#the rest of my complaints are about the situation and not the material itself

[nientedal]

my only complaints about the new megamind material:

that is not a parakeet

you cannot work and cool glass like that in 15 minutes i am SORRY

everything else is gravy, chefskiss, love it. so much quiet fishalien stuff happening. megamind has a cold fusion reactor somewhere. minion/chum & roxanne seem like best bros. the former mayor makes blown/lampwork glass figurines. side characters have first and last names. megamind is a goofy little egomaniac where it's funny and down-to-earth where it counts. it is a show made for me personally and i am eating it with a spoon.

[bruno-madrigal-writings]

The Seer and the Baker - Pt. 6

Summary: Laila visits Bruno and asks for his help.

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3 Pt. 4 Pt. 5 Pt. 6 Pt. 7 Pt. 8 Pt. 9  Pt. 10 Pt. 11 Pt. 12 Pt. 13 Pt. 14 Pt. 15 Pt. 16 Pt. 17 Epilogue

Read it on AO3!

Word Count: 1.8k

-

A knock sounded through the Madrigal household, echoing through the entryway before fading to silence. For a moment, nothing moved or made a sound. Then, the silence was shattered once more when the knocking returned. 

There was the musical clicking of tiles and the doors opened with a creak. 

Laila stood in the entryway, fist raised to knock again. She dropped it to her side, peering through the doors with a wooden box resting on her hip. The tiles in the entryway shifted again, beckoning for her to come in. Hesitantly, she walked forward, jumping when the doors slammed shut behind her. She looked around but found that no one was there.

“Is anyone even home, Casita?”

A section of tile moved up and down as if it was saying yes.

“Should I just … wait here for them?”

The section of tiles repeated the motion and she sighed, deciding to lean against the wall by the door and settle in to wait.

It was probably ten or so minutes later when she heard a door opening and closing from somewhere on the balcony, followed by footsteps until, finally, Bruno came into view. A smile broke out over her face and she waved at him.

“Bruno! Just the man I was looking for!”

She could see him smile, too, leaning against the railing. 

“Oye! Laila! What can I do for you?”

“I’m in a bit of a situation and I need your help. Come look?”

He hummed, almost immediately walking over to the middle of the balcony. As he walked, a staircase materialized in front of him with the clatter of wood. He was by her side in an instant, eyes sparkling with curiosity.

“Whatcha’ got there?” He asked, trying to peer into the box but she pulled it away from him, resting it on her other hip.

“First thing first.” She said, putting a finger up in front of his face. “An explanation. So, at my house, there was a rat causing problems in the cellar, right?”

Bruno nodded, following so far.

“I was pretty upset, as one gets when a rat is messing with their food, but I’m not really into killing animals, you know? So I tried to convince her to leave somehow, like blocking the openings she comes in through and rat-proofing the cellar, all sorts of things.”

Bruno, sensing the impending rant, decided they should probably go sit down. He gently grabbed her hand and dragged her over to the side of the ‘room’, where there was some couches and chairs to sit in. She went without complaint, not stopping her explanation for a moment as she sat, placing the box on her lap. Bruno tried peering into it again, only to find a blanket blocking his view. He huffed, sitting down next to her with his legs crossed.

“None of it worked, of course. Clearly that rat was smarter than me. How? No idea, but she was. But I did rat proof the cellar, you know, she couldn’t get into the flour and stuff anymore, so, you know, as long as she didn’t bring friends I thought it would be fine. I even started feeding her, trying to earn her trust. I thought if I could get her to like me I could always bring her to you, so you could take care of her and I wouldn’t have a rat in my basement. EXCEPT! A few days ago, she just stopped showing up! One day, there was a rat, the next, nothing!”

Bruno had started petting one of his rats by this point, another perched on his shoulder, cleaning itself. A frown was on his face, certain that the poor thing had gotten killed. Probably eaten by some predator. 

“But, I did still hear some squeaking. I thought it was her, so I went looking around, moving stuff around and all that. That’s when I found this.” 

She moved the box, setting it in between them on the couch. The rat on Bruno’s lap jumped out of his hands, sniffing at it. He shooed him away, reaching out to move the blanket and finally see what all this was about.

He let out the softest of gasps when he saw them, eyes going big and a smile spreading on his lips.

They were rats, just babies, all cuddled together in a pile, twitching occasionally in their sleep. They were old enough to have their fur, but as one lifted it’s head to sniff at the air, not old enough to open their eyes. So little, so unbearably cute!

“Their mom still hasn’t come back and it’s been a little over a day. I was worried, so I thought I’d bring them to you.”

He hummed, reaching into the box to gently run a finger over one of the babies head. 

“Alright.” He finally said, getting up with the box in his arms. “Come on, I think I know what to do.”

The two traveled up the stairs and to what could only be Bruno’s door. It had his face and name on it, after all. Whatever Laila had expected to see when he opened that door, that was most certainly not what she got.

What she got was sand. Lots of sand. 

First there was what looked like a waterfall of sand, then what looked like a pit with sand piled along the edges of the tiled floor. And stairs. So many stairs. 

“Bruno, lo juro por dios, you’re lucky I like you.” She groaned, resigning herself to trudging up as many of these stairs as she would need to. 

He let out a nervous chuckle at her comment.

“We’re only going halfway up, don’t worry.”

She huffed but otherwise didn’t respond. There were still a lot of stairs, but she wasn’t about to back down now. 

She was exhausted by the time they reached that halfway point, where there was a dip in the rock wall with a door. At least Bruno was kind enough to wait for her to catch her breath for a moment.

“I swear, you must have thighs of steel walking up those things every day.” She managed to huff out. 

Bruno’s face heated up, a dusting of red along his cheeks, but he pretended it wasn’t there and shrugged. 

“Ah, well, they’re - they’re not that bad.” He blushed harder when she gave him an incredulous look. He looked away, staring at the door instead. “Let’s, ah … let’s get going.”

The room past the door looked to be his bedroom, and it was very cluttered. There was the largest array of blankets and pillows on the bed, shells full of various knickknacks and old visions. Around the edges of the room and on the floor were different things she assumed was for the rats, like boxes filled with blankets, what looked like a make-shift maze that was definitely too small for them, a tiny stage of some kind, and on and on and on. Despite the clutter, the place was clean, somehow. 

Bruno was mumbling under his breath, putting the box down on the bed before starting to look through the different boxes and make-shift shelters for … something. Laila watched him, sitting on the bed next to the box, deciding to take out some of the babies and hold them in her hand. There were nine of them in total, all varying shades gray or brown. Her favorite was the lightest gray one. Every time she picked it up it would nuzzle into her palm with a little squeak. It made her giggle.

Bruno froze at the sound, glancing over at her with wide eyes, but only for a moment before he returned to his search.

“Ah, there you are!” He finally said, ever so gently lifting a smaller cardboard box and bringing it over to the bed as well. “These babies are a bit younger, but the mom should take care of yours, too, if we put the babies together.”

“Really?” She looked into the box and, sure enough, there was a bundle of little rat babies, these ones not yet grown in their fur. Mom was there, too, looking up at them curiously. 

“Yeah, they take care of each other's babies all the time.”

“It won’t be too much for her?”

He shrugged, starting to transfer the babies over to the box with the mom. She sniffed at them as they were placed, giving them a few licks, almost immediately starting to care for them. She smiled. 

“I’ll keep an eye on her, just in case.”

“I knew you were the man for the job.” She said, placing the babies she was holding into the box, too. “Thanks, Bruno.”

She looked up to him from where she was sitting, her smile so brilliant and eyes so warm it felt like they were melting him from the inside. He gave a soft smile back, gently picking the box back up to put it back. Then he sat by her side.

“Of course! Anything for you.” He said with that lop-sided grin, making her blush. 

She wondered if he had any idea what he was doing to her with just a smile. 

“You know,” He said, falling back onto the bed with a thwump, hair falling in a halo of curls around his head. “This is the second day you’ve been away from the bakery. Did you get someone to help or just not open today?”

“Yeah, I found someone. She doesn’t know how to actually bake yet, but you know, she can still sell, and I made some extra things she can put in the oven if she runs out. And if there’s any special orders, I can work on them tomorrow or something.”

He chuckled, the sound like warm honey in her ears. 

“Paid time off!”

She laughed, too, falling beside him, his eyes following her closely. 

“Still can’t take a lot of days off, but you know, once a week or so is fine. I can do a lot with a day.”

Bruno snorted, scrunching his nose and the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly. It was adorable. 

“Like what?”

Laila chuckled again, scooting a bit closer, though not by a lot. She didn’t want to make him uncomfortable.

“You’re just asking for another rant, asking that question.”

He shrugged, but didn’t deny it.

“I like hearing you talk.” He admitted, averting his gaze to stare at the ceiling, his cheeks growing red. There was no way she could miss it that time, they were too close. It made her smile, but she managed not to giggle.

“Alright then, then let me explain in great detail what I can get done with only one day off.”

While she did just that, Bruno was smiling, staring at the ceiling for a while before closing his eyes. He relaxed into the bed, letting himself listen to her voice and forget all his troubles, just for a little while.

[howaboutleeches]

Ive never sent an ask before so im not sure if it will work but how about the Arcana main 6 with a seamstress Mc :)

How would the Main Six React to a seamstress MC!

Asra:

🔮 Asra could go hours and hours just watching you sewing, putting pieces together, and working on your machine. He found it mesmerizing how skilled you were, his eyes focused on every hand movement of yours.

🔮 The sound of your machine calmed him down, and he could fall asleep on a couch next to your working space, the one he had prepared specially for you and your craft. Enough lightening to make your job easier, any materials you may need and a comfortable chair to keep you comfortable.

🔮 Once you started working, Faust paid attention to you as well. She would slither up your desk or your back and watch closely, her big eyes shining as she watched you working. "Friend, work hard!"

🔮 Asra didn't want to ask for it, but if you made something for him, he would keep it around him all the time. Wearing, wrapping around his neck, around his waist, he wouldn't let it go.

🔮 Even better if you made something for Faust as well. Maybe something matching for the three of you? It would definitely put a smile on his face and make Faust's tail wiggle in excitement.

Nadia:

👑 No matter how she came to know about your skill, either you telling her or she figuring it out on her own, she became very excited about it. "I've always admired seamstresses! I tried sewing once but I just didn't have enough skill to seek it further", she would say as she grabbed your hands, caressing them as if trying to feel the power coming from them.

👑 Not even a week later, she grabbed you by the arm and led you across the halls of the palace, until she stopped in front of a room, a bright smile on her face. She opened the door to reveal a room filled with fabrics, sewing machines, mannequins, and many other items that made your heart skip a bit.

👑 That was her way of showing how much she appreciated your work. Contributing with her money to help you have the best environment (and products) to pursue your sewing career.

👑 She would ask you to make her outfits and brag to other royals and her own family about how good you were. It didn't take long for you to start receiving requests from other kingdoms and from her relatives as well.

👑 She just wants to see you happy, and knowing she helped you with it also fills up her sense of pride. Don't get me wrong, she didn't do it so she could brag about it, but she likes to know her help took part in your happiness.

Julian:

♠️ When he came to know about what you did, he was beyond thrilled. He started to bombard you with the most various questions regarding your profession, how long you have been doing that, who taught you, and what kind of things you could make.

♠️ Although he felt a little embarrassed to ask for it, he would gather enough courage to do some stuff for him, if you wanted to and had the time, of course. Custom eyepatches would be his top request.

♠️ Eventually, he also started asking for costume capes. He got so excited when you would walk into the room waving a brand new cape, almost like a child receiving a Christmas gift.

♠️ He would often bring you books about sewing, and beautiful fabrics he bought with a discount, calling it his "contribution". The thing is, he felt guilty for asking you to do eyepatches and capes for him, but he felt so good wearing something you made, he couldn't help it!

♠️ Whenever your machine would have any sort of issue, he would rush to your aid and try to fix the situation, even if you knew how to do it yourself. He just loved being useful and getting a kiss on the cheek as a reward for his good deeds.

Muriel:

🌿 He and Inanna were curious regarding your machine. When it started to make noises, Inanna growled a little at it, but seeing it was harmless, she decided to approach and sniff. Soon, she started to enjoy the noises.

🌿 Muriel on the other hand had a frown on his face, saying he didn't like it. He actually didn't have anything against the machine itself, but he started feeling jealous of it. You spent so much time working on it, he felt left out.

🌿 You ended up noticing that and decided to set up a corner next to your working table where he could rest close to you and the fireplace as well. After that, his complaints stropped.

🌿 He sometimes went out to gather some flowers he found in the forest, hoping you could use them when sewing. He always tried to get the brightest and best smelling ones, saying they would look good on you.

🌿 If you made something for Inanna, he would think about proposing to you on the spot. Inanna has been his companion for a long time, and if you cared about her enough to do something nice for her out of genuine kindness, he would know you're the right one.

Portia:

🐈 After finding out about you being a seamstress, she bothered Mazelinka for days so she could give her an old sewing machine she had in her house and other sewing materials that were buried deep into her house. Even if they were there for a long time, they were still very good quality.

🐈 She loved to watch you sewing, finding the sound of the machine extremely relaxing. She also pulled Pepi into her lap to watch you, which she did with wide eyes, following every movement of your hand with her gaze.

🐈 Portia one day asked if you could make something for Pepi, which you agreed to. As a surprise, you made matching sweaters for Pepi and Portia, which made her tear up in joy.

🐈She always bragged about your work to Nadia, saying you were, without a doubt, the best seamstress in the entire city of Vesuvia, the whole world even! She was extremely proud of you and wasn't afraid to show it to anyone.

Lucio:

🐐At first, he tried to convince you to pursue another career path. He said you were royalty now, and royalty didn't have to sew, they had other people to do that for them. It slightly annoyed him that you were doing something that someone else could take off your shoulders.

🐐As he watched you work though, his opinion started to slowly change. He saw the effort and love you put into it, and the beautiful pieces you created. He slowly started to fall in love with it.

🐐He secretly ordered a sewing machine for himself, thinking that it should be easy to sew. Then, he would show you his final work and you would awe and praise him. At least that was his plan, but after twenty minutes of trying to get the machine to work, he gave up.

🐐 He swallowed his pride, something he has only done three times in his life (he kept count of it), and went to you, asking you to teach him how to sew. The smile on his face when he made a scarf was priceless. He paraded it around the castle, making sure that everyone knew he had done it himself. And that you, his amazing and talented partner, had taught him how.

-----------------------------------------------

Well, I've been absent for a good while now, I'm not even sure no one reads my stuff anymore, but if someone still does, here ya go! I hope you enjoy this (◠‿◠✿)

I plan on being more active, maybe posting once a week.

tag list

@the-chaos-siblings @angelyuji @diamondlight301 @antipositiva @alliespec @euphorically-bisexual @v--o-i--d @llavender-tae @iarychachy @sonofahell @sluttiestestablishment @esdtvbjikmkkjbvvh @mycomancer @spinehoarder @blackrose8425 @prettyorangepineapple @anjhope1 @updatedautopsyrep0rt

If you want to be added to the tag list, go interact on my pinned post so I can know  😉 💖

[bluebellhairpin]

In the Darkest Night

Attack on Titan X Reader 

A/N: I’m calling this one ‘self-care’, and if you have any complaints please take it up with my frog hoodie at the front desk. - Nemo 

Summary: You’re having another ‘bad day’, and your man’s here to help pick you up. (Erwin Smith, Levi Ackerman, Reiner Braun, Kenny Ackerman, Zeke Jaeger) 

Warnings: Depression. I self-project into a fic again. 

Listening to: ‘Follow You’ by Imagine Dragons - ‘I’ll follow you way down to your deepest low, I’ll always be around wherever life takes you.’ 

Masterlist 

Erwin Smith

Notices rather quickly. He’s preceptive, even more so when it comes to his s/o.

So the moment he sees them, lets say after a day he’s been at work, he reads them, and notices. From the dulled eyes, to the way they’re holding themselves as if to take up less space.

That hurts him too, the way their acting as if they’re not worth existing even when they’re just sitting being themselves, and it sends a pang of pain straight to his heart and it tugs with an unrelenting guilt.

How did he not notice sooner?

He barely rids himself of his jacket and shoes before he’s at their side, letting them leech off his warmth and making his presence known.

He is a man of words, and he knows how to use them, but he also knows when to not say anything.

Times like now, when all they really need is someone to ground them, to let them feel that someone is there for them, not to say it, not to tell them they’re loved - but to show it.

Actions speak louder than any words he could try and tell them. The reassurance isn’t one done by words or a text - even if that might tide them over - but what they need now is to be held.

They need someone to hold the pieces of them that have started to break away, to put them back together with careful caresses and tender kisses, and he’s there.

He’s always there.

Levi Ackerman

Sounds corny, but he notices before his s/o does.

He can tell when their ‘pattern’ starts tilting towards a lack of self-care, or what not, and he does his best to put them back on track.

Doesn’t always work, and when it doesn’t he’s a little unprepared.

He knows that people need to be shown a certain amount of care in these situations, but he’s not the most affectionate person they know, and he knows it.

Still does his best though, because he loves his s/o so much, and he can’t bare to see them hurting all on their own.

Hurting from some injury, a broken bone maybe, it easier on his mind, because he knows broken bones heal. But when someone’s come along and broken something that his s/o holds so dear - their heart, mind, or even soul - that’s something he can’t come to grips with as easy.

So when he finds them suffering so openly with something so well hidden, he’s a bit lost. He’s not sure what to do. Floundering almost.

He sits next to wherever they are, tests the waters. He goes to hold their hand, and if they let him he’ll then go to move closer, pressing his side against theirs.

Slowly, he’ll get into their space, as slowly as they let him. That way they won’t be alone. He’d hate for them to be alone.

When he knows they’d be okay for him to go away for a bit, he’d go get them a hot drink. Whichever is their favorite. The he brings it back, goes back to his spot right up close to them, and they drink together.

He works on it, makes all these little things build up until they’re back out of the place they were in.

Reiner Braun

More often than not, he’s the one that needs pulling out of his own thoughts, and needing to do that for someone else is unfamiliar waters.

But when the going get’s tough, the tough get’s going. And if anyone’s tough, if anyone’s got thick skin - it’s him. So when his s/o needs it, he’s there.

He wraps them up in their favorite, most comfortable blanket. Holds them nice and close. 

When he thinks they’re settled a little, he moves them to a chair in the kitchen, they’re still wrapped up like a burrito in this giant blanket, and he starts cooking. 

He’s not great at it, but he doesn’t remember the last time he saw his s/o eat, and he knows getting something in his stomach when he’s feeling bad does pick him up a little. An energy boost if you will. 

Makes them their favorite, no matter what it is, no matter how difficult it might be for his mediocre cooking skills. In his mind, if it helps them eat something, then it’s worth it. 

He spends most of his time carting them around after that, like literally picking them up and carrying them around while their in their blanket. Sits them both down on the couch and feeds them if they want. 

He just wants then to be happy again. 

hen they’re done, he sets the dishes aside, and curls up with them in his lap and cuddles. Wraps his big arms around them, holds them right in his chest, and presses his lips against their forehead. 

He wants them close, and he reminds them of that. He lets them know that even when they think they don’t belong anywhere they do belong somewhere. Right there with him. 

Kenny Ackerman

He’s annoyed. 

He’s not perceptive. He’s not caring. His s/o has friends that are better than he is at reading their emotions and how they’re feeling. 

So why didn’t their friends notice, and tell him before it got this bad? Why could they not tell? His s/o wasn’t hiding it, that he put together once he realized, so were their friends just that dense, or did they not care about them as much as they said they did? 

That annoyance can rub his s/o up the wrong way sometimes, but he never means it to. 

As much as he lacks people skills, he does still care about them a lot. More than he does anyone else, even that of his own flesh and blood. So he’s not exactly gonna go off and chew anyone's ear off about it, because there’s a fairly more important thing to deal with right now. But like previously mentioned, he’s not good with these kinds of things. 

A general constipated emotion Ackerman trait if you will. 

The result will be, more often than not, him scooping them up into his lap, or by his side, and just holding them. He’d probably act really grumpy about it, and definitely will have a pout plastered onto his face, but in reality he no doubt needs it too. 

He doesn’t have breakdowns like his s/o does, but he still feels. He’s still human, and he still has bad days too. So sometimes, just holding them close is dose as much good for him as it does for them. 

So they’d spend the rest of the day, sitting. Being held. He’s make light conversation, ask what he might do to help, listen as they told him everything. And he’d really listen. 

Zeke Jaeger

Doesn’t notice. When he does, it’s usually because he realized his s/o hasn’t gotten out of bed for the past few days. 

Then he kicks himself into action. 

He makes sure they’ll be okay, then leaves them where they are and takes himself off to the shops to grab all this binge food, from the most sickeningly sweet foods, to the healthiest, from chocolate covered Hershey Cookies to a punt of strawberries. Then books it home double time. 

Once home, and with his s/o sitting up and partially fed, he talks. He’s a talker. But not like Erwin, because he talks even when his s/o may not want him to. 

Gives a nice long speech about why they shouldn’t be feeling how they are, and it will probably make them cry. But it’s not the kind of ‘speech’ in the typical ‘lecture’ kind of way. 

Actually it’s probably done as gently as he knows how, and the fact they end up crying is because they manage to feel so loved after their mind telling them they weren’t worth it. And the fact it’s coming from one of the lest openly apathetic people ever - that’s almost tear worthy in itself. 

Then he holds them. 

After there’s been a show of their material worth, and then verbally, he backs it up with physical reassurance. 

There isn’t much he is bad at, and when it comes to giving the comfort and love his s/o needs - or believes is lacking - he’s right up there too. Top notch care right there. 

[embracedthevoid]

I really loved your missing moments fics section, so I was wondering, what if you write about the end of 4 episode, after the yard field escene, I've really got the feeling there's so much more reasons of why Wille got embarrased when Simon asked if he remembered what did he said that last night, maybe a suggestive Willehm, perhaps a burst of honesty about the feeling of not being as good enough as his brother, idk, i'd love it💕

Okay so this took me a really long time but I did it! I literally spent 7 hours at my computer today editing this, so my eyes are burning, and I'm very sorry if I missed any grammatical errors or whatnot.

I hope this is close to what you asked for! I ended up really focusing on Simon and his perspective on the whole situation so I hope that's okay. It's just where my mind went I guess, haha.

Also, I just wanted to let everyone know that the applications for the 21+ Young Royals GC are still open here. (If you're under 21 I'm making a separate GC for younger viewers as well, go ahead and apply through the same link)

Edit: I also wanna thank @omar-rudeberg for being an amazing help with this! Couldn’t have made it through without them 💜

i like you.

Word count: 3295

Rated: Teen and up audiences

Read on ao3

Simon's not mad at Wilhelm. He's not angry or frustrated; he's not even disappointed. Instead, there's this pit carving itself deep in Simon's chest, piling every worry he's held for the boy inside until Simon can't bear it. Wilhelm's entire world has been flipped on its head, and Simon's heart aches to ease Wilhelm out of this lost haze he's been trapped in for days. Wilhelm has lost the only member of the royal family who could put a smile on his face, his eyes would light up when he talked about Erik, but now that light is gone. And left behind is a boy Simon cares so deeply for, stripping away who he truly is to become what his country needs him to be.

The Crown Prince of Sweden.

Wilhelm pulls at the material of Simon's jacket, and both of them almost topple over. Simon barely catches his own footing before tightening his grip on Wilhelm's waist to keep them both balanced. At an early age, Simon had become skilled at helping someone high as a kite stumble their way back to reality. His father had made sure of that. Simon works to push the painful memories far from his mind, not wanting to make the situation he's currently in any more triggering than it already is.

