#so I like to image them like they’re in a prison of their own body

[cath-piws]

Stills from a reel I did in ig!! Featuring my other genshin ocs…. Idk their names actually but I’ll just call them the snezhnayan duo!! Actually if you want you can req names in the tags or smth. One is born in snezhnaya and the other was born in fontaine!

If anyone wants info on their backstory lmk! (And also plsplsplspls0pslpsls ask me abt them and the other genshin ocs i have plaplslsplspslpslps 🙏🙏🙏)

[aliyahwritings]

THE CONTRACTED HEART — Rafe Cameron (10)

MASTERLIST | Basketball Player & Supermodel!Female Reader

Summary: Rafe Cameron, a basketball star, needs a marriage to fix his image, while Model!Reader needs one for citizenship. They may be the perfect solution for each other.

Warnings: smut, descriptions of violence, jealousy, usage of drugs, talks about body image/ed, angst, and lots of bickering. Reader is confident, a people-pleaser, has a traumatic past, and is a sunshine with an attitude. Rafe is a whore, possessive, cocky, and secretive about his past.

Word Count: 8.7k

Aliyah's Notes: another long chapter!!!! had a bit of an issue with this chapter. didn't know where to go, and how to finish it but i'm pretty satisfied with the ending... hope y'all will feel that way too #scared

You were going to throw up.

It was 6 in the morning, and your apartment was filled with a pre-party energy—Aisha fluttering around checking final details, making sure everything was perfect for you. But for you, the weight of the day felt unbearable. The engagement party was only a few hours away, and you were supposed to feel excited, but instead, all you could feel was anxiety.

You stood in front of the full-length mirror, staring at your reflection as the fabric of your saree clung to your skin. It was a beautiful one—pale yellow with blue hues, simple, elegant. But as you looked at yourself, all you saw were flaws. Your stomach, the slight curve of your hips, your arms felt weird. Every inch of you felt exposed, like you were wearing your insecurities on display for the world to see. The saree that was supposed to make you feel confident now felt like a prison, the tightness around your chest suffocating you.

You tugged at the fabric, your fingers trembling as your heart raced in your chest. “I don’t know, Aish,” you said, your voice faltering. “I just… I don’t think I can do this.”

Aisha, who had been running around your place, stopped and turned to you with a frown, concern written all over her face. “Y/N, you look perfect. Rafe is going to love it, I swear. You look incredible, seriously.”

But her words didn’t reach you. They never did. They didn’t fix the sinking feeling in your stomach, the pit that had been growing since you woke up. You didn’t feel incredible. You felt like a mess. Like a lie. You felt like you didn’t belong in this world of glitz and glamour, not when the weight of your own past was pressing down on you.

You turned back to the mirror, avoiding her gaze, and exhaled shakily. “It’s not about Rafe,” you said, barely above a whisper, as if the words were too heavy to say aloud. “It’s… it’s everything. Everyone.”

She didn’t speak at first, but you could hear her footsteps approach slowly, her presence gentle and calm as she stood beside you. “What do you mean?”

“They’re not here,” you murmured, swallowing back the lump in your throat. “My family—they haven’t been here. They don’t care.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them, and so did the tears running down your face. You quickly wiped them away, trying to maintain some sort of control, but it was useless. The reality of it all hit you like a tidal wave.

Aisah’s expression softened, and she placed a hand on your shoulder. “Look, I know it’s tough, but you left for a reason. They treated you like an animal—you were nothing to them and look at you now. You have everything you want, you’re surrounded by people who love you, and you’re engaged to an amazing guy.”

“But you don’t get it,” your voice broke. “I haven’t spoken to them in years, Aisha. I haven’t heard from them since… you know… My Amma and Appa… they’ve never cared to fix what happened. And now they’re not here for this huge moment. They’re not here for me. And I just feel… I feel like none of this matters without them.”

You could feel the tightness in your chest grow, a heavy weight pressing down on your chest. Every time you thought about them—your parents, your siblings—it felt like the world was falling apart again. All the years of silence, the anger, the bitterness, the feeling of being abandoned… it was all still there, festering under the surface. You couldn’t help but wonder if you were always going to feel like the outsider, the one who wasn’t good enough for their love.

Aisha watched you quietly for a moment before speaking again, her voice softer. “Y/N, I know this isn’t easy. But this isn’t about your family. This is about you and the life you’re building. You’re so much more than your past, and tonight you get to shine. You’re not doing this for them. You’re doing it for you.”

You closed your eyes, letting her words sink in. You still feel the weight of it all, but as Aisha gave you one last reassuring look, you felt a small spark of resolve. Maybe you didn’t feel perfect. Maybe you never would. But tonight, you would step into this new chapter of your life, for you, and not for anyone else.

“You’re right,” you whispered, putting on a fake-ish smile. “Let me get over this. There’s too much to do today.”

The hours before the engagement party moved in a blur of preparations, but the nerves clung to you like an unwelcome guest. After Aisha helped you steady yourself, you dove into the checklist for the day, hoping to lose your anxieties in the bustle. Your hairdresser and makeup artist arrived promptly, transforming your apartment into a whirlwind of brushes, palettes, and fabric draping.

Despite the chaos, you couldn’t help but glance at your phone every few minutes, the screen lighting up teasingly with messages from Rafe. He’d been training all morning, but somehow still found the time to send you a steady stream of texts.

Rafe: Do you think this party will have snacks? Asking for a hungry basketball player.

You: There’s a buffet, Rafe. You’ll survive.

Rafe: Buffet doesn’t count. I want something good, like that thing you brought over the other day.

You: If you’re fishing for more biryani, the answer is no.

Rafe: Wow, first you take my penthouse, now you refuse me food? This marriage is starting off rocky.

You: This marriage hasn’t even started yet.

The exchange brought a smile to your lips despite yourself. He had this way of teasing that felt like a lifeline at the moment.

“Are you blushing?” Aisha teased from where she was meticulously laying out your jewelry.

“What? No,” you said, far too quickly. “Why would I even be blushing? You’re nuts… absolutely… absolutely nuts…”

“Oh my fucking God! You are!” she said with a grin, leaning in to glance at your phone. You pulled it away before she could peek at the screen, but the damage was done. “God, it’s so cute how he makes you smile like that.”

“You’re actually insane,” you mumbled, heat creeping up your neck.

She only laughed, clearly enjoying herself. “Denial is a river in Egypt, babe.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop your lips from twitching into a small grin. Rafe sent another message.

Rafe: So, what are you wearing?

You hesitated for a moment before replying.

You: Why? Thinking of copying my outfit?

Rafe: Maybe. But only if it’s good.

You: It’s a saree. Pale yellow with blue embroidery.

Rafe: Does it have one of those drapey things?

You: Yes, Cameron. That’s literally what makes it a saree!!!

Rafe: Got it. Drapey thing = saree. Send me a picture.

You didn’t respond, setting your phone down and pretending to focus on your makeup.

“Your husband?” Aisha asked, noticing your sudden quiet.

“Future husband,” you corrected with a finger up. “And obviously.”

“What’d he say?”

“He wants a picture.”

“Send him one. He’ll probably lose his mind. And let’s be real—you could use the ego boost.”

You shook your head, laughing despite yourself. Aisha wasn’t wrong. The way Rafe looked at you sometimes—or even texted you—had a way of making you feel like you were the most important person in the room. 

The hairdresser finished with your slicked half-up half-down hairstyle. Aisha brought over the jewelry: delicate gold bangles, matching earrings, and a necklace that felt heavy against your collarbones.

“Perfect,” Aisha said, stepping back to admire the finished look.

You glanced at your reflection in the mirror. The saree hugged you gracefully, the embroidery catching the light with every movement. The makeup brought a glow to your skin, and the hair framed your face perfectly. For the first time all day, you felt... good. 

Before you could overthink it, you picked up your phone and snapped a quick selfie—just enough to show the saree and the soft smile playing on your lips.

You: Fine. Here.

The reply came almost instantly.

Rafe: ...You’re killing me here.

Your heart skipped a beat at the simplicity of the words.

Rafe: Thank you brown people for existing, and making you. Rafe: Truly humanity owes them. Rafe: Forget the engagement party. Let’s just elope.

You laughed out loud, shaking your head.

You: Not happening. See you tonight.

His response made your stomach flutter in the strangest way.

Rafe: Can’t wait to become your fiancé, sweetheart.

The car rolled to a stop in front of the venue, its soft hum fading into the gentle buzz of the world outside. Through the tinted windows, you could see flashes of light—camera shutters capturing every moment like hunters seeking prey. The glow spilling from the venue, golden and inviting, felt overwhelming, almost oppressive. It danced off the grand arches of the villa, the soft flicker of string lights crisscrossing the courtyard casting a magical glow on the scene.

For a moment, you sat frozen, your fingers clutching the delicate fabric of your saree. It was meant to represent happiness, a tie to your heritage that should have brought you pride. But tonight, it felt more like a shackle, reminding you of the pieces of yourself you’d lost along the way.

“You okay?” Aisha’s voice came softly from beside you, laced with the familiar tone of concern that only she could carry so effortlessly. She looked radiant in her pale pink dress.

“Yeah… I… I’m fine,” you replied, the lie clumsy on your tongue.

Aisha raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced but deciding to let it slide. The car door opened, and she stepped out first, her head held high as though she didn’t care about anything—and knowing Aisha, she probably really didn’t care. When she turned to offer you her hand, her expression softened—a silent gesture of reassurance. You took it hesitantly, forcing your legs to carry you out of the car.

The cool evening air brushed against your skin, but it wasn’t enough to soothe the heat in your chest. Cameras clicked relentlessly, their flashes a blinding assault as the whispers began to ripple through the crowd.

“She’s a bit late.”

“She looks beautiful.”

“Why didn’t Rafe escort her out?”

“What is she wearing?”

Each word clawed at you, threatening to unravel the carefully constructed image you wore like an armor. You kept your head down, focusing on the rhythmic click of your heels against the gravel path as you made your way toward the villa’s entrance. The towering structure loomed over you, its ivy-draped walls and ornate carvings reminiscent of a bygone era. The cascading floral arrangements, all in deep crimson and soft pink hues.

Everything added to the suffocating pressure weighing on your chest.

Inside, the air buzzed with laughter and conversation as guests began to fill the sprawling garden. Long tables stretched across the courtyard, their surfaces glimmering with candles and vases bursting with fresh blooms. Everything was picturesque, perfect. Yet, all you could feel was a rising sense of dread.

“I need a minute,” you whispered to Aisha, not waiting for her reply before walking rapidly inside the villa.

You navigated the winding hallways with purpose, your steps quick but unsteady. You needed to escape—to find a quiet corner where the world’s eyes couldn’t follow, where you could let the overwhelming storm inside you settle, even just for a moment. The getting-ready room—it was the perfect refuge, a place to breathe and gather yourself before you faced the crowd again.

But as you rounded the corner, your steps faltered.

Rafe was there.

He leaned against the doorframe with an ease that felt infuriatingly effortless, his hands tucked casually into the pockets of his tailored white suit. The soft lighting played tricks with the lines of his face, his tousled hair looking as if it had been styled by the wind itself. The open collar of his shirt gave him an air of nonchalance that made him seem untouchable—except for the flicker of something warm in his eyes as he met your gaze.

“You planning to bolt already?” he teased, a crooked smile playing on his lips. His voice, low and smooth, carried the same blend of humor and arrogance that had always annoyed you.

You stopped, caught off guard. “What are you doing here?” you asked, your voice sharper than you intended.

Rafe pushed off the doorframe, taking a slow step toward you. “Waiting for you,” he said, his gaze dragging deliberately over your saree. His smile deepened as his eyes met yours again. “You look beau—”

“Rafe, I can’t do this,” you blurted, your voice trembling as the words spilled out before you could stop them.

The smile faded from his face, replaced by an expression of concern. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“Everything,” you said, your voice breaking. “The people, the cameras, the party—it’s all too much.”

Rafe’s brow furrowed as he stepped closer, his movements slow, deliberate. “You’ve done this a hundred times before,” he said softly. “What’s different now?”

You hesitated. “It’s not important,” you muttered, hoping he’d let it go. 

But Rafe wasn’t one to back down easily.

“Y/N,” he said softly, his voice steady but insistent. “Talk to me.”

You sighed, the lump in your throat growing heavier. “It’s stupid, okay? I’m just… I’m not used to this.”

“That’s not true.”

Your jaw tightened, and you looked away, your voice dropping to a whisper. “They’re not here.”

“Who?”

The question made you flinch, but you kept your response measured, your tone distant. “No one. It doesn’t matter.”

Rafe stepped closer, his presence grounding but not invasive. “It matters if it’s upsetting you.”

“It’s just… my family. We’re not close anymore, okay? And moments like this just remind me of that. But it’s fine. Whatever.”

His eyes softened, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say more. The details of your fractured relationship with your parents, the abuse, the years of silence—it wasn’t something you wanted to unpack here, not with him. You hated being this exposed, hated feeling so small under the weight of it all.

Rafe’s expression shifted, the concern in his eyes deepening. Slowly, he reached out, his hand brushing against your arm. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice steady but kind. “Look at me.”

“I can’t,” you shook your head, refusing. “You won’t understand.”

“Then help me,” he urged, his hand still resting lightly on your arm. “Talk to me.”

The lump in your throat grew, the words threatening to choke you. “I left them,” you started. “But I had a reason. I couldn’t continue living there. We were poor, so poor, Rafe. Some days we were barely fed and barely had a roof over our heads,” your voice trembled, and you forced yourself to not close your eyes to not relieve that part of your life. “They forced me to se—” but you stopped yourself. Not ready to admit it to Rafe. “—whatever. I just don’t feel like I belong anywhere.”

His jaw tightened, his grip on your arm firming slightly. For a moment, he said nothing, his blue eyes scanning your face as if trying to piece together the fractures you’d worked so hard to hide. Then, quietly, he spoke.

“You belong here,” he said firmly, his voice steady. “With me. Tonight, this party, all of it—it’s for us. And I don’t care who’s not here, because I’m here, okay? You worked hard to get where you are, and you can’t let your past, or anyone, ruin it for you.”

His words hit you like a tidal wave, the sincerity in his voice cutting through the fog of your doubt. Slowly, he reached for your hand, his fingers curling around yours with a warmth that steadied you.

You walked back toward the door, Rafe’s hand lightly resting against your back, guiding you through the villa. As you stepped into the bustling courtyard, the noise of the party hit you again—the sound of laughter, the clinking of glasses, the faint hum of music. It was impossible to escape the energy, the pressure of eyes watching.

You took a deep breath, trying to center yourself. Tonight wasn’t going to be easy, but you’d already survived the worst of it. With Rafe by your side, you could handle whatever came next.

The first person you spotted was Nina, her smile bright and easy as she chatted with a few guests by the drink station. She caught sight of you and waved, excusing herself from the conversation. Her dress—an elegant gold one—flattered her frame as she approached.

“You two disappeared for a while,” Nina said with a teasing glint in her eyes, though there was a hint of concern there, too. “Everything okay?”

“Uh, yeah, don’t worry. Everything’s perfect,” you waved your hands to not worry her. “By the way, Rafe, this is Nina Ramos—my agent and my second mother.”

He extended his hand with a charming grin. “Nice to meet you,” he said smoothly. “YN’s been telling me a lot about you.”

Liar.

Nina took his hand, her sharp eyes flicking between the two of you. “Has she now? All good I hope,” and you nodded instantly. “Well, this party is important and beautiful. Maybe all your overthinking served you well—you look absolutely perfect, honey. You too, Rafe.”

“Thanks,” you blushed at her compliment.

Rafe smirked. “She does look perfect, doesn’t she?”

You gave him a playful look, your lips curling into a reluctant smile at his compliment. 

“I’ll leave you two to it,” she said, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “But it was great meeting you, Rafe Cameron.”

“Likewise,” he replied, and with one last smile, Nina disappeared back into the crowd.

As soon as she was out of earshot, you turned to Rafe with a small smile. “She’s a good friend of mine,” you said softly. “You’ll like her.”

Rafe gave you a raised eyebrow. “She seems cool. I can see why you’re friends.”

Before you could respond, the sound of laughter caught your attention, and you spotted Aisha, her arm linked with a tall, broad-shouldered man. Her husband, Ishan—someone you hadn’t seen in a while. You had to blink to fully register the change in him, but the warmth in your chest was undeniable. 

