#when you are constantly having to prove your worth but when a pretty girl with beautiful eyes glances at you you know it would be enough if+

[itsalwaysforyou]

i do love it when jal are written as aggressive and rough with each other but i love gentle jal as well. i love them being so overwhelmed and confused by what they feel they just don’t say anything at all, too scared to ruin anything. i love them dropping the cruel pretences, if only momentarily, and allowing themselves a moment of vulnerability with each other, entirely depending all too recklessly on trust and shared understanding. i love their quiet moments where they’re not quite touching but the energy is almost palpable. i love the intensity of their softness, it all being so unknown and alien to them, as they both flounder trying to make sense of it all.

[skzdarlings]

bets and situations ; skz ; minho x reader

original ask: requested by anonymous: minho and “is that how you usually get out of these situations? by fucking your way out of them?” please

pairing: lee minho/reader content info: rivals to lovers. street racing. stubborn!reader. placing bets, betting sex (still explicit consent), fucking vs making love. outdoor sex. sex on a car. explicit sexual content. word count: 3400 words.

masterlist. part of the valentine’s day stories series. credit to prompts. requests are closed.

enjoy! <3

-

Sure, you are a little insufferable. 

But Lee Minho is worse. 

He carries himself with an elitist pomposity, like he is above the other drivers just because he once raced professionally.  Trophies or not, he is out here with the rest of you, illegally racing cars down desert roads, placing bets in the dead of night. 

You were content until this fucker came along.  Lee Minho and the stupid pretty face that won him fan clubs and brand deals.  Ugh.  You hate him for having that life and for giving it up when it is a fantasy for you.  The world of professional racing is notoriously hostile to women.  You admit there is a tinge of bitterness on your side of every interaction, but he goads you like an asshole.    

He arrives with his usual entourage.  A couple of them are racers, though not professionals, and a couple just spectate and mind his vehicle.  He has a nice car, almost as pretty as him.

You whistle as he approaches.  He looks at you with his usual exasperation, delicate features pinched with annoyance.  His hair was a vibrant red in his racing days, quite the act of showmanship, but it’s a natural dark brown now, framing his mean, stupid, handsome face.

“Hey, pretty boy,” you say.  “Finally gonna grow a pair and race me?”

His scowl turns to a bitchy little sneer.  He laughs sarcastically. 

“Not worth the mileage,” he says.  He shoulders past you, his leather jacket against your denim.  “Winning against a little girl does nothing for my massive ego.”  He says this with a sarcastic flourish, mocking your derision of him. 

You know the comment is a deliberately cheap shot.  Unfortunately, in reality, Minho is the least chauvinist racer you have ever met, treating the women here with the same basic dignity as the men.

It’s just you he hates, because you hate him too.   It was inevitable.  You were hostile when first meeting.  You challenged him to a few too many personal races.  You were a sore loser and even worse winner.  What started as an effort to prove something spiralled into a rivalry. 

You won the last couple races.  You gloated a little too hard and now he is refusing to race you again. 

“Sure,” you say.  “Sounds to me like you’re scared to lose for the third time in a row.” 

He just keeps walking, ignoring you, which is so much more infuriating than when he snaps back. 

You decide to keep your distance tonight.  If you continue to agitate yourself, you are going to develop a stress aneurysm.   So you keep to your own group, race your own races, and collect your own winnings. 

But, ugh.

He is right there. 

Just in the corner of your eye, just skirting the periphery of your space, just breathing the same night air.  When you are looking at him, he captivates you.  When you look away, he is like an impossible itch, begging for your attention again.  You constantly catch him looking at you too, which does not help matters. 

By the end of the night, you feel like a live wire, all electricity and unbound energy.  Not a single race has satisfied you.  You won three of four, making way more money than you lost, but it is not enough.  It is never enough.  You already know how good you are.  You know you can beat most of these guys blindfolded. 

Your only perfect match is Lee Minho.  The only victory that matters is that one. 

As the crowd disperses and everyone departs, you march towards him.  He is saying goodbye to his crewmates, his back to you, but his buddy cracks a grin when he sees you coming.  He smacks Minho on the shoulder before turning away. 

Minho turns around with a befuddled look on his face.  When he sees you, it slackens to that unamused vexation.  He pockets his hands in his leather jacket and slouches against his car.  He shakes his head as you stomp up to him. 

“One race,” you say. 

“No,” he replies, without missing a beat. 

“Why not?”

“Because I said so,” is his insufferable reply.

“That’s not an answer,” you say.

“That’s too bad.”  He gives you a final shrug then turns, opening his car door, preparing to leave. 

“Wait,” you say. 

You heart is racing.  Somehow, you feel like tonight is different from every other night.  Maybe it is the perfect crispness on the breeze, the remarkably clear sky, or maybe just the way those jeans seem to hug his thighs.  Stupid hottie.  You will have him and his attention.  You will get the better of him, one way or another.  It was all leading to this. 

“One race,” you say.  “A bet worth the mileage.” 

“I don’t need your money,” he says.

“I’m not offering money,” you reply. 

Finally, he closes the car door.  He sighs, a very loud and dramatic sigh, like you are the biggest inconvenience on earth. 

“What are you offering?” he says, facing you.  The disinterest in his tone is betrayed by the curious sweep of his gaze, an up-and-down perusal like he expects to find his prize somewhere on your body. 

Oh.

You feel flushed inside, realizing that it exactly what he is thinking.  Looking at you with a hungry, lecherous gaze, anticipating you are about to offer up yourself as a potential prize. 

It makes your heart stutter and your lips do the same, your next words all tangled up on your tongue.  It did not even occur to you to offer such a thing.  You hate him, so of course you would never think about him that way.  But now that he is looking at you like that, his expression coloured with interest and suggestion, you find yourself too shocked to even parse your feelings. 

The only thing that is obvious, abundantly obvious, is the punch of heat in your gut.  No, lower.  Heat that curls up inside you and makes you second guess.  Heat that is curious about the look in his eye. 

Then you shake your head.  You resist the urge to smack him for throwing you off.  You were in control and now you are flustered. 

“Not me,” you snap. 

His eyes, which have made their way down your whole body, follow the same path up.  He meets your gaze eventually.  Then he says nothing, because he is the worst, and just lifts an eyebrow at you. 

“My car,” you say, with no-nonsense finality.  “I bet my car.” 

He blinks at you.  Long, slow blinks like a cat.   It takes him a second to find a sentence. 

“Your car,” he says.  He tilts his head and squints, looking at you with scrutiny, like he is trying to see through your ploy.  “And what do you want if you win?” 

“Admit I’m the better driver once and for all,” you say.  The words feel a little foolish leaving your mouth.  You have been chasing the high of that confession, aggravated every time he dodged it, but saying it out loud makes you feel needy.  You clear your throat and stand straight like you are unbothered.  “That’s all I want,” you say.

He rubs a hand across his jaw, laughs incredulously, then swings his arms out at his sides. 

“Fine,” he says.

By now, everyone else has gone.  It is just you and him under the streetlights, the long empty road stretched across the dunes ahead.   You stare at one another, like there is no road and no sky, no world at all outside each other.  It is intense and all-consuming.   

You hold out a hand.  He takes it and yanks you closer to him.

“I would have told you that for free,” he says.  “Since it’s the truth.  You just had to ask.”

Now it is your turn to blink, looking at him with shock.  You would have been less stupefied if he called you a tirade of rude names, or tried to weave doubts in your mind.  Instead, he smiles at you, and it is not half as smarmy as usual.  He drops your hand and turns away, leaving you gawking at the air as he ducks into his car. 

He honks the horn, snapping you to attention. 

The heat rushes back in a hurry.  You swallow, then walk to your car on suddenly shaky legs. 

-

He wins.

Of course he wins.

You were distracted by his parting words.  You and him are so closely matched in skill that a fleeting weakness is all it takes for one to overtake the other.  You were faring well at the start, but his engine revved and your attention strayed.  Your prize was somewhat nullified by his confession, your behaviour embarrassing in hindsight.  You bet your car.  What were you thinking?

You weren’t.  And it was all his fault.   

Your car skids to a screaming halt just seconds after him.  You smack the steering wheel with frustration. 

Maybe I should have just bet my body, you think to yourself, a thought that has you shivering from something other than adrenaline.  Thoughts like that are not like you.  And Lee Minho is the last man on earth you could ever want.  Even though he is simultaneously the only man you want, or at least the only one with an opinion that matters, the only man whose attention you ever want.  He is always the highlight of your night. 

Oh god, you think with a nervous twist in your gut, I like that arrogant loser. 

Facing him is hard and it has nothing to do with losing your car. 

He is not gloating because he is not the type.  He is just leaning against his vehicle with his arms crossed, watching your nerves and passion get the better of you.  He does not flinch when you get right in his face, huffing from exertion.

“Do-over,” you say.

“Absolutely not,” he replies. 

“You got in my head on purpose.” 

“I can only do that if you let me in,” he says, looking smug.

“One more race,” you insist. 

“You have nothing left to bet.”

“Me,” you blurt.  “I bet myself.” 

You feel some satisfaction at the flicker of surprise that creases his brow, but then he is just staring and blinking again.  Your heart still thinks it is in a race, stampeding so far ahead that your whole body is awash with heat. 

“You,” he finally says.  His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, then he tilts his head in that studious way. “What does that mean?” 

You feel so hot it is making you a little woozy.  It’s just aftershocks from the race, you tell yourself, even though that heat comes from somewhere much more intimate. 

You cross your arms stubbornly.  You look away.  You even stomp your foot. 

“You know what I fucking mean,” you snap. 

“Is that how you usually get out of these situations?” he asks in a teasing tone.  “By fucking your way out of them?”

You refuse to answer.  You arms are still crossed, your face still turned.   

He touches your chin, a painfully delicate touch.  Whenever you do fuck someone, it is hard and fast, like everything else you enjoy.  Your greatest rival should be touching you with the roughest touch of all, but it is the very opposite.   It is a suggestion of a touch, little more than a caress as he turns your face to his.  You swallow until the intense focus of his sharp eyes. 

“I don’t fuck like that,” he says.  He bats his pretty eyelashes while smirking like a devil.  “I don’t have to make bets.  I make love to people because they want it.  Sorry.”  He rolls his eyes and turns away, wiggling his fingers in a sarcastic good-bye wave as he slides into his driver seat.  “You can keep your car.  I don’t want or need it.  Good night.” 

You put yourself between the door and car, stopping him from closing it.  He looks at you, eyes narrowed more intensely. 

“Now, now,” he says. 

“I’m a big girl,” you snap.  “I don’t need you protecting my honour.  I wouldn’t offer to let you fuck me if I didn’t mean it.” 

He stares at you, contemplative behind those dark eyes.  He has just returned your vehicle so you have no reason to make another bet, other than to prove the veracity of your previous offer: that you do want to fuck him, even if you don’t want to admit it.

“I told you that you can keep your car,” he says. 

You are amazed smoke is not blowing out of your ears, considering how hot your face feels. 

“I heard you,” you say. 

He gets out of the car slowly, holding your gaze the entire time.  You take a step back. 

Then he walks at you, which forces you to take another backwards step.  Step by step across the tarmac.  The breeze tousles a bit of his hair, but nothing stops his stride and his eyes never leave yours. 

You find it difficult to catch your breath.  Garnering this man’s undivided attention has been your only goal for months, and the reality of it is heady.  He is intoxicating. 

It seems the feeling is reciprocated, given how he looks at you, which just makes you stumble in your backwards trek.  He catches your wrist, tugging you upright, yanking you closer.  You collide with his chest, disoriented from so little. 

“So,” he says.  “If you win, we fuck.  And if I win, we make love.  Is that correct?” 

“Whatever, there’s no difference,” you say.  You are instinctively combative when flustered, redirecting the source of your embarrassment to confrontation. 

It seemingly works.  His attention diverts and he says, “Yes, there is.”

“No, there isn’t.” 

“Yes, there—”  He stops himself from retaliating with the same childish rejoinder.  He props his hands on his hips, shaking his head at himself as he stares up at the stars.   

Eventually he huffs, rakes his teeth over his bottom lip, then looks at you. 

“Fine,” he says.  “We’ll race.” 

Your heart is already revving like an engine.  You take another couple steps back to smirk at him triumphantly.  You walk right into your car, that smug face dropping in surprise.  It gives him the opportunity to crowd you against it, planting his hands on either side of your head.  You hold your breath. 

“You have to pass my test first,” he says. 

“Excuse me!”  Your own incredulity resounds.  You smack his chest but he does not move. 

“It’s just two questions,” he says.  “You’re a smart girl.  You’ll figure it out.” 

He is tormenting you.  You hate him.  You hope he never stops. 

“Fine,” you snap.  His smirk makes your whole belly swoop with anticipation. 

“Good,” he says, then stands back. 

You hold his stare, refusing to show any weakness.  At least you can catch your breath in the space between you. 

Then he says, “Get on your knees.” 

Your legs are already shaky – from nerves, from the dwindling adrenaline of your race.  There are a lot of reasons your knees buckle.  Plenty of explanations for why you do not hesitate, sinking to your knees right there on the road. 

Your gaze drops, flustered by his demand and your response.  You look at his shoes, all black, well-worn, scuffing the tarmac as he steps towards you. 

