#like the elephant in the room that nobody talks about but if you know the fandom/thing then you know

[salamidots]

mhmhm I gave someone a heartknot to someone but now when you go on a date you and the other character hold hands automatically if you're standing close enough/idle and my brain was just like ehhhhhh >:'D

I just mainly wanna see what else the character has to say/unlock and then after idk might undo/break up we'll see

edit: okay the date itself is fine/the character's responses that I picked are really fucking funny/sweet >:'D I just don't like the hand holding thing

[cvnntagious]

:: babydaddy!matt has no problem sticking up for brat!reader

matt wasn't the type to get easily riled up—especially not to where he felt the need to get physical about it. he was more the type to talk things out, most would say. and that's exactly why it was such a shock when you made your way towards the commotion in the living room to see matt with a guy under him, fists of fury hammering into the poor dude's face.

for a moment, you contemplated if this was something you even wanted to involve yourself in, given is was your child's father. but when matt's hand continued coming down repeatedly with no sign of stopping any time soon, his opposer barely fighting back at this point, you couldn't find it in him to let him just keep kicking this guy when he was so clearly down.

giving a harsh tug on matt's plain black t-shit, you pulled him off like he were a misbehaving dog. his head snapped back to see who had grabbed him, brows unfurrowing the moment he came face to face with you.

his breathing was ragged, waiting for you to berate him as the people surrounding you two scrambled to stop the guy who was once lying on yhe dloor from standing up. to his surprise, you pulled him along with an annoyed grunt, slipping out of the party amidst the chaos of the fight. "where're we going?" matt asked, only to be ignored as he followed behind you until you guys were far from the house.

"i knew this was a stupid idea," you finally muttered, letting go of his wrist to turn and look up at him as you two stood in front of his car. your eyes, scanned his face, maneuvering your head to get a good look at any injuries he may have.

matt's mouth opened, wanting to explain. he knew you didn't want to hear it. "m'not hurt," he replied simply, shaking his head as his eyes finally met yours.

you clicked your tongue, giving him a deep sigh as your eyes rolled for what already felt like the millionth time tonight. "what's your problem?" you asked, addressing the big fat elephant standing right in front of your guys' faces, "forget you're an adult now, hm? have been for almost five years... fighting's how you catch cases, dumbass."

the scoff that left his lips made you want to slap some sense into matt, giving him a look that said, 'are you a fucking idiot?' as you waited for whatever lame excuse he might conjur up. but you should've known better than that. you knew matt had never been the type to go out fighting recklessly, so you should've known something had seriously bothered him. and the fact that something so simple had slipped your mind made his reasoning all the more shocking. "kid was talking shit," he answered, eyes averting to look anywhere but you, one hand coming up to rest on his hip as if he were embarrassed to admit it.

again, you weren't paying enough attention. "yeah? what, he said your fancy little carharts weren't cool enough or something? so you had to go and risk literal jail time?" you insulted, growing increasingly more annoyed with each passing second, "i mean, seriously, i don't know what i'd do if that guy chooses to press charges—you better hope nobody recorded that."

matt looked at you with a softness to his eyes, feeling his chest tightening a bit at your words; for a moment, those last few sentences made it feel like you needed him. of course, he knew in the back of his mind that you were thinking of mazzy, but he'd like to remain at least the slightest bit delusional in the moment. "come on," he scoffed again, "it was about you... the guy was talkin' shit 'bout you. was i supposed to jus' let him?"

the confession made your breath hitch a little, head pulling back and brows furrowing in a mild confusion. then, you came back to your senses, the attitude rising within you apparent on your features. "what'd he say?" you asked with a quick work of your neck.

"s'nothing important." matt was quick to brush you off, a certain coldness washing over him.

"really? then why'd you fight about it," you pressed on, a brow raising as if to tell him you simply didn't believe him.

he shook his head, mouth openining and closing as matt thought of an excuse. he couldn't – or, moreover, he didn't want to lie to you. "jus' spewin' some bullshit about you, like, bein' overly difficult... said you rejected him an' shit earlier. i guess he was upset about it," he answered, realizing he may have overreacted a bit now that he was explaining it out loud.

"that's all?"

matt shot you a confused look, shrugging a bit. "yeah—i mean, i also saw him tryin' t'grab on you earlier, so..." even that that wasn't really all, truthfully. it was the way the guy was so persistent, eager to start some sort of smear campaign against you between all of his friends. his lack of regard for matt as he badmouthed you, knowing what matt was to you. what you meant to matt.

you were quick to push past him, another annoyed grunt as you shoulder checked him. "just let him talk next time," you mumbled through gritted teeth, "that's not your battle."

matt turned and watched you walk away, in utter disbelief that this was how he was getting treated for standing up for you. of course it was his battle. who else was going to fight it? you? absolutely not. that guy got what was coming to him, saying whatever so carelessly.

"stay if you want," you called back, head turning to look at him, "m'gonna stop by your house to pick up mazzy from chris and nick."

w/c : 971 taglist : @mattsturnswife, @br1annax, @x0x0bunny, @m4ttsmunch, @mattsnumberonehoe, @k4yd1, @sturnobsessedwh0re, @sturnstar169, @bxtchboy69, @strnilolover, @little-miss-shay, @sweetobservationface requested by anon.

[marril96]

Mirrors

Chapter 1: Shattered

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x reader

Summary: Your plan to talk about your and Agatha's strained relationship is put on hold when she collapses after hiding a serious injury.

Editor: @fruityhahn

The latest Trial — your very own — had taken a lot out of you. You were exhausted, your eyes yearning to close and sleep the events of the day away.

The first two Trials — Jen and Alice's — were difficult to get through, had even cost you a coven member and gained you a new one along the way (who just happened to be Agatha's ex girlfriend, but neither one of you was ready for that conversation), but they were nowhere near as anxiety-inducing as yours had been.

If not for Agatha talking you through the entire thing, offering encouragement despite your strained relationship, you never would have been able to pass it.

"That was… something," you said as the two of you walked down the Road.

The rest of the Coven was a good way ahead, too lost in chatter and laughter to notice the two of you had fallen behind.

Not that you cared — Agatha even less so. You wanted some alone time with her, a chance to talk about the day's events. A chance to approach the elephant that had been in the room since before the Road had even come into existence.

You'd tried to broach the subject multiple times, to no avail. Agatha had shut down each of your attempts, claiming she needed to focus on the situation at hand — the Road that shouldn't exist; the Trials she'd had to bullshit her way through; the boy whose name nobody could hear, who may or may not have been Wanda Maximoff's son. The topic of before — of your relationship, of the things you'd both done to fuck everything up — would be dealt with later.

Only, later never came. There was always something new, something more urgent that demanded her attention. In classic Agatha fashion, she avoided, avoided, avoided. Why deal with a problem when she could pretend it didn't exist? Why confront it when she could deflect? Why talk when she could just… not?

It was one of her most irritating traits. You knew she was just trying to protect herself, that all she wanted to do was hold back the pain — as temporary as it was — that inevitably came with such conversations, but that didn't make it any less frustrating.

She should know by now that she was safe with you. That her hurt and tears were safe, never to be exploited or used against her. That, as scary as it was to open up, she had nothing to be afraid of. You had never harmed her on purpose, and never would.

On purpose being the keyword.

What you'd done by accident — or rather, what you hadn't done — was the root cause of the issue.

"It sure was," Agatha said, nervously looking around, her hands firmly placed in her pockets, no doubt gripping the fabric tightly between her fingers.

"Thanks for having my back in there," you said. Then, with a smile, you added, "Literally."

At one point, near the end of your Trial, the mirrors in the posh, castle-like room you were stuck in had started shattering. Agatha, having noticed the cracks forming, had leapt and thrown herself over you just as the first mirror had exploded.

She'd held you in her embrace, her body a shield from the flying glass, until the commotion had stopped, and the door, red as blood, leading back to the Road had appeared amidst the pale white walls.

Agatha shrugged, feigning indifference, nonchalance. "I just didn't want us to have to resort to summoning another backup witch."

You knew her better than that. "Right. It was more practical to save me."

"Exactly."

You sighed. She was a horrible liar when it came to things like this. The truth was written all over her face, woven into her voice, a tattoo that she wasn't even trying that hard to conceal. She knew that you knew the truth, that you could see right through her thinly veiled bullshit, and she didn't care.

She could always shut down and walk away from this conversation. She could always say something new had demanded her attention. She could scream at you to leave her alone, that, after what you'd done, you didn't deserve a heart-to-heart.

So far, while clearly displeased by the direction the conversation was taking, she was playing along.

You decided to make the most of it.

"Agatha." You made sure to say it in that way that told her enough was enough, that you needed to talk like adults. That avoiding it was a tantrum you were losing tolerance for.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, eyes straight ahead, refusing to meet yours. "What?"

"We need to talk."

"Do we?"

"You know we do."

Agatha swallowed. She straightened out her coat and pressed her mouth into a line that would be cute if it wasn't frustrating. Her own little way of rebellion, one you knew all too well.

If she couldn't avoid the issue, she could pretend it wasn't there. She could pretend that she didn't see what was right in front of her, that she didn't hear the words spoken right beside her ears.

You weren't going to let her.

Noticing she's fallen behind, you stopped in your tracks and turned to look at her. She was pale as a ghost, her lips a purplish color that looked unsettling even under the Road's odd lighting.

"You okay?" you asked for your own peace of mind. Surely, she couldn't have dreaded the conversation that much.

Agatha frowned, uneasy at being asked. People usually didn't check on her. Nobody cared how the infamous Witch Killer was doing.

Nobody but you.

"I'm fine," she said abrasively. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"You look a bit pale."

She scoffed. "This place doesn't exactly do wonders for one's complexion."

Fair point.

"You're sure you're okay?"

"Just peachy."

As soon as the words left her mouth, her left hand — her dominant one — shot out to grab onto your arm. Her fingers, unusually pale, deathly cold to the touch, dug into your flesh. Her nails, long and sharp as talons, cut crescents into your skin, pinching, almost drawing blood.

"Agatha?"

She responded by finally allowing her eyes to meet yours. The glassy, haunted look in them sent a concerned shiver down your spine.

"Sweetheart, what's wrong?"

Agatha pulled in a breath to steady herself. "N-Nothing, I'm-I'm fine."

In contrast to her words, her grip on you tightened. She could lie all she wanted; her body never did. Not to you.

"Don't do that. Tell me what's wrong."

She forced a chuckle. "Why? So you can leave again?"

You flinched as if slapped. Was that seriously how she wanted to play it? You'd done wrong here, of course you had, but she didn't get to twist it. She didn't get to rewrite history as if it was an article that needed revision.

She didn't get to strike that low while you were already on the ground.