Wilhelm's foot catches on the ground, and he stumbles once more. "Sorry, sorry I just–," he fumbles over his words pressing his mouth together, licking his lips like it'll help grease his thoughts. "Simon, 'm sorry," he pleads again, and Simon doesn't respond. Wilhelm wraps his arms tighter around Simon's neck, trying to walk while simultaneously resting his head on his shoulder. Bending awkwardly at the waist to match Simon's height.

Wilhelm tries to apologize again, but Simon hushes him as they creep along the darkened path leading to the boys' dormitories. They halt abruptly when Wilhelm steps on a stick, and the snap echos through the forest line, like a beacon claiming their location. Simon inwardly groans, grabbing Wilhelm by the arm and pulling him across the grass, ignoring Wilhelm's wobbly complaints at the sudden movement. Without being spotted, they make it to the backside of the building, where windows line the exterior.

Simon pulls Wilhelm closer to his side, praying they don't get found. This becomes increasingly more probable when Wilhelm begins to giggle, ruining any stealth they possibly had. Wilhelm crouches to hide his head in Simon's shoulder. Before he can, Simon reaches up, clasping a hand over the boy's mouth. There's a nervous silence that focuses between them that even Wilhelm seems to notice with wide eyes. Both their minds wandering to that first night. He feels Wilhelm swallow under his palm, eyes burying themselves into Simons, who quickly withdraws his hand and holds a silencing finger up to his lips.

"You need to be quiet," Simon softly warns, "what room is yours?" he whispers in question. Wilhelm is once again overcome with laughter, and Simon rolls his eyes frustratedly to the sky. Simon hushes him sternly, which seems to do the trick. Simon might not be overly fond of this school. But he doesn't particularly want to be kicked out either, especially if Wilhelm is getting kicked out with him.

Simon takes a deep breath, desperate to keep his now-growing frustrations at bay. He closes his eyes, trying to think the problem through. But the way Wilhelm is hanging off him, arms wrapped securely around Simon's waist, and his chin resting on Simon's shoulder is incredibly distracting. A shiver runs across Simon's neck when he feels Wilhelm's warm breath brush against his skin as it vanishes into the chilled air. Simon's problem solving becomes increasingly difficult the closer Wilhelm moulds himself into him, so Simon shimmies out of Wilhelms hold and slumps against the paved building. Huffing a sarcastic breath as he leans back, bumping his head against the wall.

Wilhelm stands to face him, swaying slightly, using his hand closer to the wall to steady himself. He watches Simon, head tilting with a humoured smirk.

"Wille," Simon holds his voice steady, "what room is yours?" He asks again, beginning to worry at how long they've been outside.

Unfazed by the question, Wilhelm lifts his fingers and runs them gently through Simon's curls, smiling contentedly to himself as he does so. The gesture is incredibly personal, it sends a jolt of longing through Simon, and he has to remind himself to breathe. He didn't think something so ordinary could make his stomach lift into a flurry of affection. With the way Wilhelm's gaze softens at the touch, Simon nearly returns the favour, but he stops himself.

How ridiculous would that look? Two boys stood outside, fingers tangled in each other's hair as they stare longingly at each other.

Wilhelm wistfully mutters something that sounds like "so lovely."

Simon's cheeks burn as he clears his throat, the sound more strained than it should be. He seems to startle Wilhelm from whatever thoughts had taken his mind, and he withdraws his fingers from Simon's head, stepping back with a mumbled apology.

Simon slides his back against the building's exterior to sit down. His pants becoming damp on the packed dirt beneath him. Wilhelm seems to contemplate Simon for a moment, then does the same, landing beside him with more grace than he should for someone in his condition. Perhaps the long walk helped sober him up.

Simon watches curiously as Wilhelm sucks a sharp breath through his nose, holding it for a moment while his hands run shakily into his hair, anxiety visibly building.

"I'm –," Wilhelm starts, frowning up at the sky, "–'m not him." his voice wavers, jaw going stiff like he's working to keep everything in. But Simon can see the heartbreak tearing through Wilhelm's body. It's in the tense way he holds himself, shoulders stiff and eyes distant like he's living through a haze. Simon can see it now, flowing through the few tears that manage to escape, shaping the pink in Wilhelm's cheeks.

The grip Wilhelm has on his hair tightens, "I can't– m'not what they want–" he tries, voice catching as his eyes narrow forward like he's concentrating on the darkness that lines the forest. He stays silent for a while, counting his breaths like he's burying the broken moment deep into the ground.

Simon wants to be angry at Wilhelm; he wants him to know how profoundly fucked up their lives have become. Wilhelm has hurt Simon in so many ways, and frustratingly, he's not sure he can be mad at the boy for it. Simon can't begin to understand the pressures Wilhelm is facing, but that doesn't make the sickness in his stomach leave, it only deepens. Particularly at times like this, when Wilhelm is so completely lost.

Simon reaches out, circling his arm around Wilhelm's shoulders. He seems startled at the gesture but lets Simon rest his head atop his own while leaning into the embrace.

"Simon," Wilhelm sighs, his body relaxing as he curls deeper into Simon's side. His fingers brush against Simon's free hand, like he wants to lock them together but isn't sure how.

"Wille," Simon gently claims the boy's focus, "why did you call me tonight?"

Wilhelm pulls back and sits up, turning his body to face Simon, crossing his legs in front of him as he struggles to focus. Eventually, his glassy eyes center on Simon. "I didn't think you'd come," Wilhelm confesses defeatedly. Simon swallows the urge to reach out and pull the boy back into his arms. "Didn't know if anyone–." Wilhelm doesn't finish, swaying forward to rest his forehead on Simon's shoulder. Keeping his face hidden, "I really like you," Wilhelms admits, steadier than he's been all night.

A chill plunges into Simon's chest. Hearing Wilhelm confess his feelings over the phone is one thing. But having him here, sat beside him, raising his head, gazing sincerely into Simon's eyes, is a whole other experience. Simon has to resist the urge to reach out and tuck a stray hair behind Wilhelm's ear if only to see him more clearly in the darkness.

"I think Eric would have liked you." Wilhelm continues into Simon's stunned silence and past his own sorrow. His eyes light up when he says his brother's name. And Simon wants nothing more than to keep the light there.

So he prompts Wilhelm further, "yeah?" Simon asks shyly, rolling his lips together as he pulls his knees up to rest his elbows on. Listening to Wilhelm's words with intention.

"Mhm," Wilhelm mumbles, his head bobbing forward slightly as he tracks his fingers through a patch of grass that merges into dirt lining the building. "I told em' about you," William says like it's not a big deal, but that doesn't stop Simon's heart from jumping in his chest. "Well, not really about you," Wilhelm clarifies, "he caught me. He knew I wanted to stay at Hillerska. Asked who they–," Wilhelms mind wanders off along with his words. "They," He repeats the word to himself, brows knitted together. He looks past the ground like there's some sort of revelation waiting on the other side. Wilhelm jerks his head back to look at Simon, "He said they," he swallows, "did he know?" Wilhelm asks Simon, mouth parted slightly in wonderment.

There's movement along the edge of the forest, and both Simon and Wilhelm jump apart, only now noticing how close they'd been sitting. There's an outline walking toward them, and Simon can feel his pulse rise with anxiety.

Wilhelm squints at the figure as if that'll somehow make them more visible. "Alexander," Wilhelm asks aloud.

"Wilhelm," the boy questions, becoming increasingly more visible as he rushes through the darkness, meeting Simon and Wilhelm at a crouch in front of them. Keeping himself out of sight.

"Is August with you," the alarm in Wilhelm's voice rushes out unfiltered, and Simon can feel it like it's his own.

"No," Alexander says quietly, "I was told I was no longer needed."

Simon frowns at the way the boy says it like it's perfectly reasonable for him to only be around when he's of use.

"What happened to you? You were suddenly gone," Alexander puzzles with a hushed concern that might actually be genuine.

Wilhelm's eyes slip back to Simon, a smirk starting on his lips filled with affection as he peers at him. He opens his mouth to presumably say something he'll regret in the morning, so Simon cuts him off.

"I called–" Wilhelm begins.

"–he got lost," Simon speaks over him, "thankfully I was around," he clears his throat, attempting to explain further. Trying to ignore the confused tilt of Wilhelm's head from his lie. "Can't find his room though," Simon explains with an awkward half-laugh. Thankfully Alexander doesn't require more explanation.

"I leave my window cracked open," Alexander informs, "If I can get past his bodyguards, I'll go in and pop his open. It's that one there," Alexander points in the distance, and before Simon can ask what window he pointed at –amongst all the others that look the same– he's gone.

Simon stands, wiping bits of dirt off his clothes. He helps Wilhelm, who easily snakes his arms around Simon's shoulders, using him for support. Their stance isn't particularly helpful in keeping Wilhelm up, but Simon still lets the boy drape himself over him. Finding it frustrating but endearing all the same, they start toward the window Simon thinks Alexander pointed to.

"Simon," Wilhelm whispers close to Simon's ear, his warm breath peppering a trail of goosebumps down his neck. "Why did you kiss me during the movie?"

Simon nearly trips over his own feet as they shuffle along the building. He clears his throat, stopping when he sees Alexander move behind what must be Wilhelms bedroom window. Safe from a response, Alexander jerks it open. The glass pane nearly smacks Wilhelm in the head as he loses his balance, his grip on Simon faltering. Simon clutches Wilhelm by the arm, catching him before any damage can be done and guides him to the window. Alexander reaches through, pulling Wilhelm in by his elbows as Simon keeps the boys stable from the other side. Once he's in, Simon finds himself unsure of what happens next. Is he meant to follow Wilhelm inside too? Does he want to?

There's a loud clatter as Wilhelm trips to the ground, tumbling over the desk obstructing the window somewhat. Simon chuckles when the boy stands, quickly twisting around. His eyes lighten with what could be relief when they land back on Simon like he's surprised to find him still standing there.

"I thought– well I'm –," Wilhelm swallows and takes a deep breath scrunching his eyes together then opening them. The same level of wonderment is stuck behind his features, "I thought you were a dream," Wilhelms admits breathlessly. Simon's heart melts in the chilled air.

Alexander steps back into view, "I can take it from here," he concludes dismissively.

Instantly there's an ache growing in Simon's gut, already yearning to ensure Wilhelm's safety. It's interrupted by Alexander's phone vibrating loudly in his pocket. He pulls it out. Simon watches him as he holds the phone to his ear with his shoulder and places both hands on Wilhelm's arms, guiding him to lean on the desk.

Willhelm leans back on his palm, turning to stick his head out the window. He whispers loudly, making Alexander cover his other ear with his finger and turn away toward the door. Wilhelm gestures for Simon to climb through the window once the other boy's attention is elsewhere.

Simon subconsciously licks his lips, pressing them together with a shallow exhale, contemplating all the ways this could go wrong. But when Wilhelm beckons him once more, Simon's chest becomes lighter, and he can't say no.

His journey through the window is much less complicated than Wilhelm's. He doesn't require two people to help him. Though, he blushes when he takes Wilhelms extended hand, almost tripping over the desk himself and colliding into Wilhelm. He catches Simon by the waist, their chests gently bumping together. Simon gasps softly at how close they are, and for an intense second, Wilhelm looks like he'll kiss him.

Simon's eyes dart to the back of Alexander's head and back at the inebriated layer still covering Wilhelm's eyes, and he steps back, out of Wilhelms embrace. Trying not to notice the puzzled frown that sours Wilhelm's smile.

"–Yeah, I do," Alexander says, still facing the wall. He startles Wilhelm, jumping further back from Simon like he forgot Alexander is here. Which would explain a lot. "I've still got them," Alexander turns back around, patting the outside of his coat, where there's something bulky hidden beneath. Alexander's eyes widen slightly, probably shocked that Simon is inside Wilhelm's room, then turns his attention back to whoever is on the phone. "I'm coming," he ends the call shoving his phone back in his pocket, thinking for a moment, then he focuses on Simon.

"August needs me back. Can you deal with him?" Alexander gestures to Willhelm, who's found himself wobbling in the centre of the room. Eyes focussed intensely on a snow globe he must have found, holding inches from his face.

"Yeah," Simon pauses, watching Wilhelm hold the glass ball to his eye like a magnifying glass. "I got him," he sighs, rolling his lips together.

Alexander thanks Simon with an appreciative nod and slips out the door into the hallway. He hears him speak to someone, and Simon wonders what he would have to say to get into the crown prince's bedroom in the middle of the night.

Simon gently takes the snow globe from Wilhelms's hands, lowering them and placing the globe on his desk. When Simon looks back to Wilhelm, he notices the boy studying him, his lips rising into a smile that makes Simon blush against the still room.

"We're alone," Wilhelm whispers with a roguish smirk. He treads forward, closing into Simon's space, so he has to tilt his head down to look at him, close enough that his hair nearly curtains both of their faces. "You're beautiful," Wilhelm breathlessly whispers, knocking his forehead carefully against Simons, breathing in the inches between them like he needs it to survive.

Wilhelm's hands loop around Simon's waist. There's a grin dancing on Wilhelm's lips as he rocks his forehead against Simons, their noses brush together, and Simon is caught in a paralyzing loop. His mind is captivated by how near Wilhelm is that he almost doesn't step back when Wilhelm attempts to connect their lips.

Hurt flickers in Wilhelm's eyes as Simon stumbles back, his hip catching on the desk behind him. There's a sharp pain that snaps Simon back to the present, to their situation, and to what Wilhelm needs from him right now.

"You should sleep," Simon's voice is hoarse as he hides his hands in his jacket sleeves. A reminder to keep them to himself.

"But 'm not tired," Wilhelm quietly argues, turning to face away from Simon toward the bed with a yawn that claims otherwise.

Simon stands, uncertain what to do when Wilhelm drops his jacket from his shoulders, wraps his fingers around the hem of his shirt, and pulls it up over his head. There's an echo of light that spills past the open curtains from the hazy night sky. Through it, Simon can make out gentle grooves shadowing Wilhelm's narrow body. He appreciates the subtle curve of Wilhelm's spine, the dim light emphasizing the hollow dip where his jeans border his hips. Simon wants to reach out and follow every definition with his fingers. He wants to know if he can feel each bump along the boy's spine that rises when Wilhelm crouches forward onto the bed, flopping down on his stomach and rolling on his side to face Simon.

Simon clears his throat, sweaty palms rubbing against his jeans, pointedly trying not to let his gaze wander lower than Wilhelm's face.

Wilhelm extends his arm to Simon as if he's hoping the gesture will magically pull him forward. But Simon remains fixed in the middle of the room, achingly conscious of how alone they are –a rare occurrence– and how the tender glow of the moon dances across Wilhelm's pale skin, like porcelain.

"Come m'ere," Wilhelm drowsily mumbles, dropping his arm and moving it to wrap around his own body, like he's hugging himself.

Simon wonders how frequently Wilhelm does that. How often he's alone with no one to embrace him or comfort him. How many times he's hidden in these four walls, wishing his brother could be there with him. Simon's chest clenches at the thought. He can't allow Wilhelm to feel alone, not when he doesn't need to be.

With timid breaths and light feet, Simon hesitantly makes his way across the room and sits at the opposite end of the bed. Wilhelm shuffles to pull his covers over himself and nuzzles into his pillow. Simon thinks he hears him mumble the word "pretty" and "thank you," but it's hard to discern in Simon's own haze of exhaustion. He leans back against the wall, trying to get comfortable enough until Wilhelm falls asleep. But the heated air in the room, in contrast to outside, becomes uncomfortably warm, so Simon removes his jacket, draping it over his legs. He'll leave as soon as he knows Wilhelms is asleep. He just wants to be comfortable in the meantime.

Simon watches Wilhelm's chest rise and fall, lulling into a soothing rhythm. Simon's eyes hang heavy, blinking to keep them open. He decides it's okay to rest them for a minute, then he'll leave.

He'll definitely leave.

[princeescaluswords]

I see you are a huge fan of fics where Scott McCall dies. Don't worry! More content coming right up! ;)))

As a matter of fact I do enjoy fiction where Scott dies, so thank you very much.

Indeed, my first multi-chaptered Teen Wolf fanfiction, completed all in the way back in 2016 when I was new to both fandom and fanfiction and called Army of Ghosts, has Scott dying in the first chapter. He’s blown up in an ambush and then purposefully dismembered, and the rest of the story is an exploration of how Stiles copes with it. Hint: not well. It’s quite a dark story.

You see, there’s nothing wrong with Dark Fiction, by which I mean fiction which explores activities or events that are rejected as undesirable by modern society, in a way that centers the narratives on the activities or events in and of themselves, and not simply as obstacles for the protagonist to overcome. I believe that not only should these stories exist but they serve a valuable purpose when it comes to understanding the people around us.

My objection has always been to what I call Exploitative Fiction, by which I mean fiction which portrays activities or events that are rejected as undesirable by modern society, in a way that ignores context, consequences and even logic, with the end goal being to present those activities or events as positive experiences for a purpose not directly connected to the activity or event itself.

That’s wordy, isn’t it? Let me give you some examples then to help clarify. I consider it Exploitative Fiction when rape is presented as a step on the path to love, where physical coercion into the sexual act is seen as evidence of passion, but the consequences of employing violence as a shorthand for possessive desire are simply negated because the goal of the story is romantic rapture. I consider it Exploitative Fiction when a slave falls in love with their owner and they develop true feelings for each other, but they still exist within the same slave-owning society, yet the context of that relationship is ignored simply to produce the most intense version of you-and-me-against the world. I consider it Exploitative Fiction when writers create a fanfiction collection called 101 Ways to Kill Scott McCall, in which it is a safe bet that these aren’t explorations of how his death affects others but merely vessels for the unbridled rage of people furious that MTV decided to film a television show with a minority heroic protagonist as the lead.

The reaction to this caution is for individuals to purposefully confuse Dark Fiction and Exploitative Fiction, attempting to shift the argument by obscuring the difference. They employ the motte-and-bailey fallacy, where they point out that Exploitative Fiction is a form of Dark Fiction but choose to defend Dark Fiction, which isn' t the topic. In other words, when someone says “Hey, maybe you should be careful when sharing a story where a traumatized sixteen-year-old with abandonment issues enters into a relationship with a middle-aged millionaire white male serial killer, whose very presence will isolate the teenager from his family and friends, that you don’t present it as a flawless gateway to perfect happiness?” they respond with “You just want everything to be sunshine and rainbows and good triumphing over evil, you Puritan Scold!” and suddenly a person wondering why a story straight out of the discarded scripts of To Catch a Predator is being used as spank-bank material is labeled as Goody Chastity, Implacable Enemy of Joy and Sexy Fun.

“But PEW,” you say, “Isn’t this just your opinion?” And my reply is “Yes, it is my opinion, but it’s not just mine. Let’s talk about Kyle Rayner’s girlfriend.”

For those who don’t know, the term “fridging” came about from an issues of Green Lantern, where a supervillain killed Kyle Rayner’s girlfriend and stuffed her into a refrigerator for him to find. Whatever someone may think of that particular storyline, it started a conversation about female characters being killed as a function of a male character’s development. Having a supervillain brutally murder the loved one of a hero is pretty dark. It’s Dark Fiction. No one said that supervillains can’t murder or can’t murder certain people or that the hero can’t react to those murders. The complaint was that the female character existed solely to be murdered. Her only function in the story was to generate Kyle’s angst, to set up a situation where his character is explored. She was Exploited.

Why is this a big deal? Because it happens a lot, and not just in comic books. In television, in movies, in literature, women are often reduced in narrative function again and again to shortcuts for male character development. Better scholars than me have written about this exhaustively and pointed out how this fictional exploitation feeds into real-world exploitation (and vice-versa). It’s not hard to find a significant amount of public research.

So yeah, in posts like this one, I complain about Exploitative Fiction in the fandom community to which I belong. Because it doesn’t take a literary critic to read these stories and perceive that the goal of the story isn’t to explore the darkness in which Stiles and his killer boyfriend (whether that be Derek or Peter) murder his best friend, it’s the satisfaction of rage that their white favorites weren’t the focus of the show. Again, again, and again in humiliating, degrading detail Scott is murdered or maimed or stripped of power, in one-sided beat downs that follow no discernible internal rules but one: white male characters must win. It’s not about a power struggle or logical consequences, it’s about punishing a character for daring to be the lead, and it’s racist.

You know how I know that? Because I have never found a story where Stiles and Peter hunt down and murder Isaac Lahey for the crime of abandoning the Hale Pack, slandering Peter, or physically attacking Stiles twice. Because I have never found a story where ArchSpark Stiles tortures Jackson or strips him of his lycanthropy because he almost killed the Hales and his father, rejected Derek, and was forced to serve Gerard. Because I have found few stories where Stiles is murdered by Peter because he was plotting against him, and the evidence is that Stiles said mean things about him. It’s nine hundred and ninety times out of a thousand, it's Bad Alpha/Friend Scott, or if it’s not Scott, it’s Sinister Tree Wizard Deaton. And the sample size, my friends, is very large.

So no, I’m not against Dark Fiction. In my fiction, Scott has been killed, maimed, and imprisoned. (I’ve actually been accused of being obsessed with putting Scott in jail.) I’ve explored the consequences of these actions on Scott and the people around him, and it hasn’t always been a happy ending. I look forward to reading stories where he has endured terrible trauma. I’m reading one right now that I’m simply head-over-heels about. I just think that Exploitative Fiction needs to be addressed, head on, especially when it feeds fandom racism.

[vampcubus]

Next Stop (Midoriya/Reader | nsfw)

| A/N: Been hoarding this one away for a while until I was satisfied with it. |

♡ | Warnings: nsfw!!, public sex, thigh jobs, gettin’ cozy with Izuku on a train. | ♡

♡ | Words: 2100+ | ♡

.   .   .

You and Izuku had the misfortune of catching the train during rush hour, meaning you were packed into one space with little breathing room. The station had been fine when you boarded the train, but as more and more people stepped into the car you were pushed farther and farther together. Currently, Midoriya stood between you and the crowd of people, one arm raised to grasp the handle above his head and the other around you.

You were thankful for him wanting to make sure you weren't crushed. But at the same time you felt bad because whenever the train stopped, you would pitch forward and then abruptly backward into him. You'd bonked your head on his chin a few times as well. The train came to another slow stop, and Izuku's arm kept you from falling forward though you still knocked back into him. "Sorry, Izuku." "It's fine, we're almost there," Izuku assured with a thoughtful smile.  To be honest, he didn't mind the situation at all. Being pressed so close against you allowed him to take in your comforting scent and hold you close at the same time. Izuku was flustered to admit that he wouldn't mind you being like this for the rest of the day. Though, as the next stop had you precisely pushing back on his crotch, eliciting a gasp as he felt his manhood come to life beneath your rear. He held his breath as he begged for you to not notice, he'd be mortified. All hope of you being oblivious to his boner were tossed into a blender when you leaned back against him. His eyes went wide with horror as your butt pressed right onto his bulge, he gnawed his lip to keep himself from making a noise. You froze and Izuku felt his heart stop beating.