“Now tell me,” he says, then gathers a fistful of your hair and yanks your head back.  He meets your gaze as he says, “Is this fucking or making love?”

Then his fingers are in your mouth.  You let him in without any hesitation, like your whole body is instinctively attuned to his.  His grip is firm, his fingers relentless, undoubtedly fucking your mouth with the sloppy, mean thrust you would expect from an enemy.  Still, it feels good, unbelievably so, your mouth wet and hot and his fingers sliding over your tongue, the soft suction of your lips making his eyes blaze and his throat bob as he swallows. 

When he slides out, a trail of spit connects his fingers to your lips.  Your lips quiver with a shuddering breath. 

“Well?” he says. 

You swallow, but eventually manage a weak, “Fucking.” 

“Good,” he says, grinning that wicked grin.  “That’s one out of two.  How about this one?” 

He drops to his knees.  You are face-to-face now, kneeling on the road in the dead of night.  There are no witnesses to this scene except maybe the stars, the clear night revealing all your secrets. 

His face is as open, his expression suddenly so devastatingly soft and vulnerable.   Your breath stutters before he even moves.  He cups your cheeks with both hands and draws you to him.

Your eyes close when your lips touch.  He strokes his thumbs across your cheeks and licks into your mouth with decadent slowness, like he wants to savour every second of your taste.  Your mouths move together like they were made for each other, never racing too far ahead. A perfect give-and-take. 

When he stops, you feel dizzy and bereft, but only for a second.   He cups your jaw and tilts your face just so, then his fingers are parting your tender lips and the taste of him is on your tongue once more.  Your eyes close and you moan thoughtlessly, bobbing your head to the gentle rhythm he sets. 

“This,” he says in a feathery-light voice.

You shiver as he slowly withdraws his fingers.  He wipes his thumb across your lips to clean you.  You let him cup your chin and tilt your face, this time so he can look you in the eye. 

“Tell me what we’re doing,” he says.   

The suggestion makes you throb.  You are hot and aching when you admit, “Making love.”

“Good,” he says, then pecks your lips before rolling onto the balls of his feet and shooting upright.  “Now we can race.” 

-

It is a perfect draw. 

You are both distracted.  When you slam on the brakes in the same place at the same moment, it is with a singular purpose in mind. 

Doors slam.  You meet in the space between your vehicles. 

“I won,” you say, just to be argumentative. 

He is shrugging out of his jacket.  It his the ground.  He does not break his stride, already going for his belt.  Your knees nearly buckle again. 

“Fine,” he replies.  “Then get over here.  I’m fucking you on the hood of my car.” 

Fucking you is exactly what he does.  It is not making love.  He strips you methodically, your jacket and shirt and bra.  Your jeans get shoved down past your knees and he bends you over the hood, still warm from the purring engine.  You are hot and frantic, cheek pressed to the hood of your rival’s car while he works you open and shoves himself inside you. 

You make a sharp sound then a low moan, hands plastered to the hot hood.  He fucks you like he races you, without holding anything back because he knows you can take him. 

It feels as primal as a race, the animal instinct that conquers you in a rush of adrenaline.  It is your singular focus, the steady thud of him inside you.  You do not care about appearances, about seeming ridiculous, meeting every thrust and moan with your own.  He sounds good and feels better, your bodies in harmony, chasing each other to the finish line. 

He yanks you up, your back arching as he turns your head for a kiss.  It puts you over, clenching hard around him, setting him off.  He makes a soft sound then groans with pleasure.  He stays there for a minute, both of you breathing hard.

“I want you to keep your car,” he finally speaks, “because I need you to come back tomorrow and race me again.” 

You gasp when his hand moves between your legs, working you up again, slowly but surely.   

“Because next time I’ll win,” he says.  “You sounded so good getting fucked.  I want to see your face when you come on my cock again and again from making love.”

“Won’t happen,” you say, even while your on the cusp of doing just that. 

“Mm,” he says, then laughs that light, evil laugh as you come all over his hand.  He kisses the side of your head and says, “Wanna bet?” 

[leqonsluv3r]

bf!leon kennedy

—ID!leon kennedy x soft!croquette reader, a headcanon list

masterlist taglist

an: i cannot be controlled anymore. i promised i’d make it a series and im delivering slowly but surely. have faith in me lol, im doing my best to get requests out. i have them closed currently just so i can catch up and write them all in a timely manner. enjoy ID!bf leon kennedy in the mean time.

bf!leon kennedy who is getting too old for the soft cream sheets on your bed, he wants to just rip them off and demand something more mature. but he knows you wouldn’t like that. you practically yell at him anytime he tosses one of your stuffed animals too hard off the bed.

bf!leon kennedy who takes you out to dinner, makes sure your happy. he knows he’s not around as much as he should be so he takes the time when he can to treat you special. your his girl, he needs to.

bf!leon kennedy who makes sure your sleeping constantly when your next to him, even when he wakes up from nightmares. your scent of jasmine and laundry detergent makes him at ease, proves that everything is real and he’s really here with you.

bf!leon kennedy who lets you pack him notes in his lunch when he heads to the agency everyday. your cursive hand writing is sloppy but adorable, always writing for him to have a good day and that you love him. he’s just happy he has you to remind him when things get hard.

bf!leon kennedy who lets you press kisses all over him and hug him to death whenever he comes home unscathed from a mission or just a regular day at the agency. he loves when you show your love for him, always making him feel special and good. like all the things he had endured at this point have been worth it.

bf!leon kennedy who takes you shopping on his days off, not happy he has to stand around and hold your bags. but when you try your cute little skirts and dresses on, it makes it a tiny bit worth it. you would look pretty in a paper bag and he would still look at you all the same.

bf!leon kennedy who has your morning and nighttime skincare routine down, he watches you do it every morning and every night, never knowing that so many pieces came with you looking so pretty and gorgeous for him. but anything to make you happy, even if you don’t need all that to be beautiful in his eyes.

bf!leon kennedy who watches you organize your books on your bookshelf, clean up your shared space of your guys shared bedroom. all your little knickknacks and jewelry and frilly clothes. he doesn’t know how you do it, or why you like such a mundane looking room, but if it pleases you, it’s fine with him.

bf!leon kennedy who lets you crawl on-top of him in the early hours of the morning before he goes to work and press kisses everywhere. your lips pressing across his jaw, his cheeks, his neck and his lips. any place your pretty little self can reach, he’s letting you do it. you waking him up like this is another reason why his heart is so enamored with you in the first place.

bf!leon kennedy who helps you when you need to wash all your stuffed animals and sheets, helping you with chores. he likes being domestic with you, it makes him feel like he’s normal, like this is a normal life. like this matters, like his life has purpose with you.

bf!leon kennedy who drives you to the park or to the plant nursery so you can be around nature. he loves how you admire each plant anytime your out like this, the way you care for such things. it makes him happy to see you enjoying such a small part of life, gives him hope.

bf!leon kennedy who celebrates your guys three year anniversary, buying you anything and everything you want. taking you out all day. he cooks for you and makes your favorite dish, he buys you pink roses. he lets you dress in your dress and be all pretty for him.

bf!leon kennedy who eats with you, talking with you like he normally did everyday. but this time it’s different and leon is going to prove just how much he loves you. he slides a box out and watches your face change. you open the box and feel your eyes water when you see a diamond engagement ring.

bf!leon kennedy who watches as you nod rapidly, pretty tears and say yes over and over again. he slips it on your finger and smiles softly at you, watching as you practically hop over the table and hug and kiss him like your life depends on it. you smother him and kisses, tangling your sweet mouth with his.

bf!leon kennedy, who is very proud to not call himself your boyfriend anymore. but your fiancé and he’s proud of that title. of making you so happy and obligating to do that every single day for the rest of his life. he wants you everyday, every night and everywhere in between. he’s found his safe haven in this world, and it’s you. it always will be.

an: thank you for reading, reposting and likes are greatly appreciated. i’m trying to keep my posting schedule up and should have requests open when i’m finished with all the ones in my drafts. thank you guys for being patient with me. i love you all, kisses. xx

[mdhwrites]

I'd like your authorial thoughts on the following:

Given Luz' and Amity's interactions across season 1 of The Owl House could Luz be considered to have been Amity's Manic Pixie Dream Girl? If so, how do you see that trope evolving (or devolving) over the remainder of the series?

So I have a romance writing lesson I'm going to hijack this ask for but first to answer it: Probably? I feel like one could complain a lot of good romance stories use a character like this so I don't know how useful it is as a label. Not only that but a common complaint I have about Lumity is how Luz doesn't actually try to do jack shit to push back on Amity or actually question her on her shitty behavior. Like sure, we know she doesn't like Amity being mean but at best we get a single confrontation about that that Amity doesn't take seriously. It's never a problem actually addressed and Luz never tries to evoke any other life lessons out of Amity. It's why Amity feels like most of her changes just happen because "Girl pretty" because little actually pushes her to change except the mere existence of Luz.

HOWEVER

This stops HARD come S2. Even by Winging it Like Witches, we see Amity going out of her way to manage Luz's emotions and fuck ups. Where she has to be constantly accomodating because otherwise Sad Luz is a thought she just cannot fathom, even when in shit like Looking Glass Ruins, Luz seems to think an apology is enough, or how she won't change by Reaching Out about actually caring about Amity's well being (such as not noticing her girlfriend getting hurt) but also now with her breaking her word and continuing to lie to her, both things that will also come up in Thanks to Them where she's willing to lie to Amity for months before sending her to her death on the Isles without her.

This begs a bigger question: What of these two that attracted them to each other originally is still there?

We know pretty easily why Amity likes Luz. Explicitly she thinks Luz is kind, pretty, earnest, stuff like that. If we want to read into her character in S1, since it's pretty clear Amity is already crushing by Adventure in the Elements and probably started getting her feelings in Lost in Language, it's because Luz is honest with her, open and free in ways that Amity wishes she could be or wishes her family was with her. It's classic opposites attract. It also helps that early on in the show, her family seems to have transactional love while Luz seems to not require people to prove their worth to her. With Luz, she knows she's always got her heart in the right place, will make up for what she's done and Amity doesn't have to fear what Luz is thinking because if she were to ask Luz, Luz would tell her. Hell, that last part is literally what Eclipse Lake is about. Luz's openness and honesty.

Aaaaand then S2B starts with Luz keeping secrets and lying to Amity. She also steadily becomes less of a weirdo, over the entire show honestly, and more just this troublemaker who seems to mostly do things just for herself. Who can easily be manipulated through the fact that she's selfish, such as with Philip and with Eda's mother. She very easily starts ignoring other's problems because of her own, like in Reaching Out, even as she'll claim she's focusing on you but all of her actions are the exact opposite. This is how we get "I don't want to distract you," while she is willing to distract Emira while healing Amity or joins the tournament because she finds Amity being in underground witch fights that could potentially severely injure her, on a day when Luz is thinking about death and loss, as BORING. Also, instead of Amity not having to ever prove herself to Luz, to not have to worry if Luz is going to stop trusting and believing her, Luz CONSTANTLY isn't trusting or believing of Amity and so Amity keeps having to try harder and harder to make Luz happy. To manage her emotions when, you know... That is kind of the exact opposite of why Amity was probably attracted to Luz. Did she understand she'd have to save Luz from herself? Sure but not because Luz would literally lie to everyone and shirk responsibility. She expected it to be because she accepted jumping Dead Man's Gorge so one of her reading kids would stop being picked on.

So yeah, why does Amity still like Luz? I genuinely expected them to break up in Reaching Out because of this. Because Luz showed that when she's miserable, she is NOTHING like what Amity saw her as and trauma and pain is not an excuse to be a terrible person. I would have still liked them to get back together but like... Otherwise, the show ends up saying that it's okay to lie to your partner so long as you have an excuse. That is abhorrent.

(Smart, Cool, Classy)

But on the flip side of things, what about Luz? Well, we get less overt declarations from Luz than we get from Amity. By what is stated... Well, "Cotton Candy Haired Goddess" and "You're smart, classy and cool," are really all we get and that's from Knock Knock Knocking. Smart is good, cool is fine, classy is okay too but they're very vague and the one emphasized, especially over and over, is how pretty and popular Amity is. Even back in Adventure in the Elements, where the show seems to want to be when they both catch feelings proper but Luz is a dense brick, those are the traits she focuses on. How strong, cool, pretty and popular Amity is. Luz's focus seems to commonly be on very superficial elements of Amity and with her misconceptions of Amity as the series goes on, it's easy to assume these never change.

If we try to go into Luz's character though like I did with Amity though, it gets WORSE. Luz is supposedly someone who fears rejection and has been bullied in the past. However, she seems to have zero fears about Amity as a bully or her being cruel to her. Admittedly, we do get two in character reasons for this: One is from Lost in Language where she admits to wanting to befriend Amity as a fiction trope, which is GOD AWFUL... But somehow the next one is worse? In The First Day, she isn't talking about Amity but she talks about hoping to find a 'vulnerable upperclassman' like one talks about a romantic partner. As such, Amity's damage is not something to help her with but something that continues to check boxes for Luz.

BUT.

If we are kinder, she likes Amity because of opposites attract. Amity is more serious, in control and smart than Luz. She has confidence that Luz doesn't think she has (examples nonexistent of course with how little Luz gives a shit about anyone's opinion) and a grace to her the clumsy nerd does not. So if we go off of those, does Amity lose those?