"You're the one who left!" you snapped, sick of her nonsense. Waiting for days to let it all out, wild and free from the constraints of your self-control.

"And you didn't follow!" Agatha shot back.

She was right.

You didn't follow.

You'd stayed home and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

You'd cried yourself to sleep for many nights, thinking she'd left you for good. Thinking, in the years that had followed, that she'd shacked up with someone new and had forgotten all about you.

She had forgotten you, but not out of choice. Not out of want.

All she needed was for you to come and get her.

Yet you never did.

"How long are you gonna keep punishing me for that?"

As if you weren't punishing yourself enough. Every time you were alone with your thoughts, the unpleasant reality hit you like a pile of bricks straight to the face. Agatha was there, locked inside her own mind, begging for help, but it never came. You never came.

Even if she were to ever forgive you, you would never forgive yourself.

"I'm sorry," you said with tears in your eyes, begging to be let free. "For the thousandth time, I'm sorry.

You could say it a million more times — it wouldn't change what had happened. Nothing could ever possibly change it.

Agatha breathed in, taking in your words. Swishing them through her head like a mouthful of water.

"What do I have to do to get you to forgive me?"

If she could find it in her heart to forgive you, to absolve you of your infraction, maybe, eventually, you would be able to try to forgive yourself. Maybe this pain, this hurt that ravaged you from the inside — that had been ravaging you since Agatha had shown up at your door with Teen, pissed as high hell, demanding answers — would subside.

Just as Agatha took in a few resolving breaths, preparing to respond, her right knee gave way and she tumbled forwards.

"Oh, my god," you breathed as your arms, led by instinct you'd grown into over your centuries together, leapt up to catch her.

You pressed her against you, holding her upright as tightly as you could, even as the full weight of her on you threatened to topple you both.

"Sweetheart, what's going on?"

"It's n-n-nothing." Her voice was strained, tired, as if she were forcing the response out. As if each and every word that left her mouth scorched her throat.

You grit your teeth, frustrated. Exasperated by her stubbornness, by her complete and utter refusal to talk, even at times like this.

"Agatha, please, talk to me. Let me help."

"I d-don't…" The words died in her throat. She tried to raise her hands to push you away, to get you to let go, but her arms, as deathly pale as her face, remained hanging at her sides. Dead. Useless.

"It's okay. I got you," you assured her, nuzzling her neck like you always did when you held her. "You can hate me all you want. I'm not letting you go."

"I don't hate you," she uttered weakly, as if it took all of her to force the words out. Then her head fell against your shoulder, and her body, limp, unusually heavy, slumped against you.

It took everything in you to remain on your feet. Your grip around her tightened, squeezing her to you. Pressing her against you as firmly as you could.

"Agatha? Agatha?" you called, but no response came. No words. No grunts. No moans. Just deadly, deafening silence. 

Blood ran cold in your veins. This wasn't good. Whatever was going on, Agatha wasn't doing well.

"Sweetheart, please."

Something sticky engulfed your hand that was pressing against her side. You raised it to inspect it, and your eyes widened at the substance glistening under the Road's dim lighting.

Blood.

Scarlet. Warm. Vibrant.

So much of it that it soaked through her coat.

The smell of pennies clung to your tongue, so thick that you could taste it.

"Oh, god!" you exclaimed, your heart racing as you stared at your smeared hand, at the blood coating your skin. Blood that shouldn't be there. Blood that Agatha didn't tell you about. "Guys! Help! Please, help!"

The coven, far up ahead of you, turned their heads and looked back, startled from their carefree conversation.

"What happened?" Teen said, the first one to run towards you, having sensed the urgency, the sheer panic in your tone.

"Agatha's hurt," you whimpered through tears that drenched your face and obscured your vision. You kept your arms firmly around Agatha, focused on keeping her upright, on making sure whatever injury she had wouldn't be made worse.

"What? How?" Teen asked, worried, as Alice bent down to examine the bloodstain on Agatha's coat.

"She protected me when the mirrors shattered."

She'd more than protected you. She'd shielded you. Had taken on the impact of each and every shard of glass. Had grit her teeth and beared it. All for your sake. For your safety. As strained as your relationship was, the last thing she wanted was for you to get hurt.

She'd risked her life for yours.

"I didn't-I didn't know she got hurt. She didn't tell me." You swallowed a hard, heavy lump in your throat. Shook the tears from your eyes. "Why didn't you tell me? Why?"

Because she didn't want to show weakness. Because this was yet another problem she could avoid and ignore until, eventually, she no longer could. Until the pain became too much and her body had lost too much blood to keep her on her feet, and she collapsed in your arms.

With Lilia and Alice's help, you lowered Agatha to the ground, gently, carefully. The other witches removed her coat and raised her shirt, exposing her back. Her skin, usually smooth and silky, was speckled with cuts of various shapes and sizes, as if someone had marked her with a thin, red marker. On her right side, just below her ribs, blossomed a large, bleeding wound.

"Oh, my god," you gasped, bewildered at the sight.

It had to have hurt like a bitch. Why didn't she tell you? Why didn't she ask for help? Why did she think she had to bite back the pain and suffer in silence?

Alice pressed her hands over the wound, closing it as much as she could. "This is bad. We have to stop the bleeding."

"Jen, can you do something?" you asked.

The witch in question stared, unmoved, unbothered. As if the scene before her didn't faze her a single bit. As if she didn't have it in her to care.

Agatha was easy to hate, easy to leave for dead.

Loving her, on the other hand, was difficult. Challenging. Near impossible for most people.

Not for you.

Never for you.

"Do the thing you did with Teen!" you shouted; an order, a command. Leaving no place for debate.

The woman you loved was bleeding out, and there was nothing you could do about it. Your skills, your magic, everything you knew and had was useless. You were useless.

The only one who could do something,who could help her in any meaningful way, was Jen.

"Please!" you begged, holding on to Agatha, whose head was resting on your lap, as if your life depended on it. As if she would disappear if you were to let go. "Don't let her die. I know you don't like her, but please help her."

As much bad blood there was between them, Agatha didn't deserve to die. Not like this.

She didn't deserve to be abandoned again.

"I'll owe you," you said through sobs that, no matter how hard you tried to suppress them, kept coming, one after another. Choking you. Suffocating you. "Please."

Jen sighed, then shook her head. "You know how this works. Water. Moonlight."

Lilia jumped at the task, Teen following in her stead.

Rio watched the scene unfolding before her, amused, like a cat playing with her food.

As your brain registered her presence, you bent over, hiding Agatha from her line of sight. As if that would do anything. As if anyone could ever hide from Death, herself. "You stay away from her! You're not taking her!"

Rio smiled, the picture of innocence. As fake as the Road that you were on.

"Stay back!"

She raised her hands in mock defeat and walked away. Alice and Jen shot you a glance, baffled by your outburst. You must have come across as hysterical. The new girlfriend, jealous of the ex who just happened to join you on the Road. Too lost in panic, in concern to think straight.

They didn't know who — what — Rio was. They didn't know that she wanted Agatha dead. They didn't know their history.

A long time ago, Agatha had filled you in on everything that had transpired between them. Their failed relationship. The loss of her son. You'd never seen her cry as much as she had that day; not before, and not since.

Everything that had transpired between them was still a gaping wound on her heart and soul; forever to bleed, never to close.

There was nothing you could do to make that pain go away. Nothing you could do to lessen it, to soothe that never-healing ache. The woman you loved more than life itself would forever bear that pain.

The only thing you could do was not add to it.

Today wasn't Agatha's day to die. You would be damned if you let Rio try to speed the process along.

You closed your eyes as Jen started chanting her healing spell, your arms firm around Agatha. Please, work, you begged as your tears dripped onto her hair, onto her deathly cold cheek. Please, stay with me. I can't lose you.

You would forever regret the three long years you'd spent without her.

She never should have stormed out that day.

You should have followed after her.

She should have told you she was going to Westview.

You never should have thought that that was it, that she was done with you for good.

Agatha said she didn't hate you. You hoped it was true, that it wasn't delirium brought upon by blood loss. There was still hope for you to make things right. To make her forgive you.

If she didn't — couldn't — that was okay with you. You could live with that. So long as she lived.

It would hurt, probably forever, but you would learn to deal with it. You would learn to live without her, as you had for the past three years.

All that mattered was that she kept her life. Even if she wasn't in yours.

As Jen finished her spell, Alice removed her hands from Agatha's injury, allowing Teen and Lilia to pour the enchanted water over it. You allowed yourself a peek, squeezing Agatha's shoulder. Please, work. Please. Please. Please.

You held your breath as Alice, as tenderly as she could, brushed her hand over the blood, smearing it away.

Revealing perfect, untouched flesh underneath it.

You released a long breath, relief flooding your veins like a long-awaited high.

The spell had worked.

The wound was gone.

"Thank you," you whispered, loud enough for Jen to hear. Hoping she knew how much this meant to you. How much you appreciated it. "Thank you so much."

You pulled Agatha closer, holding her tightly against you, rocking her back and forth like a sleeping child. She was still as cold as a corpse, but she was no longer bleeding. Her breathing, while shallow, was steady. Her heart beat in a healthy rhythm.

"She'll be okay, right?"

You needed someone to tell you that she would. To assure you that the worst had passed.

Lilia laid a tender, comforting hand on your shoulder. "She's strong."

"She has to be okay.

"She will be." It was a statement of fact. A promise. Her tone leaving no room for doubt.

You believed her.

"She's lost a lot of blood," Alice said. "She needs rest."

You gave a small nod. Agatha would get all the rest her body required. She would be warm and comfortable. Safe from any further calm.

Anything she needed, she would get.

You would make sure of it.

"Jen, I owe you."

The witch in question shook her head and allowed a small smile to graze her face. "You don't owe me anything. Agatha, on the other hand…"

The others chuckled at the remark.

You didn't have it in you to join them, Agatha's condition the one and only thing occupying your scrambled mind. You needed to look after her. To tend to her until she opened her eyes and uttered one of her sarcastic remarks that would be insulting to anyone who didn't know her enough to know she meant it with love.

Right now, that was all that mattered.

Anything else could wait.

*****

Tags: @werewolfbarbie @miss-moon-guardian @hermslore @uniquelesbianidiot @natashamaximoff1 @alsoknownasmel @swan-queen-is-magic @tardisesandtitans @ahintofchaos @fruityhahn @midnight-lestrange @lift-heavy-be-gay @katieswain123 @riovidalharkness @revleftshark

*****

Next chapter.

[dykesynthezoid]

How IWTV characters would respond if you asked them if they were a feminist:

Claudia: Says she likes killing human men and women equally and also that female vampires are definitely better than male vampires, in her experience. If Louis’s there she plays it up as much as possible just to annoy him.

