#minor brian mistake

[theredhairedbastard]

Brian just likes focusing on the negatives in life. I wouldn't take anything he says seriously.

wew I'm bored... [remembers every negative interaction in my life] huh

[neysaadept]

Prometheus Chapter 4

Emily Prentiss x Female CIA Reader

Chapter 4 - Socially Blocked

Little different chapter style. Hope you enjoy. Also, I have no beta so mistakes are all me.

Tags: Limited use of y/n but established last name. Swearing, mentions of the pandemic and human and sex trafficking. Canon typical violence. Sexual innuendos. Minors DNI.

Word Count: 4.8k

AO3

You had joined Prentiss in her office several hours ago to go over the forensic evidence that had come in. Laptop balancing on your thighs, you compile the data and cross reference missing persons with the families that Lewis had been gently consoling until the lab techs worked their magic. This was your nightly ritual with the section chief since joining; identification and providing closure.

What you did during the day was follow her around like a fucking assistant. You were now well versed in FBI budgetary matters, regulatory concerns, and how long new policies would be put into practice. You knew there were countless mind-numbing meetings, but this was insane. Most of the meetings could be cut in half, be done over Zoom, or just not happen at all. Just fucking email one another.

Then there were piles upon piles of paperwork to sort, sign and scan and files to review sent by local law enforcement agencies asking for FBI assistance. Just briefly glimpsing some of the cases made you wonder how one could decide which case mattered more. Go after one psycho but let the less of a psycho go free for the state to handle? Some requests had to be denied general FBI involvement due to a jurisdiction juggling nightmare that needed to be sorted first.

If this was a section chief’s life, how the fuck did Brian survive being the director of the entire CIA?

The more pressing question on your mind was why Prentiss was doing her damnedest in limiting time between you and the rest of the team. Okay, yes, Prentiss didn’t know anything about you, and yes, it was difficult to delegate work to you without knowing all your capabilities, but being a special agent in the CIA meant something.

You just gave the BAU a ton of money! Least you could do something more than be a glorified secretary! Not like you expected time out in the field, you totally understood that was out of bounds, but it’s been three days like this, and it was getting on your nerves. Why were you familiarizing yourself with FBI manuals if all you were good for was be a gopher for Prentiss?

Day 1

1145

Prentiss had given you a quick tour of the bullpen leaving the conference room for last. When you enter, excited to present your sweet offerings, you saw the team was already standing and ready to break. Introductions were made quickly, with almost every team member thanking you for the food and grabbing something.

Luke grabbed a chocolate frosted long john with a grin. “Can’t wait to catch up with you when we get back!”

You blink. Back from … what?

JJ grabbed a handful of macarons with delight, already stuffing one in her mouth as she left. “Dis isz weally nice ov ya!” she said, covering her mouth to not accidentally spew crumbs at you.

Rossi was far more debonair and rounds the choices with an index finger before plucking out a glazed twist, flashing a smile. “Thanks, kid.”

You saw Garcia slipping out quickly without making eye contact.

The hell?!

You open your mouth to say more, but he looks apologetic. “We’ll talk more later. Gotta lot going on right now, but we’ll make time.”

At least Tara had the decency to stop for a few seconds to exchange simply pleasantries. “So nice to finally meet you! Rebecca says nothing but good things.”

You raise a brow and chuckle. “Really?”

Prentiss looks unconvinced as well.

She shrugs and steals a macaron. “Yes, for real. I’ve gotta lot of family interviews and sessions lined up today, but we’ll chat more later.”

Patting you on the shoulder, Tara starts to exit the conference room backwards, pointing at you with promise. “You’re gonna have to tell me all you can about that HSC* in Saxony. Later!”

You sigh with close eyes and your head falls back. These little tidbits were not helping without context for your new boss. Even before you open your eyes to look at Prentiss, you just know she is staring at you with contempt.

Yep. There it is. Just missing an eyeroll.

Without being asked, you take a seat at the table and shove the box towards Prentiss. “We were tailing ISIS members. One decided he could get away when we moved in and learned how very wrong he was about it.”

1315

Prentiss left you to read FBI procedural manuals while she went to meet the deputy director. She had thought it prudent to delay you two crossing paths for as long as possible considering he was not happy with either of you. It was nice to hear that you had something in common with Prentiss. The tiny scrap of connection was something, no matter how pitiful. And you knew Prentiss was happy to upset Bailey.

This leaves you alone for a short time and you decide to use it wisely and check in on Garcia. It was really bothering you why she ignored you earlier today. Yeah, the team was busy with the Sicarius case, but everyone else had acknowledged you as they hurried off. Surely the bold color choices of her ensemble meant she was outgoing and not shy. You didn’t even make polite eye contact.

So, you go by instinct and grab a few left over macarons and position them with purpose on a white paper plate before heading to what you learned was The Lair.

Aware of not barging in on a tech’s work, unless you wanted to have your head bit off, you knock and wait.

“Entrer!’ you hear through the door and smile.

You open the door and poke your head in with a playful grin. “Hey, Garcia.”

The flurry of typing abruptly stops and you see her stiffen. Your grin quickly falls into a frown.

“I’m sorry.” You fully move into the room, noting the same outlandish decor that matches Garcia’s clothing. “I hope I’m not bothering you?” you say hopefully.

“Nope!” She pops the p and goes back to typing. By a cursory glance on what was on the screens, yeah, you had no idea what she was working on.

Garcia said nothing more but the stiff body language and her outright ignoring you once again, made it clear you upset her. Pushing her at this moment would only cause the divide to widen. You barely know each other.

“Well, I saw you didn’t take any treats and brought them to you. Probably hard getting away while you’re …”

“Cataloging important data,” she said quickly, still not looking at you.

“Yeah, so …” you look around and see an open spot on the table to her right. You are careful to not move anything when you put the plate down next to a fuzzy neon green turtle. “Enjoy when you-“

“Hey Garica, I’m jus-“ Prentiss’ fond tone quickly dissolves to accusatory. “You’re supposed to be in my office.”

“And I took a break. That a problem?” you challenge, taking in Prentiss confident posture, hand out before her with the other in her suit pants pocket. She cut quite the authoritative figure.

Garcia keeps typing away but slower so she can concentrate on you and Prentiss.

“No, but I’d appreciate you leaving the team alone while they’re working.” The words sound like a suggestion, but the tone was an order.

“Yeah, sure,” you concede, again, not wanting to cause an unnecessary argument. But first, you bow to the back of Garcia sitting in her chair. “Bon appetit!”

You rise and move pass Prentiss, both of you locking gazes and it ticks you off you had to look away since you were the one leaving.

“Oh, darn it!” whimpers Garcia. “Why?!”

Alarmed, Prentiss walks over to her with concern. “What’s wrong, Penelope?”

With a deeply etched sullen look on her face, she shows Emily the plate you had left. It was a macaron smiley face. One eye was pink, the other blue, and the smile was purple. You chose the bright colors on purpose.

“Why'd she have to do something this cute?!” she complains. “I’m not supposed to like her!”

1750

You roll your head working out the stiffness that settles in your shoulders from being hunched over most of the day on Prentiss’ couch going over manuals and signing off on orientation documents. You had tried various positions to find any source of comfort once joints began to ache. You sat on your ass with feet on the floor, legs on the couch, cross one leg, then the other, then had to stretch them along the couch. Then you said fuck it and placed the laptop on the cushion and laid supine while working and then to top it off, you sat on the floor with the laptop on the couch like a desk not giving any fucks what Prentiss thought.

She offered the couch, not her desk, to work on, and you didn’t want to get all up in her business setting up shop across from her. She’d probably shoot you if you decided to leave for a desk in the bullpen. And oddly enough, when it appeared you were going to get up, she engaged in questions about what you were reading or if you had any concerns. All sterile and by the book, but with suspicious brown eyes trying to figure you out.

It was only day one and you were willing to play the game, not letting her get to you. All in all, it really was a typical first day of boring bullshit. Just without a cubicle.

Eh, you had suffered far worse with even more irate coworkers and direct supervisors. But this felt different. Maybe Brian was right and you weren’t made for the general population. And yes, that meant the people at Quantico.

You weren’t kidding that Prentiss was a legend when you made that quip. Faking her own death to protect that kid and her team was a brilliant self-sacrificing move that you deeply respected. Then as you dug deeper into the team’s background, you gained a deeper respect for the BAU’s work, dedication, and the trauma they’ve been through to keep the people of your country safe.

Of course, you honed in on Prentiss’ work since she was your superior. One assumed if you were CIA or former CIA everyone knew each other and that simply wasn’t the case. While Prentiss was infiltrating Doyle’s criminal organization, you were gathering intel in Afghanistan on al-Qa’ida's operations. You two worked very different operative circles.

Despite your specializations never intersecting professionally until now, on paper, you two should at least get along and have something to talk about then just … whatever this was in her office right now. You both were driven, intelligent women who were dedicated to the people on your team and would protect them at all costs. Your skill sets were complementary and overlapped with being seasoned international operatives, you spoke several languages, focused on counter terrorism, and were awarded many commendations for mission successes and demonstration of skill sets.

But here you are, sitting on the floor of her office like you were her kid finishing homework.

“You should probably head home.”  

You glance over your shoulder and scowl, seeing Prentiss was looking down at a file and not you.

“I don’t mind staying and catching up with all this. Same thing I’d be doing at the apartment. The lab reports are important to review ASAP.” You didn’t want to correct her about what home was and wasn’t.

You look at the files cluttering the desk and cross your lips in thought. “Need any help? Granted, I’m not savvy enough yet on all the FBI lingo but paperwork’s still a bitch however you cut it.”

That made her look up at you. She was motionless as she considered your proposal and your earnest face.

“Thank you, but no.” She looks down again. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Aye, aye, Cap’n.” After you salute, you stand up and stretch, hearing your knees pop. You then grab your laptop and manuals, tucking them under your arms securely.

Note to self, bring a backpack.

You are polite as you walk by, offering a nod she didn’t appear to see. “Night, Prentiss.”

She hums noncommittally but as you drag your eyes away from her desk, you notice something that provides a glimmer of hope.

On a napkin that had been tucked out of view near one of the file stacks was a half-eaten red macaron.

Day 2

0630

You came to Quantico early with a bottle of Diet Coke in hand and your black and grey backpack secure around both shoulders, ready to tackle the day before anyone else got here.

Yet you see a movement coming from Prentiss’ office window and have to stop. She was already here? You squint in thought and presume she had stayed late and came in early – basing this assumption on her work ethic and how every good leader worked themselves ragged on little sleep.

You down some more pop and climb the stairs to her office, gently knocking. She opens the door and you raise a brow at her because she was wearing yesterday’s clothes.

“What are you doing here?” she asks with surprise accusation.

“Wanted an early start. What’s your excuse?” you probe gently.

She thins her lips and steps aside as a silent invitation to come inside. “Sicarius.”

Prentiss didn’t have to say anything further for you to understand the unspoken. She had no one to go home to, so why worry about time and just bury herself in work. And by the time Prentiss realized what time it was, she might as well stay in her office and sleep. She probably had a change of clothing in the closet, and it was easy to freshen up in one of the locker rooms. It was a more productive use of her time than driving home to do the same thing and come right back here. Avoid all that traffic.

You should know. You’ve done it yourself many times.

“Fair enough,” you say without judgement as you drop your backpack on the couch. “Does the team know?”

She reaches for the white FBI seal decorated coffee mug on her desk and frowns. “Know what?”

“That you stay here sometimes.” You knock back several gulps of pop before setting the bottle down on the side table.

After a moment of consideration while sipping her coffee, she looks to you with a narrowing gaze. “No.”

You nod, understanding the silent request. “Secret’s safe with me.”

1233

You were grabbing a cup of coffee for an afternoon pick me up, when you hear slow purposeful footsteps coming closer.

“Like a little coffee with your cream there, kid?” Rossi jokes, coming to stand beside you.

You chuckle. “I do. Bonus if it’s French Vanilla.”

He regards you with wizened eyes, but you could tell he was exhausted with how often he blinks. “How long have you been CIA?”

Oh here we go.

“Long time.” It wasn’t a precise answer, but it also wasn’t a lie.

“Sounds like me and the FBI.” His eyes twinkle with mirth.

“Hey, I’m not that old,” you answer with a grin before taking a sip of coffee.

He laughs as you swallow and continue. “You know, it’s probably not a surprise I know your work, Mr. Writer.”

Rossi acknowledges with a nod. “No, this does not come as a surprise at all.”

You hum, nodding. “Broken Child was the first one I read. Though, I did follow your work with the Gideons closely.”

He smiles with delight. “Really?” Rossi pauses and gestures for you to follow him to continue this conversation elsewhere. You could tell he was fascinated by this. “How far back?”

“Oh, pretty far. As you know, your guys’ work wasn’t all BAU related.”

“True. The CIA did take part of our research for profiling training. And to use for psych evals on operatives.” He smiles. “Am I getting close?”

“Definitely warm.” You smile back. “It was part of my training.”

“You’ll have to tell me more.”

And just as things were becoming interesting with a non-Prentiss member of the BAU, she has to come and ruin it. It’s like the woman had a sixth sense when you were getting too close to one of her teammates.

“Hey, Dave. I need you in the conference room. JJ and Luke have an update on our unsub in Texas.”

“Right.” He holds out his hand, which you take, and he gently squeezes. “I look forward to continuing this later.”

Your smile was bright. Working with Rossi was a perk of agreeing to this. You never thought you’d have the chance to have face to face time with someone who wrote the blueprints for training you, again.

“Yeah, me too.”

He keeps your hand for a moment longer before letting go and looking at Prentiss. “You sure the kid can’t just listen in?”

You try not to look eager and utterly fail. You just know you got the sad puppy dog eyes going. Which, of course, doesn’t work on the leery section chief. “Whitlock has promised to help me with paperwork. Isn’t that right?”

Fucking hell! She’s using generosity from last night as an excuse to keep me busy. ARGH!

Of course, you’re not going to call her out on it as you really did offer to help and meant it. You manage to keep the disappointment hidden from your voice and raise your cup to her. “Indeed, I did.”

“You can start with scanning the reports on top of my desk calendar.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” you salute carefully with your coffee hand and wander off.

As you are leaving, Rossi looks to Prentiss with a knowing look. “You do know she might be able to help us with the case. You just don’t want her to.”

Emily heard the unspoken question of why. “We barely know anything about her. I don’t need a wildcard fucking anything up.”

“Emily. Come on. She’s a seasoned CIA operative. We could pick her brain while she’s here instead of hiding her away in your office. Actually use her as a consultant.”

“You just like her because she read your books,” she fires back sarcastically.

“Well, yeah, but that’s not the point…”

1435

Whitlock: I hate this place

You were chatting with Brian on the CIA secure network on your laptop instead of your phone to avoid making Prentiss press as to what you were doing. You even silenced the chat notifications

Korogoth: It’s only the second day.

Whitlock: All I’m doing is reading and paperwork :(

Whitlock: Prentiss keeps socially blocking me!

Korogoth: What does that even mean?