Yes. In S3A she seems to not be able to control her two left feet. She shows herself to be a complete disaster much of the time. In Escaping Expulsion, she's called out for letting her grades slip and Amity just loses all of her edge and real personality. She'll still continue to do things, to have things grafted onto her but her priorities are always Luz and not any of the drive or the like that might have attracted Luz to her in the first place. This is how Reaching Out ends with Amity caring WAY MORE about Luz's actions and the like than anything her father does and with her really just wanting the right to tell her father fuck you than actually wanting to properly repair their relationship like she claims. The goal is Luz. Always.

"But Luz could see who Amity actually was and was attracted to that!"

I have heard this sort of argument too many times not to talk about it. Let's pretend that's actually the case. That Luz was attracted to a possibility, rather than the person in front of her. That "I can fix her," is a good and healthy mentality. Okay, what is the 'real' Amity then? Well, she's nice, kind of awkward but can then step up to be a badass when she has to be.

I also just described Willow and Luz is not attracted to Willow. She literally never shows attraction to anyone like that. We actually do get an idea for what her type is after all. Her first blush is with a tortured, brooding dickhead in the second episode. She blushes at the twins who are teasing and rowdy. She likes trouble. She does not get attracted to Viney or Willow though despite both having very similar personalities to what Amity will eventually have. So why does she choose Amity?

Because she's the most conventionally attractive. That appears to really be it. It's the only thing that A: Amity doesn't discard of herself and B: that Luz seems to care about that actually stays true to the character over time. And don't tell me that Amity got smart in other ways. She is not a tactician and her strategies are always the bluntest. To reference Escaping Expulsion again, she is the one who posits going for a full frontal assault. Hell, in Falls and Follies, she's making mistakes in her Spanish studies. We don't see much real intelligence from her after S1. S3 made sure she has no class and Knock Knock Knocking explicitly points out that Amity is not as cool as Luz thinks she is.

Why does this matter though? Well... Because chemistry matters in a romance? Because in fiction, we should be able to understand what in the world attracts these two people to each other? Going, "It's love, they don't have to explain it," is the exact same problem as "It's magic, I don't have to explain it." It's purely relying on suspension of disbelief and believing that just because something doesn't have to have an airtight explanation doesn't mean it doesn't have to still follow the rules or examples you have set. People HATE when magic suddenly does whatever the author needs it to just as much as they hate when someone goes "I love you" in a movie after two hours of not seeing a single reason these two would get together.

As such, if in your romance story you have the character development of your characters remove everything they found attractive about each other... Why are they still together? Not even just because that's a thing in the real world but just in the fiction. There's no reason for them not to just be friends now so why are they still saying "I love you," if they even want to be friends still? It makes the conclusion of your work not scan and so your romance falls apart.

And I mean... Clouds on the Horizon even explicitly makes this clear. In that episode, Amity uses Luz as a way to calm herself. Uses how she'd tackle things, her care and the trust she has in Luz to make her not worry about being trapped at home. But is that accurate to Luz? To Luz, who in that episode decided NOT to go save Amity because she wanted to small chance that she might be needed for the bigger plan in motion instead? Despite having no role there and potentially making their stealth mission harder? Or who goes on to not engage at all with Amity's family drama, even as Odalia threatens to force to break them up? Where is the care that Amity was drawing strength from? The silliness that attracted her to Luz? ANYTHING that was there all the way back when that pushed Amity to kiss Luz in that episode?

Because as far as I'm concerned, Amity's Manic Pixie Dream Girl didn't just become a real person. She turned to sludge and why would Amity want to date sludge? See you next tale.

======+++++======

I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!

I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past. I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead. If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.

A Twitter you can follow too

And a Kofi if you like what I do and want to help out with the fact that disability doesn’t pay much.

[igotanidea]

Date gone wrong : Jason Todd x plus-size fem!reader part 2

part 1

Y/N rushed out of the cave and back into her room with the speed no one would even dare to suspect her of having. Tim could barely keep up with her and he was the Robin. Much more trained than her.  The second the girl reached her bedroom she fell onto the soft sheets groaning in frustration and the pillow did little to muffle it.

“Y/N….” Tim approached her slowly, not having enough courage  to sit beside

“You know Tim, sometimes I hate your brothers.”

“Tell me about it. Dick and Jason can be a pain in the ass each but when they are together….” Tim shook his head, understanding her perfectly “for what it’s worth I’m sorry I started this.”

“Don’t be silly, it’s not your fault at all.”

“So….. you’re not sad? You acted pretty shaken out there. I mean, there are still signs of tears on your face.”

“Please” she rolled her eyes and propped herself on the elbow to face the middle Wayne. “It was an act. I was really hoping this would stop them from reading. You did not hear it from me, but tears are sometimes woman’s last resort. Most man get bemused with the sight of it and give up whatever reason caused them. Of course I should have known this wouldn’t work for your brothers.”

“Probably. But you know, it’s ok to be hurt. There is nothing wrong with it.” Tim finally sat on the bed next to his friend.

 “I know. And I was. But it was long time ago, you know. I came to terms with the fact that I’m not the girl who can be the object of interests. And it’s fine. Or maybe not. I mean there are worse and better days, but I’m handling them. I’d rather focus on how I act and behave and my character than reminiscent all the hard words from the past.”

“Some people in this family could really take example from you.”

“Hush!” Y/N  smiled and put a hand over Tim’s mouth “the walls have ears, let’s not give away any names.”

“As you wish. You know, Y/N, I know first handed that being laughed at, mocked and pointed because of who you are sucks. But the world is full of assholes and …. “ he hesitated

“What?”

“I can’t believe I’m gonna say it” Tim rubbed his forehead “but in this case the “fuck them” attitude helps. You just do your thing and people who are really worth a place in your life will appear. “

“How’s Bernard doing, Tim?”

“I… um…. What?”

“Oh, you are blushing. That is just so cute.”

“I’m not…. This is not about…..”

“Hey, relax. I’m the last one who will tease you about it. You two are really good together and you deserve all the best in the world Tim. Don’t worry about me. I’m….. good with my life. Especially since I have a friend like you.” she looked straight into his face “Thank you, Tim. You never fail to make me feel better.”

“Likewise, Y/N” Tim smirked, a crazy plan already forming inside his head “and speaking of friends, Bernard has one friend that I think you would like to meet and…..”

“Oh, damn it!”

***

“Remind me again, why did I agree to this?”

“Cause you could not resist my proposition.”

“Sure, if you can even call it proposition.” she hissed  “blind double date. I can’t believe it. It’s like going back in time.”

“This time it will be so much better, I promise.”

“I trust you with this, Tim. But I don’t really have high hopes. I told you, I’m not Miss America, just the girl next door and that is not…..”

“Hush! Stop it! You look amazing and are a wonderful person and if you can’t see it yourself I’m gonna help you get to the point where you respect yourself and …..”

“Tim?”

“Yes?”

“Did you notice that our friendship is mostly based on assuring each other that we have value outside of work and the things we do? It’s like we are constantly trying to prove each other we deserve good things.”

“The difference is, you were a bit more successful with that than me.”

“Just a bit?” Y/N  raised an eyebrow in disbelief

“Let me return the favor, Y/N. Let me …. Oh, there they are.” The boy turned towards the direction of two man walking across the street towards them.

“Hello Tim.” Bernard came closer and smiled at his boyfriend “Y/N.”

“Hey Bernard. Nice to see you again.”

“Been too long, right? Tim is always so secretive when it comes to his family it seems like I’m being left out. “

“I’m sure he told you enough to get me inside this situation.”

“Right.” Bernard chucked “speaking of that I’d like you to meet Tyler, Y/N. Where is ……?”

“I’m here, I’m here. Sorry, got an emergency call at the hospital and just could not …..”

“Tyler is a doctor!” Bernard interrupted the explanation “he’s very devoted to his work but thankfully, still made it on time. Tyler, this is Y/N, the girl I told you about.”

“Hello, miss Y/N. It’s truly a pleasure to meet you.”

“Um…. Thank you?” that was new for her. She was rather used to being judged for her curves and outlook, but this one here seemed like a really nice guy, who saw more than just the way she looked like.

“Bernard told me you work in tech industry?”

“Not exactly. I have wide knowledge on the subject but I write a column about it for a newspaper rather than invent anything myself and …..”

“With her brain she could be the best pioneer in the state…..”

“Tim!” Y/N hissed trying to make his stop

“But she refused an offer from the Wayne Enterprises saying this would be bad for her objectivity….”

“Really?” Tyler eyed her carefully and she involuntarily blushed under his gaze “This must have taken a hell lot of guts.  Saying no to Wayne? I would love to hear more.”

“Shall we then?” Bernard took Tim’s arm and lead the way to the café the four friends were supposed to spend the evening.

*** meanwhile, at the batcave Jason was sitting in front of the computer searching for the information that would be of use to him.

“What the hell are you doing?” Dick finally got to him, relieved his younger brother did not do anything stupid or crazy. Yet.

“I told you, I’m going to make it right.”

“By trawling Y/N’s bad dates from three years ago?!”

“Yes.”

“And then what? Beat them to death? Jason, come on, are you completely insane?!”

“They made a grave mistake of making her feel bad about herself. A one-time mistake.”

“I wonder why are you more bothered by it than she was. If I didn’t know you, I would say you care about ….”

“what? no.” Jay snorted “I just like a good fight that’s it. And it’s enough of a reason.”

“Since when do you need reason, Jaybrid?” Dick smirked and Jason finally turned from the screen to face his brother.

“Drop it, Dickhead.”

“Ok, fine, relax, I’m just saying that maybe there’s more to it then you think….”

“No girl would be disrespected if I can do anything about it! It’s not about Y/n! It’s about making sure that women in this fucking city can feel safe and not abused by some shitheads like those guys she met with. After I’m done with them, they would never say a bad word about any female ever!”

“Calm down, Jay. You don’t know about them. Maybe they have changed? Maybe there’s no need to get this violent and …..”

“I hate your attitude, Grayson. Take a look at this.” Jason pointed towards the screen “I managed to locate seven of the men she wrote about…..”

“What?! How!? Please don’t tell me you dragged Babs into this mess?”

“I joined voluntarily. “ familiar sound of wheelchair echoed through the cave and a few seconds later Barbara Gordon herself came into view “Hi, Dick.”

“I can’t believe it. “ Dick shook his head “This must me some crazy dream. You two working together?!”

“He has a point with this safety for woman rhetoric. Not every girl can protect herself like me or Steph or Cass of even Y/N. So if that means some men have to be taught a lesson I’m more than glad to participate. “

“I can’t…..”

“Ekhem.” Jason coughed impatiently cutting the exchange of words between Dick and Babs “As I was saying we managed to find some information about those guys. Seems like your arguments of their change and becoming better fails here, Dickhead. Just take a look yourself.

Dick sighed deeply and involuntarily raised his head to examine the findings.

“Wait. This is what you found?!”

Photos and extracts of newspaper titles were gleaming on the screen. Some of them coveting the subject of girls being used and dragged into brothels, some other about violent men beating their girlfriends, other about murder attempts.

“I don; think that is anything new in Gotham, but fine. I’ll help you.”

“No one asked you to, Grayson! Stay out of my way!”

“I can’t let you lose, Jay. You will wreak havoc on them.”

“That’s the whole point!”

“This is not….. Wait, what is it?”

A chime on the screen got the attention of three people and much to their surprise a picture of Y/N in a café with some guy popped in.

“Um, Babs? What filer did you use for your search?”

“Y/N’s name, obviously.” Barbara shrugged

“And is that why we are now watching her in a real-time during her date?”

“Most probably.”

“Over my dead body!” Jason hissed “I’m not letting her get hurt again.” and with such words he run out of the cave, in his civil clothes, not caring about anyone or anything else.

“It’s not about her, my ass” Dick smirked

“Aren’t you going to stop him? You were dead  set on it a minute ago.”

“Yeah, but situation has changed. If he does something crazy or stupid Y/N will put him in his place better than I ever could. “

***

“…. And that was when all came running back apologizing for leaving the kettle on.” Tyler ended the joke and Bernard, Tim and Y/N laughed loudly.

For the last hour, he showed himself as a really caring, funny and nice guy with a hell lot of interest and intelligence beyond average. The way he was talking and asking questions about Y/N made her feel both surprised and valued as a person. He did everything to make her feel good and freely in his presence and she liked that. A lot.

“Told you it would be nice” Tim whispered to her, when Tyler excused himself to get some more beverages  “It seems like you are warming up to him.”

“Shut it!” Y/N blushed a bit “he’s just so different from all the guys I know and  it’s nice.”

“Guess you owe me thanks.” Tim grinned

“We’ll see about that.” She smiled back

“Not my place to judge, Y/N, but it’s been a while since I saw you this happy so….?”

“Are you two talking about me behind my back?” Tyler came back and laughed seeing  Tim and Y/N whispering to each other like two gossiping friends in high school

“Obviously.” Y/N kept her cool “all the worst things. I mean, you are so kind and nice, there’s got to be some skeleton in your closet. “

“How about we get out of here so I can show it you?”

“Oh, aren’t you moving fast forward?” despite her best efforts Y/N could not hide the little tremble in her voice

“I’m just kidding, Y/n, relax. Sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable.”

“It’s ok. Just …. Something from the past getting on the surface and clouding my judgement.”