You only smirked and pushed back once more, grinding your ass against his crotch. You could feel him hard and twitching through your clothing. "Y/N d-don't...!" Izuku stuttered, squeezing his eyes shut as his hips bucked into the friction despite his protest. "N... no, n-not here...!" You have him a pouty face, a whiny complaint at the tip of your tongue before a smug smile spread across your glossy lips instead. You made a disappointed noise but moved your hips away from his crotch. "Fine." You hummed, pushing yourself more against the window. Izuku gaped at you, slack-jawed as you pretended like you hadn't just been grinding against him on a public train. Even worse was that he felt his cock throb uncomfortably hard within his pants, testing the fabric as you peacefully left him alone and wanting. He had told you to stop... but... Izuku bit back a whine of frustration as his head fought with his body. One pleading for reason and the other some sort of stimulation. He shuddered, feeling himself brushing against his pants with every nervous shift of his overheating body. He was so hard, this wasn't fair! So with pink cheeks and half-lidded eyes, the green-haired boy allowed his shaking hands to grasp your hips and pull you away from the window and back against his body. You replied with a questioning hum, looking over your shoulder to see a woefully horny Izuku staring back at you with pleading green eyes. He wanted you so bad, you could see it in the way he gazed at you as if you held a treat in your palm, and yet you continued to tease.

He had told you to wait after all, so you could play dumb. "What is it, sweetie?" You asked innocently, a pure smile masking your sinister intentions as he whimpered and squirmed behind you. He murmured something unintelligible, and you raised your brows with an amused tilt of your head. "What was that? Speak up, Izzy." Midoriya shifted behind you again, mouth gone dry as his tongue wetted his chapped lips, a bashful look in his face. "I... p... please don't stop." He whispered, moving one hand back up to the handle to keep you both steady as the train started moving once more. "You're really okay with fucking your girlfriend on a crowded train? Hm, how naughty..." You giggled under your breath so only he could hear. His face was blazing with embarrassment, but the heat in his loins burned hotter. Izuku was ashamed of how much he wanted to, even though he knew all of the reasons he shouldn't. His hips rocked into you again and you gasped when you felt his hardness pressing between your cheeks. Grinning you turned your head to peer over your shoulder at him, the mischievous excitement gleaming in your entrancing eyes, reflecting the same giddy desire in his own jade pools. "Take it out." You breathed, and he felt his jaw go slack. You couldn't possibly mean...? Your hips rolled against his again, insistently, and he felt his inhibitions leave. He gave in to his desire to press his cock into the friction. He bit down on his lip and hastily pulled down his fly, tugging on his All Might boxers to allow his length to slip through the slit in his pants. His fingers lift your skirt, quickly hiding his modesty underneath the pleated material.  He felt his excitement twitch when his tip bumped into your thigh. Parting your thighs ever so slightly you reached down beneath your skirt as discreetly as possible and pulled at the elastic of your panties, leaning back and allowing Izuku's flushed red cock to slip under the fabric and brush against your heat. Izuku bit down hard on his lip as the head of his cock dragged subtly over your outer lips. You were already so wet. Face dark with a deep blush, his wide green eyes scan the other passengers, paranoid as all hell of being caught. Sure, your skirt did a good enough job of concealing his dick between your thighs, but there was still so much risk. He bit down on his lip when the thrill of the possibility of being caught made him throb with desire. You pressed your thighs back together once he slid into your panties, the softness of your thighs and hot cunt surrounding him making him gasp. Licking your lips you ground your ass back against him. Izuku used the arm still firmly wrapped around your belly to pull you even closer. And then you began to rock your body back and forth—not too obviously as to not alert the other passengers—pumping his cock between your thighs and allowing your wetness to drip down onto him, covering his shaft in your slick. To any onlookers, you could pass as an overly-affectionate couple just trying to get home. You could just barely hear him whimpering with closed lips, trying to prevent any sounds from escaping. You knew this would be a challenge for Izuku since he was often quite uncontrollably vocal when it came to sex. You often made him feel so good that he could never contain his moans, babbling endlessly. Now his teeth remained clenched, eyes squeezed shut tight as he struggled to keep his noises in.

“Hah… look at you, the number one hero fucking my thighs where anyone could see us.” You breathed out with a honey-sweet whisper, almost taunting him. He let his mouth fall open as he drank in your incriminating words. A delighted shiver befell his figure as you continued to talk, knowing how easily your voice triggered him. “Mmh, what would… what would your fans think if they knew how dirty Deku could be?”

Soon Izuku started moving his hips along with yours, cock rubbing against your sensitive clit, the head repeatedly poking into the front of your panties and stretching the thin cotton with each thrust against your pussy. He was making small grunting sounds under his breath now, fingers flexing as they twisted your shirt in his grip. "Y/N... Y/N please... hah." Izuku began to pant and whine into your shoulder, nose buried in your neck as his hips shakily chased the friction of your thighs and slit rubbing against his cock. His hips sped as he approached his orgasm, and right before he stuttered out that he was about to cum you reached down and aligned him with your entrance. You hummed, shoving your hips back, his cock trembled within your tight pussy, hips slapping against your own as his green eyes rolled back and he choked down his moan. "N-no don't...!" Izuku hissed, his words smearing themselves across your shoulder. Your pussy was squeezing around him so tightly, your velvet walls all but sucking on his cock as his vision began to spot with blots of white. "I can't... take it..." You slammed your hips back against him, prompting Izuku to grab them as he began to fuck you harder than probably appropriate given the situation. Luckily the chatter of the crowd and the noises of the train moving along masked the wet squelching sound of him pumping in and out of you. "Y-Y/N I'm... I'm gonna c-cum." he warned, biting down on the inside of his cheek when your hips only bucked faster. You were getting close, eyelids fluttering and pearling with pleasured tears as you reached out for your release and threw caution into the wind. "Inside, baby, don't make a mess, o-oh, or we might get c-caught." You huskily whispered back, walls flexing around his cock as he rutted his hips faster. His foggy green eyes darting in every direction to make sure no one was watching.

"Oh, a-angel I'm-I'm gonna be t-too loud, I can't." He huffed, still fucking himself into your warmth despite his own objection. "My hips won't stop moving. I—I oh, nnnmff...!" You turned your head suddenly and captured his lips with your own to smother his involuntary noises. You moaned softly as felt your pleasure peak, finding your own release around his twitching cock. Izuku's world blurred as he buried himself as deep as possible before a high-pitched mewl ripped itself from his throat, only to be muffled by your lips swallowing his sounds as he finally came inside of you. His balls emptied themselves within your hot cunt, his cum filling you up to the brim as the two of you struggled to mask your distinct orgasm faces. You fanned at your blisteringly hot cheeks and wiped the thin line of drool from your parted lips, trying not to pant too loudly. Before Izuku could pull out, the train came to a screeching stop. Always the quick thinker when it came to protecting you, he shot one arm out to keep you steady. At least a third of the passengers riding the train departed in a stream of chatter and shuffling feet, leaving you with a lot more room to move around in. A few people stepped on as the others filled out, but it was nowhere near as cramped as it had been before.

The intercom of the train rang out, filling your ears: “Next stop, Musutafu station.”

As quietly as possible, Izuku pulled out of you and hastily tucked himself back into his pants. You had expected to feel uncomfortable with his cum still inside of you, but all you felt was warmth and a stupidly happy smile pulling at your lips. You shivered when you felt Izuku's lips press against your shoulder blade and then the shell of your ear. "You're in so much trouble when we get home." He breathed into your ear, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Still high on endorphins and your usual light-hearted silliness, you laughed. "You liked it." You teased, swiftly whipping your head around to catch his lips with yours in a brief peck. He avoided your eyes, embarrassed. "Admit it, coward." He grinned at you with a playful tilt of his head, feigning innocence. "Keep talking and you won't get to cum tonight." Izuku's eyes darkened, but you only giggled, the brat in you spurred by his attempt to intimidate you. As if such a punishment was threatening! You didn't need to cum to have a good time, all of his threats were futile! Plus Izuku never had it in him to deny you any sort of pleasure. Even during rough roleplays he could never follow through completely, breaking character just to tell you he loved you and that you could have whatever you wanted. "Ooh, kinky." You wiggled your eyebrows, lips pressed together prettily as you stared at him with wide doe-ish eyes, fluttering your tantalizing lashes. "Is that a promise?" His face went a bright crimson red, one hand swooping up to cover his flustered face and you only wheezed harder.

[paddymoonstruck]

𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬┃𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐫

chapter two

warnings: season 4/manga spoilers, mentions and depictions of death, death, war, cursing, angst, eren being an asshole 

word count: 6,406

notes: PROCEED WITH CAUTION major season four/manga spoilers ahead !!! ALSO — I’ve read the last chapter and bestie lmao — i just wanted to pour the dread I felt by posting this chapter since it is also vv sad!!!!  ENJOY THOUGH !!!

PREVIOUS CHAPTER/S: moodboard/prologue, one 

𝐢'𝐯𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐬 𝐮𝐩 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐰𝐛𝐨𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞

A malicious smirk curled upon the lips of a certain brunette, head peaking from the corner of a concrete housing. His bright, turquoise irises scanned the friend group of his intended target, arms linked one after the other, walking towards to door that led to the hallway of the dorms. 

“Eren, is this really necessary?” Armin whispered beside Eren, his voice shook in the slightest as he watched the bunch near the door. 

Eren scoffed, nodding his head firmly, never taking his eyes off of them. “It wouldn’t have to be if she didn’t pour salt on my oatmeal earlier . . .” The frown that decorated his face was fleeting, the scheming glint present again, as anticipation bubbled in his stomach.

Devon Janea stretched her hand out, placing in on the metal knob, she laughed along to what ever Sasha and Nifa were chatting about. Her palm twisted the knob, giving it a light push. A soft clank ticked above her head, followed by the liquid  icy flow that took her awhile to recognize as water. It cascaded from her head down to her boots. 

Both of her companion let out a gasp, pulling the wooden bucket that had fallen on their friend’s head. 

Eren’s smirk, shifted into a series of baffling hysterics, his gaze pointed at the now soaking wet Survey Corps uniform of Devon. Her golden brown locks dampened, turning them a shade darker. 

Despite the numbing sensation of Devon’s body, she managed to catch wind of someone laughing annoyingly loud. Her suspicions were confirmed as her vision landed on an elated piece of shit kneeling on the ground, clutching his stomach a few feet away from them. 

She made eye contact with a pair of ocean eyes as she looked up, which immediately swam in mercy. If she wasn’t freezing to death, she would’ve laughed at the fear on Armin’s face but she was able to comprehend was the desire to crush Eren Yeager’s skull into ash. 

“Oi, Yeager!” She bellowed, unclipping her soiled cape from her back. 

“You’re gonna get it now . . .” Nifa mumbled, earning an enthusiastic giggle from Sasha.

Eren stood from his place, chortling toned down to occasional chuckles, he crossed his arms to his chest, observing Devon’s shaking form as she approach him. 

The exasperated expression that had morphed itself on her face never wavering. Her drenched footwear squelched under the Earth’s pressure. “You have five seconds to tell me why — oh why you did that.” 

Apparently, the seething irritation Devon carried in her tone triggered Eren’s funny-bone because not a second later, stupid laughs poured away from his very much punchable mouth. 

It was short-lived, however — since Devon’s patience had ran thin and next thing everyone knew, her arm swung back, fist colliding painfully against Eren’s abdominal area, producing a clean booming crunch. 

A series of oof’s can be heard behind her which she could’ve guessed were a few people who had came to witness this brawl that occurred quite frequently much to their squad captains’ displeasure.

He had stumbled back a few inches, ass meeting the soil. The agonized groan that escaped his lips were a blessing to Devon’s ears, and her eyes feast at the same suffering that contorted his face. 

Armin instantly came to his side, eyes wide in panic. 

Wringing her moistened hair in both hands, she raised an eyebrow as she saw Armin’s pleading eyes. “Don’t give me that look — “ She scorned, a mocking smile dressed her features. “He’s the idiot that came at me.”

Eren shot her a murdering daggers. “You started it!” 

A child — an immature child —

“Excuse me?” Devon questioned, hands settling on her hips. 

“You ruined my breakfast!” His voice boomed inspite the pain shooting at his stomach.

Devon pondered his words, brows furrowing in thought. Just then, a memory flashed between her eyes, producing an inelegant snort from her mouth.

A hand came to cup her lips instantly, doing little to conceal the blooming grin that had appeared.

“Oh, that.” She affirmed, voice filled with mirth. “In my defense, you kept kicking my leg for no reason— so—”

A foot after the other, she strided towards the boy who had now gotten off the ground, fists clenched at either sides. Regardless of the noticeable difference in their height, Devon stood tall, as she looked up at Eren.

“—technically, you started it . . .” She narrowed her eyes, staring at Eren’s equally annoyed ones.

Almost half a minute passed, the open courtyard remained quiet as both Scouts stared in each other down as if waiting for one of them to disintegrate into nothing but ash.

However, A firm cutting tsk made everyone flinch. Devon and Eren seem to stumbled back onto reality, goosebumps rising on their arms.

Both snapped their heads to the terrifyingly familiar sound and behold— with a deep scowl resting on his usually neutral face, Captain Levi tapped his foot next to the sploch of wetness on the ground.

His sharp glare cutting through the babbling Scouts in the middle of the scene. From the fair amount of distance, they were sure the Captain noticed their shaking figures.

“It wasn—”

“She di—”

The Captain’s raised palm silenced both the excuses that came rushing out their mouths, clamping them shut in a split millisecond.

“Both of you—” He started, teeth gritting as he spoke. “No one gets a speck of lunch until you’ve cleaned this up.”

Resigned huffs and nods were their response, head hung low but burning glare for one another remained.

Her clammy hands clutched the fabric in a tighter vice, closed palms beginning to shake at the emotions that had invaded her mind.

Devon Janea was once again in a position she had promised herself to never indulge in— but as her eyes bore into the green cloth that held the symbol of freedom, her eyes began to sting, teeth in a compacted clench, causing a dull ache to reside in her mouth— an ache she couldn’t dare feel due to the greater torment, the object in her hands brought.

It was her old Scouts cape. She had kept it when they had announced the reinvention of the Survey Corps uniform. The cape meant a great deal to her yet every time she laid her eyes on it, nearly nothing joyful popped in her mind.

She despised the idea of hating this piece fabric— she hated it— but she somehow felt the need to.

All of the things that happened to her– good or bad, her cape hung on her shoulders and bore witness.

It was there— this old thing.

It was there when they went to battle mindless Titan’s outside of the walls. It was there when every stage of fear shot through her system every single time her squad-mates met their cruel demise.

In the times where she cried for her fallen comrades until the sun rose, she had hugged this piece of fabric to her chest, muffling her outmost despair.

It was there when she fell victim to Eren’s pranks and their childish fights. This was present in the time she had felt an outrageous amount of bliss regardless of the situation in the outside world– a time where all she thought about was surviving, with them.

But now— it was . . . gloomy.

A distant call from outside her window caught her attention and she immediately got to her feet, observing the armor that decorated her body. It was far from what they used to wear but nonetheless more efficient for their current predicament.

They were fighting humans now.

She had never thought this day would see the light but assumptions can always be shifted, can’t they?

It was baffling to her how they’d need more advanced and heavier equipment when it came to war against people in comparison to the weapons and wardrobe they utilized with Titans.

Big, scary, man-eating giants.

Her younger self would most probably shudder in fear if she saw her now. She’d ask her all these question in order to make sense of her actions and most likely pretend she understood when in fact, she’s been thinking of ways to turn her over onto a brighter leaf. 

As she tried to imitate a happy smile she used to carry, she could almost see her other self seething at the fabricated action. She gripped the straps of her black uniform, the material fitted like a second skin but very comfortable to move around in. 

With a last shake out of her doubtful thoughts, she grabbed the green cloak from the floor, hooking it across her chest while she ran down and into hell.

Time seemed to pass by quickly — that or Devon has been spacing out now and then as Commander Hange was explaining the plan of action. The parts Devon had caught irked her. 

“We’ll have to cover for Eren as much as we can . . .” Hange’s tired, but firm mutter echoed in the airship that has been prepared by Zeke Yeager and his most gracious disciples. 

“We have to assume that he’ll cause damages and openly declare war,” The commander nodded at them, her gaze flickered from one scout to another that surrounded the table in the middle of the room. “Jean, Connie, Sasha and Floch — watch out for enemies over at the west. Take half of Levi’s squad with you.” 

Devon watched the circle of her comrades as she rested her body on a nearby wall, eyes fleeting to Hange as she caught her gaze. 

“Devon,” The commanding tone in her voice caught Devon’s attention. “You and Mikasa are to find Eren — and once you do, keep close and make sure to have your eyes on him at all times.”

If it wasn’t for Devon’s self-proclamation to shut up and do as she’s told without complaints,, she would’ve jumped out this flying balloon hours ago. But, she matched Hange’s stoic glare, a nod confirming her cooperation was enough for the commander to continue her discussion.

In the corner of her eye, she could spot a figure walking towards her. She kept her gaze forward, clearing her throat once the said figure had stopped beside her.

“If you want to smack Eren, I won’t stop you,”

Be this a normal situation, Devon would no doubt laugh at Levi’s sudden statement. She twisted her neck to face him, she’s met with those steel, cool stare.

“I know.” She affirmed, folding her hands back, hiding the fidgeting of her fingers that had no plan on stopping until they’ve left this depressing island. “Maybe I will slap him later . . .”

She saw Captain Levi nodding along to her words, and despite not exactly saying anything else, Devon appreciated the random interaction that somehow calmed her nerves a little. 

The minutes of Hange talking was the only sound bouncing through the walls were indeed just minutes.

A deafening roar quaked the skies, Devon’s eyes shutting, hands coming up to cup her ears at the loud volume. 

Show time.

She stumbled at the front of the airship, hands finding support of its walls, her head peaked out the scene through the window. 

There he was. 

Or it.

The enormous Titan stood at an intimidating form of 15 meters, baring his muscled back to them. His roars continued to pierce their ear, making them flinch each time it rattled their hearing.

“There’s no time to waste!” Captain Levi’s command came riddling through all the commotion. “To your stations!” 

With that, the scouts saluted, each scrambling to get their equipment together as fast as they can. Devon instantly ran to her gear, hooking it around her waist. Her hands reached to take a hold of approximately ten thunderspears. The supposedly cool metal laid feverish on her palm but decided ignore it and resume to securing the heavy weapons on her shoulder.

Another angry roar and a series of frightened screams rattled her nerves yet she refused to waver at the thought of the situation outside.

“Mikasa,” Devon called, the attention of the raven haired girl turned to her, nodding. “C’mon, let’s finish this.”

Fire — blood — screams — explosions.

The list was dreadfully endless. With Mikasa to her right, they swung above the unfathomable condition of the town. Devon tried to avoid looking below but agonizing wails were impossible to ignore. 

She knew it would be a mistake to succumb to the temptation and just peak downwards. Beyond the apathetic eyes she had been giving nowadays, was that frightened little girl hidden behind Wall Rose. 

Looking down would mean remembering. 

It was unclear whether or not she opposed to it or not. Does she truly want to revisit that horrible time in her life in a crucial time like this?

“Don’t.”

Her thoughts lurched back at Mikasa’s sudden intrusion. Devon felt her eyes burn at the side of her face, urging her to return the gaze. Mikasa had a glint of tenderness in her eyes as she stared at Devon.

“Looking won’t help anyone.” As if she had read Devon’s mind, had her thinking if her conflicted thoughts showed on her face as well. 

“It won’t.” She agreed, exhaling a breath she wasn’t aware she was holding. “Stand on that pillar, try to catch Eren’s attention — I’ll do the same on the that building at the left. Be careful not to be noticed by anyone else.”

The order came flying out of her mouth as Eren’s Titan form became more prominent to their vision. Mikasa swung to the direction Devon had ordered, leaving the latter to advance to her position. 

Devon’s boots slid on the worn down roof of a house, fragile bricks now easy to pick apart, resembling a puzzle containing several missing pieces. She stalked towards the edge of the roof, squatting down to uselessly watch the treacherous scene unfold in front of her. 

Eren turned, his eyes skimming through the civilians aimlessly racing away from him. Devon noticed how the large titan spun his head towards the right.

She had to squint to confirm that he did, in fact acknowledge Mikasa’s presence. A sigh of relief escaped her as she was sure of the exchange. 

Past her relief was a gash of radiant light amongst the cauldron dark covered skies. Her eyes could hardly accommodate the brightness that invaded her sights but she could make out a form of a skeleton, slowly evolving with flesh. 

She stumbled back at the thunderous punch the creature caught on its face. The tissues that haven’t fully developed yet squashed against Eren’s gigantic fist. Devon’s resistance to look away increased, with the amount of blows Eren delivered to the primitive titan as it wriggled uselessly below him.

A shot of a rifle snapped her attention away from the ongoing uproar to the source of the sudden gunshot. The thick layers of fog beneath the houses made it difficult to spot anything from where she sat.

At that moment, she hoped that Sasha and the others were able to place signal lights to ensure the clearance of enemies. She swayed her head hoping to catch a glimpse at anything suspicious from that direction but she was met with darkness and smog. 

Devon gasped, hand abruptly clutching at the end of the roof as the ground trembled, followed by a loud groan which brought her attention back to Eren.

Her eyes widened at his state. His stomach now impaled in the center by a large pointy crystal lifting his limp body in the air. The titan seemed to have completed it’s transformation as it now stood, smoke seeping out of its shoulder, waiting for its arms to grow back. 

She had never seen anything quite like it, despite being able to witness numerous unbelievable things in her days. The titan seemed to possess to ability to create structures using hardening, allowing it to make to spike it used to pierce Eren. 

The strength this Titan possessed chilled her blood, instinctively look towards Mikasa. Luckily, she had her eyes on her too. And beyond the disaster, the distress that covered her features relaxed as Mikasa brought her palm up as a symbol to wait.

She turned her head back, fists balling tighter as the Titan grew a hammer on her hand, clutching the long handle. Devon repressed the urge to step in as it barreled the object towards an unmoving Eren, successfully smashing the crystal altogether. 

Devon’s panic simmered down as a slightly smaller version of Eren’s titan emerged amidst the smoke. 

Continuous flashes of light and booms of canons interrupted the fleeting solace Devon felt. Somehow, with all of those heavy weaponry, she was finally able to see the series of soldiers lined up nearly in front of Eren.

She saw his fingertips turn icy, incasing them in Titan hardening as he came up to cup his nape. He growled at his attackers, not noticing how to white fleshed titan swung back its hammer. He turned too late, only being able to provide his arms as a weak protectant. 

Devon’s patience wore thin as she merely continued to watch as Eren was rid of his hands. 

“The War Hammer Titan is a monster!” A joyful screech amongst the gloomy atmosphere pierced her ears.

War Hammer 

“That’s what it’s called . . .” She muttered to herself, scowling at the name. “How corny.”

“It’s really going to finish off!”

Whoever it was, Devon wanted nothing more than to shut them up. Anxiety welled up inside her as the War Hammer Titan raised its weapon again, slowing as a figure — Eren  — resurfaced from his Titan form.

She couldn’t help the feeling of a hefty weight being lifted out from her shoulders as she set eyes on his figure. 

“Usurper, Eren Yeager,” The War Hammer spoke. “Do you have any last words?”

Although she could only see his back, a long inhale propelled her lips. 

“Now or never, Mikasa.”

Loud and clear, Devon waited for it. As signaled, Mikasa’s form came rushing in the scene, almost too fast to be caught by the naked eye. She raised her arms, plowing a hefty sequence of thunderspears in the air and into the War Hammer’s neck, slotting it perfectly. 

The release of the clip prompted its ear-splitting eruptions, blowing off its nape. Mikasa spun her body, eyes spotting Devon’s, an understanding nod between the two was exchanged and that was all it took.

She went off flying towards Eren, her heart pounding louder into her ears as she grew closer to his form. Before she could muster anything to say, Eren spoke.

“You guys actually came. . .” 

Despite the lack of emotion on his face, Devon could hear the faint surprise in his tone. An unknown feeling of displeasure spanned on her chest as she examined the side of Eren’s face.