Without thinking, you broke into a smile and made your way toward them, Rafe following behind.

As soon as Aisha spotted you, her face lit up with recognition. “Look who decided to surprise you,” she smiled, her voice higher because of how excited she was.

You immediately wrapped your arms around her husband, stepping into a hug. He chuckled, holding you tightly as he returned the embrace. “I’ve missed you,” you said, squeezing him as he laughed.

Ishan was like an older brother to you. He’d been there through some of the toughest times in your life, and his easy going nature always managed to bring you a sense of peace. His deep laugh and the familiarity of his embrace were exactly what you needed.

“I’ve missed you too, behen,” he said. “I come back to New York and I’m being told you’re getting married to Rafe Cameron. Imagine my surprise when Aisha told me.”

You pulled back from the embrace and laughed awkwardly. “Ah, yes, Rafe… Surprise, surprise, right?” 

Ishan furrowed his brows but you moved your hands. “I can’t really believe it… It’s really happening…”

“No, no! It’s not like—uh, well, okay, it is, but it’s like…” you turned your head to find Rafe behind Aisha making a cross with his hands. “I love it. He’s so, so, so funny and charming—and very committed, you know…”

“Uh huh, I see,” Ishan nodded and laughed at how weird you were being. “Can’t believe he’s gonna marry a loser like y—”

“So, you’re actually here. It’s been too long—how’s Switzerland?” you interrupted, and he sent you a look because he hated when you did that. “Sorry… but how is it? Did you climb every mountain and, like, yodel on top of a glacier?”

He chuckled a little and shook his head. “No, no yodelling, but I did eat tons of chocolate. I bought some for you too.�� You did not even have time to reply to him that he extended a hand toward Rafe, his tone both warm and challenging. “So, you’re the infamous Rafe Cameron. My wife gave me a run-down on you. Some good things… and some questionable ones.”

"Your wife? Wait, who’s your wife?" Rafe asked, his confusion evident.

Oh, crap. You totally forgot to explain the whole family tree situation. Rookie mistake.

Aisha sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes as she raised her hand. "I’m the wife, genius. Seriously, YN—did you not tell him?"

"I’m sorry!" You blurted, cringing. "It completely slipped my mind. It’s just so normal to me that I didn’t even think to—"

Rafe interrupted you, and took Ishan’s hand in his. His smirk disarming but his handshake firm. “Well, I hope the good outweighed the questionable.”

“Debatable,” Ishan replied with a shrug. “But I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt… at least until you give me a reason not to.”

You felt a knot in your stomach as you glanced between the two. Ishan wasn’t being hostile, but his protectiveness had always been intense, like that of an older brother who wasn’t afraid to test the waters.

Rafe, to his credit, didn’t back down. His smirk deepened slightly, and he shrugged with an air of playful confidence. “Fair enough. I’ll do my best not to disappoint.”

“I’d hope so,” Ishan said lightly, though the undertone was clear. His gaze softened as it flicked toward you, his voice gentler now. “You’ve got a good one here. Don’t mess it up.”

“Trust me, I know how lucky I am,” Rafe replied, glancing at you with an expression so sincere it caught you off guard.

The words made your chest tighten in a way you weren’t prepared for, a warmth spreading through you despite the nervous energy still bubbling beneath the surface.

Aisha rolled her eyes, slapping her husband’s chest. “Alright, alright, that’s enough intimidation for one night. Let’s get some drinks, baby.”

Ishan laughed, ruffling Aisha’s hair affectionately before turning to you. “If he gives you any trouble, you know where to find me, behen.”

You grinned at the familiar term of endearment, feeling a wave of gratitude for his presence. “Yup!”

With a wink, they both disappeared into the crowd, leaving you and Rafe standing together.

The second they were out of earshot, Rafe let out a dramatic sigh, running a hand through his hair. “So, is everyone in your life this protective, or is it just me getting the special treatment?”

You smirked, crossing your arms. “What can I say? People care about me. Better get used to it.”

“Noted,” Rafe said, his voice dripping with mock seriousness. “I’ll add it to the ever-growing list of things to keep in mind when dealing with your very... passionate circle of people.”

An awkward silence stretched between us as you scanned the guests arriving. You recognized a few—Aisha’s mom, aunts, and cousins, mingling with Nina’s friends and siblings. You couldn't help but wonder if your wedding would be filled with people who didn’t really know you either.

Rafe stepped closer, standing next to you, and flashed a playful grin. "So, Ishan… he’s your… older brother, right?" He asked, clearly trying to figure out the family dynamic.

You turned to him with a soft laugh, shaking my head. "No, not my brother," you said, before pausing for a moment, trying to find the right words. "Okay, let me explain." You drew in a deep breath, gathering your thoughts. "Ishan’s more like the brother I never had—well, I do have brothers, but when I left home, I hadn’t really connected with them. But then I came to the U.S. and met Aisha, and Ishan just sort of stepped into that role. We’ve been through everything together—good, bad, you name it. He’s always had my back. No blood relation, but he might as well be."

Rafe’s expression softened as he absorbed that, nodding. “Sounds like he’s a pretty solid guy.”

“He really is,” you smiled, warmth creeping into your voice. “He and Aisha have always had my back, and they’ve been together for years now. They make a great team.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” he said, grinning. “He’s got that same intimidating vibe as she does. You can practically feel it.”

You laughed, nodding in agreement. “Exactly! Aisha and I used to joke about it. She always said, if I needed someone to scare off a date, I’d just call Ishan. Aisha’s got that sharp edge, and Ishan? He’s got the muscles.”

“I can definitely see that…” he said with a thoughtful nod before asking, “So, what kind of dynamic do you think we have?”

You shifted uncomfortably, avoiding his gaze for a moment as the question hung in the air. “Uh, well…” You cleared your throat. “I mean, we’re… we’re like, uh, a work in progress? Yeah, that sounds right. Like one of those ‘under construction’ signs, you know? A little chaotic…?” You laughed nervously, rubbing the back of your neck.

Rafe raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Chaotic? Really? You’re gonna call us chaotic?”

“Yeah, well, have you met you?” You shot back, crossing your arms. “You’re like a walking disaster zone.”

He laughed, leaning back. “Oh, I’m a disaster? You’re the one who keeps on throwing shade. For no reason at all.”

“That’s because you don’t know how to mind your own business,” you snapped, the words biting as you shrugged nonchalantly. “You’re the one getting all up in my space with your weird questions.”

“I’m not asking weird questions,” he shot back, his voice rising to match the sharpness of yours. “And do you seriously think we’re chaotic?”

You gave him a side-eye, arms crossed tightly over your chest. “Chaotic is an understatement, Cameron. We’re a disaster—with a capital D.”

He laughed, the sound low and amused, as though he didn’t take you seriously. “Oh really? You’re one to talk. You practically live for the drama.”

“Me? I live for drama?” You scoffed, pivoting fully to face him now, hands planted firmly on your hips as you let your eyes travel up and down him in a mixture of disbelief and annoyance. “You’re the definition of drama. You can’t even breathe without making everything about you.”

His lips curled into a grin, the kind that made your stomach twist in a way you refused to acknowledge. “You’re so easy to rile up.”

“You’re a jackass,” you muttered, shaking your head, every fiber of your being wanting to push him away—but not sure if you meant physically or emotionally.

He leaned in slightly, as if to throw another jibe your way, but instead, his eyes gleamed with mischief. “I think you’re just mad because I’m better at this than you.”

Your eyes narrowed, and you closed the distance between you, but the move was more impulsive than you intended. You instantly regretted it, realizing just how close you were to him now, the heat from his body practically radiating against yours. You swallowed, trying to mask the effect it had on you. “Better at what? Being a complete asshole?” Your voice wavered with a sharpness that betrayed how much it bothered you. “Yeah, Rafe, you’re a pro at that.”

He leaned in even closer, and this time, his grin wasn’t just playful—it was dangerous. “You love it,” he murmured, voice dropping an octave, making your heart skip a beat.

You didn’t flinch. Instead, you rolled your eyes, trying to keep control of the situation. “Oh, fuck off. The only thing I like is when you finally shut up.” You crossed your arms tighter, trying to distance yourself emotionally, but it was hard to ignore the proximity between you two, the tension hanging thick in the air.

He was close now, too close, and it was suffocating in the most unsettling way. His breath was warm against your skin, the space between you closing so much that you could almost taste the words on his lips before they even came. 

“Is that so?” His voice was low, teasing, his grin widening as his gaze dropped to your lips, lingering there just long enough to make you feel it.

You couldn’t help it—you gulped, the way he was looking at you making your pulse race, something deep inside you stirring against the cold front you were trying so hard to put up. “Yeah, that so,” you managed, but your voice had a tremor to it now, and you hated yourself for it.

He smiled, the kind of smile that could make you want to punch him and kiss him all at once. “Well, in that case,” he said, the words dragging as he leaned even closer, his breath ghosting over your ear, “I’m just gonna keep talking.” His voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried enough weight to send a shiver down your spine.

You couldn’t tell if you wanted to scream at him or kiss him.

You could feel his presence pressing in on you, the heat between you two almost unbearable, and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe. The world outside of him seemed to vanish, the hum of the city, the weight of your thoughts, everything melting away until there was only the sound of your heart pounding in your ears. You knew you should pull away, should say something, anything, to break this tension, but the words wouldn’t come.

He watched you closely, his eyes locked onto yours, a hint of something unreadable flickering there—something playful, something dangerous, maybe both.

“You look like you’re about to say something,” he said, his voice thick with amusement.

You opened your mouth, trying to push past the lump in your throat, but it felt like the words were stuck. Instead, you just looked at him—really looked at him for the first time in what felt like forever. He was close, too close, but in that moment, it felt impossible to back away. He made you feel things you didn’t want to feel, things that you didn’t understand.

“I don’t wanna say anything,” you muttered, the words slipping out as a mix of frustration and something you refused to acknowledge.

“Yeah?” He raised an eyebrow, that devilish smirk curling on his lips.

You forced yourself to meet his gaze, but you didn’t say a word. You simply nodded, lips pressed together in a thin line, trying to hold onto some semblance of control.

He closed the gap between you, leaning in with deliberate slowness. You could feel the heat of his body inching closer, the soft scent of his cologne filling your senses, until his lips barely brushed against your cheek. The kiss was featherlight, teasing—infuriatingly so. It was enough to make your stomach twist with desire, but you refused to let it show. You wanted to press your thighs together, to feel that familiar ache between your legs, but you wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he was affecting you.

“Well, I have something to say,” his voice was low, rich with satisfaction as he lingered just inches from your skin. “I think… You’re not as immune to me as you like to pretend.”

The words sent a jolt through your chest, but you shook your head, pulling your hands up to his chest, your fingers pressing into the fabric of his shirt, then gliding slowly to his neck, tracing the line of his jaw before resting at the back of it. You felt his pulse under your fingertips, and your breath hitched.

“I don’t… I don’t pretend,” you said, your voice quieter, but the frustration bubbling underneath was unmistakable. “You’re just an idiot,” you continued, pressing your palms harder into his skin. “And so fucking frustrating.”

He let out a dark chuckle, the sound dripping with arrogance. “Look at you.” His hand reached up, brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face, his thumb grazing your cheek. “You’re getting all worked up. You want this, don’t you? I can see it. You’re practically begging me to fuck you right now with those eyes. Is that what you want, baby?”

Every nerve in your body screamed yes. You could feel your pulse racing, your skin burning as his words settled deep inside you. The ache between your legs was undeniable now, but your mind fought back. Your heart was pounding in your ears, screaming no. You couldn't let yourself fall for this again. You remembered the last time—the cold distance after everything had gotten too real, the way he’d pulled away, leaving you shattered. You couldn’t be left like that again. 

But then, the look on his face—those sharp eyes, glimmering with something dangerous. He looked so good, so fucking good, in that white suit that fit him like a second skin. The way it molded to his chest, the tightness around his biceps, made your breath catch in your throat. You couldn’t help it. You wanted to touch him, feel the strength of his muscles under your fingers, wanted to bite at his neck, press your lips to the smooth skin there and feel him shudder beneath you.

God, it was maddening. You hated how he made you feel so out of control, how every inch of him seemed to draw you in. Your body was betraying you, and you hated it.

But what about him? Did he feel the same pull? Did he burn for you the way you did for him, or was this just another game for him to play, another conquest to add to his long list? The uncertainty gnawed at you.

Rafe’s eyes never left you as you fought to suppress the desire stirring within you. But he knew it. He could see it in the way your breath hitched, in the way you couldn’t stop your hands from brushing against him, testing the limits, even as you pretended to resist. 

But something shifted in him. He straightened, his posture changing, the smug grin slipping ever so slightly as his gaze flickered to the entrance of the party.

It wasn’t just any glance—it was sharp, instinctive. He’d caught sight of someone familiar, someone whose presence immediately shifted the air in the room.

You followed his line of sight, your chest tightening as you noticed who it was: The Cameron family. Sarah, Wheezie, Rose, and Ward. Their arrival had a different weight, one that Rafe clearly felt deep in his bones. You saw the way his jaw clenched, the way his eyes darkened for just a moment, before he quickly masked it with a flash of that signature cocky smile.

Ward, tall and imposing in his crisp suit, moved with the sort of authority that always seemed to follow him. Rose, on his arm, was more subdued but equally elegant, her gaze sharp as she surveyed the crowd, clearly scanning for something or someone. Their eyes met Rafe’s across the room, and the tension in his body was palpable.

His hand, which had been resting lightly at your waist, now tightened, fingers pressing into the fabric of your dress in a way that made you wonder if he even noticed. But you noticed him. You noticed the subtle shift in his demeanor, the way he suddenly seemed aware of every movement, every gesture, every word spoken around him.

He cleared his throat, stepping back slightly from you, though his body remained rigid, still keeping you close. “I think my parents just walked in,” he said quietly, as though speaking more to himself than to you, but the edge in his voice was unmistakable.

You looked at him, the reality of the situation settling in. His family—his father, especially—was here, and suddenly everything felt different. The air seemed heavier. The playful banter between you both had shifted into something more guarded, more calculated.

“Yeah, I noticed,” you whispered.

Rafe took a slow breath, his eyes never leaving his parents as they moved further into the room, exchanging greetings with guests. He didn’t speak immediately, as if preparing himself for whatever role he was about to play in front of them. His jaw clenched again, but he quickly forced a smile back onto his face, turning to you.

“Let’s go say hello, yeah?” His voice was smoother now, though you could still sense the unease beneath the surface. It was almost like he was pulling back, retreating into the version of himself he showed them—controlled, perfect, everything his father demanded of him. “Is that okay with you?”

No.

You nodded, feeling the weight of his tension on your shoulders, but you followed him. The closer you got to his family, the more you could feel the pressure build. Rafe's movements were more deliberate now, like he was preparing to play his part in the family drama. You couldn’t help but notice how differently he held himself around them—like a man who knew he would never measure up, no matter how much he tried.

Rafe paused just before reaching them, throwing you a look that was both apologetic and protective. It was as if, for just a moment, he needed you to understand how much this moment mattered. But you weren’t sure if it was about impressing them or surviving the encounter with his family’s expectations. Whatever it was, you could feel it thick in the air, something unspoken but undeniable.

Rafe’s steps slowed as you reached his father, Ward. He was a towering figure, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, his presence seemingly taking over the entire space. Rose, his stepmother, stood slightly behind him, elegant and poised, her eyes a sharp contrast to Ward’s cool and calculating demeanor.

Rafe stopped just short of them, his hand still on your waist, but his stance had subtly shifted—he was guarded, unsure, like he was ready to retreat if the need arose.

“Dad,” Rafe greeted, his voice smooth but lacking its usual confidence. His posture was just a little too stiff, as if waiting for the inevitable judgment that would come with every interaction.

Ward's gaze lingered on Rafe for a beat longer than normal before he acknowledged him, his tone clipped. “Rafe,” he said, the smile on his face barely noticeable, more a polite curve of the lips than anything genuine. “You’re looking well.”

The words hung in the air, but they didn’t carry any warmth. It was a statement of fact rather than praise, and it made your skin prickle. You could feel Rafe tense beside you, his fingers tightening just a little, but he didn’t let it show. Instead, he gave a small, practiced smile and nodded. “Thanks, Dad.”

You remained silent for a moment, unsure of where to fit in, but Sarah, ever the warm presence, was the first to step forward. She flashed you a grin, her eyes already lighting up with recognition. “Hey, YN!” she said enthusiastically, her voice a welcome contrast to the tension in the air. "So good to see you again!"

