ever text about work but they both want to change that. Once they do, things escalate very fast and Mike can only hope to keep his head.

Tags: Sexting, Phone sex, Masturbation (f and m), Dirty talk, Flirting, Coworkers, Friends to lovers, Developing relationship, Not canon complaint (no evil animatronics).

Word count: 2.6k

Read it on ao3! | Masterlist

Authors note: Your texts are purple, Mike's are blue!! Yes, I switched this around with my Spencer fic because I needed more time on it, sorry!! Hope you like it anyway mwah ( ◕◡◕)っ ♡

PART 2 HERE !!

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

You had his number purely for work reasons. To let each other know when you were running late or calling off sick. A mutual agreement, to make sure neither of you came to work one day and had two people’s jobs sprung on you unannounced. A show of worker solidarity. Texts were few and far between, especially because you saw each other almost daily, but mostly because there wasn’t much to talk about. 

“Hey, problems with Abby’s sitter, running ten mins late. Cover for me,”

“Off sick today with the flu! Hope you didn’t get it from me yesterday! Cya!”

“I got the flu from you. Now it’s my turn to take a few days off. Thanks,”

“Did you see they are changing our insurance provider?” 

“Cheapskates,”

“Tell me about it!”

The conversation was never about anything but work, occasionally you heard a little about his sister Abby, but only if it was in some way related to him needing to miss work. You liked Mike a lot, you had fun working with him. Although your job was to watch the monitors in the office and his to patrol the building, you saw a lot of one another. He stopped by the security office much more than was strictly necessary, but no one was there to chase you up about it. As long as he could still respond to a threat (not that any ever came), you were fine. He was not very talkative, but would still hang around in the doorway of the office, expecting you to speak to him. So you did, and he listened well, whatever it was you landed on. Sometimes you liked to gossip with him since you had no mutual friends and he couldn’t spread the word. He pretended not to care about the drama you provided him with, but would always subtly try to enquire more about it. He didn’t have much going on in his own life. Or rather, he had a whole lot going on, which meant he had time for nothing else. Working nights and taking care of Abby took up all his time, and he’d always been a bit of an introvert, so socialising had fallen to the wayside for several years now. Living vicariously through the stories of your friends' love lives was fun for him, as much as he loathed to admit it. He was grateful for you, that you were kind and willing to talk to him while on shift, even if he was a bad conversationalist. He considered you a friend, perhaps his best one, even though he knew he was far from the same thing to you. He was your coworker, considered a friend if he was very lucky. Unbeknownst to him, you did truly consider him a friend, even if you weren’t quite in the desperate position he was. 

Every time you picked up your phone, you debated texting him about something not work-related. You talked about plenty more than just work at work, so why did this seem like such an impossible boundary to cross? You’d always thought he was cute, from the moment you’d started working together and from all the information you’d gleaned from him over time at work, you knew he was a lonely guy. You were sure he would want your friendship and maybe even more than that, but the transition seemed impossible somehow. You wanted him to feel less lonely, whether through friendship or more. So one day, after he texts you something innocuous about getting to work late next week due to Abby’s school play (you found his dedication to his sister very sweet and were always happy to cover for him so he wouldn’t miss important things like this), you bite the bullet. You start small.

“Cute! What’s the play?”

“Robin Hood. Abby’s shy so she only made the sets, but still wants me to come see,”

You’re happy he doesn’t immediately shut you down, but you’re aware he might simply be being polite, or happy to talk about his sister like he always is. You think for a moment then text back, even though you’re sure he assumes the conversation is over now. 

“I suppose I’ll have to miss this one :( Hold me a ticket for the next one!”

You immediately wonder if you’ve gone too far, trying to insert yourself into his life, into his future like this. No, you tell yourself, you’re overthinking, he’ll just interpret you as being polite but not serious. It would be fine. It’s a while until he texts back, so long that you assume he isn’t going to and continue about your day. 

“Sure thing. What are you up to atm?” 

Mike’s heart pounds as he sends the message. He’s not used to carrying a conversation forward like this, but he’s also not used to you talking to him about more than work, he has to take this chance. The fear of rejection consumes him for the next few minutes as he waits. He knows it’s barely anything, that there were a hundred riskier options for what he could have texted you, but he’s still anxious.

“Folding laundry! You?”

Mike immediately wonders what sorts of clothes you might have. You dress very plain for the security job, jeans and hoodies, the occasional t-shirt when it’s a little warmer, but he’s always felt your body looks too good to be dressed like that. You must show it off at least a little, and god, he’d love to see it. He’s occasionally caught sight of lace at your hips when you’ve bent over at work. He imagines you touching those panties while you text him and hates that the thought excites him. He really ought to get out more. 

“Watching TV.”

He responds and realises he’s been a little too short with his answer. He racks his brain for something more to say.

“Girl on my show looks like you.” 

He adds, although it’s not even true. He has the news on, but he wanted an excuse to say something more, without having to comment on the miserable contents of the news.

“Is she cute? ;)”

You text back, unsure what possessed you to be flirty, you hope to God you can play it off if he reacts poorly, like you’re just messing with him and stroking your own ego. You’d sent it without thinking, the reply popping into your mind and onto your screen in mere seconds. Mike is just as shocked. You can’t really be flirting, can you? He hasn’t flirted in years and was never good at it to begin with. He really doesn’t want to mess this up with you, not only because you work together, but because he genuinely really likes you and he’s hopeful that now things have settled down a bit with Abby, he could maybe try and find some romance. Abby needed a feminine presence in her life, especially as she got older, and, selfishly, Mike wanted to be loved, someone to hold on cold nights. He also really really wanted to get laid. He was only a man, and as much as other concerns had dominated his mind for a long time, you had brought back long-dormant urges. This is the thought that drives him forward as he sends his next text.

“She’s cute. But, she hardly compares to you,” 

It’s another big risk, but he wants you so badly that he’s willing to take it. He’s not thinking with his head anymore. 

“How so?”

You retort, your heart fluttering a little at his compliment. But you want to be sure of how he feels, you don’t want him to beat around the bush. You need to know that he wants you.

“You’re too beautiful for anyone to compare,”

He responds earnestly. This is it, he’s been transparent, this would be incredibly hard to play off as a joke. If it was a joke it would be a cruel one, so his plausible deniability is gone, his cards are on the table. He waits with bated breath. You take a long time to respond, unsure what to say. Your instinct is to thank him, but it might end the conversation there, you need this to keep going. 

“You think I’m beautiful?”

“Of course you are, no need to be modest. You could model,”

“Haha! No, I couldn’t model, certainly not runway, but thank you anyway :)” 

“Maybe a magazine? Star in a film at least?”

“I could star in your fantasies ;)” 

The text takes both of you off-guard, even though you’re the one who wrote it. You had been texting so fast back and forth that you once again hadn’t thought before sending. You nearly send a message back, taking back your words and apologising, but your confidence has inspired Mike’s as well and he shoots back a text while you’re formulating an apology.

“You already do,”

Mike feels hot all over when he sends the text, having to shed his hoodie before he starts properly sweating. As out of his depth as he feels, he’s positive by now that you’re flirting and he can’t lose this chance. He needs you, he needs you to want him too, and he’s finally allowing himself to believe that perhaps you do. 

“How often?”

“Every night,”

He can’t understand why he’s being so brazen, he could have easily scared you off by now, but you’re still texting him. He’s not thinking with his head anymore. His words make you excited, to know he thinks of you in this way, and every night is thrilling and arousing. You figure based on his last confession, that you can throw caution to the wind. You want him, he wants you, that much should be clear by now to the both of you. 

“Me too! I imagine you fucking me over the security desk,”

Oh my god. Mike’s hands shake violently as he reads the text, he can’t help but let out a strangled moan, incredibly glad he’s alone right now. Has he died and gone to heaven? Are you playing a cruel prank on him? No, you’ve always been too kind and this is a long way to go for a prank. You must want him like you say, the thought makes his head spin and his pants tighten even more. For the first time ever, he can’t wait to go to work. 

“Yeah? I think of that too,”

“Shall we? ;)”

“God, yes. I don’t even care if I get fired for it,”

“I won’t tell if you don’t!”

“My lips are sealed,”

God, he wants you so bad. He wishes he could come visit you and stop this agonising waiting game that’s begun, but his car is in the shop and the public transport nearby is virtually non-existent. This has all escalated so quickly, he had only hoped a few minutes ago for a brief non-work related chat, and now you were making plans with him for him to fuck you. He had to be in heaven, there was no other explanation. He was not going to get a single minute of work done next shift, or perhaps ever again. That poor desk doesn’t know what’s coming for it if he can have it his way. He prays you’re willing because he has about a million things he’d like to try with you.

His phone rings and he tenses. He doesn’t know whether to relax or tense further when he realises it’s you calling, but he quickly picks up anyway. As soon as he hears your voice, lower and sultrier than usual, he can’t help but buck his hips into the air slightly. 

“Hey Mike,” you whisper seductively. You’re lying back against your pillows, trembling with nerves and excitement.

“Hey… uh… beautiful…” he tries his best to be suave. You giggle softly, but not mockingly at his awkwardness.

“Thinking of me?

“Fuck, you can’t even imagine,” he groans. 

“Touching yourself?” 

“No, but… good idea… you don’t mind?” he exhales, although he’s already palming himself through his boxers, his jeans having been unzipped sometime a little while ago. He’s lost control of himself. You’re softly running your hand up and down your stomach, warming yourself up, eager to hear more. 

“If I was there, I’d do it for you,” you purr, enjoying the choked breath you hear on the other end of the line. He grips himself through the fabric, starting to stroke gently. 

“How long have you wanted me like this?” he groans into the receiver, embarrassed knowing he isn’t going to last long, the high of being wanted like this, by you of all people, really getting to him.

“Since we met,” you reply, your voice a little breathy. He can guess why and the thought makes him whimper.

“When I get my hands on you I am gonna worship you,” he promises, his voice low and hoarse, his hand now inside his boxers. “I don’t deserve your attention but God, if I have it, I’ll make sure I don’t lose it, I’ll please you all day and night,” he pants harshly between words and he can hear soft moans from your end that only spur him on. “I want to make you happy,” he groans. He means it in many ways, but right now, you hope you only interpret it as lust, he won’t let his stupid heart ruin this for him right now.

“I wanna make you happy too,” you whimper. The words hit him hard, his eyes squeezing shut and his whole body erupting in pleasure. He throws his head back against the couch, groaning loudly, hearing your moans pick up as a result is unendingly thrilling. He spills all over his hand, thick ropes of his need for you. He gasps for breath and listens intently as you fall apart on the other end. Your moans are like sweet music, and somehow you have his cock swelling again already. He wills it away as you come down from your high, gasping for breath, not wanting to push you too far. He needs this to not be a one-time thing, he needs you in person. In his mind, he pulls you into his arms and kisses your forehead, telling you how happy you’ve made him.