Old Daniel: “Oh, nobody actually wants to hear a guy who looks like me declare themselves a proud feminist.” Is it a deflection? A little. Is he right? I mean yeah

Young Daniel: Says something like, “I don’t know, whenever I try to interview any kind of Women’s Lib chick she always ends up throwing stuff at me. I can’t imagine why.”

Louis: Spends like, 20 minutes talking about personally knowing Simone de Beauvoir. Mentions a “complicated” past relationship to women but doesn’t quite fully confront the pimp-shaped elephant in the room. Keeps vaguely brushing up against his mommy issues but refuses to actually voice them.

Armand: Says he also always admired de Beauvoir’s work but that there was something “deeply brittle” about her. Does not expand on this. Ends up talking about the sexual dimorphism of angler fish for a while before promptly asking, “Have you seen the film Showgirls?”

Lestat: Says he doesn’t understand all the fuss about lay-bellz such as theese, but of cœurse he recognizez wœmen in all their strength and beowuty… He himself has learned so much from wœmen, haz he not? Cherchez la femme, they say, non? Ah, the women in his life who have been the most influential? Well, his maman, of course…. Of course…. And then descends into a thousand yard stare that lasts nearly a full minute

[exquisink]

part two of this that nobody asked for but here you go @ysaefinn

CW. none really but there is a bit of angst and yearning ;D

WC. 4.2K

Satoru lecturing the new students feels like distant white noise. Megumi is just a couple years away from being admitted as a first year himself, but you have decided to hang back and focus on keeping an eye on him while Satoru is busy. Megumi doesn’t seem to pay you much mind, scrolling aimlessly on his phone, grunting in response whenever you probe him with questions about how life’s been with him and his stepsister under Satoru’s care. You know not to tell him that big elephant in the room as per Satoru’s request. Not that he seems like the kind of kid who needs protecting in that regard.

You tap your fingers against your forehead as you try to lock in on whatever Satoru’s lecturing the others but your mind is clouded. Even Satoru has commented that your focus has appeared to be shifting elsewhere no matter how much you are trying to appear normal, like you haven’t just encountered Suguru after a few years of no contact. You don’t want to let him back in, but here you are allowing him to cloud your thoughts instead of focusing on the present. You should be better than this, better than the silly, lovesick girl you once were, but apparently, she doesn’t want to let him go as easily as you seem to want to, and you hate that you have to acknowledge that. 

You wonder how Satoru can act as if there’s nothing going on when everyone with brain cells knows that he hasn’t cut off contact with him. Speaking of which, you have his clothes that you have to return to him per Suguru’s request which will undoubtedly out you. But it’s not like Satoru is going to do you dirty like that when he’s the one who’s been breaking the rules as well by keeping Suguru in his life.

Before you know it, the students are dismissed. Satoru approaches you and Megumi in the back of the room, quirking an eyebrow.

“What’s that you got there?” Satoru asks, pointing at your tote bag.

“Someone had a package for you,” you reply, pulling out the clothes Suguru was wearing the other day that belonged to the man before you. “I trust we keep this to ourselves.”

He gives you a barely perceptible nod as he wordlessly accepts his clothes–are those friggin’ Brunello Cucinelli, you just realize? You know the guy comes from old, old, old money but that’s just batshit insane to you.

“Did he try to hurt you?” he asks after a period of time. Megumi turns away, blocking out a conversation that clearly has nothing to do with him. You give him props for understanding how to read the room. While on the grumpier side (given that he has Gojo of all people as a caretaker now), he’s a good kid in your eyes. You have a feeling he’s going to soar higher than any of Gojo’s students, and you don’t say such things so lightly. 

You shake your head. “He wanted me to go with him. I said no. Thankfully with some of my dignity still intact.”

“...Which means…?” 

“He tried to come onto me.”

“Oh.” Gojo’s lips presses together. “Seems like him, yeah… I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t apologize for his actions, but given… you know, everything lately…”

“You don’t have to protect me from him, Satoru,” you assure him with a small smile. “I can handle myself. It doesn’t seem like he’s going to hurt me at all. He’s actually only hurting himself thinking he can just waltz back in like nothing’s wrong and convince me to run away into the sunset with him like our lives are some fairytale.”

“If we’re talking the Grimm version, yeah,” Gojo laughs with a shake of his head. “Honest to God, I love the guy but I don’t know what goes through his mind either. I get where he’s coming from. I really do. I was there too you know. But I don’t share the same philosophy he does… just because I am capable of doing something so heinous doesn’t mean it’s the right choice.”

“Do you think you made the right decision?” you ask after a moment while you let what he said sink in. “Do you think you’re going to help all of these sorcerers prosper instead of turning toward the same path he did?”

He shrugs. “Who knows? I just know Suguru isn’t himself anymore. He’s not who we thought we knew. But I don’t know. I just can’t let him go yet. Not like this. There has to be something… but so far I haven’t been able to change his mind.”

“I don’t think that’s your responsibility, Satoru.”

“He feels like my responsibility. I saw him spiraling and I took his word for it when he said there was nothing bothering when clearly everything about everything was bothering him but he never wants to accept help from anyone because he has to act like he’s strong all the time. I don’t think he gets that I understand how lonely that can be more than anyone. He doesn’t have to be strong all the time. Unlike me, he can have the luxury of having people to lean on, but for some reason he doesn’t want that. And I just, I guess I don’t get why, you know? Why he won’t accept help when he has it all right in front of him–!”

“You said so yourself, Satoru. You can only help someone who wants to be helped. He doesn’t seem to want to be helped, and there’s nothing that can be done there. This change in Suguru obviously didn’t happen overnight. It took a lot of time and maybe by the time any of us noticed anything, he was already way too deep in the trenches to be even able to come out of all of that on his own. I just don’t know what else we can do here for him, Satoru.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to turn this whole thing into a therapy session,” Gojo admits, rubbing the back of his head with a sheepish smile on his face. 

You beam. “What’re friends for?”

“Wait, we really are friends?” Gojo clutches his heart theatrically. “Oh my God! She admits it! She admits we’re besties!”

“Satoru! Stop being such a troll,” you playfully huff.

“Are you two done?” Megumi grunts, “I'm getting kinda hungry and I want to go check to make sure Tsumiki is okay.”

“Sorry, Megumi,” you reply in an apologetic tone. “We’ll head out now. Where are you thinking about eating?”

“I don’t know. Anywhere.”

“C’mon. The girl’s asking you what you want for supper,” Gojo folds his arms as he sports a stern look. “Have we forgotten how to treat women?”

“...Sorry,” Megumi tells you, “I guess we can go to that cafe just down the street from here.”

“Sure thing,’ you reply, as you stand up to leave. “Um, so how long has that been going on with you and him?”

“Oh. Um, Not too long after he left, actually. I’m sorry I never told you sooner. I guess I just didn’t know how you were going to handle it.”

“Don’t worry, Satoru. It’s like I told you–I can handle myself just fine with him. Besides, the guy clearly hasn’t been all that subtle. I’ve been seeing some of his grade 4 curses around me sometimes…”

“Typical Suguru,” he laughs, as the three of you tread out of the school grounds. “Always has to play the big, strong guy.”

“Wonder who he gets it from,” you quip, “I mean, I know how to deal with him because I’ve dealt with you all of these years.”

“Ouch,” Gojo laughs, “Except I’m not an uptight hard-ass like he is these days…”

“You’re correct on that. You still know how to have fun,” you point out, “So what kind of things has he brought up with you? Has he even explained anything to you?”

“He doesn’t really need to,” he responds, “I mean, it’s like I just said, I was there too. He doesn’t need to explain why he feels the way he does. But I just wish he would see that he’s kind of full of shit. And I still wish I could give Yuki a piece of my mind for planting that seed in his head. I mean, yeah, he came up with that conclusion all on his own, but his talk with Yuki sure as hell didn’t help.”

“Again, Satoru, you can’t control what a whole, grown man chooses to do.”

You try to whisper, “Is it okay to even talk about this around Megumi?”

“It’s not like he knows what’s up about that yet, and it doesn’t involve him anyhow,” Gojo whispers back. “Besides, he’s met Suguru a handful of times already.”

“What? And you kept this from me?!”

“I’m sorry!” 

“You fucking better be you piece of shit. So what made him so ballsy all of a sudden to start coming back to me?”

“I don’t know. I can’t read the fucker’s mind even with these Six Eyes. I guess he misses you? Last time we hung out, he kept asking all of these questions about you that I didn't know how to answer directly because I mean, I figured you just didn’t want to get yourself involved so I kept a lot of information away from him. That’s also why he keeps curses around you too I guess.”

“Jackass,” you mutter, “Both of you are such jackasses.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kept that at all from you.”

“Not like you guys kept it a secret, you think I wouldn’t recognize his cologne on you or his clothes?”

“Well, you got a point there. I’m just impressed Yaga hasn’t said anything.”

“Probably because he cares for Suguru, too.”

“Yeah, sure. As if he wasn’t the one who sent us out on that mission in the first place.”

“Satoru.”

“Again, I’m sorry. I guess there’s a part of me who’s still a little bitter after all of this time, you know? You’d think after something like that, that would have helped us find a way to change the system together. Instead he just decided to break away from everyone.”

���I guess I can’t blame you for thinking that way,” you say as you guys stop before the cafe. “Why don’t you go ahead and get us a table, Megs? We’ll meet up with you in just a second.”

He nods before strolling in without looking back. Yeah, he chooses not to insert himself into affairs that don’t concern him at all. You don’t know if it’s something that was taught to him or if it’s just the kind of person he is, but you appreciate the gestures nevertheless.

“I wish we could get him to see things our way, too,” you admit, “But you know, I’m not sure what we could do that we haven’t already tried.”

“Yeah. You’re right. Can we actually change the subject now? I’m getting kind of bummed talking about this.”

“That’s completely fair to me,” you reply, “Besides, I think Megumi was beginning to feel like, completely left out of talking with us but he won’t ever outright say it. So let’s try to make sure he feels included in the conversation and stuff, you know? His father was never super present in his life even prior to everything that’s happening, apparently. I got in touch with his stepmom sometime before she mysteriously vanished.”

“I’m almost positive the Zenin clan had something to do with that.”

“Whatever the case, we need to be there for him now. It’s sweet that you took him in even after everything.”

“I’m just fulfilling Fushiguro’s wish, I guess. I think the last thing he wanted to do was sell his kid off to that scummy clan. I mean, isn’t that why Maki wanted nothing to do with them either? One of the new students enrolling soon. I got to speak with her sometime ago.”

“Yeah. They’re a scummy, misogynistic bunch, alright.”

“We shouldn’t leave Megs waiting.”

“You’re right.”