“I’ll be sure not to trigger anything.” Tyler gently touched her hand and her eyes grew wide. That was a sign for Tim to get into action.

“I’ll take you on that offer to get out of here. It’s getting late anyway and we should head home. Busy day tomorrow, right Y/N?”

“What?” she needed a second to get back to reality. “Sure, sure. Busy day. We need to get ready.”

“Very well then. I’ll walk you home, Y/n.” Tyler stood up and once again reached an arm towards her and walking her out the café.

“Aren’t you staying at the manor, tonight? We might need your help with something……” Tim’s voice became a bit concerned.

“ Mhm. Sure, I’ll stay at the manor. From your question I assume you already got us a lift?”

“I did. It should be here soon. We just need to get to the usual picking point.”

“Picking point?” Tyler frowned, a bit confused and Bernard, who was already used to the bats and friends; terminology laughed.

“It’s the place where their driver pick them from” he explained “easy as it is.”

“All right then. I suppose this is goodbye for now?”

“For now?” Y/N asked

“I had a really nice time with you tonight, Y/N. I would love to see you again if you want to….”

“That… that would be nice. I guess. “

“I would call you, but I think it would be best to give you freedom in this area” God, why was he so nice “after all, it’s woman’s choice to give man a chance.” Once again he reached to her hand and with the gentlest of touches brought it to her lips and brushed his lips over it. At this point Y/N was close to fainting but before she could say a single word yelling of her name came from the other side of the street.

“Y/L/N!”

“Holy shit, what the fuck is he doing here? Tim!?”

“I have no idea, Y/N. I’m sorry. I’ll take care of it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Drake. He’s going to eat you alive!”

“Wait. Who is this guy?” Tyler instinctively came in front of Y/N, covering her with his body “should we run away?”

“The real question is who the fuck are you and what are you doing with Y/L/N?!”

“Jay…..” Y/n’s voice was so cold that it would froze anyone else at the spot. Anyone but Jason Todd.

“Not a word Y/n.”

“Look, dude. I have no idea who you are, but you cannot just talk to her like that!” Tyler became way to defensive for his own good.

“Oh, really?! SO it happens, I am one of the people that protect woman in this city from the scumbags like you!”

“JASON!”

“I told you to keep quiet, Y/N. We are going home, now.”

“You are not the boss of me!” she yelled “I can go out with whoever I want!”

“Is that why you keep me out of your family?” Bernard leaned over to Tim and whispered in his ear.

“Mhm” Tim run a hand through his hair “guys, please don’t make a scene on the street. We all have good intentions here so how about we all calm down, huh?”

“You calm down, Drake. This is none of your business.”

“Actually…..”

“Tim’s right. Enough is enough. I’m sorry Tyler, I’m sorry you had to meet Jason like this. Apparently he is not himself today.” Y/N turned around to look straight into Jace’s face with mix of pain and reproach. “I guess someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today.”

“It’s not your fault, Y/n. I’m just sorry you are being treated like this. Call me?”

“Sure. I’ll call you” she smiled and with a single nod and murderous glance at Jason Tyler walked away chased by Bernard who already said his goodbyes to Tim.

“You really are gonna call him ?” Jason raised an eyebrow.”

“Shut up. Just shut the fuck up Jason Todd.” Y/N’s hissed in the most calm voice she could “get into the car, we’ll talk at the manor.”

***

The way home was the most awkward one ever. There was unusual silence, tones of cold stares and palpable electricity running between Jason and Y/N. The second they reached the destination Tim run away from any possible fight between those two, but being found by Dick and Babs who expected explanations of what happened made his attempt futile.

At the same time Jason and Y/N barely made it to the living room when he started his anger fit.

“What the hell were you thinking!?” he yelled “didn’t you learn anything from the past? From all those guys who made you suffer and depreciated you?!”

“Jason.”

“What?! Why?! Why are you doing it again?! I hate seeing you sad, you know it! And this is how its going to end up!”

“Huh! Like you care at all.”

“I care about your sense of humor. Last time you were feeling under the dog I was stuck with Dick’s dad joke and it was a total disaster.”

“Of course, selfish as always.”

“Were you expecting anything else?”

“No. “

“Ditch this guy before he breaks you like everyone else before!”

“Fuck you, Jace! Tyler is a nice one, unlike many others I knew or…. know.”  their gazes met and the fury and ice in her eyes made him shiver. Was that how she was seeing him? “And if it wasn’t for your interference I might actually have a chance with him. But now, he saw your worst side and maybe…. Maybe that will make him back off.”

“He’s not worth your time.”

“Then who is, Jace?! And why the hell are you interested in my love life all of a sudden? What is your problem, here? Tell me the truth.”

“I told you the truth!”

“Bullshit! You got a tell and I know you are hiding something! So what the fuck is this!”

“I want to protect you!”

“Pro…. Protect me?” she stuttered “from what?”

“The pain. The disappointment. All the bad feelings.”

“Jason” she sighed deeply, becoming calm “come here” Y/n patted a spot next to her on the couch “come on.” He approached her carefully “look at me. I don’t need you to protect me, all right? I’ve spend half of my life in a glass cage created by my parents. The walls of it being all the good intentions. Starting from you know nothing about life, you won’t make it on your own, we are trying to help you here, parents know better. Ugh!  The worst thing was that I was listening and believing them for such a long time. It was years till I escaped and eradicated all the voiced inside my head, telling me that it would be better to run and hide. And I’ve lost so much during those years I was under the command. The realization of it still hurts me sometimes. ”

“Y/N….”

“Hush. Let me finish. I don’t want to go back there. Do you understand me?” he nodded “I can’t go back to hiding. And that is why I don’t need protection. I am perfectly capable of handling myself. “

“I just.. I just…..” Jace muttered

“I know.” Y/N smiled and squeezed his hand “ you want to be helpful. But that is not what I need from you, all right? I need your presence, your friendship, your bantering with me, your opinions and thoughts, but not this. I don’t want the aggressive, unhinged Jason. Can you promise me that?”

“I don’t think I can.” he looked down, unable to meet her honest gaze

“Good.” She chuckled

“What?” that was surprising.

“If you did promise me that, I would know you were dishonest. I know you are still fighting your demons, we all are and what you said just proved to me you are trying to be better but do not make empty promises. So thank you.”

“Oh, please. Don’t get all sappy on me. You know I hate that.”

‘So let go of my hand.” She pointed out raising their joined palms.

“Not yet.” He smirked “it’s the only way to keep you here and prevent you from calling that asshole”

“JASON PETER TODD!”

***

“How long do you think it will take them to realize?”

“given the way they communicate with each other might be years.”

“Don’t you think we should do something about it?”

“Do you have a death wish? If any of them finds out we were messing out with their lifes…..”

“I’m willing to take the risk. Come on, it will be fun.”

“You got very strange definition of the word, Grayson.”

“I knew I would lure you in, Timmy.”

“Don’t call me that!”

@pinksirensong @jasontoddsthickbabe

[batidochokolat]

The Outsiders // Pro Ice Skating AU ⛸️❄️

- Ponyboy and Curtis brothers centric (for now)

- If you have any idea how any more characters of The Outsiders would behave or react to this AU please let me know.

- So first, Ponyboy is all about ice skating, like how he's into sunsets, books, and movies. It's his thing, even though the gang doesn't really get it. His mom, though, she's his biggest support, staying up late sewing his outfits and taking him to practice and tournaments all the time.

- But then, when his parents pass away, he takes a break from skating. One day, Darry finds him and says like, "I was looking through some of mother's things and I found all your medals, accomplishments, all that, Pony. She loved you, more than she loved anyone. You can't keep dying in your own greave, sobbing all night. You have to get back out there and make them proud."

- So, Ponyboy throws himself into training like never before. But now, it's not just about having fun; it's serious pressure. Especially with Darry taking charge, pushing him harder. You have to remember Darry was this big football star back in high school, had a shot to leave Tulsa and all, but then their parents passed, and now he's dead set on turning Ponyboy into the best ice skater in the country.

- But Ponyboy feels like Darry doesn't get him. They clash a lot because Darry's always reminding him that skating's alway been for the rich kids, not greasers like them. And the judges and other skaters don't make it any easier, they don't understand his DIY outfits and background, giving him low scores in presentation and seeing him as a greaser who skates like a girl, basically he's making a mockery of the "elegant" art of ice skating.

- Ponyboy, he thinks (like in the book) Darry sees him as a total annoyance and burden, always saying he can do better. It's like he's constantly walking on thin ice, trying to live up to Darry's expectations while dealing with his own doubts and insecurities and all that.

- But even then he doesn't care what other people think, he knows he's talented and he won't be apologizing for being who he is. He will prove EVRYONE just how wrong they are about him.

Ponyboy

Pretty much like in the book he is a little angsty and has to deal with a little too much at a young age, but he's still that guy who loves reading books, watching movies and ice skating. His drive here stems from a desire to prove his worth, sometimes leading to a touch of obsession in seeking the perfect embodiment of his artistry and a score that silences all the people who think he can't make it.

Darry

I know Darry sounds like a total asshole but I belive he's giving everything he has for pony and tries to push him like how his coach used to do when he was in high school. Despite being barely older than a teenager, He's under so much pressure and stress all the time that he might be setting some into his younger siblings.

Sodapop

I personally think Sodapop might not be super into ice skating as a sport, but he's always been there to cheer on Ponyboy, especially after their parents passed. He decides to attend one of Pony's tournaments, but he's taken aback by how intense Darry is being. He's like, "Don't you think you're pushing him too hard?" But Darry's all like, "I know what I'm doing. I'm making him a star."

Sodapop also may try to be with Ponyboy more, inviting him to hang out and take breaks from all the practice, but Pony keeps turning him down. (Steve's obviously happy that Pony isn't always tagging along anymore lol)

As time goes on, Sodapop starts feeling a bit distant from his own family. With all this new attention on Ponyboy and the constant tension at home, he starts feeling really alone. He still cares deeply about Pony and is proud of his achievements, but he just wishes things could go back to how they were before, with their family all together.

Rest of the gang?

Idk, I thought this AU yesterday over discord. What would Johnny's reaction be to all of this?

(Gif is relevant because this AU came to my mind inspired by the Tonya Harding story and a bunch of Yuzuru and ice skating tiktok edits.)

Extras

I will probably be adding more to this AU later on the week 🫶

[ember-owlet]

hiiii!!! i saw that u like chainsaw man and i was wondering if u had any little or cg denji headcannons ^_^??

a/c: oh, i absolutely do!! i finished the anime and am currently caught up with the manga and the fixation is strong (/lh). to me he's a pretty balanced flip but i am a strong believer in puppy regressor denji! i hope you enjoy the headcanons dear firelight ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

dynamic: cg! & puppy regressor! denji

content warnings: light mention of reader having panic attacks, mentions of denji voluntarily getting hurt, implied starvation, and implied grooming (from makima). ((stay safe firelights, you can always come back to this when you're ready.))

cg! denji: (mainly the same way that he had taken care of power in chapter 71)

denji would stress the importance of making sure that you eat three meals a day. do they have to be nutritious? that's a story for another day, but as long as you have something edible in your stomach he wouldn't mind.

however, he definitely stresses the importance of not wasting food. (luckily, you'd have a caregiver that would be willing to finish off your plate at any time.)

he would be a strict caregiver in a way that he would constantly encourage you to do things independently (even if his wording is brash), but would relent rather easily if you knew the power of a well-timed pouty face and puppy eyes.

he'd be the best at taking care of regressors with insomnia, letting you lie on his chest while he rambles to you through the night about anything that's on his mind till you fall asleep.

on the other hand if his regressor has panic attacks, he would be a firm anchor; holding your hand and staying with you throughout to make sure you were safe and knew you weren't alone in it.

though he'd grumble, he would love to have you clinging to his side at all times. it's always good for him to know that he's wanted.

unfortunately, denji has used you once or twice as a conversational piece to talk to girls (but would pull away if you got jealous.)

you'd never find yourself bored around him, and since he always knew how to survive without having to spend any money he would find creative and cost effective ways to keep you entertained.

puppy regressor! denji:

it would take a while before denji would completely let his guard down due to makima's treatment of him, wondering if you're only with him because of the fact that he's chainsaw man.

however, once trust is earned denji would become extremely attached and loves to regress whenever he gets the chance to be able to turn off his brain to be a good puppy to you.

(i mean he literally!! talks about not wanting to think for himself anymore as a coping mechanism!!! peak regressor energy right there)

absolutely thrives on verbal affirmation and therefore would ask it from you constantly.

would literally do anything and everything for his caregiver, you'd only have to say the word and he'd get it done.

at one point you asked him to sit and forgot to take him out of the command which resulted in him staying perfectly still in the same spot for hours. (luckily you gave him lots of pets and treats as an apology).

if not supervised he would put anything and everything in his mouth and prepare to have to pry it out yourself.

you would have to help him develop the habit of eating slowly, since after being without food for so long it would be hard for him not to want to gorge on his meals in preparation for another period of time without it.

you would have the best form of scary dog privileges but would also come to understand that denji puts himself into dangerous situations to prove to you that he is useful.

though he only requires the bare minimum for himself, it's important for him to be reminded of his worth without the title of chainsaw man, and that he is a perfectly good puppy just as denji.