"Hi, Sarah," you responded, your smile easing a little, feeling comforted by her energy. "It’s good to see you too."

She pulled you into a friendly hug, and you found yourself relaxing into it. Sarah had this easygoing charm about her, a lightness that made you forget the weight of the room for a moment. She was everything Rafe wasn’t—effortlessly kind, bubbly, and generous with her affection.

“Wheezie and I were just talking about you,” Sarah added, and you turned to find a petite, younger girl standing a few feet away.

Wheezie’s face lit up when she caught your gaze. “Hi. I’m Wheezie. It’s cool to meet you.”

You smiled at her. “Hi, Wheezie. I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you too.”

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, clearly nervous. “You’re a model, right? That’s so cool. I’ve seen your pictures in Vogue!”

You blinked in surprise, warmth spreading in your chest. “You have?”

“Yeah!” Wheezie nodded enthusiastically. “You’re so pretty, and your outfits are amazing. How did you even start doing that?”

Her genuine curiosity was disarming, and for a moment, you forgot the tension hanging in the air. You leaned slightly closer, your smile becoming more natural. “It’s a long story, but I’ll tell you sometime if you want.”

Wheezie’s face lit up. “Really? That’d be awesome.”

Rafe, who had been watching the interaction silently, finally spoke up, his voice tinged with amusement. “Wheezie, you’re gonna scare her off.”

Wheezie flushed, but she grinned up at her brother. “I’m just being friendly.”

“She’s fine,” you said quickly, shooting Wheezie a reassuring smile. “It’s nice to meet someone who’s actually interested in what I do.”

Rose cleared her throat, interrupting the light moment. “Oh, we’re interested in you, dear,” she said, her tone honeyed but with an edge of condescension. “Rafe’s been so secretive about you, it’s about time we got to know you better.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you apologized with a polite smile. “I’m here now, though.”

“Yes, you are,” Ward interjected, his gaze narrowing slightly. “Rafe mentioned your career. It must be… demanding.”

You nodded carefully. “It can be, but I enjoy it. I’ve worked hard to get where I am.”

Ward tilted his head, his expression unreadable. “And maintaining that image must be just as hard. I imagine you have to watch every calorie to stay in shape for your work. Must be exhausting.”

The words hit you like a sharp slap, your chest tightening as old insecurities clawed their way to the surface. You forced a neutral smile, but your nails dug into the palm of your hand to keep steady. “It’s part of the job,” you replied carefully, your voice steady despite the storm brewing inside you.

Rose waved a dismissive hand, her eyes flitting over you in a way that felt equally invasive. “Don’t listen to him, honey. You look perfectly healthy to me. Honestly, I’d kill to have your body.”

Her words were meant as a compliment, but they were worse than his. “Thank you,” you murmured, your voice quieter now.

Rafe stiffened beside you, his hand tightening slightly on your waist. “Alright, that’s enough,” he said, his tone firm, a warning laced beneath the words.

But Ward ignored him, his attention still on you. “We’re not saying anything wrong. She does look healthy… in a sickly way.” His smile was thin, and though the words were spoken lightly, there was an edge to them.

You forced another smile, but your composure was slipping. The weight of their attention, the veiled comments, the subtle dissection of your body—it was too much.

“I’m sorry,” you said abruptly, stepping back slightly. “Excuse me for a moment.”

The moment you stepped into the bathroom, the world outside seemed to dissolve. The faint hum of voices from the gathering became muffled as you locked the door and leaned against it, your chest heaving. You clutched your stomach, the ache inside more emotional than physical, as Ward’s and Rose’s comments echoed in your mind.

Your reflection in the mirror stared back, unkind and unforgiving. You pressed your trembling hands against the sink, breathing shallowly as the familiar sensation of panic crept up your throat.

No matter how far you thought you’d come, it was always there — lurking in the shadows, waiting for a moment of vulnerability. Your stomach churned violently, the pressure too much. You barely made it to the toilet before the wave overtook you.

Kneeling on the cold tile, you hated yourself for this relapse. Your body trembled as tears stung your eyes, the shame wrapping around you like a suffocating blanket. You knew better. Yet here you were, undone by a handful of careless words.

The door suddenly creaked open. Panic seized you as you tried to compose yourself, but it was too late.

“YN?” Rafe’s voice was low and tentative, laced with worry. He must’ve picked the lock.

You froze, your back to him, trying to will him away. “Go away, Rafe.”

He didn’t. Instead, he stepped inside, shutting the door softly behind him.

You heard the scuff of his shoes as he approached, but you couldn’t bring yourself to turn around. “Please,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Just leave me alone.”

But then he was kneeling beside you, his presence warm and steady despite the storm raging inside you. His hand gently touched your back, and you flinched, but he didn’t pull away.

“I’m here,” he said simply, his tone quiet but firm. He reached out, gathering your hair and pulling it away from your face with a tenderness that made your heart ache. “You don’t have to say anything. Just let me help.”

The knot in your throat tightened, and a sob escaped before you could stop it. You covered your face with your hands, shaking your head. “I’m so pathetic,” you choked out, tears streaming down your cheeks. “I promised myself I’d never do this again. I’ve tried so hard to move on, to be better. But it’s always there. It’s always waiting for me to fail.”

He paused, his hand stilling for a moment before he spoke. “You’re not failing,” he said, his voice softer now. “You’re human. You’ve been through a lot, and you’re still standing. That’s not failing, YN. That’s surviving.”

His words hit you harder than you expected, and you finally turned to look at him. His blue eyes were fixed on you, full of a mix of anger and concern—not at you, but for you. He reached up, brushing a tear from your cheek with a gentleness that nearly broke you.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked carefully.

You hesitated, your walls instinctively rising. But something about the way he looked at you—without judgment, without pity—made you feel safe enough to let them down.

“It’s… it’s complicated,” you began, your voice shaky. “I’ve struggled with this for a long time. Since I was a teenager. Modeling didn’t cause it, but it made it worse. Everyone always has something to say about my body—it’s too thin, it’s too big, it’s never enough.” you swallowed hard, your throat burning. “And tonight… your dad, Rose… they just hit a nerve.”

Rafe’s jaw tightened, and you could see the anger flickering in his eyes. But he didn’t interrupt, letting you speak at your own pace.

“I thought I was past it,” you admitted, your voice breaking. “But it never really goes away. It just… quiets down. Until something like this happens.”

Rafe nodded slowly, his gaze never leaving yours. “I get it,” he said, surprising you. “Not in the same way, but I get it. The pressure, the expectations. Feeling like no matter what you do, it’s never enough.”

You stared at him, the rawness in his voice catching you off guard.

“I’m sorry for that,” you whispered, fresh tears spilling over. “And for what you saw.”

“Don’t apologize,” Rafe said firmly, his hand finding yours and squeezing gently. “You don’t have to apologize. Not to me. Not to anyone.”

His words cracked something open inside you, and the sobs came harder now, wracking your body. Rafe didn’t hesitate. He pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as you cried into his chest.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice steady and soothing. “I’ve got you. I promise.”

After what felt like an eternity, your tears began to subside. You pulled back slightly, embarrassed by the mess you’d made of his shirt. “Sorry,” you mumbled, wiping at your face.

Rafe chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Don’t be. This shirt was ugly anyway.”

The small attempt at humor made you smile, even if it was faint. He stood, helping you to your feet, his hand steadying you as you wavered.

“You okay?” he asked, his gaze searching for yours.

You nodded, though you weren’t entirely sure. “I just… need a minute. Is that okay?”

Rafe hesitated, clearly reluctant to leave you alone. But after a moment, he nodded. “Alright… Take all the time you need. I’ll be right outside.”

As he stepped toward the door, you felt a pang of guilt. “Rafe?”

He turned back, his expression softening.

“Thank you,” you said quietly. “For… this.”

His lips curved into a small smile. “Don’t mention it.”

“Are you serious right now?” Rafe’s voice was sharp, cutting through the murmur of conversation like a knife. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Rafe—” Ward started, but his son didn’t let him finish.

“No, you listen to me,” he snapped, his anger palpable. “If you ever talk to her like that, we’re done. I mean it.”

Your heart stopped, and you moved closer, careful to stay out of sight.

“Rafe, calm down,” Rose’s voice said, her tone exasperated.

“No,” Rafe snapped. “I’m not calming down. Do you have any idea what you just did? What your comments did to her?”

There was a beat of silence before Ward spoke, his tone dismissive. “It was just a harmless observation. She’s a grown woman. She can handle it.”

“Harmless?” Rafe’s voice rose, trembling with fury. “You don’t know the first thing about her, and you sure as hell don’t get to say shit like that to her ever again.”

“Rafe—”

“No,” he cut Ward off, his voice firm and unyielding. “You don’t get to do this. Not to her. If you can’t show her some respect for once in your life, then don’t bother talking to her at all.”

The room fell silent, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air.

Your chest tightened, a swell of emotions rising as you listened to him defend you with such ferocity. For all his cocky bravado and sarcastic quips, Rafe had just shown you a side of himself you hadn’t expected.

A side that cared.

A side that would fight for you.

You stepped back, went back to the bathroom, giving him space to finish the conversation. But as you stood there, a small, genuine smile broke across your face.

When Rafe returned to the bathroom, his shoulders were tense, but his eyes softened when they landed on you. “Hey,” he said quietly, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

“Hey,” you echoed, your voice trembling slightly.

“I’m sorry if I took too long,” he said, sitting beside you on the floor. “I had to take care of some—.”

“I heard you,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

“You heard me?” his brows furrowed. “Heard what?”

“What you said. To them. Ward and Rose.”

“Oh…” his eyes widened. “I’m sorry if you think I stepped a line. It just really pissed me off what they said about you and thought that if you were going to see them again, they should know their li—”

“You don’t need to apologize, Cameron,” you interrupted, a quiet laugh slipping past your lips, the sound easing the tension in his shoulders. “Thank you, though…”

His gaze softened, and for a moment, it felt like the world outside the room fell away. “Of course.”

He stood and extended a hand to you, palm open and steady. You hesitated for the briefest moment, not because you didn’t want to take it but because the gesture felt like more than it was. When your hand slipped into his, his fingers closed around yours.

You stood, brushing invisible creases from your saree and adjusting the edges with nervous precision. Rafe’s eyes lingered on you, watching the delicate way your fingers moved, the subtle rise and fall of your shoulders as you steadied yourself.

When you glanced up at him, offering a soft, grateful smile, something in his chest tightened, and he knew he was done for.

“Okay, let’s do this,” you said, your voice stronger now.

He nodded, but as you turned toward the door, he couldn’t stop himself from saying it, even if you wouldn’t hear it. “You’re worth it,” he whispered, the words low and raw, like they’d been pulled straight from his heart.

He stood there, hand still tingling from where yours had been, a storm of emotions churning inside him. His mind raced, his heart pounded, and every inch of him felt consumed by something he wasn’t ready to name.

chapter eleven.

[gonetoforks]

Introducing; Yuichi Usagi-Cuddles!

There’s a slight typo in his basic character bio, (first, grey image) other than “yuich,” his family in America lives in the part of the hidden city under Jersey. He lives in Jersey. He’s a Jersian. So in terms of leosagi, it’s gonna be an enemies-to-lovers comedy-of-errors muahahahaha!!

More (a LOT more) info about him as his own guy under the cutoff :D ⬇️

Basically; He’s a silly guy! I feel like his kinda buffoonish, embarrassing personality in canon is simultaneously PERFECT for Rise’s writing style & grievously underrated in fanon depictions. So he’s this clownish type of character, haha.

Okay, time to go hyperfixation mode.

Adhd & his stubborn attitude;

He has ADHD! Executive function issues makes it hard for him to start tasks & manage himself, so he relies on his teams (the Mad Dogs when he’s training & the Rise equivalent to his canon friend group on his own time) to not only instruct him, but also hold him accountable & keep him on task. He’s body-doubling without even realizing it.

Although, he resents the things he does to accommodate his disability. He doesn’t notice that doing the things he does genuinely helps or why so he thinks he’s using them as a crutch because of incompetence. Every time he gets stubborn and ignores the things he needs to do, he crashes and burns. When he was new in town with no teacher & no friends who liked martial arts, he became a huge sad sack until the kraang invasion.

His character arc is about being able to rely on other people & accommodations. That relying on a bit more help than other people doesn’t make you incompetent, choosing to seek out the support you need so you can do your best is the true mature thing to do. I was inspired by canon Yuichi’s struggles with paying attention and Rise’s themes of cooperation. (& also my own experience with adhd and learning with executive function issues & junk)

Relationships w/ the turtles;

The Mad Dogs agree to let him like, intern with them? So he can see what it’s like to be a vigilante, they offer him advice and they occasionally go on low to mid-tier missions with his help. They take him on cause they think more heroes and allies out there, the less work they have to do haha. Also, one of the writers mentioned a season 3 would have them adjusting to being ~official heroes,~ I think this would be them trying to be “real.”

He’s closest friends with Mikey out of the whole group! (Adhd solidarity) Then it goes Donnie -> Raph -> and finally Leo (for now muahaha)

I tried to give Leosagi an interesting dynamic with constructing his character like this; They have similar insecurities from drawing self-worth from technical capabilities that they can develop past together, but Leo is clever and calculating about it vs Yuichi being rash and impulsive. So like smart x stupid but they’re the same actually.

His Family in Jersey;

He speaks english fluently because he’s visited his American family frequently his whole life, they’re very close. He has an accent though since he mainly speaks Japanese.

I haven’t fleshed out this concept enough, but I think members of his jersey/Cuddles half of the family would be spoofs of characters from the original yojimbo comics, implied to be reincarnations? Except Miyamoto ofc. (i’ll explain later..)

Reusing the ninja orphans plotline from the original show, his family utilizes their cute appearances to run an orphanage too. They wonder why this Chizu lady is constantly showing up with unhoused children, but they’re just grateful they’re safe now.

Everyone in his family HATES Mrs. Cuddles, they all think she’s in prison and are happy about it. She might’ve given him that scratch on his face.

Additional;

He is gay.

Thank you for your time.

[toxintouch]

Absinthe & Sugar:

"They" pronouns used for MC, Unspecified background, no gendered language or descriptors used. WARNINGS: MDNI. Suggestive content/non-explicit smut (very little description used). MC is specified to be the receiving partner (penetration) for a round. Exact relationship dynamic is left heavily to interpretation but I'd say skip if you are sensitive to toxicity. ✦Read on Ao3.

The only difference between Leander and the Senobium is the uniforms, Vere said.

The sex isn't quite the way they intended.  Leander is eager, desperate and overly affectionate.  It rattles them, incongruent with the playboy image of a man they thought they were inviting into their bed; the casual escapade they were inclined towards doesn’t seem to be what they received.

They try to exert control—they do exert control, though it feels like a hollow facsimile at best.  He accommodates their whims, accepts and welcomes their harsh treatment even as they dig their cursed nails into his flesh, press bites against his lips when he seeks their kiss.  His eyes never seem to leave theirs, even as they parry and avoid every intimate gesture he offers them.  Their first fuck is rough—a relief—absolution and damnation in equal measure.

They’re high on adrenaline for the second, nerves singing as he sears worshipful kisses against their golden fissures, laces their fingers together with his, murmurs nonsense.

They lose count of the rest.  Their mind is lost in the heat and the sweat, the green haze they wish they could blame on liquor.  It’s a dream—feeling someone so completely, without any of their usual visceral fear.  But it’s a nightmare.  The way they tip their head back to hold back their tears and end up showing their throat, the way they swallow his whispered promises.

Leander doesn’t behave decently.  Doesn’t escort himself out afterwards.  He spends all night crowding them in bed, arms encircling them, his heavy weight trapping them against his chest.  They shove at him, weak and ineffectual, exhausted from the night's activities.  While their eyes droop, fluttering closed against their will, his stare is vibrant, an affectionate smile upon his still-wet lips.  As they drift off they feel the press of his mouth against their temple.  They tell themselves they hate it, lips too numbed with impending sleep to protest aloud.

They mean to rebuke him when they wake.  Deride his terrible etiquette as a one night stand.  Tell him he smothered them with his body heat and hogged the blanket, contradictions be damned.  They spend a long moment internally repeating what they’ll say—studying his sleeping face, the stress he carries during waking hours so obvious now that they see him not bearing the burden.  The moment slips away when he opens his eyes, words momentarily caught in their throat as they admire the color of them, as they listen to his easy pillow talk.  The curve of his smile, the crinkle of his eyes at their stilted responses.  His warm embrace.