Whitlock: I’m stuck in her office all day and when I need to go do something, she’s always up my ass. And when I’m free and have time to chat the team up, she magically shows up and stops it. It fucking sucks!

Whitlock: Stuffs coming in with the big case and I get to know nothing.

Whitlock: So all I do is read the FBI shit, which I know I need to do and scan in shit. I’m a over qualified secretary

Whitlock: UGH

Korogoth: Regretting it?

Whitlock: Yes

Whitlock: No

Whitlock: Maybe. Helping the families find closure is important tho.

Whitlock: And … I got to speak to Rossi for a sec

Korogoth: … and?

Whitlock: I told him I was a big fan :D

Korogoth: LOL really?

Whitlock: Why is that so funny?!

Whitlock: :P

Korogoth: What did you talk about?

Whitlock: That I read his books and papers.

Whitlock: With the Gideons

Korogoth: *facepalm*

Korogoth: Tread carefully missy.

Whitlock: ;)

Present Day

1145

JJ had returned earlier this morning with Luke and was now sitting with Garcia at her desk in the bullpen. They were focused on whatever was on Garcia’s computer and were animatedly discussing something about a message app behind a weather one.

You start to head over there but Prentiss comes in with Bailey and the deputy director makes a bee line right for you.

Ah, fuck.

You beat him to the introductions and hold out your hand towards him. “Hello Deputy Director Bailey. Special Agent Whitlock.”

“Yes, I know who you are.” He does not take your hand, and you curl it into a fist before dropping it. “I’m surprised it’s taken us this long to be formally introduced.” His tone was dripping with malice as he scrutinizes Prentiss.

Before Prentiss can react, you jump in to defend her. You hate high profile dickwards like him. “Well, there’s a lot going on with orientating me to FBI standards. Can’t go all CIA on your protocols.” You smile patronizingly. “Gotta be by the book, right?”

“Despite her unorthodox addition to the team, it’s prudent her training remains up to FBI standards,” Prentiss adds while Bailey attempts to stare you down.

He wasn’t even pathetically cute. Just … pathetic. The deputy director’s appearance was far too clean cut and pristine. He didn’t have that disgruntled tone that revealed years of field work that jaded an agent. There was no desensitized look in his eyes, just bureaucratic contempt.

“I’m glad to hear that. It takes months for an agent to go through training at Quantico, Whitlock. You wouldn’t want to diminish their hard work with the quick pass you’ve gotten.”

You smile sweetly.

What an asshole.

“We’re all on the same side, even though we’re on different teams, Deputy Director.” You lean forward with promise. “I won’t besmirch the good name of the FBI.”

Then your eyes drag over to Prentiss’ and soften. “I’m here to help.”

1345

You see the team assembled in the bullpen and have no idea what they’re talking about because you are in Prentiss’ office sorting paperwork. Your sincere invitation for Prentiss to trust you when Bailey was here was ignored.

1437

You are slowly dying inside sitting in on a budget meeting with Prentiss …

1634

… and then an advisory meeting with the DOJ. Too bad Rebecca wasn’t here but then that would be socializing.

You two chatted briefly after your first day and made a promise to properly catch up when you could. With your schedules, it’ll be difficult but with how things are going. Well, more her schedule than yours …

1930

You come back from your introspection that had occurred over the last few days and try to focus on the unfinished email you were drafting for Lewis. The problem is that the words remain blurry, and you are unable to concentrate to type the rest of your thoughts. Your thoughts are swimming around the fact that in the three days you have been at Quantico all you've been is snubbed by the woman currently ignoring you at her desk.

You close your laptop and rise to take a seat across from Prentiss. Her mouth hangs open, with what you presume would be a line of questioning as to where you were going to go, and instead found you seated before her. Your boldness took her by surprise.

“Ah, yes?” she asks cautiously. “Something wrong with the lab reports?”

She was well aware if you had an issue with the reports, you would have said something from the couch. As you have done before.

“No. Just, you.”

You know you should be more patient like Brian encouraged you to be. Let Prentiss take the lead and integrate you into the unit. But you weren’t stupid. You can read the room, and the room wanted you far away from the members of the BAU.

Prentiss straightens up with wide eyes at the audacity of your words. “Excuse me?”

“No, you’re not excused. Not unless you can tell me why you’re keeping me all to yourself,” you respond flippantly.

She licks the back of her bottom teeth before it drags along her lower lip. Oh yes, Prentiss is ready to throw down with you. You see how her pupils blow wide at being provoked and she caps her pen before her. “All right. You want to do this? Let’s do this.”

The pen drops, as does the pretense before you.

“I don’t know you. But I do know I can’t trust you. Anyone I can’t trust is a danger to my people and therefore, you get to stay the hell away from them.”

You throw your hands up in celebration. “Finally! A real conversation.” You lower your arms and lean back, resting a leg over the opposite knee. “I’m sorry I can’t be completely forthcoming about everything about me. But that’s not my call. My shit’s sealed for a reason but it’s not because I did anything illegal. I'm sure that's what you're worried about."

“Then why did you need a lawyer?” she presses.

Fuck.

“I can’t say.”

She shakes her head with displeasure. “Of course you can’t. Because good agents don't need help covering up their messes.”

“Oh come the fuck on, Prentiss. Wilson’s a good person. A good lawyer. She helped me because …” You grit your teeth because you need to collect your thoughts before you say too much. You inhale deeply and uncross your legs to lean forward, gesturing with open hands for understanding. “… because it was a call I had to make. Follow orders and have people die. Or I did what I did. Which I was absolved of, ya know. That's gotta count for something?"

Without knowing the exact circumstances of what you did, you weren’t sure if Prentiss would care or not. You could have disobeyed orders because they were truly the wrong call or your superior was compromised in some way, or this was a cover up because you fucked up. You are hoping that she thinks the former because of dropping Wilson’s name as a good person and lawyer. Which is all true!

You watch as she subtly shakes her head, at war with her thoughts. “But there’s nothing about you. You barely exist. I can’t just accept you if there's nothing to back up your claims. So, you’re a means to an end for me. For the BAU.”

Wow. Pretense is so gone now ...

“You know, I’ve been thinking of myself as your highly paid secretary, but hey,” you roll your eyes, “let’s go with CIA sugar mama.”

“See that,” she points at you with indignation. “That right there’s why I can't take you seriously. You’re fucking lack of respect. Making jokes that are way outta line.”

“Oh fuck you and your wine addiction.” Yeah, you went there, gesturing to the half empty bottle. The woman downed a one a night and that was only what you saw. You wouldn’t be surprised if she had more. “Least I use humor to mask the trauma of my past instead of drowning it with alcohol and work.”

“How dare you make fucking assumptions about me,” she snaps, voice raising to meet yours.

You audibly scoff and rise, Prentiss doing the same. “You’ve been doing it the whole time since we met, let alone profiling me. Which I get, since you don’t know shit about me. But at least I was trying to get along with you despite the fucking cold shoulder. I ain’t expecting to be best friends but you don’t need to be a bitch about the situation.”

You turn around to grab your things, knocking over several empty Diet Coke bottles that you balanced on the couch arm.

“And where do you think you’re going?”

“Leaving your delightful presence.” You stuff your backpack with your laptop and books. “I’ve had more than enough of this shit.”

You miss the moment of panic on Prentiss’ face since your back was turned. Her mind was reeling with the ramification of what this could mean. Are you leaving for good? If you weren’t working with the BAU on paper the contract would be in breach. Pride kept her from asking you to clarify as she watches you storm off and slam the door behind you.

Emily grits her teeth as she leans over her desk, trying to stop her hands from shaking. She gives up, the anxiety of the situation she finds herself in too much and pulls the top left drawer open of the desk to get the pack of cigarettes stashed there. She quickly lights up and takes a long drag off the cigarette, unable to fight her trembling lips as she blows the smoke free.

“Fuck…”

What was she doing to do?

*High Speed Chase

Chapter 5

[omg-snakes]

Brian Barczyk, keeper of giant snakes in tiny drawers, has died. How should we feel?

I've been asking myself this very question, anon.

On one hand, the man did some really unethical stuff, pushed harmful information that was not correct husbandry, and allowed animals to suffer for his own gain.

On the other hand, he was human, as we all are human: prone to failings, easily blinded by praise, and willing to hide his mistakes in order to maintain a positive reputation among his peers. This is really common among that generation. I see the same attitudes in many big-name reptile keepers, TV personalities, and minor celebrities.

He was curious. He was passionate. He wanted to share his passion with others. I think he really truly did love his animals and the people around him, though that love was not an adequate replacement for proper care. He was arrogant. He was overconfident. He was flawed. But he was human.

He was afraid, at the end. He was in pain. Pancreatic cancer is not a gentle end. He saw his death looming on a fast-approaching horizon, and you could see it reflected in his eyes. Did he have regrets, do you suppose? Would he have done things differently if he had another chance? Did he believe in an afterlife, and did he feel the burden of his transgressions as he prepared to meet his gods?

I can tell you how I feel at this point:

A little sad that a fellow traveler on this Earth died in such an awful, painful way. A little disappointed that he's now a martyr of reptile keeping. A little grateful that he helped to push the hobby into the public eye and out of the fringes. A little hopeful that we'll continue to learn, grow, and do better than he did.

I can't tell you how to feel, though, or whether to feel anything at all. That's up to you.

Regardless, I hope his last moments were peaceful, that he felt loved instead of scared, and that he was not in pain. That's what I want for everyone.

[mixedup-sideblog]

41 letters…what the fuck.

The charges listed against Peck:

- SA of a person under 16.

- SA by foreign object.

- SA oral.

- SA with use of anaesthesia or controlled substance.

- Using a minor for SA.

- Sending harmful matter.

Drake Bell was sexually tortured by this man when he was only 15 years old and 41 pieces of shit wrote this kind of crap in support of his abuser….

James Marsden:

“I do intend to shed light on the fact that he has learnt his lesson…the earth would fall from the sky before Brian would think about doing something like this again.”

- ahh don’t worry everyone, James is pretty sure he would never drug and r*pe a child again so let’s just let him off on this one!

Taran Killam:

“Brian is fully aware of his misjudgement and takes full responsibility.”

- poor old Brian making that minor misjudgement when he decided to prey on a child, turn him against his father, against his family, isolate him and groom him then repeatedly SA him. Don’t worry he’s stepping up and taking full responsibility!

Joanna Kerns:

“There must have been some extreme situation or temptation exerted upon him.” and “ I would hire him today to work with children.” And "a good man that made a mistake, not a bad man who got caught."

- see that’s all it was poor Brian could not resist the extreme temptation, of course blame the 15 year old victim not the fucking adult, it’s always the same bullshit from these people I swear.

Ron Melendez:

“I also know the young man…I have met his family, seen his behaviour…I saw him pursue a friendship with Brian, maintain their close ties…Brian made a large mistake but it was not his alone.”

- surprise, more victim blaming, more trivialising. A mistake is forgetting to lock your door or putting salt in your tea instead of sugar…repeatedly r*ping a child is not a fucking mistake - it’s a fucking crime!

Tom DeSanto:

“Brian is ashamed and remorseful about his lapse in judgment.” and “ I met Drake…he seemed very fearful of his father and unable to communicate with him whatever sexual issues he was going through”

- again - broken record here but r*ping a child is not a bloody lapse in judgment! And again - victim blaming and suggesting his family were at fault!

Will Freddie:

“I can only reiterate how devastated Brian is and how these past events have forever changed him.”

- well thank god Brian is so devastated that he got caught - poor thing. The threat of prison probably has ‘forever changed him’ but I’m sure his inability to stop himself from SAing kids has done far more significant damage to his victims (and yes I believe he has more than Drake).

Kimmy Robertson:

“An outrageous, overtly gay, over-sexed person…he totally took advantage of Brian’s willingness to help.”

- the amount of victim blaming in these letters, particularly this one, is just astounding. The 15 year old boy took advantage of the 40 something year old man? Do you really truly believe that Kimmy? I’ll say it again for the billionth time - What. The. Fuck.

And this is just the snippet, there are 34 more letters - all I’m sure are variations of the above examples. The fact that we live in a world where these people not only do and get away with this shit all the time but also are supported so wholeheartedly when they’re exposed for doing it, is quite frankly terrifying.

I do not accept - we did not know the extent of what we were defending as an excuse here. You knew the charges it’s even clear in the letters themselves - you know it’s about the SA of a child (a child some of you even knew personally), you decided to disregard them, defend them or downplay them. You are only coming out now with weak-ass apologies because you have to - in reality you never thought those letters would see the light of day outside the court room.

I’m sorry but the amount of victim blaming, trivialising and excusing here is just more proof to be added to the huge pile of evidence that Hollywood is a cesspit, it does not care about victims, it does not care about children.

If anyone is still in doubt about the amount of systemic CSA in Hollywood please go and watch An Open Secret (whole thing is on YouTube)- a movie that they desperately tried to bury but is just as hard hitting as ‘Quiet on Set.’

[edgessunflower]

Can I get a Brian O’Conner X reader where she got her nudes leaked and Brian is being the most sweetish soul on earth?

Ofc my dear! 🤍

Leave my girl alone

Pairing: Brian O'connor x Fem reader

Description: After your private pictures are leaked and feeling ashamed Brian helps you

Warning: Minor Swearing

You feel all the emotions you kept back the most of the day ooze out of you, slapping your ex who ran up to you smiling at his work he did that was making you want to hide from the world. You were having a normal day until a guy you went to school with messaged you with a picture of you but nude which made your heart stop and pick up followed by many different texts from people you went to school with or knew and your ex along with the girl he cheated with laughing as you try to get in your car and go home hoping your boyfriend Brian wasn't home. You get home going inside, collapsing and crying in your bed for an hour before getting up and showering not hearing brian walk in hearing your phone going off non stop ignoring it until he sees a text from your ex threatening you with a picture attached making his blood boil not just by the text but the text that followed saying he enjoyed your misery making him leave after seeing the text after of him saying where he was calling Roman as he walked out telling him he needed his help. You spend the rest of the day inside watching tv and cleaning finishing up on cooking dinner when brian walks in, smiling when you see him until you see the bruises and cuts on him "Baby what happened?" he smiles as you clean his hand "Took care of that shitty ex of yours with roman" you look at him with your eyes wide and in surprise as he squeezes your hands "I came home earlier but you were upstairs so I sat on the couch, your phone kept going off and I saw a text from him saying he was glad that you were miserable hoping you'd be like that for the rest of your life along with your picture" you hide your face in your hands knowing what picture it probably was "He made the mistake saying he was enjoying a sandwich at Toretto's market so me and roman paid a visit and showed him not to fuck with you anymore". You smile as tears brim in your eyes bandaging his hands and putting a bandaid on his face "What else did you say...you didn't have to" he smiles and laughs making you melt inside "I told him to leave my girl the fuck alone or there would be hell to pay" you smile as he hugs you feeling all the stress and emotions disappear from the love that flooded through you "I love you" you both pull away sharing a affectionate kiss before grabbing plates and eating dinner before going up to bed wrapped in his arms feeling the most love, care, and safety you have ever felt in your life.