“I wish you were here,” he says instead, figuring it’s a little safer. You laugh a little, but it seems more like a laugh of surprise than anything.

“Still? Even though you finished already?” you tease.

“Of course, I… I could never just be done with you like that,” he insists softly, hoping you feel similarly. It seems, now more than ever, that he’s craving love and connection and now he knows that it has to be with you in order to fill what’s missing in his life. You are perfect. He knew it before but he knows it completely now. You are everything. “I care… you know? This wasn’t just a horny thing for me,”

“You seemed pretty horny,”

“You know what I mean!” he protests and you giggle. He laughs too, though he’s still anxious about how you felt about his confession. 

“I care too, Mike,” you admit with a soft sigh, rolling onto your side. “I also want you here… Would you spoon me?”

“Of course, I would, gladly,” he promises, inwardly ecstatic that you want his affection. He wants to keep you warm and safe, tucked up against his chest, safe from harm. He imagines kissing your neck and he hears you sigh happily, he wonders if you share his fantasy. “I can’t wait to see you again. I’m so… grateful for all this… that you like me like this,” he hums, slowly tucking himself away and zipping up. He makes a mental note to buy you flowers for when he next sees you, hopefully, accompanied by the courage to ask you to be his girlfriend.

“I’ll see you at work,” you smile, blowing a kiss into the receiver.

“Yeah, see you at work,”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

xoxoxo

[roanofarcc]

MIDSUMMERS FIGHT CLUB

PAIRING: JJ Maybank X fem!reader

SUMMARY: In what may be considered a lapse in judgment, you help JJ out in an unfair fight that breaks out during Midsummers.  

WARNINGS: Doesn’t follow the scene to a T. Canon violence, kook!reader, a curse or two. 

master list | requests are open!

A/n: Every time I plan a short & sweet fic, it ends up being over 1k words. I, apparently, do not know how to be brief.

Midsummers was supposed to be the party of the summer. You attended every year and often looked forward to it, but you were incredibly bored. The bar was guarded by the country club owner to prevent underage kids from getting drunk and puking in the pool, again. That meant the only way to get drinks was by sweet-talking Rafe or Topper, and you’d rather poke your eyeballs out with a fork than do that. 

You were sober, the weather was too humid, the venue smelled like overpriced perfume, and all of your friends were too busy macking on their dates to spare you a glance. In a desperate attempt to entertain yourself and not get roped into another conversation with your mother, father, and their boring friends, you wandered inside the club in search of some form of entertainment. 

Much to your surprise, you didn’t have to look long. You were only inside for a couple of minutes, debating if you could sneak some champagne from the kitchen, when someone barreled into you, sending you both crashing against the ground. 

An impressive string of curse words came from the person who ran you over. It took you a moment to regain your barrings, but when you did, a somewhat familiar face was standing above you. JJ Maybank, a well-known Pouge for not many great reasons. Yet, he looked frantic and apologetic as he held out his hand. 

“Sorry,” he said in a rushed breath before his head snapped behind him. The sound of footsteps echoed from down the hall. “Shit,” JJ hissed under his breath as he looked past you and down the rest of the hallway corridor as he helped you up.

Topper, Rafe, and the rest of their buddies came into view, faces pinched in anger. JJ’s eyes widened as he dropped your hand and took off as the boys followed. 

You contemplated getting involved, knowing it was none of your business. But you were equal parts bored, curious, and a little concerned as to what those boys were going to do to each other. You had no reason to care about any of them, but from what little you knew about JJ’s reputation along with Rafe and his friends’ temper, you felt that walking away was a little cowardly. The thought of a fight made you nervous, even if it didn’t concern you whatsoever. 

So, you followed them, albeit a bit regrettably, into the boys’ locker room. When you arrived, though it had to have been less than a minute since they had passed you, JJ was in a headlock, Topper’s arm hooked around his throat while JJ struggled. 

Maybe you were a bit sheltered, having never witnessed a fight up close before. You’d been at parties where they’d broken out, but they were either in another room or you and your friends fled before the cops were called. You stood wide-eyed for a moment until they saw you introducing. 

“Beat it, princess,” Rafe spat, his tone mocking in the same way it always was. 

You rolled your eyes. “What are you doing?” you asked. Kooks and Pouges didn’t get along, but by the look on their faces, they were engaged in something larger than mere dislike. 

“None of your business,” Topper replied, squeezing his arm tighter around JJ. The boy was nearly turning blue. You surged forward, not exactly sure what you planned to do. 

Rafe stopped you, blocking your path before he mustered a fake smile. “This is sort of personal business between us and this Pouge, okay? You don’t wanna get involved.” It almost sounded like a threat, but while Rafe was the problem child of the Camerons, you weren’t particularly intimated by him in his polo and khaki shorts. He looked like every other douchey teen at the country club. 

JJ managed to wriggle free from Topper, stumbling backward with ragged breaths. You sidestepped Rafe and managed to get in between JJ and Topper before the latter could lurch forward. “Serious, Topper, what is your problem? Since when do you pick fights?” 

“Since Sarah started hanging out John B.,” one of the other boys answered, looking a little amused at the whole situation, but he shrugged when Topper sent him a glare. Unlike Rafe, Topper was more well-rounded, less likely to fly off the handle from what you'd seen and heard.

“It’s none of your business,” Topper said, his face showing how hard he was trying to quell his anger. “Get out of my way.” 

You pursed your lips as if you were in deep thought. “Or what?”

Topper said nothing; he pressed his lips in a thin line, unsure of what exactly his next move was. Rafe, however, was not as contemplative when it came to his actions, he was rash and grabbed your shoulders roughly before shoving you to the side. You stumbled, nearly toppling over but you caught yourself on one of the benches that lined the middle of the locker room. 

“Whoa, whoa, hey.” JJ’s voice filled the air as he caught his breath. He stepped up to Rafe, his face littered with cuts and bruises. They didn’t look like fresh wounds, but you wondered if they were gained in another fight with Rafe and Topper, which prompted the outburst in the locker room. “Come on, guys. We don’t need to get the lady involved.” 

You wanted to laugh at being called a lady, and maybe if Rafe didn’t look ready to try to choke the life out of JJ, you would have. He caught JJ by the fabric of his white button-down and threw him up against a wall of lockers, pinning him there while Topper got close beside Rafe, in JJ’s face. 

“Those are some nasty cuts on your face,” Rafe said, almost tauntingly. You stood upright, eyes flickered back and forth between the boys on one side of the room doing nothing to help or call off their friends, and the trio up against the lockers. “You’re starting to look more and more like your old man.” 

You were buzzing with adrenaline, pissed off that Rafe had the gull to shove you. In a quick motion, you pulled off your heavy wedged heel before bringing it down against the back of Rafe’s head. It was hard enough to get him off of JJ, but not enough to send him to the floor. Topper backed up as you raised your heel at him in a warning. 

A laugh fell from JJ’s lips looking a little bewildered. “Holy shit,” he said. 

Rafe’s face was red hot with anger. Topper placed a hand on his shoulder in a lame attempt to get him to back off and return to the party before things escalated, but Rafe lurched forward towards you. You had a feeling he held more than just the intention to shove you out of the way. 

You were unbalanced in one shoe but raised your heel in meek defensive against what you thought would be direct assault, but JJ moved in front of you, earning himself another blow from Rafe that nearly knocked both of them to the ground. Rafe raised his fist to punch, you tightened your grip on the shoe to hit him again, and JJ braced himself, but all of it was quickly put to a stop.

A voice bellowed from the entrance of the locker room. “What is going on in here?!” A security guard asked, jaw tight and stern. You recognized him from other country club events. 

Rafe backed off, as did JJ. Everyone tried their best to make themselves look like nothing that would get them kicked out of the party was occurring. 

JJ started talking, some boisterous declaration that he was the one not supposed to be there and needed to be escorted out. It was a smart move. 

The security guard started to lead him out, and you followed close behind, not wanting to be left with Rafe, Topper, and their useless friends. 

JJ turned around with a smug look on his face. “You Powerpuff girls have a great rest of your night!” 

Topper glared harshly. “Tell Kie she looks pretty hot for a Pouge.” 

Despite the security guard’s grip on JJ’s arm, he yanked himself free and looked ready to throw another punch. But he was caught before he could, the security guard grunting under his breath about ‘goddamn kids.’ You set your jaw and threw your wedge as hard as you could at Topper. He ducked and the shoe hit one of his friends. 

The security guard took a deep breath, and instead of the annoyance he seemed to have for JJ, he must have recognized you from your previous visits. He looked more disappointed than anything but said and did nothing. He tugged JJ along and led the way out of the locker room. 

“For a Kook, you fight like a Pouge,” JJ said. You weren’t sure if that was a compliment, but you decided to take it as one. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to throw something at Rafe.” 

He laughed lightly, catching your eye with a shake of his head. His blond hair fell against his forehead, covering up the cut above his brow. There was a light red mark around his neck, but it didn’t seem like Topper held him with enough force to leave too bad of a bruise in the coming days. It still looked like it hurt, though. 

“Remind me to call you next time I get into a fight.” The security guard side-eyed JJ, who offered him a terribly fake innocent smile. “Hypothetically, sir.” The man huffed and continued along the hall. 

“What was their deal anyway? I know they can be assholes but, I don’t think I’ve ever seen them like that.” 

“I’m afraid that’s confidential information,” JJ said with a playful smile. “I can’t discuss it; I’m on a top-secret mission tonight. And my job is done. That’s why this good man’s dragging me out of here.” He patted the security guard on the shoulder, and you were worried for a moment the man was going to break it by the glare in his eyes. 

Midsumers were always so serious, people mingling with fear of being judged by each other while they were judging each other. You usually got some break in the company of friends, but they were occupied. You worried that this year’s party would be painfully boring, but you were proven wrong in a matter of minutes. Despite the threat and act of violence, JJ had an infectious upbeat, mischievous attitude. While it felt a little silly, you itched for more. 

The three of you neared the crowd of people outside and JJ slowed his pace just slightly. “Well, I’m almost done. But I am about to make a scene in front of all of these people,” he said. “If I were you, I’d hang back.” His voice but a whisper, but you were pretty sure the security guard heard him because his grip tightened around JJ’s upper arm. 

“Noted,” you replied. “See you around?” It came out as more of a question. 

“Yeah, you will.” 

With that, JJ stumbled out into the crowd of people, loudly talking and stealing drinks from waiters. Guests looked confused while some looked mortified. Three people from the crowd that JJ must’ve known joined him, practically running out from under the pavilion and into the dark night. The teens were all laughing with each other, an endearing sight that probably very few felt beside you. 