He holds them all night only to get on his knees for them in the morning.

The pleasure is so intense, they feel like they’re about to lose their own mind.

They dig their nails into his back when he fucks them, snapping his hips in a rhythm that steals their breath away.  They hold him with the same fervor he held them.  (As if that might be the tipping point—their last ditch effort—they’ve scared away anyone they’ve ever wanted just by wanting—)

And he says it; into their ear: “I love you.”  And his voice is wrecked but he still manages to make it sound like a prison sentence.  “I love you.  I have you, I have you, you can—”

They score a punishing red line down his scarred bicep with one cursed hand, gripping his hair with the other to wrench him away, to make him look them in the face.  He groans low in his chest, eyelashes fluttering—a true masochist—but his gaze meets their own with intent.  He pauses, pulses inside of them but doesn’t come.

“Maybe I have you.”  They spit viciously, though they don’t think they do.

He’s immune to their poisonous tone like he’s immune to their curse.

But they’re weak to whatever he is.  To his soft retaliation.

They try to tug their hands away from his reaching grasp, but he doesn’t even acknowledge their resistance.  He laces his fingers with theirs, saccharine sweet, pressing the backs of their palms into the mattress.

“I’m glad,” he says tenderly.  Affectionate like he has the right, like he’s anything more or less than the worst decision they’ve ever made.  “I want to be yours.”

His absinthe green eyes seem to peer right through them.  

“And you're mine, too…aren't you…?”

The only difference between Leander and the Senobium is the uniforms.

They wonder at the fact that they listened to Vere, believed him wholeheartedly, and still did this.

[willow-p012]

Kotoko's PTSD/C-PTSD Symptoms

So earlier I said I could make an entire post on Kotoko's PTSD symptoms, for lack of a better start, here it is!

Hyperarousal (feeling "on edge")

Someone with PTSD may be very anxious and find it difficult to relax. They may be constantly aware of threats and easily startled.

In the beginning of Harrow, we see her relatively relaxed, looking over her research, but then...

She turns to look at the camera, clutching her fist and seemingly startled. Even when seemingly alone, she can't relax fully, not for long. Then we see the wolf appears besides her, something she seems almost horrified with in the end of Deep Cover. Also, in Harrow, even within her own mind she is clenching her fist, tense.

Re-experiencing

Re-experiencing is the most typical symptom of PTSD. This is when a person involuntarily and vividly relives the traumatic event in the form of:

•flashbacks

When she sees Keiko, multiple images of other people being harmed flash across. While these could be other victims of the same man, I have also seen it argued that it is Kotoko in the past and that the man is just a fill-in of the sorts. It could be a traumatic flashback in that case.

•nightmares

I don't believe we have anything that exactly fits this criteria, but we do have other types of possible re-livings.

•repetitive and distressing images or sensations

The wolf is not only mirroring Kotoko with blood around the mouth, but is also looming over her. Many perpetrators of violence have nightmares of seeing blood on their hands, like Kotoko here, but it doesn't entirely seem like Kotoko sees herself as a monster, not fully. She is not the monster, but the monster is so terrifyingly like her, it is constantly looming over here.

"They’re still here, still here, it grates me"

Is the line that goes with this, and considering the insults she gave the prisoners before you may think she's talking about them, which she may be, but what she uses in Japanese is much more vague. More like "it's" as far as I know(?) correct me if I'm wrong. In this scenario, she could easily be talking about some form of trauma she is remembering.

•physical sensations, such as pain, sweating, feeling sick or trembling

Possibly just from overexertion, but her expression speaks of more (I don't think she's horrified by her actions or anything at this point). She looks absoloutely terrified for a moment before she looks certain in herself again. She's sweating (as mentioned before) and may be described as looking "sick", if we go by the flashback explanation for the scenes she sees before she attacks, then she'd likely just be coming down from it. Panic attacks and flashbacks both have heavy physical affects on the body, even without them literally being a form flashbacks can take.

Avoidance and emotional numbing

Some people attempt to deal with their feelings by trying not to feel anything at all. This is known as emotional numbing.This can lead to the person becoming isolated and withdrawn, and they may also give up pursuing activities they used to enjoy.

Q: Don’t you feel scared of killing people? A: If it’s for the world. How I feel about it is completely irrelevant.

Q: Don’t you feel a sense of isolation in your current situation? A: It feels like nothings changed. If the world gets even a little better just by me undertaking this isolation, then that is the role the strong play.

In both of these, she attempts to say she feels nothing about a situation or that her feelings are irrelevant.

Many people with PTSD try to push memories of the event out of their mind, often distracting themselves with work or hobbies.

Q: What are your parent’s occupations?A: They’re just the normal office worker and housewife. Did you want me to be born in with some unique circumstances?

She presses harder with the pencil when answering this question, perhaps indicating some sort of anger or avoidance when the topic of her parents (or just past) comes up. Though, I feel as if this is some of the most speculation in this post.

Feelings of worthlessness, shame and guilt

She seems to hate herself immensely, only loving herself through her role as a "savior".

Such as the conflicted look she has in this scene, before we're shown the bloody scales. While I do think she is also experiencing some form of flashback in this scene, we're clearly being shown that she understands her justice is violent on some sort of subconscious level. She likely does feel guilty because of this, even if she does not want to admit it, because of the manner it's being shown to us.

"From the beginning, I've never asked for your understanding! My actions, one by one, are bringing earth closer to peace. Useless Weaklings should just shut up and let me protect them!"

Losing it, losing it, What should I hope for

Laugh and I can get to like myself

She is showing a deep disdain and sense of hopelessness for herself. She searches for purpose in the label of "Hero" without any other way to feel as if she likes herself, hence why she gets angry in the first example when someone seems to speak up against her. Without her vigilantism, she feels worthless.

Problems controlling your emotions

Very commonly, those with C-PTSD will experience a lot of anger and unstable emotions.

*Sigh* How ridiculous... It's always like this...All of you weaklings always act like this... All of you enjoy seeing someone getting hurt...

All of you enjoy seeing a bad person falling down...

You keep asking for it, but as soon as it happens near you by your own choice, you all start complaining and evading your responsibility...You're always like this... Always such idiots!

Here, we can see her getting angry when denied her escapism of vigilantism by Es. If you listen to the voice drama, it almost sounds as if she's about to cry. As if she is experiencing a very unstable set of emotions and doesn't know how to control them so she is lashing out with anger. She asks them to let her keep her purpose, still angry,

If you don't have strength on your own, let me take care of it, Es! I can do it in MILGRAM!

Do you understand now?! Don't make me wait!!!

In the line I mentioned before, the "From the beginning" one, she is also displaying this. The only context I can imagine for this is someone who is horrified or denying her (Keiko in my theory), and when faced with this she lashes out with anger again.

In Deep Cover, we constantly see her anger surrounded by her being scared, desperate, ect. She lashes out when scared, sad, and other feelings because she seemingly does not know how else to deal with her feelings.

Finding it hard to feel connected with other people

I ffeel like this is already very well-explained with the quote

Q: Don’t you feel a sense of isolation in your current situation? A: It feels like nothings changed. If the world gets even a little better just by me undertaking this isolation, then that is the role the strong play.

When ostracised due to the fact she actually beat people within an inch of her life, she claims she feels no more isolated. From the beginning, she couldn't connect with them, even if she does have feelings of fondness for some. And her introduction immediately shows that she is weary of others, not wanting to say anything more than her name and age.

Yuzuriha Kotoko. 20 years old. I don’t feel like telling you much else right now. That is, before I find out what your intentions are.

She completely avoids normal people, further isolating herself by naming herself one of the only "strong" in a group of "weak", and via dehumanisation as a "tool"..... Oh, and that leads me into my next point.

Dissociation

The way dissociation manifests varies from individual to individual, though it always involves some form of distancing from the traumatic experience, memory or source of anguish.

In Harrow, we see her mindspace. The first time we see it, she is obviously stressed, with eyebags and an almost despaired expression. And then, she opens her eyes and she is in her mindspace.

When experiencing a source of anguish (her feelings towards the injustices of the world and the result of her overworking), she retreats into her own mind, sometimes completely by accident. Almost everytime we see this mindspace, she is surrounded by her research (her overworking and the despair she feels from seeing what is happening) or she is straight up seeing Keiko be kidnapped and possibly experiencing flashbacks.

She removes herself from "herself" in a way by calling herself a tool, a fang- inhuman. By calling herself that, accepting other people (Es) seeing her like that, she is removing herself from the larger group of "people" (and the events of her past by giving herself a current purpose), which also ties back into her disconnection from other people.

If other people recognise more or can se more examples please share!! She's so very dear to me and I want to understand her as well as I can.

[thecoffeelorian]

The Anomaly Series, Chapter 3: The Quest (Jod Na Nawood x Reader)

A/N: ...Yes, this story is now, OFFICIALLY, canon divergent. Ya know, because I don't condone/endorse violence against children, and any other disclaimers I need to put here.

Also, there are three literal episodes left, so pardon me if I'm still holding out for Jod and Neel eventually twinning in their clothing choices in canon. 'Nuff said.

Chapter Title: The Quest

Genre: Drama/Romance; Slow Burn; Obvious Canon Divergence.

Word Count: 1,698 words

AO3: Click Here!

Special Notes: As I'm not yet sure how I even begin to breach the topic of child abuse here...let's just do the safe thing and label this as 'Spoilers up to Episode 4'. Thank you.

No Pressure Tags:

@chenoa-devyn-blog @not-approvedtrash @lulalovez @deepestballoonllama-fandoms @papa-poutine

@xbeyondthegatex @bridge-always @loverdjudeforever @kucharka23 @khaleesihavilliard

@xitlalli2001 @braveincafleet @amawu23 @gun-roswell @bruceewayne

@shirley-girly @cloudofpinkicecream @lokigirlszendaya @valdasha @aemondvelaryon

@carry-on-wayward-daughter @pantasticalcat @robin-hyperfixates @down-down-by-the-river @sydneyann623

@brookeandherfandoms @kazunish @redermraven @ladyofthelakee @nightlordsvengence

@tarboo13 and anybody else who wonders what romance would look like for this hot mess of a man. :D

I’m a person who needs your help…

As of ten seconds ago, every other thought that had once been safe inside your mind feels as though they’ve all flown away, and so not left much else behind them save for one of the few thoughts that remains.

You’re officially involved.

There’s no other way around it now, because you’re feeling it too deep in your consciousness to turn back. You’re involved in this stranger’s case, and it’s going to take nothing less than a little Reclamation of your own to knock you off this path, and—despite all of your previous attempts to calm down, there’s some of the old adrenaline starting to course back into your body.

My help…? What kind of help do you need?

This rush makes you just a tiny bit lightheaded as you wait for Jack’s response, not knowing if he’s about to try and sweet-talk you into arranging a jailbreak or not. That was THE one thing that the Reclamation Committee had been worried about, and so, even if he let loose with a mountain of ‘Sweethearts’, odds already were that you would have to turn him down due to your ingrained obedience to the Law.

The same Law that, unfortunately, has spirited him out of your reach and out of your sight.

Something that I doubt my jailers want anything to do with.

And why is that?

They’re the ones who just robbed me.

Not that you’ll necessarily have to, maybe, because he hasn’t brought it up yet…but then again, he could always try to trick you up by slipping some kind of missing key or lockpick into the mix. Judging by how the security droids were more than happy to keep their weapons trained upon him, anything is possible here.

I’m sorry.

No need to apologize to me, sweetheart. You’re not the one who did this.

But I am the one you want to help fix it...right?

That depends. How good are you at finding lost things?

That’s one thought you have to keep fresh and safe inside your mind no matter what, along with eventually refusing him in that sense if it should happen.

In the meantime, though, you’re adding a second page to this new file of yours, as you have a slight feeling that you might certainly need it later.

Well…I once found my best friend’s missing keychain back in school.

That must have been a while ago, though. What about recently?

That depends on where you’re going with this. What’s so important that you need my assistance?

Fine. They took all my belongings away before they locked me up. Happy now?

Another thought that you’re unfortunately blessed with, though, is the image of Crimson Jack being attacked by two prison droids. The first never thinks twice about administering a few short electric shocks; the second strips him clean of any and all weapons or tools; and then finally, both of them turn and tilt their heads to each other in a gesture of smug triumph.

More like slightly flustered, but thank you—

—‘Flustered’?

It’s what happens when a person’s annoyed, confused, or both. Continue.

All right…

This is one thought you don’t want to fixate on too strongly, because you already have a feeling that you might end up worrying yourself sick if you don’t pull yourself together first. No, it’ll be better for the both of you if you have work like this to focus on instead, and for this reason, you add a third page.

…First item, a blaster pistol of my own making, about twenty-five years old with a slim wooden handle. Second item—

—Wait, what’s a blaster?

You’ve never seen a blaster before?

I’ve never seen a war before. Care to describe it?

There’s a small pause between writing, almost as though he’s stopping to think or else let out a sigh of frustration—then your next set of directions comes.

All right, look. I don’t want to take all day, and I’m guessing you have plans, so let’s keep it simple. Put your hand flat out in front of you.

As for you, you’re left raising both eyebrows before doing as you’re asked, though not without feeling just a little bit silly.

Now, take the last two fingers on whatever hand you’ve picked, and curl them in towards you.

Another curious direction, to be sure…yet you obey that one as well.

And finally, once you’re ready, raise your remaining three fingers up and act like you’re shooting the wall.

Once you’ve fully caught on to this particular mental image, however, that’s when you almost drop your writing equipment out of shock.

…Heck.

Nasty thing, isn’t it?

Wow, you think?!

Try spending twenty years with one of those aimed at you, and you’ll get what war is.

Whatever you say, CJ…

You let out an annoyed huff of your own before adding a fourth page to your document, somewhat feeling as though you might cut this conversation off if it gets too—well, wild. As someone who still knows precious little about the one you’re writing to, you certainly count this idea as a possibility.

…Any other weapons I need to know about?

‘CJ’?

Those are your initials, silly. Think of it like a nickname if that’s easier.

Hm…

Another small pause. He seems to be taking his time figuring out what to make of you as well, or so the slow pacing of this ‘meeting’ suggests to you.

…Anyways. As I was saying, second item, fairly unused Lightsaber as I prefer the blaster.

I suppose that's like a knife?

If you want to make comparisons, yes. It's got a thin, metallic hilt and so far, it's powered by a green colored stone somewhere in there.

Right...thin hilt, green stone. What else?

Brown jacket with gray stripes on the sleeves and collar. That’s the third item I’m missing.

And the fourth?

It’s sewn inside the third. In fact, if you have a chance, I’d prefer to recover both of them before we find the others.

So it’s all a big mystery for you to solve, then. Some off-the-wall version of the Great Party Icebreaker to endear you to The New Guy In The Office, provided as always that you don’t end up contracting Foot-In-Your-Mouth Disease.

Ah, well...your nights at home, totally alone, were getting a little boring anyway.

Very good...so you’re in a holding cell right now, I assume?

Obviously.

What are you being charged with?

A fifth page. Gods, this file’s getting a little big, or so you’re all too happy to tell yourself as nobody else can see the awkward look on your face right now.

Nobody’s bothered to tell me.

Have you been provided any legal counsel?

What’s that?

And yet, as awkward as all of this feels, you’ve definitely got your work cut out for you. Work that involves making sure that any possible trial moves forward without a hitch, because with a suspect as high-profile as this one, there’s no way anybody will want to risk the case being thrown out.

A pity they don’t make Lawyer Droids for this exact purpose.

Nevertheless, with the three words ‘MUST. FIND. LEGAL COUNSEL.’ written on the imaginary wall in your mind, you’re still pushing yourself onward just a bit further, as you’re more or less feeling that you’re too far in to turn back now.

Okay...just a few more things before we wrap things up here.

Go on.

Firstly...why me? And—and what was it that happened out there on the landing pad?

A third pause. He’s either taking his time finding the right words to answer you with, or else to cook up a pretty plausible lie with which to keep you occupied. Strange how the one seems so much like the other, at least at this moment in time.

I...don’t really know for sure.

‘Don’t know’? You don’t know if you have some special talent, or you don’t know why your special talent reacted the way it did?

Both. Neither. It’s as crazy to me as it is to you.