You let Satoru go in first. You whip around, catching Suguru watching you on the opposite side of the street. You know for a fact Satoru caught him, but doesn’t say a word about it. You choose not to either.

Fucking assholes, the both of them.

Marching downstairs a few weeks later, once again still in your pajamas, messy bedhead, eye mask barely lifted above your eyes after incessant rapping at your front door disrupts your beauty rest.

Once again, in spite of knowing better, you answer.

“You better not make this a habit,” you grumble, before stepping aside. “I delivered your parcel, now what do you want?”

“I didn’t know you started babysitting Megumi.”

“Yeah, Satoru asks for help from time to time. Do you know that he’s–!”

“--Toji’s kid? Yeah, I do. He can’t help who his father is, I guess.”

“Please don’t tell me you harbor resentment for a kid who isn’t involved in this.”

“He’s not a monkey, so I don’t hold any resentment for him. He’s got the Ten Shadows technique, which is a powerful one. I’m sure Satoru will be able to bring out the best in him in his care.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. That word again. “Why are you here, Suguru?”

“I did say I'd come back, I’m a man of my word, and I know you saw me that day. You could have said hello. It’s not like Megumi doesn’t know who I am.”

“What was his impression of you?”

Geto snorts. “Would you believe me if I told you he said, and I quote, “You look like the definition of the phrase ‘ladies and gentleman’? And that it took everything in my power not to rip him to shreds?”

You can’t help it. Even in spite of the fact that you’re grumpier than Megumi right now at his baseline because you have to deal with this piece of shit again, you’re still cackling because that is just the most Megumi thing you have ever heard in your life. 

“I’m sorry, but that’s just horrifically accurate. If it makes you feel better, you are the perfect balance between masculine and feminine.”

Now Suguru’s getting shy. Much like a little girl. 

“I’m a man at my core, though.”

“Of course you are,” you tease, “Women have masculine energy too, you know.”

“You mean like what you’re exuding right now?” Geto counters.

“Fuck you. It’s only because you’re so damn in tune with your feminine lately that I have to balance everything out between us two,” you grumble.

“See?” Geto grins, and you scowl, rubbing your temple. He’s still grinning when you glance at him again and you want to wipe that damn smirk off of his face. You doubt you have the ability to humble someone like Geto. Not with how you stand in his eyes. But damn it if you aren’t going to try to find other ways around that, like not giving him the satisfaction of winning your heart again. You’re not the same girl anymore, just as much as he’s not the same boy anymore. 

“Okay, I’ll bite: what is it that you want this time around? If you haven’t learned your lesson the first time, I can’t guarantee I'll be as kind about it as I was before.”

“That was kind?” he asks, tone amused, but you bite back a groan yourself. Ugh, this fucking guy… nowhere near on Satoru levels of annoying but pretty damn close.

“You want me to kick it up a notch, Suguru?”

Suguru waves his hands in mock surrender. 

“No. No, I’d rather we keep things civil between us. We don’t truly have bad blood, do we?”

You avert your gaze. “No, not quite. I obviously harbor no animosity otherwise I wouldn’t be letting you in so easily like this.”

“That’s honestly good to know,” Geto remarks, “I’ve asked about you. A lot. With Satoru.”

“So I’ve been told,” you reply, “What gives you the damn right? Where do you get all of the fucking audacity? Like, both of you go behind my back and still meet up with each other, and neither of you think to say anything. Like, I’ve known you have been keeping tabs on me when I recognized some of your shikigami around me. Why did you wait until now to approach me? Do you have any idea how much I missed you? Why the hell was it okay for you to torment me like that!? Knowing you were close by, but you never showed up until now.”

You can’t believe you’re the one swallowing your pride this time, but he better understand just how much pain he’s left you with to conquer all on your own. He doesn’t get to reopen that gaping wound.

“Do you have any idea how much I wanted… I wanted to understand?”

You clench your fists. “You don’t get to pick and choose when you want me back into your life. It’s like I said last time, you made your choice when you left me behind. I’m not mad at you, Suguru. But I am upset. Disappointed. Because I couldn’t be the person you needed.”

Something falters in Geto’s expression. You can’t read it. Then again, he can simultaneously be the easiest person to read in the room and the hardest. What he shows on his face isn’t always what he reflects in his heart and mind, and you have come to discover that all too late about people in general. Maybe you have been far too naive in the past but you like to think you have grown considerably in the last few years and he is not going to reverse all of that work you put into yourself. He isn’t. Just because you may have residual feelings for him doesn’t mean a damn thing. You can’t act on them. It’s way too late.

“It had nothing to do with you,” he promises, “I swear on my life. It had nothing to do with you.”

“That doesn’t help me,” you counter, as you march up to him and pound against his chest with balled fists. You do with each sentence to emphasize your point. Fuck this guy. FUCK this guy! “I wanted to be there for you and you kept shutting me out. That’s not fair, Suguru! That’s not fucking fair! You can’t just shut me out and then try to reel me back in! I always had my door open for you but you never took it! That’s not my fault! And that’s not Satoru’s! He’s tried to reach out to you too and you just rejected us every time we ever tried!”

“It wasn’t something anyone could fix!” Geto shouts back, making you flinch. Immediately his eyes flash with guilt but he masks it through his own anger over a situation none of you can control, it seems like. “It wasn’t so simple. None of it was. You know what I remember from that talk with Yuki? All I learned was that we are nothing but weapons. We are disposable. Replaceable. So protecting Riko and failing her was all for naught. She would have been replaced by another vessel as soon as word got out she died. All we are to the world are tools, and how the hell is any of that fair? Why do you think I broke away? Even if Satoru agreed with me, I didn’t want him to join forces because then he’ll still be a tool.”

“So what are you trying to do, Suguru? Do you really think killing all non-sorcerers is still the answer?”

“Of fucking course not,” Geto shoots back, grabbing your hands, “But it’s a start to some kind of change. Of rebellion! Ridding the world of monkeys who do nothing but uncontrollably leak their levels of cursed energy would lead us somewhere. And you know just as well as me that Satoru could kill everyone in Japan in nanoseconds if he truly wanted to.”

That fucking word! 

“Why do you keep calling them that? They’re not monkeys, they’re people!”

“They don’t even see us as people!” Geto is in your face now, gripping tighter onto your hands. “Don’t you get it? Not the monkeys and certainly not the higher-ups. They don’t see us.”

“But this isn’t the right call to make, Suguru!”

“And what the hell would you know about what call to make!?”

“I know because deep down, you still want to protect people! You still want a world where everyone is safe. Everyone you love. But you know as well as me that this isn’t the answer. This would only cause more suffering and you know it,” you explain, lowering your voice. Calming yourself. Grounding yourself. You shouldn’t get too heated around him. You shouldn’t get too heated at all. “We could spend this entire night arguing about our clashing ideologies like we’re in Star Wars, but I know nothing I say is going to change your mind.”

“So then, what would you rather do right now?” Geto challenges as something flashes in his eyes again–something you still can’t quite read. He releases your hands. But maybe it doesn’t even matter. You don’t have to deal with anything you don’t want to anymore. That’s the freedom of choice, of autonomy, which you still possess.

You sigh, as you take a minute to think about that, actually. “I’m going to go back to bed. I’m going to continue like none of this touches me but it does. It doesn’t just touch me. It burns me. But I don’t have the strength right now to fuss over it. Do whatever you want, but I better not see you still here in the morning.”

He stops you with his hand on your shoulder after you brush past him. Your eyes flash with irritation as you meet his eyes, twinkling with mischief.

“I have a better plan,” he insists, that stupid grin still on his face.

You should have used your better judgment.

Except that judgment of yours, when it comes to the likes of Geto Suguru, is often clouded, misguided, much like him–

–his hands tangled in your hair as your lips can’t seem to leave each other’s. He kisses your lips until they’re swollen and drowned in his spit and it’s nasty but you cannot deny a part of you has craved this because as much as you try to carry yourself as a self-respecting individual… a lot of that seems to zoom out the door the minute he enters the picture.

You break the kiss for a minute, catching your breath. Letting it all sink in. Do you want this? Do you still want this? Do you still want him? Of course there’s that small part of you screaming yes, to hell with self-respect, you want him, you want this. But the conflict is shown in your eyes, in the way they scan his face, with that stupid gorgeous smirk he always wears. 

“Stop thinking so hard,” he teases, leaning in again, while adjusting you so that you’re resting comfortably against the wall behind you in his hold. “I’ve got you.”

“That’s easy for someone like you to say,” you clap back, but still, in spite of knowing so much better than this, you kiss him again. And again. Because you don’t know if there’s ever going to be another time like this for the two of you again. You don’t know what to expect anymore, so why not just take what you want and then send him off? If he wants to continue going down that path, you can’t stop him, but that means he can’t come back like this anymore.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” he asks between heavy breaths and heated kisses. 

“I’m saying you don’t have a brain upstairs,” you quip with a pop of your lips, while tapping his forehead. That makes him growl before smothering jaw and neck. 

“Seems to me like you like a guy with no thoughts going on in his head.”

“Maybe, but then that would insinuate that I have a thing for Satoru and we don’t want to open that can of worms.”

Even he laughs at that. “He would be so wounded if he heard that.”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

“Thought you’d never ask,” he purrs before obliging, hoisting you up by your bottom and stumbling backward until his back falls onto the couch. You’re grown adults yet here you are getting to act on those hormonal teenaged impulses you never got to back then. Just after you told yourself not to act on these feelings. It might come back to bite you in the ass later but you can’t think about that right now.

Not when you can have him, even if just for a little while.

“I wish you could stay,” you murmur into his lips. “I wish you stayed.”

His breath hitches. The words are on his tongue but they die as he peppers your face with more kisses, stopping at the column of your throat.

He doesn’t need to say it back. You know. 

He wishes he did too.

[gamemakerm]

In honor of Mermay and the current trend of Animal/Therian HRT going around (inspired by @ayviedoesthings's Dragon HRT series, @welldrawnfish's Fish HRT, @kaylasartwork's Bat HRT, @nyxisart's Puppy HRT, @deadeyedfae's Human HRT, etc etc etc, love all your work), I wanted to share the short story I wrote last year about medically turning yourself into a mermaid. This got published in WriteHive's Reclaiming Joy anthology, and we're now just outside of the six-month publishing exclusivity, so I can make it publicly available.

This was really raw to write for me, and there are trigger warnings for transphobia(/whatever the equivalent would be for mermaids?), implications of violence and hate crimes. However all the stories in the anthology were ultimately about perseverance, courage and love. I hope you enjoy, and if you want to get this and eleven other uplifting stories I can't recommend the anthology enough (though this is the only one relevant to the tags as far as I know). And if you really, really like it, you can buy me a kofi!