She noted the few but undeniably noticeable changes in his appearance compared  to the last time she has seen him, reminding her of the many days they have been apart. His hair had grown past his shoulders, little stubbles have made it’s on his upper lip and — she would love to be wrong . . . she hopes she was because if she wasn’t mistaken, the vibrant turquoise hue in his eyes had dimmed into a spiritless pair of orbs.

The frown on her face didn’t falter, choosing to finally respond to him, “They were worried about you.” The admission seemed half-hearted yet she felt the need to tell him that in the moment. 

“Eren,” In other circumstances, the hammering in her chest would absolutely delight her, but the one she was currently having flooded her with outmost dread, eyes piercing in to Eren’s own. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

Devon found herself crouching beside him, as if he wouldn’t hear him if she stood. “You’ve murdered all these people —” She had to stop speaking, aiding the ache of her mouth as the words dawned to her. “No amount of reasoning could save you from this." 

The heavy sigh she released helped lightened the tightness on her chest, looking at her feet, the heat of Eren’s Titan flesh seeping through her body. 

“Eren,” The tense exchange was cut short as Mikasa landed beside Devon, calling his attention. “Please, let’s go home . . .”

“It’s not over yet.” At his claim, both girls’ features morphed into confusion.

“What —” Devon’s eyes widened, stopping the query on her tongue. “Motherfucker — “

The ground rumbled along with the rise of the War Hammer Titan.  Slowly, it started getting up, its palm pressing against its head, pushing it back onto the body effortlessly.

“That’s impossible!” The incredulous tone Mikasa expressed was no different from the look that Devon gave to astonishing incident playing before their eyes. “I blew off its nape!”

“And I crushed it with all my strength,” Eren added, his monotone voice unwavering as he studied the titan. 

“Mikasa!” Devon’s body acted before her mind, eyes laying on the sparks blossoming on thee Titan’s hand, a crossbow has come to life. 

As an instinct, she grabbed Eren, a hand coming up to his waist, the other pointing her ODM gear at the first concrete she looked at. She fired the equipment, grapple shooting out. When it hooked on the infrastructure, she wasted no time to tug Eren out of the titan flesh and onto the air with her, just in time before the arrow hit their previous place. 

It had been several minutes since the Scouts retreated back into the airship. Eren was able to devour the War Hammer, nearly getting to the Jaw Titan if it wasn’t for Reiner Braun’s unexpected appearance.

 The loud cheers resonated along the walls, bouncing back outside as they celebrated a mission success.

Devon would be lying if she said she doesn’t feel the uneasiness leaving her chest, as her head weaved through the crowd, eyeing everyone’s condition. 

Thankfully, no one was hurt, perhaps a bit of cuts and scratches but besides that, they were all well. 

A smile slithered it’s way to her lips, watching her comrades. Floch leads the bunch, raising his fist in the air. “It’s a huge victory! The New Eldians Empire ends in victory!” He declared, earning gleeful shouts of affirmation. 

His words, however, stabbed Devon back into a harsh reality, face twisting into a crestfallen frown. Determined to keep her thoughts at bay, glanced to the side, finding Jean, Connie and Sasha huddled close to the open door.

She sauntered to them, resting on her knees to be at their level. “I’m so glad you’re all safe . . .” She muttered, a grateful gleam in her eyes sparkled, throwing her arms around the three. 

Sasha, being at the middle, curled both her hands  around Devon’s waist, the other two doing the same in their respective side. 

Connie, of course, had to clap back at the intimate moment, mumbling against Devon’s shoulder. “You smell like shit, Janea . . .”

They laughed, shoulders shaking. Devon extended her arm to smack Connie behind his head, making the latter flinch but grin as he spotted the glare she sent him. 

“You’re one to talk,” She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “You look like shit.”

He stuck his tongue out, shaking his head at the brunette. Said brunette merely smirked before standing, landing a soft pat at each of their heads. “Good job, guys . . . I’ll just go check on Eren.” 

They nodded simultaneously, understanding the look on Devon’s face as she turned back towards the hallway but not before hearing Sasha’s enthusiastic yell.

“Let’s celebrate and eat a lot when we get home!”

Devon looked back over her shoulder, flashing her a bright grin and nodded. “I call pork stew!” She laughed, heart warming at Sasha’s beaming smile.

As she went on her way, wooden flooring creaked beneath the weight of her boots, approaching the men contained in the area. Her eyes wandered down, noting how Eren was sat on the floor, a scout pointing a gun at him while Captain Levi glared right through his soul.

“Captain,” She announced her presence, garnering closer to them, inclining her head as a sign of respect

Levi didn’t look away, “Cheer up,” He spat instead, “Everything happened like you wanted,”

Maybe it was her buzzing mind, or the overall exhaustion finally catching up to her. But until she followed their gaze, she didn’t notice Zeke Yeager perched on the wall at the end of the hall, steam leaching out from where his missing limbs were once attached. 

“Jenea,” At Levi’s voice, Devon snapped up to meet his eyes. “Bind him with this,”

Before she could react, Levi had thrust a wheeled rope on her hands, leaving her with no choice but to grip the braided strands. She didn’t get a chance to respond, seeing the Captain and his fellow squad member exit the room.

Suddenly, Devon recalls the short exchange she had with Levi before leaping into battle, The thought caused her to peer down at the same person that was their topic of interest was now at her hostage. 

Eren was already staring back at her, making her eyes narrow the longer she looked into his. The turmoil sprouting at her conscience wasn’t a pleasant indication. Yet, she shut her eyes for a moment hoping to calm her aggression.

When she felt it was enough, she opened them back up, swiveling her head to Eren’s direction. He had his wrists offered to her, beckoning her to get to it. 

Without a word spoken, Devon crouched down and began to swathe his hands together, placing a cloth between his palms to prevent him from slashing himself. 

“I’m not going to turn into a titan in an airship.”

Devon kept her concentration at the knot she was forming, grasped pulling against the binds, further restraining his movements.

“You’ll never know,” She whispered, retaining her hands on his wrist despite accomplishing her task.

The silence was unbearable, yet Devon resisted the impulsive sentences bunching up her mouth. She wanted him to say something— anything that could possibly tame the anger she had for him.

Flickering lights on the hallway continued, baring the stiff aura that pattered heavily upon the narrow space. Devon and Eren very much indulged in their staring contest.

It was akin to glasses at the edge of the table, waiting for one to finally fall and shatter into microscopic pieces.

As aggravating as the soundless room is, Devon’s pride was far too great to break it, eyes boring into the orbs she once adored. She began to think to herself of the things that might have happened for Eren to be brought back to her this lifeless.

The more time she invested looking at him, the wrenched ache in her chest became torturous. She wasn’t entirely aware what came over her, but her hand was already poised up in the air, her palm connecting against Eren’s cheek.

A graciously blaring slap, echoed against the room, probably heard around the whole airship. His head banging into the wall next to him, relishing the strength of the contact

Even being the one to strike, Devon’s hand burned at the impact, making hiss, the other hand shooting up to soothe her stinging palm.

Her eyes were blurry when she looked back to Eren, cheek had started to redden. All the reserved attitude she had been building up the whole day demolished simply by entertaining Eren Yeager’s presence.

She knew it wouldn’t be pleasant but she failed to recognize exactly how distressing it would be. Her chest was heaving, palm clawing at the skin, hoping for the ache to lighten.

“Devon,”

She was wrong. The initial thought of having him talk flew out her mind when she finally heard his voice. In the quite space they stood in, it seemed annoying loud. Despite merely whispering her name, it was like he had yelled in her ear, which made her cover them as she was currently doing.

“No—” Her voice shook, failing to maintain the authority in her tone. “Shut the fuck up, Yegear.”

She spun on her heel, turning her back on him, rolling her head up to gaze at the wooden ceiling. Her breath was still uneven as she exhaled, running a trembling hand along her locks.

“Wha–what did you hope to achieve?” She asked, pouring out frustration at every word. “I really want to understand— just please . . .”

I don’t want to hate you, she wanted to say but decided against it. Deeming the phrase inappropriate for the situation.

Without even having her eyes on him, Eren was well aware of her raging desperation. He knew why she was insistent and what exactly she wanted from him.

But all he had to say was, “It’s for everyone’s safety.”

If Devon was a volcano, she would’ve exploded right then and there. The bubbling vexation coursing through her veins made her head spin.

“Never in my life . . . and I mean never — have I despised a phrase as much!” She chuckled, no humor could be detected in the smile she flashed Eren when she turned around. “Is that it? Does that make all of this— justifiable?” 

The blaze looming up her throat whenever she became a tad mindful of his eyes were indescribable. It infuriated her as she took in the state of the pair. So much that she felt to need to shield them from her vision. 

“I don’t know what else you’re asking of me.” 

At his blunt statement, Devon had difficulties deciphering which of her swirling emotions she wanted to project due to the outrage and melancholy submerging her sane conscience. 

The little energy she had left prompted her to merely gape at his slouched figure, knotted wrists sat patiently at his lap. She lost the ability to make sense of his actions as his glare punctured her soul, sending an uncomfortable twinge in her heart.

“What happened to you?” Her hand slid to her neck, rubbing soothing circles to aid her shuddering tone. “I was angry the night before we came here . . . and even then, I still hoped for your safety— I hated that you left but I continued to believe that you had a good motive,” She willed herself to keep her eyes on him despite the impending urge to do otherwise. “But seeing you now — I’m beginning to doubt your stand in all of this . . .” 

Being honest was something she wanted to do, even if she was in no way prepared for Eren’s response. She had to let him know as much as she needed proper answers to the swarm of questions she had thrown at him. 

She touched her shoulder, wringing out the knot that was starting to form, as she ignored the noticeable tremble of her fingers. “You showed no mercy to anyone in this city — “

“No one deserved mercy — “

“Not even those children?” She was quick to surface the topic again, wide eyed as she awaited his reply. 

It was one that made her heart stop, breath hitched at her throat. 

“We were children too when something similar to this happened, weren’t we?” The way he delivered his question with no anger, but pure confusion halted Devon’s arguments, instead opting to study his expressions.

He spoke of nothing else but truth. They were children when Wall Maria was breached by the Armored Titan. In spite of not being a resident of that town, she was coincidently present when it occurred.

A dangerous chill cascaded along her spine at the memory of her younger sister. The image burned into her skull for eternity, how her little body got brutally smashed by a massive concrete that wiped out every thing in the perimeter she was standing on.

Devon lived with the regret of not being beside her, and letting her run further ahead without knowing it would be the sole cause of her demise. 

“And we weren’t at fault just like those children.” Her resolve quaked in the slightest but she stood her ground. “They didn’t have any idea what was happening — They were just as clueless as us . . .”

Exhaustion was taking over Devon’s sight, far too tired to have a sensible conversation with Eren except the stubborn part of her refused to waver. 

“Will you really no tell me?” Her persistence was starting to sound desperate, as she searched his eyes for the tiniest bit of sparkle she used to admire. Eyes drooped, her hands tugged at the rope on his wrists, pulling him closer as if she’d see what she was seeking in this proximity. 

She nearly smacked herself at how foolish her thoughts had become. Perhaps it came from the perplexing sentiments she had for the brunette, those sleepless nights her mind wandered to him, as she sat on her bed waiting for him to make his way back. 

Devon had buried emotions she deemed improper, and became more secluded when Eren left. She barely opened up to any of her close friends, fixing her face into a defaulted smile at times she felt the most unwell. 

To see Eren give her the look she had been dealing with every time she stared at her reflection shoved her into a state of panic, immediately ambushing him with questions she knew would go unanswered. 

With a deep sigh, she dropped her hand from its place, resting it on her side. “Alright . . . it would be a few hours until we reach Parad — “

A powerful bang startled them, Devon’s heart lurching on her chest as it had dawned to her that it was a gunshot. She stood rigid, unable to function despite the sudden commotion happening just behind the door at her right. 

Fear rippled through her system as the furious yells turned into desperate pleas. Her throat ran dry at the single name a mix of voices shouted.

“SASHA!”

That fear was physically resurfaced as her palms suddenly felt damp, blood turning sickeningly cold. She eventually willed herself to snap out of it, grabbing the doorknob, almost flinching at the freezing kiss on her fingertips.

Too occupied by her thoughts, she hadn’t realized, she had pushed the door open until Connie’s deafening yell broke her cloudy mind.

“DEVON—” Her eyes snapped towards the panicked voice, unable to ignore it. A wish for it all to go away was the first thing that came to her as she eyed the fimilliar head of reddish brown hair that laid unmoving on the floor.

She struggled to react, helplessly trudging towards Sasha. “Sasha—” A shake at the shoulder was her initial response, shock still fresh in her mind. “Hey— Sasha! Hold on, okay? Stay with me—” Devon’s palm snaked to grasp Sasha’s, pressing harder, hoping to transfer some of her warmth to her terrifyingly algid skin.

Devon’s lips came down to where their hands were connected, breathing tepid blows onto Sasha’s palm.

“Nico—”

Hope sparked in Devon’s chest at the sound of Sasha’s hoarse voice, deflating the moment she notcied the severity of her condition.

“Is dinner ready?” The sob Devon released pained her commarades as they watched on, tears falling from their eyes as well.

“Sasha— Sasha . . .” Devon’s pleas grew hopless, as she delivered an impervious squeeze on her palm. “Please— don’t leave me . . .”

Sasha’s name spilled from her lips repeatedly, noticing the delirious swarm in her eyes, knuckles bathed in unceasing downpour of hurt dripping from her green orbs.

An unbelievablely excruciating pang barreled on her chest, as she felt the weak grasp of Sasha’s hand turn limp on her own.

“N— NO! PLEASE . . .” Fright surged on her bones, shaking hands slamming onto Sasha’s shoulders. Devon shook her still form, movements lumbered due to the amount of tears clouding her vision. The headache she had earlier worsened terrible, as it was forced to process the horrific scene laid out in front of her.

The tips of her fingers felt numb, as she caressed Sasha’s freezing skin, index and middle digit crawling up the side of her neck, gently searching for her pulse.

Although hope was wearing thin, she still found the strength to press at the spot, pausing for a second before shaking her head.

Connie’s hand that was applying pressure to the gaping wound on her abdomen loosen, as he drew in a sharp breath.

Jean, still having his ears shielded by his palms, had found the courage to turn around to see a heartbreaking image that will surely be imprinted on his brain for all eternity.

A series of loud cries erupted around her, making her realize that she had stopped weeping. The weight on her chest still unbearable yet she felt far too numb to acknowledge it.

Her eyes drifted to the door she had been in before the tragic accident, disappointment bubbling up her throat, not at Eren but at herself because even then, she couldn’t bring herself to be angry at him.

A single question hung lax of the fragments of her wits.

Why?

Why did Eren choose to do what he did? Why did Sasha have to be a victim of this monstrosity?

No doubt, this war was to further worsen, Sasha won’t be the last one to suffer the end of this bargain.

The fire of unwavering adherence set ablaze in her remaining morals, determined to unseal Eren’s true motives for his repeated sentiment; for everyone’s safety.

Eren was not an enemy, but he does serve as a threath if he continues to feed them obscure reassurances that might put them in a danger like this. The enemy was the thoughts boiling in his head, caging him alone with those possibly sinister notions.

Devon had a great hunch that Eren gives vague answers because he was hinding something important, a plan he knew they wouldn’t agree on.

Perhaps it was her drained sanity thinking, but Devon have passed the stage of giving a damn as she let the thought worm into her brain.

If she can’t beat the enemy, she would have to join them.

[shihalyfie]

"Canon” and “not canon” in the Adventure/02 universe

This is something I want to talk about, because it has a certain degree of relevance to the question of what I choose to take into account in my analyses and what I don’t. I write a lot about Adventure and 02 because both series are ridiculously consistent over their 104-episode runtime, but there are times when things contradict or don’t quite track together, and I have to figure out how to best rationalize them -- which means I need to make arbitrary decisions on what to count and not count, and when one does make those kinds of decisions, you’re very liable to get the complaint: “but that’s not canon!”

Which always makes me think: who decided that? And in the end, this is something that I think extends beyond just Digimon; every fanbase for everything always wants to believe there’s a clear-cut answer to things that everyone’s supposed to follow in a canonical timeline, and things that fall outside it. And sometimes, for some franchises, that is doable, because official staff will actually say outright that “this counts, and this doesn’t.” But that’s not how Toei and Bandai work, and their modus operandi has always been to toss a bunch of often-contradictory stuff at everyone and go “figure it out yourself,” and I think at some point the fanbase really needs to acknowledge that this so-called clear-cut boundary of “canon” and “not canon” doesn’t actually exist at all. Or in other words, any assertion of something being “canon” or “not canon” in the Adventure and 02 universe is purely something arbitrarily defined by fans, and was never determined by official - which, conversely, has actually encouraged you to take as much as you want and figure out the rest yourself.

Before we begin, I do want to make clear that this is not about one’s personal canon based on one’s own preferences -- that is to say, if you’re going “I don’t consider this canon because I don’t like this/don’t want to work with this,” then that’s entirely your right, especially if you’re doing creative work and need to decide what to apply and to not to apply. (Although, as always, one must be conscientious and respectful of those who do like it and consider it canon, because everyone’s going to differ on this.) What I am talking about is when people take a substantial part of the franchise that they otherwise like, such as a movie or drama CD, see one detail that’s contradictory in terms of the timeline or lore, and take that as evidence of “yep, the entire thing’s not canon. We’ll just throw the entire thing out, then.” It just makes me think -- you threw out a perfectly good work for that?! That’s such a waste!

First of all, Toei and Bandai don’t work that way

In general, a lot of the contradictions in the series have a “right hand is not talking to left hand” problem, because as much as we would like to believe that a Digimon series is written by a single consistent entity, the franchise itself is a huge trade-off between Toei and Bandai, and a lot of things from Bandai -- spinoffs, crossover material, games, what have you -- don’t exactly have a stellar track record of being vetted by Toei anime staff. It’s pretty well-known that game portrayals of certain characters can be really off or have misleading info, and even V-Tamer’s somewhat guilty of it. So this is going to happen no matter whether you like it or not, and it happens with any long-running kids’ series that involves a collaboration between multiple companies like this.

Moreover, the traditional custom for Toei “side movies” (in this case, meaning things like the original movie, Our War Game!, Hurricane Touchdown, and Diablomon Strikes Back) is that they’re produced with minimal involvement from the original series’s core staff -- at most, the producer is lightly involved -- and are sometimes even worked on simultaneously with the start of the original series, so you often end up with a movie that’s impossible to fit anywhere in the series timeline because there wasn’t any communication with the two sides. And for that, it’s all too easy to dismiss those movies as “non-canon”, with the fanbase arbitrarily deciding that canon ones are canon because they fit -- but Toei itself has never taken this stance.

The other thing is that, given that Adventure/02 is famous for its ridiculous level of worldbuilding consistency thanks to its director Kakudou’s conscientious efforts on it, it means that as a result, anything not made by him was prone to running afoul on it, and it’s not like the stance back then was to just reject all of it wholesale. “Doesn’t comply with the lore” is so often equated with “not canon”, but Kakudou, the author of that lore, not only made no indication of invalidating or disliking those non-compliant things, but also conversely made an active effort to make those things relevant in spite of that! (See: Our War Game! below.) The official stance is to not deny those works for being noncompliant -- it’s just that Kakudou seems to be the detail-oriented kind of person who personally prefers to work with things that have a high level of consistency (he’s very quick to say “I wasn’t involved on that” whenever someone brings up something from said external materials, not in any condescending way, just “I wasn’t involved, so don’t attribute that to me”). In fact, one of the reasons there wasn’t initially a third Adventure series was that he had difficulty finding a way to adhere to the higher-ups’ pressure to keep all of these contradictions consistent -- so the official stance itself is to try and maintain all of those side works, and that it would be better to end the series itself than to have to do something like deny them.

Which makes things very frustrating for the fans, of course, but nevertheless, that’s how it is -- even back in 2000, the right-hand-not-talking-to-left-hand phenomenon was this significant! And it would have been easy for official to step in and go “okay, we’ll put a statement out here that these don’t apply,” but no, the stance was be that it would be better to stop dragging it out longer and cancel a whole series than to deny those works, which leads us to the current situation. (Plus, think how insulting it would feel from a PR perspective if someone got attached to one of those “non-canon” materials only for official to come out and outright say “yeah this doesn’t count anymore”; we can name examples of this happening in other franchises that have understandably gotten a lot of people upset, and it would be especially offensive to do this right after said material had been released.)

Bolstering the concept of official staff’s very loose opinion of “canon” are the Adventure novels, which were supervised by Kakudou himself and written by Digimon episode screenwriter Masaki Hiro, and are non-compliant with Adventure timeline by design, because it’d be bad for the format to try and depict every single detail in the anime in the form of three novels. Several events are condensed or shuffled out of order, or even sometimes completely different (Koushirou’s incident with Vadermon goes very differently from the anime version). Despite that, this is said directly to be intended as a series of novels to help people understand Adventure and 02 better, and several details in Two-and-a-Half Year Break and Spring 2003 are incredibly consistent with it (namely in the sense of details meant to retroactively connect Adventure to 02, and other background details like Daisuke’s backstory). So you are supposed to do some kind of mental leap where you don’t take the contradictions around the actual events too seriously, but still accept the spirit and the background information you learn from it and retroactively apply it to Adventure and 02 -- and, presumably, that’s probably what you’re expected to do with everything else, too.

And this isn’t even getting into the fact that the anime itself has occasional contradictions and errors due to things like animator error or simply different writers writing different episodes -- the Adventure and 02 staff were certainly very detail-oriented, but they are human and of course inevitably slipped up here and there. How seriously do you take honorifics shifting from episode to episode in ways that don’t seem intentional, or the fact every background material refers to Osamu and Ken having a bunk bed and yet the actual episode with both of them fails to depict it? How do you deal with the fact that the Animation Chronicle is one of the most extensively useful post-02 reference materials with tons of production background info not revealed in the anime, and yet is infamously full of suspected typos that would cause some pretty massive implications if true, or all of those other Bandai and Shueisha-commissioned “side books” and other pieces of media meant to entertain the kids while the series was airing but clearly had no input from Toei staff whatsoever? 

In the end, frustrating as it is, the answer seems to be the same as ever: figure it out yourself.

The standards for what’s “canon” and “not canon” are way too arbitrary

Let’s look at a handful of things that have been historically dismissed as “non-canon” by the fanbase:

The Adventure mini dramas and Armor Evolution to the Unknown: Drama CDs that were generally dismissed as non-canon because they’re “too crack” to be canon (their writing style is of the “it’s okay to push the boundaries of characterization for the sake of comedy” sort, and it wouldn’t be until later when we finally got some more serious drama CDs). The latter is full of honorific inconsistencies, most prominently Daisuke and Ken still being on surname basis at a time they’re not supposed to be (due to the fact that it was released while the series was still being produced). But official word is that you’re still supposed to consider them canon -- and yes, that’s Kakudou himself giving official sanction to a drama CD that involved a massive amount of fourth wall breaking and a completely unexplained reunion between the Adventure kids and their Digimon sometime between 1999 and 2002 (apparently this wasn’t the only one, either). How is this supposed to work? Figure it out yourself.

Hurricane Touchdown: The funny part is that up until Kizuna validated Wallace’s existence, there was no actual consistent agreement on why this movie shouldn’t be canon (the Western side being “evolutionary form timeline violations”, the Japanese side being Wallace’s status as a Chosen Child prior to 1995), which really goes to show you how arbitrary all of this is. It also has a sequel drama CD in the form of The Door to Summer, which is also contradictory with Hurricane Touchdown’s ending, so we’ve got two layers of “it can’t be canon because...” -- and yet it has a lot of interesting Daisuke characterization, and, heck, the whole character of Wallace himself, that would all be rejected if you throw this out wholesale. Then Kizuna came along, and there’s a general sense of hesitation against easily denying officially-sanctioned “main” entries like that, which retroactively forced people to somehow skip past all that and accept it, just for the sake of Kizuna’s notability.