Fine…

You’ll be sure to find out what’s really taking place here, though, if there’s any way to get in touch with the people—or droids—who took him into custody. You might also try poking around the local library later this week, if there’s any chance at all that there might be some hint of your new life situation to read up on.

As for how the little crew he traveled with might figure into this, a fact that you’re far too keen to forget about even as you add a sixth page to this file—

And the last thing you wanted to ask me?

Simple…do your traveling companions know where you are?

—You’re working on it. Maybe you’ll have to get parental consent before questioning them. Maybe they’ll instead show up on your doorstep one day, hands full of dataries and voices full of pleading, totally ready to cooperate and compensate you for your time in one go. Either way, they’re witnesses.

When it comes to whether or not Crimson Jack himself will help his case or harm it, well...that concept just isn’t as clear. In fact, he very nearly confuses you with no pauses, awkward silences, or hesitations of any kind.

Just a slowly written No, almost as though just thinking about this part is too painful.

As for you, you can still remember how scared those kids were at the mere thought of him being harmed by the security droids...so it’s more than just a little bit understandable. Whatever else happened up there, whatever blaster fights, lightsaber duels, or anything else that this group saw...they must have had some time to bond.

But you’d like to see them, right?

YES.

Good. I won’t waste any time if I can help it, but I will need you to give me something in return first.

And that is…?

Your true name.

And if you have any grasp upon this stranger’s character, which you hope very much that you do—that bond just might be the key to saving old Crimson Jack’s life.

TO BE CONTINUED

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

alright so daryl x reader who draws a lot, and one day he sees their sketchbook on a table or something : when he flips through the pages he finds a lot of drawings of him (not in a creepy way lmao)

ofc he gets flustered because they’re just friends right?? but it somehow leads to them admitting their feelings :)

༉‧₊˚. 𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 || 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐥 𝐝𝐢𝐱𝐨𝐧

― pairing: daryl dixon x plus size!reader

― era: season 4

― summary: you liked drawing pretty things, and daryl was just so damn interesting.

― warnings: none!

― wc: 902

⋆ a/n: i was very excited to write this! it's honestly such a cute idea, especially since i made the reader's love language drawing him, and even her confession was a piece of art.

masterlist | AO3

You didn’t know why, but Daryl was so fun to draw; with all his wrinkles and expressions, the indents of scars and beauty marks that marred his aged skin, the little details of him that caught your eye were enamoring. You hadn’t noticed how many pages Daryl had started to take up before it was time for you to get a new sketchbook, so it was safe to say that your old one was well hidden under your pillow in your cell.

Your favorite time to draw him was when you were sitting on one of the benches in the prison yard, watching as he killed walkers that lined the fence, or embarrassingly enough, when he’d just stand there and eat. Sketching him was your way of confessing to him, telling him that you thought he was the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen, that he was perfectly imperfect to you, even if your courage would never allow you to do so.

Daryl was surprised to see your sketchbook sitting unsupervised on the table, seeing as though you always held it protectively in your hands, often shying away when people asked if they could see your drawings. He wasn’t going to lie and say he wasn’t curious to, but he would never be brave enough to approach you and ask you to see something so intimate to you. He hesitantly picked up the leatherback notebook. He knew that you would be positively shitting yourself when you’d figure out that you didn’t have it, and in Daryl’s humble opinion, he was the most reliable person to get it to you.

Well, that’s what he thought.

He ended up dropping the flimsy thing, a silent ‘shit!’ slipping out through his lips as it fell on its back, opening up on a page with an image that looked eerily similar to him. His eyebrows furrowed as he bent down to pick it up, staring intently at the lines. It was him. He could recognize his own stance anywhere.

It was from earlier that day where he was standing next to Carol, hands clasped with a bowl as he chatted with the woman behind the grill. The background was a practical reflection of the prison, the bodies of people sitting at tables were light strokes, even Carol was; it was made evident that he was the main focus of this piece. He couldn’t help himself as he flipped back a couple of pages, coming across many more pictures of him. He knew he should’ve found them creepy, maybe even a bit stalkerish, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel that way, especially not when he felt so flattered.

He was certainly blushing, the butterflies in his stomach raging inside of him like an uncontrollable storm. He didn’t know what to do, nor begin to comprehend what any of the drawings meant. Of course, a part of wanted to believe that maybe you felt the same about him, that you found him as interesting as he found you, but that self-deprecating part of him that always seemed to win spoke louder, forcing him to snap the book shut and continue his search for you.

He found you in your cell where you had pretty much torn the place apart. Your pillow was laying limply on the floor, your sheets tossed on the ground as well, the drawers of the dresser you had found and put in your room – with Daryl’s assistance – had been ripped out, the objects inside of them strown in random places.

He called out your name as you turned to look at him sheepishly. “You alrigh’?” He asked in concern as he took in your once neat cell.

“Yeah, it’s just… I can’t find my…” Your eyes landed on your sketchbook that he was holding. “Book.” You ended breathlessly. His eyes followed yours where he gulped, extending out his hand. “I uh- I found it sittin’ on top of one of the tables.” He said sheepishly as you took it out of his hand, your fingertips brushing his rough skin, leaving a tingling feeling behind in its wake. “Oh, well, thank you for bringing it back to me.”

There was a beat of silence that passed.

“You didn’t… you didn’t look in it, did you?” You asked nervously. The looks that he gave you was one of guilt, the exact look you had feared the man would give you. “I dropped it,” That was evident by the scuff marks your fingers trailed over on its spine. “And it jus’… opened up.” He explained. Your anxiety threatened to swallow you whole as you thought of what to say, how to feel; should you explain yourself? But he looked inside of it which was an invasion of your privacy… but he said it was an accident, right?

“Did I creep you out?” You couldn’t help but ask. There was nothing you feared more than freaking out the guy you were in love with. If you had managed to scare the scruffy redneck away, you don’t know what you would do. “No, I- I liked ‘em. They were real nice.” You let out a sigh of relief, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

“I only draw people I like.” You made sure to add, which caused him to look at you with wide eyes.

“Not everyone gets that much detail.” You said teasingly.

ೃ⁀➷ my lovely taglist!: @alina02 @louderfortheback @minervadashwood @fandomsarelifee @theendofthe70s @nomajdetective @mgg-theprettiestboy

[runwayrunway]

No. 5 - jetBlue 2: Electric Bluegaloo

I am writing this post on the 15th of June, 2023.

I was going to publish one post tomorrow. It was going to be about a completely unrelated airline from a different country. I wrote it already. I have several other posts written already, because I like writing them, and they make me excited. I had a partially written post on jetBlue. It was going to be finished soon and uploaded after that. Just one in a sea of many things people have painted onto their airplanes.

I did not plan to discuss jetBlue tomorrow. I did not plan to finish my jetBlue post today. But they have forced my hand by announcing an overhaul of their 20-year-old livery at the most inconvenient possible time for me specifically, and I suppose I'm someone who reviews airline liveries now so I'm not just going to not talk about it.

Okay, let’s see. What they’ve been doing has worked for them for two decades, so I am very curious what they...

(image: jetblue) 

Oh.

Huh. Not...sure what I expected. This is really taking a moment to sink in. 

Well, okay. My immediate thought is ‘neat, they finally extended it past the tail’. My second thought is ‘thank goodness they're finally moving past their Eurowhite phase’. My third thought is...

Obviously they don’t have an exclusive right to this shade of blue, but does...does Southwest know about this? You two are probably the two biggest players in the low-cost market on the East Coast, should you be...being nearly the exact same shade of blue? Like, the rest of the liveries are obviously very different, you wouldn’t confuse them even from a distance, and I'm pretty sure jetBlue's is slightly lighter, but it just feels, viscerally, like someone’s nose gear is being run over a little bit. 

Okay. No. We are forgetting about this. We literally just talked about not comparing beautiful blue girls to each other. They’re going to stall or soar on their own merits. Let’s take another look at N982JB “A Defining MoMint” (neé “One Mint, Two Mint, Blue Mint, You Mint”), who is patient zero for jetBlue’s new rebrand. 

(image: jetblue)

There she is in all her eyestraining glory. I mean, there’s bright and then there’s hard to look at. jetBlue has, for some reason, decided to unleash a migraine machine onto airports across America and beyond.

jetBlue? I know you're reading this. Can we talk, jetBlue? There are a billion shades of blue you could have picked from for the main body. 

(image: jetblue)

In fact, here are five of them from your own most recent tail design. And you chose the only one that is extremely painful to look at in large quantities. So, unfortunately, we’re taking off from the wrong runway. But let’s hear what you have to say for yourself, jetBlue. 

I can only imagine how badly tumblr is going to crunch this, so here’s a direct link to the PDF jetBlue put out explaining their design choices. 

Well, it’s definitely one of the bluest planes they’ve ever made. I think Blueprint might actually be bluer, but that’s a discussion for later. It’s a reasonably, maybe even unreasonably, blue plane, and I think we can all agree on that. 

They’ve made a lot of changes that seem almost like direct responses to my earlier complaints. Robin N. Hayes, CEO of jetBlue Airlines, are you in my head reading my mind? If you are, I think I at least deserve a couple of scale models for all the advice I’ve given you. Come on. I’ll even proofread your website for you.  

Sadly, I have yet to receive my rightly deserved 1:100 model of the jetBlue retrojet, but they’ve at least recognized that I’m correct about a lot of things. The all-white fuselage is boring and the tail designs need to be allowed to unfurl from their prison on the vertical stabilizer. I’m absolutely with them on that. I actually can’t say how I feel about this new ‘mint leaves’ tail pattern. I think that I don’t like it, but it’s very hard to tell because looking at this image for too long without my darkreader on genuinely hurts my eyes. I’m sure it’ll be fine in person, but I haven’t seen this livery in person. I’ve had all of a day to process this through my computer screen, and because of that I think I sort of really dislike it!

But I also can’t commit to that opinion because it’s been a day and a half and there’s so much we still don’t know. Well, I know that this is literally the worst shade of blue that there is, but my least favorite color is orange and I think there are plenty of decent looking orange planes out there. It’s not about the base color. It’s about what you do with it. And what will they do with it? It’s...not really clear. 

The thing about this launch is that if Robin N. Hayes, CEO of jetBlue Airlines, can read my mind, I can’t read his. All I have is this PDF and a couple paragraphs of copy that really raise more questions than they answer. I'm just going to paste the important bit here.

Aptly named A Defining MoMint, the first plane to sport our new livery (our first-ever Mint pattern, coming soon to all Mint planes) is an Airbus A321 with Mint—which rolls into service on 6/15/23. Look for refreshed versions of our existing patterns to make their runway debuts as the rest of the fleet is repaint-ready.

This leaves so many questions unanswered. Is this for all Mint planes? That's not an insignificant portion of the fleet. Are all the planes currently wearing the ribbon and streamer tails going to wear this exact design, or will there be multiple Mint liveries? Will the ribbon and streamer tails be retired completely? They're pretty new, that seems a bit premature to me. What about the non-Mint planes? I assume the implication is that they're going to get patterns that extend onto their main fuselages as well, but are they going to also be repainted now or will there be a gradual rollout where it'll only be Mint planes for the time being? What is even going on? Seriously, does Southwest know? How did nobody notice the two massive typos on the liveries page of your website when you updated it with this new information? Ya blue it!

This is sending me into a bit of a tailspin. This redesign is everything I should want. It's spitting in the face of the design principles that I hate so much I started this blog. It's addressing some of my complaints. But I just don't...like to look at it?

I think what's bothering me here, when my eyes adjust somewhat to the sheer piercing brightness of it, is the overwhelming amount of stuff happening. When I do focus in I can see things that I like. For example, the tail pattern seems to be almost spreading onto the main fuselage rather than being isolated on a tail with its own background color. Some things I just can't entirely process. Like the PDF says they're using a new font but I can't really tell the difference between it and the old one. I guess it doesn't matter that much.

Anyway, I'm not done complaining. On the old livery, the engines were a dark color which contrasted with the light fuselage. This is pretty common. That's for a good reason. It creates such a weird visual effect when the engines and the fuselage are the same color. When you look at them from the side they look like they're merging. Also, despite them mentioning that they made the text in the front bigger to make the livery look less rear-heavy, and the fact that it's worked to some extent, it hasn't worked nearly enough. It would really behoove them to add something else to the front.

(I'm just saying, jetBlue...if you want to be America's Fun Airline, I don't think any defunct airlines have a trademark on painting cute little faces on your airplanes. Just keep that in the back of your mind.)

I ultimately just can't reconcile my thoughts on this. I keep repeating myself and I can't seem to convince myself to like this even though I really, really want to find some way to decide that yes, this is good, actually. This is an improvement. I can't. I can't convince myself. Maybe if I chew on it a bit longer. Maybe when they show off new tail patterns they'll all look better than this. Maybe it's just the mint green that's throwing me off and it'll all be okay. Maybe I'll wake up and a perfectly designed new jetBlue livery will be standing by the side of my bed, and I won't even mind that geometry forbids every part of that scenario, and she'll be beautiful and I will remember what it felt like to first learn that jetBlue has a plane named Blue's On First. Maybe. But right now it's the 15th of June and I'm feeling an emotion I can only imagine myself sharing with cosmic horror protagonists who have stumbled on some horrible secret that destroys the foundation which until mere moments ago undergirded their entire concept of reality. I don't know how to reconcile any of this.

jetBlue...how could you blue this to me?

Provisional* Grade: D(on't Blue That)+

(provisional because I'm being very dramatic but as I've said this is brand new fresh off the livery printer, Mint condition if you will, and I've barely had any time to process it so I'll definitely revisit it at some point. But probably not soon. I'm just about jetBlued out at the moMint.)

[glapplebloom]

Guess who finally got it on their iPod! (No Images in this Review)

I was a supporter of Prison of Plastic and one of the rewards was to get the audio book. Sadly, the audio book was only on Sound Theater and for a while there was no way for me to download it and put it on my iPod like all my other music stuff. But I eventually found a way and now I got it to listen to while I am on my walks. So what is Epithet Erased?

For those who don’t know, it is a series by Jelloapocalypse about a world where people gain powers because they’re inscribed with a specific word. Prison of Plastic is the continuation of the 7 episode long series, taking a week after the events. I enjoyed the show and wanted more, so I finally got to do so.

The book has 17 chapters but the first four are prologues to introduce us to the world and its characters. The first focuses on Molly and her two friends: Phoenicia Fleecity and Trixie Roughhouse. Molly is her nervous self but she is trying to be more confident. Feenie is a frikkin sheep in human form. She’s also rich so she’s not exactly the smartest bulb on the streets.

That honor goes to Trixie who happens to be the youngest sister of the toughest family in the city and man, does she sell it well. So after saving them from a mugger, Trixie broke down because she was afraid her bluff would get them hurt. That first prologue really sells the friendship of the Neo Trio as they’re called.

The second prologue focuses on Giovanni Potage, who has decided to leave the Bonzai Blasters and make his own group. His minions follow him and again, really sell their loyalty to Giovanni. From being just one of the guys in a group with no leader to being the fire that gets them to do things. A great showing of how Giovanni can help people in his own way.

The third Prologue focuses on Molly’s OLDER sister, Lorelai. She has the ability to create dimensional bubbles where she can create anything she wants. Live in her own fantasy world. It's basically Mabel World except on command. Nobody could get through to this girl, except Molly whose power can negate her effects. While the previous chapters do sell the four of being great people, Lorelai makes you hate her from the start.

Lorelai is 17 years old. Yet she acts like she’s younger than Molly. All she had to do was do the dishes but she spent two hours making this world instead, meaning Molly will have to do the dishes, cook for these people, and somehow do her homework. And what's worse, she frikkin says their father actually likes her since he usually takes her side.

I’m hoping the end of this story has her actually grow up, and they do set it up with her internally realizing it but not outright expressing it, because I really want to punch her in the face. The final Prologue focused on the CEO of STEM Industries Naven Nuknuk. He’s basically a male Molly except replace an Epithet with money. He teaches her and her friend about communication skills. And with our players set, we come to Chapter 1.

It was after the Third Prologue and the Neo Trio went to the beach since it is a rare time off for Molly. They were putting slugs back into the sea when they found a body. His name is Rick Shades and he came from a city under the sea. He also hasn’t eaten or drunk anything for three days so he’s almost dying. Chapter 2 brings everyone together as Naven is waiting in their store as the girls bring Rick there for help.