[horizon-verizon]

https://www.tumblr.com/very-straight-blog/750648583572881408/it-really-tires-me-how-some-fans-try-to-make-aegon?source=share

What is your opinion about this? Personally, I don't understand why people are so diligently looking for something in Aegon that isn't there.

I wrote about Aegon HERE.

Of course he cares, that's literally the essence of his personality. He cares. He and Aemond both feel too much emotion, but if Aemond sublimates into self–improvement, trying to be strong, cold and detached, then Aegon is literally an open wound. I want to talk about this, also using Tom's interviews (yes, I think the actor's opinion is valid in this matter) and the few scenes that we have in the first season

Having emotion/passion =/= sympathy, caring about others, or altruism. sympathy, altruism, etc. can cause or fuel passion, passion can be the motivation to maintain sympathy/compassion/altruism. Dany is a perfect example caring in hand with passion. But this person conflated "caring" with "being emotional and insecure".

Aegon, bk or show, is emotional bc he doesn't want to expend much energy into doing the ambitious things his family wants him to do, except if it is him showing militaristic prowess to prove masculinity and dominance.

Yes, show!Viserys largely didn't give him the "attention" (more here later) that he gave Rhaenyra, but this neither shows that Aegon truly "cares" since he constantly rapes, has his own bastard kids fight each other when he could have easily set up much better living conditions or have them grow up well-off--as most European noblemen did in real life, even Henry VIII. Viserys not giving him attention doesn't excuse, erase, or undermine how Aegon freely chose to abuse others. Dyana didn't ask to be raped, no one does. Should we ignore her pain for Aegon's "microexpressions"? Daemon's mother passing doesn't excuse his treatment of Rhea Royce (whether he kills her or not, show or book...in the book he still is nasty towards her), while also not having ever raped or SAed women (or really, that being a apart of his character GRRM chose to highlight). Both are princes. And many other men choose not to sexually abuse women despite actual abuse at home -- Samwell Tarly. Who is also a pretty emotional but also actually caring individual. He is not a prince. Aegon doesn't need to be named heir nor will it have a positive effect on the realm if he was made king, like how Rhaenyra needed to be Queen bc it's setting a better precedent for female rulership not just for the throne, but for women/girls to be more included in noble lines of succession and/or to lessen the probability of attempts to unseat female heirs who ascend to their places (Jeyne Arryn). That how Rhaenyra, who had been slandered to be undeserving bc of her gender--something Aegon will never receive and is actual discrimination--also benefits to affirm her worth. Finally, Aegon had to start a war and kill thousands to get what he wanted; Rhaenyra would have peacefully housed him after her ascension. so there's that.

HotD is really uwuing this man, bc canonically he just sees the throne as his male-given right; it was never about "confidence in capabilities" or "who'd make the best ruler" for Aegon. Or the greens. It just never was. Even in the show, if you think for 2 seconds, the only logical reason why he would care so much abt Viserys's treatment of him vs Rhaenyra is abt the throne. Viserys didn't "like" him? Oh, well, maybe that is bc the writers decided not to include the fact that bkViserys spent a lot of time with Helaena and that his probable distance b/t his sons is precisely bc they feel that Rhaenyra, his chosen heir, should not be queen? And that is coming from Otto/Alicent coaching them that way, thus creating that divide?

Viserys actually doesn't treat Rhaenrya all that well despite her being his heir: forcing to marry Laenor, [show] punishing her or castigating her for feelings she rightly has towards marriage after he treated Aemma the way he did, reneging on his deal about Otto with he, etc.

bk!Aegon is threatening Rhaenyra before she gave her first terms, impatient to imprison Rhaenyra after the coronation before those terms, calls her a whore after hearing the terms, etc. He may feel bitter and sad about Viserys not giving what he thought was his "birthright", but I think the showrunners knew that this would not endear him to audiences or make them care abt his PoV, bc this is such a privileged sense of entitlement that is actually dangerous that goes beyond any slander against Rhaenyra's pride to be a female Targaryen heir. Viserys, as king, chose Rhaenya and that is well within his right as king, by these feudal monarchist customs. Female heirs have been chosen in Westeros. even with those girls and women having been chosen only bc there was no viable male candidate, or the ones there were too young, etc., they were still chosen and active in wars in different ways. Plus, if we actually care about victims, which a lot of those women were, you'd also see that having a female heir even with a male candidate, is a better step in the right direction of possibly minimizing that rather than to keep the male-preference primogeniture where the younger male is heir keeps going. Rhaenyra never victimized anyone at that point; Aegon had already done so to serving girls and that 12 year old. In the show, Aegon abuses Helaena by her own words about his sexing her only when he is drunk, but this is throwaway and we are not given a fuller picture (w/o actually showing us the sex, we can still witness their dynamic but as it is they have never been in the same room and we never saw them interact or try to, which HotD clearly takes advantage of bc a lot of people are not cognizant of this or care).

He "cares" about himself and pathetically whines about how he wasn't given or thought to be given what he thinks he deserves based on gender privilege. Boohoo. No one said he was emotionless in the first place! Should I feel bad for a man who doesn't get the expected privileges for being a man?

[2baddiesfanfics]

Ready, Aim, Fire

Pairing: Kafka x Himeko

Tags: Teasing, Gunplay, Sensory Deprivation, Firsts

Summary:

Kafka has left her old life behind, but senses Himeko is still hesitant about their relationship. When the navigator asks what she can do to prove her loyalty, the former Stellaron Hunter has something dangerously intense in mind... 

Read on Ao3

“Please just tell me what I have to give up to prove it to you once and for all.” Himeko was nearly in tears. This wasn’t the first time they’d had this argument. 

Kafka had left the Stellaron Hunters for good at the navigator’s demand, but still felt as if the weight of the request hadn’t been reciprocated. Blade, Silver Wolf, Firefly…these people had become a part of who she was. But that life had been upended when her relationship with Himeko had taken a turn for the serious. 

What was once only a fling between the next great adventure had become something neither of them could live without any longer. And yet…what had the navigator given her in return to show where her heart lay?

“Himeko, stop. Dramatics don’t suit you. I’m only trying to make a point. It’d be like you leaving that old man, the walking time bomb, the loud girl with the pink hair, and that serious dragon kid. I’m merely asking a hypothetical question - what would you be willing to do to show me it was all worth it?”

“And I’m telling you I’ll do whatever you ask - within reason. Also…that’s rude. Welt, Stelle, March, and Dan Heng are your family now, too. At least learn their names.”

Ignoring that last bit, Kafka crossed her arms and drifted into deep thought. 

Anything, huh? Man, I better not blow it. What to do, what to do….

“Whatever I ask?”

“Yes, if it’ll mean we never have to have this discussion again,” Himeko huffed. 

Kafka knew exactly what would prove the navigator had whole-hearted faith in her. She’d be lying if a part of her wasn’t constantly wondering if Himeko only liked the danger of being with her - if she would betray her to the authorities if given the chance. This was the one act of intimacy she’d only imagined in her wildest fantasies, and it required both parties to trust each other with their lives.

“When the kiddos and Grandpa Yang are asleep, come to my room tonight. Don’t wear anything you don’t want gunpowder stains on.”

————

Kafka was already waiting for her when she arrived. She was holding something in her hand, but Himeko couldn’t tell what it was and was slightly afraid to ask.

What am I getting myself into?

“Hey there. Right on time, as usual. Now, do me a favor. From this point on, you’ll be wearing this,” she explained as she held out a thick scrap of silk fabric. “I’ll guide you the rest of the way.”

Doing as she was told, the navigator let out the breath she was holding nervously. The former Stellaron Hunter laughed seductively.

“Am I really that scary? Remember, this is an exercise in trust. Your safe word is ‘coffee.’”

Himeko couldn’t help but grin slightly at her choice. She may be a bit off the deep end, but that’s what made her interesting. Grabbing the blindfold from her, she tied it firmly around her eyes. Kafka took her by the hand and eased her into the room.

“I’m going to sit you down now,” she instructed as she lowered her onto the plush seat. Tugging her wrists, she gently moved them behind her and bound them in a firm knot.

“Just…try not to leave too many marks. I don’t want to have to explain to Stelle and March what we were up to.”

“Himeko, you’re blind if you don’t think those two aren’t up to their own shenanigans. I think you and I are less obvious. But let’s focus on the moment, shall we?” 

The navigator could hear her walk away and pick up something heavy. A few sharp clicks and the sound of metal opening and closing multiple times piqued her curiosity.

Then it dawned on her.

“K-kafka…what are you-“

“Shhhh…”

Himeko felt the chill of steel against the skin of her lips.

There’s no fucking way…she’s insane….

“I paid a pretty penny for these babies. Went all out on features that ensure they won’t discharge without my say-so. I’ve quadruple-checked the chamber, the safety is on, and the digital readout confirms it doesn’t contain live ammo. I’d never put you in real danger. Just…indulge me, won’t you princess?”

The thrill of the situation emboldened Himeko. There was a reason she loved Kafka - she never knew what to expect and it made their relationship anything but dull. “Do your worst.”

Using her free hand, the former Stellaron Hunter grabbed her cheeks and squeezed. “Be careful what you wish for, love. Now open those adorable lips for me and stick out your tongue.”

The navigator obeyed and felt the metallic tang of the sub-machine gun’s muzzle against her taste buds. She heard Kafka moan softly, so the image must have been quite something.

Oh if she wants a show, I’ll give her a show, Himeko thought. Swiveling her tongue against the shaft of the firearm, a guttural growl confirmed Kafka was getting off on this dangerous display.

“Fuck…” she muttered under her breath. “Good girl…more fearless than I thought you’d be.”

“You must not know me as well as you think you do, then,” the other woman taunted. Kafka trailed the barrel across her lover’s chest, a trail of saliva and black gunpowder leaving painless scars down her body. The navigator hated to admit it, but this was extremely exciting. Her breath came in heavy pants as she felt heat build in her belly.

“Oh, ho. Someone’s getting mouthy…” The former Stellaron Hunter teased as she brought the firearm to a stop between Himeko’s thighs. “I know you’re just as turned on as I am. There’s no use in trying to sweet talk your way out of it. That’s why I’m going to let you relieve some of that tension that’s got you so riled up.” The navigator felt her nudge the barrel against her center and she groaned uncontrollably.

“You’re…fucking crazy…you know that, right?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t love it. Now work those fucking hips for me, baby.”

Eager for release, Himeko did as she was told. Her slick coated the hardware as she moved against it, Kafka watching hungrily at the wanton display. Seeing her lover bound and helpless, desperately gasping as she rode out her orgasm on her weapon of choice.

“F-fuck…Kafka…please…may I…”

“Oh, you have permission. Come for me, Himeko.”

With her sight taken from her and her hands bound, her climax hit her with a force she’d never experienced before. Her cry of ecstasy was music to Kafka as she watched her completely lose control. 

Leaning in to lift the other woman’s blindfold, the former Stellaron Hunter brought the tool to her lips and licked her lover’s arousal from the gun. 

“Boom,” she chuckled as she set it down and walked around to untie her wrists. “You took that rather well. Everything ok?”

Himeko let out a tired laugh. “Look, Kafka, I will admit…that was insane. Incredible, but insane.” The former Stellaron Hunter smirked knowingly before kissing her with surprising tenderness. 

“But that is the first and last time we will ever be doing that.”

[xerith-42]

Garrance Week Day Five! Missing Scene/Feelings Realization

Putting this note in partway through writing... I think I might have lost the plot but in a good way?? I just can't be normal about gay block men, y'know?

Takes place during Laurance and Garroth's training at an unspecified guard academy

Laurance had been at the academy for three days when his life changed forever. He had anticipated this to some degree, he had planned on change. It was the first time he would be away from his sister and father since they adopted him, and it meant he'd be away from home for nearly two years. This was expected.

Change was wanted. That's why he left to do this. To change. To make something of his life.

This. This was not expected.

Laurance's flirting habits started from the first romance he had read, and he often practiced on the other girls in Meteli as he grew up. He liked girls, he knew that confidently, and had thoroughly explored that. What was happening to him now was not something he ever expected. Then again, it made sense in hindsight.

It all started on day one. He was given his schedule, his armor, and his training weapon, along with his barrack assignment. He was sharing a room. That was fine. Laurance had shared a room with Cadenza for years before they added another one onto the house for him to stay in. He would probably enjoy sharing a room with another man, someone who would understand his way of living and not berate him like Cadenza did.

Irene help him, Laurance had been at the academy for no more than ten minutes and he already missed Cadenza so much. No matter, he was going to train, mature, and come back as the best brother she could ask for. He would come back strong enough to protect her.

Something stirred in Laurance when he opened the door to his room. He caught just a glimpse of his bunk mate slipping a helmet over a head of curly blond hair. He turned around and stood still as he took in his appearance.

Neither one of them spoke. Even as Laurance moved in they seemed to just observe the other in silence. It was oddly unnerving, but once more, Laurance expected this. He had seen the variety of personality all the guards in Meteli had, largely through their different responses to him constantly annoying them to train him when he was growing up. He knew that there were those who would much rather do their job in silence.

The thing that Laurance didn't expect was how silent his bunk mate was. And how elusive he would be. For the first three days Laurance never saw his face. He was always wearing a helmet. Even when lying in bed. And whenever instructors referred to him, they used his first name instead of his last like they did for everyone else. Well, a few other people actually did that, but they had to request for instructors to do that. They did it for him day one.