[cryptidcircuswrites]

Controlling You Makes Me Better (THIS HURTS)

Dead dove- Do Not Eat || MINORS DNI

!!- drugging, rape/non-con, manhandling, degradation, manipulation, kink discovery, PIV sex, physical violence (one slap), use of “cunt”, PIV sex, FtMxM

That last drink was definitely a mistake, Brian decided.

Alex had invited him out with a couple other friends. Brian didn’t know any of them that well, but he was welcome anyway because Brian was friends with everyone.

That beer Alex had handed him, though. He felt off. He hadn’t even had that many, but maybe his tolerance was lower for some reason…?

He didn’t know. He was zoned out on someone’s couch, whose house was this? Why was he even here, he didn’t enjoy parties as much as he pretended to— they were too much work. He had to bite his tongue about everything, he had to be perfect and polite and act like he wasn’t bored out of his mind by the small talk of people who were objectively less interesting than him.

He was ruminating, he realized.

He didn’t normally do that, not unless—

“Bri,” Alex grabbed his shoulder, making him lose his train of thought. “You feeling okay? You look off.”

Brian wracked his brain for an excuse. “It’s getting kinda late,” he ignores that it’s only midnight. He hopes Alex will take the hint.

“Yeah, I think it’s probably time to head back. I’ll walk you to your apartment.”

Thank god.

•••

Brian thanked Alex several times for being such a good friend.

“Seriously man, thanks. I don’t think I could’ve got home on my own, I think i overdid it. Thanks. You’re a good friend, Alex.”

Alex just chuckled awkwardly as Brian stumbled a bit. “It’s really not a big deal.”

Brian dropped his keys four times trying to open the door before Alex offered to open it for him.

Brian leaned against the wall for a moment, running a hand through his hair. Something was wrong, he could feel it. Something was off about that last beer, but what…?

His head wasn’t clear enough to tell.

Alex almost looked nervous as he led Brian inside. Brian chalked it up to him also noticing something wrong.

Brian chalked it up to concern.

He didn’t think it could be something else until it was too late.

Alex sat him on the couch, helping Brian kick off his shoes // helping Brian out of his jacket // pulling Brian further down onto the couch to make him more comfortable.

Right?

When Alex started tugging at his shirt he wasn’t so sure anymore.

“Alex?”

Their eyes met.

“What’re you doin’? Wha’s goin’ on?”

“You don’t remember? I’m taking you home,” Alex lies flatly.

“Takin’ me home,” Brian slurs. “Don’t need to take my clothes off for that…?”

Brian didn’t like the blank look Alex gave in response.

He struggled as best he could through the haze while Alex continued stripping him.

“Alex, stoppit! What are you doing?!”

“Shut up,” Alex snaps, breaking the zipper on Brian’s jeans.

Brian felt too heavy, like he was underwater. He struggled, but got nowhere. He felt his waistband drag down his thighs to his knees.

Much to Brian’s dismay (and Alex’s delight), he was already half hard from being manhandled.

Alex tugged his own pants off, wiggling his hips while trying to hold Brian down.

“Just knock it off already! You clearly can’t stop me and no one will believe you anyway!” He pushed Brian’s wrists to his chest, pinning them there with one hand while he slipped his already damp panties to the side.

Brian whimpered at the warm slick flesh as Alex slid onto his cock. A few tearless sobs managed to escape him as he fell heavier into his daze, unable to even protest anymore. Brian hoped they were in fear or protest, not a sign of the growing pleasure as Alex rode him.

He said a few more things, none of it registering to Brian. He was fading out of consciousness fast.

Yet another unexpected thing happened. Alex slapped him.

Alex and Brian had fought before, but he’d never hit him before.

Brian didn’t have time to get over the sharp sting before Alex gripped his jaw. “Stay awake. I want you awake for this.”

If God was real, he must have been feeling particularly cruel tonight. One of his closest friends was assaulting him, sexually and physically, on his couch, and for some sick reason when Alex’s jagged nails dug into his face,

Brian moaned.

Or he tried to. It came out broken, half choked by a whimpering sob as his cock hardened inside of Alex.

Alex whimpers, speeding up and using his friend for his own pleasure. His cunt clenches and spasms around Brian, fingers tightening as he grips his jaw again.

“Fuck, I can see why you always have some girl after you now, if I’d known you felt this good I’d’ve drugged you sooner,” Alex whined. Brian’s hips jerked reflexively, the drugged haze heightening the pleasure. Definitely the drugs. Not the way Alex’s nails dug into his skin or the way he was being used like a fuckdoll or the way Alex was talking and moaning like that.

And it absolutely wasn’t the way Alex’s core and cunt clenched at the same time as he orgasmed on his cock.

It wasn’t the heat and the friction, but he was so close anyway. Because of the drugs.

He felt like he was going to snap. Alex didn't look like he was going to stop. He tried to slur out a warning, failing miserably.

Alex grinned down at him. "I know. I can feel how close you are, fucking whore, getting off on this." His breath hitched, hips stuttering slightly as he rode past his orgasm. "You're letting me rape you, you're not even fighting back. You think anyone will believe you since you didn't fight back? You're fucking pathetic."

God wasn't the only cruel one, it seemed.

Brian liked Alex being cruel, though.

Brian liked it a lot.

He went over the edge, practically screaming as he shot his load into Alex.

Fuck, had Alex slipped a condom on him? He didn't know. He knew nothing as he slipped into unconsciousness with the drugs and the exhaustion...

•••

Brian woke up, shirtless, pants still around his ankles, and hungover.

Clearly the bits and pieces he could remember from the previous night hadn't been a dream nightmare.

Alex had been kind enough to clean him up, though he missed a couple spots.

Brian wasn't sure how to feel as he slipped into the shower. Upset? Numb? Kind of... excited? That wasn't right. That was some kind of trauma response. It had to be, the slight jolt in his gut at the thought of Alex gripping his jaw and telling him nobody would believe him wasn't at all something he was truly interested in.

Just a weird body reaction.

That was all it was.

Brian tried to convince himself that was all it was, even when a week later, he went to a sketchy gay bar a few hours outside of town,

and went to the bathroom with his drink unattended.

•••

Alex sat in a bathroom, waiting for the timer to finish on the little plastic stick he'd just pissed on. He mentally kicked himself for not thinking to slip a condom on Brian.

And now his period was slightly late. He hoped to whatever God was out there that it was just the testosterone, but he couldn't be sure.

So he waited for the test.

[gvtted-ratz]

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You’re Welcome Anytime

Will Graham x M!Reader

Last Edited: March 24, 2021 9:30 PM

TW: anxiety

Requested: no

Word Count: 1,060

AO3 LINK -> HERE

You have been under stress from Jack for a week now. He kept pushing and pushing and pushing. It was just too much. He was always rushing you to finish up your notes on cases which led to mistakes. This, in turn, led to you being yelled at by him all the time. It not only embarrassed you, but it also made you feel both dumb and inferior to everyone else around you. Jack had told you that if you were to make any more mistakes, I’d be taken off the case you are on now. That scared you more than anything. Your job is to review the cases, profile the killer, and take notes on it all. The moment Jack yelled that at you, you could feel everything crashing down around you.

You hid away in the lab with Bev. Brian and Jimmy were out getting everyone lunch. Bev had lent her lab coat to you since you were pretty cold. Bev seemed fine with the entire thing since she was the one to offer you her coat. The coat was warm thanks to Bev’s body heat and warmed you right up. You and Bev had been talking about the workload you’ve been getting and the stress you’ve been facing. You weren’t ready for her to suddenly bring up Will Graham though.

“So, you got the hots for the unstable man… I see how it is,” Bev says, her lips curled up in a smirk.

“I… No! You be quiet!” You tell her, your face flushing at the sudden change in subject. Bev’s eyes twinkle with mischief.

“You know I can’t do that. Now that I know about you having the hots for him and all,” Her smirk doesn’t disappear, it seems to grow bigger. “I’m just surprised the man hasn’t noticed.”

“You’re surprised? I’m surprised! He knows what people think and, yeah it is kinda scary, but it’s also really cool. Maybe he does know but doesn’t feel the same way,” Your tone goes from joyful to slightly sorrowful at the thought of rejection. Before you and Bev can say anymore, Will walks in, holding a file in his hands. “Oh, is that for me?” You ask, reaching your hand out to take the file, already knowing it’s for you. Will hands you the file, observing you the entire time.

“You seem to be nervous, very nervous,” He says, staring at you. You give him a shaky smile, feeling your nerves slowly getting the better of you.

“Yeah, well, I’ve just been stressed lately. I mean, have you heard Jack yelling at me? I’m sure everyone has by now,” You end your sentence with a nervous, shaky laugh.

“Yeah. I heard it. Sorry you had to go through that… I’ve been yelled at by him so many times that I’ve not fazed anymore,” Will tells you, giving you a small smile, trying to comfort you. You try your best to keep your face from flushing at the simple smile. You look towards Bev quickly, seeing her mouth the words ‘Yeah, you got the hots for him’. You give her a small glare before looking down at the file in your hands.

“I guess it’s time to get to work. Bev, be a dear get me a chair, Darling,” You say dramatically, trying to get rid of the sick feeling in your stomach. You hear Bev let out a chuckle as she goes to get you a chair. Faintly, you hear Will let out a small snort of amusement. You feel that nervousness slowly coming back. Who knew that a simple sound from Will would get to you like that? Bev pushes the desk chair towards you, its wheels rolling silently. You grab it and place it by the desk and sit down. You open up the case file and start to analyze the pictures.

“Well, I’ll be on my way. I’ve done all I came to do,” He says as he starts to walk out. He stops suddenly and looks towards you. You don’t notice with your face close to one of the crime scene photos, your eyes squinting slightly as you looked at all the details. “[Redacted], you can come to my house if you need to talk about the cases or just want to chat, You’re Welcome Anytime .” He leaves after saying those words, leaving you no time to process them before he’s gone.

“Seems like Mr. Will Graham may have to hots for you too. Please tell me you’ll go to his house. Two nervous people like you and Will go great for one another, I swear,” Bev says, leaning over you.

“I might, but you never know. Maybe I’ll disappear off the face of the Earth for a while. Being alone with Will would be a nightmare,” You say, sighing. You hear her chuckle as she pats your shoulder.

“Yeah. You two would just sit there awkwardly in silence, not knowing how to start a conversation. Maybe you two would make eye contact and then look away, all blushing like they do in books and movies,” She teases, her tone light.

“We won’t do what the movies and books do. That’s too cliche. Think a little bit higher of us, will ya’?” You laugh, sounds both happy and amused by her words.

“Don’t come crying to me when you do exactly what they do in those books.”

“You’re a hopeless romantic, how sweet.” You hit her shoulder lightly, your nervousness now gone thanks to her teasing.

“Look, all I’m saying is, you two would be cute. Two cute dudes dating each other and having each other’s backs. Sounds like a dream right there. And my friends would be boyfriends! I get to be the one who sets up your dates because you both would suck at it. I can see it now!” Bev exclaims, shaking the chair gently in excitement.

“Alright, calm down. Don’t let your imagination get the best of you. You don’t even know if it’ll happen,” You tell her, your smile wide on your face.

“Oh shush! I do to know. It’s destined to happen and you know it. For now, let’s get this case looked at. Hate to have Jack yell at you again,” She says, calming down enough to finally work with.

“Yeah, alright. Let’s get this case started.”

[brw]

How would you describe xfans' politics?

I mean, you ultimately can't make any actual generalisations of someone's politics based on what they read and watch. Media can and often does inform people's thoughts and influences them, but you cannot come to any legitimate conclusion of someone's politics based exclusively on what they read. When I criticise "X-Men fans", it is usually done with the understanding that I'm looking at a particularly small, vocal minority; by definition, I am an X-Men fan, because I read a lot of X-Men books.

Reading X-Men comics is not (no matter how much some people imply otherwise) political action. It is not an indicator of politics. Too often, I see people say "Conservative X-Men fans are crazy, they have no reading comprehension! The X-Men have always been left!!" and to be honest, that's giving a lot of X-Men writers way too much credit.

Claremont, as I've talked about before, is a Zionist who based his Magneto characterisation of a Zionist terrorist. His Charles, too, and had both of them meet for the first time in Occupied Palestine. I believe he has also gone on the record as saying that many of his female X-Men characters were based on female IDF soldiers. He also very much so made Storm a cop.

Grant Morrison, beloved X-Men writer, was horrifically racist to Asian people in their comic, most particularly with the portrayal of Dust, and having Magneto be in yellowface for that whole comic. There are other issues with Talia Al Ghul of DC, but that's out of my remit. There's a lot of criticism to be had about the portrayal of black people in their series, too.

John Byrne's many, many issues are more readily discussed, but he's still a massive part of the X-Men lore and history, and describes himself as a "progressive conservative".

And while I don't believe we know very much about their politics, I also don't think that Hickman or Duggan should be paraded around as bastions of leftist fiction, when they really aren't. I'm not saying these writers haven't written leftist things before, but it it is a mistake to say that the X-Men are inherently leftist and inherently progressive, when a lot of X-Men writers are not those things.

I think some people, by virtue of the X-Men being a series about the minority experience, project their own feelings and politics onto the X-Men, and sometimes forget that isn't reality. That's how we get "Magneto was right" as a fandom rally cry, but if you imply that maybe the character based off a Zionist, who canonically lived in Israel, and has created 3 different mutant ethnostates are two facts that inform each other, then you're crazy and ruining everyone's fun.

Anyway. Point being, I don't think you can meaningfully say "ALL X-Men fans are like this", when comics are ultimately nothing that can be used to make conclusions of people's politics. The only thing unique to the X-Men is that the minority metaphor and experience is the core premise of their stories, unlike the Avengers and FF who, while having characters like Ben Grimm and The Vision who undergo similar treatment, are not about that at their core in the same way the X-Men are. The centralisation of minorities makes it easy for the X-Men to feel radical and cutting edge, but they aren't that much, to be honest. Like, they are ultimately a capitalist venture created by a group of predominantly white Americans (although the current X office is more diverse than it has been since, well, ever, and that shouldn't be ignored), and are never going to be as radical as you want because of that. Cyclops is never going to be right the way you want him to be right, because Brian Michael Bendis is not going to be giving the people radical leftist praxis.

[cozyjester]

any minor bob burger character (the more obscure the better)

shout out to Brian, whose only mistake was falling asleep in the mall

I like his hair

[void-botanist]

Fallen

A short story I intended for the Shrimp Skwad flash fiction challenge for September, but even though I'm pretty sure I wrote the whole thing in 24 hours, I then went back and edited it, which may or may not be allowed, oops. Anyway, enjoy this story about an old character I revived from my high school writings.

Content warnings: blood and minor injury, vomiting, light body horror

---

The sun-warmth of Heaven siphoned itself off his back as he stepped into the Neutral Zone.  His every cell started excitedly counting down to when he would step back over the threshold, but he already knew he never would again.  

His soul cried out in hollow grief like he was finding this out for the first time all over again.  His body answered by begging to do that most angel of things and fall to his knees right there in the entryway, but the only thing worse than not getting his moment of anguish would be attracting the stares of all the angels coming in from Heaven.  They might even try to comfort him, if—he fluttered his shoulderblades—yeah, his wings were still there, for now.  He still looked like someone they should stop for.  But his wings felt costume-fake as he folded them again and started walking.  