Despite your loneliness the rest of the night, your mind of fully occupied by JJ Maybank. 

[cerastes]

This is absolutely the Lack Of Reading Comprehension Website, but there's another issue I've noticed that I never see brought up, and it doesn't exist completely excised from lacking reading comprehension, but it's definitely it's own topic.

Tumblr's a Bad Faith Website as well. Like the above, it's not something exclusive to Tumblr, but it definitely defines it in my opinion. A lot of people want to be Right, and disagreements are seen by a bunch of people as something to "win" rather than something to "have". You'll have randos that frame their entire argument against you based on latching onto technicalities to try to prove why you are wrong rather than actually engage with your argument to try and propose something else or turn it around. As someone who was in a debate club during university, I call it "debate-poisoned people" who see arguments and conversations as a sport more than an interaction or, well, an actual conversation to be had, or in other words, that consider every argument as a debate to be had, when a lot of the time, it's not that deep fam, and also the other person never really agreed to play under your rules, because, here's the thing, a debate is a very specific kind of interaction. In a debate, bad faith interaction and trying to erase the very floor the other party is standing on is a valid tactic, it's part of the game. In a conversation or an argument, bad faith interaction and trying to erase the floor the other party is standing on gets you rightfully called a moron who cannot use inference or extrapolation to actually engage with the topic at hand. I had one such weirdo like a week or so ago, even, who used so many words to say absolutely nothing, that I thought I accidentally performed a digital necromantic ritual and had actually found myself face to face with the spirit of Jacques Lacan.

Even in more innocuous, non-hostile scenarios, this still applies: A lot of people are so, so eager to Be Correct On The Internet, that they'll reblog something with a correction or an opinion seemingly so hastily that they did not in fact read the entire post or comprehend it. This feeds into the lack of reading comprehension, but in my opinion, it does also have to do with seeing something that they believe they can correct, and immediately chomping at the bit to correct it without stopping for a second to ask themselves, "Did I read this right? Does this need correction?", and a lot of the time, it turns out, yes, you did not in fact need to correct it, you just had to read it a bit slower without letting your quickdraw hand get the best of you, cowboy. The way I consider this to be Bad Faith, even if it's not really hostile or confrontational, is the long-held belief that The Internet Is Inhabited By People Stupid Enough To Actually Think Or Say Something This Stupid.

I'll be real with you: Yeah, you've seen wild stories on the internet, plenty of them true, about how stupid people can be. No, they do not define the majority of people that aren't you. A wild, flabbergasting story about idiocy gets traction because it's funny and wild. We don't hear stories about how User A made a compelling argument that seemed stupid at first but then turned out that their rationale was incredibly sound as much, because that's not funny and wild and doesn't make us feel good about ourselves, because we'd never make such a stupid mistake. You aren't a sage wearing the floatie of wisdom in an ocean of idiots, no matter what your echo chamber and/or carefully curated internet space makes you think. You are not exempt from having to think about things, and you are not exempt from having to acknowledge people that know things you don't, people wiser than you are out there. This isn't "you are dumb as shit, actually", because I personally believe most people are smart, this is "you are being superficial and too eager to be Correct, which only works to your detriment in the long run and makes you a rather unlikable person".

It's as simple as engaging in good faith, even when you disagree or dislike the other party. Rip apart their arguments properly, instead of trying to disqualify them with cheap gotchas from the get go just because you want to own someone. Yes, sometimes people don't make sense, period, but that's absolutely not as common as people like to claim it happens. Inevitably, you'll run into someone that will actually call out your bullshit and there goes your entire argument. And in less intense settings, really, no one likes a pedant who really wants to be Correct on fucking Tumblr of all places.

[tanoraqui]

Dungeon Meshi Liveblog: I thought I wasn't going to have strong opinions about the Laios-Shuro fight, but...

Laios was right about this! Yes, they had 2 physical fights first, but it's important to note that Laios was right about this!

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^ -man who would literally kill to stay in this room and observe this private conversation.

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Sir, your unfaltering little wide-eyed, amiable smile while seriously considering topics that are obviously un-smile-worth has charmed me utterly. I wish to study you like an climate-entomologist yearns for the butterfly that causes storms.

.

She seems fine.

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If I start screencapping Laios's and Marcille's faces in this fight, I will never stop because literally every panel is devasting.

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Kuro has done distinctly the most damage so far this fight, just stabbing and gnawing, and I think we should recognize and appreciate that fact.

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I really miss the animation we got of Rin's lightning blast slicing narrowly past Laios.

I love how fast, if reluctantly, Laios accepts that if - not, that Falin is a true "monster", inhuman and hurting people relentlessly and unapologetically, and thus she needs to be killed before she kills them, like any other monster. I also love that Marcille doesn't accept this. Characters!

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+1 to qualification to kingship! Kabru is one again surprised (you can tell by how he's not smiling) (though this might also be due to the significant injuries he just took).

I do have several emotions about how Falin immediately yanks away and kills Kabru, without touching Laios. That's her brother!!

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I really like this little cluster because it says to me that Shuro still has very good "do what Marcille says when she abruptly shouts magic-related directions in combat" instincts. He's a mirror of the "You're already on the Christmas card, buddy" meme - more like, "You're still on the Christmas card." Just like Namari: no one really stops being fond of, and battle companions with, these weirdos.

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I think the most painful part of this probably is that Marcille isn't certain. Maybe this IS her fault. At minimum, she knows she might have mixed the dragon's soul into Falin's, which enabled this even if it didn't create it. But she can't 100% rule out the possibility that it's more her fault than that - which is, of course, the absolute worst thing to say to all of these people looking at her violently askance for using dark magic.

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yeahhhhhh "Lunatic Magician" REALLY lacks the oomph of "Mad Mage"

ANGRY LAIOS! It's such a rare expression on him, it's exciting to see.

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Yesss look at my man Chilchuck use available tools in his environment and save this little goober who thinks it's cool to resent adults.

I really like how they show the social consequences of dark magic. Much beyond Shuro's anger: the other mages are now shutting Marcille down, especially where resurrection magic is concerned. She's made herself untrusted by her peers, whether or not the magic she used on Falin is truly "evil."

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I really enjoy the, like, narratively obligatory, not actually real (well, maybe to Rin) "will they-won't they" between Kabru and Rin. In the story that this isn't, where Kabru is the protagonist with his quirky gang of found family who are helping him save the island and prevent another bloodbath like in his angsty backstory, she IS the One (Human) Female on the Team who is obviously his love interest - often the first to challenge him, battle mage rather than healer ie a Strong Female Character who nonetheless doesn't use unfeminine brute force, forced by happenstance to kiss...

Alas! Kabru is not the protagonist of this story, so Rin shall remain disappointed.

Also this montage of people healing and reuniting while in the background Laios and Shuro whale on each other remains SO funny. Flawless comedic timing.

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Alright, hot take time: I feel like all the debate I've seen about the Shuro/Laios fight depict it as revealing the friendship basically shattered, and never real in the first place. Whereas I'm mostly warmed by how real it clearly was despite everything that just happened?

Shuro is operating on no food and less sleep, desperate to save the woman he idolizes without truly understanding her loves, who is now apparently a monster who nearly slaughtered his most loyal followers. In the past like 2 weeks, Laios has: watched his sister die to save his life (his little sister, whom he is supposed to protect), walked headfirst into a nigh-unwinnable fight to get her back, held her skull in his hands, got her back and held her in his arms, lost her again about 6 hours later in an even more unwinnable fight, which was proven even more unwinnable when the Mage twisted the dungeon itself against them, saw her again but as a murderous monster now (which might be due to the magic he agreed to use to resurrect her), swiftly and sternly resigned himself to fighting and potentially killing her (his little sister! whom he is supposed to protect!), had her recognize him (and no one else!) despite her monstrosity, watched her be killed (again!) in part thanks to him distracting her, except it didn't work and then she fled.

This is an immature, ignoring-immediate-needs (ie, food, healing) knock-down drag-out fight between two men at the absolute ends of their ropes, who, sure, have built-up resentments against each other and the world, and an inciting incident pushing them over the edge - but mostly neither of them can punch in the face the fact that they can't save Falin. So they punch each other instead.

I won't even address the prologue to the fight, where Laios tells him about the black magic and Shuro promptly tries to strangle him then levels a sword at him. Kabru already nailed that: Shuro was worried about Falin - that the magic had hurt her, that the social consequences would be worse. Laios knew this enough that he didn't fight back, then. But now?

The first shove is Shuro demanding, Don't you fucking DARE give me false hope.

I cannot emphasize enough how hard I would also slap someone for suggesting that I wasn't taking the death and monsterization of my younger sibling seriously.

Shuro knows it, too. He doesn't respond to this, he just punches, and Laios punches back. Shuro doesn't speak again until Laios knocks him all the way down, and

Shuro is at his absolute depth. The lowest point he (feels that he) can go. He cannot save Falin. He's shamed himself as a leader and heir by getting his people killed (they got better, but that's beside the point.) He's been beaten in hand-to-hand combat by this idiot northern peasant. He lets down his guard and pride enough to mutter this self-deprecation aloud...and the idiot northern peasant hears, compounding every shame - and it's infuriating especially because he doesn't even hear properly, just like he never hears properly - he's so frustrating in his friendly but oblivious constant irritation and THIS, Shuro can still be furious about, to avoid his grief/hopelessness/self-loathing/shame. This, he can still fight about!

So he does.

They're both wrong in this fight. They're both right. Laios was consistently inconsiderate; knowing this about himself - because it's not like by his early 20s he didn't know that he didn't Get people the way most people Get people - he should've made more of an effort, and picked up any of the hints Shuro was laying down. Shuro was too caught up in his own pride and out-of-place manners: when it was clear that Laios wasn't going to pick up on even the strongest "hint", he should've said something plainly instead of just letting his resentment build until he was effectively lying to Laios about, if not their entire friendship, certainly the shape of it.

But they were friends. They are friends. This isn't the posture or conversation of two guys who don't like each other.

It's two guys who are still, in fact, fucking exhausted, physically and emotionally - but they just got rid of a lot of extra, furious, helpless energy, so they're finally satisfied to just sit. Their posture is relaxed and casual; their conversation straightforward and companionable, if serious.

This is two guys who've sat like this many time at a campfire, in just these poses. Who've kept watch together late at night and stayed awake by talking.

Laios cares about Falin more than anyone in the world, and even after the words and blows they just exchanged, he's still willing to put Shuro's suit to her. Shuro didn't tell Falin he was interested in her until he proposed to her, but he's telling it all to Laios. Admittedly, this is because Laios is, Shuro assumes, the closest he'll ever get to being able to tell it all to Falin...but still. And he admits vulnerability, which he clearly wouldn't have done before, even to his most loyal and loved companions as they urged him to eat and sleep.