Scales

When the scales began to break through skin, they said you were becoming a monster. Blue and green, seafoam to pearl. You weren’t certain at what point you started to believe them.

You began to wrap yourself in tighter layers, a futile effort not to draw attention to the rough patches. Elbows, knees, along your arms, mottled with foundation and concealer caked on like spackle. Toner to offset the iridescent shine so that a passing glance wouldn’t be drawn to it. Constant checks and double checks, bathroom visits far beyond the routine. 

Your careful camouflage is usually enough to deflect scrutiny, but occasionally a stranger catches on. Nobody has said anything to you yet, but you have noticed more glances on the train. The old woman’s frown of disapproval. The young man with something to prove to you, himself, the world. His jaw tightens as he calculates his ability to start something. You tuck your chin and pretend to be busy with your phone. In the dark screen you can see the skin flaking on your cheeks. The beginnings of another patch betray you.

As you touch up in the bathroom mirror you tell yourself you wanted this, that you were prepared for the hardships. 

You walk to the public library after your shift ends. You walk most places these days, telling yourself it’s a last hurrah. The fact is you sold your car to make a dent in the cost. You’ll sell everything eventually. You’re going to have to. 

The forums have a list of books everyone checks out when they choose this path. There aren’t many and most are fantasy. There’s a running joke: if anyone mentions Hans Christen Anderson, run. You spot The Little Mermaid on a small display. You don’t run. You check out your books. The librarian gives a knowing nod, but doesn’t remark. You silently thank her for the discretion.

You take a long shower, makeup swirling down the drain. You can’t help but scratch at the itching patches on your thighs, peeling skin tearing away for new growth. Shampoo and blood circle under your feet. Your fingernails are sharper than they were this morning. You exfoliate, letting the city, public transit, the glances of strangers be cleansed. Your reflection in the mirror, a colorful smattering of new scales dusting your cheeks, is tear-streaked, ethereal. Beautiful.

You knock the concealer into the trash bin.

Your mother left a voicemail. She avoids the elephant seal in the room, talking about her gardening, your cousin’s new baby. She lingers for a moment, then: You’re being selfish. She burns brightly as a beratement begins, emboldened. But without someone to riff with she loses her steam, trails off and repeats it. You’re being shellfish. She can’t help it; she laughs despite herself. There’s a minute where she doesn’t speak, but you can tell she’s waiting for the sob in the back of her throat to settle. She promises she’ll come to your party and the voicemail ends.

You still haven’t heard from your father. You don’t expect you will. You’ve made peace with that.

You do your weekly injection on the alternating leg, needle piercing deep in a gap between scales. The plunger delivers 200mg of concentrated hope directly into your bloodstream, salt water in salt water. You put a hello kitty bandaid over it and wait for the feeling of ice in your veins to settle, the tension to go out of your muscles. It doesn’t.

You pass an enraged man on the street, spit flying, a home-made sandwich board making his message clear: The Siren Is The Devil’s Agent. The back offers an equally cogent argument: Go Back To Atlantis, Fish Freaks. You would if you could, you think dryly. He notices you and seethes, but the current of the crowd carries you away before he can curse you out.

You drag your potted plants down to the front stoop and post a craigslist ad: free to a good home. They’re gone within the hour. You allow yourself the rare indulgence of posting a selfie, eyes closed, serene, to the reddit: Learning to love my scales <3! It’s still difficult to type on your phone with the new claws. The upvotes start to come in; everyone loves a guppie.

You catch up on the shows you haven’t gotten to yet. Where there was once only the metaphorical List, there is now an actual list. Despite your best efforts it’s becoming increasingly clear you’re not going to finish all of them. You knock a few off, restructure it based on length. It still looks too long.

You have dreams about choking on toxic waste, getting minced by a boat propeller. You keep a running count of the number of times you’ve dreamt of getting your head stuck in a six-pack of soda rings. You’re up to four. 

Every few days you do laps in the local pool. You’re getting faster, but you feel exposed. There are whispers around the locker room. 

Your cat knows something is happening, but doesn’t understand what that means for her. You hold her whenever and for as long as she’ll allow, give her as many pets and treats as she wants. Despite clearing out your apartment you’ve spoiled her. She licks the scales on your cheek as you cry over her. This seems to inspire something in her; she demands her tuna crunchies. Dutifully you give her the tuna crunchies. She can have as many tuna crunchies as she wants.

You doomscroll your twitter feed, making sure this isn’t the day you lose access to your meds because of some white man in a suit. A sister is assaulted by a violent extremist with a sense of humor: he shot her with a harpoon gun. Her crowdfunding campaign starts on the maidens reddit and goes viral.

You triple check to make sure your friend is still willing to take your cat when you go. They promise to spoil her and tell her stories of you every day. You continue to cry over it. They invite you out for sushi to talk about it, then backtrack to ask if that’s a microaggression. You go to sushi. You’re thankful for the distraction.

By the time your legs are more scale than skin and your fingers begin to develop webbing you’ve given up on pretense. The looks are now constant, but you get reflective sunglasses and a new patch for your jacket: Don’t like it? Drown, with a scaled hand reaching out of water and flipping the bird. You put the energy out into the world, and the world doesn’t fuck with you.

Children love you. Their parents do not. 

On the train a young girl quietly asks if she can feel your scales. You allow her to touch her little fingers to the aquamarine pattern running up your arm, giving her your most reassuring (but still fanged) smile. She’s fearless, enamored, reverent. Her mother pulls her daughter away and hastily apologizes for her, not looking you in the eye. But you know that girl believes in magic now.

A group of white supremacists go out on a boat loaded with assault rifles for “no reason” and get lost at sea. This is somehow your fault.

The day your fins begin to push their way out from your arms, your boss calls you into his office. You both know he can’t fire you in this and seven other states, but you both also know you won’t be staying much longer. He’s done his best to make you aware you’re making his life more difficult. You put in your two weeks before he can flounder for another excuse. He moors you with paperwork for the rest of the afternoon.

Someone leaves a rotting fish in your pool locker. You don’t go back, and you don’t file a report. You tell yourself the chlorine was bad for the gills freshly forming under your ribs anyway.

Your friends take you out clubbing. You lose yourself under the waves of music, submerged under strobe lights and the salty sweat of dancing bodies. You whisper sweet nothings into a stranger’s ear, entrancing her as you move against each other. You can see iridescence shining around her eyes, shimmering glitter and an emerging pattern beneath makeup. You brush a thumb against her cheek and she melts into your touch. You don’t get her name. You don’t need to; you’re both not long for this world. You catch up with your friends smoking outside, your lips still tingling with vermouth.

Weeks pass. Work ends. Your apartment is down to furniture and cat supplies. You take longer showers. News stories continue to come out, the machine churns and roils: monsters walking among humans, the mark of the beast, sacrificing daughters to the ocean. 

You make sure your meds are reupped for the final stretch.

When your legs start to merge you know you don’t have much time left. You donate the last boxes of your clothes. Your friends get first dibs on furniture before it’s put on the street. They bring drinks and sit on your floor, an impromptu celebration and wake. They ask all the usual questions: what are you going to do for food? Shelter? What if you get hurt, or attacked by a shark? Do they have waterproof laptops yet? Will they ever see you again? What if it isn’t right for you? Can you ever come back?

You don’t know how to answer most of those questions. The group stays with you through the night. At 4AM you put on The Little Mermaid and the group drunkenly sings along. Everyone knows the words. It’s juvenile and you can hear the maidens on the reddit rolling their eyes and tutting about misrepresentation, but you know everyone in your position does it. You try not to cry, but the waterworks start and don’t stop.

At daybreak you put your cat into her harness and everyone piles into a friend’s van. It’s not far to the beach, but they take the long way around. One final tour of the land. Your cat sits on your lap and stares out the windows as you pass old haunts, your grocery store, your gym, your high school. You realize you still have library books to return and almost get them to turn around, but someone promises to go back for them afterwards.

There’s an isolated area on the beach where a canopy and tables are set up; banners, food, friends. It’s a regular going away party, as if you’re going on a short trip abroad. You suppose you are, in a way. Someone rented a wheelchair with fat tires to help you get down to the beach.

When your mother arrives she pulls her shirt off to show her custom-made clam bra. Her eyes are already red and puffy, but she’s doing her best to be energetic and upbeat. She holds you for a long time and says she’s happy for you, that you’re beautiful, that you’re so much stronger than she ever was, and then she puts on a brave face to help everyone get served at the buffet. Your cat chases small crabs across the beach around you, and you sit in the sand. The party goes strong.

The tides come up until your fin is tickled by the seafoam. Everyone knows that means it’s time to go. You pass your cat off to her new owner and she gives you a last headbutt. She seems to understand. You kiss your mother’s cheek one last time and she clings to you. The group raises their drinks as you paddle out, disappearing beneath the waves. You give them the money shot and leap out of the water on your way out of the sound, and you can hear cheering from the shoreline. You hope someone got a video for the maidens.

You keep the city in sight for a while, but the currents lead you further into open waters. There are boaters out on the water who wave to you. You wave back and keep swimming up the coast. 

At dusk you rise to the surface and watch the setting sun turn the horizon from blue to pink to purple and orange. There’s nothing for leagues around. As the sun sinks below the waves and the skies darken you sing your first real siren’s song. Shaky and imperfect, it soon resounds over the ocean breeze. You leave everything behind in it. There are no words, only feeling and sound. It’s a lament, an invocation, a dirge. It is many things, but it isn’t an apology. You have nothing to apologize for.

In the seas beyond a chorus joins in with a language you never learned but understand, integrating your song into theirs. You swim to join them.

[wrtzia]

After that - Bf!Stiles x Banshee!Reader

Summary ; After void, a guilty Banshee!Reader who failed to protect him tries to comfort him. Seems like he's the one who wants to comfort you.

Warning ; Mention of guilt (?), mention of death (Allison's)

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The guilt - the fact of having committed a specified or implied offence or crime. That was what you were feeling every day since the day your boyfriend got possessed by a demon, guilty for not being able to save him. That was also what he was feeling every day since the day he got possessed by a demon. Since the day he caused the death of a close friend of yours - Allison.  

The both of you were lying on his bed, him spooning you. Since that day, you two often found yourself in this position. You never really talked about what happened that night, about your boyfriend’s traumas, but this time you wanted to talk, and you wanted him to talk. You knew he needed it. Furthermore, you both did. So, with the little courage you have, you decided to break the silence and to address the elephant in the room. 

“We should talk about it.” You knew he understood by the way his arms squeeze you tighter, as if suddenly afraid you would disappear. Despite it, no words left his mouth. He stayed as quiet as before, not planning – not wanting – to talk about. “Stiles, please. We need to. I need to.”