Most of the Neutral Zone was a labyrinthine bazaar where anyone could trade just about anything.  The neutral angels and neutral demons all used the same colors for their tents, so you could only tell who you were trading with when you got up close.  That used to bother him, but why should it, at this point?  He was basically a demon now anyway.  Well, not like the one behind that counter, who looked suspiciously slick to the touch, and was getting it all over their wares…ugh.  He turned around a corner, not much caring where he was going, and caught sight of Brian—fuck.  Between accepting one “comforting” aphorism from Brian and becoming exactly like that vendor, he would rather become a gooey demon.  He turned on his heel and the ground slid under him in a weird way, but he caught his balance and kept walking—all over the trail of white feathers he had been leaving behind him.  

As he wove through the tents to distance himself from Brian, he considered his next move.  Being in the Neutral Zone was clearly a mistake.  He’d thought his Fall would be paused here, since it was exactly between Heaven and Hell, but apparently there was no stopping the changes once he left Heaven.  And maybe no one was looking at him, but how could they not be, when he was unraveling with every step?  The weight on his shoulders already felt lighter, and when he slid a surreptitious hand back, he found the bottom edges of his wings were at his waist.  He sighed and turned himself mentally and physically in the direction of the entrance to Hell.  All at once the twists and turns of the bazaar seemed to guide him straight there.  Nothing actually moved, but he knew the way there like he knew the song of his heartstrings.  He knew, with a horrible ripple through his being, that if he tried to do the same with Heaven it would no longer work.  He didn’t bother turning back to try it.    

By the time he arrived at the gates of Hell, the aftershocks of the ripple had made him feel like he was fracturing apart.  His consciousness seemed like it was slowly flaking away, just like his wings.  In the midst of feeling like he was being blown into strange distended shapes by a nonexistent wind, he presented his Token of Entry to the officer at the open gates of Hell.  The officer flipped it like a coin and smiled when it landed on the side of damnation.  Which, it had to—that’s what both sides meant, in the end.  Empty-handed, and with his foreshortened wings tickling at his biceps, he stepped through the gates.

The blaze-warmth of Hell rushed up to meet him, and then seemed to coalesce in the bases of his wings, searing into his flesh like white-hot knives.  He seemed to shape back into himself just in time to put out the fire that he was sure was all over his wings—but he had no wings, now, only a big empty space in the back of his shirt and scars that were somehow cool to the touch.  So it was really over.  Wings didn’t make an angel, but he hadn’t realized how much they made him an angel.  They’d been nice wings, too, the kind he preened with utmost devotion, even down on World Z.  Honestly, they’d even been nicer on World Z, where they took on a pigeon-grey patterning.  He should have stayed there.  Not that it was up to him.  Nothing was ever up to him.  But at least he could make the choice to stop standing on the bridge into Hell, which would probably make him feel a little better, even though the bridge really did look wide enough to let six Board members walk abreast and no one seemed to give a shit that he was milling around.  He started walking.  

In Heaven the architecture was always just a little bit squishy and malleable, but this seemed to be real black granite, or perhaps obsidian, because it was hard under his thin-soled sandals.  Shouldn’t he have gotten a new uniform when he got here?  Maybe they got a kick out of watching the Fallen scurry around like lost mortals.  No one here was paying attention to him, though.  They were too busy walking or hanging around the beautifully carved stone railings.  Being stared at would be worse, but…well, he should have expected he would be just as alone here as he was in Heaven.  

The bridge went on for quite a while, slowly curving lower and lower to the actual rim of the upper ring.  The closer he got to land, the more he felt the all-consuming updraft of heat from the lava below, even as his body temperature seemed to drop.  When he stepped onto the stone path that led away from the bridge, he was practically shivering.

“Halt,” someone said in a high voice, and his feet felt like molasses.  He turned his head to see a short, fat, deep purple demon offering him a…tongue depressor?  Apparently his only option was to accept it, but that wasn’t enough to unlock his feet.

“You have to slap it,” the demon said.  They pulled another one out of seemingly nowhere and brought it down on the back of their wrist.  It curled around their wrist like it had been commanded.  

He copied them, not really expecting to get the same result, but the stick obeyed him and wrapped snugly around his wrist.  A long number that started with 7- appeared on it.  

“Oh, seventh circle,” the demon said, peering over his arm.  “Nice.”  

All at once his feet seemed to be free.  Before he could move, they added, “The elevators are just right down there”—the direction the path was already going—“and then just follow the signs until you find the right number.”

“Thank you,” he said, and his voice sounded flat and wrong.  

He cleared his throat as he walked away.  Maybe the air was different here, and his voice traveled strangely through it.  It was still different enough to be making him cold, colder than he ever remembered being before, colder with every step he took toward the elevators.  The demons around him seemed fine.  Maybe this was a sign he wasn’t supposed to be here?  As he felt the tiniest spark of hope, the iciness fully overtook him, thrusting a thousand tiny needles through every vein, threading between every cell, turning every layer of his being into coldhot agony.  What was this?  He stumbled on his screaming legs and fell to his knees, scraping his hands hard on the stone as he used them to stop his momentum.  Dizzy, he checked a stinging palm.  Instead of the sparkling ambrosial ichor that he expected to see, a clear, mirrored substance welled up from his scrape, feeling like acid as it dripped across his skin.  His skin itself was no longer lit golden from beneath, not with these branching tributaries of diamond running under it.  Even as the frost started to clear from his mind, he felt like a glass salamander, see-through and in need of a rock to hide under.  But what he actually was…it wasn’t an angel anymore, was it?

In Heaven they talked about the Fallen like debased angels, wannabes who just couldn’t quite make the cut.  But were they angels?  Angels didn’t bleed refractive blood, and they didn’t get scrapes where you could see the layers of skin fucked up separately, and their wings didn’t fall out over the course of ten minutes, and they didn’t feel the hardness of stone under their bones when they knelt, because angels were a little bit squishy and malleable, always molding a little to the environment.  He was solid, now, and he wanted to throw up at the thought of it, and then at the realization that he was capable of throwing up.  When he started to try and get up, his knees felt like two whetstones rubbing together, and he wanted to die.  He was going to have flesh-bones for the rest of eternity.  Had all the murder been worth it for this?  He wanted to cry, but not even tears would grace his sorry sack of a physical form.  

After a long, long time pitying himself there on the walkway of Hell, he raised his head and steeled himself to start walking again.

Maybe he’d been too quick to judge his knees.  Walking seemed as normal as ever, except for the way the ground juddered up his skeleton with every step.  He tried treading softly, like he was walking the altar circuit.  It required so much concentration he almost didn’t notice when he reached the elevators.  Angels talked about the elevators like they were the second gates of Hell, but they really didn’t look like much.  They barely even had doors leading into the narrow shafts.  He walked down the row of bronze tubes and found the one for the seventh circle—if they were really such dramatic elevators, shouldn’t they access all the circles?—and when he pressed the button, it opened on a round car that seemed to be the size of one person.  He stepped inside.  Before he could get his bearings, the door pressed shut behind him and he was being launched down the shaft so fast he was surprised he hadn’t hit his head on the ceiling.  When the door opened again, he stumbled out sideways and lost the nothing contents of his transmogrified flesh-stomach in the nearest trash can.  At least, he hoped it was a trash can.  It sure smelled like one.  If it wasn’t, he didn’t want to be there when someone noticed that he’d barfed in it, so he haltingly started walking again.

The first sign was hardly ten feet away.  His number was to the left.  As he followed that path, he slowly became aware that past the low wall that curved alongside it was a vast open plain, or maybe a marsh, because it seemed to be flooded with mortals’ blood.  It probably wasn’t real blood, because where would they get that much blood…?  Actually, he didn’t want to think about it.  He hurried along to the next sign, which sent him off to the left again.    

It wasn’t long before he started to see the dwellings the sign numbers referred to: round spaces bored into the sides of the mountains that surrounded the bloodplain.  Literal hellholes.  The path took him past level after level of them, stacked high toward the ceiling.  Considering his new total lack of flight, his hellhole was probably right at the top of one of these peaks.  Maybe all Fallen lived up there.  Soon, maybe he’d be shouting through the voice-deadening air to some other sod on a neighboring peak.  Wait.  He stopped and glanced around to make sure that the path was really empty, then tried speaking again.

“Jerry,” he said.  His name, chalky and lifeless to his ears, even though he’d said it just the same as always.

“Brian.”  His tongue didn’t burst into flames, so that was also a lie angels told.  But the sound of it in the air wasn’t any different.

“In the name of the Father,” he started, and his tongue still didn’t burn, but he suddenly understood what was wrong.  Normally when he uttered a Reference, it poured out of his mouth like liquid music, a choir of chords all condensed into his angel-size voice.  All other words were like that too, just not to the same degree.  But now when he said them, the only tones that went into them were the ones his flesh-throat could produce.  That was why they sounded like empty slate.  

He supposed that he’d forfeited keeping any part of himself sacred, but this was a lower blow than having hard bones.  What was an angel with no voice?  Even angels who could not speak, who struggled to communicate anything in any manner, still rippled the ether when they did.  To communicate, to commune, was one of their highest callings.  And now he was alone, barely vibrating the molecules of the air.  The ether hadn’t gone anywhere—he could still feel it everywhere—but none of him was permitted connect to it.  

So he couldn’t be an angel anymore.  Or a Fallen, for that matter, because that was just short for “fallen angel”, and he wasn’t an angel.  He was almost human, with this flesh body, but humans didn’t bleed crystal either.  And they didn’t remember what it felt like to be shapeless in Heaven.  Demons could look like anything, though, and their bodies were at least more flesh than angels’.  But demons could also touch the ether.  That was how he’d been stopped in his tracks with a single word.  No, he was fully a That Which Had Been An Angel.  An Unangel.  An angel.          

“Angel,” he said aloud.  It sounded like the word was being stuffed back into his mouth as it came out.  “Aaaangeeelllll.”  Something about it gave the sense of agitating the ether, but he was pretty sure it was just a trick of his ears.  Did they not use this word in Heaven to avoid the question of what an angel was?  Did the angels even know about angels?  Surely they weren’t all as naïve as he had been.

“Angel,” he said with finality before he started to walk again.  

He walked, and he walked, and still he walked, and his legs were starting to get tired, which wasn’t supposed to happen.  His feet were starting to hurt, too.  But he had only a thousand more hellholes to go.

It was two thousand, or three.  His legs were leaden and on fire.  His feet became an abstract stabbing ache with every step.  His hips begged him to stop, and his abs just wanted to let go, and finally, finally, he arrived at his door.  

It wasn’t locked.  When it swung open on squeaking hinges, he thought for a second that someone else must live there, because the place was a mess.  He checked the nameplate on the door, and it very definitely showed his name.  No one was here currently, so maybe they’d been moved, or maybe it was just standard practice to trash someone’s hellhole before they moved in.  Whatever.  There was still a bed, and he was still collapsing onto it.  He would figure out all that other stuff after he’d napped for an indefinite period of time.  He shut his eyes against the blanket.

Thirty seconds later he sat up, gasping.  It hadn’t occurred to him in all that walking that he had to breathe now.  He flopped onto his back and stared up at the popcorn ceiling—well, that was familiar, at least—and thought about breathing until he fell asleep.

[the-s1lly-corner]

ATTENTION CREEPYPASTA FANS

hiiiiii i kinda wanna write some hcs/self insert stuff but im kinda stumped on who and what to write; especially since its been a while since ive written for these characters (a while = about a month?? give or take)

so! i'll be opening requests for creepypasta characters, a 'short' run down of my rules below + characters i write for + some info regarding how i write certain characters that may or may not be important

i apologize for any typos and mistakes for this post, im back to writing on my silly computer!! formatting may be a little whack as well, but that parts more so because idk how i wanna structure these side posts

it should be said right now that the way i write these characters leans very heavy on my own personal interpretation/au rather than ideas that the bulk of the fandom has (although, to be fair, i havent interacted much with the current state of the fandom, im kinda stuck in 2016 </3) so personalities or worldbuilding/common ideas may be different or totally absent in my writing

will not write;

this blog does not allow explicit nsfw material, at most there will be suggestive jokes or themes but it will likely never ever be the main theme of the post!

basic nono criteria, no gross stuff

personally i dont like writing prompts surrounded by cheating so most likely i wont write it

anything overly graphic (gorey), yes i understand that this is creepypasta but there are some things that i just simply wont write; however implied/minor gore is allowed to an extent

really asides from that im mostly chill with anything, but on the off chance you send in something that makes me uncomfy/a request i feel i cant fulfill, i will do my best to communicate that

ohoh also! unfortunately i do not take oc requests :(! no hate to oc x canon, esp since im part of that community, but i just dont trust myself to be able to do justice or your oc TToTT

if i turn down a request it is nothing against you or your wants, please do not take it personally ^^;

will write;

fluff and angst, along with specific scenarios! im fine with most angst but as said above, if a prompt cannot be done i will communicate that!

the reader by default is GN/is not referred to with pronouns outside of like. they/you/your, the POV i write in is kinda inconsistent tbh ,, but i am comfy with writing for specific genders + trans readers, although i admit im not sure how much pronouns or gendered things will come into play unless gender is the main point of the request

im fine with poly! though ive yet to actually. write poly

i dont just write romantic hcs! im down with platonic/familial ones as well!

again im not at all picky with things, and once again, i will communicate if something cant be done

added thing since im not sure where else to put it! by default i write short hcs and scenarios, short fics being very rare on this acc since im not confident in my writing; so !! yeah!! there isnt a real limit to how many characters you can ask for per request but it should be noted that the more characters there are, the shorter each section will likely be

list of characters i will write for!

if a character has a * by their name there will be added notes on how i write for them/special rules stated after the list

Slenderman

Trenderman

Splendorman

Masky/Tim*

Hoodie/Brian*

Laughing Jack

Eyeless Jack

Ticci Toby**

Jeff*

Jane*

Ben*

Nina*

Puppeteer*

Bloody Painter*

Zalgo*(?)

added character notes:

for characters that are minors in their source (jeff, jane, ben, and toby and nina) i will not be writing any romantic hcs; thats just a personal boundary of mine and while i dont think its particually gross or problematic depending on context, its not something i myself feel comfortable writing for! however i am more than willing to write platonic or family hcs for the characters stated above!

onto the proxies! im still figuring out how i wanna write them but i wanted to blend together the creepypasta take and the og marble hornets version into something new (mostly for my au) however due to my brain forgetting most the stuff that happens in MH (i gotta rewatch it, bad) it more so leans into the creepypasta take of these characters! i also by default write tim and masky as different characters, and the same for brian !!

main reason for puppeteer and bloody painter having the star is because im not too well versed in their lore but im willing to write them! though i am struggling to find a consistent source on helens age so ill be going off the fandom wiki (with a grain of salt) that hes in his 20s-

zalgo is a weird case because in my au he does indeed exist but also isnt?? okay so hes more so this untouchable being/mostly nontangible; like the dude is more so like a sentient force of nature bordering on something incomprehensible rather than being a person; more of a concept if anything... but because i want a challenge, and because i need to flesh him out in general im making him an available character!