Yeah, they're buddies. If I had to describe it, I'd say: their relationship was built on unsteady, false foundations, but they built something sturdy on it anyway, and the sturdy thing survives even when the foundations shake and re-settle.

Lol at Shuro. "I'm going to report you to the local authorities for your crimes because it's the right thing to do. But if you survive, I'll totally use my power and influence to help you flee the country, and live peacefully on my estate beyond where an extradition treaty can reach you."

[incognit0slut]

Right Kind of Wrong (9)

She never thought she would be involved in a murder investigation and encounter her one-night-stand again, the awkward guy who isn’t exactly that good in bed—Or is he? Offended by the sentiment, Spencer is determined to prove her wrong… But as he gets tangled with the beautiful stranger, he realizes there is more to her than what meets the eye.

Part Summary: A shocking call has Spencer questioning her involvement in the case. wc: 3.7k

Series Warnings: 18+ explicit content, graphic details of murders, mentions of suicide

Other parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14

MASTERLIST

SPENCER COULDN'T REMEMBER THE LAST TIME HE FELT AT PEACE. Although protecting people and making them safe gave him a certain comfort, the pressure of being involved in harrowing cases took a toll on him more than he expected. But amid the ongoing investigation, he felt rather...calm.

He wasn't stupid. He knew exactly the reason why, between his responsibilities and obligations, he found himself embraced by this unexpected peace. It certainly had to do with the woman still nestled in his bed as he now stood in his kitchen, contemplating whether she preferred drinking coffee or perhaps something sweeter to start her day.

He couldn't believe it. He never imagined himself debating on another person's choice of beverage. Yet here he was, making a new pot of fresh coffee and setting out another mug to prepare a nice, warm cup of hot chocolate because its rich sweetness reminded him of her. If he didn't know which one she preferred between the two, he was going to make both.

He let out a sigh. He was a fool, wasn't he? Spencer was never one to indulge himself in romance. It wasn't easy for him to get swept away by any potential relationships. Falling in love again seemed like an illusion for him, something so far out of his reach. It seemed impossible to find someone he genuinely liked after losing the only person he ever considered spending the rest of his life with.

But look at him now, falling for somebody he met less than two weeks ago. For a smart person with an IQ of 187, he certainly was a fool.

Although having to know her for a mere fraction of time, Spencer had never fathomed that he could harbor such feelings. Having her soft body pressed against his side let him understand how much her presence stirred his heart.

And it wasn't just the physical aspect. The night wasn't simply spent with the warm feeling of her bare skin, but it was also filled with her laughter. Their late-night conversations delved into the realms of dreams and vulnerabilities, effortlessly bridging the gap between two strangers. With each passing conversation, he discovered the captivating intricacies of her mind which he wanted to understand better.

He liked her. He really did.

Maybe after all this ordeal, after he could disclose this current case, he could ask her out on a proper date. When there was no more boundary between them, when he wasn't an authority and she wasn't someone linked to a case, he would finally enjoy her company without feeling guilty.

He was pouring the fresh pot of coffee into a mug when his phone suddenly rang. He let out a groan, knowing what was waiting for him as he noticed Garcia's name plastered on the screen.

"Hey, Garcia," he greeted, slipping his phone between his face and his shoulder. "New update?"

"Reid."

He froze, noticing the strain in her voice. He quickly stopped what he was doing and straightened himself, pressing his phone against his ear. "What's wrong?"

"Are you sitting down?"

"Uh—no." He frowned at her question. "Why?"

"You might want to sit down."

He didn't, of course. But his mind was already buzzing with curiosity. "What is it?"

"Reid," she whispered, her voice dropping low as if trying to keep quiet. "You're the first person I called which means nobody else knows about this...yet."

"Garcia," he probed, suddenly feeling anxious. "What is it?"

There was a shuffling at the end of the line before her voice filled his ear again.

"Okay, so I crossed references that could help me find any articles Jamison Lynch wrote that might involve Kevin Marshall, and it turns out, there are none. Nothing. Nada." There was an unsettling pause before she continued, "Although there is one article mentioning Mr. Marshall by a journalist, who as of now, is an active employee at the publishing firm Jamison worked at. Guess who it is?"

He clutched the phone tighter as a tumultuous mix of emotions churned in his gut. In that moment, time seemed to stretch, waiting for his response. He paused, his mind spiraling into a web of confusion and disbelief as he pieced together the verity of this call.

"I'm guessing by your silence you already know why I wanted to call you first."

He did. He knew why it was important for Garcia to be informing him before anyone else. His eyes then glanced towards his bedroom door. Gone was the peaceful bliss he had felt, replaced by a gnawing sense of unease. Confusion suddenly swirled within him, clouding his thoughts and casting shadows upon the woman who still lay peacefully on the other side of the wall.

The warmth he relished this morning was now replaced by a chill of uncertainty that seeped into his veins.

"What—" He suddenly cleared his throat, hating how his voice sounded so foreign to him. He took a deep breath. "What else did you find?"

"I did more sleuthing and found Y/n's name as one of the people who filed a complaint against Jamison—which meant nothing, really, since he was known as a complete douchebag." Garcia then stopped. "May he rest in peace."

"Is there anything else?"

"Well, as it turns out, Jamison Lynch wasn't the first person Y/n filed a complaint for. There was also a complaint against Mr. Marshall."

"I thought Kevin Marshall was clean?"

"He was until I hacked into his company's database system and found this single complaint sent by her, which by the looks of it, seemed to be buried under a lot of firewalls." The clicking sound of a keyboard played in the background. "It was as if the company he worked for, or even Mr. Marshall himself, tried to hide it."

His burrows furrowed. "What was the complaint for?"

"Sexual Harassment."

His heart pounded in his chest, a fiery rage suddenly coursing through his body. The revelation he had just uncovered struck him like a thunderbolt, leaving him torn between seething anger and a torrent of conflicting emotions. The person he came to like had once suffered the unimaginable—a vile act of assault perpetrated by the man who now lay lifeless, a victim of murder.

Yet beneath the simmering rage, doubt festered like a poisonous seed. He was suddenly questioning the nature of her involvement. Not only did she know one of the victims, but she was also acquainted with both of them. His thoughts churned, torn between the desire to dismiss this uncertainty and the nagging voice of suspicion that echoed in the depths of his mind.

"Reid," Garcia called out when she was met with silence. "I don't what this means. I don't understand how or why she's linked between these two victims but please, please, don't do anything stupid."

His eyes drew back to his bedroom. Even when he was stuck between the depths of his emotions, the rational part of his brain managed to turn its gear. "Garcia, I need you to find out whether she knew the third victim."

"You mean the suicidal case that doesn't seem like suicide?"

"Harvey Webb," he confirmed, the name printed in his brain.

"Alright, I will. Oh—and Reid?" He hummed a reply. "Don't act on impulse. Please don't go concluding stuff on your own when you're obviously involved with her."

"I..." He took a deep breath. "I'm not involved with her."

"You're telling me you asked for her address and you didn't do anything about it?" When he didn't respond, she clicked her tongue. "Exactly. Now listen, I need to go and tell the others this, so come by the office and we'll deal with it together, okay?"

He glanced towards the cup of coffee now sitting cold by the counter. "Thanks, Garcia."

"You're welcome, boy genius."

As the phone call ended, Spencer found himself adrift in a sea of swirling emotions. This information was a step further into the investigation now that he found a link between the victims. But as the pieces of the puzzle fell into place, a cloud of doubt descended upon his thoughts.

The deeper he delved into the complexities of the situation, the more elusive the truth became. Was it really possible she had anything to do with the murder? Could the trauma she had endured have pushed her to take matters into her own hands?

The questions lingered like a toxic fog, polluting his mind.

"Good morning."

Spencer looked up to see Y/n padding across the room wearing nothing but his shirt. The way the material draped over her form accentuated her curves, holding an allure that was impossible to ignore. His eyes traced the lines of her body, from the tousled strands of her hair to the subtle curve of her hip. It was an intimate sight that would have once mesmerized him completely.

But his mind was too clouded with his doubt.

"I hope you don't mind me borrowing your shirt—" She stopped when her eyes fell on him. "What's wrong? Is it the shirt?" She looked down at herself. "Should I change out of it?"

As quickly as the enchantment had taken hold, the weight of his doubts resurfaced. At that moment, the air crackled with unspoken words, an invisible barrier separating them. Spencer's heart ached with the weight of uncertainty.

How could the woman he had fallen for potentially be connected to a heinous crime? It seemed inconceivable, yet the voice at the back of his head urged him to question his doubt.

"Why didn't you tell me you knew Kevin Marshall?"

The unexpected question startled her, her feet instinctively taking a step back. "What?"

"When I questioned you that day, why didn't you mention that you knew him?"

She studied him, wondering where this was suddenly coming from. "I didn't think it was important," she finally responded. "And technically, I didn't know him personally. I interviewed him once for work."

"What happened that day?"

"What do you mean?"

"When you interviewed him, what happened?"

She felt his gaze upon her, intense and penetrating, and a shiver ran down her spine. It was as though he had glimpsed into the depths of her soul, unraveling something not many people were aware of.

"You know." It was more of a statement rather than a question. She took another step back. "Nobody else knows except a few of my closest friends but—" She shook her head. "That doesn't matter. What matters is how you know. I don't even think that company kept the files, they practically ignored my complaint."

"They kept it," he mused.

"And how do you know this?"

"The technical analyst in our team managed to find your files hidden."

"Technical analyst—why were you even searching for it?" She crossed her arms across her chest, focusing her attention on him. "Answer me. Why was your technical analyst searching for my complaint?"

Her heart was pounding against her chest as she waited for his answer.

"Because you're currently the only person linked between the two cases we're working on."

She frowned. "You mean the cases you think are done by the same killer? The death between my late boss and Kevin Marshall?"

"Yes. But this is only procedure, we do an investigation on any leads that we find."

"Investigation?" Then it dawned on her. It fucking dawned on her. Offense suddenly surged through her while his words, accusing and laced with suspicion, struck her with a sense of betrayal. "You think I have to do something with the murders."

The atmosphere, once a sanctuary of shared affection, now felt suffocating, closing in around her as the weight of his accusations settled heavily on her shoulders. His silence spoke louder than words.

"Unbelievable." Her eyes blazed with anger, her voice sharp and defensive. She turned away and stalked back to his room. "Unbelievable."

"Where are you going?"

"I'm leaving," she hissed, noticing him trailing behind her. "Did you expect me to stay here and let you interrogate me like I'm some kind of criminal?"