Carefully, you turned in his arms, now facing him. His eyes were soft, showing his tiredness and insecurities, making your heart melt for him. “It’s not your fault, you know that, right ?” There was a slight shift in his expression, one that your eyes didn’t miss. Something nobody talks about is the guilty feeling when someone you love isn’t feeling okay, and you can’t do anything about it. The feeling you’re not good enough, either as a banshee or as a girlfriend.

You failed to find him when he first disappeared, when he called Scott so scared, and you helped with nothing. All you did was make everyone lose their time. You failed to keep Allison out of danger when Void took you, and even though you let a word saying not to come, they did. Because that’s who the pack is. And now you were failing as a girlfriend by not being able to help him.

You let out a sigh, putting your thoughts away and focusing on your boyfriend who was your first priority, “Nobody blames you for Allison or anything else. It’s not your fault if Void decided to take over your body and not someone’s else. It’s not-” Just as you were able to keep rambling, you got cut off by a soft kiss on your lips. Your whole body relaxed, letting you savor his dried lips against yours. Eventually, Stiles broke the kiss, leaning his forehead against yours. “It’s not your fault either.”

The words caught you out of guard, not expecting him to say that. You looked at him, wondering what he was talking about, how he knew you felt guilty. “You're new at the whole banshee thing, you don’t know everything yet, that’s normal. But I know you blame yourself for not using your power correctly when I was in danger.” Your head shook at what he said, “Firstly, not finding you could have killed you. Secondly, I’m the one supposed to take your mind away from all of your incertitude right now.” And just like 30 seconds ago, his lips were on yours.

“Look baby, all I need is cuddles. Even though I love your voice more than anything, I don’t want to talk about it. We can talk about your Banshee abilities though, if that could help.” A sigh left your lips followed by a roll of eyes, “how do you always get out of my talks ?” And with that soft smile you love so much, the boy cuddles you tighter.

“But still, I’m serious Stiles. I’m here if you need. Always.”, and Stiles hummed, nuzzling his head in your soft hair, his nose tickling your neck.

The feeling of him caused you to smile, deciding to drop it for now.

“I love you. Possessed by a devil or not.”

And the boy smiled back, not wasting a second to answer : “I love you too. Knowing how to use your power or not.”

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Not too sure about the end. Let me know your thoughts !

Main masterlist

[supremefloof]

some tbhx speculation post ep 10

/throwing stuff at the wall after post ep 10. spoilers obviously. also for ep 11 preview. about Trust and where our heroes get it, villains, X.

point 1:

we have to talk about lucky cyan's trust value. the people on the plane gave her trust to survive/ her luck powers. so the elephant in the room:

CAN DEAD PEOPLE STILL GIVE YOU TRUST?

it's really unclear. the main point in favor of this is that Cyan still has luck at the orphanage, and says her TV has always been high as long as she can remember which wouldn't be possible if trust vanishes when your believers die.

"but Cyan loses all her trust in episode 9!" well. actually it looks like a zero at first glance but it could actually be a really fucked up number nine. when put next to other "zeroes" in the show's sadistic special font it looks notably different. like a Nice's tower floor situation from episode one where that was somehow a 15.

The main thing AGAINST this: there were definitely more than nine people on that plane! maybe Lucky Cyan's trust vanished as the plane crash victims died, but by then they were already on the ground? but that seems jank.

anyways, what I really wanted to say: If dead people's Trust stays after they die, then...

wouldn't the best way to guarantee your power be to gain a ton of trust and then kill all of your followers?

this could be the reason for the plane crash; maybe a hero had a lot of followers on this plane and wanted to keep that trust forever.

this could be Zero's motivation. this is what I immediately thought of.

what the fuck this could even be X's motivation. idk we don't know anything about him. maybe he killed nice for this idk

point 2:

if Fear has only been discovered in year 36, that means that either the powers of villains like Magic Shadow or whoever the hell rat king is (esoul eps) come from Trust, or have unknown sources of fear that nobody discovered was fear.

The only consistent characteristics we've seen of fear is that it is black and makes you act weird and irrational.

so, L0's old boss: black goop, confirmed fear. the orphanage: zombies, black growths, confirmed fear.

Wreck...black sword slivers/beams? maybe fear? who knows? maybe only fear after he learns about Nice's death. in fact, it could be Lin Ling's fear that triggers it! the power of a nemesis might at least initially be from trust, funnily enough.

a little ghostblade what if - we've heard mentions of the "Aether laboratory" along with the idea of Fear. Ghostblade seems to have been experimented on. What if Ghostblade is an attempt to make a Hero that is immune to Fear?

point 3:

circling back to OG Nice's death: it's becoming apparent a question we need to ask is where does trust go after death and what happens to it?

Lin Ling "inherited" trust value from Nice. two ways I think of it: 1. scooped Nice's trust off his corpse, like e-soul. how does that work. 2. redirected all of nice's fans at himself, quickly replacing Nice.

E-soul's Trust merged due to there being two e-souls and one died. please note that this merge happened naturally without the consent of fans.

so where does lucky cyan's trust come from, again.

maybe the series will explore different ways of gaining trust for each hero? a bit crack but maybe even in layers of absurdity. like X is the most jank way so he's the finale (btw thank you @elowhinn for pointing out he keeps the tie clip. maybe he just hacked being X by cosplaying as X and having no name lmao), Ahu being the next jankiest way since he's a dog so he gets the second to last ep...

IF nice is alive somehow...what's up with his trust value now? it's not like people stopped believing Nice had powers. there are still Nice fans. they're just also lin ling fans now. bringing up this due to the theory that the hand in kontinuum is nice's hand. and cope.

[devildomwriter]

Obey Me As Tumblr #33

MC: Eating chips with chopsticks is unironically Galaxy brain. Your fingers don’t get greasy and it lasts longer

Solomon: Fork

MC: Oh yeah I’m going to stab my crunchy foods and make them fall apart like an absolute absent minded dunce fool, clown, jester, like a monstrous moron, an idiot of Shakespearean proportions, a cretin

Diavolo: Uhm, you seem to forget that chips can also mean fries? And that’s probably what they were talking about haha

MC: I did not forget anything. I purposefully ignore the idea of using British vocabulary to do my part in helping it die out

•

Belphegor: An alarm clock except it’s set to every time

Leviathan: We touch

Solomon: I get

Diavolo: This feeling

•

Beelzebub: I was talking with my brothers yesterday and we decided the best way to own a guy who takes off his shirt to fight you is to pick his shirt up and put it on

Mammon: That might be one of the ultimate power moves

Simeon: Or pick it up and say “lift your arms up” and try to put it back on him

•

Leviathan: By day I appear to be no more than just an average run of the mill office worker, but when night time strikes! I’m crying alone in my bed

•

Solomon: I bought my friend an elephant for their room

They said “thank you”

I said “don’t mention it”

Mammon: Is there a joke here that everyone gets but I don’t?

Belphegor: Nobody tell them

•

Thirteen:

Them: why are you competing in our cooking show today?

Me: the government banned gladiatorial matches yet I yearn for glory in the arena

Solomon: I’m here to tell you gladiator matches are still a thing, pal

Thirteen: Hm. Interesting. The last time I tried to behead a man for prestige and the right to majesty, I was dragged out of the alleyway by three very unreasonable men of the law and I would like to know where you live

•

Diavolo: What do you call a snobbish criminal going down the stairs?

Lucifer: I don’t know. What?

Diavolo: A condescending con descending

Lucifer: Get out

MC: That was beautiful

•

Leviathan: Bitten by a radioactive cicada. Now all I do is sit in a tree and scream all day

•

Solomon: Self-care is slathering yourself in baby oil and sliding down the 7th lane in your local bowling alley so the mechanical pin setter will pick you up and take you to the forbidden place behind the bowling lanes where you can meet God but only on Tuesdays

•

Mammon: Security called me at work today and told me they saw me outside chasing a frog around on the security cameras. I wasn’t in trouble they just wanted to let me know they saw me, I didn’t catch him

•

Leviathan: Me wearing a blanket as a cloak, stirring my man’n’cheese in a dimly lit room: potion

•

Satan: When I say I’m “feral” it doesn’t always mean I’m angry, maybe I’m stupid and if you give me food you’ll earn my trust and I’ll follow you around

•

Asmodeus: Covered in blood for sexy reasons

Asmodeus: Also I just got stabbed

Asmodeus: Don’t suppose there’s anyone here willing to tenderly clean, stitch and bandage my wounds while calling me an idiot in an exasperatedly fond tone of voice is there?

•

Diavolo: Introducing a new alignment— chaotic lawful. I have a strict moral code but nobody can figure out what the hell it is

•

Mammon: My best feature is that I’m blindingly intelligent for about 30 seconds a day

Mammon: I do not get to choose which seconds, they are not consecutive

•

Satan: Okay I’m normal now I promise. Let me out of the case please

•

Leviathan: Power move: calling someone a coward in the middle of a fight while also running away from them as fast as you possibly can

Lucifer: Mammon ghost wrote this

Mammon: YO

•

Leviathan: “Are you a boy or a girl?”

I am the physical embodiment of suffering

[nightswithkookmin]

Goldy

I need you to be serious for a second please.

All other bloggers are just ignoring the elephant in the room. Dismissing it and outright saying it is not true, but where is JK?

If he comes back tomorrow or Thursday he’s been with that gg member. There will be no other explanation for it.

I just feel so sick at the thought, so incredibly mislead and sad. Nobody else is recognising it as something that has possibly happened, especially because Jimin came home and JK seems to have stayed. And anything longer than a day would be odd if he is alone. Expect he likely is with her.

I don’t know why people won’t talk about it. People expect the likes of this person who seems hell bent it’s real

https://www.tumblr.com/lumirimay/784700523024711680/ive-always-tried-to-stay-skeptical-with-jikook

😭

First of all, I've never been serious a day in my life and I'm not about to start now

Secondly, what are you on about 😭😭😭

This is not me being dismissive this is me asking for tea to be spilled and run down given

What in the frick frack did I miss

[kewwie-pie]

Let's address the blue suited elephant in the room!

I want to preface this by saying, of course, what Prosciutto does to pesci isn't okay in the slightest. He's a grown man who should keep his hands to himself, but i do want to talk about the scene itself and how araki has addressed this in the new la squadra lore drop.

If you've ever read or watched part 5, you must be familiar with pesci and proscuitto. The dynamic these two shared was quite unique, considering that at the time Araki wrote these two, we didn't really see two minor antagonist banter and interact with each other in the same way they did.

People who like La squadra have especially taken a liking to the dynamic Pesci and Proscuitto share, but one thing that we don't really talk about or acknowledge is the fact that proscuitto hits / manhandles pesci. So let's talk about it!