but yeah i think thats mostly it! this post ended up being longer than i intended but i fully blame that on me being totally incapable of shortening things down 😭😭

[lakesbian]

what do u think of rose sr's childhood/backstory. any ideas on how or why she became such a cunt

most obviously there's the fact that she made a minor severe mistake when she was like 16 and locked herself into being unable to let her children become practitioners without demons and beasts and so on immediately kersploding her. which means she, y'know, can't train them to be ready to deal with The Horrors of the debt, which means she has to spend her entire life dealing with The Horrors by herself + trying to set things up so that the family can catch up on the training they would've otherwise gotten after she dies with as few casualties as possible. which means she had to spend her entire life being a miserable (literally speaking regarding her emotional state) cunt who couldn't be honest about why she was a miserable cunt but couldn't be dishonest about it either. you too would be a cunt if you couldn't white lie. devastating: local woman legally bound into being a cunt lest The Horrors happen to her and her fambily. something fun thematically speaking about. like.

blake and his grandma are both naively insistent and furious about Not Participating In The Cycle--rose via insistence on not dragging her family into the cycle, blake via insistence on not being dragged into it

similar traits & mistakes (impulsivity, quick to anger and make Magic Mistakes when angry (her oath, his insulting padraic & co), the tendency to lash out towards family over The Cycle...there's probably more but i'm tired)

rose (mirror) being named after rose (cunt) and blake literally being rose, the similar traits, rose (cunt) going I hate The Cycle I won't let The Cycle happen & then being screwed six ways from sunday over her attempt to lash out in anger against said cycle, blake also lashing out in anger against The Cycle...he is intent on Doing This Thing for a variety of reasons, but i think the pieces are still in place 4 a little parallel where he's faaar more like his grandma than he thinks and he's also going to be screwed six ways from sunday for it ♥ you've heard of boys who desperately don't want to turn into their fathers but wear their shoes at times anyways (brian, alec) get ready for boy (adult man) who desperately doesn't want to turn into his Grandmother (but probably will)

anyway. i am sooo tired this post is losing steam but i think beyond the most surface layer of "she's a cunt because she's legally fucking bound to be lmao" there's the whole childhood trauma that the inherited Literal horrors serve as blatant metaphor for. being an old ass woman born in the early 1900s when violent physical abuse is the normal response to your child fucking up will in fact turn you into sort of a cunt. i think her character is in a way very reminiscent of that one type of old person that's intent on being better than their family before them but can't--literally, in her case--honestly/accurately communicate their experiences or emotions to their family and just sort of stumbles around brusquely trying to do their best for them without explanation. like she's very used to the parents being de facto the bad guys that know what's best 2 protect their children from the external horrors whose decisions (which are often internal horrors seen as better than the external horrors) just have 2 be suffered thru by the kids 4 their supposed ultimate wellbeing. so she does that. cycle still has a hold on her despite her attempts to save her family from some of it because no one person can shake the family legacy. books that are about the horrors of family legacy Grabbing You and not letting go no matter what you do. and she cannot articulate any of this because no one in her position knows how to articulate it, because she Literally Due To Magic Metaphor can't articulate it. am i explaining this coherently at all. i dunno i'm just endeared to her character writing so far i think she serves rlly well as a poster child 4 the way cycles of trauma glom onto you & subsequently as smth for blake to be compared to as he becomes the new poster child. it's a good book!

[lahotelbellamuerte]

𝐎𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐘𝐨𝐮 - ii. american [ アメリカ人]

— ❀ series masterlist ❀ — please [お願いします] — ❀

pairing; han seoul-oh x amara!oc warning; language, minor character death, fluff, plot tbh word count; 9.4k notes; first real chapter of this book lol.

THE WAILS OF A CHILD RANG IN THE EMPTY ROOM. A woman smiled with tears in her eyes at the sound. Holding the new born in her arms, a miracle born out of mistakes and wrongs. A beautiful baby girl was born. Light brown eyes darting everywhere as it cried for warmth. The older woman handed the child over to her husband.

Ryder O'Connor held his little girl in his arms. Tears in his eyes as he held the small child, it was unbelievable that she was his. After many mistakes in his life, he wanted to be the best father he could for her. The man wanted to teach her everything he knew about life.

His eyes drifted to the woman who had given him a child, but she just had a small smile on her face. Her eyes open and closed as she looked at the two. That was until her eyes closed completely, never to open again. Her chest stopping its rise and fall. 

Ryder's eyes widened, rushing he wrapped his daughter in a blanket and put her down carefully. Then rushed to the unconscious woman. He shook her shoulders, calling to her to wake up. But the woman never did open her eyes. The man pulled her lifeless body into a hug and kissed her forehead in tears.

"I promise I'll take care of her, I promise," he mumbled into her head.

While in most stories, we’ve all heard of father’s who abandoned their children due to the loss of the love of their life. Let me tell you, it’s never a good idea to do that. Now, Ryder wasn’t perfect himself either, he’s made his own mistakes, and now older. Too ashamed to go back and fix them. 

So with this new born daughter, he pledged to himself that he would be there for her. Promised his deceased wife he would care for her. 

To this date, he regrets leaving Brian behind, in California with his ex-wife. In that time he was afraid of the new responsibilities. Rather than face them, he decided to run from those problems. 

In short notice the man was able to give his wife a proper goodbye. Taking his daughter and his wife’s ashes to the Golden Gate Bridge. 

A place his wife actually enjoyed going to. He didn’t know why, it was just a bridge that was orange. But in respects of her happy place, he dumped part of the ashes over. 

Amara the little baby in his arms smiled and giggled as the wind brushed her face. She was the best thing to happen already. 

In a rented hotel the two lay on the large empty bed. Little Amara yawned in her drowsy state, wiggling around in her pink onesie.

Ryder leaned over to her face, fingers brushing over her rosy cheeks, “Sleepy, hun?” He cooed, wiggling his finger over her face. 

The baby just looked up at him with her wide eyes, blinking slowly at the sight of her father. Until they finally closed shut, and her breathing slowed.

Seeing her asleep he sighed and sat back on the bed, brining out his laptop. He opened it and began typing away. Every few minutes looking over to check on Amara. Every time smiling to himself at the sight of his own creation. 

A few hours into surfing the internet, he knew that California wouldn’t have what he wanted. He need somewhere new, somewhere where his past wouldn’t haunt him. The man always dreamed of going overseas, but never had the guts to pick up his life and do it. 

Now with his wife gone, and Amara in his care. He could start anew just like her. Learn to live somewhere different, and so that is exactly what he did. 

"We'll have a better life now, Amara, away from all the craziness here," he told her but the words seemed to reassure him more than anything else.

But life works in funny ways, you can never truly run from who you are. It will follow and find you eventually.  

“Amara!” Yelled the voice of Ryder somewhere downstairs. 

Eight-year-old Amara secured pink clips into her blonde hair. Looking down and making sure that her uniform was ready. Grabbing her randoseru she made her way downstairs to greet her father. 

She gave a him a wide smile, “Mornin’ pops!” She greeted sitting at the dining table where her breakfast sat. 

As always a stack on pancakes towered her plate. Carefully she poured her syrup over the stack, wanting the most out of the sugary food. 

Ryder was American at heart, he wanted her to experience everything he did when he was younger. And if by making these foods would help that, she was in no way complaining. 

He was lucky to have a child like Amara—she ate everything. Well, except onion, for some odd reason the girl detested the vegetable. Has thrown up in a couple of occasions when trying to eat the food. Odd.

The two ate in silence, enjoying each other’s company. Until she looked over at the clock and shoved a little more food in her mouth, “Atode Poppusu!” She then yelled grabbing her bag and running out to catch train. 

The American man just sighed and picked up her plate, and placing it in the sink. Everyday that she left for school, he just hoped she returned safely to him. Not completely accustomed to the younger kids going off on their own for school. 

Can you blame him? It was his only child to care for, he had no one else. But other than the fear, he was proud of his little girl. Just like his wife, she was smart. It was bad, but he loved hearing all the teachers tell him how gifted she was. It was something he liked boasting about his little old golden girl. 

Every other day coming back with some sort of report all given top marks. Each time handed to him like it was nothing, like it was regular homework to her. 

Although not many of the kids liked that some foreigner was as good as them. If not better. Ryder never knew that she was teased at some points of her school life. But she never let get to her. Especially when her new friend Neela came to school. He hated when they were singled out all because they weren’t born in Japan. 

With Neela around this where her troubles began, seeking out all the fights with their bullies, “Call me or Neela that one more time, and you’ll be getting more than just my fist,” the small girl hissed towers her classmates. 

The boys who had caused her trouble in the first place all nodded their heads. Frightened the girl wasn’t kidding and would come after them. Her father on the other hand wasn’t too keen on coming to school over and over for fights she had started. 

So, in hopes of getting her fighting under control, he signed her up for self defense classes. The small girl excited to learn more about fighting, and how to do it even better.  

Where all the troubles really began. 

And once more the echo of her name rang out the halls of a High School, ”Amara!" yelled out a voice from behind her.

The blonde didn't turn around, but rather thanked the lunch lady who handed her tray of food. Picking up her tray she turned around to see the familiar face of her friend, Neela.

"Yes, Neela?" she asked her friend walking towards her seat. Her eyes trailing around to find an empty seat. 

The dark-haired girl smiled, "I heard a new kid is coming this week, some saw a white man come in," she let her blonde friend know, a little excited to see how things would come to be. 

Amara rolled her eyes, “As much as I love people, oh darling, I don’t really care all that much,” she replied with a shrug, smiling when spotting an empty table. And the truth it was, the blonde’s life revolved pretty much around her inner circle. One was Neela, her small circle of friends, and not to forget her father. 

The smaller girl only shook her head and joined her friend at the table, “You know if you tried to talk to others, you would have a lot more friends.” 

Amara gave her a mocking smile, picking up her chop sticks and shoving food in her mouth, “I don’t need more friends, I need adventure,” the girl mumbled through her mouth full of food. 

“And stop talking with your mouth full,” the brunette cringed watching as Amara smiled with food still in her mouth. 

After their little short rant on a new coming foreigner, the two idly chatted about their school life. As most students do, but not without the lingering looks from the rest of the student body. It was always the same, it never really mattered how long they were there for. Then eventually waving one another a short bye, before heading to their individual classes. 

For a long time, Amara was known as the top student, she was smart without really trying. But for a while, she got bored of all it. The learning challenges she craved for no longer grabbed her attention. So, she ditched all of it for some time, skipping classes, not doing her homework, or even sleeping during lectures. Her life during that period of her life, was an adrenaline rush, and school wasn’t cutting it. 

And all for the chase of the thrill, karma made her way back to bite her. Her father was notified of her situation, and was forced to attend school. Now, she was the oldest girl in the class, because of how much she had fallen behind. 

Ryder had given her a long talk about finishing school. Not all the kids get a chance to learn and have the resources that she had. So the girl was given the ultimatum of finishing school or having to fend and live for herself. 

As the bell rang, she shoved everything in her bag, waving her professor goodbye, putting on her shoes. To practically run to the trains, hoping to make it on time. Wanting nothing but getting home and sleep all day. 

Arriving at the train station, she smiled. It seemed that luck was on her side, shoving her way into the train, she made sure to stay near the wall. Thankfully it wasn’t a far ride back to her stop. As her stop was announced she excused herself moving through the sea of squished people. Then quickly walked her way back home, hoping to just sleep. 

As she reached her little quaint home, she noticed her father. The open garage door with an older man working on a new car. Her eyes flickered to the engine crane holding the heavy piece of machinery. Noticing the large boxes littered near the car, she guessed were the new parts. 

"Hey pops," Amara greeted her father, hugging him from behind, then moved to stand beside him. Staring at the engine he worked on. 

He smiled at the girl pausing his work, "Hey pumpkin, how was school?"

The blonde shrugged, "The same as always," she started by looking at him, "boring," she said and looked back at the engine in front of her, "what are you working on?"

"New car of course," he told her as he held a wrench in hand, “better get back to it, if I want to finish soon.” 

The girl nodded and patted his shoulder, “Will do pops, I’ll be in my room if you need me.”

Ryder nodded and watched her walk off to the house he established a while ago. Shaking his head he went back to the unfinished engine.

When they had arrived in Tokyo, he had very little to his name. But luckily the blonde man was an enigma to all the ladies in town. After seeing him carrying a baby all alone, they helped him settle in. And he couldn’t be more grateful with all the help they gave. He was able to get a job and spend time with his daughter. The longer they spent their time in Japan, the slowly he saw this little girl become like him. 

He noticed how more questions arose as she grew, all about his hobby with fixing cars. So the man taught her everything he knew, and eventually she made friends that knew more than him. The two become much closer sharing their knowledge on the machinery. The man was happy that he had someone to share a passion with. He couldn't do that with his first born, and he didn’t wan’t to make the same mistake again. 

The one thing Ryder was afraid of was Amara finding about the underground. He prayed and pleaded to the gods that she wouldn’t become one of those girls that sold their bodies for money. Of course part of his wish did not come true. Amara was a car fanatic at heart just like him. It was only time when she found the adrenaline blood cruising sport. 

While at work he would hear the whispers of his co-workers about the events of the underground. He had heard the stories of how she became the Princess of the underground. Sure Amara didn’t know that he knew, and he liked the cluelessness of it. Relived that she hadn't become one of those girls that sold their bodies—but someone much more than that. A racer. 

When Amara was told to finish school, she wasn’t going to flake out to be pulled back another year. For the past few nights, she had been finishing up all her late work. Even as the year had started, the blonde slacked and was reprimanded for her carelessness. Eventually she finished all the work that her professors expected from her. Hunching over her desk, the blonde scribbled on notebooks, loose sheets, and even typed away on her laptop. All to slowly not realize herself slumped over her desk passed out. 

A few hours later, Ryder who was in the kitchen called out her name. After silence he called a couple more times only to get no response. The girl hadn't eaten her dinner, which he had ordered ages ago. Annoyed the man got up from the desk and walked up to her room.

"Amara—" he cut himself off when his eyes fell on the sleeping figure.

The blonde lay on her desk, pencil hanging off her fingers still. The man smiled softly and walked over and carried her to her bed. Pulling a blanket over her body and she shifted in her subconscious. Quietly he left the room, shutting the door softly. Letting the girl get her much-needed rest.

When morning came, the blonde was rudely awoken by her alarm. The sharp ringing of the bell causes Amara to groan and slam her hand on the alarm. Begrudgingly she got up rubbing her hands over her face. Hoping to get rid of some of her drowsiness. It only helped so much.

Getting up the girl picked up her uniform off the floor. Glad that before she had started all her work, she changed to more comfortable clothing. Changing into it, she walked over to her dresser to brush the tangles out of her hair. After a few strokes, she put it down and ran her finger through to make sure it was indeed smooth.