Diablomon Strikes Back: Similar to the above, it used to be constantly dismissed as “a non-canon fun movie” because of the evolutionary forms that appear in it, despite the fact that 02 itself established that it wasn’t that hard to restore evolutionary forms if you figured something out. Somehow, a ton of people treated it as such an impossibility that “they figured it out in the first three months of 2003″ would be a viable explanation, and yet official word is that of the second through fourth movies, this is the one that had the most amount of initial consultation with the TV anime staff! And then tri. and Kizuna came along and clearly had high-level evolutions in play too, and dismissing DSB on these grounds meant dismissing those by proxy, and a lot of people were too intimidated to do that and decided to retroactively validate DSB instead, after years of having dismissed it for this reason. Again: look how arbitrary this all is.

The tri. stage play: Mainly because its timeline of events doesn’t fit tri. at all (in regards to the reboot and part 5). This is a fair assessment to make in light of the fact that it doesn’t seem to work very hard to be compliant with the very series it’s branded with, but, funnily enough, it’s actually more lore-compliant with the original Adventure and 02 than the tri. anime series is, and yet the few minor contradictions it makes with the tri. anime series are sufficient to consider it completely kicked out of canon, yet those same people who declare it so aren’t as willing to hold the anime to that same standard just because it holds a more prominent “main” position.

On the other hand, let’s look at some of the things that have been more likely to be accepted than the above:

Our War Game!: Reading this is probably going to make everyone go “whaaaaaat?”, but yep: according to Kakudou, the second through fourth movies were all made without his supervision or involvement and thus have lore contradictions (although he also made sure to say that they’re very fine movies, too). We still haven’t figured out what the lore contradiction is, and so the fanbase considers it canon, and even 02 itself makes multiple references to “the Diablomon incident” in 2000, so you can’t consider this non-canon in the slightest...but yes, according to the official side, it’s actually got a contradictory incursion somewhere in there. There is one hypothesis as to what it is, and it’s such a minor thing that no fan or even official member of staff would dare deny the movie for it, but it still contributes to how arbitrary this entire concept is: Kakudou didn’t want to give anyone (except Miyako, who’s based off a real person) canonical birthdays or blood types for the sake of preventing horoscoping, but Sora’s birthday is portrayed as being around March in the movie. And yes, Kakudou himself refers to this as being something that only happened because he wasn’t involved. (Remember what I said about him historically being quick to disclaim involvement on anything he wasn’t involved on, regardless of how much of a minor detail it is, yet doesn’t necessarily intend to deny the work entirely due to it?)

Tag Tamers: A very vital part of Ken’s backstory that establishes a lot of context behind the Dark Seed and the elusive Akiyama Ryou, which also does not make sense with 02′s timeline and characterization at all, presumably because Bandai and Toei weren’t properly communicating on what kind of details they needed to iron out for this. But of course, all of us would like some explanation to Ken’s backstory, and we have to apply some kind of logic as to how that makes sense, and I’ve yet to see people declare Tag Tamers (or any of the other WonderSwan games) as entirely non-canon as a result.

tri.: For obvious reasons, it’s a “major entry in the franchise”, so people are generally more averse to dismissing it so easily (or, at least, for reasons that aren’t related to pure preference), but I find it rather ironic that Kizuna’s the one that got all the attention for apparently being lore non-compliant, when the exact same lore points mentioned in Kakudou’s reasoning as to why it’s non-compliant (along with a ton of things that actually were in Adventure and 02′s text) are gone against even more regularly and prominently in tri., whereas Kizuna still goes out of its way to adhere to most of these and only seems to have incurred a contradiction in terms of originally intended ideology, and, possibly, its extensive use of the aforementioned movies. (Recall that this got brought up for Kizuna specifically because Kakudou was initially consulted for it; he wasn’t involved in tri. to begin with at all.) See above on how people’s unwillingness to write this one off so easily despite everything ended up retroactively dragging DSB into “accepted canon” territory; that’s how arbitrary this entire thing is.

Then, tied to all of this and making it even more confusing is Kizuna, which, again, putting all issues of personal preference aside, is basically being torn back and forth between all of these whenever you try to apply one of the above arbitrary standards. It’s allegedly lore-noncompliant with Kakudou’s lore and thus lacks his involvement, but it does have the involvement of original series producer Seki Hiromi who was known to be responsible for the series’s original human drama themes (including the premise of 02 itself) and personally vetted the scripts so that everyone could be properly in-character and the original themes still intact; it’s supposedly a “main” entry to the point where people will stop denying older works’ canonicity because of it (see Hurricane Touchdown above), but, legally speaking, is actually classified in the same “gekijouban” category that the first four movies and things like the Tamers through Savers movies are; the staff will say to hell and back that the 02 epilogue still holds (and the movie makes abundant retroactive references in both worldbuilding and themes to it), but many people out there will still insist that the movie ending that way means that (like with DSB above) “they figured it out” between the movie’s ending and the epilogue is apparently some kind of impossibility, and either the movie is non-canon or the 02 epilogue is invalidated now. (My personal stance on this is that the epilogue itself provides the answer to how they figure it out if you look closely at the movie’s themes, but that’s a tangent.)

The point I’m trying to make is that regardless of whatever stance you take on all of the above points, this is all extremely arbitrary, and these fanbase rationalizations on why this and that isn’t canon are constantly contradicting each other, shifting, and occasionally based on really meaningless things. And, again, it’s fine if you’re saying that you don’t consider this or that canon because you personally dislike it or where it went, or you find it difficult to work with, or between two contradictory things you prefer one or the other (I certainly have my fair share of strong opinions in this regard) -- but it would be better if we all admitted this and went “I just don’t consider this canon” instead of acting like there were ever some universal consensus or official backing.

"It didn’t happen this exact way, but something resembling it still happened”

So, we’re in this uncomfortable situation where we’ve been handed a ball of knots and have to work with it (a very frustrating situation especially for fanfic writers), and I have to personally say that I think all of this comes from people having far too inflexible of a concept of “canon” and “not canon”, especially to the point of rejecting a full-on perfectly fine entry just because of one timeline issue. I honestly think it’d be better if we could rather take a certain stance close to the Pixiv dictionary wiki’s view of how Wallace can appear in Kizuna: “(some version of) Wallace exists in the timeline of the main story.”

Right, so: Hurricane Touchdown is contradictory. The evolutions don’t work at that point in timeline, and Wallace shouldn’t be able to be a Chosen Child from before 1995. Those things don’t work with Adventure and 02′s timeline and lore. However, let’s look at the following story: let’s say that, between 02 episodes 14 and 15 (when the movie first screened), while school was on break, Daisuke and his friends went on a summer adventure to the US and met a boy named Wallace, who had a struggle regarding one of his partners losing his sanity, and bonded with him and helped put his partner to rest. No part of this contradicts 02 at all. There we go! So we can safely say that some story that mostly resembled Hurricane Touchdown happened in the canon timeline. Some of its details weren’t exactly the way they happened in “the movie we, as the audience, saw” -- but something that substantially resembled the movie still happened in the universe of Daisuke and his friends. And you can apply that same logic to Tag Tamers, or any other vital canonical but ostensibly contradictory material -- the media that we as the audience got may not accurately reflect the events in universe, but there’s absolutely nothing saying that some more timeline and lore-consistent alternate version didn’t happen in canon instead.

Moreover, even Adventure/02 itself gives you a bit of precedent for this concept -- namely, the fact that the final episode of 02 reveals that the entirety of Adventure and 02 is part of Takeru’s novels. It’s a pretty common theory that there might be differences in the way “the story we got” was presented, versus how they actually happened in the world Takeru lived in -- of course, Takeru certainly went out of his way to remove as much bias from the situation as he could, but you can hardly say that he, as a human, would be completely free from it, and he himself even admits that everyone he consulted had differing opinions on the events in question. And not every single piece of Digimon media has the Hirata-Hiroaki-as-Takeru narrator, which means that perhaps it’s not entirely out of the question that the different takes on the stories that the Tokyo Chosen Children went through in their youth would not be entirely consistent with each other, depending on who’s telling it. But that doesn’t mean that those events necessarily didn’t happen at all, just that some of the details were different from what we as the audience saw.

In the end, I leave the rest to everyone else to figure out -- as I said, I think this is a decision everyone will have to make for themselves, whether they’re a fanfic writer picking and choosing what to include for the sake of a coherent fic, or whether they’re just expressing a preference to not have to think too hard about or work with something they’re turned off by. (And in the case that there is someone who expresses their dislike of working with something and doesn’t want to consider it canon, I think it’s very rude to give them grief for that, and conversely, if you don’t want to consider something canon but encounter someone who doesn’t have as much of a problem with it, it’s very rude to try and expect them to change their opinion to yours.) But I do think it would do well for all of us to have a bit more of an open mind and a creative attitude towards these kinds of things before trying to shove everything into a “fully canon” and “fully not canon” binary.

[aelin-queen-of-terrasen]

𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐭 | 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 - 𝐎𝐧𝐞

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Rowan glanced at his pocket watch and attempted to swallow his irritation.

How was it only nine-o-clock still? He had already suffered through enough social niceties to last a lifetime.

Now, he listened with but half a mind to his cousin drone on about the night's guests. His head was filled with all the tasks he needed to see to, including searching for a new governess for his sons. His boys kept chasing away every woman he employed and he was hesitant to hire a tutor, because he believed they needed a woman's influence too, now that his own wife was too ill. The physician had done all he could but there was not much hope she would wake, loathe as he was to admit it. Perhaps he should have accepted his mother-in-law's offer and send the boys to their her after all?

"--and Arobynn's here too—"

That caught his attention. "He is?"

"Mhmm. Look, over there, no, no, to the left—besides the pretty redhead, yes, just so."

A man stood by the entrance with a red-haired woman on his arm, tall and muscular, with a fine-boned face. His auburn hair were pulled back into a bun, offsetting his pale skin and the fine cut of his suit was a stark reminder of his prominent position in society, despite the whole stigma around tradesmen.

"I knew he was fond of flaunting convention but escorting his mistress to a ball?"

"You haven't heard?" James approached them with a drink in his hand. "She is not his mistress but an adoptive daughter of sorts and his apparent heir."

Fenrys choked on his drink.

"He named a girl heir to his trade empire—and not even his own blood—stupid!"

"Spoken like a man," said the gentleman and shook his head. "He raised her himself, is introducing her to all his associates and she doesn't look dumb either."

James nodded towards the redhead he had seen earlier, dressed in the finest black silk with a neckline low enough, it bordered on scandalous. Her copperish-red hair were pinned into an elegant coiffure with pretty, gold hair combs and a simple, pearl necklace completed the striking picture she made. Her sharp, defined features were barely beautiful until she laughed—a musical sound in itself—and he wondered whether he had seen anyone prettier.

"If hers was the last face I ever saw, I'd die a happy man." Fenrys sighed and walked off.

James rolled his eyes. "He's about to seek an introduction to her, isn't he?"

Rowan's lips twitched up.

He had always liked James. The man was completely without artifice and his enthusiasm for everything was so infectious, no one could remain angry with him. He had spent a few summers with the Galathynius children, until their youngest daughter was abducted and the visits stopped.

"I say you must frown a little less, sir, unless you wish to give offense."

Rowan looked up, startled at being addressed by the object of his thoughts. She looks even lovelier up close, thought he.

"I detest these events."

"So do half the people in this room and yet, appearances must be maintained."

"Deceit is not in my nature."

The lady frowned. "It is not deceitful to pretend you are interested in an event in order to spare your host's feelings."

"Your motive may be charitable but it is no excuse for dishonesty."

The lady looked amused but did not pursue the topic further. "I hope you will forgive me for speaking without a proper introduction, sir. I am not a fan of convention."

Rowan smiled.

An unmarried woman, not even of age, and already a heiress to a trade empire—by all accounts, she did not seem like one.

"I will, if you allow me to remedy the situation now." He bowed with exaggerated formality. "I am Mr. Rowan Whitethorn of Harcomb, in Doranelle."

Her cheek dimpled. "Miss Celaena Sardothein—my father—"

"Mr. Hamel, yes, I know." He almost cringed at how rude he sounded. "He and I, we are—"

"—business associates, yes, I know," she teased with an impish grin, replying in a poor imitation of his own deep voice.

Her eyes twinkled with amusement, filled with laughter and mirth—turquoise orbs, ringed with brilliant gold.

All of his resolve flew out of the window. "Miss Sardothein, will you allow me the pleasure of leading you into the first set? The dancing is about to commence."

"The pleasure will be all mine."

In hopes of starting a conversation, he said, "You are a fine dancer."

"I would have believed you to be a liar if we hadn't already established that deceit of any sort is your abhorrence."

He smiled. "And if I were being insincere?"

"I would take it as a compliment to myself, for it will mean that you are acting on my advice from earlier about lying for the sake of appearances."

They fell silent again.

"We must talk some, you know," said Rowan. "For someone who claims to be concerned with appearances, do you not think it would look odd for us to spend a half hour together but in silence."

She startled at the sudden statement. "Introduce a topic then and I will do my poor best to maintain the conversation."

Rowan complied and was pleasantly surprised to find her lively and good-humored and well-informed on most subject from current fashion disasters to books to political bills and movements. Her arguements were passionate and far from taking offense at his dry humor, she matched it with witty quips of her own; and to top it alll off, she was as skilled a dancer as a conversationalist.

Rowan was almost annoyed when the song came to an end. He could not recall the last time he had been half as well entertained.

"You will be the death of me, you foolish, foolish chit!" screeched the old matron.

Fenrys had allowed himself to be dragged into a bookstore, which happened to be one of his least favourite places, by his cousin, James—the second son to his uncle, Lord Rhoe, the Earl of Narrowcreek—and was now eager for any sort of amusement. He turned towards the high-pitched shriek with interest.

A young lady stood near the shelves, tall and proud, even in the face of her mother's ill-bred manners.

Her blonde hair fell down in waves, half pinned by dragonfly-shaped hair combs. The fabric of her dress was fine enough for her to belong to the first circles and yet, he could not recall seeing her—or her mother—anywhere.

"Ungrateful child! Wait until I tell your father what you did; he will be most displeased."

She bit her lip to contain her mirth, though her cheeks flushed with embarassment. Her eyes flitted to the door and back, as if she was looking for some escape.

"Poor girl," the bookshop owner murmured.

The following words had the unfortunate attention of drawing the mother's attention towards the owner.

Lord Fenrys almost laughed at the alarmed look on the owner's face when she began lamenting to him instead and then looked over at the lady who was staring at the door with a thoughtful look, as if wondering whether or not to attempt an escape.

She must have decided in it's favour because she gathered her skirts and made a mad dash towards the door.

Fenrys realised he was standing in her way and hastened to move but it was too late—

"Darn!" cried she.

The commotion drew her mother's attention and upon spotting her wayward daughter lying on the floor with a grimace, she rushed over with a whole new litany of complaints.

Fenrys could have sworn the lady cursed under her breath.

"Stubborn, stubborn child! I told you not to run off without me but oh, how you love vexing me," shouted her mother in her high-pitched voice. "And what are you doing, bothering this fine gentleman over here? You had better not to talk to anyone if you are determined to refuse them all. You broke that poor man's heart—"

Fenrys quirked an eyebrow in interest, looking thoroughly entertained.

Her cheeks flushed further.

He frowned.

Up close, her face looked awfully familiar. He searched his brain for an answer.

A memory flashed in front of his mind. A highly unconventional black dress, a tinkling laugh and a ballroom.

Realisation dawned.

"Miss Sardothein! Fancy seeing you here," said he. "I almost didn't recognise you because of the hair."

"The hair? Oh, yes, I am very fond of dyes, but you have caught me in my natural state."

"I find you lovelier than ever. If you will forgive me for prying, I could not help but observe you haven't bought a thing yet, even though I know you to be a great reader! Is the reading material not to your taste, Miss Sardothein?"

Celaena answered wryly, "As a matter of fact, the books here suit my tastes very well—It is only that I am not allowed to buy books for a month—as punishment."

"No books! And what awful crime did you commit to merit that?"

"I rejected a marriage offer."

"A capital offense!"

Celaena smiled, "Indeed."

"I hope you are appropriately ashamed of yourself!"

"Horrified at my own audacity, really."

The lady looked up at him and grinned; Fenrys' own face turned pale and his mouth fell open in surprise. Ashryver eyes! She had ashryver eyes—like James, Aedion, and their mothers Helen and Evalin and—gods. The little poem his cousins had made up in childhood came to the forefront of his mind.

"The fairest eyes, from legends old,

Of brightest blue, ringed with gold."

But how...?

He looked at the woman again: her eyes bright and mirthful and thick eyelashes resting on her cheek, the face tugged at his memory; and she smiled so impishly, he had seen that smile before—

"Aelin," he blurted out.

He was startled when her smile dropped and recognition flickered in her eyes.

Fenrys shot an alarmed look towards the shelf behind which James had disappeared. Aelin was here! But how could this be? His heart thumped loudly inside his chest.

"Aelin?" She inclined her head in question.

He smiled uncertainly.

Was she really his little cousin? Aelin had been five year old when he last saw her.

But if he was wrong about this, could this come to bite him in the ass? She was certainly as old as his cousin would have been, had she been alive and she had the same unruly blonde curls and those ashryver eyes, teeming with life.

It couldn't be...

Arobynn's adoptive daughter.

"Yes, Aelin was my favourite cousin—you, uh, you remind me of her."

"If she is your favourite, then I am inclined to take that as a compliment." Celaena—Aelin?—smiled again, though her eyebrows remained drawn still. "The name does sound familiar. Perhaps I would have heard of her in the newspaper? The society column is a great source of amusement to my father. He reads it aloud to us from time to time."

Father? He wondered if she was talking of Arobynn or Mrs. Rhunn's husband.

Fenrys smiled sadly. "That is not possible for you see, my cousin died when she was five."

At least I thought she died.

"I am sorry for your loss." Then, with an arch look on her face, she asked, "If she was like me as you say, she must have been delightful."

He chuckled. "An absolute troublemaker."

"Definitely like me then," said she, sparing a look towards her mother. "I should leave now, before my mother lists you off as yet another suitor!"

And before he could think to stop her, she curtsied and scurried off.

Fenrys stared at the door, somewhat dumbfounded. Aelin is alive. He marvelled at the thought and then wondered how on earth he would inform her family—James would be ecstatic and his father would have to be informed, and Edward would have to be called to London, gods. Edward!

Aelin had been missed by all but no one grieved her as the poor man had.

Edward would be ecstatic; everyone would.

Fenrys ran towards his cousin out of breath, who was still examining titles in one corner.

"Fenrys, god, slow down, man! Whatever happened? You look like you saw a ghost."

He blinked.

Then, without any attempt at tact or discretion, he blurted out: "Aelin is alive."

"Aelin, Aelin, stop that—no, look at your frock, mother will be so angry, no, Aelin! You will hurt yourself like that."

The man watched, concealed behind the ridge as a little girl skipped from one mud puddle to another, blonde curls bouncing up and down as she moved. Her elder brother followed at a more sedate place, calling out admonishments and threats, not that they had an effect on her.

Aelin grinned over her shoulder and ran, leading her brother on a merry chase.

The man was still debating how to go about abducting the girl when fortune smiled upon him; she twisted her leg and fell down, prompting the boy to run towards her.

"It hurts," she whimpered, refusing to stand.

The man smiled maliciously and waited as the boy looked around. "Very well," he said finally. "If you promise not to go anywhere, I will fetch papa. Do not move, Aelin."

The boy rushed towards the manor house, ignoring the twisted knots in his stomach and burst into his father's private study. In his panicked state of mind, it took a few attempts for Rhoe to make sense of his garbled words.

A foreboding feeling rose in his stomach.

She will be fine, he tried to reassure himself. Aelin, troublemaker that she was, had had a lot worse than a twisted ankle.

But his alarm grew the nearer they came to where she was supposed to be and his heart pounded inside his chest. All colour drained from his face when they didn't find Aelin where she was supposed to be.

"Are you certain this is where you left her?"

Edward nodded.

Rhoe suddenly felt dizzy, his knees buckled and bile rose up in his throat.

He reined himself in and with admirable composure, organised search parties to search around the estate and the neighbourhood.

The search carried on until late that night, when an express rider from the nearby magistrate arrived with a letter: a nearby warehouse had burned down earlier that day and two bodies were found: a man in his forties, who could not be identified and a seven year old girl who had on a silver anklet bearing the word fireheart and requested Mr. Galathynius' presence tomorrow at the warehouse to confirm the girl's identity.

Rhoe folded the letter, excused himself from company and sent his sons to their beds.

Then he entered his study: the study no one was allowed to enter without permission—except his Aelin—slumped into the armchair by the fireplace and wept.

note: ...and it's here. I have so many drafts of this chapter lying around, I'm surprised I actually finally posted it lmao.

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[kitkat1003]

Tower Tales

3: Well, they’re not sad all the time, are they?

I posted this on AO3!  Diversify ur platforms kids.  Read the first two chaps Here, it’s kind of integral for ur understanding

@asilcorner sent me some ideas for this fic.  Give them love!  They have a great webcomic @ghostboyscomic that I love, and their art is so friggin cute.  ANYWAY TO THE FIC

(also the Dot section lowkey has a song and im v nervous about so pls b gentle I’m fragile)

They’ve started drawing up plans.  

For the Tower.  Why not put it together better, why not make the space a home now that it has to be?  Yakko refuses to let his siblings live in squalor, not when they have the ability to make it better.

Yakko is surprisingly adept at architecture, though Wakko can’t make heads nor tails of it.

“It’s just art with a little math,” Yakko shrugs off Wakko’s incredulous look with a smile, and Wakko frowns.

“I hate math,” He’s never had to do it in a classroom setting, but at this point he’s certain.  He lets Yakko continue to try and figure that mess out, idly chewing on his mallet as he glances up at the tall expanse of the tower.  

Yakko’s been thinking about expanding the kitchen and bathroom.  Dot says she wants a space for herself, but there doesn’t seem to be room for it between everything else.  Yakko tells her this kindly, though they can tell he’s not at all pleased with having to do so, and while she isn’t mad at him, she is upset at the situation.

“A proper lady is supposed to have a place to beautify herself,” She almost whines, but beneath the simple complaint is something closer to hurt, like this is another reminder that they’re trapped and they don’t have the luxury of comfortable space.

The frown lasts on her face longer than Wakko is comfortable with.  She’s his baby sister, she’s not going to be upset on his watch, unless it’s funny and not from a place of real hurt.  He glances up at the tall, tall ceiling.

Hmm....

Wakko grabs the lightbulb that appears above his head and tosses it into his mouth, crunching on it.  

“Careful, if it isn’t funny you’ll cut your tongue on the glass,” Yakko calls over his shoulder.  Wakko shrugs, and starts rifling through his gag bag.  It looks like he’s got plenty of material, and while Yakko keeps writing up plans Wakko gets to work.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It’s a couple of hours later that Dot looks up from her book and she sees an entire second floor being built-scratch that, being finished.  By Wakko.  Alone.

“Holy Cow!” She can’t help herself from exclaiming, and Yakko jumps out of the intense scene of concentration he was in and looks where Dot’s pointing.

His jaw hits the floor.

The first floor, now.

“Hi guys!” Wakko waves from the entrance to the second floor, nailing down the last spiraling stair to it.  “I got bored so I figured we could use a second floor!”