Laurance eventually got around the face barrier in a pretty clever way. He figured his bunk mate, Garroth, who seemed even irritated that he knew his name, didn't ever answer most questions Laurance asked. Unless it was about their training, and even then, his answers were brief, to the point. Laurance was determined to make him break.

And it all started when Laurance remembered that Cadenza used to complain about his snoring. Duh! Garroth was just waiting for him to fall asleep to take the helmet off. And he was so rigid in his morning routines Laurance was never going to get the chance to wake up before him unless he stayed up all night. Which he could do, but you never know when they're going to suddenly put a real blade in your hands and prove that you can be trusted not to cut your own hand off. It had already happened once.

So Laurance just laid in bed staring at the ceiling. And he started making a sound similar to his snoring after a few minutes. He hoped it was convincing enough. He felt a little foolish doing it, but he knew it would be worth it. Even if nothing ultimately came of it. Just to end the mystery.

After a few minutes of this, he finally heard the sound of a buckle being undone. Shortly followed by the clank of metal on a stand. Laurance kept up his fake snoring for another minute, ensuring that Garroth would be relaxed, and caught with his guard down. Another minute.

In as quick of a motion as he could Laurance flung the top half of his body over the top bunk and let it hang upside down so he could get a good look at Garroth's face. and for a moment, nothing quite processed. There was still a perhaps foolish part of Laurance's brain that thought somehow Garroth would be more meticulous than this. Maybe he somehow accounted for this. Laurance might if he had good enough reason to hide his face.

Garroth on the other hand had not accounted for this at all. It had been three days, just long enough to make him think he could seriously get used to this life of hiding his face. And just when he had relaxed for the evening, he was now face to face with the green eyed boy who he tried not to be bothered by. Tried.

The moment Laurance took in the face of the man below him, he could feel his cheeks getting warm. Like the way they did when he saw a pretty girl. It was the first time Laurance had ever thought of another man this way but... Garroth was really pretty. His eyes had a hidden sort of sadness yet sincerity to them present in his still expression. Slightly shocked, but still caught off guard enough that Laurance got a glimpse at his relaxed smile. Was there a dimple on his left cheek?

And his hair was just as pretty as Laurance thought it was. Thick and slightly curled blond hair spilled out like a halo around his head when he was lying down. Just the initial appearance had already piqued Laurance's interest.

"Why hide a face as pretty as that," Laurance muttered, not quite realizing that he had verbalized that thought. The whole thing caught Garroth so off guard he hadn't really processed what Laurance even said. Just that it was clearly about well... the elephant in the room.

"What?" Garroth said back, fighting the urge to pull the blanket above his head.

"What?" Laurance shook his head, trying to get a hold of his thoughts. Right. Garroth. Clearly he doesn't like something about his face. Best not to hit him with flirting off the bat. "Sorry, I just... I expected you to look different."

Garroth stared back at him silently with wide eyes. He faintly wondered if Laurance recognized him. He'd heard him tell others in their class that he was from a small village and had spent most of his life there. He probably knew O'Khasis existed, but who's to say if he'd recognize Garroth.

"What did you expect me to look like?" Laurance hummed thoughtfully, taking another look at Garroth.

"I expected you to have brown eyes."

"Sorry to disappoint."

"Don't be. Your eyes are beautiful." Laurance could definitely feel the blush on his own face, and Garroth still just looked more bewildered by the situation. "I'm not really doing this right. Hold on." Laurance sat up and properly climbed down from his bed, landing on the floor and walking over to Garroth, holding out his hand. "I'm Laurance."

"I-I'm Garroth."

"It's nice to finally meet you. I may have only known you for a few days, but you're clearly good at what you do. I'd like to train and study with you more."

"I-I'd like that too." Laurance smiled, and then shook his hand solidly.

"We should both get some sleep though."

"You're right, we should." Laurance let go of his hand and started climbing the ladder.

"Goodnight, Garroth."

"Goodnight, Laurance."

Laurance barely slept that night. Despite his best attempts he spent the rest of the night staring at the ceiling thinking about the pretty boy that was his bunkmate. Irene help him, he was always a romantic fool, and now not even men were safe from his musings. And he was in an academy full of strapping young cadets. And the best and brightest of them was his bunkmate. And he was gorgeous.

***

Laurance's life only changed further within the next two weeks. Inside their bunk Garroth became more and more used to showing his face, as long as they didn't invite anyone else in, which Laurance was good about. He didn't mind being the only one to see Garroth's face. It made him feel... Special.

And when someone unexpectedly barged into their room, Laurance instinctively tried to help Garroth hide his face. He didn't even know why Garroth was hiding it, he just wanted to help him. And Garroth actually showed him gratitude in return. Rather quickly the two were becoming friends, at least in their bunk.

In class they would be considered rivals, battling for the top spot in all their classes, constantly pit against each other in training matches, always pushing one another further. Laurance actually saw it as a further extension of their friendship. Garroth didn't show a lot of personality in most situations, unless it came down to what they were learning. Garroth was fiercely dedicated to his guard work, and showed a great deal of passion for it.

Laurance could always ask him what he did wrong in their last fight and Garroth would give him a detailed breakdown about every move and where Laurance could improve, but it was littered with praise for his technique and its improvements. Garroth even admitted Laurance's reflexes were better than his own in some situations.

This whole ordeal resulted in the two of them spending most of their time together. They were normally allowed to even take meals back to their bunks despite the rules about it because of Garroth's desire to hide his face. And despite his curiosity, Laurance never pushed him for an answer. He'd find out when Garroth was ready.

There was one instance a little over two weeks into their stay that made Laurance realize this was more than just a budding friendship with his pretty bunkmate. As the two carried their bowls of food out of the mess hall and to their bunk, a passing conversation made Garroth stop in his tracks.

"Just think about it," One cadet jeered. "We become guards and women back at the village will be head over heels for us."

"And if they aren't, well..." The other cadet leaned in with a smirk. "Guards do have a lot of power." Garroth suddenly handed his bowl of stew to Laurance before slamming one of his gloves hands on the end of the table.

"You should be ashamed of yourselves," Garroth stated, his voice having an edge of anger that Laurance hadn't heard before. "You're training just to curry the favor of women? Have you no honor, no respect for the importance of your job? Your role as a guard is to protect those who cannot protect themselves, not take advantage of them!"

"Lighten up man, I was only messing around." Garroth leaned in slightly.

"You better be. I will not allow you to make a mockery of a position I'm unsure if you deserve to have."

It was hearing the edge of anger and passion in his voice that made things click for Laurance. He felt like an idiot for not realizing it sooner. He was falling in love. He was actively falling in love with his beautiful bunkmate and all his passion, his energy, his drive to be better. Garroth was a cut above the rest and suddenly Laurance didn't feel right to stand by him. Laurance wasn't sure if he was fascinated or mortified by the discovery of his own feelings. More in shock.

"Come on Laurance, let's go," Garroth snapped as he grabbed his bowl and trudged out of the mess hall. Laurance stood still, watching him walk away for a moment, before he turned to the two cadets Garroth had finished lecturing.

"You better listen to him or we'll both kick your asses," Laurance threatened, trying to fight down the blush growing on his cheeks. He could always blame it on anger. He glared again at the two of them before stomping off and following Garroth out of the mess hall. Suddenly looking up at Garroth's sharp jawline and intense eyes was making Laurance want to keep looking into those eyes forever.

Irene help him, he was in love.

I feel like that's a bad ending but whatever I'm so tired hope you enjoyed okay bye

[lifeforms]

something really special about lana, to me, is that she's Unspeakably Entrenched In the whole ... comic worldview of people having destinies. she can't get away from it, first because of what happened to her and then later because of her enmeshment with clark and lex. like, even before anything went south there, they were both obsessed (very much in their own ways, of course) with knowing they'd be important. and the thing is both of them already knew that they would be. it was never a real question, in that sense: lex's wealth and clark's abilities literally guaranteed it. the only unknown was, obviously, what they'd do with the power they had.

and she just... didn't have any of that. she's been WORRIED about it for way longer than either of them --- simultaneously trying to prove that she's more than That Little Girl and that she's worth the space she takes up (while not entirely believing that herself, survivor's guilt being such an eternal theme here) --- but lana's never had anything even resembling a guarantee that she'd be anything special™. she works her ass off in pretty much every conceivable sense. constantly. her whole life. and the thing is, she's not even doing any of it with a concrete end goal. she doesn't care about fame or money or being the best at anything. she just wants to be a part of something! she wants to know she did what she could, where she could. she wants to feel like she belongs somewhere. she wants to give back to the town that raised her. and, you know, as Resident Major Depression, she wants --- more than anything in the world --- to know, really know in her heart, that it's worth the effort she puts in. that she's gonna be okay and that maybe she won't even hate it.

so, anyway, what happens, after 7+ years of constant torment / existential angst / consistent character development in All The Areas, is this: some guys from the future show up to stop some drama from going down. naturally, they're like, "oh my god, it's superman! it's really him!" and clark gets a bit caught up in the implications of everything (i mean, of course he does, he's like 22 years old). and they're talking to lana, you know, hinting around about how She has a Destiny, too. even going out of their way to be like, "your importance has nothing to do with these men, btw, we all just think you're REALLY cool".

and she just... walks away. she doesn't let them tell her anything. she basically decides it's not important, when actually given the choice, if it would change the way she lives her life. if it would cause her to play to some perceived notion of how she's 'meant' to be. and i think a lot of that is, yeah, she's seen firsthand and longterm what that kind of pressure does to a person --- any person! --- but i also think a lot of it is just that she's... not quite Gotten Excited About Living, but that she's started to see the potential in it. she's getting to know herself removed from her relationships (romantic or not) for the literal first time and she's kind of like, "hey, this girl makes some good points". it's a big deal for her. it's a huge deal for her. it's actually the best ending i could have asked for for her. and there's a lot of narrative pollution from the obligatory Tragic Cl*na Ending, but --- other than that mess of priorities --- i actually really do think the writers felt that, too. like, i think they're genuinely proud of her and generally in tune with her and want to see her thrive. the s11 comics did VERY MUCH have her go off to murder child abusers / be a literal human shield for endangered kids and then end on this interaction (with lois) (i do not think that was accidental lmao).

idk i just think she's neat. i like her. in a way, she really is The Hometown Hero of [my necks of] dc comi/cs. i think she should be allowed to unapologetically do crimes onscreen, too but. i guess we can't have it all 🥺

[sunnyie-eve]

3 | Knock It Off

Series: Valentine Addams | Wednesday

Paring: (Xavier Thorpe x OFC Addams! Tyler Galpin x OFC Addams!)

Word Count: 1721

Warnings: Xavier just jealous of Tyler

Last: Therapy | Next: Changing

So far Nevermore hasn't been bad and I was surprised how well I made friends. Well, except for Bianca. We were more like frenemies because we were very competitive against each other. Especially in fencing most of the time we went against each other it came to the tie. Me and Yoko got along pretty quickly being roommates. Enid and I were sometimes alike but in different fonts. Xavier and me were good friends which Bianca didn't like at all. It took awhile for Ajax to stop being nervous around me. Divina and Kent were alright, I wasn't super close to them but I knew Divina more because of Yoko.

Having to join a club I met Eugene and he remained me of Pugsley so I treated him like a brother. There was Rowan, who was basically an outcast of outcast. We had a few conversations but he never stuck around long. Lastly was Tyler. After every therapy session I would go over to the Weathervane to get a Hot Chocolate and talk to Tyler as he worked. Xavier didn't quite like me talk to Tyler telling me what he did to him last year. I understand that it was bad because he put time into his work, but compared to what I do to people... It didn't seem that big of a deal to me.

"Bianca seems a little pissed today. Do you know what happed?" Yoko asks Divina as some of us were going into town today. 

"Xavier broke up with her." She looks at Bianca in the front of the bus alone before telling us making Enid gasp next to me. 

"Why?" She asks wanting more details for her blog. 

"She won't talk about it." Divina tells her and I watch Enid start typing on her phone. 

I look in the back to see Xavier looking out the window listening to music alone. When we all get off the bus the girls take off and I wait for Xavier. 

Once he sees me he takes out his earbuds, "Why are you looking at me like that?" He asks annoyed. 

"Wanna get a drink and a snack from the Weathervane? We can talk about whatever." I suggest to him. 

"Sure." We head over there.

"The usual and?" Tyler asks Xavier as we walk up so he tells him before we go sit in a booth. 

"I'm assuming you heard the news. I know Enid just posted about it on the way here. Is that why you want to talk to me?" Xavier leans back on his side. 

"I wanna know how a friend's doing. And if you want to talk about it you can but if you don't it's okay." I do the same. 

"We broke up for two reasons." He looks out the window as Tyler brings us our drinks. 

"Thank you." I tell him as he leaves. "What are your reasons since you broke up with her." I sit up. 

"The main reason is because I had doubts about Bianca and her intentions as a siren. I'm constantly paranoid that she's using her siren song me and we keep getting into fights over it." He sits up looking at his drink.

"But she has her amulet she wears." I tell him. 

"I'm still paranoid about it." He sighs. 

"Is there another reason?" I ask. 

"The second reason is she doesn't like our friendship." He rolls his eyes. 

"Like you with me about..." I motion towards Tyler. 

"It's different." He eyes Tyler working. 