Walking out of her room, she headed to the bathroom to brush her teeth quickly. Finishing up in her room, she packed up all her work and shoved it in her shoulder bag. Slinging it over, then walking over to the kitchen. Picking up an apple. A drastic change to the breakfasts her father use to make. 

"I'll see you later pops!" she called out hoping he heard her.

Not waiting for a response, she headed out the house towards the trains once more. As she jumped on she spotted her friend. Smiling she shoved through people who were unhappy as she did so.

"Twinkie!" she called out to the dark-skinned boy at the end of the train.

The boy smiled his dimples showing as he saw the familiar blonde, "Amara why  weren't you at the races yesterday?” he asked worriedly as she was missing for a couple nights in a row. Depriving them all from their so called princess. 

The girl gave him a laugh as he saw her face, "I'm fine, I was finishing up my work, but don't worry I'll be going today,” she finished poking his nose. 

Twinkie nodded, "The oldest finally finished her work, about time," he muttered towards her.

Amara rolled her eyes and slapped the back of his head, "Shut up idiot," she told him with a groan. Still a little embarrassed about being the oldest in the school just because she didn’t do her work.

The two then silently waited for the train to arrive at school. Soon enough the two walk into the school not missing the looks they gave the blonde girl.

In Japan, there weren't many foreigners, not that she was one since she grew up in the country. But the fact that a blonde girl like her was even around was eye-catching. The students didn't know how a girl like her was hanging around a guy like Twinkie.

Amara had always been a nice girl, she didn't mind talking with others no matter where they came from. But being nice wasn't always best for her. Got her in trouble plenty of times before. Plus, she was nice until she wasn't. Her father made sure she knew how to take care of herself, and damn well he did it well. Having his daughter end up in the headmaster’s office with bloody knuckles. 

Twinkie and Amara entered the school and waved a short goodbye, as they headed to their lockers. The blonde turned the dial on her locker, shoving books she had brought home. Making her bag lighter than it once was, sighing in relief. Shutting the door, she locked it once more and headed to her first class. Math— unfortunately.

"Amara, you weren't in the underground yesterday," Neela's soft voice said to her. As they removed their shoes and placed them in the cubbies, “Again,” she added having to listen 

The blonde nodded, putting on the blue slippers, "I was finishing up my work," she told her friend as they walked into the classroom. Their seats were right beside one another.

As Neela settled into her seat, the blonde grabbed all her work and placed it on her professor's table, "I finished all my work, I hope it is to your standards," she told the woman dressed in bright pink. Bowing slightly she smiled at the woman.

The older woman pushed her glasses up her nose and bowed as well, "Amara I'm glad to see you still use your brains, good to have you back," she told her with a smile, making her eyes crinkle up.

The blonde nodded and sat by Neela in her seat. Taking out her notebook and writing down notes as the professor began teaching. It wasn't hard as she was being taught, but that was maybe because she understood the material. As her friends like telling her, she was just smart, she didn't even have to try with a lot of the things she wanted to learn. Her father liked to tell her she was naturally smart, but never used her skills. That included driving and cars themselves.

It had been the middle of class when most of the class noticed a new figure in the room. It was obvious he was new and foreign. His features were very western just like Amara’s. 

The man paused and looked at the students, his eyes briefly on Amara, then moving to Neela beside her. He grinned at the sight of her, and Amara suspected the girl did too. If her intuition was right, this new western boy would bring trouble to Tokyo.

"Wrong train," he said to the woman, his voice having a western drawl to it. So not only was he western but American.

The woman walked over to him and grabbed his paper, "I'm new here," he told her hoping she would understand—the woman did not, and spoke to him in Japanese. 

By the look on his face, he didn't understand what she was saying, especially once she bowed and saw his shoes. His face was riddled with confusion.

As the woman continued to repeat her words, he still couldn't understand her. Amara sighed and looked at him, "You're shoes," she told him motioning her slippers.

The boy looked at her and nodded, walking out of the classroom to change his shoes. Once he walked back in he made his way to the back of the classroom where they had seats open.

Neela and Amara looked at each other and giggled softly, turning their attention to the professor as she resumed her teaching. As the bell rang almost an hour later, the girls packed up their bags and left the American boy to find his way. Class after class, Amara wondered how he was settling in. She was sure the headmaster thought of asking if she could be his tour guide, but then remembered the type of girl the blonde was. Not that she blamed them, she had gotten into more fights in the school than most thought possible. 

Finally, lunchtime rolled around, the blonde's favorite time of the day. Meeting up with Twinkie she grabbed her bowl of ramen, the only thing she loved to eat—that and jalapeño poppers. 

"Hey look it's the new kid," she nudged him, spotting the American sitting alone. It was probably time she introduced herself to the American boy. 

The two smiled at each other walking over and sitting on either side of the boy. Which seemed to confuse him as he watched the two on either side.

"Japanese food is like the Army," Twinkie began holding the boy's gaze.

Amara slurrping her noodles nodded, "Don't ask, don't tell," she added watching him look her over.

The American didn't say anything, instead, he just continued eating, wanting to be alone. But got company from a black boy and white girl who had been probably the hottest he'd ever seen. He didn’t know he would ever find such a person here.

"Name's Twinkle," he introduced, "Girl next to you, Amara," he said for her as she was preoccupied with her noddles.

Turning to his bag he continued to ramble, "Hey I noticed you ain't have a laptop," he began taking one out of his bag, causing Amara to roll her eyes.

The American nodded, "Yeah," he said agreeing to watch him open his bag offering a few of his pieces. 

"I'll hook you up, half price," he offered him, a partial smile on his face as he had one in hand. 

The American thought on it, "No thanks,” he eventually replied and shook his head, it was bad enough he was forced to go to school in a place where one he didn’t speak the language. Two didn’t know where anything was. 

Amara snorted as she sipped on the soup, "Good choice, cowboy," she said nudging him.

Twinkie paused to glare at his friend who was ruining a sale, "60% off. Hmm? Since we're both army brats and everything," he tried to offer once more.

Taking a sip of his drink he looked at Twinkie, "I ain't got no cash man, and I ain't an army brat," he told the boy seriously looking back down at his food.

Twinkie nodded taking the answer, "Alright, Alright. How about a new cell phone huh?" he paused to take one out, "Everybody needs a cell phone."

The American put his drink down and turned to the blonde, "Does he ever give up?" He asked her his southern drawl making her smile.

She leaned over to him and whispered, "No, but he moves on after a while," she told him pointing her chop sticks at her friend. 

He sighed and looked back at Twinkie, and glanced at Amara, "No offense, but I'm probably not gonna be here long enough to remember your name." He told the two.

Amara shook her head at the words, moving back to her noodles she ignored Twinkie's talk about shoes. She had a feeling that his words were very much a lie, and she was never wrong. 

"You selling that Sparco steering wheel?" He suddenly asked, catching Amara's attention, oh this is good.

She looked at him and made an impressed face, "You knew what that was?" She asked curiously now turning her head towards him. 

The American turned and furrowed his eyebrows, "Why wouldn't I?" he asked her, but now it was his turn to be surprised. Did she know what it was?

The blonde ignored his question, putting down her chopsticks she moved her hand to his arm. Turning his palm to face her, running her fingers over the callouses on them. Putting his arm down she smiled, "You're a mechanic?" she asked him a brow raised as her brown eyes met his. 

He furrowed his eyebrows, "How'd you know?" he asked her curiously.

Twinkie laughed, "She would know. She and her pops work on cars all the time," he told him.

The brunette man looked at her and smiled, "Nice to know. What do you drive?"

Amara laughed and placed her hand on his shoulders, "Start with Twinkie first huh? His ride is one of a kind," she said smiling her voice low at mention of her friends’ car. 

"One of a kind?" he asked the turned to Twinkie, "Show me."

Twinkie laughed, "Thought you weren't stickin' around?" he asked.

At that, the American shrugged, and so Twinkie nodded, "All right. You comin' right, Amara?"

With noddles in her mouth, she nodded, "I'll meet you at the garage," that she stood and looked at the boys, "Bye now," she waved and walked off clean off tray in hand. 

The American boy watched the blonde walk off. Turning to Twinkie he had to ask, "Is she your girlfriend?"

Twinkie snorted, "God no, she's like a sister to me, but don't think about it."

The other boy snorted, “Wasn’t,” not even he knew if he meant that. The blonde was a nice sight on anyones eyes. Rosy lips and cheeks, and not to mention her adorable dimples that appeared with her every smile. 

And just like that time flew and Amara rushed home to change to meet Twinkie and Sean she would later learn, at the garage.

Throwing her bag onto her bed, the girl rummaged through her closet to find the perfect outfit. Laughing when she did. Paying homage to her new cowboy friend. She found the most Texas outfit she could find. A red and white plaid miniskirt with a brown suede fringe belt. With a matching top of the same design. Slipping her feet into some cowgirl boots and a hat. She grabbed her keys and ran out of the house before her father could see her. Not needing to be yelled at for her outfit by the man. 

Walking to her garage she spotted her beauty. Nissan Skyline GT-R R34 in a beautiful dark blue. She wasn't going to lie, it was one of her favorite cars she's ever driven. The fact that it had been a gift made it all the better, not the gift itself but who it was from.

Making her way towards Twinkie's house, it wasn't long as he didn't live far from her. Parking the car she noticed they were standing by the garage. Getting out of the car she walked over to stand beside Sean.

He looked at Amara briefly and smiled, but took a double look when he noticed what she was wearing, "Amara, what in God's name," he said breathing out his eyes glued to her skin on show. 

The blonde laughed, twirling for him, "Just for you cowboy," she said winking at him causing him to blush.

Twinkie rolled his eyes at the two, every person that had met Amara, thought they had a chance. But none were ever good enough for the blonde, no one would ever be. Well, at least that’s what everyone thought. 

The cars moved along as Sean guessed each one, but none were it. That was until, Amara nudged him, "That's his beauty."

A bright green Volkswagen Touran, with Hulk written all over it. The inside lined purple fur. Twinkie smiled at the sight of her. That was his prized possession. The very car he worked hard to cater to his likes. 

"You coming with us?" Sean asked as he looked at the car, moving to open the back door for her. 

The blonde shook her head and patted his shoulder, "Oh no, I'm driving mine," she said walking over to her parked Skyline in which Sean looked awe. He now understood why Twinkie told him not to think about it. There is no way in hell anyone can handle a woman who knew her shit. 

Sean had gotten the chance to drive Twinkie's car, and as they got to their destination, he was nervous by the way Twinkie explained things. So new to everything about Japan and its whole underground car rules. Arriving he noticed all the girls in miniskirts and revealing clothing. Not far from what he had seen Amara wear, but somehow he knew they weren’t the same. Sean parked the car, and he and Twinkie made their way out. 

The American glanced at all the cars displayed all down the line from his. Noticing all the different people working on them. He then heard her before he could see her. Amara’s Skyline that is, she was a beauty along side its driver. 

His eyes watched as her blue beauty pulled up next to a guy leaning on his car as he ate chips. Noticing the older man have his eyes trained on the door, where Amara would step out from. 

The blonde pushed open her door, placing her foot out and then the other. Careful to place a hand on her hat as she sat up, not wanting to knock the hat off.

"Ah and so she arrives, the girl of the hour," A voice speaks making her turn to him.

The girl smiles softly at the sight, walking over to him, not missing how his eyes wandered over her body, “And good to see the man of the hour, my dear old Han” she greeted getting closer. Making the girls around his arms scatter.

Finally standing before him, she stole some of his chips in hand. He never once took his eyes off her, “Who are you calling old?” He mumbled looking down at her lips where the piece of chip disappeared. 

Amara laughed looking at the floor before moving her eyes to look at him through her lashes, “You of course,” she replied

He just smiled, "Always."

Beside him was Takashi or as everyone calls him DK, "Amara, who's the tourist?" he asked her, his eyes on the other side.

Amara turned to see Sean talking with Neela, something she hoped wouldn't happen. Especially how it would overcomplicate things.

Before Amara could answer Han spoke up, "What's with you and the schoolgirls, D? You're moving up in the world. You gotta elevate your company." he told him as he began to walk away not waiting for a response.

The blonde gave him a look, "And that makes me what, chopped liver?" she tells him as she pats his cheek softly. Using an expression she saw on some Western show a while ago.

Han just rolled his yes, and watched as the blonde walked towards their mutual friend Takashi. He just hoped he wouldn’t do anything rash. Rather than think about it, he just watched Amara’s blonde hair bounce as she walked ahead of him. 

"Hey!" he heard him call out to Sean not before wrapping his arms around Neela.

"He was just leaving," Twinkie said separating the couple, being Sean who reluctantly moved away from Amara’s best friend. 

Sean furrowed his eyebrows them when Takashi said some things in Japanese. The American only shrugged at the mention, "I'm sorry I don't speak Japanese," Sean told the man standing behind Neela.

Takashi only smirked and paused looking to his friends then he kissed Neela's cheek, "Understand that? Gaijin?"

Amara looked over at Takashi with a frown on her face. Gaijin was a term to call white foreigners, a disrespectful type of way. She heard others call her that a coupe times growing up. But thanks to her reckless nature into staring fights it quickly came to halt. That although didn’t mean she like to hear it being used for others. 

Neela felt the need to intervene, "Takashi," she said trying to get him to stop, turning her head and giving him a look. 

Then the big idiot Sean continued it, "We were just talking," he reassured her, his eyes them moving to the man holding Neela. 

Amara stepped forward and pressed her hand on his chest, "Sean this isn't your scene," she tried to warn him looking at him seriously, “This will only get you into trouble you don’t want to start,” she added hoping that she would knock some sense into him. 

Sean looked at the blonde momentarily, he saw the warning in her eyes, but he paid her no mind. He moved his hand to her hips, and physically removed her away from him. Eyes dead set on Takashi, "That word you called me, gaijin or something or other, what does that mean exactly?"

Amara rolled her eyes, this wasn't going to end well. It was hard enough to make yourself known in the underground. But picking a fight with Takashi and his girl wouldn’t help one bit. 

"It means, turns around, and keep walking," he threatened him, lips pursed at the sight of the white man who continued to fight his word. 

Twinkie in hopes to avoid a fight, "That's exactly what we gonna do. Come on, man, let's roll."

Tired of it Amara walked over to stand by Han who had seemly followed. She too leaned against the car. The left in comfortable silence as they listened to the argument unfold. 

"Now, see, that's funny, 'cause I thought this was, like, a free country where a girl could talk to whoever she wants," Sean said turning back around to speak with Takashi.

"He's an idiot,” she hissed smacking her forehead with her palm, Han only chuckled beside her. 

Lifting her head she watched as Takashi walked close to Sean, to the point where she thought they would kiss. Obviously not, but she found it funny that they were that close. So she let out an amused grin at the sight. 

"You know who I am, boy?" Takashi asked with a smug smile on his face.

"Yeah, You're like the Justin Timberlake of Japan, right?" he asked him seriously.

Amara couldn’t take it, so she moved her head to side and buried it into Han’s shoulder, “This is getting embarrassing,” she whined into his jacket, feeling the rumbles of his silent chuckle. 