He skips down the steps and despite his rather hard stomping on them they stand firm.  The craftsmanship is impeccable; Yakko and Dot meet in the middle of the first floor and glance at each other in shock.

“What have you guys been up to?” Wakko asks, completely innocent, as if he hadn’t just made an entire second floor on his own in the span of a few hours.

“How did you do that?” Dot asks, incredulous.  Wakko looks confused, for a moment, and so she gestures wildly to the second floor.  He shrugs.

“Just thought we had a lot of ceiling space, so we could use another floor.  I think we have enough room for a third, but I thought I should take a break,” Wakko looks up at the new ceiling proudly.

“What measurements did you use?” Yakko asks, and Wakko stares at him blankly.

“Uhhhh...I kind of just started making stuff.  I’m not good with numbers,” he responds.

“But how did you even get the materials for this?” Dot rebukes, and Wakko pulls out a burlap sack.

“It’s all in my gag bag, see?” He reaches in and pulls out a long wooden board, showing it off before shoving it back into the bag.  “Easy peasy.  And look, Dot, now we have room for your girly stuff!”

“I protest to the fact that looking good must be described as girly, but regardless-I’m so excited!” She rushes forward and wraps Wakko in a tight hug, spinning him around.  When he’s set down he stumbles a bit, dizzy.

“Glad you...like it,” he mumbles, accent a little stronger, before shaking his head and coming back to himself.  “Do you guys wanna see the upstairs?”

Yakko, who has been previously speechless, jumps into action.

“Heck yeah I do!  C’mon!” He lets Wakko lead them up to the second floor, and they marvel at the open space.  Dot keeps pointing at places where she wants her stuff to be, and Wakko rolls his eyes, but it seems her joy brightens his day more than he though it would.  She was the reason he started building this, after all.  Yakko is already dreaming up new plans, thinking of how to best utilize the space they now have.  The kitchen, bedroom, and bathroom can stay downstairs, but they can make the living room smaller and put extra entertainment space up here.

“But, uh, yeah, that’s all,” Wakko has the audacity to look sheepish, and Yakko won’t stand for it.

“Wakko, this is beyond words,” He kneels down to his level.  “This is a great help.  Now, I think I should make something for us to eat, cause building this had got to have burnt up some calories, but do you think you might want to teach me how to build something later?” He smiles, and Wakko’s eyes go wide.  Teaching his big brother something for a change?  It’s a dream come true.

“Would I!” He tackles Yakko in a hug, and when Yakko catches him, just for a moment, he forgets the situation they’re in, and focuses on Dot’s giggles and the excited pattering of her feet on the new wooden floor, and on Wakko’s prideful expression and smile.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Yakko has never had an issue with food before.  He’s learned to make it, because Wakko needs it and Yakko would never not be able to do something for his family’s needs, that’s ridiculous.

But right now he’s certainly regretting ever ingesting anything, because they’d had a sundae party to celebrate the third floor being made-a celebration type picked by Wakko, who had headed the third floor expansion-and now he can’t sleep, because he feels like he’s going to vomit.

His stomach feels like he just ate a bomb, and not for fun like Wakko sometimes does.  He curls in on himself, trying not to make a fuss, but he opens his eyes and both Wakko and Dot are leaning over either side of him, mirrored looks of concern on their faces.

“Yakko, you look terrible,” Dot deadpans, but he can hear the slight tremor in her voice.  She still occasionally hovers over Wakko, though has relaxed as he’s gone from eating like a normal person to his more “typical” unusually voracious appetite.

“It’s just some...,” he winces.  “Some stomach pain.  It’s nothing,” He smiles, even though he feels awfully sweaty and nauseous.

“I thought my problem was just stomach pain too,” Wakko rebukes, and, well, Yakko can’t really argue there.

“But we’ve been eating with you, Wakko, it can’t be that.  And it couldn’t be bad ice cream, or we’d be sick too,” Dot puts a finger to her chin and thinks, but can’t come up with anything.

“Don’t humans have that thing where they can’t drink milk?” Wakko suggests, and, well, doesn’t that make too much sense.

“Thanks for the plot mover, Wakko,” Yakko groans from his place on the bed.

“I’ll go get you some water.  Maybe if we flush it out with other stuff, it’ll go away quicker,” Dot hops off of the bed and off to the kitchen.  Yakko’s stomach groans in displeasure, and Yakko curls up tighter.

“Guess this means no more milk, huh?  Oh well,” Wakko shrugs, and Yakko half glares at him.

“I’m not banning milk from the house just cause I can’t have it,” He says, a growl in his voice.  Wakko shrugs again.

“Who said you were banning it?  I just don’t think we need it anymore,” He smiles, almost Cheshire.  “Don’t have the craving for it anymore, right, Dot?”

“Right!”

Yakko almost jumps when he feels the bed dip down with Dot’s weight, surprised by her return, but he shifts to face her and takes the glass of water offered with a smile.

“Thanks, sis,” he takes a few sips, and while it doesn’t change much, he gives her a thumbs up anyway, so she’ll feel like she helped.

“Wakko, you need calcium in your diet,” he goes back to arguing, and Wakko leans back on his hands.

“Pretty sure toons don’t have certain diet they need.”

“Pretty sure toons don’t need to eat at all, but,” Yakko raises a brow and lets the sentence hang.

“Touche,” Wakko admits.  “And hey, we’re broken body buddies!” He raises his hands up and grins, and Yakko tries for a smile, too, chuckling to himself.

“But I’m pretty sure we can get calcium in other foods.  Just saying,” Wakko finishes, and Yakko gets it, but he isn’t going to deprive his siblings of pizza and ice cream just because his body can’t handle it. 

But it’s an argument for another day, because Yakko’s stomach makes another very unpleasant noise, and he slowly sits up and starts crawling his way to the end of the bed.

“Where are you going?” Dot asks.

“The bathroom,” Yakko says, and his voice sounds weak even to his ears.  “Don’t wait up.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

An hour and a half later, Yakko stumbles out of the bathroom, drained, and he slumps in on himself as he shuffles back to bed, only to stop when he sees the bed itself.

In the middle, where he typically rests, is a fort of sorts.  Rather, it’s a perfectly shaped resting spot for him, lined with the softest pillows and with a blanket his favorite color, all as comfy as can be.

“Take a rest, brother,” Wakko gestures to the bed nirvana, though Yakko can’t help but notice him wince when he looks at Yakko.  Makes sense.

“Yeah, we set it all up nice for you!  See how it feels!” Dot adds, and Yakko smiles and makes his way to the bed, worming into the spot made to perfectly fit him.

He sinks into the softness and sighs.  At the very least, while his stomach is a mess, he doesn’t have to worry about any other part of him being uncomfortable.

“Thanks guys,” He mutters, spent.  He’s never going to even try and eat something with milk in it ever again, if this is the result.

“No prob,” Wakko waves off his thanks.

“You take care of us all the time.  Turnabout’s fair play,” Dot quips, and Yakko chuckles, sighing and closing his eyes.

He’s asleep faster than expected, but he stays awake long enough to feel Wakko and Dot cuddle up on either side of him, like usual.

Despite his intestinal discomfort, he smiles.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Dot stares in the mirror.

Her new vanity is rather spectacular, and she’s been living on cloud nine since Yakko and Wakko finished it.  They’d nearly gotten into an argument while making it-evidently, Yakko couldn’t understand how Wakko could see all the pieces and put them together without numbers or instructions, and Wakko couldn’t understand how Yakko couldn’t understand how the pieces fit together when looking at them as a whole.

Boys.  She shakes her head and sighs, looking back at herself in the mirror.

She can see her brothers behind her.  They match, of course, they’re the Warner Brothers.  

The Warner Sister is alone.  

She’s not unaware of why she was made.  A token female character, eye candy, take your pick.  She’s both.  Made to fill in the tiny gap Hollywood makes for female representation while continuing the legacy that women are supposed to look and act pretty, and that’s it.

It makes her blood boil.  And yet, isn’t she falling into it?  She wants to be pretty, she likes being cute, but is that just because she’s supposed to?

She’s not even just cute, anyway!  She can nearly go toe to toe with Yakko when it comes to word play, and Wakko barely has her beat when it comes to strength.  So what if she’s cute?  She was drawn that way!

So why does it still feel so weird?

Her brow furrows.  It’s not like she can even prove to anyone that she’s better, anyway, because Yakko and Wakko likely wouldn’t care or know, and they’re stuck in this tower for forever.

“My name is Dot Warner,” She starts, a soft tune, “And I always get the final word.”

She misses musical numbers.  She misses having fun outside of this place.  She misses messing with people.  Yakko and Wakko seem so similar-their names rhyme, for Pete’s sake-and she feels out of place here.  But they were out of place together out there.

“I though your name was Princess Angelina Contessa Louisa Francesca Banana Fanna Bo Besca the third,” Yakko interjects, leaning a hand on her vanity.  “Surprised you forgot, sis,” It’s all gentle ribbing, but now is not the time.

“Oh, put a sock in it, Yakko,” She responds.

“Which one?” Wakko comes up on her other side, holding out two similarly disgusting socks for her to pick from.  She pushes him away.

“Leave me alone!” It comes out louder and harsher than she wants it to, and as a result Wakko looks bewildered, and Yakko lifts his hand from the vanity to move it to his hip.  “Go be-be gross boys somewhere else,” She tries to cover up the actual frustration with a weak excuse, but Yakko just crosses his arms and raises a brow, and Wakko walks back over, sans socks.

“What’s the matter, Sis?  Something’s bothering you,” She sighs at the question.

“You guys match better than me,” She grumbles.  “I’m the cute one, and that’s it?  You two get to be witty and strong and creative and funny and I’m just...,” She growls out the final word.  “Cute.”

She sees Yakko and Wakko share a look over her head, and rolls her eyes.

“You seriously think that’s all you are?” Yakko sounds...confused.  Bewildered.  Like her worry is so unfounded it’s surprising she even is worrying at all.

“You’re way cooler than that,” Wakko agrees.  “You’re smarter than me.”

“And you’re better at the physical jokes than me,” Yakko adds.

“I know,” She says, almost cheeky, but her mood refuses to lighten.  “But-I don’t know.  Iit’s not just that-I-I guess I miss doing stuff outside. Like songs.”

There’s a beat, and when she looks up, Yakko has a smile on his face that is nothing short of sly.

“Songs, you say?” He rubs in chin in thought.  “Wakko?”

“On it,” She watches as he pulls out instrument after instrument from his gag bag, until they practically have an orchestra.  Wakko also pulls out a conductor’s wand.

“Shall we, m’lady?” Yakko holds out his hand, and when she takes it, he pulls her to the middle of the room.  A spotlight lands on them, and the music starts.

“Her name is Princess Angelina Contessa Louisa Francesca Banana Fanna Bo Besca the third,” He begins with a wink, “and no matter the situation or confrontation, she always gets the final word,” Yakko’s tenor is sugary sweet as he dances her around the room, and he passes her off to Wakko, who leaves the self playing instruments to their own devices.

“If you think you can beat her, just wait till ya meet her, cause you’ll realize that thought is absurd,” Wakko’s voice has a grovel from the accent, and he makes silly faces as they waltz, to make her giggle.

“Sure she’s cute,” Yakko starts.

“Quite the beaut,”

“But she’s got the strength of a brute!” They harmonize, and she pulls out her mallet.  She watches as they cringe away in fake terror, and she does a fake swing before tossing the mallet away.  “So watch out, because if you make yourself a target she’ll shoot!”

She watches them laugh at the end of the line, and they do fit each other, don’t they?  But they’re going out of their way to do this for her, and so what does it matter?  Being different and being special are the same, depending on how you phrase it, and they don’t mind her being different at all.

The music keeps going, the piano leading into verse two.

“Don’t make her mad, don’t make her sad, if you want to keep your limbs intact,” Yakko twirls her, and she imagines being at a fancy Ball or Gala, surrounded by admirers. 

“She’s got all modes of attraction, and kneejerk reactions, it’s all just simple fact,” Wakko takes her for a spin himself, his movements more wild and less controlled than Yakko’s more straightforward dancing, but she loves it anyway, and is almost remiss when he passes her back to Yakko.

“She always tries her best,” Yakko dips her, low enough that her ears nearly touch the floor, and her tail presses close to her back.

“To be better from the rest,” Wakko continues.

“Because we all want to reach for the stars!” Yakko throws her up and she poses mid air before he catches her with his shoulders, letting her sit there.  She can’t help but laugh at the whole thing.

“She’s Dot Warner,” Every time they go into unison, it’s perfect harmony, and she loves it.  Them.

“Our giggling sister,”

“Does she know how much we’d miss her?”

The music pauses, and they look to her patiently, to join the song, and for a moment she hesitates.  Because she’s never had such a ballad before.  What if her voice doesn’t sound right?  What if she messes it up?

But Yakko and Wakko are smiling at her, as if they know she’ll do it right, and you know what.  Screw it.

“I’m Dot Warner!” She shouts, and the belting note rings as she jumps up. “I’m no one’s former!” The music swells, and she stands on Yakko’s shoulders, triumphant.  “I’m sweet and I’m tough!”

“Always more than good enough!” Wakko and Yakko crow as back up.

“And I’m better than why I was drawn!” It’s like a warrior cry, like she’s daring the world to tell her different.

“She’s charming,” Yakko.

“And alarming,” Wakko.

“In every role I’m starring, no longer just the token girl!” She hops down from Yakko’s shoulder, taking center stage.  This is what she is.  The breaking of her own role, just as loud and proud and wild as her siblings, with a touch of cuteness that she loves.  Because hey, what’s wrong with being cute?

“With wit and sass,” Yakko and Wakko start to finish.

“I’m the highest of class,” She interjects, giggling.

“She’s the best of our two worlds!” They all come together, Dot in the middle, the boys kicking out their outside legs and gesturing outwards with one arm as the music plays them out, and when the music number is over all Dot can do is drag her brothers together into a hug.

“Thank you,” because she needed this.  A sense of normalcy, the constant reminder that she’s more.  She knows why she was drawn, but who cares?  She’s better than that.

She’s Dot Warner,  Princess Angelina Contessa Louisa Francesca Banana Fanna Bo Besca the third, and she’s got her brothers behind her.  

And when she has them, nothing can stop her.

[tedturneriscrazy]

While I'm making posts about children's cartoons that could get me hashtag-canceled, I might as well talk about my strange relationship with Amphibia.

Gonna put this under a cut because I have no idea how long it'll be, and people might not like that I have less than complimentary things to say, particularly about True Colors (spoiler: I may be the one person on the planet who thought that episode was Actually Bad, or at the very least just Didn't Like It):

I'm in this really weird headspace where, while watching the show, I'm genuinely enjoying myself. I laugh at the jokes, I feel the warm fuzzy moments, and I even allow my heartstrings to be tugged when appropriate. Then after I watch it it leaves basically no lingering impression. I'm not compelled to think about any episodes or moments, and I just have no strong feelings overall.

There's exactly one moment that has actually stuck with me, which is when Sasha lets go of Anne's hand at Toad Tower, and 70% of that might be the use of the song (which was, admittedly, perfect). The way Sasha briefly acknowledges her toxicity, the way she frames letting go as doing it for Anne's own good while also having that somewhat spiteful undertone, and Anne's breakdown afterward; all of this is truly 10/10 material.

I should also mention that the opening and ending themes slap. I actually like Amphibia's opening theme better than The Owl House's. Like, a lot better. And both versions of the ending theme so far are on par with TOH's, as well. (Did not care for season 3's version of the opening. Glad they took one of the few things I unequivocally liked about the show and made it worse, weee)

However, I had two realizations about the show that made it clear that I don't genuinely love it or possibly even like it.

One was that, after thinking about it, I realized that I don't have a favorite character. One day, on a lark, I tried to think of who my favorite was, and came up blank. It turns out, despite what I described above, I don't actually have an emotional attachment to any of the characters. This is generally not a good sign.

The other realization is that I genuinely did not like True Colors, aka season 2 finale, aka the one everyone praises as the best episode.

For me, it highlighted all the weaknesses of the show as a whole, and it made it slightly worse for me overall. I know how people talk about how well done the worldbuilding and character development were, and that wasn't really apparent to me. I'm not saying that isn't the case from a technical/creative standpoint, but for me, emotionally, it just didn't add up. The whole fell short of the sum of its parts. I've heard complaints about how most of the episodes don't really follow an overarching plotline, and that might be part of the problem. The show presents itself as having this big epic story, but you watch the actual episodes and many, if not most, are self-contained, adventure-of-the-week episodes (I've also seen "filler" tossed around, and while I wouldn't necessarily use that word myself, I won't disagree).

And then you get Andrias is suddenly gonna take over the multiverse, and it's just...ehhh...These kind of stakes didn't really feel built up to all that much.

Really, though, I think the moment the show lost me was when Anne went Super Saiyan Blue and expected me to take it seriously. And I just couldn't. Blatantly aping Dragonball Super is not an effective way to get me to buy the drama of a situation.

I suppose I should mention that Marcy being stabbed was spoiled for me almost immediately, but I honestly felt no impact from that. I just didn't form the attachment to her the rest of the fandom did, but it's less a problem with Marcy in particular as it is with all of the characters overall.

(At least I kinda get why Marcy is so adored, unlike with Hunter from TOH)

So yeah, I want to like Amphibia. I want to love it. I really do. But I just can't, and I'm actually kind of sad about that.

I recognize how well made it is, I know the crew worked hard to put it together, and I realize it's enjoyed by so many people, including the vast majority of the TOH fandom (and Dana!). But I just don't click with it. I suppose there's nothing wrong with that, but it's just one of those few things where I don't like something and feel bad about not liking it.

[rouiyan]

𝘙𝘖𝘖𝘍𝘛𝘖𝘗 𝘙𝘖𝘔𝘈𝘕𝘊𝘌 [ 𝘭.𝘵𝘺 ]

synopsis — taeyong is ready to take on the whole world and anything else that dare comes between him and a successful first date.

✧ idol!lee taeyong x (gender neutral reader) ✧ established relationship au, first date au

✧ genre : fluff ✧ word count 1.5k ✧ disclaimers light swearing, food

✧ author's note — kinda enduring a little phase of writer's block after exerting all my feelies on 'it's (un)conditional' but i got sum black tea, a ten minute break between classes, and i'm gonna fucking write this. 

the air is cold to the touch, breezy and crisp, with the loom of autumn sitting atop the clouds and you think it'll rain any second. suddenly, this very well-anticipated date comes with a feeling of dread. arriving at the apartment complex, you give yourself a once-over in the lobby mirror before heading up. taeyong had asked over facetime, a little under a fortnight ago, if he could take you on a date, something appropriately social distance themed. his door, now swinging open in front of you, caught the edge of his foot and from there, you brought your eyes up his figure to meet his own. 

the man is wearing casual jeans, a grey knit sweater and black shoes that resemble clogs, you're not very sure, but it isn't his outfit that throws you off, it's the gargantuan, and i mean, colossal, backpack that’s weighing down his posture. and not just any normal, day-to-day backpack, it's the fucking 'i'm going camping for seven days in the mountains' type of backpack, with the straps that clasp in the front, once across the chest and once across the waist. "taeyong, babe, you-"

he cuts you off, a sweet lopsided smile adorning his face, "ready to go?" 

taeyong doesn't answer but instead, takes lead, brushing lightly past you, his hand sneaking for yours and intertwining fingers in the process, eyes focused entirely up ahead. a few steps behind him, you peer over his shoulders (and enormous bag) to see that he's heading for the stairwell. confusion clouds over your face as you ponder whether to question him or not. taeyong clips the door open with the heel of his foot as he draws you by the hand in front of him, hands brief on your hips to guide you up the stairs from behind.

taking a fleeting glance at the man who's quick on your heels, you bear in mind the way the skylight that filters light softly down the column of stairs illuminates his face in a way you can only describe as superlunary, the gossamer-thin strands of hair falling into his eyes, bending light in ways that deem inconceivable. the fine features of his countenance that you are oh-so-blessed to be in the presence of on a daily. even the scar beside his eye offering another depth of otherworldly complexity to his expression. his smile broadens, crinkling up the corners of his eyes, scar included. 

taking a fleeting glance at the man who's quick on your heels, you bear in mind the way the skylight that filters light softly down the column of stairs illuminates his face in a way you can only describe as superlunary, the gossamer-thin strands of hair falling into his eyes, bending light in ways that deem inconceivable. the fine features of his countenance that you are oh-so-blessed to be in the presence of on a daily. even the scar beside his eye offering another depth of otherworldly complexity to his expression. his smile broadens, crinkling up the corners of his eyes, scar included. 

"please don't tell me we're going up to the tenth floor," you give into your questioning observations. 

"don't worry, even i have a hard time setting foot in there," he discloses, "a little further than that though, hope it isn't too tiring." 

"taeyong, sweetie, are you sure this isn't too tiring for you? with that hunk on your back and all?"

if your eyes weren't set ahead, you'd be met with another quirk of his lips, hands finding yours again and giving it a small, inspiriting squeeze. "not even a bit."

the door at the top of the stairway reveals a wide space, open to the sky and the teeming city below. but it's all the same as the sky you were met with upon arriving, the sunlight having trouble peering through the thick haze of grey clouds, the whole picture setting a muted film of scintillating light over the ground and all above. a frown crossed pout is cast in your visage as taeyong immediately sets to work in unpacking the load.

you stand a little off to the side until he spreads a thick blue blanket on the floor adjacent to the wall that houses the flight of stairs you’d just came from. sitting atop, you watch as he constructs a projector and screen setup, random objects emerging from the bag with each coming minute. soon you're left with a spread of chips and homemade salsa, your boyfriend's laptop, a blow-up couch, a hoard of pillows and blankets, and finally, the beginnings of pitter-patter drops from the sky. cursing, you look over at taeyong who, instead of looking anywhere near fazed, has a set look of determination lining his features, a rigid and clenched jawline, and brows drawn in to a point. he gives you a glance, one that immediately softens the creased lines on his face, and sets back to work in unearthing even more items from the never-ending pits of that bag. 

this time, it's a whole ass tent. a small one, but a tent nonetheless. he assembles it with ease, as if he'd done (or practiced) it a handful of times, and shoos you out of the way so he can move the whole configuration into the makeshift cover. you feel a tad bit useless, just standing under the awning of the landing, but it isn't as if you hadn't tried to help. it's just that every time you even dare to trespass into his little workspace, taeyong's frown deepens and he puts all work aside to guide you back under the awning, telling you to stay put and content.

the tent ends up providing even more comfort than the previous array, the sheeted material deflecting the light rain and privately enclosing the space within. your very well-thought-out movie date with taeyong begins but he's wallowing in apologies that "you're not able to see the view, though," and, "this basically negates the reason i brought you up here." you're not sure if you'd rather pay attention to your boyfriend's complaints at the situation and his maxed-out, but apparently still-lacking, efforts to make the best out of it, or the movie itself. you opt for the former, gently tucking his chin in between your index and middle fingers and using a soft kiss to lift the frown from his lips. 

"pay attention to the movie, babe, now you're negating the whole purpose of the date!" he's exasperated, you can tell, but also you know that paying attention to him as opposed to the movie, and praising him for his good work as opposed to the movie, and making sure he knows you appreciate the heartfelt sentiments as opposed to the movie, would cure his little tantrum a lot more effectively than anything else. so you shift until you're facing him, holding his face in your hands and making sure your sight is locked tight with his own. he breaks eye contact a total of four times, to try and deliver the hint that the movie is supposedly of more importance, but you stay persistent. 

"how'd your day go?"

"but the movie's still playin-" he's confounded.

"did you guys learn the new choreo?"

"hey, the movie- !" he feels as if you're antagonizing him. 