"Stop it." I kick his leg underneath the table, "But why does she have a problem with me with you? I don't treat you any differently than others and you don't treat me differently either." I raise an eyebrow. 

"She doesn't think that." He messes with his hands. 

"Well she's stupid because I don't like you like that. I don't like anyone for a fact. You have to prove you're worth my time. And it takes a lot to melt my semi ice cold heart." I explain to him not seeing the slight disappoint on his face.

"You don't mind if I draw while we sit here, right?" Xavier pulls stuff out of his bag. 

"Do you have an extra book I can draw in while we sit here?" I ask him. 

"Here. I haven't used this one. You can keep it." He passes me one and a pencil. 

"Thanks, I'm going to use you as my muse." I open up the book. 

"Okay." He laughs before we sit in silence sketching each other.  

After awhile I take a break to go use the restroom then go to the counter to ask for another drink. "Hey Ty, can I have another and two croissants?" I come around the corner leaning on the counter. 

"I had a feeling you would come ask at some point. Sure, I'll bring it after this customer." He gives me a smile that makes me feel happy on inside but never show it, "Thanks." I go join Xavier who was glaring at me. "Knock it off, Thorpe." I huff taking my seat. 

"I told you he's bad news." He huffs as well making me turn to look at Tyler for a second to see him making my cup with a slight smile before tuning back around.

"Yes, because the boy with the light-brown curly hair, greenish eyes, and a kindly smile is bad news. Xavier, I know what he did to you but I'm worse. I can handle myself." I roll my eyes. 

"For someone who, in fact doesn't like anyone, sure described him like you do." He rolls his eyes drawing. 

"You have golden brown shoulder length hair, eyes are a light olive color with brown surrounding the pupil, when you smile you get dimples." I say making him look at me, "I'm just good at describing someone."

"Your hot chocolate with two croissants like you asked. Do you want another drink or anything else?" Tyler sets my stuff down then asks Xavier. 

"I'm good." He tells him coldly. Tyler just nods his head leaving the booth. "I don't see how you're friends with him." Xavier goes for one of my croissants so I smack his hand away, 

"Because he's nice to me and that's all that matters when it comes to me. And he asked if you wanted anything so don't touch my shit." I explain to him going back to my drawing.

Bianca ends up coming in with Divina and a few of her other siren friends catching sight of Xavier and I. "She looks pissed." I laugh so I give her a smile and a little wave. 

"Now you knock it off, Addams." Xavier reaches across the table putting my hand down. 

"Why? Let me have some fun."  I say eyeing her as she glares at me. 

"Why would you want to piss her off more when you're kinda one of the reasons I broke up with her?" He leans on the table refusing to look her way. 

"Because I love chaos." I lean on the table as well starring him in the eyes. 

"You're terrible." He shakes his head at me. 

"Thank you." I give him a smile.

"I'm finished by the way." Xavier shows me his drawing. 

"You finally got my nose right." I say before showing him mine. 

"Oh my god. It's like a fucking picture. You still haven't show me your work so I'm amazed. You said I'm quite the artist but you are a artist " He takes it from me looking at it more. 

"I'm best at people." I take it back as he hands it back over to me. "I'm gonna go pay for our drinks. Then meet you at the bus." We get up and go different directions.

"How much do I owe you? I'm paying for Xavier's too." I walk up to Tyler. 

"It's on the house." He walks over to me. "Ty, no. How much, really? I normally wouldn't care if someone told me that but you're a friend and this is your job." I tell him getting serious. 

"No, really it's on the house." He smiles making me get all warm again. 

"Fine, here's your tip." I put a twenty in the tip jar. 

"Valentine." He pulls it out trying to give it back to me. 

"Nope, you worked for it. See you tomorrow since I have my session with Kinbott. I gotta bus to catch." I rush out getting on the shuttle. 

"How much do I owe you?" Xavier asks as I take a seat next to him. 

"Nothing. He said it was on the house for the both of us." I keep it short and Xavier rolls his eyes.

Back at the school walking towards my dorm Bianca show up, "I can't believe he left me for you." She eyes me. 

"He didn't but if he did I would say he upgraded. But Xavier is just a friend to me. I don't date. Plus it's quite difficult to melt my semi ice cold heart." I tell her with a straight face. 

"An upgrade?" She laughs crossing her arms. 

"Yes. Now I think this conversation is over." I walk past her going to my dorm. As soon as I enter the room the crystal ball was going off. "Mother, father." I answer it. 

"How are you doing my black widow?" My father asks me. 

"Good. Just got back from the town with some friends." I tell him. 

"I'm still so proud of you making friends at Nevermore." My mother gets a big smile. 

"I'm quite impressed with myself actually." I tell them.

"Enid, I told you no." Yoko huffs as she walks into the room with her following her. 

"Val, did Xavier tell you why he broke up with Bianca?" She rushes over to me. 

"Mother, Father, I'll call you back tomorrow." 

"Okay, dear." They end the call. 

"Spill the tea." Enid shakes me, "And don't tell me he didn't because if he was to tell anyone it would be you." She glares at me. 

"I'm not telling you, Enid. It's not going on your blog. I keep other's secrets to myself." I tell her making her pout. "It's not going to work on me." I look at her with no emotions. 

"Fine..." She huffs crossing her arms.

[cantsleephomesick]

180622

to whoever is willing to listen,

for the past seven years of my life, i have suffered multiple debilitating mental disorders, that have made daily tasks nearly impossible to complete. but alongside this tiredness, i have this perfectionist voice in my head that strives to be the best in every single thing i do. and now as i have gotten older, i have realized how unfair that expectation of me to be the best 24/7 when i am fighting to get up in the morning. so why isnt that you havent been able to notice.

i kept the internal battles quiet until it started to become visible in actions and behaviors. i was told to seek help because it will make me feel better, but for most of my life, i declined it fearing invalidation or comments like "your crazy" or im asking for attention. but finally, i decided to reach out to people, in the hopes they'd treat me how they promised to. but unfortunately, that never happened. every single therapist, counselor, and support officer i have gone to has treated me like shit. and no i didnt feel better like they said i would.

and they say something along the lines of "we see you" "we hear you", "your valid". then turn a blind eye on the girl on the bathroom floor with a blade to her wrist.

i constantly challenge that thought and told myself im worth working on. but every new person i go to proves that thought wrong. they say, no you arent worth working on and you never will be.

"stay alive" they say, so we can help you. when have you fucking helped me? name a time you saw my fresh scars and asked if i was okay. name a time you saw my fresh scars and did something. you offered to send me home, how is that a fix to what happened?

just because it didnt happen under your supervision, it doesnt mean you arent responsible for what led me to go through it.

and im not quiet about my mental health now, i make it obvious that im struggling, but i seem to think we are both speaking different languages. because time and time again you have failed to see the signs.

i dont want you to send me home with a safety plan, i dont want you to send me home with a long list of symptoms of low blood sugar levels.

i want you to listen when im talking to you, and not do the bare minimum. and maybe if you arent fit for the job then dont waste time making me believe something im not.

im hurting and its pretty visible i am. i dont know how else to make you believe im struggling. should i hurt myself more, abuse my meds or just fucking step infront of a train. will you finally believe i hurt too, i hurt every single damn day, every single second of the day. because im determined to show the world how painful it is in my shoes. even if it means i dont wake up in the morning.

because when the time comes that blood no longer trickles down my arms, its on you. when the time comes when i successfully cut myself into tiny little pieces. you will live with the guilt that no, you didnt try hard enough. you treated me like a burden on your long list of things to do. youre the ones that didnt believe the cries and screams for help, you are the ones that took my future away, ruined my chances on living a healthy life and you were the ones that brought my parent crying to their knees

at the end of the day, i didnt kill myself, you did

you killed me

[wolfbetweenrivers]

Imagine being a woman who's built a whole career on Youtube in which you thrive off of constantly crapping on other women, stoking manufactured cultures wars, bodyshaming, sexism, gatekeeping womanhood from anyone who doesn't fit your small-minded idea of what a woman "should be" while pretending to speak for all women, having the most vile takes on mental health and disability and assigning arbitrary moral value to people based on those things, and then pretending to care about mental health in a cheap attempt to veil your hatred towards the marginalized and vulnerable by pathologizing their very existence, all just to prove to your target audience of pathetic dudebros that you're "not like the other girls." And the moment anyone pushes back on your nonsense in any way, you play the victim and whine about how "oppressed" and "silenced" you are just because people you think are less than human that have been unheard for so long are finally getting to have a voice and be heard.

Now imagine making a whole video, designed to appeal to the gaming circles of said dudebros, in which you parrot the lazy talking point of how the "woke gaming industry" is "intentionally making female characters uglier" and it's literally just normal looking women who don't have layers of Instagram filters and makeup on them. And since you don't have any real examples, the best you can do is another lazy dudebro thing which is cherrypicking low quality freeze frames of those women's faces when they are emoting midsentence to make them look less flattering, just so you can desperately try to back up your absurd performative outrage and push a false narrative that "pretty women are becoming an oppressed minority in gaming", that gaming should be a men only space which women are "invading", "ruining", and "feminizing" and that women are too incompetent to be in the industry and all that Gamergate BS.

Now imagine making another video later on, about how social media algorithms are pushing an unrealistic beauty standard that is ruining young women's self-esteem, causing mental health issues, and ruining people's idea of what a human face should look like even though you're the same person who imposes those same unrealistic beauty standards for women by getting pissy whenever video games have female characters that don't look like overly sexualized dolls and calling it "woke"mocking any portrayal of plus sized women that doesn't make their weight the object of degradation as "wokeness", mocking people online and taking cheap shots at them with ad hominem attacks on their physical appearances and moralizing those physical attributes, mocking women who embrace those unconventional attributes as "woke" and pushing the idea that women are only worth their appeal to the white male gaze and parenthood. You don't get to speak about how beauty standards affect women when you're literally part of the problem.

And what really takes the cake is going on to talk about how these harmful beauty standards are the result of filters, and other computer edits... and then in the same video do a sponsored promotion of InVideo AI. A generative AI video making program. A technology that is so unregulated and so well known for making it easier to push the same beauty standards you pretend to be opposed to and worse. A technology that has further enabled objectifying women and creating deceptive videos by stealing their faces and bodies. But hey, why am I even surprised? Of course the woman who thrives off deception and false narratives would pull off sh-- like that. Shameless pick-me ass grifter. F--- you.

[azenari]

24 | 3.14.18

originally published on TinyLetter I actually really like the number 24. frankly, I'm not too sure what there was to dread about tomorrow, soon to be today. (t-minus 2 minutes to go!) the whole house is asleep. I've got about 60 seconds left. midnight will come. nothing will happen. I'll know, though; we create infrastructure to make sense of things, to cultivate the sensation of living in motion, to fight the easy death of complacency. midnight. and there it is - I know now, in a way that I did not know before, that I am no longer 23. 24. now that we're done with the suspense of that tiny tumult, I want to think about 23 for a moment. 23 was a transition year, and not just for me. when you're 22 you're still overwhelmed by your imminent ejection from the structure of educational institutions. whatever comes next, you're happy just to have something. happy to be employed at ALL, if you're anything like me; happy to be traveling somewhere, happy to have things to do, happy to have food on the table, happy to be even a little less desperate. by the time 23 comes around, though, you're pretty disillusioned. you didn't really have expectations for adulthood to begin with (it's not like you ever had the time to build them). but whatever you did or didn't expect, it wasn't this. the rigidity of responsibility suffocates your weak and vulnerable spirit. you don't miss feeling like you're constantly in free fall, but you miss... racing to keep up with the passage of time, a perpetuum mobile that now sinks slowly into your tired limbs like certain death instead of dragging you along by your fingertips. in college, you were haunted by imposter syndrome. ​I don't feel a day over 13. and yet the birthdays kept coming, so you became more frantic with each one, thinking you'd be found out for the child you still are. these days? you're not old yet, not really. it just feels like it. so you can keep marching towards death or you can change still the only inevitability besides death and taxes, though these days I'm starting to think that way more people can get away with evading the 'tax' part than I previously imagined - not by moving to California though - so I guess I changed. 23, huh? after a few months of staring in openmouthed terror I leapt onto the bull that was Bridgewater (the company, the team, my own terrible self), locked my hands around its horns, and held on for dear life. we fought. for the same cause, maybe, but it was still a fight. I won one round, perhaps the most important one for the little girl resurfacing in my half-dead body; it proved that the impossible could still be possible for us. I lost the second one. and then, incredibly, I recognized - was FORCED to recognize, thank god - that I'd throw the third if I didn't stop playing. not that it ever stopped me before. this time, though... a month. sleeping, staring into the distance, steeping in warm water, searching through abandoned memories for any semblance of meaning. talking to myself. reading about weightlessness. meditating on the indubitability of tidal waves crashing over a four-foot-ten-inch body, even after the extra ~15 lbs. then I went back, won round 3, and even more incredibly, quit while I was ahead who is this girl? she wonders. who is this girl that starts, and stops, and starts again? who is this girl who opens her mind to the vast terror of space, and welcomes the internal unknown that is always murmuring within us (instead of trying to drown it out with the external unknown of the world) - who stops running long enough to consider whether there was actually anything worth running from? who is this girl, with her habits? her roots? I thought I would have a hard time being more shocked by the miracle of A (who A was, who A is, who he could be) than I was when I first discovered him, in all his fatal springtime glory. I was wrong. I have never been more shaken - uprooted and anchored - than I am now, having lived through 23. the overtures of love that came from near and far at his behest. the overture to drown all others almost precisely halfway through as we renewed our vows to go all in on our dreams and therefore our lives. and now? stunned, again and again, by the miracle of him and the things he is doing, the miracle of him even being alive, the absolutely infuriating miracle of him beating me over the head with the wonders of my own stupid(ly) miraculous life. what is left to put into words? what love songs to write when I see a god I don't know and yet can't deny in his everyday eyes? what singular human creation could capture the vast humanity of faith? stephen hawking died, today-now-yesterday, and in doing so revived the eternal question of what the hell the point of all this might be and whether we get to think about it after we're too deep in the ground to do anything else. I've always wanted to believe, I think. I don't see any other reason why my adolescent body would walk willingly into the ghosts of Eden with my grandparents, my aunt, my cousins, read Genesis in the hotel room with my mother when I was six. talk to youth group leaders. ask questions. learn hymns. I was born with so much faith, it almost made me sick to have nothing to put it towards. I still don't know if god is there. I don't think anyone ever really does, deep down. but I know I thought of A in the same category as I thought of god, sacrilegious as that may sound. I couldn't see how it was possible for him to be real, but neither could I bring myself to conclude that he wasn't. someone to marvel at and wonder with. someone with whom to share the vision of life, the burden of eternity, the weightlessness of love. someone to believe in, a set of hands and bones in which to inter the heart of dreams. in that moment, I didn't just say yes to him. I said yes to the concept and reality of yes - I said yes to yes, to life, to myself, to him, to our children, canine and human alike, to death, to God. I know my voice was quiet but I felt it reverberate in the fabric of everything that is anything; in the core of my flowering faith. yes. yes. just over a year from now, we will be married. I may worry about a lot of things, but not that. I am so far past worrying about that. it's one of the only things that has me convinced I've actually grown quite a bit these last few years. marrying A will be flying, surely. I am so certain it stings the back of my eyes when I pause to consider the gravity of it. remember the 'game over' t-shirts we saw in department stores as a kid? remember the broken mothers and fathers who warned you with their dying bodies that it couldn't be done? well, you can burn all that, in memory and otherwise. because when I walk down the aisle, reaching the end will mean feeling more alive than I have ever felt. there's more. but I suppose it doesn't matter, relatively speaking, because it all started and ended and started again when he asked me a question and I said yes. we're a family. there are four of us, now. we live in California (though I'll always be from New York). my very own baby boy was born here, inseparable from his bonded sister. miracles beget more miracles; dreams fuel the miracle of life. I'm only 24. I don't know much. but I know love is the greatest of all miracles, and I know what - and who - I love. we're here. we live, breathe, eat, sleep, shit. cry. laugh, alone and together. hope, whether together or apart. our dreams are alive in the city of angels. our miracles are real. 