His face twisted in frustration. "I just want to know what happened the day you interviewed Kevin Marshall."

"Why? So you can accuse me even further?”

“That’s not what I’m doing.”

“You’re questioning me. You want to know whether I have some kind of vendetta against him."

"I'm not trying to accuse you of anything."

"But you are." Without any warning, she gripped the hem of his shirt and pulled it over her head. "You're practically cornering me with all the questioning, especially with that look on your face."

He quickly looked away and she stopped herself from scoffing at the absurdity of it. She was about to divulge how his sudden modesty was unnecessary when he spoke, "I wouldn't have to constantly ask you if you had answered me sooner."

This time she did scoff, grabbing onto her own pair of clothes. "You caught me off guard. What was I supposed to do?"

"Answer the question and not avoid it like what you're doing now."

"You think I'm avoiding the question on purpose?"

He drew his eyes back to her. "A study shows that body language plays a crucial role in interpersonal communication, and based on its verbal indicator, an attempt to avoid answering the question is notable by your vague response."

"And you're analyzing me based on that?"

"It's my job to analyze anyone involved in the case.”

"Anyone involved?" She screeched, dumbfounded by his judgment of her. "I trusted you last night, I opened up to you, and now you're throwing these baseless accusations at me?"

"I'm not accusing you of anything. I'm trying to make some sense of where you're connected in all of this."

"You don't even know how I'm involved!"

"That's what I'm trying to find out!"

The air crackled with tension, heavy with the echoes of their heated words. The silence that followed was almost deafening, a palpable strain that hung in the air like a fragile thread. The once intimate space now felt hollow, as if drained of its energy by the intensity of their emotions.

Breathless and emotionally drained, they stared at each other, their eyes mirroring a mix of regret, hurt, and lingering anger. But as the echoes of their heated argument faded, she felt a sudden wave of exhaustion wash over her. The adrenaline that had fueled her anger now deserted her, leaving her drained.

"You know what was on my mind this morning?" She suddenly spoke. "I woke up thinking I was happy to run into you again. It didn't take long for me to understand that, albeit the circumstances, I actually came to like you."

As the words spilled from her trembling lips, her voice quivered with vulnerability. But then a shadow of doubt danced in her eyes. A new wave of anger surfaced, overpowering the fragility of her confession.

"But the person I like is not this version of you. Who I like is Spencer Reid, not Doctor Reid."

He frowned. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means, right now, you're not the same guy I spent the night with. You're scrutinizing me, you're—what is it that you do again? Ah, yes, a profiler." She pointed a finger at him. "You're trying to profile me, you're trying to read my mind in my most vulnerable state because if you haven't noticed, Spencer, I'm standing here half naked while you're pestering me with your questions."

He quickly glanced away, noticing the truth in her words. He had let his anger and suspicion cloud his judgment of her, something Garcia had warned him not to do. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I'll go wait outside."

"Don't bother, I'm almost done."

But he was already out of her vision, and when she heard the soft click of the door closing behind her, she let out a shaking breath.

She stood there, her heart aching with a mix of disappointment and betrayal. His accusations had cut deep, searing through the bliss they had nurtured the past night. The warmth that once enveloped them had been replaced by a cold emptiness, leaving her feeling adrift in a sea of uncertainty.

Her eyes drifted to the unmade bed before her. The memory of the night lingered in her mind like a bittersweet melody, playing on the strings of her heart. The tender moments they had shared, the warmth that had enveloped them seemed so distant now, overshadowed by the disappointment and anger that colored her mind.

She had hoped for a peaceful morning, a continuation of the intimacy they had shared under the cover of darkness. Instead, she found herself faced with the harsh truth of their current reality, the dissonance of their unspoken tensions. His doubt had tarnished the tender memories, leaving a bitter taste on her lips.

With a heavy sigh, she let the memories of last night linger for a moment longer before gathering her strength. She walked out of the room once she was fully clothed to find him standing by his couch, his body turning at the sound of her footsteps.

"Y/n."

“Thanks for listening to me last night."

"Y/n."

"Thank you for letting me stay too."

"Y/n."

"Stop."

Her hands clenched into fists, a physical manifestation of the conflicting emotions raging within her. He watched her, and as the silence stretched between them, she saw a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, a recognition of the hurt he had inflicted. Perhaps he had acted out of fear, allowing the shadows of the investigation to cast doubt on her. But the betrayal still lingered too deeply.

"You know what frustrates me?" She wondered. His silence was a sign for her to continue. "You're questioning me not because you genuinely want to know, you're doing it out of your obligation because you think it's your job to do so."

She held out a hand when he took a step closer.

"And it's fine," she went on. "It is your job. You're the federal agent here and I'm merely someone whose name is linked to the case."

"Y/n, I didn't mean to—"

"With that being said, we should keep our relationship strictly that way."

Her words hung heavy in the air, each syllable an arrow piercing his heart. He stood there, frozen, his eyes fixed on her as if searching for a flicker of hesitation, a glimmer of doubt. But her resolve was unwavering. With a deep breath, she mustered the courage to speak once more, her voice steady and resolute.

“If you really want to know what happened, call me into your office, I'll answer your questions then.”

Her expression dulled as she held his gaze, and with one last jaded look etched in her somber eyes, she finally turned around without sparing another glance, excusing herself from his apartment.

He watched as the door closed behind her.

Spencer stood there, surrounded by an oppressive silence that echoed the void she had left behind. Time seemed to stand still as he grappled with the overwhelming flood of emotions. The truth of the situation settled upon his shoulders, the reality that their paths had diverged and the bliss they had once shared had transformed into something unrecognizable.

Just as the weight of his emotions threatened to overwhelm him entirely, his phone suddenly pinged with a new alert. Startled, he reached for it, his fingers trembling as he unlocked the screen. The digital glow illuminated his face, casting a pale light upon his features as he read the message.

PENELOPE: THEY'RE CALLING HER IN. SHE KNEW THE THIRD VICTIM.

Spencer stood frozen, his eyes wide with disbelief as he stared at the words. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat reverberating through his entire being. He dialed Garcia’s number only to be rejected as soon as the first ring echoed in his ear.

PENELOPE: CAN'T TALK. HOTCH IS BESIDE ME.

His heart raced, his breath quickened, and a mixture of anger, confusion, and fear surged through his veins. Spencer quickly walked over towards his window and saw a glimpse of Y/n climbing into a cab, her phone pressed against her ear. He ran a hand through his curls in frustration as his phone alerted a new message.

PENELOPE: GET YOUR ASS HERE, REID.

SPENCER: I'm on my way.

Confusion clouded him, the lines between truth and lies blurring in his head. And beneath it all, fear lurked, whispering doubts about his judgment.

A heaviness settled upon his chest, constricting his breath and swarming his thoughts. The calm that had graced his waking moments seemed like a distant memory now—his peace only lasted briefly.

>> NEXT PART

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Don’t forget to interact with the story!

[writingquestionsanswered]

I feel like I can write pretty good dialogue between characters, and come up with great plots. But my writing lacks depth and character growth because I struggle with writing descriptive internal dialogue. I feel like this prevents my story from moving forward, even though I have a planned plot and character arcs. Do you have any suggestions for exercising my skills in writing internal dialogue?

Writing Internal Dialogue Monologue

Monologue vs Dialogue - First, I think the labeling is important here.

Dialogue = a conversation between two or more people Monologue = one person talking

Most internal thought is going to be monologue... a person's inner voice processing thoughts and observations... rather than a conversation between a person's inner voice and their opposing inner voice.

When you think of it as "internal monologue" instead, it's sometimes easier to understand what types of things belong there.

Not Everyone Has an Inner Voice - Internal monologue can be tricky for some people to write because not everyone has an inner voice. Some people get mental images instead of an inner voice. Luckily, internal voices aren't hard to understand even if you don't have one yourself.

What Does an Inner Voice Do? - Our inner voices are an ongoing, often subconscious, mental commentary there to help us focus, process, and organize our thoughts and feelings related to our experiences. Internal monologue can include observations about the people and places around us, self-reflection, self-criticism, self-praise, self-motivation, planning/strategizing, processing feelings, recalling memories, and daydreaming.

What Does Internal Dialogue Do? - Internal dialogue usually happens when a character has a mental debate with themselves, such as when they're trying to solve a problem, make a decision, or consider more than one perspective.

What Inner Voice and Internal Dialogue REALLY Do - Inner voice and internal dialogue are both used to convey the character's thoughts to the reader. In third-person, the narrator will do the bulk of the expository work--things like describing people and places, relaying character observations, etc., but character thoughts can be added in italics to give the reader a glimpse inside the character's mind.

The house was dappled with shadows and golden light from the setting sun. It was beautiful and haunting, and it was home. Or it will be, as soon as I move my stuff in...

Alternatively, you can skip the italics and leave it to the narrator to tell the reader what the character is thinking...

The house was dappled with shadows and golden light from the setting sun. It was beautiful and haunting, and it was home. Or it would be, as soon as she moved her stuff in.

In first-person, the POV character is doing all the work... describing people and places, relaying observations, processing thoughts and feelings, recalling memories and having flashbacks... anything that happens inside the character's heart and mind.

The house is dappled with shadows and golden light from the setting sun. It is beautiful and haunting, and it is home... or it will be, as soon as I move my stuff in. My heart fluttered with the joy of possibility, and I aimed a hopeful smile toward the house before climbing back into my car and starting down the driveway. In the fading light, the surrounding woods no longer feel enchanting. I drive a little faster to escape the long shadows and reaching branches.

Don't Overthink It - Too often, the thing that stumps writers about writing inner monologue is feeling like, "I don't sound like this in my head. I wouldn't walk into a room and mentally describe it to myself." And that's fair, because even most people who do have internal monologue don't exactly do that. But remember: you're writing a story. Unlike other mediums, you can't rely on visuals to show the reader what a character is seeing or what a character is thinking about. The only method available to you is to use words to describe those things. Again, in third-person you can rely on the narrator to do the bulk of it, so it doesn't feel as awkward. But in first-person, the POV character IS the narrator, so if you want the reader to know what the room looks like, your primary choice is to have the character mentally describe it to themselves. You can also do a little bit of showing... for example, instead of noting that there's a red velvet couch, they could sit on a red velvet couch, which shows the reader it's there. But, again, mostly they'll mentally describe things to themselves, and as weird as it may feel, it's a necessary part of writing fiction.

I hope this gives you some ideas about how you can use internal monologue (and internal dialogue) to explore your character's thoughts, feelings, observations, problems, etc. to go deeper into who they are, what they want, and what they need.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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[storiesofsvu]

Decadent Desires Ch 3

Emily Prentiss x reader warnings: language, alcohol, minor political conversation, minor mentions of sexual encounters.