When you think of Prosciutto, your first thought might not be kind and doting. However, Araki goes on to emphasize that prosciutto is too soft on Pesci and praises him too much.

"This makes it a total of FIVE TIMES he supported pesci in an hour."

"People might wonder if Prosciutto was being over protective"

This makes sense in the context of the episodes, and Araki also goes on to state Prosciutto cares very deeply about pesci, to the point his love is deeper than that of a mothers love.

Araki tells us readers that the only time prosciutto has used the "stick treatment" was when pesci got ambushed by Mista but he quickly brushes it aside by highlighting the fact prosciutto was brave and grabbed the gunslinger risking his own life to save that of pesci.

"My prized hook and line" written by yoshihita okita, does a reversal of what araki has shown us. Instead of pesci constantly being praised by proscuitto, pesci gets scolded multiple times throughout the short story, and it is only at the end that we see proscuitto praising pesci for doing the right thing. This signals a turn in how proscuitto views his subordinate.

--

Prosciutto's actions and Pesci’s Reactions

Now, this is where the novel differs from what we see in canon and where I start to project some of my own thoughts and feelings on these scenes. It's not exactly a one to one comparison, but it'll do.

Leading up to the impact in the anime, we see pesci praising prosciutto on how amazing he is for disguising himself as one of the passengers. Even though pesci nearly got himself killed, he still excitedly walks up to prosciutto. So when prosciutto hits him, he looks genuinely confused because he didn't expect that to happen. THIS makes sense in combination with what araki has told us.

Prosciutto is overprotective and praises pesci too much because he deeply cares for him and his safety. Of course, pesci would feel comfortable walking up to prosciutto. He hasn't given pesci a reason to make him feel otherwise. However, the stakes are much higher than normal they went on this train knowing they'd either come out victorious or die trying to obtain their goal. But pesci still doesn't act like it, and so in the heat of the moment, prosciutto hits him, which gets followed by the 5 times of praise Araki loves to mention.

In the novel, Prosciutto doesn't actually hit Pesci, but he does instinctively cover his face out of fear of being hit. This doesn't exactly contradict what Araki has told us, but this pesci is much more fearful of Prosciutto, which would make sense because this takes place when pesci has freshly joined the team and hasn't really realized which buttons he can and cannot push.

(I think it's also important to keep in mind this wonderful short story wasn't written by Araki himself, so obviously, the way the characters interact and behave aren't going to be 100% accurate. However, it did get approved, so it's up to you to decide whether or not you want to accept this as canon or not)

--

What happens after?

In the novel, there's not really anything that happens after because nobody's getting hit, so we're going to be focusing on the anime.

If you've seen the episode, we all know what happens after. Prosciutto starts giving pesci pep talks and praising him and touching foreheads invading pesci's space. This exclusively happens after Prosciutto hits him. Why is that? Why do that after decking pesci in the face?

Well, it's because pesci lost the confidence he had after being scolded so harshly by his mentor. In the anime, the difference between before and after isn't very noticeable because pesci has been changed to come across as more meak and shy. But in the manga, pesci goes from a playful and cocky newbie to a meak and anxiety filled mammone in almost an instant. THAT is why prosciutto goes overboard with the praise and PDA. He's aware of what type of impact it has on pesci and tries his best to steer pesci back in the right direction with kind words.

--

(I'd place some examples here but I've reached my limit unfortunately)

Conclusion

I'm not really sure how I want to end this, but regardless of how you see pesci and proscuitto's relationship, I think it's very important that we continue to have fun and mess around with their dynamic as two characters in our favorite show. You can choose to ignore that prosciutto has done this, or you can choose to come up with your own explanation for his behavior, but at the end of the day, we're all here to have a good time.

Thank you so much for taking the time of your day to read this <3

[eejilunio]

I'm gonna say it again because i thought about it again and it disturbed me again.

But to see the graphic decline of Azula's mental health, with her insomnia, hallucinations, crying fits, self-isolation, and final breakdown that Katara and Zuko witnessed first-hand, and then, to see Katara and Zuko and every other characters in the show flourishing shortly after with no mention of Azula ever again, It feels insulting to look at.

Azula showed scary symptoms of mental illness, and that was the first time she showed vulnerability in front of someone, even her parents didn't see that part of her, so it is a huge thing right? By breaking down in front of her brother and his friend, it could have opened the door for communication. So what are they ogling her for? Are they enjoying the show? At least Katara was disturbed and looked away, but then she looked at Zuko as if she felt sad for him, idk, idk what that look meant i'm not psychic, and Zuko just looked stonily at Azula crying. Nobody said anything, nobody moved while Azula was restrained and sobbing. And then the scene fades out. What am i supposed to think of that conclusion? Am i supposed to forget about it afterwards ? Did Zuko and Katara leave her there and rushed to celebrate with their friends ? Is that what happened? Did they help her or not? I needed to know that before the screen faded out. And i could have also known after when every characters in the show made an appearance, if only they showed Azula somewhere.

Azula feels like the elephant in the room at the end of the show. She should be brought up at least in conversation, but the writers don't want to talk about her.

The way the writers focused so much on Zuko's pain and on giving him a beautiful conclusion, but just left Azula like this with Zuko looking disdainfully at her as if she was beneath him, as if he was satisfied of finally beating his sister at something and he was proven right in the fact he is actually better than her at life or something, it makes me angry. Do i misinterpret Zuko's face? Probably. It's not as if i could understand what he felt through his poker face. A poker face in front of someone sobbing feels like disdain to me, if it's not followed by attempts at helping.

It triggers memories of my own breakdown when my mum and brother just looked at me without saying anything.

I feel like that passiveness in front of clear emotionnal distress is the result of a mix of bystander effect and a lack of empathy. You don't feel enough empathy that could drive you to help, and you don't feel responsible for not helping either because there's another person next to you that could have done it too but didn't. So you feel normal by not helping and standing there like a statue. Like an idiot. And it must be an interesting show to them, it breaks the monotony of everyday life at least.

So yes, i'm projecting on Azula, but maybe if the writers didn't want people projecting on her, they shouldn't have made her have such a realistic breakdown.

I feel like the writers managed to write by accident a realistic depiction of how mental illness is handled by most people in society though : by not handling it at all and purposefully ignoring the obvious distress even when it's in your face, because it's more comfortable to look at someone dying inside for years and call them crazy than to actually get involved and talk about feelings.

There, i'm done.

[kamotecue]

friends don’t look at friends that way ✰ s. catley

pairing: steph catley x reader

summary: in which two teammates are hiding their feelings. irish!reader, arsenal!reader

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you were confused about your feelings for a certain left-back. perhaps it was the huge elephant in the room, or it was just the overthinking thoughts that had occurred.

you felt someone sit beside you, it was your national team captain, katie mccard as the fans would say. she had a habit of getting yellow cards, it was always amusing for you, but at the same time if you needed to win, it wasn’t.

“what’s on your mind?” katie asked, as you just shrugged. you didn’t feel like talking about your current situation.

“good talk, n/n.” katie joked as you groaned.

“there’s this person i like—they can be a bit confusing, like are we friends? or are we more than friends?” you asked, as katie hummed.

“why don’t you talk to them about how you’re feeling? maybe they reciprocate the feelings.” katie said, as you looked across the pitch to see steph who already had her eyes on you and katie. she was talking to caitlin, her national teammate.

“it’s not that easy, she-“ you froze, as katie just nodded but turned to look at you as you paused.

“what? is it the fact that you mentioned a girl? there’s nothing wrong y/n, besides welcome to the club.” katie said, as she gave you a wink. you chuckled, as you shook your head.

“right then, she says that we are friends but the way she looks at me isn’t just friendly” you said, as katie gave you a pat on the back.

“like i said y/n, confront them about it. it wouldn’t hurt to take a risk.” she said, as she got up and went to join the others.

you pushed yourself of the floor, getting your kit bag as you headed to your car. you slung your kit bag to the back, as you took out your phone and connected it to the aux charger not noticing a certain aussie opening the passenger door.

“let’s talk, n/n.” you looked to the side, to see steph catley, the one who’s occupying your mind 24/7.

“be my guest, you’ve already opened the car door.” your sarcasm was ignored, as steph entered the car putting her kit bag in the back gently as she closed the door.

“what are we?” steph asked, as you pulled out of the training grounds.

“i don’t know.” you said, as you focused on the road not even bothered to look at the australian who just analyzed your face.

“are we just friends? or is there something more?” steph asked, her voice was a bit soft making you look at her.

“you say we’re friends, steph. you always do, it’s like you’re embarrassed to be seen with me.” you said, as you thought about the times were she would just introduce you two as teammates, not even friends.

we say we’re friends, but i’m catching you across the room

are we friends? or is there something more? because right now, you needed a sign. whenever you’re doing something, you’d catch her making these glances at you. when you’d hug or cling onto your teammates, she’d have this certain glint in her eyes.

it makes no sense ‘cause we’re fighting over what we do

you thought about the silly arguments that you’d get into. you’d act like a married old couple which is why the team has shipped you both, but there were days where you’d completely avoided each other, acting like strangers.

and there’s no way that i’ll end up being with you

there was always this thought at the back of your head, that you’d never end up with steph or she’d never go for you, because in simple terms, you always thought that she was out of your league.

or the fact that maybe she could be straight? that there is this guy she likes, and they are completely the opposite of you.

but friends don’t look at friends that way

the longing gazes she’d sent your way when nobody is looking, or how you’re the only one she sees in a crowded room.

friends don’t look at friends that way.

but yeah, like you said, friends don’t look at friends that way.

“i don’t want to be friends, y/n. i want you to be mine.” steph said, as your eyes widened.

[aurorawhisperz]

ethan x fem!reader who smokes 🤭

“What are you doing?” You jumped slightly at the sound of Ethan’s voice. He frowns at the sight of you on the ground and holding a lighter. “Am I interrupting something?” He asks.

“Yes.”

The curly-headed boy raises his eyebrows and looks around, “Doesn’t seem relevant enough to be interrupted.” He grins. You quickly hide the cigarette and sit up, feeling a bit embarrassed by being caught. “Go back to Chad or something.” You roll your eyes.

Every party you had went to, you usually snuck behind the frat house to smoke. Every. Single. One. You liked it when nobody came to look for you.

To your surprise, Ethan appeared next to you, looking a bit out of place.

“So, what are you doing here?” You exhale a puff of smoke. Ethan wasn't exactly known for attending these kinds of parties, so seeing him here was unexpected.

He hesitated for a moment, then finally took a seat next to you. “Mind if I join you?”

You shrugged, taking another drag. “Not at all. Enjoying the party?” Ethan glanced around, a faint blush tingeing his cheeks. “Yeah, it's... different from what I'm used to.”