Molly is a criminal now, so she can’t call the cops for help. Luckily for them Naven is there who actually provides help unlike Lorelai or her father. Giovanni comes in now calling himself Vincent Murder and honestly seeing everyone Molly cares for together was really nice. Even she feels like it was a birthday party for her. But then Lorelai finally pops out of the bubble to see what’s happening since it was too noisy for her.

Lorelai likes Giovanni. Outside her father, it really seems like he gets her. Problem is Giovanni is very loyal so when he finds out Lorelai was Molly’s sister, their connection quickly fades. Goivanni wants Bear Trap to help with an upcoming mission and Lorelai wants to help. But since Molly isn’t giving her a recommendation, she decides to prove she’s bad guy material by kidnapping Naven and trapping everyone else (that matters) in her bubble.

Chapter 2 has Molly and the Gang pretty much setting up what the majority of her side of the story is going to be: The Neo Trio having to travel through Lorelai’s world to save Giovanni and Naven. Molly is basically at her breaking point physically and emotionally as she yelled at her sister, something she probably should have done a while ago but never did. This turned her friends into fairies and she has to use her Epithet to keep herself normal.

Chapter 3 has Lorelai’s side of the story: trying to win Giovanni’s approval. It is a nice showing compared to how we see her treat Molly, showing she probably could be a better person if she had the right people in her life. And all she has to do to prove her being Minion Worthy is bake some cookies. You think it would be easy since she basically has Reality Warping Powers but the trick is to make them without powers. 

And that’s all the recapping I’m going to do. I do recommend this as it is a very fun listen to. The old cast are just as good if not better than they were on the series. The new cast fit with the ones established so well. Giovanni proves to be the best things for both Blyndeff girls, Lorelai has a very interesting arc after a certain point. And honestly the ending is the best thing to happen to Molly. So if you liked the series, you would still enjoy this.

[percontaion-points]

Fearless (HMA 4) chapters 15 & 16

Click to see the rest of the snark & image descriptions

Click here for the rest of the series!

Chapter 15

I wasn’t about to tell him that my mom’s dream for me had included a panther mate…

I’m pretty sure Alana wouldn’t want for her child to be with a narcissistic manipulator. 

Although part of me understands that Alana wanted for Vail to be with a panther because the panthers don’t have the political system the wolves do. 

“I spoke to my mom right after Reed was detained.” He glanced at Marnie, who was watching him with her heart in her eyes. “She said he was fine, but it was clear that was subject to our attendance at the party.”

I say let the bitch rot. She intentionally went in there WITH HER INFANT CHILDREN. She deserves to be tortured a little bit. 

“My mom was a hybrid, too. She ran away after being caught up in a bane raid. It means my grandfather’s been doing this a long time, and if he was willing to hurt his own daughter…”

The narration never said that Iris was a wolf NOR a cat either way… But seeing as how batty Johnathn is acting over this entire thing, I’m going to go out on a limb and say that she’s probably a full wolf.

And Johnathan is a full wolf as well. Again, 100% considering how obsessed he is with “voids” and “banes”, this is only an estimated guess. 

So where the fuck did Alana’s cat come from? Because the last time I checked, wolf + wolf ≠ cat. 

“Oh, no. The kin bond,” I whispered. “Jasper, we don’t have any choice. I have to go to that party.”

Chapter 15 summary: After hanging up and going back to the caves, Vail gets into an argument over where she went for two hours. She insists that his brothers only wanted to run and chase voles, but he’s angry about Trey. Even despite Vail’s continued insistence that she ONLY wants Jasper. 

This is kind of interrupted when the brothers show both of them visions of the Marrow compound’s basement. They’d seen that there was a basement on the blueprints, but figured that it was a wine cellar. Now they realise that they shouldn’t have presumed anything, since it seems as though it’s either a lab or a straight up prison dungeon. They think that Cal and Reed are being held down there either way. 

They then start to plan a sneak attack to the compound, since it’s the day before the party. (The last I checked, it was still a week away, but whatever. You do you.) Marnie is upset that she’s being benched, but the others point out that she’s still too new at being a wolf, let alone an alpha. She could get hurt. 

Then Vail has the most excruciating pain imaginable. The others say that it’s Johnathan using his pack leader power to summon everybody that he’s related to or has a bond with. And that the pain won’t go away until the person shows up. Jasper says that people have died from denying the call of their leader, so it looks like they’re going. 

Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen – Reed

So rather than to actually see what Jasper does in order to rescue Reed and Cal, we’re going to be subjected to…? Pages of Reed sitting in his cell, and only when the others show up will we have actual plot movement, if I had to guess. 

Possibly torture. 

“I didn’t want to believe it. But then I got pissed at my mom on New Year’s and shifted [into a cat] again. She told me then what really happened to my dad.” He pushed himself up onto an elbow, his eyes like black slits in the dim lighting. “He was part of some underground resistance, fighting for bane rights. Until he got picked up by some void hunters, who took him to a lab and tortured the fuck out of him. My uncle tracked him down, tried to ransom him back, but by then he was too far gone. They gave us back his body to bury, and I thought my uncle was going to burn their place to the ground. But he just… bowed out of everything. Did shit all for the pack and drank himself into a coma. But not before he told everyone my dad died of some bullshit blood disease and my mom backed him up.” 

Fuck. No wonder Cal was so screwed up. He’d been carrying around a huge secret, while living a lie that was eating him up inside.

I’m sorry that all of that happened to Cal. But that’s no excuse for him sexually assaulting girls. (You know Vail wasn’t the first he’d done that to.) 

“Like I said, my angel doesn’t leave anything to chance.”

Chapter 16 summary: It was worse than I had predicted: Reed was thrown into a cell with Callum, so the two of them immediately start to bicker about their relationship with Vail. Because everything always comes back to her. 

However, as soon as this dries up, Cal takes Reed on a trip down memory lane, when things were a little bit happier. Well, relatively speaking, considering how abusive Jasper’s father was. Cal says that the first time he shifted into a cat was one Christmas, when Jasper’s dad was being especially abusive towards him. His mum later told him that his father had been picked up and killed in a bane raid, but that his uncle started the rumour that the dad had died because of a genetic disease in order to try and shield the family. Reed is horrified to hear about this, and thinks that it’s no wonder Cal is so messed up. Not with having held onto these secrets for so long. 

They then start to feel the pull of Johnathan Marrow’s summons, despite the fact that… They ain’t fucking related or bonded to him in any way. It doesn’t make any fucking sense, but whatever. Anyway, it turns out that the two of them weren’t alone in the prison cell, and the summons awakens some skinny punk. He says some stuff about “my angel is coming to rescue me!” And he has a fucking tracker in the tongue ring he’s wearing. 

[solardick]

Card И. The next step is equaleving it to the & card. As it stands for the same letter. As and. The addition.

And it looks like they captured the last episode and externalized it as someone else. Stilled smoked half a pack though. Because i’m a dumbass but, that’ll never change. And that also showed that am i not alone in the way i react to. BS. Though on a small scale for my level of experience to causes.

Though i also found it curious about the И card image i used resembles the letter & to a high degree. No? I think so.

Naw, starting to not like russia. Chechen and the letter X. Becomes a general. In his prime. Good bye child, good graces to you.

My advancements on the tarot have been, suppressed by something else. Lately.

Kind of just want the calm before the storm. Its a quiet. Sombering. Well, heres the outcome of all those years conditioning. Disease.

Thats where ive been, grew out from it.

Oh, wise one i bow. The special forces are an A. Though, there’s this queer moment. For the letter V of an image of a feminine body gracing the subject with water. As strength is in truth. Read it from wiki. Must be true.

But as we explore and i’m given new information. One finds a window to the exclusive. And where that strings leads.

“The unit i, also known as imaginary number i, represents the value of the square root of -1 and part of the number system called imaginary numbers. An imaginary number is the value of the square root of a negative number. The numbers are not fake just simply have no place on the number line like real numbers.”

At any rate. Going yo resign from being a part of the health and safety comity. Can’t do it. Not if i have to come home and be alone. I can’t function. I’ll just drift from any responsibilities and not have a head in the game. And with Pluto moving in. Knowing i don’t own my own life. Just gonna fuck it all up anyway. As soon as i open that door. Its silence. Nothing else. No words. No sound. No movement. The same as its been all my life. Even when coming home to house full of assholes. Never been any communication at home. Bever will be.

As for the present time. I can sit there and game for 16 straight hours or sit behind my phone. And let words speak for themselves. It’s not like anyone has ever had anything to say to me anyway.

Fucken stupid fucken country abd stupid fuckrn healthcare systwm. Fuck you. Dont call me at work. I cant answer. Called bavk after work. No sound. A dead line. Well i tried. Leave the infection to fuck my insides. After 3:30 or on the weekend. Whem? Monda6 fucken morning. Thats ehen. Its bad enough. Im not even allowed to go t o a clinic.

Hello operator from anoyher country. That has a hard time soeaking my fucken language. Fuck you.

Maybe it’ll get so bad that i’ll have to go get surgery and waste a hundreb thousand dollars instead of a 20$ bottle or anti biotics instead. Sounds like aplan. Fuck i hate canada.

Ivr done a couple hours on duo-lingo. Think im qualified enough to get a job working for the russian helarhcare system behind a phone.

They are so fucken with me. Fourth call…. Hello do uou speak french. Not functionalyl enough to describe anything. Ok. Give me your number my colleage will get back to you. Its fun spendign an entire lifetime being fucked with. 39 tears and counting. They’re never going to stop.

Hello suicide. Welcome back. Whats up buddy. My longest known friend.

Cheers to tyranny. Theres more of it than not. Always was. Always will be. Well go to the hospital wait in the E.rmR for another 13 hours. For them to tell me to come back another day. Pray. I cant go through the proper channels.

Get me out of this horrorscope prison cell you’ve put me in.

I dont want to pay for health insurance anymore. All i get is the opposite. If i cant even get my rights fulfilled. Image trying to do a privilege.

Its like driving is a privilege. That i have to pay for even if i don’t drive.

Though i can smoke, cigs and pot, and game and watch tv buy alcohol. No problem. Its handled with curtesy and a smile. I even have a guy, that will give me methadetamines. For free! Wow. Not that i’ll do it willingly. Doesnt mean i havent been drugged with them. To make me unstable. Went to go get a cup of coffee. Recently. They put speed in it. I expect canada to make that legal soon too.

As for the health and safety comity, that i got roped in applying for. I declined it. Everytime i did that as a kid. People did it anyway. And i got shot in for it. So nope. Not with pluto moving in on it.

The world is designed for people wirh engeneered stress disorders. To get fucked by life. I do t look forward to the day wheb im completly dependant in the health care system. When im old. Holy fick.

Fifth call. From an unknown number. Hi, my colleage didnt soeak french yesterday. So we’re calling to be evil degenerate fuckers of humanity and rub in as much as we can. While tour supposed to be at work where you have zero reception. And cant take calls. Told her to suck to evil out of my ass.

Well since im goign to be waitingn here for anothe r ten hours. Go smoke some smokes. Study russain if the drowsiness doesnt go away.

Too bad the words for “bad language” or “abuse” is seemingly identical to “Mother”. Being мат and мать. I cant tell the difference. Being being explained that ь succeeding the previous letter combines them to a y sound. And yet. Listenign to audio recordings of both мат & мать. They sound the same.

These are what you’re looking for. The differnece for here at the moment is passive abuse versus active abuse. Is there a difference? There is. One gets away with it and the other doesnt. Because we’ll bred to be passive and receptive. The same go for the abuse. It wasnt eliminated just changed gender. It safer to abuse people with passivity than activity. They’re no consequemces involved.

Looking for things like this. When it comes to the power of symbols. And attached meaning. As for the russian to english equates abuse with the mother. Beign abused by “caretaker” “authorities”. Or abusing the mother. And not by the mother. And these cockskrs here fucken with me.

Im not allowed to have a non-abusive mothet. Or father. Or sibblings. Doesnt matter. Its all мат to me. But one continues on with the passivity until the other explodes or implodes. Or kills themsleves. Somehow. And vents out the frustration. And then you go active abuse. Beat them down for callign you out. Thats life.

Other than that. The A-fool should be feminine. And the E fool masculine. All life starts with the feminine. And the play on words. Like beauty vs booty. They sound similar. Amd yet not at all different. A booty is beauty. And eau brings it all back to the caressing of the mother and the lion. Other wise we have two male fools each besides the devil card and associations to carnality. Which works beautifully. Because. An upside down A. Represents inclusion. A one for all. But doesn’t add them. As a sum total. Because it’s all about the individual. At this point. Which is fitting also for eau is litterally to word for water in french. But we’ee trying to be ignorant like most of these other fuckers. And detach the tarot script from its perversion of its designed rape of mankind.

For example. This little girl is being repeatative about calling out for daddy, dah, dah! Da dah da da. I put my book down. Look her right in the eyes. Gave her the attention she was missing with a detached/attached sense of silence. And she quieted down completely. Little girls are like that with me. They reach out and call me daddy. The breeding ones. Do nothing about abuse me. And the older ones are usually super chill.

And i come back in and the guy that was beside me is gone and a woman took his place. Both of is chewing on jerky.

It’s interesting that the russian letters change their pronunciation as another letter when it comes to them being placed to hard and soft consonants or at the beginning of a word to the end of a word. D turns into k. V turns into F. This seems like a fun area to explore the use of imaginary/complex numbers and bridging them to the real. If i understand that right. Theres not much difference between the russian words for water and vodka. And vodka is supposedly pronounced as votka. Wheres as the D changes form to a T.

Hey look, my conscience is back and the fear of reprimand. But, you know what? Y’all right. I don’t need one.

The tragedy of the baltimore bridge collapse happened at the same time as health service canada called. While not being able to respond. Down in the water. People died. But only the construction workers minding they’te own bussiness. But save for there not beign andingle car on the bridge because authorities where given a warning. They just left six people on the bridge anyway? Yeah ok.

Checked my phone. That be 10 calls to or from the gap. With nothing. A dead line and bs.

Well thee goes three hundred dollar cause im not allowed to go to a clinic.

That was a waste of everyones time. Sorry wewont help you. Come nack when your dying.

Well time to go home and chain smoke.

Does it hurt? Sometimes. But since there aint any pain receptors there. You dont feel much at all. Do you have reason to beleive its an std? What?! Ive been single for twenty years. (She gave a suppressed gasp of astonishment)( i know im super sexy and all) women give me fuck me eyes all the time. If their not trying to fuck me over. If i habe an std its because someone purposfukly gave me one.

Sorry im going to touvhc your prostate. You may feel uncomfortable…… ok. Whatever. That’s my prostate? Feels like every other partof my ass. (Uncomforatble. And raw. And like its infected. Goes with the stages of the moon. Like an infection does) People say that feels good? Know what feels good. Taking a huge shit. After youve been holding in it all day. Am i right?!

Oh Ну, ar leat i learned soem russian grammar while waiting these last ten hours. Djould hav eyet to the pot store first. Now its closed. Maybe i’ll

Find a big roach in the ground. Well if all the children didnt get to them first.

It’ll go away on its own. Its been over a month. Yeah sometimes it takes longer. Ok then. Probably something i got drugged with.

An dnow its time to wait for my jailers to mentioned exactly what i told to nurse today. And then ill punch them in the nose as hard as i can. Still need to get my hunting permit for a quick painless way out.

Wahts it mean when you find a dead goffer before spring? That sunmer isnt gonna come at all? Can. You imagine everyday being fall? Wakenup in the morning put on a winter coat fo home in the evening wearing shorts and a wife beater. There

hasnt been a winter. This year. Its perma fall.

Well its 1 am. Got to get ul in four hours. Guess im not going to work. All i can feel is the sicknessnin my ass. And even agter going to the hospital. I walk out. Not knowing any better than i did. Not having a diagnosis. And a cheap quicky look. I fucken hate life.

[aqua-loves-writing]

Chapter 3 part 4 is here!

Told ya they were coming back!

I can’t believe this is happening.

“Good day!”

I am actually doing this.

“Hello!”

I am finally escaping!

Hours have passed since the incident in the hallway. Being able to hide the knocked out guard in her old cell, she now walks ahead, among the pathways of her prisoner, none of the knights having suspicions as she’s disguised as one of their own.

This is real! This is real. This is real.

She repeatedly touches the different parts of her armor, unable to find words to describe this feeling of a long-lost freedom soon to reappear in her grasp.