It was the sound of your coffee pot automatically brewing that originally roused you from sleeping, the beeping signalling it was done the reason you finally got out of bed. Traipsing down the stairs still in your silk pj set you yawned, starting to stretch out your body, dropping your phone on the breakfast bar before padding through the living room to open the blinds. The sun slowly rising through the sky and you deemed it warm enough to crack one of the windows, letting yourself actually get some fresh air on a work day. Wandering back to the kitchen you pulled down a coffee mug, adding a bit of creamer from the fridge before filling it with coffee. Right as you went to take your first sip, your phone buzzed on the countertop and you let out a huff, scooping up the device to a text from Heather.

‘You can work from home, it’s a low day.’

‘Thank god. I really didn’t want to put real clothes on.’

‘Well you’ll have to at some point. You’ve got lunch at Old Ebbitt Grill at two.’

‘Who am I schmoozing for you?’

‘Emily Prentiss.’

‘The fed from yesterday? What’d’ you need with the FBI?’

‘She asked to meet with you. You’ll have to discuss it with her.’ ‘Put it on my card.’

‘Alright. Thanks.’

‘Wear that Tom Ford blouse I like so much.’

‘The blue one?’

‘It brings out your eyes.’

‘I’m beginning to think you might have ulterior motives going on here...’

‘Enjoy your lunch.’

You dropped the phone back onto the counter with a huff, knowing you weren’t getting another word out of her on the subject. It wasn’t unlike Heather to send you in to do a certain level of dirty work when it came to getting other politicians to do what she wanted. It was technically part of your job, she would simply just suggest you use your assets in a way she couldn’t to get them to lean her way, and it almost always worked. Still, you couldn’t possibly imagine what a Section Chief from the FBI would want with your skill set, surely the bureau had their own type of publicists to deal with whatever kind of a situation this was.

You glanced to the clock above the stove to find it was barely eight o’clock and nearly debated going back to bed but you knew that was a bad idea and turned to your coffee instead. You thought about what to do for breakfast while you grabbed your work phone and laptop from your bag, setting them up on the breakfast bar before opening the fridge. You settled on some easy eggs and avocado on toast and restarted the coffee machine to brew a fresh pot, turning on an instrumental playlist on your phone to get your day going and your brain running.

Finished with the food, you refilled your coffee and settled in at the counter to start sorting through emails, shooting one off to Heather with reminders of all the upcoming week’s appointments, meetings and appearances. The rest of the morning felt rather dull, the anticipation of lunch piquing your curiosity more often than not, sending you down spirals rather than focusing on your actual work. You caught yourself leafing through FBI websites and any news articles you could get your hands on, and considering the status you held, that was more than the general public.

Finally around eleven thirty your brain couldn’t get through another email and you opted to jump over to the gym for a quick workout to distract yourself for a bit. You left more than enough time to shower, making sure you were fresh and styled, selecting the blue blouse Heather had recommended before finally leaving your house.

Old Ebbitt Grill wasn’t far, it only took you ten minutes to get there, especially considering the lack of midafternoon traffic. You’d been there a few times before, a standard choice for business lunches among the elite of Washington, close enough to Capitol Hill that it was convenient but just far enough away that it was slightly more away from eavesdropping ears. You pulled up the drive in front and were offered valet service that you accepted, passing off a five for a tip before heading inside where you were greeted by a young bubbly hostess.

“Hi,” you smiled back, “reservation at two, could be under Walton, Prentiss or Dunbar. I think it’s only for two.”

Her finger began scanning through the reservation look in search of one of the names, “oh! There you are.” She beamed up at you, “Walton for two. You’re the first to arrive, would you like to wait or be seated?”

“I’ll sit.” You laughed softly, “god knows I could use a drink.”                                                    

“Of course, right this way.”

You were led past the bar area to the dining room and directed to a green velvet back booth, white table cloth adorning the table. You slid in as the hostess scooped up the extra place settings and wine glasses,

“Can I get something started for you?”

“Uh… two waters and a glass of pinot grigio would be fantastic, thanks.”

With another smile she was gone from the table and you were left to settle in, glancing at your watch you realized you were practically twenty minutes early and let out a soft sigh. Punctuality was almost too much of your strong point, but at least you were never late for things. You scanned the menu quickly, sliding it off to the side to pull out a work file that you’d been putting off looking through, thanking the server that came back with your drinks.

*

When Emily entered the restaurant she wasn’t entirely too sure what she was getting into, it almost felt weird to be doing this during the day, especially on what was technically a work day. She’d gotten an out of office lunch and work from home afternoon approved so she didn’t have to drive back, and it was Friday so she just kept telling herself it was an early weekend. The hostess picked up right away that she was meeting someone and offered up your last name to confirm before guiding her through the room.

The moment they were through the bar Emily had eyes on you, neatly tucked into a booth, a pen in your hand and a file folder in front of you that all your attention was focused on. Your hair was pulled back off your face but most of it still down and loosely styled. The make up on your face was slightly more detailed than it had been when she’d met you at the office, a little heavier around the eyes, a slightly less neutral lip. Your outfit hugged your frame, accentuating your body perfectly, blue top dipping slightly to expose a tasteful amount of cleavage, black pencil skirt leaving just enough leg out to be admired, and of course designer heels on your feet. It was all accented with a silver bracelet, necklace resting on the swell of your chest and jeweled earrings to match your shirt. You glanced up at the movement coming toward you, a smile taking over your face as you greeted her.

“Agent Prentiss,” you smiled as she slipped into the booth, “or, is that a demotion? Should it be Section Chief Prentiss?”

“That’s way too much of a mouthful.” She laughed, “just Emily’s fine.”

“Alright.” You shot her a grin, flipping the file shut and capping the pen before you slid it back into your purse, “sorry, work never ends.”

“I didn’t keep you waiting, did I?” While she was concerned she may have been late, she was happy to see that you were completely content on your own, and that you took work on the go, already another green flag in her book.

“Oh not at all, I have a habit of being insanely early wherever I go.”

There was a slight pause as the server came over to ask about drinks and Emily glanced towards you, your eyes flicked to your half empty glass and you thought about it for a second.

“You may as well bring another one.”

“Heather okay with you drinking on the clock?” Emily asked with a small grin.

“Have you met a politician who doesn’t?” You laughed, “you know… I think that’s the biggest difference between our branches of government, you’re usually armed. The only weapons we carry are our words and nefarious blackmail.”

Emily chuckled at that, watching as you took a sip, “well I took a half day.” She turned to the server, “I’ll have a sauvignon blanc please.”

A few moments later they returned with Emily’s wine and the two of you placed an order for a round of appetizers consisting of scallops, beet and burrata, calamari and the bread service. Conversation flowed easily enough, chatting here and there about the day, how the weather seemed to finally be warm enough to enjoy being outside, little tidbits about work. Emily found joy in the fact that you could keep up with her when she mentioned work, that it didn’t take an extra three tangents of explaining details for you to understand what she meant. By the time the food came out, the two of you were fully comfortable around each other and after a bite of a scallop, you decided to make the jump to attempt to get to the point.

“So, I know I’ve heard that the BAU’s in a bit of hot water right now, but I didn’t think you needed a full PR takeover. Don’t you have your own communications team for those kind of things?”

Emily stalled, quickly popping a piece of calamari into her mouth to spare her a few seconds to figure out how to start things. “Uhm….” She swallowed the food down, chuckling awkwardly, “that’s not exactly why I wanted to meet. Heather… recommended you for something else.”

“Ah…” You leant back against the booth, your elbow draping over the back of it, “I knew Heather had ulterior motives about today but I didn’t realize she was passing me off to utilize the extra skill set.” You chuckled, having now figured out exactly what Emily was alluding to, but you weren’t going to let her off that easy, you wanted to hear her say it. The corner of your lips twitched up at the way she tensed across the table from you and you went in with another tease and false lead. “You want to know what other PR teams I’m close with, whose assistants have loose lips or an axe to grind, dig up a little dirt on someone. Director Bailey? AG? Who’s the thorn in your side, hmm?”

The knot in her stomach burst at the latter part of your sentence, suddenly distracted she glanced up at you with a furrowed brow, “wait, you could really get in with the AG for me?”

“Mmhm.” You nodded over a sip of wine, “she thinks she’s a good friend, would you like me to do some nosing around?”

“No, no.” She waved you off, “that could get you in trouble.”

“Emily, believe me, with most of them all you need is a few too many glasses of wine, a little flattery, maybe a hint of an illegal substance and they’ll tell you whatever you want.”

She let out a low laugh, “I’m going to ignore that last part.” You chuckled as she picked up her wine, taking another sip while you scooped up another scallop. “You certainly have some kind of pedigree, don’t you?”

“I had a lot of ladders to climb to get where I am now, and a decent education and quick thinking always helps.”

“Was PR always the goal, or did you have your eye on Capitol Hill?” She asked and you nearly snorted.

“Where I am is where I want to be. Communications Major at UCONN, followed by a stint at Georgetown.”

“What does a ‘stint’ consist of?” She asked with a raised brow.

“Just a little law degree, never really intended to use it just wanted the knowledge.”

“Did you write the bar?”

“Mmhm.” You nodded, taking another sip of wine, “passed with flying colours. Just never really saw myself as a lawyer, fighting in courtrooms isn’t my style.”

“So why bother with the extra three years then?”

You shrugged, “Heather paid for it. Said if I was overqualified for a role I could bargain for better pay.”

“Wow…” Emily’s eyes widened, “she must really like you.”

“We’ve known each other a long time. She always knew she wanted me working for her in some capacity and she needed someone who she could trust, someone who was going to know what they were doing and was right for the field. When you work for Dunbar you have to fit the brand. Now making sure that brand is upheld is my job, she had to start with someone.”

“You enjoy working for her? She’s a good boss?”

“Are you kidding me?” You laughed, “being on her payroll is better than any other politician in the country, maybe even the world. She has a much higher level of expectations that always need to be met, she knows quality, she knows class and she demands it out of everyone. So she supplements with extras to make sure we know how appreciated we are and to keep us loyal.”

“Sounds like she knows what she’s doing.”

“She always does.” You leant forward, bracing your elbow on the table so your chin could rest in the palm of your hand, “which is why I know whatever she suggested I help you with is exactly what you need. But I’m starting to feel like I have to sign an NDA to even have this conversation.”

Emily sucked in a deep breath letting out a sigh before reaching for her wine glass, “well… I am hoping for a certain level of discretion and the previous couple of times I’ve tried this it didn’t exactly work in my favour.” She glanced back across the table to find your head still perched on your hand, eyes full of curiosity as you looked back at her and she nearly gulped.

“Do tell… what is it you want from me Agent Prentiss?” Your voice was lowered, both an attempt to get her to own up and to make sure you weren’t overheard, “I work in PR, I know how to uphold an image and believe me, I know how to keep a secret.”