Takashi just chuckled, not that it was funny, but he was ready to beat this bitch up. Neela tried pushing him back, telling him it's not worth it. Obviously, it wasn't working as Takashi was now riled up over some American boy. The only people who tend to do that. 

Han who was beside Amara was smirking as he ate his chips, "You found yourself an interesting friend," he told her turning his head slightly, his breathing reaching her face on his shoulder. 

Pulling her head from her hiding spot, she shook her head and looked a her friend, "Sean just leave," Amara called to him as she watched Neela try to calm him down.

Twinkie pushed him away from the two, "Damn, man. You know yakuza?" he tried to explain to him. "The Mafia? Look, sorry, DK-San. Monkey didn't have his banana today." he finished glaring at Sean, doing his best to keep him moving. 

The blonde looked over at Han, "Do something," she told him, shoving him towards the commotion, “You always know what to do,” she mumbled eyes big in hopes of persuading. 

The looked down at the very eyes that doomed him, "Anything for you," he said giving her a smile, then moved over to Takashi, "Hey, D, let's go. It's time to race."

With that, Takashi pulled back began walking away with his group. Not wanting to deal with the stupid American school boy. 

For a second Amara let out a breath of relief that it would all be over. But Sean just had to open his mouth and made her groan out loud. 

"Good luck, Timberlake," Sean called out before he could totally leave.

Amara saw Takashi make a complete 180 to walk to Sean. Eyes going wide, she rushed to step in front of Sean, placing her hands on his chest lightly pushing back, "Takashi don't do this, he's a complete idiot who's out of his league," she tried telling him, hoping he would listen to her words. 

Takashi paused to look at the blonde, "He has to learn Amara, you know this," he replied and looked back at Sean, "you're the one who's lucky, 'cause I'm about to race."

"Then let's race," Sean replied as if it was nothing. 

Takashi laughed and rightfully so, what would a foreigner like him know about racing? Nonetheless Tokyo racing. "With what, huh? Your skateboard? Easy to sound cocky when you got no ride," he finished.

"Take mine," Han said from behind throwing him his keys to his car.

"Let's race," he said finally. Turning around walking to his car, not before glaring at Han that is. The man just giving him a smile, as he popped a chip into his mouth.

The blonde couldn’t help but give Han a look, "You're kidding right?” She said walking in his direction. 

He looked at her and shook his head, "No, I want to see what the kid's got," he told her.

"He's gonna wreck it," she told him sighing watching the American boy walk away from the empty scene.

He just threw another chip in his mouth, "You coming?"

She waved him off and watched him leave turning to Sean, "You're fucking insane Sean."

She pulled him into the elevator as Twinkie got in. The two natives of Japan already imaging the worst for their new friend. It wasn’t like they were afraid of Takashi. They were concerned for Sean's safety, especially with what he just got himself into. Sean knew nothing of Tokyo racing.

He suddenly asked the two, "Can he drive?” Turning to look at the duo on his either side. 

Twinkie scoffed, "Can he drive?" he repeated sarcastically, "Do you know what DK stands for?"

"Donkey Kong?" he replied jokingly.

Amara slapped the back of his head, "No idiot, Drift King,” she hissed, and she gave a dark chuckle, “And I know damn well you won’t be the winning,” she mumbled more to herself. 

He hissed and rubbed his head looking at her, "Drift? What do you mean drift?"

She cupped Sean's face with her hand and turned it to the elevator door. Just in time, the doors opened and two cars drifted seamlessly past them. The vehicles glided smoothly catching his attention. He was in deep shit now.

Twinkie smirked, "Still need a dictionary?"

Amara walked forward to Han's car, "Now Sean do you know the famous painting of the woman who smiles gracefully?"

He rose an eyebrow, "The Mona Lisa?" he answered.

"That's right cowboy, The Mona Lisa, well this is her," she began explaining, patting the car they stood by.

"Built from the ground up," Twinkie added, "We talking forged pistons, bigger turbo, new rods, new crankshaft."

"This is Han's labor, take care of her," Amara said leaning at the window with Twinkie.

Sean's eyes said it all, he looked over at her, "Well, if I needed a 30-second lesson on how to drift..." he trailed off.

Amara closed her eyes and sighed, "Sean, my god, Twinkie," she offered and walked off, patting the car before leaving.

Her eyes found Han and she shook her head, "You have too much trust, but today could be the worst one yet."

He rose an eyebrow, "What makes you say that?” He asks his hand brushing over her exposed skin on her hip. 

She chuckled wrapping her hands around his neck leaning closer, "Oh, baby you'll see," she chuckled and kissed his cheek softly. Then pulled away to sit beside him.

There was a saying that some people were born to dance, and it’s true. Another was that people knew how to drive. Takashi was a perfect example of the saying. Ever since he was a child, he was known to be the Yakuza child. Heir to his father’s grand plan and kingdom. But somehow he managed to find interest in a little something more. Racing. Being the son of a powerful man, meant nothing for racing. 

Takashi had just this natural aura about driving, he was perfect. His car a crystalline extension of himself. Angry rumbles that echoed, efficient in terrifying everyone. He never missed. 

Whileon the other hand of the wheel was Sean. A teenage boy that was way in over his head. He claims to be a fanatic about cars, but she could see he had a lot to learn. She pitied him, but there wasn't anything that could done, but watch him destroy the car. A beautiful car to top it off. 

The two lined up next each other, revving engines in hopes of intimidation. Sean had a goofy little smile on his face, but boy would it be fast to fall. When the screams of go echoed. 

The screeching of Sean’s car was off. Mistake, to at least any racer, the first thing they did was cringe. He started off to fast to make that sharp of a turn. She just sighed when she watched the car slam onto the wall. 

Amara looked over at Han with an "I told you," face. He didn't say anything but continued to look forward. As they had rounded the corner, everyone rushed to the stairs to make sure they didn't miss anything.

Getting up from the car they had been leaning on, she turned and offered her hand. The man looked at it and reluctantly took it. The two hand-in-hand walked to elevators which were unoccupied.

As they stepped into the elevator the screeches and crashes could echo around. Han turned to the blonde, "You know that was you at one point."

She faced him and rolled her eyes, "Not that bad," she told him cocking her head to the side.

He laughed softly, "I suppose so," he added moving closer to the girl in front of him.

It had been known that Han fooled around with whomever he wanted. But oddly there were no girls out there to tell the stories of that. The rumor that flew was that he was going out with Amara. The American girl who grew up in Japan and became the princess of the underground. The very girl that Han had taught to drift. That's when the rumors began, because of how close they had been. But the dating rumors didn't really start until news broke out that he had gifted her a car.

He moved his hands to brush over her exposed skin, making her shiver. It wasn’t any cold by any means, but the effect of his touch made her wonder. In return she moved her hands around his neck once more. 

"You look pretty tonight, princess," he said moving his face down to hers. Tipping her hat back so he could see her pretty eyes.

She smiled, "Only for you," she replied and closed the gap between them. Their lips touch and move against each other. He moved his teeth to softly bite her bottom lip, letting her open her mouth. Their tongues now brushing against each other. 

Amara moved her hands up to his hair, pushing his face deeper into hers. Making a simple kiss turned into a full-blown-out make-out session. As he gripped her hips she groaned into his mouth. Slowly the two pulled apart, strings of saliva stretching as they did.

"I missed that yesterday," he said to her, eyes moving to look at her face. Every little part of it. Especially the dimples a grew on her cheeks as she smile up at him. 

Amara laughed moving her hands to his chest down to his pockets, “And I miss every time," she told him grabbing a bag of chocolate pandas cookies. Opening it as the elevators opened.

He watched her put some in her mouth and noticed they were gone from his pocket, "Hey, princess those are mine," he called her as she walked away from him.

As expected Takashi arrived first at the top, unscathed as usual. It wasn't moments later that Sean arrived with a scrap of a car. Bumper hanging off, headlights exploded, fenders missing, dents everywhere. Everyone was either gasping or laughing at the state of the car. 

Amara looked at Han, "Definitely not me," she said patting his chest, whilst giving him his snack back. He watched as the blonde left with Twinkie not far from her.

It had been a disaster, of course, the race. She warned him and yet the boy didn't listen. Of course, it wouldn't be her paying for the damages. It would be Sean somehow. She knew Han would make him work for it.

Parking her Skyline she locked it up and headed straight to her room. Quickly changing into something comfortable. Then a knock followed on her door.

"Yeah?" she called out, watching as the door opened to see her father at the door.

He smiled, "You took the Skyline, so I figure you were out?"

The girl nodded, "It was a mess pops, a new kid tried to race today, didn't end too well for him." she started, "And we tried to warn him not to."

The man shrugged, "Well maybe this will be his beginning to it, he'll learn," he tried to offer.

Ryder had known that eventually, his daughter would find the racing world of Tokyo. But he didn't want her falling into the wrong hands, so he told her about it. Making sure she knew what she was doing. From the looks of it, she's doing alright for herself.

"How's Han?" he suddenly asked.

The girl waved him off, "He's fine—" she stopped dead in her tracks and looked up at her father, "Pops how did you know?"

Ryder laughed, "I didn't, but I do now," he said, "Good night, kid."

As he closed the door, Amara threw herself onto her pillow and screamed. All of it coming muffled. The one thing she was hoping to keep, just spilled like running water. A secret she and Han tried hard to keep. 

The following day at school was interesting. Sean would receive looks from everyone. He spotted the familiar blonde and walked over to her, opening his mouth to say something.

She lifted her hand, "Not right now Sean," she told him and patted his shoulder. Most of the day went alike, everyone whispering about Sean's race. The worst one to date.

Amara stayed with Neela for most of the day, not wanting to rile up people if she was seen with Sean. The final bell rang and everyone headed out.

The blonde made sure she had everything in her bag, then looked out to see a car. Sticking out like a sore thumb. Along with its owner.

"I know you're not here for me since you never pick me up," she said to him as she walked closer to Han. Crossing her arms as he smiled while leaning on the car.

"Do you want me to pick you up?" he asked the side of his lip lifting to her a half-smile, "I wouldn't mind," he added lifting his hand to brush her hair behind her ear.

Amara scoffed lightly, “No, don’t need more attention drawn to myself,” she paused to look at his car, “especially, with the choice of transportation you’d bring,” she said motioning to the bright orange Mazda, “But I’m assuming you’re here to Starting to torture Sean?"

"I gotta get paid," he told her with a shrugs, removing his hand from her cheek. She bit her lip at his statement. Amara didn’t know why but his aloofness to everything made him attractive

She nodded and closed the gap between them, kissing the corner of his lips, "I'll see you later," she said and patted his chest. 

"Alright, princess," he replied and watched her walk towards the trains, a smile subtly on his lips. 

Sean noticed their interaction and looked confused. He’d have to ask about that later, but rather than think about Amara and Han, he made his way over to the man. 

"Get in," was all Han said motioning the car.

Sean paused and sighed, "I'll get you your money,” he said solemnly knowing he definitely fucked up. 

Standing he gave him an amused look, "Why are you talking like you have a choice?" Han said getting in the car. After Sean was in the car, he drove off the school gates.

While in the car he was curious, he had to know, "You and Amara," he began catching a glance from Han, "are you two a thing"

Han smiled, “Why are you interested?" he asked glancing at him for a moment.

Sean paled at the question, “Uh, N-no, I mean she’s hot—I mean pretty, but if you’re with her I’m not thinking about her like that,” he rambled and blushed looking away from Han not wanting to dig himself in a bigger hole. 

Han just chuckled at Sean’s nervousness, “Calm yourself, nothing serious,” he replied not answering his question to begin with. 

The rest of the drive was quiet until they arrived at their destination, "There's a guy in there with a paw that owes me some money," Han explained to Sean.

"A paw?" Sean asked very much confused.

Han looked at the bathhouse, "Go get me my money.”

While, Sean struggled his way into the bath house, on the very other side of town were two girls. Neela and Amara, shopping around as they usually do during their downtime. The two laughed at their inside jokes, all while pointing at cute items in shops. It wasn’t rare to see the two out and about, everyone knew the two at this point. Plus spending money on clothes was one of Amara's favorite past times. Especially when it wasn’t her money to spend. 

Amara then paused and looked at her friend, “Now, please tell me I’m not crazy,” with a smirk she continued, “You like Sean or just a bit interested, right?” Amara asked as they walked the streets of the busy lit-up streets.

The brunette looked down and sighed, “I am, but you know I can't leave Takashi, he won't let me leave.”

Amara wrapped an arm around her friend, "I know,” she replied sighing and looked up at the dark sky, “But I have a feeling something good is going to happen for you,”

Neela rolled her eyes, “While on the topic of boyfriends, when did you and Han start?” She asked a smirk now gracing her face. 

The blonde blushed and looked away, “It hasn’t been long…” she trailed off, “We didn’t want anyone knowing, but I guess with how long it’s gone,” she paused to look at her friend, “It’s about time.”

Her friend laughed at the thought, “Oh its about time alright, I never missed your little doe eyes at him,” she teased, already knowing. Everyone else might hear the rumors, but she knew the minute the blonde had Han trailing behind her with a stupid smile only looking at her. 

As they continued to walk the girls talked about no sense that took them away from Tokyo for a little while.

"By the way, I love your outfit," Neela motioned to her cropped pink velvet jack covered with hearts, along with some low-waisted straight fit jeans with a bedazzle cherry on the butt, and to finish off her pink converse peaking out at the bottom.

Amara gave her a twirl, "Awe thank you, but look you over here," she motioned to her feather jacket. As the two arrived at their destination they noticed Sean at the payphone.

"Here comes your second boyfriend," Amara whisperers to her friend. The girl shoving Amara at her words, making the blonde giggle.

The boy looks at the two, "Hi Amara," he drawls greeting her, eyes trailing over her bright pink clothes. 

"Sean," she returns with a wiggle of her fingers and leaves the two alone. Smiling as she walked away noticing Han’s car. Placing her bags on the hood, she sits and leans back on it. Staring mindlessly at the neon lights, and people living about on the streets.

Amara didn’t even notice when the sliding doors opened, revealing Han. His eyes darting to Sean talking to Neela, then to his car where he paused. His darling girl sat looking all pretty. 

"Not that I don't mind the sudden visit, but what are you doing here?" he asked as she stood from the car to greet him.

She smiled and rose a brow at the sight of him,"Hi Han," she answered instead.

The man got closer his hand reaching for hers, lifting it to his mouth he placed a kiss on it, "Hi princess."

She smiled at the affection, "You do realize we're in public," she told him, not wanting to ruin something they've hidden well for months, even if it has slowly been falling apart. 

"Yeah, I don't care about it anymore," he said pulling on the hand was holding. Pulling Amara into his chest, "It's about time everyone knows I'm the only one that can do this."

With that he leaned down to kiss the lady in his arms, feeling her cheeks heat up at the action. Making him smirk into the kiss. Now, he had everything he could ever want in Tokyo. The blonde being the fitting puzzle piece. For a few minutes the two continued locking lips, tongues and teeth clashing. Before pulling apart, he looked down at her lips, loving the sighed of them being slightly bruised all from him. 

As the two separated a little more, his eyes trailed over to Sean who was speaking—more arguing from the looks. The brunette walking away from the teen boy. 