It’s been so many years since I was able to use my flames! Without them, I felt as if my entire body was tied up to the ground, everyone walking over my body as I was unable to do anything about it. And now they’re here. All thanks to him. I can’t believe he managed to find the keys! Was that what he was up to the last few days? I can’t even begin to describe how grateful I am! I need to make it up to him! But how…oh!

A small jump flowed into her steps.

I can help him find his family again! Yes! That’d be amazing! Just imagine, every one of them coming to embrace him after so many years, all the while I stare from far away… with Mom next to me. 

She stops walking, an image of her mother, smiling in the midst of a large field on a sunny day. In a blink of an eye, it’s gone.

Please be alive! You have to be alive! It’s all I-

“Soldier!”

“Yikes!”

Ah yes, she is definitely alive and I’m still here. What do they say again?

She turns around to see the guard shouting at her, the feather tied to her helmet slapping her face as she does, it “Good day, sir! Did you call me sir? How can I help, sir? Don’t need me, sir? Good, sir! Bye, sir!”

I am never saying sir again.

“What did you just-ugh, I don’t have time for this,” the guard sighed, grabbing her by the shoulder, “Didn’t you see what time it is?!? Just-stand still!”

“...”

“..."

“... Uh.”

“Yes?”

“By standing still, you mean I should just… stand still?”

“No, I mean you can go out and frolic in a field of pink flowers-Of course I mean you stand still, dumbass! Kids these days, I swear…”

“Okay…”

She looks around to see several guards standing against the wall. Their posture was weird. They all looked in one direction of the hall, bending their backs and even jumping in excitement for whatever reason.

“Ah, I can’t believe I get see her in person,” they began chatting with one another.

“Me neither! Do you think she’s as beautiful as they say she is?”

“I once had a glimpse of her during my duties back at the capital and have become a changed man since then.”

“Psst, keep it down you fools!” the shouting guard shouted, “We have to keep it professional! We can’t let the master of the imperial vassals think of us as shameless peasants! Our reputation and pay grade are on the line!”

They all made a sad sigh, “Yes sir…”

“...One another note, do you think I should take off my helmet or-”

Welp, I have no idea what is happening nor do I want to know.

“Everyone,” a knight suddenly slides through the pathway, “She’s coming!!!”

“She’s coming!”

“She’s coming?!”

Who’s coming?

“Yes, yes! Don’t make it seem like you’re looking at her-”

“Something the matter, my dear?”

Hearing a gentle voice, all the guards went back to their stoic positions, Alice copying them despite her never-ending confusion.

“N-nothing ma’am! Please, don’t mind me!”

“You sure? You just ran off when I appeared. Are you sick? I have some medication with me…”

Footsteps echoed through the entire hallways, heels. This person seems to be wearing. All the knights began to shake from head to toe.

Who is this woman? What the heck did she do to make them all act like this-oh.

She didn’t know what to say, seeing who came in. A beautiful purple gown, its silk sliding through the rowdy ground. She moved away her strawberry blonde hair as she greeted smiles to everyone in the room.

“Good day everyone! Thanks for helping us in the short notice,” she bowed down, lifting her dress like a princess, “I am Victoria Scarletborn! And I am here on the behalf of the Knight of Miracles!”

The guards all began clapping at the same time, sighing in unison somehow. Alice just tilted her head.

Who… is she?

Alice felt weird. Things didn’t line up in her head.

She’s here because of that knight guy? Is she his mother or what? I don’t think I’ve seen her before, but…she looks familiar for some reason.

“Now young men,” the lady spoke out, “As much as I wish to learn more about you all! I must get going! Can one of you come and help!"

The guards raised their arms, all shouting to help her.

“Oh, I appreciate everyone’s enthusiasm. But I only need one of you. So, how about…Oh.”

She caught the glance of Alice, who tried her best to sneak out of this situation.

“You!”

Shoot.

“Pardon me, but are you busy, by any chance?”

“Well,” she awkwardly said, “Not anymore…”

“Splendid,” Lady Scarletborn clapped her hands, “Come with me then! Everyone else, please inform the others that the ceremony is starting soon!”

“Yes, ma’am!”

They all left the area, giving Alice a thumbs up as they did, saying things in line with “Sweet my friend! Get her! Nice!”

Please don’t ever say those things to me again.

“Come now! We can’t be late!”

“Oh-of course,” she followed along, “Just one question, ma’am. Where are we going?#

“Hm? Oh, I forgot, my apologies!

She walked towards a nearby wall, pressing one of the bricks, which cause a sudden pathway to form there!”

“Uh-”

“We just need to grab something!”

—

The two struggled to make their way as they entered an underground tunnel. The uneven path and lack of any light made it almost impossible to walk through. And a strange thick fog made Alice cough several times, and it’s barely been an hour.

Great, just great. What even is this place? I can’t see anything in here. I can’t use my flames or else that lady will see. And where the heck is that fog coming from? Is it from some nearby torch? It can’t be, it's too thick. I just hope Mister Miroslav is still alright. Is he still with that general? I hope not. Please be alright. Please!

“Sir,” the lady suddenly grabbed her arm, “is everything well! I noticed you clenching your fists!

“I’m-I’m fine! It’s just really hard going through this dump, you know what I mean?”

“I guess that’s true! They would have renovated this place had the government sent them more money…but oh well! Prisoners are not their priority!”

“You could say that again…”

“What was that?”

“N-nothing. We should be reaching the end point soon, right?”

“Why yes! You’re really observant! We should be getting there… Now!”

Lady Scarletborn stopped in her tracks as they both reached a giant empty room, with nothing but a small bent cage placed inside. An animal's silhouette was noticeable in the midst of the gray fog forming around it.

What the heck? Is that some dog or…

Her mind went blank. Inside the cage, biting through many weapons, smoke formed from the fire flowing through its sharp teeth. Eyes staring into nothingness as its wings were tied by chains. What could one do? Seeing with their own eyes, a rampaging dragon

That can’t be… they aren’t-

“Hisss!”

It bumped its entire body against the cage, unable to get out. Nor did the flames melt the cage. It kept biting and jumping at the bars for nothing to change. How long was it doing this for?

“Poor thing. At this point, it should just accept its reality. But we can’t bring it out at this rate. Guess General Benedict was right. We should wait for him then. What do you say, Sir?”

“...”

“Sir?”

She is unable to keep her eyes off the dragon. Unbridled rage, shouts and tears. Wound all over his blue scales, blood flowing through its purple fur. Again and again, injuring itself to get out. Alice couldn’t help but to see herself in it.

“... Can I ask you a question?”

Lady Scarletborn whispered in her ear, “What do you think of Zvezdoprah?”

[campbluelake]

the mind is its own place || the belovéd thrall || qna 2 || re: kyousuke, max, niko

What weird questions. Here she had been figuring she would only be answering questions about Hell or demons or magic or whatnot, but it seems like the people here are more concerned with things she personally doesn’t find that important. Then again, they’d gotten a bit personal with Malyce, too, hadn’t they? So, it’s only fair.

She frowns at Kyousuke’s first question, claws digging briefly into the tree branch her hands rest on. With a short gasp and some muttering to herself, the shallow gouges close themselves up.

“...collapsing buildings. Musket shots. Gunfire. A whole bunch of not nice things. That’s what they sound like. I never got the appeal of them…figures they’d make a whole holiday about them the day after…”

Abbie pouts.

“I just stay in Hell on July 4th. It sucks anyway.”

Seriously, leave it to America to come up with a holiday where all they do is have bonfires and fireworks the day after a day when she really doesn’t want to think about any of those things. Couldn’t they have at least gone for something more fun? Like anything else?

Moving on from that, she smiles again with the dour mood the previous question put her in seemingly evaporating after another moment of staring off into space at nothing. 

“Well, it’s not like I don’t give them the option to leave if they wanna, but no one ever does, sooooo…You’re acting like I’m some sort of prison warden or something, but, if one of my friends told me they didn’t wanna be here anymore, then I’d let them go, but no one ever does. ‘Cuz no one had anyone outside worth going back to. We’ve made a family for ourselves here--a community.”

Crossing her arms and puffing out her cheeks, she rolls her eyes, clearly annoyed.

“You’re seriously gonna believe some loser office gossip? Get real! Of course they’re real. They’re my family. Just ‘cuz they’re shy around you guys doesn’t mean they’re not real. Maybe, Niko, they just don’t wanna talk to you ‘cuz you’re a rude lil catboy! They talk to me and dance with me, and we all live together here happily. They have lives here. Everyone here loves it here. They tell me so, and so does Vual. You’re all just--You’re so quick to jump to conclusions about him! He’s kind! And loving! He loves me! And if you love someone, you wouldn’t lie to them like that! So--! So those emails aren’t real!”

Her shoulders heave from the exertion of the anger she felt, and her voice had slipped into something that made your ears burn in the now-familiar way that demonic words always did. After another couple of moments of pouting to herself, she moves on.

What did she mean by that? Max’s question clearly has her confused for several seconds, and she places a hand against her cheek as she thinks, eyebrows drawn together.

“...I dunno how he makes me happy. But he does. I’m always happy. And when I’m not happy, I start to feel happy. Feeling happy is better than feeling nothing at all, so Vual helps me feel. It’s…like…”

Her hands rove once more over her body, hugging herself around her arms before she lowers them to grip herself around her stomach. Abbie’s eyes drift off to the side, and they stare at nothing and everything all at once. The smile has slipped from her face, and she looks…lost. When she speaks again, it’s in a soft and wispy voice.

“He’s always made me feel happy…I feel like…It’s as though…After Briarwood, I forgot how to feel. Everything felt…like nothing. Like static. I had nothing. No one. Eight years of nothing is…it hurts so much. It hurts so much that it stops hurting, like all of your pain receptors have lost the ability to react to anything. But when he came…when he came back for me…”

A smile crosses her face, one that’s almost a little too wide, and she shivers again as her fingers clench tightly around the fabric of her dress.

Once more, your mind is assaulted by images and feelings that are not your own. Sensations of apathy, of feeling nothing, of a burst of warmth that might feel almost radioactive. A shadowy, dark figure. White, piercing eyes. Love. Love. Love.

“But it’s so…weird. Being here, I’ve…With you all, it’s felt…different. I don’t know how. Or why. But it feels different. For a while, it felt different. I don’t really understand it. Like…hot cocoa with milk instead of water. But then, Vual and I spoke, and it went back to feeling the same as always. Comforting. Warm. Reassuring. Familiar. This…”

Her claws dig into the fabric of her dress, and her chest rises and falls heavily despite her not needing to breathe.

“This…bliss…This bliss that is but isn’t mine…I feel it. And I know it’s mine but it…I wonder how I make it…If I make it. I don’t know what it is, but I feel happy. And that’s all I ever wanted. Happiness. I just…wanted my existence to stop hurting. And he made it stop. Because he loves me. So, when this place started hurting, he helped me again, and it didn’t hurt anymore. I could go back to playing with you all again.”

Abbie giggles, her gaze refocusing and staring directly at all of you. Her grin is still too wide, and her eyes hold a manic sort of glint to them. 

“Isn’t it wonderful?”

[miyamiwu]

VOTE YOU YAO

WE HAVE TWO GAYS STUCK IN ONE BODY

So I’ve talked about two of the gay pairs in this show in previous rounds’ propaganda (lazy boss x loyal employee, and cold prince x his bubbly prisoner), so I’m gonna talk about the funny chaotic pair this time:

Meet Xie Liang (left) and Fan Aiguo (right):

And yes, that’s the same person, but also no. They’re two different souls sharing one body. Fan Aiguo is the transmigrator, while Xia Liang is the body’s original owner.

Sharing bodies is hard enough, but more so when said body has a lot of enemies pursuing him.

Their story begins with Xia Liang running from people out to kill him. He’s an extremely talented fighter, so escaping should be easy, except he’s not always in control of his body. On top of that, he also has no memory of what happens whenever Fan Aiguo is control (unlike Fan Aiguo who remembers everything even when Xie Liang is in control). So this results in him suddenly waking up injured and caught in terrible situations and having to clean up Fan Aiguo’s mess.

But hey, it’s not easy for Fan Aiguo either! He just died in his own world, and now he has to run for his life in this other world. He curses Xie Liang for having too many enemies, but what can he do when they’re now stuck in the same boat? He can only try to run as fast as he can and shamelessly beg for his life when there’s nowhere left to run jsdhgfjhsdgj

What makes their situation even more hilarious is that their personalities are complete opposites. Xie Liang is a refined, elegant young master skilled in martial arts, while Fan Aiguo is this loud boorish guy who doesn’t even know how to fight. So we’ll see Xie Liang trying to act all prim and proper one moment, only for Fan Aiguo to ruin his image once he’s in charge 🤣

To tell them apart, just note that Fan Aiguo is the one with the ahoge jdhfgjhsdgjhds. This little detail is part of what I really love about this donghua because it works wonders despite not existing in the original novel! In the novel, you can only tell which is which by the change in the voice/tone of writing. This can’t be replicated in a visual medium and hearing characters’ thoughts all the time can be distracting, so of course the donghua had to put a different kind of marker

Anyways, these two are really funny, especially when they’re arguing over who should own the body completely

Fan Aiguo:

Xie Liang:

But hey, even though they’re like this, they’re not exactly hostile with each other. Having gone through several near-death situations together, they have naturally formed some camaraderie. But a body cannot house two souls for too long. What can they do when one of them really has to go?

Watch You Yao and find out.

Best Underrated Anime Group E Round 3: #E3 vs #E1

#E3: Sending us penguins will NOT fix our terminally ill sister, but thanks anyways.

#E1: Forcefully mixing the old and the new. Hilarity and disaster ensues.

Details and poll under the cut!

*Text in green indicates that something has been changed.

#E3: Mawaru Penguindrum

Summary:

For the Takakura family, destiny is an ever-spinning wheel, pointing passionately in their direction with equal tides of joy and sorrow before ticking on to the next wishmaker. With their parents gone, twin brothers Kanba and Shouma live alone with their beloved little sister Himari, whose poor health cannot decline any further.

On the day Himari is given permission to temporarily leave the hospital, her brothers take her out to the aquarium to celebrate, where the family's supposed fate is brought forth with her sudden collapse. However, when Himari is inexplicably revived by a penguin hat from the aquarium's souvenir shop, the hand of fate continues to tick faithfully forward.

With her miraculous recovery, though, comes a cost: there is a new entity within her body, whose condition for keeping her fate at bay sends the boys on a wild goose chase for the mysterious "Penguin Drum." In their search, the boys will have to follow the threads of fate leading from their own shocking past and into the lives of other wishmakers vying for the Penguin Drum, all hoping to land upon their chosen destiny.

Propaganda:

Do you like weird artsy stuff? Do you love magical girls? How about weird, messed up character dynamics? Then boy oh boy, Mawaru Penguindrum is the show for you! The show starts out funny enough, but will quickly spiral into an intense and intricate plot, involving fate, the mafia, magical destiny-rewriting spells, and penguins. Which yes, before you ask, the funny penguins are in fact plot relevant.

Penguindrum isn’t really a show about all that stuff though, even though it is. It’s a very symbolic story, about living under the crushing heel of capitalism, and the quiet poison of the societally expected nuclear family dynamic. I could write an essay on each and every single one of the characters, as they’re all given a lot of depth and time to grow. Every character has their own baggage that, one way or another, ties back to someone else. Everyone in this show is connected in some way shape or form, and that’s really highlighted when everything starts to fall apart. Be warned: this show is NOT a light watch! If you’re the type of person who gets really into deciphering symbolism and creating your own meaning from pieces of media, then this show is for you!

Trigger Warnings: Child Abuse, Domestic Abuse, Emotional Abuse, Flashing Lights/Flickering Images, Gender Identity/Sexuality Discrimination, Guns, Incest, Kidnapping, Nudity, Pedophilia, Rape/Non-Con, Smoking, Suicide, Bomb Threats/Attempts and Terrorisim

It’s a very major plot point. This show is HEAVILY based off the 95 Tokyo Sarin Gas Attacks, so if content like that is triggering to you, tread lightly.

#E1: Are You Ok (You Yao)

Summary:

People from the modern world transmigrating into the ancient Chinese fantasy world has become a common and everyday occurrence that the royal court in the latter has decided to moderate them. If you’re a transmigrator, you must report your existence to Lou Zhu, the master of Best Tower. Once you pass his test and prove that you are indeed a modern person, you can then be assigned to work in different areas of the government and be given a high salary.