She swallowed down a gulp of wine before slowly beginning to speak, “I’m… looking for someone who is willing to spend a night or two a week together, could be friendly company, could be more if you’re comfortable. And I’m willing to pay.” She winced, suddenly stopping herself, “wait, that sounded bad.”

You chuckled softly, smiling across the table at her to urge her to continue.

“Basically, I’ve got a bit of spare time and extra finances. I need someone who understands I can’t always be around, that work can and will upend plans constantly and suddenly. Someone who values privacy. I don’t have time to do the whole dating thing, the strings that come along with that.”

“Casual intimacy in exchange for fancy dinners, pricey jewels and lavish vacations?” You murmured softly, your head tilting in her direction and she nodded, “well… now we’re finally on the same page.”

“And you’re comfortable with that?”

Your eyes slowly raked over her, taking in her beauty, a small grin on your lips as you nodded, “Mmhm.”

“And the stipulations that come along with my work?”

“Not an issue. As you know, I have my own career and working for Heather can be a twenty four seven, seven days a week job and similar to yours, it includes a lot of travel. Discretion is easily attainable and I know how to uphold a certain image.”

“Good.” She let out a low huff of a laugh, “the last couple of dates I went on before this were garbage.”

“Mmm… I think you likely got caught with the ‘professional’ babies… they don’t want to work; they just want to get paid for being hot.” You rolled your eyes, “they don’t care about careers, they want to be center of attention at all times.”

“And lord knows I don’t have the time or patience for any of that.”

Before you could reply your phone began a series of buzzes on the table top, your eyes flicking to the lit screen and you sighed, “hold on, it’s Heather.” You picked up the device to swipe open the text chain, half muttering to yourself, “bitch said I could work from home today but god knows I can’t go twenty four hours without having to put out a fire.”

“Duty calls?” Emily asked with a near grin, watching as you finished your wine.

“Unfortunately.” You cast a smile in her direction, “and right as we were getting to the good part, sorry.”

“No apology necessary, go. I’ll take care of this.” She gestured to the table.

“Are you sure?”

“All things considered; I think it’s my responsibility.”

“Right.” You laughed softly, popping your phone back into your purse as you slid out of the booth, “you have my number?”

“I do.” She nodded, “I’ll make a reservation for next Friday, we can do dinner and discuss this further?”

“Of course.” You smiled at her, “I’ll see you Friday Emily.”

_______________

@mickey-gomez @momlifebehard @daddy-heather-dunbar @maybe-a-humanbean @rustyzebra @leftoverenvy @kades95 @dextur @supercriminalbean @emilyprentisssluvr @lex13cm @zizzlekwum @emobabeyy @riveramorylunar @scorpsik @onmykneesformarvel @inlovewithemilyprentiss @regalmilfs4me @ara-a-bird @five-bi-five-mind @inlovewithmiddleagewomen @hotchs-bitch @ollysmulti @kmc1989 @irishavengersassemble @hopedoesntknow @venromanova @waitaminuteashh @noahrex @imlike-so-gaydude @wittygutsy @cx-emerald-cx cx @momily @nilaues @borinxnovak @soverign @v3nusxsky @blackbird-brewster @mccdreamys-writes @l4yne @obsessedwjill @supercorpstan97 @asolitaryrose3 @honeyycatt @trauma-factory @lisqueen

[luna-rainbow]

Hi! I don't know if you have already read this Bucky's "analysis": https://www.tumblr.com/dreadnought-dear-captain/651270983166132224/cw-this-essay-is-about-about-trauma-including?source=share

I find it absurd that a person who claims to be knowledgeable in the psychological area and also to have lived through traumatic experiences themselves, can say that the depiction of therapy in TFATWS is OK and that it is "right" or "healthy" for Bucky to "take responsibility" for something he had no agency in. This is one of the many aspects that seem to me to be terribly wrong.

I'd be very grateful if you could share your opinion.

Sorry for the late reply, life’s been really hectic lately!

I vaguely remember reading this back in 2021. I don’t know if I ever got through the whole thing. I’m not trained in psychology so I can’t pretend to be any sort of expert.

There are some points I agree with, particularly to the headcanon that Bucky is actually very resilient rather than “fragile” — he has to be, to have lasted that long under Hydra, retained most of his innate willingness for good, and for Hydra to have been forced to use the methods they did to break him. While we’re on this topic, it’s not uncommon that people who leave abusive situations go through a period of “fragility” or being more open with expressing their vulnerability, because they’ve finally exited survival mode. I’m always soft for recovery fics where Bucky clearly has that stubborn resilient streak but also lets himself be vulnerable in front of someone he trusts.

It's not the first time that a self-proclaimed psychologist has tried to justify Bucky's arc in TFATWS with reclamation of agency (I feel like I've read a similar essay from someone else). My problem with these analyses has always been - Bucky is not a real patient, he's a fictional creation, therefore any talk about his psychology and in particular internal consistency can only be as good as the narrative. When you have a narrative that is as clunky as TFATWS, where it clearly made no attempt to consider Bucky's past, character, and motivations in many of the choices he made, it's ridiculous to examine this Bucky as though the writer had intended him to be a study of trauma recovery. It's like trying to debate the safest speed the Titan submersible should have descended at, when the real problem is that it's a creaking tin can from the get-go.

The problem with the reclamation of agency argument is the same problem with his healing arc. Just as Bucky already reclaimed his humanity and social connections by the support he got from the Wakandans, Bucky also already reclaimed his agency in the preceding movies. Are we forgetting his first act of disobedience to his handlers in pulling Steve out from the river instead of finishing his mission? Past that, he spent two years living a crime free and reasonably cosy life. He had a roof over his head, he was dressed clean and groomed, he was going out and conversing politely with shopkeepers, his apartment was sparsely furnished but lived in. All of these took a series of careful choices from someone who not only was forced to live with no agency for 70 years, but also had no identity, no documents, no money, and likely very little familiarity with this new world he's woken up to. He also made major choices that directly impacted the world around him, whether it was to divulge the location of the other Winter Soldiers, or joining Steve against the other Avengers, or choosing to go back to cryo, or accepting T'Challa's recruitment to go back onto the battlefield. He was not forced in any of these choices, and he had a lot to lose in each of them, but he still made the choice -- and the people around him, Steve and T'Challa, allowed him to make that call.

So yes, theoretically, if Bucky was a real patient, of course agency is a major theme in his recovery and a way to redirect away from overwhelming helplessness (although...Bucky's never acted as though he falls comfortably onto learned helplessness; again, the first thing we see him do as soon as he recalls any inkling of his past is to take agency into his own hands). But narratively? This is just regressing Bucky back to...oh, I don't know, early post-CATWS and retreading the recovery path he had already demonstrated.

And sure, trauma recovery is something that happens over a long period of time and people can vacillate between well-adjusted and emotional wreck, and we can argue given the events of Endgame, there's good reason for Bucky to have rollercoasted to an emotional slump by TFATWS. But - once again - this is a fictional construct, and if you took a step back and looked at the narrative as a whole instead of "Bucky should be allowed to make bad choices because he's mentally ill", there is no character justification for why Bucky would break Zemo out of jail or fight with Wakanda, very borderline justification for why Bucky would confuse the shield for his friendship with Steve, and minimal justification for why Bucky would crash Sam's mission in the first place. Not to mention the 20 things that doesn't make sense about the Flagsmashers and post-Blip world, and what authority Sam and Bucky were even working under. If the overarching narrative doesn't make sense, what even is the use of trying to rationalise his actions in a psychological sense?

As to your specific point about "the depiction of therapy in TFATWS is OK and that it is "right" or "healthy" for Bucky to "take responsibility" for something he had no agency in" - I'm not sure how it's argued in the original essay because I don't want to read the whole thing, but this feels like a really weird therapeutic strategy. If we equate Bucky's situation to rape - which we probably can after they inserted the stomach turning scene of Zemo selling Bucky to Selby - I'd like to know which therapist would sit with their rape victim and say it's "right and healthy" for them to take responsibility for the rape, ie the situation during which Bucky had no control over his identity or wishes. From what I've seen and read of victims in recovery, whether that's as survivors of abuse or rape or homocide, they find solace in taking control of the emotions they are left with in recovery -- i.e. the grief or rage or indignation, and repurposing that into a sense of mission, such as starting victim help groups or campaigning for policy change or fighting to get the criminals arrested. But again, that's not reclaiming the situation as something they had "responsibility" for, but rather to make the best with their experience and being a safety net for others. But that hadn't been what Bucky's therapy was about, Raynor was basically implying Bucky was dangerous and out of control and needs to make amends to prove himself stable. It wasn't about unravelling what Bucky feels about the long helpless 70 years of imprisonment and redirecting it to a sense of purpose, it was to make Bucky "pay back" the other victims...as a parole condition to make him suitable for society.

So no, it was not an appropriate therapeutic intervention, because at no point did it have Bucky's best interest at heart, nor - based on Sebastian's portrayal - did it have Bucky's buy-in. And as I've always said, it was also incredibly unfair to the other victims on the receiving end of Bucky's unexpected appearance and "amends" without any sort of neutral mediator.

[dinocanid]

The voluntary/involuntary debate (-is making me lose my mind)

I don't see anyone saying this, but something being missed in the whole "therianthropy (and otherkinity) is completely involuntary!" conversation is that so much of the argument is overcorrection, and it's being treated as a binary when the lines are all grey. Which makes the constant back and forth feel very tiring.

First: context

10-ish years ago (even today in some crotchety circles), therianthropy-focused spaces were chomping at the bit to "weed out the fluff" due to the surrounding alt culture at the time (teen wolves) and the release of a few documentaries that many considered quite cringe-y and embarrassing. They went "oh god, we can't be associate with those weird people" and, while that wasn't the only contributor to the gatekeeping and grilling culture at the time, it was a significant one. So any new therians hoping to join communities were often grilled the hell out of, because people wanted to check if they were ""real"" therians and not those "fluffy teen werewolves" on TV. Therianthropy wasn't a game or a trend, it's a part of you, which is true. But "it's not a game" got bastardized into "it's involuntary" due to overcorrection and a lack of preserving nuance. Regardless if you think you were born a therian or if someone goes "I really want to be a [nonhuman animal]" and starts to embrace that identity, that's still therianthropy. "I want to be this, therefore I'm going to be this, and I am this" is still therianthropy.