"I'll call you," Neela said looking towards Amara who nodded and gave her a smile. The three of them watched as the girl walked in. 

Han then turned and looked over at Amara, "You coming?" he asked her, hand now lingering on her hip. 

Amara broke her trance from Neela and looked back at Han, “I wouldn't decline such an offer," she said smiling looking up at him, lifting to her toes to peck his lips once more.

Sean walked up to the couple, "So you are together?" he asked them, watching the two after their kiss. 

Amara crossed her arms, “Why interested?" she asked him seriously a brown raised.

Causing Sean to pause and look over at Han who had an amused smile on his face, “Shut up Amara,” he said rolling his eyes, “those two were made for each other,” he then mumbled crossing his arms. 

Han rolled his eyes as he grabbed her bags and placed them in the trunk.

"Wait she's coming with us?" Sean asked as he watched him put the bags away, "It's a two-seater.”

Amara grinned at his statement, “Sure is cow-boy,” following to sit on Han’s lap, legs settling between his. 

Sean nodded and made an approving face, closing the door for them. This time hopping in the driver’s seat. His face cringing as he climbed in watching the two make out for a few seconds. 

Trying to break the smacking noises, ”Is everything okay back there?" Sean asked Han.

Pulling away from Amara who just brushed her hand through his hair, “I can handle DK," Han replied easily looking towards the teenage boy. 

Amara snorted, "Everyone can," she added head leaned onto Han's shoulder, conturing to run her hands through his hair. 

Sean rose an eyebrow, "You know about this life?” He was surprised to know that Amara knew what was going on. He wondered if she was in the same situation as Neela who was forced to be into a relationship with Han. It wasn’t that he was bad, but he just hoped he was wrong. 

The blonde rolled her eyes, "I grew up here Sean, I knew about it before Han here even arrived," she told him, easing his nervous about the whole forced relationship theory. 

Han smiled nodding, "It was, princess here who led me into the business," he finished as slowly slid his hand up and down her thigh.

"But DK he's Yakuza," Sean said carefully, not wanting to see his new friend in trouble with the guy that out showed him days ago.

The couple chuckled, "Wanna be Yakuza," Amara said.

"His uncle's Yakuza, he's just playing gangster in his little storage room. But I need him. He keeps his uncle Yamata from poking in too much." He explained.

Amara played with the ends of his hair by his neck, "Which will get you in trouble once he finds out," she warned him not wanting to see another of the people she cares about in that situation. 

Han looked at his girl and squeezed her waist reassuringly, "I'll be okay,” this did not calm her worrying, but settled her nerves for the mean time. 

Sean was still confused, "What do you mean?"

Han sighed, "Well, his uncle gets a piece of the action from everyone on his turf. We're on his turf." He told him, "And fifty percent of something is better than a hundred percent of nothing," finishing his tale.

"So you raced DK?" The American asked a smirk on his face. 

Han made a face that signaled he hasn't. Making Amara chuckle continuing to play with his hair in reach.

"Why not? Is he that good?" Sean asked in disbelief not wanting it to be true.

"What's the point of a race?" Han asks Sean not seeing the teenagers need to be the winner. 

Sean paused and smirked, "To see if I'm better than the other guy," he mockingly replied, of course he would think that.

Amara rolled her eyes, "Wrong, Sean. You shouldn't race just to see who's faster. You race for something important."

Sean furrowed his eyebrows, "Sounds like you had to race for something important," he told her.

She nodded, "Yeah my car and freedom,” she told him.

"The skyline?"

Amara laughed, "No, actually this one," she told him motioning the car he was currently driving.

Sean's face was priceless, "Is that true?" He asked Han who had a proud look on his face.

He nodded, "She won the race and the car, but it wasn't the one she wanted so she gifted it to me."

"And in return, he gave you the Skyline?" Sean asked his female friend.

She shook her head, "No," she answered simply with a blush lightly on her face. Remembering when Han had given her the prized possession of hers.

Han chuckled at her not wanting to explain, "She got the Skyline because she wanted it," he told Sean, “and I give my girl anything she wants.” 

Amara smirked, "No, it's because you're obsessed with me," she told him with a smile.

Sean laughed at her words but didn't say anything. With the way, Amara knew her way around cars, the way she looked, and spoke. He wasn't at all surprised Han had taken a liking to her. The more he thought about it, the more he knew he would’ve sailed that ship if Han hadn’t already. 

If it hadn't been Neela that he had taken a liking to. It would be Han that he would have problems with. The blonde girl was attractive and smart. The best part—she knew how to race.

[penandswords]

Rules!

(Under the Read More Because I don't want to clog up the Dash)

(Nothing has really changed, I just organized it better / Elaborated on some stuff)

Blog Specific Rules! / PSAs

1. To Endeavor / Hawks / Todoroki Family affiliated blogs

- While My About may have these canons in it. I do not want you to think you have to stick to it. I am willing to change / Alter / Omit things as needed in order to make things work.

- Do not feel any pressure to write a specific way. I want Interactions between us to be fun for both sides, and I do not mind exploring alternative ideas.

2. Rima's Quirk!

- Rima has a quirk that lets her sense / influence emotions of others. I will do my best to reach out to Rp Partners in OOC if it becomes relevant.

General Rules!

3. 18+ Only, No Minors

- Mun is 30, and does not feel comfortable writing with under age muns.

4. Basic Rp Etiquette.

- Don't God Mod / Write on behalf of my muse /

- Do not Kill My muse (Without talking to me first Pls)

- Mun Does not Equal Muse

- Just have respect for Me, and My Rp Partners. (No bullying)

5. Do Not drag Me into Drama.

- No Call Out Posts, No "Warning Me" about XYZ.

- I am To Old for it, and am Only here for fun.

Interactions!

6. I will Write, Crack - Serious, Short - Long Replies, Plotted - Not Plotted.

- Honestly I am not very picky when it comes to threads, If you have an idea come tell me. Even if you have NO idea, Yeet your muse at me and I will FIND a way to make it work.

7. I Am Crossover | Oc | and Canon Divergent Friendly.

8. My Inbox is Always Open, Memes don't really Expire for me.

- But If you DO send in a meme, Please send Me either the link or some kind of context to what it is.

- If you are a SIDE blog sending in a meme, PUT the URL of that blog In with the ask. (Mun Is VERY forgetful, and get's sidetracked easily.)

Contacting Me (OOC)

9. I LOVE talking to My RP partners OOC

- My DMs are always open. (Even If I am not logged in) So don't hesitate to send me a message. I will be thrilled to get it. (Same go's for asks)

- If you do not LIke Tumblr I.m's, My discord is available upon Request, OR you can send me an OOC Ask. (Just make sure you indicate that it's an OOC ask)

10. Mistakes

- If I make a mistake, Please do not be afraid to come tell me. (Nicely)

- Either from Losing A thread | Forgetting A rule | Forgetting a detail | Or even just being to chatty. Or any other reason. I promise I do not bite, I only want to make my rp partners as comfortable as I can.

- To add: I have ADHD, I can be VERY forgetful, and get Hyper fixated. While I do my best to keep in Reined in, Sometimes I get a little excited about something.

- If that does happen, and you get overwhelmed. You are welcome to come ask me to tone it down. I do my BEST to keep it in check, BUT sometimes I have days where my brain won't shut up.

NSFW / Ships!

11. Smut threads

- They are limited to Muns who are 21+

- Smut is reserved for Rp Partners I know and am comfortable with.

- Do not force these threads on me. (NO Means No.)

12. NSFW threads

- I am okay with most themes, but don't just YEET it at me. If you want to do a darker thread please come talk to me first. (Warn a lady first, I have to prepare my Brian )

13. Ships

- Ships will ONLY happen with Muses who are 18+ (Canonically No age ups)

- In order for a ship to happen, I need clear communication from my RP Partners.

- Casual Flirtation is FINE, I do not mind that at all, but If you want anything beyond that come talk to me first.

- I tend to lean more towards plotted / Story heavy threads instead of ship centered ones. Things like Ships are MORE fun for me if we can build it over time vs all at once.

14. All ships will be set in their own separate Universes. (Unless specified otherwise)

15. I will NOT ship with Enjis / Endeavors. (My goal is more of a platonic dynamic between them. Nothing more than that)

Triggers!

16. I do not have very many triggers.

- My Main Trigger tags are [ Trigger Warning ] and [ Tw: -Insert Trigger- ] (Without the Brackets) So If you have a specific trigger I will try to add it in. but These are my main ones for those who want to black list stuff.

17. Lastly! Just have FUN.

- Rp is MEANT to be fun, It is not a job it is a hobby.

About The Mun! Name: Liz Pronouns: She / Her / They Age: 30 (As of 2024) Birthdate: June 14th Favorite color: Dark Purple Rp Experience: 15+ years

[twistedtummies2]

Top 12 Portrayals of Nephew Fred (from "A Christmas Carol")

Continuing my Christmas Carol Week Marathon, here’s the next character we’re going to cover: Nephew Fred. I’ve often felt Fred is sort of an underrated character in the Carol story. While he is featured in many adaptations, he never seems to get the kudos that characters like Cratchit or even the more minor Fezziwig get. This is funny to me because, outside of Cratchit, he’s arguably the most important human character in the book that Scrooge is involved with. Much like Cratchit, Fred acts as a foil to Scrooge, but in a different way. He, too, is an opposing figure: a man who is related to Scrooge, and seems fairly well-off (despite Scrooge calling him “poor enough,” which really gives you a good idea of the vast differences between the classes of the time, if nothing else), but while his uncle is foul-tempered and at times downright cruel, Fred is jovial, mischievous, and yet also has a kind heart. He is someone who totally and completely embraces not only the holiday spirit, but the very humanity Scrooge shuns: he’s outgoing and playful, and thinks of how he can help the people around him whenever possible. What makes Fred truly important in the story, however, is the simple fact he’s Scrooge’s only living relative. It says something about Scrooge that his nephew wants nothing more than to be with him for the holidays, and cares for him greatly, yet Scrooge treats him with such disdain. There’s a lot you can read into with their relationship, and why it is the way it is (Dickens leaves some indications, but doesn’t spell a whole lot out in crystal clarity), but the important takeaway is that he represents another great mistake in Scrooge’s life. Ebenezer doesn’t just shut out people who are “beneath” him, such as workers and clients, but also closes himself off from the people he should be most connected to: his own family. When Scrooge repents, he vows to make that right and rejoins not only society, but the family he never should have let go. Fred is yet another character I’ve played (twice this time), and he’s honestly a really hard character to nail: it’s difficult to keep the energy and the good will he presents up and not make it seem phony or overly obnoxious. Once again, picking my favorite versions of him out was difficult, but I think these choices are more or less accurate. Here are My Top 12 Portrayals of Nephew Fred!

12. David Tate, from A Christmas Carol (1971). (He'd be higher if he had more to do.)

11. Ray Middleton, from Shower of Stars: A Christmas Carol. (In this version, the actor who plays Fred also plays the Ghost of Christmas Present. Interesting little twist there.)

10. Robert Cochran, from Scrooge (1935). (This is the first sound version of the Carol, and it has NOT aged well, but I do genuinely think this is a good Fred.)

9. Donald Duck, from Mickey’s Christmas Carol. (R.I.P. Clarence Nash. Also, see David Tate.)

8. The Version from “A Christmas Carol (1997).” (I’ve never been able to positively identify the voice actor for this one. I THINK it might be an actor by the name of Ian Whitcomb, but I am not totally certain.) 

7. Paul Copley, from A Christmas Carol (1977).

6. Brian Worth, from Scrooge (1951).

5. Michael Medwin, from Scrooge (1970). (For some reason, in this version, the character’s name is changed to Harry Huffman. The same name was used in the recent Netflix remake...but that's another story.)

4. Roger Rees, from A Christmas Carol (1984).

3. Colin Firth, from A Christmas Carol (2009).

2. Barry MacKay, from A Christmas Carol (1938). (I have some issues with this version, but I think its take on Nephew Fred is almost perfect.)

1. Dominic West, from A Christmas Carol (1999).

[peacesmovingcabaret]

That’s not the issue. It’s not that amber was a woman and jd was a man. It’s the fact that he was disgustingly older than her, he dated a minor as a 25 year old full grown adult which is absolutely about power only, his ex said he got angry and violent quick, he admitted in court he called Vanessa paradis many horrible names bc there was physical photographic proof he couldnt deny, there was photos of the damage he did, his own team members admitted they lied bc he intimidated and paid them to lie in ambers person, these same people actually stood up for ambers side eventually, the jokes about raping her dead body was way before they got married which matters, amber does have injuries that were proven to be real if you looked them up or watched the court videos in full, he told Paul bettany that he “pounded and displayed ugly colors on amber”, he said things in recordings where he promised amber he’d get better and “try not to hurt her again” and to “leave him notes in the morning as a reminder to be nice to you”, (abusers always keep you in a cycle where you have hope they’ll change), and in texts to her mom she even said she loves him and wants him to change too, amber never abused her ex bc her ex came forward and said it was a misunderstanding (they’re not dating anymore so if amber was an abuser her ex wouldnt have to defend her), amber was the one that made excuses for jd bc she loved him despite the abuse he admitted in audio to doing to her, JDs emails to ambers therapist and psychiatrist talk about trying to keep her under control in his own words and he swore at them and showed unhinged behavior in the emails about wanting amber under his control, victims record arguments in relationships not abusers: check who did the 18 or whatever hours of recordings… amber was the one trying to call the police and her friends, Mr Murphy was a witness to ambers closet being destroyed, audios of amber saying he beat her up and he responded with “I made a mistake I won’t do it again”, in the audios amber is clearly arguing things we victims of abuse usually argue to our emotionally abusers: that’s about reminding n them to communicate issues, set boundaries VERBALIZE IT with each other on both ends (abusers don’t usually do it on their ends bc a common abuser trait is expecting ppl to read your mind and just know what you want), she argues he’s projecting again, amber also is honest about fighting back and the bad things she says sometimes but reminds him it starts with him, amber didn’t want cameras in court, depp did. Depp enjoyed and said before going to court that hed enjoy bringing her there, and victims don’t feel or think like that at all bc it’s traumatic for us. After countless arrests, convictions for rape and child rape, depp still defended rapist Roman Polanski in a 2010 interview. Jd is known to be friends with multiple men who have been called out on rape and domestic violence, had restraining orders set against them, their children accused them of abuse, and theyve admitted in text s to doing things of that nature, these men include: Brian Warner (accused by 6 ppl), nicolas cage, marlon Brando, josh homme. Ambers close friends I couldn’t find anything, but she came from an abusive home and usually you repeat what you’ve been through. Depp admitted in audio to being “irrational, crazy, jealous” in response to amber filming scenes. https://twitter.com/glossyinferno/status/1517232728755916800?s=20 that’s one of many fucking links. Just watch the full court hearing through and through without fucking skipping you fucking morons. And listen to the full audio recordings amber has which is like 18 or whatever amount of hours, but you have to listen to EVERY FUCKING SECOND you fucking MORONIC FUCK FACES.

Anon, please seek help.