Because of this promised benefit, many impostors have showed up before Lou Zhu. And one day, Zuo Yunqi takes this test as well. Is he an impostor, or is he an actual modern person?

But some transmigrators also choose to hide their existence out of distrust in the government. Where are they? And with their advanced knowledge on science and technology, what are they planning in the dark?

Elsewhere, other transmigrators find themselves in all sorts of situations—an art student is detained and forced to come up with a recipe for a poisonous meal, while another is stuck sharing a body with the original soul and fighting for its control. Meanwhile, unrest rises in the Jianghu and a storm brews in the palace. Can our transmigrators’ modern knowledge save the day? Or will their lack of understanding in the current world lead to their downfall?

Propaganda:

Often in transmigration stories, the locals are portrayed as “backward” and “ignorant” to make the modern characters seem intelligent and progressive. The latter are then hailed as geniuses or pioneers, but in You Yao this isn’t the case. 

You Yao deconstructs the transmigration genre and explores its possibilities. The system that moderates the transmigrators really puts them in their place and curbs their arrogance. And when in Rome, do as the Romans do. No matter how “smart” they may be, they are still subjects of the Emperor.

Besides, modern knowledge doesn’t always prove to be useful. An educated man like Lou Zhu is considered illiterate because he cannot read Traditional Chinese. His assistant has to first translate them into Simplified 😂

Moreover, this world they’re in has elements of wuxia (martial arts with superpowers). How can a modern person who grew up in a safe environment protect oneself in such a setting? They can only ask the locals to protect them. 

So, transmigrators are not necessarily superior to the locals—which I like because it lets us look at the locals’ strengths and appreciate them as well. 

You Yao features an ensemble cast, by the way, and all of them, both locals and transmigrators, are endearing. There are also several canon BL couples, with each pair marking the different sub-plots of the show. Just don’t expect any explicit gay confirmation because it’s limited by Chinese censorship, after all. But even then, it managed to be as fruity as it could be (the S1 ED is literally an angsty love song about the second gay pairing).

In regard to setting, it’s a genius mix of ancient Chinese fantasy and modern technology. Best Tower looks like a traditional Chinese pagoda on the outside, but on the inside it’s like a mall, complete with different entertainment venues and even a milk tea shop! It even has an “elevator,” but since electricity hasn’t been invented yet, it’s just powered by different men (in fancy uniforms) on bicycles. 

You Yao is really creative in presenting what could happen when you forcefully mix the old and the new. This allows a lot of hilarious situations, but it also highlights the dichotomy of tradition and modernity, making viewers question which changes are actually good and bad.

Can the Emperor really be that benevolent when plenty of people with knowledge beyond his keep popping up? And how can all transmigrators be content in following this world’s backward laws? What happens when one side tries to dominate and eradicate the other?

You Yao may give off that silly sitcom vibe, but it’s actually so much more than that. I don’t wanna spoil anything, so all I can say is that it’s gonna make you laugh a lot, and once your guard is lowered it’s gonna sucker-punch you in the gut. Vote You Yao.

Trigger warnings: Guns, kidnapping, and imprisonment. Nothing too dark, though.

When reblogging and adding your own propaganda, please tag me @best-underrated-anime so that I’ll be sure to see it.

If you want to criticize one of the shows above to give the one you’re rooting for an advantage, then do so constructively. I do not tolerate groundless hate or slander on this blog. If I catch you doing such a thing in the notes, be it in the tags or reblogs, I will block you.

Know one of the shows above and not satisfied with how it’s presented in this tournament? Just fill up this form, where you can submit revisions for taglines, propaganda, trigger warnings, and/or video.

[inamindfarfaraway]

I love that it’s King more overtly than Luz the Collector has a special connection with, because of how much more they serve as a foil for King. They’re a foil for Luz too, but like:

King wanted power and control, but has learned (ironically as he’s discovered his nature as a Titan) that more important than that for its/his own sake is family and friends, having good connections with good people in your life and helping others. He’s grown up a lot - learned empathy, humility, selflessness and better emotional management. The Collector is an ancient, almighty, omnipotent being able to warp reality effortlessly. Because of this he’s never faced any challenges that have motivated them to change and remain stagnant in eternal selfish, careless immaturity, never sparing a thought to anyone else and treating everything as a game.

King wanted subjects who feared and worshipped him, armies to command, devotees to perform acts in his name. The Collector has a whole civilization built around worship of him and the destruction of his apparent enemies or prey the Titans, and inspires terror in the people of the Boiling Isles.

King longed to be a god, but got the life of a fairly ordinary kid, initially to his annoyance and insecurity. He tried to project a fierce, intimidating image and coveted positions of authority and symbols of status like crowns, was desperate to be taken seriously. Since the start of the show he embraces his childhood and ‘humanity’, wanting to be treated like an equal and no higher, treasuring his stuffed animals and small joys like simplistic puns and cuddles from a big sister - even in the face of actually being the young of a species revered like gods whose dead bodies are potent enough to spontaneously create life on continental scales and whose blood can open holes between dimensions. The Collector truly is a god and his level of power commands respect entirely in itself, but he has no grandeur or weight in his disposition and behaviour. They’re a child in mind and bearing alike, from when he’s petulant and demanding to ranting and sulking in bitter rage to his glee and excitement about new games and fast-formed, hot-burning affection toward his ‘friends’. They shun formality and take barely anything seriously, wearing a child’s playsuit.

King’s character has been and continues to be heavily shaped by a deep sense of loneliness and abandonment. He was born and started developing his personality completely alone except a seemingly non-sentient artificial guardian; vaguely remembers his father being present when he was incubating, but entering the world with no family; then after Eda took him in had no friends that we know of until Luz came along and his social skills were accordingly poor. Now he’s forced to reckon with being the last of his species and walking on his dead father’s decomposing corpse every day, mourning his people, their culture and the life he might have had with them. Between that and the species in question being Titans, his experience is fundamentally impossible for anyone else to relate to. And he leaned this through the merciless betrayal of a people he thought he belonged to! He’s consistently been afraid of his loved ones leaving him and this manifests as attention-seeking and clinginess, often literally holding onto people. The Collector is the only known member of his species to have ever existed. They feel total emotional detachment to all other life, but as harmful as they’re willing to be to others, it’s clear they’ve been hurting immensely themselves. He despises his lonely prison and will do anything to be free of it; so isolated is he there, he can’t even touch people. Thousands of years of that existence would break anyone’s sanity, but especially a child’s to whom attachments are a crucial part of development. It’s no wonder he constantly needs attention and, fun and games the sole medium of interaction and connection they understand, loyal ‘playmates’ to keep him happy and stimulated. They like King have a habit of invading people’s personal space and literally (or telekinetically) holding onto them, e.g. pulling King toward them at the end of “King’s Tide”. Betrayal, abandonment and loneliness are the worst feelings in the world for both the Collector and King, and ones they know all too well.

Finally, the kids have each had a single important relationship both prior to and during the show with a magically powerful adult: Eda and Belos. Eda rescued King from his isolation before she even realized he was of her intelligence, let alone a Titan many would kill to get ahold of, just out of the kindness of her heart, and raised him with love and dedication. She created a false narrative that he was more important in the greater scheme of things than she had reason to believe he was, but he was always indispensably important to her. When it became evident the lie wasn’t helping her son, she revealed the truth, took full responsibility and apologized for it. Eda respects him and puts his needs ahead of her own and he officially recognizes her as his mother. Belos meanwhile promised to free the Collector from his isolation to exploit his knowledge and magic and refused to follow through. He always understood how important the Collector was in the greater scheme of things, but created the false narrative that they were more important to him than they actually were. He revealed the truth when it became convenient for himself and disposed of him with no sympathy or remorse. When they held him accountable, in his shameless selfishness he outright denied having betrayed them. And although the Collector’s childlike psychology and lack of any love or discipline in his life mean he desperately needs a parental figure, Belos kept their relationship a business partnership and never felt anything toward him; so they, upon realizing his treachery and heartlessness, had no hesitation to blithely murder him.

The Collector is essentially what King would be with his pre-show personality and all his potential Titan power; and, equally importantly, no healthy relationships and a toxic relationship instead of healthy, loving family bonds and friendships!

[dirty-bear-rick-sanchez]

A Level of Comfort

OK so I’m very very nervous to post this but everyone has been really supportive and encouraging so here we go: my first RnM fanfic. Please be gentle as I’m very nervous 😅

Also thank you to everyone who was really nice and encouraging to me! I also would like to shout out particularly to @hazelnut-u-out because I really like your writing (and I also sent you a prompt kind of similar to this but ended up writing it myself 😅) and @whovianbuffalo for being extra lovely!

Summary: Rick has a nightmare after the events of Solaricks and has to check on his family to reassure himself that they’re OK. Mainly angst with a bit of hurt/comfort at the end. Rick is very traumatised and a bit of an asshole but he’s trying. Morty is a good kid who knows Rick too well. Warnings for blood/gore, death, self-injurious stimming.

Rick sits in the car he and Diane share, waiting in the entrance to the garage. Something feels oddly familiar in a way he can’t quite identify. 

He sees the door begin to open and his heart drops as he realises what’s about to happen. Every fibre of his being screams at him to get out of the car, call a warning, do something. He wants to, wants it more badly than he’s ever wanted anything, but something keeps his body stuck in place. 

Almost in slow motion, he sees his wife and daughter walk in, holding hands, smiling in blissful ignorance of what is to come. Above them, the fabric of spacetime tears open, a white-blue gaping dimensional wound. 

Rick tries desperately not to see what happens, but can’t escape. He sits there, helpless, motionless, as his wife and daughter cry out in shock and pain, flesh melting from their faces, blood pouring across the floor. Somewhere in his mind, he knows he’s never seen this, that it is yet another torture device created by his own brain, but the gore and suffering forces its way to the front of his mind. He hears blood-curdling screams, ripped from a memory of Beth breaking her arm. He feels the pain and fear he felt that day mixing dangerously with the devastation of their deaths.

Somehow, Rick is now standing in the garage. Diane begins crawling towards him, dragging herself with a bloody and mangled arm. She grasps his wrist, staining his skin with blood and portal fluid that oozes from her open wounds. It stings like acid where it touches him.

“Rick,” she gasps, in the voice he’d always found so sweet. “How could you do this to your daughter?”

Rick’s gaze falls downwards to the lifeless and ravaged body of his little girl cradled in her other arm.

“Why didn’t you stop him when you had the chance?”

Rick knows exactly what she means, tries not to think about it as she grips his wrist even tighter, her grasp burning into his arm.

“I-I’m going to stop him. I’m going to go back.” he croaks out, finally able to speak. Diane doesn’t respond. He knows exactly what he’ll find if he looks, the image etched into his memory. It doesn’t make it any less painful when he looks down at the bodies of his girls, exactly the same as they were the day they died, exactly the way they’ve looked every time he’s seen them since.

Distantly, Rick hears a voice coming from the rift in front of him. He knows this is his final chance to make things right, to do things over again. He flies through the rift, suddenly in his ship, emerging in a giant metallic sphere full of screens and bots. The voice carries on, and Rick sees a tube begin to rise from the floor. This time he won’t hesitate, he won’t fail, he decides.

As soon as the tube clears the floor, Rick realises Rick Prime isn’t alone.

A fully clothed Rick Prime stands in the tube, an arm holding a small figure almost in a chokehold, pointing a gun to his head.

“Rick!” Rick Prime’s prisoner cries out, his voice breaking from fear and adolescence. 

“Morty!” Rick cries, scrambling, trying to fight past the killbots and lasers, but the tube is already moving backwards. 

“Riiiiiiiiiick!” Morty cries, as the tube drops down a chute and both he and Rick Prime vanish from view.

Without hesitation, Rick jumps down the chute in pursuit. All of a sudden, a blood-stained concrete garage floor appears beneath him and he tries to flinch away from the impact.

Rick wakes with a jolt.

He’s breathing heavily, clutching his blankets tightly, his rickety camp bed rattling with how hard he’s shaking. He struggles to catch his breath and it’s not until he notices the hot tears streaking down his face he realises he’s crying.

“Fuck.” he whispers. “Fuck!”

He’s vaguely aware he’s rocking back and forth in a ball, one hand clapped over his mouth and scratching at his cheek hard enough to draw blood, the other balled into a fist, slamming itself into his head over and over.

Eventually, he slows down, his head and hand aching, his face stinging as tears hit fresh cuts. The pain makes him feel better, reminds him that he’s real, alive, awake, makes him more present in the moment. He flips the lights on, glancing around the room to confirm to himself that he really is home, that this version of his family is safe. Even though he knows it logically, he has to see for himself. He pauses long enough to collect himself so that he’s not actively crying any more, wipes the tears from his face, and leaves the room.

He doesn’t have to enter Beth’s room, hearing a mumbled conversation between her and Jerry from the other side of the door. He can’t make out the words, but the voices are easily identifiable. 

He doesn’t have to enter Summer’s room either, as her door is slightly ajar, allowing him to see her through the crack. All the same, he watches for a few seconds to be sure of the steady rise and fall of her breathing before moving on.

Morty’s door is shut, and Rick can’t hear anything, not even the gentle snores he’s used to hearing on long trips in the ship. As slowly as he can bear, Rick opens the door. The hallway light spills into the room, and he sees Morty, lying motionless on the bed. He can’t tell if Morty’s breathing, and, almost without realising what he’s doing, he enters the room and stands at the teenager’s bedside. Even up close, he can’t convince himself, and he feels a hot panic start to rise inside him.

“R-rick?” Morty croaks, his voice groggy. Rick almost collapses with relief as Morty sits up, rubbing an eye. “Rick, come on, a-a-after today can’t you just let me sleep for one night? Surely whatever you need can just wait until tomorrow?” Morty finally looks up at Rick and his eyes widen in shock. “Whoa, wh-what happened to your face?”

Rick starts to turn away, but he feels Morty’s hand grasp his wrist, exactly like Diane’s in his nightmare. It’s enough to stop him in his tracks and make his breath catch in his throat. Barely, just barely, he manages to keep the sob in.

“Did you do this to yourself?” Rick silently curses Morty’s moments of surprising intelligence. They’ve spent enough time together that Morty can read him far too well for his liking.

“I-I used to do the same thing, you know, when I got stressed. I would bang my head on the wall, because the pain was easier than the bad feelings.” A part of Rick resents the fact that a 14 year old is trying to lecture him about self-injurious stimming as if he doesn’t have literal decades of experience, but he’s so empty and exhausted from the intense adrenaline rush and subsequent relief that this thought quickly evaporates.

“W-whatever, Morty. Go back to sleep.” he hears himself say, his voice weak and shaky. He turns to leave.

“Wait!”

Rick turns back to Morty, who’s holding the edge of his blanket nervously.

“What?” he groans, forcing a note of irritation into his voice.

“I, um, I, uh, b-before you woke me up I was um, I was… having a nightmare.” Morty glances around the room in a way that shows he’s clearly thinking on his feet, and Rick knows Morty has seen right through him. “Will you, will you stay with me?” He gives Rick a look so pleading, Rick can’t bear to say no, even though he knows it’s for his own benefit, not Morty’s. He’s a good kid, a good grandson, better than Rick deserves. 

Even though they both know what’s really going on, Rick puts on an act.

“Fine. If it’ll get you to stop whining.” he huffs. “But don’t you think you’re getting a bit old for this now?”

Morty visibly relaxes. “Nah.” he replies with a relieved smile.

Rick moves to his bedside and motions with his hand for Morty to move over. “Just this once, you hear me?” he grumbles, clambering in next to Morty. It’s a tight squeeze, both of them in a single bed, but Rick is skinny, and Morty is still yet to hit the growth spurt stage of puberty, so they manage. Secretly, Rick is comforted by the tangibility of Morty’s presence next to him, the sound of Morty’s breathing. He knows he’ll never be able to make things right with his original Beth and Diane, even if he somehow manages to find and kill Prime, but maybe he can make things right with Morty. Rick silently resolves to be a better grandpa.

“Rick?”

“What now, Morty?”

“I, um, I’m really glad you came back for me, a-and my moms, and Summer. And Dad. I’m really glad you’re my grandpa.”

Finally, the tears spill over, dripping down his cheek and nose onto the pillowcase. Mercifully, he manages to cry silently.

“Sh-shut up, Morty.” he hisses through a wobbly voice.

“Love you too, Grandpa Rick.”