You chuckled softly. “Well, these parties can be a bit of a shitshow. People usually come here to let loose and rub up against each other.”

“Rub up against each other.” He repeats, chuckling. “I just realized we don’t really hang out, since you’re always with.. my sister and stuff.”

You look at him, surprised that he's addressing the elephant in the room. Your mind races for a moment as you try to figure out his intentions.

Ethan’s voice seems a bit nervous, and he avoids your gaze, focusing on his fidgeting fingers.

“Yeah, you're right,” You reply with a soft smile, taking another drag from your cigarette. “We're usually caught up with the whole friend group dynamic.”

Ethan lets out a relieved laugh, his shoulders relaxing a bit. “Yeah, exactly. It's like we're all connected through each other, but I've been curious about getting to know everyone better.”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued by his sudden openness. “Well, what do you want to know?”

He looks up, his eyes meeting yours for a moment before he glances away again. “What do you like to do when you're not at parties?”

Considering his question, realizing that you don't often talk about these things with anyone. “I'm a bit of a book collector, actually. I enjoy reading, and I'm into photography too.”

There’s something about him that feels magnetic this time, being this close and looking at him. It almost feels like a need instead of a want.

The night air starts to feel chilly, and you can't help but shiver slightly. As you take another drag from your cigarette, Ethan glances at you, concern evident in his eyes. “Hey, are you cold?”

You chuckle softly, the cold breeze getting to you. “Guess I didn't dress for the weather.”

Ethan hesitates for a moment, then shrugs off his jacket. “Here,” he offers, holding it out to you. “I don’t really need it.”

You look at him, a bit surprised by the gesture. His jacket seems to be a comforting cocoon of warmth, and you hesitate for a moment before accepting it with a grateful smile. “Thanks, E.”

The nickname made him turn all shades of red and pink.

He smiles back, a touch of shyness in his expression. “No problem. It's better than you freezing out here.”

As you put on his jacket, you're met with its familiar warmth and a faint hint of his cologne. It's a surprisingly intimate gesture, one that makes you feel closer to him in this quiet moment. The chilly night no longer bothering you.

The conversation continues, Ethan seems even more at ease, a genuine smile lighting up his features. The two of you talk about everything from ice cream flavors to childhood memories, each exchanged feeling more comfortable than the last.

Ethan glances at your cigarette and chuckles. “Let me try.” A sheepish grin on his face.

You smirk playfully. “Well, if you're curious, I guess you can try it. But Quinn would go crazy.”

Ethan chuckles softly, his eyes lighting up mischievously. “Actually, I don't think she would care.”

You notice that Ethan's gaze lingers on your plump lips for a moment, and your heart skips a beat. Without fully realizing it, you lean in slightly, drawn by an invisible string between you.

His eyes meet yours, his breath hitching as he leans in as well. It's a moment frozen in time, one where everything seems to hang in the balance.

Just as your lips are about to touch, a loud crash echoes from somewhere behind you, and you both startle, pulling away from each other. You turn to see a purse rolling on the ground, having been thrown out of a frat house window.

You can't help but laugh. “Definitely not the most romantic timing.”

He chuckles nervously, running a hand through his brown curls. “Yeah, I guess not.”

•

The party had started winding down already, and you find yourselves by a streetlight now. “I had a really great time talking to you, (NAME).”

“Unexpectedly fun.” You joke, and look down. Your phone lights up with Quinn's name. “I have to, um, go.” You manage an awkward smile.

But before you can continue, Ethan's lips are suddenly on yours. It's a gentle and fleeting kiss, a promise of what could have been. His touch is soft, his intent clear, and just as quickly as it happened, he pulls away, his cheeks flushed.

How could this boy be so hot and awkward at the same time?

Ethan steps back, a shy smile on his face. “Sorry about that. I couldn't resist.”

Your heart races, and you can't help but smile in return. “No need to apologize.”

As you fumble for your phone, Ethan's expression becomes playful. “You might want to answer that. Don't want Quinn thinking you're avoiding her.”

You step closer. “Well, this was unexpected, but I'm really glad we had this chance to talk.”

Ethan's smile becomes more assured, his gaze steady. “Me too. We should do it again sometime.”

Before he can continue, you lean in and places a quick, soft kiss on his cheek. “Goodnight.”

This night, this boy, this connection, this memory. You were never gonna let it go. It all just happened with a cigarette.

[afurtivecake]

hate that kevriko is a rarepair, i really feel like so many of their interactions are so juicy and full of worthwhile discussions that for some reason nobody wants to indulge

i def think that rikos anger at jean was less bc of him LOOKING at kevin and more so that he was looking at KEVIN

anyway if you have thoughts and feelings to share, pls do

thank you for this ask<3 also you're so right. we don't talk about kevriko as a ship enough when there's a lot to think about there. (i am guilty of this too)

the interesting thing about kevriko is that they're almost exactly like the kind queerbaiting couple you'd have seen in late 2000's media. (1) there were so many shows with characters that had an undeniably deep and intimate connection with each other that was also really fucked-up and we, the audience, were expected to believe these were the actions of fully heterosexual men who, at best, hated each other. yeah, that's what nora has effectively created with kevriko.

i'm not saying kevriko is intentional queerbaiting; i just mean the ambiguous and open-ended nature of their relationship lends itself well to speculations about what they really felt for each other.

i'm guessing people don't ship kevriko much because it is very much a toxic and abusive relationship made worse by the horrible environment they were living in. i think there is a lot of reluctance to engage with the topic of textual abusive queer relationships. i think people are drawn to the idea of nice, healthy, wholesome queer relationships in media and shy away from ships that can't fit into that mold. which is interesting because that's not at all different from how the general public treated people who shipped those kinds of canonically straight characters with antagonistic, homoerotic relationships back then. there was always this sense of like, "why would you want to ship that when there are all these other better ships available?" why would you want to imagine a gay relationship when it's so bad and toxic when there are other more socially acceptable ships available? only real difference is that, back then "socially acceptable" strongly meant "straight". i guess what i'm saying is that it feels like people would rather kevin and riko be straight and not at all emotionally attached because that would make their relationship straightforward and palatable. it would frame them as captor and prisoner longing for escape, rather than something horrible and ugly and uncomfortably involved.

but ok let's just talk about the elephant in the room: was riko obsessively in love with kevin and repressing it?

yeah. probably. yes. in tgr, it's pretty clear that riko was insanely possessive of kevin and responded jealously whenever another man dared to get close to kevin. "but was it love?" i hear people ask. or was it selfishness, obsession, and codependency? does it really matter what you call it? it amounts to the same thing in the end.

if we can accept that andreil's relationship doesn't fit into the traditional mold of "romantic relationship" but is still intimate and loving nonetheless, then we should be able to accept that kevriko doesn't fit into the traditional mold of "abusive romantic relationship" but is nonetheless, built around emotional involvement and intimate partner abuse.

lots of works show these same aspects of an abusive relationship, but what aftg does that feels different is that it puts focus on the "relationship" aspect. simply put, aftg doesn't try to eliminate the emotional attachment kevin and riko have to each other in order paint a more stark line between victim and abuser as if attempting to signal to the audience the writer knows this relationship is Bad and Irredeemable. aftg acknowledges that being in an abusive relationship requires a heavy emotional investment on both sides.

it took emotional investment for riko to hold kevin that close and it took emotional investment for kevin to choose to stay for as long as he did. yes, there is also an element of one party having the power to enforce a relationship on their terms. but if it were as simple as seeing the power balance imbalance and thinking, "i don't have to put up with this shit anymore!" like an employee quitting their shitty job and shitty boss, then beating riko and the ravens in the finals would have fixed kevin. and we can see in tgr that it very much has not. there isn't an absence of feeling in abusive relationships. there isn't an absence of desire to be together. that's what makes extricating oneself from the them so hard.

riko was undoubtedly deeply attached to kevin and built all his future dreams around the idea that kevin would be at his side exactly where he wants him to be. he could not let go of kevin even after kevin left and he continued to act as if kevin was going to come back to him as soon as he destroyed the foxes and everything would be back on track. in a similar way, kevin has trouble letting go of riko after riko dies. we see him in tgr still pursuing excellence (exy-llence?) and fixating hard on the dream of playing in the olympics as if he's determined to carry him and riko's dream to the finish line on his own - to prove that he could do what riko could never could, alone. denying the awful emotional aspect of kevin and riko's relationship ignores the fact that being together fucked them up and that kevin is still left trying to disentangle himself from that mess.

(1) the example that springs to mind is Heroes. does anyone remember the show Heroes? sylar/mohinder, you'll always be famous to me. basically, sylar is a serial killer who is able to steal the superpower of the people he kills and mohinder is the researcher studying superpowers and this serial killer. there's one insane scene where sylar calls mohinder in distress and says shakily, "i think i did something bad," and mohinder, without missing a beat, shoots back, "you're a serial killer; you don't get the benefit of the doubt." and then there's a bit of back and forth where sylar is pleading with mohinder to just help him somehow because mohinder is the only one he can trust. and we were supposed to believe those two were heterosexual men who did not like each other at all. yeah that's how bad queerbaiting was back then.

[frodofartbear]

Okay yall. This is an announcement. So, I’m going to address the elephant in the room but someone by the name goes @rinstar23 has falsely accused me of grooming an 8 year old. Honey, I never talked to an 8 year old. If anything, I’m only around minors if they are family. (AHEM! MY NIECES) I feel like @rinstar23 is a mentally ill kid that doesn’t know what to do but draw Corey Taylor sucking on a pacifier and falsely accuse jorey shippers of grooming children. This is not the first time they’ve done this. They also falsely accused my mutual grooming a minor as well and they used to go by Floydfromtrolls. And now they’re doing this to someone else and me. Mind you @rinstar23 that accusing someone of pedophelia is very dangerous and could cause someone’s life to be ruined if the other party is actually innocent. @rinstar23 you are pathetic lying piece of shit and I hope you telling the whole world that you don’t care about Joey dying and that he deserves it makes you feel like utter shit. You are very immature and if I were you I would get myself off the internet and do something productive. Again! I did not groom any minors. I don’t Prey on the innocent because I am a victim of COC SA! Meaning Child on child sexual Assault. I’ve been a victim of some sort of sa and it upsets and offends me that @rinstar23 is falsely accusing me of something that I’ve been a victim of (I think I’ve been groomed idk he was a kid as well) and honestly I hope karma gets to you. Fuck you and gtfo of the slipknot community. Nobody wants you here and you are CERTAINLY not WELCOME HERE. Also here’s some screenshots

@rinstar23 you fucking disgust me with your lies and you completely do the exact opposite of what slipknot represents for. Fuck off🖕