"oh, for fuck's sake taeyong, i care more about you than the movie!" he goes quiet at this.

it's right then and there that, after knowing you for a total of four years but only being able to call himself your boyfriend for the past month, he decides that he loves you. the long pause that ensues is drawn to a close when taeyong wraps you warmly in his embrace, the crown of his head molding in perfect unison with the crook of your neck, the dip of your clavicle. he mumbles, "i knew that," before withdrawing and taking your hand in his, yet again. he seems to enjoy the feeling of your knuckles rippling underneath the pads of his fingertips because he runs over them repeatedly, reassuringly, gladdeningly, lovingly.

"and i will still care about you even if we have a very muddled first date. even if you had let it rain on us, i would still care, really." 

he's mumbling, still, but you catch the small, "i love you," that falls from his lips like honey to your ears. you say it back like it's the easiest thing in the world, as if those three words have been at the tip of your tongue the entire time. you say it because it's what you feel most in a day's worth of emotions and that your love for taeyong is anything but shallow. it's a sea, a vast sea that runs on and on, miles wide and miles deep. and then there's taeyong. taeyong, who finds joy in the fact that he can swell your cheeks in the form of happy smiles and sincere affection. he finds pride in the fact that he can set your heart alight with simple but earnest actions. and he finds love in the fact that you love him back.

copyright © 2020 rouiyan all rights reserved.

✧ end note — this is a prewritten and scheduled post. i will be taking a brief rest for the duration of today (102720) and will continue writing/posting tomorrow (102820). thank you for reading.

[cherrywoes]

AAAA YES- I have been waiting for this opportunity haha! May I ask for just a soft moment between the reader and (now known as) Shion? I’m absolutely enamoured by their relationship and I just want to see the two maybe cuddle a bit and act disgustingly domestic. I wouldn’t mind either headcanons of how they generally act around each other maybe even a small story of maybe 2k ish words? Whatever you’re comfortable with!

Tbh I’m just looking forward to learn more about Shion and his mannerisms TT I hope you have a wonderful day and take care!

a/n: haha i was waiting on this to show up! <3 i did both the small story and the headcanons (at the end) so i hope you enjoy! this ended up around 3k so i’m pretty happy with the result. you have a wonderful day as well! for those of you who don’t know who ama-no-kagaseo/shion is, he’s an oc from my jjk fic dark sun. 

of custard buns, apples, and mandarin oranges.

— ama-no-kagaseo (shion) + reader.

It was a quiet day for you today. There were no assassins, no awful weather to rain on your parade (quite literally, might you add), and, somehow, Sayaka would not be at your side today. Something about a first grade Curse had pulled her away for the day, sending her to the countryside—a place not known for its Curses—for the time being. You weren’t sure why Gojou couldn’t do it, since he was perfectly capable of going himself, but you weren’t going to ignore the chance that this brought you.

You were going to make pastries.

“Pastries?” Ama-no-Kagaseo (Shion, now, you needed to remember) materialized at your side, so close that he was practically leaning on you. He was oddly more in tune with your thoughts than usual after you’d given him that name, or something had changed—more specifically, his attention revolved around you more than anything else now. While that malevolent nature still crept out at times—never to you, but to nearly everyone else on the campus—it was subdued, and he appeared almost docile though you knew that was far from the truth. “I’ve never seen you make them before.”

His innocent curiosity of everything you did was endearing, to say the least. Having never taken interest in human pursuits before, he was set on learning everything you did even if he had no true want to learn it in the first place. He learned it because, through that activity, whatever it may be, he was closer to you, and therefore, in his mind, any time spent being close to you was precious time to him. Being a god and immortal, time that was considered anything other than ‘boring’ was important to him, however, most of it being linked back to you could be a very deadly double-edged sword… for other people, perhaps.

With a smile, you shook your head and held up an index card with the recipe for coconut custard buns. It was one of your favorites, something Sayaka had always bought for you when you were younger and had a notorious sweet tooth, and you’d been craving it recently. But without any way to contact her while she was off on a mission, you were left with only one other option: to make them yourself. You’d discovered the recipe (admittedly, you’d been snooping at first) in a magazine that had belonged to Gojou at some point. It had been left in the common rooms and, well, you considered it free game if he had just left it there when he was done with it.

“That’s because I haven’t,” you replied with a small laugh. You could feel his question burning into the side of your face without even having to look over at him. If you did, you would see a slightly pleading expression on his face, followed by the faint bunching of his brows because Amatsumikaboshi did. Not. Plead. But for you, he most likely would and that was all that mattered. “Yes, you can help me make them, Shion.”

He lit up like a light at the sound of his name. You’d been struggling to remember to call him that and not Ama-no-Kagaseo or Amatsumikaboshi, having done so for years beforehand, so breaking a habit like that was difficult for you. There was a set preconception to those names; all the higher ups saw him as was the malevolent, admittedly vicious god who would see them all destroyed if he had his way, but this was not ‘Amatsumikaboshi’—at least not to you. You’d seen several sides of him in the past few years, but this one—excited, happy even—was the one you liked the most, even if you were fond of both aspects of his godhood.

In his adult and personal form, he looked almost like a giant, overeager puppy—dragon, you thought, at a second glance, peering at the horns poking out over strands of white hair—at the idea of helping you cook. Which, to most people, might be bizarre in and of itself; what god would lower himself to cooking?

“What do they taste like?” He inquired, further leaning on you to the point where he was about to push you over. He wanted a glimpse of the index card, you thought, but then he rested his head on your shoulder instead. He was careful to avoid poking you with his horns and had his head situated at an odd angle that looked uncomfortable. “[Name]?”

“Hmm?” You hummed, pressing your mouth to the top of his head in a mockery of a kiss. He did this to you all the time, and now you understood why: it was extremely intimate, very close and comforting. He always smelled like an interesting mix of the ocean, some tropical flower that you had no name for, and almond oolong tea. It never changed, even when he was in a different form, oddly enough. You didn’t mind it. It was a very sweet, pleasing scent. “Oh, they taste like… custard and tangzhou bread, but I guess you wouldn’t know what that tastes like. You can try it and see if you like it, since you will be helping me.”

“Can we make them now?” He asked, shifting so he was looking up at the underside of your jaw and eyelashes. “I’m curious.”

“Of course.” You smiled and gently pushed a few strands away from his eyes so you could see them better. He’d always had pretty eyes, you’d thought, that seemed to shine with more knowledge than you could ever fathom. Now, though, they were focused on you, those slit pupils wide enough that you could see your reflection in them. As an afterthought, you leaned down and kissed his forehead, much in the same way he did to you when he thought you were napping. When you pulled away, you watched a pale blush creep up his neck and ears, which was just adorable. “But first, we need to make you blend in a bit.”

Confusion rolled across his face like a thundercloud. He stood and helped you to your feet when you struggled to get your legs out from under yourself, numb from sitting so long, and held your weight for a few moments while you waited for the blood to flow back into your legs. “Blend in?”

“Mhm.” You touched his horns and then pointed to his kimono. “I don’t think there’s anyone here right now, but in case someone comes in you’ll look like you’re just a sorcerer. If someone found out you could separate yourself from me like this, they’d report it to the higher ups and I’d be put back in confinement again.”

“No,” Shion said, and at first you thought it was to making him blend in. The scowl that appeared on his face was lethal. “I’ll kill them first.”

With a light laugh, you rose to your tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. It was almost like watching magic, the way his scowl turned into a pleased little smile. “You can’t kill everyone who finds out about you. Then they’ll get suspicious and know it was you.”

“You’re right,” he acknowledged, after a moment, leaning just a bit closer to you. “How will I ‘blend in’, so to speak.”

“Well…” You looked up at his horns, then his hair—which wasn’t all that strange, Gojou had white hair and Itadori had pink hair—and afterwards, his yukata. He could easily be mistaken as a member of one of the three clans and you could say he was replacing Sayaka for the day. You reached up and fingered his horns, surprised at how sharp the individual points were; they were almost like a deer’s horns. “Can you make these go aw—”

And just like that, they were gone, leaving you touching nothing but air.

“Right,” you mumbled, lowering your hand to pick up the astronomically long lengths of hair running down his back. It ended right at his hips, so you could, theoretically, just tie it into a bun and leave it like that. You’d seen plenty of Zen’in men wear their hair like that. “Okay, sit over here.”

You sat down on the edge of your bed and patted the floor with your foot. You retrieved your brush from the nightstand and waited until he was settled, then picked up a strand of hair and started brushing from the bottom to the roots. While they weren’t tangled, you didn’t want to cause him any kind of pain—could he even feel pain?—and gently ran the brush through his hair. He made no complaint and allowed you to continue sectioning off parts of his head, and obediently let you tilt his head this way and that so you could get the areas hanging over his shoulder.

When you were finished brushing it and making sure there weren’t any knots, you set down the brush and began combing his hair back with your fingers. He went entirely limp against your legs, a deep, rolling purr echoing from somewhere in his chest although you could feel it echoing in your shins. You’d heard him purr like that a few times before, usually when he was sitting in the sun of your window like a particularly lazy cat, but this was the first time he’d done it because of something you did. And it was unusually loud, as well, and you had to wonder if it was because he was starting to drift off.

You gathered the rest of his hair up, brushed out the parts that stuck out, and tied it off with a piece of twine you’d had lying around. You didn’t think he would appreciate wearing a sparkly blue ponytail—actually, he more than likely wouldn’t mind matching you. An idea for another day, then.

“Alright,” you said, resting your hands on his shoulders. The purring stopped and he stretched, lifting his arms above his head and popping almost every single bone in his back until he was done. Then he relaxed, head in your lap, and stared up at you. “What?”

Shion continued staring, golden eyes flicking over your face contemplatively. “You’re the most beautiful human in existence to me.”

Oh. You could just feel the blood rushing up to your face, hot and tingly. You stared down at him, mouth falling open in useless stutters, then closed your mouth and pressed your hands to your face. “I… Um…”

“You don’t need to say anything.” He reached up and gently nudged your arm out of the way so he could rest the pads of his fingers against your heart. “I can feel everything you do.”

You were hesitant to lower your hands, but at an encouraging pulse sent through your connection, you dropped them to your lap and cradled his face in your hands. It was moments like these where you had to wonder if Shion knew everything or what you only made obvious. He never said anything, if he did, so you supposed he kept to himself so you could say what you wanted to and nothing else.

The both of you stayed like that for a few moments, caught in an interesting limbo, until you remembered the whole point of making him look somewhat human in the first place.

“Alright,” you sighed, sufficiently calmed down enough that you could make sense of your words again. You patted his cheek softly in a gesture for him to get up. “Let’s go make those custard pastries, hm?”

The college kitchen was nothing to scoff at, but it was also everything you’d never had before. You had cooked before, of course, but not with anything super high tech. Luckily it was easy enough to figure out how to work the oven and you gathered the ingredients from the cupboards, setting them all down on a counter, and got to work.

Shion (even wearing an apron) helped you through every step, although you left the kneading and stirring to him since he was the god and you, decidedly, were not. He was happy to do whatever you asked of him and it was funny watching him get irritated with the ball of dough when you said it needed to rest before you could stuff it and cook it.

While you waited thirty some minutes for the dough to sit and rise, you retrieved a small bowl of fruit you had cut while watching him labor over the dough. It was mostly apples and mandarin oranges, both some of your favorites. You didn’t want to get your hands sticky so you used chopsticks to eat them, and offered an apple slice to Shion when he sent a curious glance at the bowl. He stared at it for a moment and then leaned down to take a hesitant bite of it, pulling away so you couldn’t make him eat the rest if he didn’t like it. You popped the rest in your mouth and watched his face for any sign that he didn’t like it, but when he finished chewing he nodded his head and gestured for you to give him another.

You spent the next thirty minutes like this, eating apples and oranges and offering some to Shion whenever he indicated he wanted another. He spent a lot of time savoring the flavors while you just ate one and immediately ate another, which you assumed came down to him never eating human food before.

When the dough finished rising, it took you no time to fill them and pop them in the oven with Shion’s help. With thirty five minutes more to wait, you sat down in a chair and Shion followed, standing behind you and wrapping his arms around your shoulders.

“Shion?” You asked, inching your head back to mimic the pose he had been in earlier. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.” He looked amused that you had to ask. “What is it?”

“Why do you always want me to wear kimonos?” You inquired. You’d always assumed it was to signify that you were his vessel in the most obvious way possible, but you’d also never asked him. You’d just assumed. “These ones specifically.”

“Ah.” He nodded and his eyebrows furrowed deeply in thought. “Before I was cast aside as a failed product, my mother—Izanami, as I’m sure you know—made a set of kimonos specifically for the one I would choose as a partner one day. She did this for all of my siblings, I believe. The originals are lost to time, so I made these in their fashion.”

“Oh.” You touched the hem of your kimono thoughtfully. “And these—they don’t remind you of your mother?”

“No.” Shion rested his chin on your head with a pleased sigh. “You wear them, therefore they remind me of you.”

And you had to say you didn’t mind that.

The custard buns were done after twenty minutes or so, so you parted from Shion and pulled them out of the oven to let them cool. Or, at least, that was your intention; Shion, foolishly or stupidly, you didn’t know, picked one up with his bare hand and you had to watch in disbelief as he took a bite of nearly scalding hot bread and custard and said ‘It’s good’.

“Shion!” You exclaimed, watching his eyes dart over to you over the custard bun in his hand. “That’s hot! You can’t just eat it like that—”

“Why not?” He interrupted, taking another bite as if just to spite you. “It’s not too hot.”

“For you, maybe,” you sighed, watching with envy as he polished off the rest of his bun in one go. “I have to wait for them to cool.”

He seemed to realize, belatedly, what he had done—or he felt your envy, at any rate—and frowned. He approached you and swept you into his arms, nuzzling his nose into the side of your head affectionately. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”

You exhaled through your nose and rubbed his back soothingly, indicating you weren’t mad at him. “It’s okay, Shion. Here, help me clean up while I wait for them to cool off and consider it forgotten.”

He nodded eagerly and, in the span of about two seconds, proceeded to use his curse energy to sweep everything back into the cupboards they had come from. You watched, dumbfounded, as the doors unlatched and opened to allow flour, sugar, and yeast to return inside and slam closed once he was done.

“That’s one way to do it,” you laughed and began packing the rest of the custard buns into a small box, holding your hand out for Shion to take. He took it willingly, falling in step beside you and following you back to your dorm room. “Did you like the custard or was it too sweet?”

“Mm…” Shion watched as you kicked off your shoes and opened the door to your room. “It was good. I preferred the fruit more.”

“I’m guessing you like natural sweets, then,” you guessed, opening the box. They were now pleasantly warm and not too hot for you, unlike Shion, so you took a bite and nodded in satisfaction. They tasted just like your memories, if not a little sweeter but you didn’t mind it. It wasn’t going to be a perfect imitation, after all. You finished your bun and closed the box so no more heat would escape and laid on your bed, careful not to allow Shion’s human body to flop to the side in his sling. You’d almost forgotten it was there, you’d been so occupied with him for the day, and you wondered how he felt about it.

“It’s an irritant,” he answered, following your thoughts. He joined you and snuggled up to your free side, your arm instinctively coming up to lower your hand to his cheek. Shion slung one arm across your stomach, just under the sling, and pulled you closer, intent on getting comfortable even at your expense. “That body keeps you prisoner to it, and I am not even within it—just linked to it.”

“You’re not in it?” You repeated, turning your head to look at him in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Those Sukuna cultists ruined the ritual,” he replied nonchalantly. “Not that these people here know that. So you don’t have to hold it all the time; there are no repercussions unlike if they had actually completed it properly.”

“So…” You allowed a hand to come up and touch his human form delicately. “I could let your body lay next to me and I wouldn’t have to worry?”

“No.”

So you unhooked the sling from your shoulders, free of the weight for the first time in years, and held your breath as his human body rested next to you. Shion reached over you and tugged a blanket up and over you, his human body, and himself, finally comfortable.

“I wonder…” You stroked Shion’s cheek in thought, staring up at the ceiling while he drifted off, that interesting purr kicking up against your side. “Hmm.”

With a cursory glance at his human body, still deathly still as it always was, you turned your back to it and snuggled up to Shion, nudging your head under his chin and settling in for a nap.

Like all the times you had slept with him near, you felt, of course, at peace.

headcanons:

shion and the reader are very close--and i mean very, very close, to the point where they freely share affection and (as indicated) their food. they are also very comfortable with each other as well, more than with anyone else in their lives.

shion’s natural curiosity extends to the reader and only the reader. so anything she does, he will most likely either a) want to participate or b) ask her about what she’s doing and if she likes it or not.

shion actually has a very bad habit of listening in on the reader’s thoughts and feelings even if she isn’t aware of it, which usually gives him a head’s up on her emotional state. while the reader doesn’t listen to his out of respect, she sometimes takes a peek, unaware that he does notice when she does.

shion’s purring comes from the fact that he does have a dragonic form. he does this when he’s at ease, or happy, both of which are shown in this drabble. it translates into his human form through an extra set of vocal chords.

the reader is shion’s favorite anything, and as such, he’s protective of her—perhaps too protective. shion is still a malevolent god and he still has those tendencies to become violent, and while he will never become violent with the reader (he doesn’t have the heart to even shout at her) that does not go for anyone else who is in her general vicinity.

shion has a little habit where he’ll instinctively want to be touching the reader, almost like a particularly clingy cat. sometimes he won’t, but most of the time he most absolutely will.

because of his origins as a formless god, he’s touch starved, which might not mean much because he’s a god, right? he had no affection from his mother and father, izanami and izanagi, so he knows nothing about love and affection, so when he gets it from the reader, he feels like he belongs, and thus, has no qualms about doing whatever is necessary to keep her safe.

shion doesn’t actually understand the emotions he feels. like referenced in the chapters, his emotional understanding is around that of a toddler’s—he knows what it is, can feel it, but he doesn’t understand the deeper meaning to them. he just knows they are there and acknowledges that they are caused by the reader. his logical understanding, however, is that of a god’s, and so he makes logical equations of his emotions instead, which can be quite the double edged sword.

shion is an intj-t.

shion can’t really taste anything synthetic, so he was lying when he said the custard was good so he wouldn’t hurt the reader’s feelings. :’)

that gif at the top perfectly represents shion’s reaction to being offered an apple slice. 

requests are: open. 

[ultrahpfan5blog]

Rewatching TDK Trilogy

Easily my favorite superhero trilogy and arguably one of my favorite trilogies of all time. I think in terms of superhero trilogies, Captain America is the one that comes closest because I love all three movies, but they aren’t a trilogy in the normal sense in that Civil War is essentially Avengers 2.5 and neither Civil War nor Winter Soldier can be understood without having watched Avengers and Age of Ultron. But even putting that aside, I adore TDK trilogy and it still ranks as my favorite superhero movies. The trilogy, obviously starting with Batman Begins, is what put introduced me to Nolan. I hadn’t seen Memento and Insomnia till then so Batman Begins was literally my first introduction to him.

I was always a big Batman fan as a huge follower of the DCAU cartoons with Kevin Conroy voicing a really badass Batman throughout the 90′s and into the early 2000′s. While I enjoyed the first 4 Batman movies as a kid, yes even B&R, I always wanted to see the more somber version from the cartoons. Batman Begins hit me at the perfect time where I started to have longer attention spans and wasn’t just looking for the next action scene. Rewatching the movie, it amazes me that Batman doesn’t show up for half the movie. I think that was a really brave call given pretty much all previous Batman movies introduced Batman almost immediately. I genuinely love all the prelude to Bruce becoming Batman. I liked that we got to see his training extensively and we are introduced to the city and see the dynamics of the rich and the poor, the police, the mob, the lawyers etc... It really gives Gotham a very grounded personality. I think Nolan really killed it at the casting level. By getting Caine as Alfred, Freeman as Fox, and Oldman as Gordon, he created a superbly acted support structure around Bruce/Batman, so we aren’t just always waiting for Bruce to show up. On top of that, they had Liam Neeson as Ra’s, who is effortlessly compelling, as well as other strong supporting actors like Cillian Murphy as a scene stealing Scarecrow, Tom Wilkinson as Falcone, Rutger Hauer as Earle etc... All giving personality to a difference facet of the city and Bruce’s life. But this truly is Bale’s movie. I didn’t know him at all prior to this film, but I have been a fan ever since. He carries the movie on his shoulders and he delivers the ferociousness of Batman and the humanity of Bruce Wayne effortlessly. If there is someone who doesn’t make a big impression, its Katie Holmes. I didn’t find her terrible, but rather the character isn’t exactly well written which bleeds into the next movie with Maggie Gyllenhall as well. My favorite Batman performance. Rewatching, what surprised me the most is the amount of humor in the movie. This is actually reflective of the entire trilogy. The movies deal with darkness and death, but there is actually plenty of humor sprinkled throughout these movies which prevent it from being dour. There have been a lot of superhero origin stories, but this still remains the gold standard of superhero origin stories. A 9/10 for me.