This problem isn't unique to therianthropy either, "otherkinity must be involuntary" is also a result of overcorrection, more specifically due to the ableism and damage kinnie culture has done to the fictionkin community. Dragonheart Collective wrote a concise essay on this, so I will link that [right here] rather than repeat things, other than I have noticed "voluntary" be conflated with "kinnie" when it should not be. "Being kin isn't just relating to or liking something" got bastardized into "otherkinity is involuntary" by the community. Regardless if you think you were born otherkin or if someone goes "I really want to be a [character or nonhuman creature]" and starts to embrace that identity, that's still otherkinity "I want to be this, therefore I'm going to be this, and I am this" is still otherkinity.

Second: nuance.

No, involuntary doesn't inherently mean "it's a game". What counts as voluntary or involuntary is so blurry that a common conclusion can rarely even be reached on what it means. Things that have been seen considered voluntary:

Noticing the identity and choosing to embrace it versus shove it down and dismiss it

Waking up one day

Really wanting to be something and deciding to embrace it, versus dismissing it

Was born with the identity but picks and chooses which parts they prefer to focus on and explore

etc. along the above lines

And these are all perfectly fine ways of experiencing therianthropy and otherkinity, people have been having experiences like that for years. This is completely normal and nothing new and it's so tiring seeing people point fingers at places that these things didn't even come from, like TikTok.

"But what about linking then?"

This debate is much older than "-linking" terminology, which in and of itself is a product of this very debate. People made new words because so many were arguing if someone's identity is real if it originates in a particular way. This doesn't change how "-link" terminology should be used today, but it is worth noting that those are perfectly normal ways to experience otherkinity and therianthropy even if these other terms exist. It means you can use whichever personally feels best to you. It does not mean that people need to be shoved out of the non-link labels.

[xhikatsu]

Topaz and Aventurine’s Silent Acceptance

Aventurine and Topaz, despite seemingly very opposite of each other, actually seem to get along with each other far more than they have shown with Jade. It’s rather ironic considering we don’t get to see them together really, yet there’s so many bits and hints they work together often.

Despite the way Topaz seems to openly admit to disagreeing with Aventurine, even sometimes sounding rather begrudgingly working with him, she always seems to be willing to back Aventurine up when he needs her. And vice versa, Aventurine has shown to be there for her when she needs it as well.

Throughout the Penacony quest, despite not making an appearance until the end, Topaz has been supporting him from the sidelines. Just making some assumptions due to her being in constant communications with him, she was probably the one trying to help contact allies for him while being in reality and Aventurine in the dreamscape.

She even asked Trailblazer to help Aventurine out when the time comes, so it’s not too far off to assume that it is possible she might have been the one contacting others with/for him. For example, such as the Knights of Beauty since she has connections to them with her probably knowing Wilder from the Aetherium Wars, the younger twin of Velite who was part of Argenti’s quest.

Overall, she is stuck in the reality hotel in Penacony. Instead of doing nothing, she was most likely helping Aventurine in any way she can since she is his project manager and he was in the dream world alone. This may also mean she might have been the one who ordered a doctor of chaos for him after being slashed by Acheron's blade, sending him to the Nihility and affecting him a bit after escaping (Thanks to Mr. Knight of Beauty as well).

Handling the negotiations, which was most likely her main duty in the project, she only had to work with Jade for this bit since Aventurine overplayed in giving them the opportunity and chance by getting the Emanator of Nihility involved to cause a scene. This means if things went as planned without extra complications, it would have just been the two of them working on the project while Jade only included her stone as part of the deal made prior to Penacony.

But even after that, during the meeting with the other Stonehearts, Topaz has continued her support towards him. Specifically, she was the first person to vote for Aventurine to have him stay in the Stonehearts during the debate on whether he should be kicked out or not. When Sugilite probes Aventurine that his "death" and ruining the Cornerstone was unnecessary, hinting that he probably did it out of his own selfishness of wanting to give his life away, Topaz was the one to shut down that line-of-thought by immediately voting to counter him. She specifically states to not ignore the facts, most likely pertaining to the results that Aventurine did complete the project and won Penacony for the IPC. On top of that, she never fully stated her reason for voting for Aventurine, only defending him against Sugilite's accusation.

Ironically, this was a similar case to Aventurine staying on call after Topaz’s demotion. After the 1.4 quest with Topaz on Jarilo VI, Aventurine was the only one to stay on call with her when she clearly did not seem happy by being demoted. Right after taking his voice changer off, Topaz seems visibly more happy compared to how she looked during the discussion of her demotion and Aventurine immediately seems to tease her (similarly to how the two bickered or poked at each other during the Checking Out quest after 2.3).

On top of that, Aventurine did two things during this conversation. First, he warned her about her kind heart when he didn’t need to. According to his words, he already warned her ahead of time that the project was more risky than beneficial but still continued to warn her of the potential harm that it may cause to her. Why is that? On top of this, the second thing he did after this was immediately recruit her to his Penacony project even though she just “failed” her project. His words in the CN text was:

“No one but you” instead of “what do you say”

What makes this conversation interesting is how he seems to continue to worry for her, hinting that he keeps warning her to be careful on the kind of projects she takes and even advise against it. Since in this particular case she ended up "failing", he immediately seems to try to cheer her up by staying in call with her to try and tease her like he usually would. But, he also even tries to offer her an opportunity to help her rank back up. Now do recall, Topaz does not care about ranks. But also, she has mentioned in Penacony that she is only there just because of Aventurine. The project was not something she cared for, but merely joined because Aventurine seemed to have personally asked for her help and specifically her out of all people despite her just being demoted when he asked.

This silent acceptance to help one another and continually support each other has always been an interesting trend between the two. Despite bickering and poking at each other, almost as if they are rivals or sorts, they have shown to be far kinder and closer to each other so far than the other Stonehearts that they have had interactions with in the main story, character stories, or myriad trailers.

Original Date of Posting on Tumblr: Oct 2, 2024

[oswildin]

Debated making this, but oh well, here we are…

I rewatched the Loki series.

Going to add here quickly that I have been a fan of Loki since 2012/2013, and I personally relate to his character for a multitude of reasons.

Now, I enjoy the series, but I wish they made it more character focused than they had. I do feel like they prioritised story in terms of making it fit the next phase over exploring and expanding on Loki’s character to some degree (a lot of it was surface level).

For example, I would’ve loved to have seen:

Exploring Loki’s Jotun heritage, even if it was a variant of him in the void that embraced it, dropped his aesir form, a conversation between Loki and his Jotun variant as they explain why they chose to embrace it, giving a different view to maybe how our Loki sees himself/the Jotuns. If ‘What If’ could have a frost giant Loki variant, why couldn’t the show?

Expanding upon what happened to Loki during that year after his fall from the Bifrost. The reason for this is self explanatory really, it would add more lore/depth to his experiences/actions during the Avengers. Maybe address the trauma he has from it.

Loki fighting with his so-called ‘desire’ for a throne more. By this I mean, I felt he flipped pretty quickly from his plan to overthrow the time keepers to just following along with Sylvie - which is fine, but I kinda thought there would be more push back from him. I get it was a life or death situation and Loki’s whole thing is ‘survival’, but it would’ve added to their dynamic and the fact the writers clearly wanted to push how Sylvie was different to other Loki’s.

Exploring Sylvie’s backstory more. It really did feel like it was an afterthought, which is a shame. I suppose they left it ambiguous for certain reasons, but I think they should’ve had more flashback scenes of what Sylvie could remember. I think it would’ve helped people understand and relate to her more. (I do love her though).

Actually showed Loki’s gender fluidity & shapeshifting ability more. Again, self explanatory really & important to his character, plus the whole implied only ‘woman variant’ thing with Sylvie should’ve not been a thing, like at all.

They should’ve given Loki more time to process everything. This show really should’ve had 8 episodes each season, I get that’s not the writers fault, likely Disney/marvel’s doing. Perhaps then the shift in his character wouldn’t have felt so jarring, especially considering he’s 2012 Loki. I do agree they wrote him as if he was Ragnarok!Loki, and that’s not necessarily a bad thing, but it just felt jarring considering the last we saw of this Loki was Avengers. But then I could also argue that maybe he thought ‘what’s the point of it’ because the TVA know everything about him, but I digress.

Used Sylvie more in S2. It did feel like they didn’t quite know what to do with her, her and Loki clearly just needed to sit and discuss the citadel fight, but the closest thing we got is in EP3 where Sylvie says ‘this is all rather familiar, isn’t it?’, referencing their different/opposing opinions on the TVA/He Who Remains. And also maybe the pie room scene, but it’s very vague/not directly addressed.

Explored the fact that Mobius is not a good guy more. Because, he isn’t. And that’s okay. To me, the whole point of the show is based on Loki’s quote of ‘no one good is ever truly good, and no one bad is ever truly bad’, and whilst they do reference Mobius’ own morally grey actions/traits, they don’t particularly make it clear and most just see him as this ‘happy go lucky old man who likes pie and loves Loki variants’. In fact, I actually really liked the scene where Sylvie confronts him - which is a very unpopular opinion to have it seems, lol.

Delved into the psychology of Loki further than surface level/what we already know about him. Yes, we know he’s the God of Mischief. Yes, we know he isn’t evil. Yes, we know he is redeemable. Yes, we know he’s cunning, manipulative and selfish. We get that he projects this ‘illusion’ of himself, but it was only really mentioned in S1 EP1, maybe slightly EP2, before it’s never really mentioned again. I suppose S2 does this to a degree with the bar scene and EP5 of S1 in the time cell with Sif - also I think they tried to take the narcissist angle from the pov that it’s because of his low self-esteem as to why he needs validation and it’s a defence mechanism, but they didn’t particularly make that clear and made it seem like he just thinks highly of himself.

I know it seems like I have a lot of issues with the show, and I do, but I still enjoyed it. It’s okay to be critical of a piece of media and still enjoy it.

I do prefer S2 to S1, mostly because I prefer the direction they took it in and whilst I, of course, wanted better for Loki, I can’t deny S2 EP6 is a stunning finale. I sobbed so hard during the ending and still feel the grief that I actually lost someone I knew personally. But I also have hope that this means Loki is now a main player in the next phase (am I delusional? Maybe).

I enjoyed the dynamics, the back and forth/chemistry, the story was interesting, the set & costume design, the acting, the directing/colour grading, the music (Natalie Holt, you are genius), the emotions, the fun, the characters…

So this is not a hate post by any means, I will once again state, I enjoyed the show. But, I do have issues with it, and that’s okay too.

Please, dni if you’re just going to be argumentative or confrontational. I also don’t want to hear that just because I enjoyed the show that I’m ‘not a real fan’ lmao. I’m sorry, but I’ve been a Loki stan for over a decade, and I will not have someone tell me I’m not a real fan because of a piece of fictional media. Also, please do not mention anything regarding ships on this post, I do not care for it because it always ends up in arguments and I am a multishipper so I don’t tend to fight for any side. Thank you! :) /gen