There is nothing I can say about The Dark Knight that hasn’t been said a 100 times over. It quite literally is the best comic book movie of all time. But it basically is at heart a drama about Gotham. Whereas BB acts as a character centric piece, this film is about all the characters living in Gotham. Arguable, the character that has the biggest arc in the film is Harvey Dent. Again, the casting department knocked it out of the park with the casting of Aaron Eckhart as Harvey Dent. Unfortunately, Eckhart never really capitalized on his performance here because he really was terrific in the film, both as Harvey and as Two-Face, to the point where you wished you had more of Two-Face. Gary Oldman gave his best work in the trilogy in this movie. The desperation as the situation spins out of control is fabulous. Freeman also has a very meaty role in the movie and continues to add a lot of weight to the scenes as well as plenty of humor, as does Michael Caine. Christian Bale continued to be terrific. There were some complaints about his voice, which I feel have been overexaggerated over the years. I definitely think his Begins voice is better, but barring one or two scenes, I never really had an issue with Bale’s voice in this film. He delivers a very nuanced performance. Maggie Gyllenhaal took over from Katie Holmes in TDK and while I think she is a far better actress than Katie Holmes, I think the character itself is not very well written. In both movies, Rachel comes off as very judgmental. Whereas in BB I can understand her reason in being so, given Bruce was ready to commit murder and later was out being a playboy in front of her for the sake of appearances, in this movie she is judgmental towards Bruce even though she knows what he has been doing to help the city. Also, she did come off a bit flaky in the whole Bruce/Rachel/Harvey triangle. And then there is Heath Ledger. There are very few performances that I consider perfect. This is one of them. I think every choice Ledger makes in this movie, be it intentional or unintentional, works amazingly well. Like him licking his lips to keep the make up on. It just adds a creepy quality to his character, even if it is completely unintentional. There are so many ticks and quirks in Ledger’s performance that make this a phenomenal performance. I don’t see any villain performance having matches that since 2008. I think the closest I have seen prior to that is Anthony Hopkins as Hannibal Lector in Silence of the Lambs. It really is a performance that adds such a big extra edge to the movie. I love that Nolan sticks to certain details such as Bruce never actually drinking alcohol and throwing it away at the part and then Joker showing up and taking a glass and him spilling almost all of it. It gives a lot of personality to the characters. If I have any complaint about the movie, it is that Bruce does at times feel like a stationary character as he does not have as big of an arc as a Harvey Dent. And if you want, you can pick apart the holes in the series of events that happen that cause the chaos. But the drama of the film is just so intense that you forget all of that behind. I give it a 9.5/10

The Dark Knight Rises to me is the film that gets often maligned just because it isn’t TDK. And that is a crazy yardstick to compare it to. But as a movie on its own, its pretty damn awesome. TDKR is where the film truly steps away from being a version of the comics to being an Elseworld story with Batman having been absent for 8 years and then Bruce retiring and leaving Gotham at the end of the movie. But I don’t think there was any way for Nolan to close out his trilogy without it becoming an Elseworld story and it really didn’t matter because I always figured that as long as Bruce is out there, if Gotham needed him, he would come back. Its not as if there aren’t existing comic book stories of Bruce having retired or left being Batman behind. Again, there is some superb new casting. JGL ends up being surprising integral and he is terrific. Tom Hardy is awesome as Bane. He manages to provide a terrifying presence. I actually loved his voice. I love that a terrifying brute of a man has a polite, gentlemanly sounding voice. It gave him a unique personality. Marion Cotillard is pretty good as Talia/Miranda. She has an awkwardly filmed death scene but she’s good throughout the rest of the film, particularly during the reveal scene. But the casting of the movie for me was Anne Hathaway as Selina Kyle. I knew Anne Hathaway mostly from the Princess Bride movies till then even though she had gotten an academy award nomination by then. But I really didn’t envisage her as Selina Kyle but she blew me out of the water with her performance. She was seductive, yet very likable. I love the clever costume design of her goggles looking like cat ears when she puts them up. I also love Nolan’s version of the Lazarus Pit. Certainly Bruce’s climb out of the pit is one of the most compelling scenes of the movie. You truly feel the emotion. The film also has one of the best acted scenes I have scene between Michael Caine and Christian Bale in the hallway. Its the scene I remember first whenever I think about TDKR. Oscar quality acting by both in that scene. The returning cast is all terrific but Michael Caine has a few gut wrenching scenes, including this one and the scene at the funeral at the end. Oldman and Freeman continue to be stalwarts throughout the movie, I really admire that Nolan did not waste these actors and given them very substantial roles in all the movies and all these actors really respected the material to not sleep walk through the roles. I think Bale’s performance here rivals his performance in Begins. Particularly in the scenes in the Pit. You get to see a full range of emotions, from pain, to despair, to anger, to hope. Its a superb performance. The film isn’t flawless. Its just a tad too long and there is some clunky editing at times. None of the three films can be said to contain very memorable action sequences because Nolan is not known to have great action sequences in his film until more recently, but the drama in the action negates that. Like, the Bane vs Batman fight where Bane breaks Batman, isn’t the greatest action scene in terms of fight choreography, but there is a lot weight to these characters which is what makes it incredibly compelling. Same is true to an extent for the climax at the end. When Batman beats Bane, I felt a sense of satisfaction after what I had witnessed in the previous fight. Overall, I genuinely feel that I love the last act of TDKR the most out of all three films. The Batplane, Batpod, and Tumbler chase scene was thrilling and it was cool to watch all three Bat vehicles in operation. The ending montage also ends the movie on a real uplifting note for all characters, which is very satisfying. I really love the movie. A 9/10.

It has to be said that Zimmer’s score across all three films contributes enormously to these movies. All in all, these set of movies are still my favorite superhero movies and my favorite Nolan movies till date.

[kaetastic]

New York Guider

pairing: Luca Changretta x Mob!Italian!Reader

summary: Y/N arrives at New York to discuss some deals, until she stumbles upon an Italian mafioso. [requested: @supermegapauselouca​]

warning: just fluff ? lol

word count: 4.6k (a writer’s block that took a week to write this lmao)

note: i am not italian + i do not know the language so please be merciful to my translations lol. anyways, sorry for the time it took for this to post! my brain had been gushing of ideas but nothing is being typed lolol

Blurs of haze cast over the chilly leather seats, seeping through each layer to vaporize each inch of possible material. It smeared over the seats with its unbearable sizzling temperature. Since it had concocted the surface for an area of possible cooking, an egg could be fried in an impeccable haste speed. There was a slight guarantee that the sides would be frayed and crunchy to the tongue. However, it did not budge those who had accustomed to such temperature. 

Hence, they laid their skin over the scorching surface without flinching back, splaying over metal as if it had been a chilly summer breeze. Almost as if they had been immune to such pain. On the other hand, those who had not grown their skin into the new surges of heat were scribbling down notes in their head for the future. Well, in hopes that they would survive this assessment. 

The usually harmless source of heat had become an irritating nuisance recently, something the civilians had only picked up when they realized their coats that were as thick as a bear’s fur had been stuffed deep in their closet. It was covered by layers of dust, sprinkles of cobwebs and things they preferred they didn’t get answers to. Too busy with their heads embedded in their work, they hadn’t brought up the new change in factor. 

Now, the streets were overrun by sheets of munched on newspapers. All sides were covered by articles and endless paragraphs talking about the abnormal heat and the measures people would take to fight in the unbearable battle.

One had amusingly been- The West Deck, A Hot Spot For Cooling. Will Boats Have To Be More Careful? While some papers draped from posts, a handful had dotted the streets as if rolling haybales. It was abandoned after it was used for its short and temporary utilisation, a makeshift fan. 

Despite the scorching sun that pinned high in the sky for nearly two weeks, the realization had only settled down languidly. Meaning, the peak of complaints had only risen at its highest point recently. It had been nothing but complaints.

The sun that pierced rays of heat surges onto the New York civilians was as if it sat behind a blind; paused everybody in a daze to not realize the heat. There were all sorts of complaints: about the sweat dripping down their back or the sweat painting their suits, quite visibly; the street stench of the sticky liquid.

Even though they had spent some time on the road to get to the desired location their boss had ordered, the swivelling of the clock’s arm had not bothered them a bit as everything had gone to plan. Well, nearly everything since there was some trouble on the port to which they had resolved by a quick utter of her notorious lips. Those that sat in the car was a mental person as they subjected themselves to pain and torture of the sizzling metal roof. So, why had they been in the car forever? 

Some bodies didn’t bat an eye to the heat. It was not the same for the man who was behind the wheels, responsible for the valuable life in the backseat. Three were straight out plucked from the Mediterranean, and one had lived his life in the dazzling place of New York City. The roads they had swerved on were accompanied by towering buildings and clutters of people; however, it had decreased as they inched closer towards the wanted street. 

Too busy with the safety of the critical and important guest who sat at the back, the driver tolerated the bites of heat in his suit, the fabric inched tighter as seconds pass. As if his clothing had suffocated his ribs. The back of his palm had been smeared over with the waterfall of sweat crawling down his forehead. Despite his technique of ignoring the heat and focusing on the drive, he had no control over his mind. It felt as if every time he had thought of plunging himself in the chilly water of his tub, it was a method of torture. 

Sparkles of light danced in the air, wavering side to side as sunlight blared through the glass pane, radiating onto the prominent specks of dust. It seemed like an endless cycle of repeated movements. Speckles of dust rocked themselves down the ground then somehow manage to quiver back up. An amusing ride. Though, it wasn’t the same for the punished car and the driver. Y/N’s tongue poked her inner cheek, the tip of her tongue had been desperate for relief of water. Water. It would’ve been the last drink she would call for in a bar. In situations like these, she would take anything.

The residue of red wine that plastered in the crook and crannies of her mouth poked her tongue. Teasing and taunting her as the short supply had, unfortunately, run out. The only available source of hydration she had bought for the journey she had underestimated for being short. It was anything but.

Y/N was sure there wouldn’t even be a drop of the liquor she had brought since it was she who chugged every millilitre of it. She couldn’t help but to wish she had the ability to somehow- magically refill it to the brim. If only. How could she have let the last drop slide down her throat without her reminiscing on the moment? Too lost in her thoughts and approaching negotiations, Y/N didn’t even realize she was getting parched.

Glancing down at her lap, her thumb pressed onto a nuisance string of dust that attached itself to her recently bought dress. The elegant green looked as it had heavily cost, expensive. Even though she had brought a bag specifically for her jewellery which was one of the reasons the driver’s shoulders was crying moments ago, she had worn her beloved golden necklace. Well, she did love each and every jewellery she owned, the low hanging gem was just different. 

Y/N felt slightly guilty for holding her love for the necklace slightly higher than the other’s she owned. Almost like those parents who liked one child more. It wrapped around her neck in an adoring way, capturing every glint of the sunlight. The award for stealing the spotlight would’ve been awarded to the painful investment of a necklace. Her brother might’ve been the one to try to hold her back whenever her eyes graze over the sparkling sins; however, it doesn’t always go as planned.

No matter how big of a closet, full of gold and strings of diamonds she had, Y/N will not be stopped until the room is overrun by the jewellery. Sure, there had been times when her mother had tried to knock some sense in her head for purchasing such luxurious items as soon as she glanced at it. But, it was a little quirk she claimed as hers. A quite shameless one that is. 

“Dove sono tutti?” (where is everybody?) Pietro inquired, eyes brushing over the silent street they had curved into. Seconds ago, every square of the street was packed with at least three people. It suddenly felt like they had entered a deserted land of emptiness. Despite the towering buildings of intimidating glass which were the ogling eyes of the skyscrapers, everyone would assume the commercial road would be streaming of people. That was not the case as the streets were as dry as a desert. There were only a handful of cars that were of the same model- half a dozen to be exact since it didn’t take too long to count such a small number on a said-busy street. Where were the tales of New York and its people? The boss’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

Her tongue poked out to caress her drying lips. Since the situation had felt somehow threatening and sceptical, Y/N already had her fingers pressed onto the bulge of the gun in her garter. Just one yank to finish a battle she hoped she wouldn’t have on American ground. Questions resounded off the walls of her head. There was no doubt that the leader of the territory would be hovered over the edge at her very much expected appearance. 

Was she to be welcomed by silence? The list of people she had to negotiate with had been separated into two: those who had greeted her, and those who didn’t bother to exert an effort. This was the latter’s case. It definitely ticked something in her which caused her tongue to smear of bitterness as if her presence was not appreciated. All the mobster wanted to do was go back to Italy, and munch on some finally good food. Those she had brought over the ship had been already devoured on.

Unfortunately for her, she had to get the business she was set less than a month to get over with. Some issues with the cargoes. One of the main topics that had been brought up during the family dinner by her uncle- one of the reasons she was even here. Damn you uncle Lorenzo.

“Probabilmente cazzo protestando per i diritti di lavoro, americani.” (probably fucking protesting for job rights, Americans) Vittorio snickered when his eyes brushed over the random, peculiar items littered onto the ground. It seemed as if the people had been escorted out quite forcefully in a short time span. There was a violet silk handkerchief puddled on the ground, smeared with a tint of dirt from the excessive amount of times feet had stomped over it. It was accompanied by a shoe that seemed freshly bought, a golden pocket watch, and a pen. All spaced away in great distance. 

Y/N didn’t say anything as she observed the silent road which had been roared by with her vehicle’s boisterous engine. The sound of the car’s plead to rest for a while after the exhausting journey bounced off the walls of the buildings to trickle into ears. She recalled on the time she had heard of the rise in opposition of the civilians to their dedicated work which was met with unfair pay. The Italian had read it on paper and her uncles who lived on the other side of the planet had mentioned it over a family meeting a couple of times.

Before she had the chance to mumble her order, a flock of men dashed out from the corner of a building. All in sombre oversized coats despite the heat, fedora hats attached to their heads, probably cowering around the lake of sweat that had been trapped inside. The pace of their steps echoed into the invisible cracks of the windows, “You’re not supposed to be here!” Leading the group was a man, slightly shorter than the rest; who had a caterpillar as a moustache, his voice sending quivers to run down the present buildings. 

She pressed her lips while her eyes ran over the group as a rapid observation of who she might deal with, “Resta qui e non tirarti fuori le pistole. Non ci serve un'altra guerra.” (stay here and don't fucking pull out your guns. we don’t need another war). There was a second seething in the vehicle before the words marinated into their heads. Pietro, the man who fiddled with the black fedora in his hands, parted his lips to amplify his uneasy thoughts about the situation. The slamming of a door slapped across his mouth. He let out an aggravated sigh from the expected action of his boss. 

The vein on Matteo’s forehead was visibly popping, branching down to slide between his eyes. His eyes were narrowed onto the vehicle which was exactly had he had said- not supposed to be there. Matteo’s pace hindered at the sight that left him astonished for a while. Although his eyes had glued onto the driver who had been drowning in his sweat, it had swiftly averted to another figure. The Italian hadn’t thought that a woman in a fluttering dress would be approaching him- or exit the car. The trailing men followed the same gesture, eyes beaming to gaze at the way the dress danced around her figure with every step she took; the way sparkles pierced back into their eyes from the tinted layer hovering over her eyes. 

It felt like every click of her heels interjected a pause in between a second to stretch time. And stretch time it was. Still in a daze, they watched as she pulled the sunglasses off with a click. The colour of her eyes glistened under the blaring sunlight, smearing over their astonished faces. There were endless of questions brought up in their heads; however, the most common one was, why was she in the car with three other men? It was safe to say all of the inquiries involved her.

“Good morning. I’m sorry if I’m disrupting something but I came here for business.” Y/N sent a quirk of her smile, fingers fiddling with the temples of her sunglasses. Matteo finally yanked away from his thoughts.

“The street is currently occupied.” 

Y/N pressed her lips in understanding before she craned her neck around to brush over the dead street, “Where’s everybody? It’s Monday, right?”

Matteo nodded, “It is. May I ask who you’re supposed to meet?”

“Travis Philip. With this empty street, there’ll be no one to lead me... would you guide me to his building? I heard it’s quite big, myself.”

Matteo quirked his eyebrows as faint chuckles from the men behind him echoed as a response to her indirect jest. The mention of the notorious name struck a chord in him. Travis Philip. The Italian had one and only one memory with the New Yorker. It was not good. There were words hurled around which was then followed by weeks of negotiations and conversations from the head of superiority that pinned over Matteo’s head. By superiority, Matteo meant Luca Changretta, “Travis Philip? What’s a woman like you tangling with a man like Travis Philip? He’s bad news.”

Y/N’s lip parted, wanting to answer his reply as vague as possible since there was a twinge in the man she could not point out. A twinge that would cause suspicion in her to rise. Just like those times she had to face those rising groups in her territory back at home. However, a raspy voice sprung onto the archery board before she had the chance to let go of the arrow, “What’s taking you so long?”

Luca stomped out of the building with anger seething from his ears in a steam of irritation and impatience. His shoulders were tense, rigid as if unbent metal blocks. The mafioso had sent down his accompanying men to check out the roaring noise of a vehicle.

Luca had expected them to kick out the unwanted people without uttering a word since the civilians of the city knew the faces they had to fear. When his eyes grazed through the heads of his henchmen, he was only left with unanswered questions. Questions he wouldn’t mind forgetting for it to torture his curiosity as he could gaze upon the sight. After sending a quirk of his lips, he turned to Matteo, “Mi prendi per il culo? Ho detto blocca la strada.” (are you fucking kidding me? i said block the road)

“L'ho fatto.” (i did) Matteo mumbled back.

“Perché è in piedi davanti a me allora?” (why is she standing in front of me then?) While the two engaged in a conversation- well, more like a scolding from the towering man to the other, Y/N couldn’t help but watch in amusement as she understood every single syllable and word gushed out onto the ground. There were few mentions of the name Luca which suits the towering man with his sleek hair. But what ticked her ears was the name, Travis Philip. The man she was looking for.

The shorter man rambled on, red creeping up to smear against his ears as huffs of mist evaporated out of his ears. Almost as if he was tolerating the annoyance of this, Luca, “Abbiamo bisogno di lui per darci i soldi. Mentre tu ti godevi il tuo tempo qui fuori, potevo solo tenerlo fermo.” (we need him to give us the money. while you were enjoying your time out here, i could only hold him down.)

“What did you do to the poor man?” The blotches of anger on the towering figure halted to crawl back into hiding. Luca pulled his body away from Matteo which he didn’t even notice was an inch away from his henchmen. He averted his focus onto the woman in confusion. Had she understood what he said? His doubts were then answered. “Save some pieces for me. Non essere egoista, lead me to him .” (don’t be selfish)

Sauntering through the crowding bodies of men, she passed the group before she screeched to a halt. There was the noise of a door slamming shut and distant feet approaching her; however, there was no familiar sound of feet shuffling that would usually follow after her from the stranger group of men. Y/N glanced at the narrowing eyes who lingered on the same spot, “So? Do I need to repeat in Italian also?”

Throwing confused gazes at their boss, the henchmen who were on duty were as struck as the superior Italian was. Luca nodded quite defeatedly while he pinched the bridge of his nose. He threw his hands in the air when no one seemed to understand his silent order, “Do I have to do everything?”

After what Y/N would call a successful deal, if you can call a couple of punches and strings of blood gushed to spray the walls a deal, she had realized it took nearly the whole day as the sky was smeared with gradients of orange and red, the sun waving a farewell. There was slight satisfaction on her side even though the bar was not full. 

Y/N could’ve done better- but she was no idiot. The woman was not on board with the idea of giving up thirty percent of the cargo pay to the transporter. He was out of his mind to jump from twenty-three to a whopping thirty percent. All because few shipments had suspiciously not landed onto its designated ports, “You know, I reserved a table at this nice restaurant. Thought of not going because what kind of loner would I look like sitting alone, right?”

The wavering warm light plastered over the Italian who paced beside her with his hands stuffed in his pocket. Y/N could vaguely recall to what led to her being walked to the place she was staying at by a man she had recently just met. Not only an Italian like her but one who possessed the same power in his hand. 

There were fragments she could try to piece together, though, it didn’t seem quite right. The possibility of the situation she was stuck in was hovering over the chances of her men yanked by an urgent call. The corners of Y/N’s lips curled up at the indirect question, “Are you asking me out to dinner, Luca?”

The Italian man pressed his lips, fingers fiddling with the curling cloth that erected out of its stitching line. Oh, how irritated his insides are from the minor fault. Luca hummed, eyes throwing a glance at the woman, “I am.”

“Well, I hope you can push that reserve later because I’m going to be running around this whole week.”

Despite the previous week flying past her in a blink of an eye, Y/N’s whole body ached and quivered like a rattling stick on the furious waves of the ocean. It had been exhausting. There were so many issues she had to multi-task and make sure to recall it by engraining the problems in the back of her head. The men she had dragged from Italy could only do so little. Overlapping her attempts at remembering these tasks she would have to keep her tabs on, she had to face negotiations with other business partners. Even though she had come mainly for Travis Philip, there were strings of names she had to deal with on behalf of her organization.

All of the muscle aching and brain crying vanished as she now sauntered under the howling night towards the building she was to stay at temporarily. It all evaporated in a hasty exhale of waves from her body. No matter what she had done to recover from the period of exasperation, nothing had worked. Unfortunately, she had to learn this first-hand since the list of what her men would usually do had not served the same results to her. That was until the approaching dinner had arrived. 

“You know, usually, I get sent home in cars.” Y/N chided. She couldn’t help the curling of her lips at her words that pierced into the Italian man who chuckled at her jest. The woman was sure that they were midway to her stay since her men had used the same path to send her to her lodge. Somewhere hidden under flaps of thoughts, Y/N didn’t want the night to end after the fulfilling meal; Luca’s presence. She didn’t know what it was about the man, but she knew she had never met somebody like him. Italy possessed a spectrum of people. However, Luca... he was different in ways she could not point out. 

Maybe it was the way his hair was sleeked, or the way his somewhat oppressed Italian accent budged into his English sentences. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the comforting fact that he knew of the world she lived in. Without a doubt, one could see the pair as equals as they stood practically on the same labelled position. Luca Changretta grew up with the knowledge of how the mafia worked, how the organization ran, and the sacrifices they had to commit. All to wear a hefty golden crown on their head. 

While the tranquil street was echoing with the clicking of her sharp heels and the light shuffling of Luca’s steps, she noticed the lack of vehicles on the road. It was usually run over by wheels and honking vehicles even though it was nudging to rising of the sun. One of the things Y/N had learned after a stretched-out meeting that had hovered over the end of a day. The Italian woman would be in the back seat of the car and watch as people engulfed the streets, and vehicles occupying each inch of the road. But now, it was just them and sprinkles of slumbering cars, “Enough experiences, have you?” 

Y/N shook her head at the unexpected reply. Despite the dinner being simple and casual, she couldn’t help but feel it was more than that. Simple was underwhelming to the way her heart fluttered at every mumble of words from his lips or the way she couldn’t help but send a genuine smile after he quirked the corner of his lips.

There was something cowering in the crack in the corner of the restaurant while they munched on the food that was worth salivating for. It lingered its eyes onto the two as they ate. However, the woman held back. It wasn’t a feeling that she was sceptical of or had a bad feeling for. Instead, it was the feeling she had been described to when she was tucked in her bed by her parents. The stories of an emotion that had led people to do things they wouldn’t normally do. The tales of love. 

The Italian woman had a handful of attempts at finding this story- well, more like confirming its existence. Because after some times, she had lost hope and felt that the tearful stories said by her mother were just lies. Lies that she falsely believed in. So, was this it? The way her gut twisted in peculiar angles whenever Luca would do the slightest like quirk his eyebrows while she went on rambling. Now that she noticed, she was slightly more open with the man. Never had she felt in her own skin when talking to someone out of her blood relatives. 

During the simple dinner, she had learned many things from the man. Not only from his stories, but from her observation that she hoped was not too obvious. There were countless of times the Italian male had tried his best to suppress his vulgar words even though she had said not to worry.

It was amusing to see Luca string of from ‘fuck’ to a rather peculiar and random word to finish off in front of the lady. He justified it when he said it wasn’t right to curse in front of a woman. Then, he proceeded to hurl ‘fuck’s and ‘shit’s after he had accidentally nudged his glass cup onto the ground which gushed into fragments of infant shards. To which he threw an excessive amount of money (more like a wad of money) on the desk. It was worth for one table set.

“Enough for me to know that there is a reason for you to tire out a lady’s legs.” Luca grinned, his fingers cladded with his sparkling rings pierced on the stubborn scar that would torment his face forever. The memory of something he wished he could have forgotten. The permanent marking that would remain on him to remind him of the pathetic moment of his youth life. 

The Italian man nodded in understanding, “Yeah, but you can have a better view of the moon when you walk,” Y/N shook her head at his excuse for making her knees cry out for rest. “Plus, you get really good exercise.” 

“I hope you’re not indicating for me to exercise. I’ve done a lot of walking this past week.”

“What kind of a man do you take me as?” Luca inquired as he stuffed his fingers into the pockets of his jacket. 

Silence engulfed the two after Y/N’s quick chuckle. It wasn’t one of those that occurred when the moment had felt wrong. No, it was more than that. It was far more than that. A silence of enjoying the fact that the other was still here. His radiating warmth had coated her arm. She knew it would be a lot warmer if she was just nudged into him. The period of time hadn’t been interjected by a mumble before Y/N’s eye grazed over her lodge, “This is it.”

The pair lingered in front of the wooden door. Luca watched with his hat in his fingers. Although her body swerved to nudge to her left, time smeared in a blur.

Luca caressed her chin with his thumb, fingers gingerly and softly pinching to tilt her up. Even though the night where every civilian had prayed for cooling and a miracle surge of wind, the faint whistling of breezes had failed their hopes. There was only a tease of puffs in the air as if it taunted those who were drowning in their own sweat. With the twinge of cooling breezes, it was vanished once their warm lips generated a temperature hotter than that of the waves of heat in the bright morning.

Y/N didn’t want it to end, the feeling of his fingers brushing a trail to place against her cheek so softly as if she was a cargo of fine wine; the taste of his lips. But it did. Unfortunately, “I’m leaving in two weeks.” She breathed out, eyes ogling up to face the man who had plastered over her with a feeling she had never felt before. It was foreign. Y/N needed more of it.

“Well, then, it’ll be two unforgettable weeks.”