[luveline]

ZOMBIE AU YES steve and you but reluctant allies - forced to travel together and when you get stuck in a tight spot, you fully believe he's going to leave you behind. but steve does what he does best, he comes back

tysm for ur request! reluctant friends to lovers arc starts now. tw for zombie typical gore, violence + apocalypse struggles (near enoigh starvation, weight loss, isolation) this got longer than it was meant to

It's not that you don't like Steve. Though maybe that's what he thinks. He doesn't seem to like you all that much.

Steve Harrington is pretty. He's a pretty boy. You hadn't expected him to be able to fight or defend, or even run all that fast. He'd proved you wrong on each account eventually — "I ran track, idiot," — but the reluctance of your pairing has remained.

You can't like everyone. You and Steve simply don't fit. You didn't in high school and you don't now, and you know in reality that he doesn't like you. Not really. He tolerates you and he shares with you because you have more chance of surviving together than apart.

He searches the waste of Indiana for his friends. You follow. You have nothing else to do.

You're scouring for supplies in a mall not unlike the Starcourt in Hawkins. You imagine it's as desolate and derelict as this one. Escalators frozen in time, storefronts destroyed by time. Dangerous. There's a thousand places for a zombie to be dwelling. They aren't good at hiding, obviously, but you're also not good at finding them. Steve says you have poor observational skills.

"Yes, well, I'd hardly have any reason to need them if it weren't for the end of the world," you mutter.

"Why do you talk like that?"

"Like what?" you ask with a scowl.

"Like- like a rich girl. A really rich girl."

"I don't sound anything like you."

"Weak insult based in sexism. Next."

You drop the shirt you'd been looking at. "Right, I forgot. Steve Harrington, King of Hawkins High, progressive."

He meets your gaze and smiles at you. He does this, sometimes, where he forgets he doesn't like you. Then something happens, a disagreement or an argument, and you're back to square one, Steve and his burden.

"I'm very progressive." He looks between you and the shirt he's holding, a men's cut, plain with long sleeves. It looks warm. "I think this'll fit. Come here."

You step over a fallen mannequin and let him hold the shirt to your abdomen.

"You're losing weight," he murmurs.

"Lucky me."

His hand touches your shoulder and he draws very close. "Bad news."

"I had it to lose."

"You need all the help you can get." He doesn't bother saying why. You're both more than aware of how dire the food situation is getting. If you can't find anything worth eating here, you're probably fucked. You might be fine. (You're fucked.)

You take the shirt. "Do you think it's silly to put it on now?"

"Definitely. I'll turn around."

He turns. You put your bag on the floor and quickly take off your outerwear. Your shirt smells bad because you smell worse, the strong smell of sweat no matter how much you scrub at it lingering. The fabric is imbued with a permanent odour.

New t-shirt in place, you preen at the feeling of new cotton over your skin.

"Are you done?"

"No-"

"Hurry. We need to move."

You always 'need to move'. You think Steve says it to sound cool.

You pull your clothes back on and hang your backpack from your aching shoulders. Over time, the bag feels heavier. Funny, as it's contents constantly lighten.

"We haven't found anything for you yet," you say.

Your shirt had needed replacing, it was thin and stained with a seam slowly unthreading. Steve's pants are worse. The zip is tied closed with a hair tie and the cuffs are pulling apart.

Steve reveals a pair he'd already set aside. "Tada."

"Put them on!"

"Sheesh, hold your horses."

"You could've been changing while I was. You always nag about wasting daylight."

"And leave us both defenseless. Good idea." His tone suggests a genuineness he doesn't possess.

You stand guard. Steve changes. You have that intrusive thought to turn and look at the sound of his belt unbuckling, the shucking of fabric. Intrusive, unreal. You don't look because you're not a pervert. You do, however, wonder about it. His naked legs, his thighs.

You shake your head and bite the inside of your lip to stave off bad thoughts. Stupid.

"Let's go."

Out of the clothing store and back to the walkways. You and Steve skulk with your backs to each other and some space between you, watching the open shutters for zombies or other people. You don't know which is scarier.

The mall is wrecked. Smashed glass, mysterious liquids, no electricity. Daylight streams in bright and unhindered by the huge skylights above. Nature struggles to fall in with it, but it does. Birds nest in the rafters, bugs cling to the walls. You suppress chills at the scuttling sounds of vermin and almost trip over an upended rack of stuffies outside of the toy store.

"You okay?" Steve asks. You don't know if he's looking at you, your eyes pinned on the stairwell across the way. Accidental or otherwise, making noise is a signal to the zombies that you're here.

If there's anybody here, they definitely would've heard you.

You don't answer Steve's question. He doesn't ask again.

"There's, like, a hot pretzel stand to the right," he says, intrigued.

You check what's in front of you one last time and then catch up to Steve. You'd love to take his arm, not because you think he'd let you or anything, but it's easy to miss touching people and he's right there in front of you.

"Under the shutter," he says quietly.

You crawl under and emerge in the dark. Steve joins you with his torch already in hand, flashing light quickly in all four corners of the room.

"This might be a bad idea," you whisper.

"It's okay. I doubt zombies can crawl."

"If they can?"

Predictably, Steve ignores you.

He weaves between untouched chairs and tables. You catch onto the end of his shirt and he's generous enough to pretend you haven't, the two of you making your way to the front counter. There might've been edible food behind the glass once but now it's all infested. It's disgusting.

You've seen a lot worse.

"That's gross," Steve says.

You tap the display and a dead fly falls off of the glass.

"Lift the counter?" you whisper.

You make your way to the employees only door. "Be careful," he reminds you under his breath, "be quiet. You have your knife out?"

"Got it."

He throws the door open quick and looks around. There's a walk-in freezer to the left, an old couch in the middle, and a storage area to the right. Steve again checks each corner with the flashlight, the both of you holding your breath. You're holding the knife so tightly you can feel each divot of the grip moulding your skin.

"I think we're clear."

"I think we need another torch," you mumble.

It's really scary in the dark.

"They'll have batteries somewhere," Steve says. You think he might be humouring your fear. He's likely tired of having to reassure you.

Again, you grab his shirt. It's too dark to navigate the room without him.

Steve leads you to the staff kitchenette, opening the cabinets one by one. There's mugs in one, plates in another. Untouched by dust.

He has you hold the torch while he searches through drawers of kitchen tools and equipment.

"Do you miss pretzels?" you ask.

"Mm. With the cinnamon sugar."

"You like cinnamon?"

He pushes aside what looks like an ice cube tray of all things and finds an old key. He offers it to you with a peculiar smile, as if to say What do you think that does?

"Everyone likes cinnamon," he says.

"Not everybody."

"Everybody I knew did. Robin fucking loves cinnamon. At Christmas, she'd make me take her out for warm cinnamon cookies and... frozen cokes." His tone had started soft. It ends strangled.

"Frozen cokes? In winter? Isn't that sorta weird?" you ask.

He shuts the drawer harshly and doesn't answer. Your attempt to cut the tension backfires once again with him. Who could've guessed.

The next drawer is a motherlode.

"Yes," you say, cheeks taken by a sudden smile.

There's enough batteries to power your torch for a year. Steve tears open the packet and holds a hand up without looking at you. You scramble to open your bag and pull out your torch. Bigger and heavier than his is, it illuminates larger spaces and makes for less nerve-wracking supply runs, but it eats batteries like no tomorrow.

Steve cracks open your proffered torch and loads it up with batteries. The light flickers on before he's put the closing back into place.

He shines it straight in your eyes.

"Nice," you grumble.

"Now you got your own you can quit clinging," he says. "Why don't you go look in the freezer?"

"It'll all be spoiled. There hasn't been electricity in forever."

"Might find a can of something," he says with a shrug.

"If you want me to leave you alone, just say that."

"I want you to leave me alone."

You huff and spin away. Your torch shines over the couch, an ugly mess of floral pattern that went out of fashion a decade ago but is surprisingly new for a staff room. You drop yourself into it and stare at the ceiling for a while, dust motes drifting in the ray of torch light like snowflakes. You haven't seen snow in a long enough time that you're surprised you can remember what it feels like. If you close your eyes, stick out your tongue, a cold like ice feels sharp on your taste buds.

Steve cusses to himself. You sit up and find him sucking on an injured finger.

"Need help?" you ask.

He sticks his knife into the top of a cardboard box. "What did I tell you? Go look in the freezer."

"Steve, there's not gonna be anything in there."

"I worked in a place like this before. Just look."

You roll your eyes, feel super guilty about rolling your eyes, and then roll your eyes again when he says, "Don't be lazy."

"I'm not," you defend. Your whining falls on deaf ears.

The freezer door handle is fucked. You pull and pull until your palms burn and can't get it to unlock. Changing tactics, you press all of your weight forward and feel something click like it's not supposed to. The door crashes forward and you fall to one knee with a startled shriek.

Your heart slams between your ribs. When you're trying to be hypervigilant of every small sound, every movement, every change in your environment, sudden events are like a shot of adrenaline.

You land on one hand. Your torch flickers further in the room.

"Fuck," you mutter.

"What happened?" Steve asks, his footsteps fast and moving toward you.

You scramble forward to grab the torch before he can see you've broken it. You're ashamed at your own idiocy — you burn with it, a flush of heat in your cheeks that. Steve won't lie to you to make you feel better, so if the torch is broken he's gonna call you an idiot for it.

"Nothing!" you call.

The smell hits you like a freight train. Spoiled milk. Shelves and shelves of spoiled milk and batter. You gag and throw a hand over your nose. It smells almost as bad as a zombie, and they smell like fresh hell.

"Y/N," Steve says.

You throw your eyes over your shoulder and realise the door has closed behind you. There's a sound of a jiggling door handle on the other side. From your side it doesn't move.

A sinking feeling begins.

"Steve," you say, hitting your torch against your thigh. The light flickers off completely. You gawp.

"Can you open the door?"

You push your weight against it urgently. The handle doesn't want to move.

"I can't get it," you say, panicked.

"Push it inward."

"I am!"

"Okay, alright. Hold your horses."

"Steve, it won't open."

"I heard you the first time. Don't worry. I'm gonna get it open."

You throw yourself at the door. Steve must guess from the sound. "Stop," he says, frustration seeping into his low tenor, "that's not gonna work. It's hinged inward. Stand back, okay? I'm gonna force it."

"It's dark in here," you murmur pleadingly, moving away from the door.

"What?"

Your own fast breathing echoes around you. You hit the torch with the meat of your palm and the light flickers. You hit it again and it dissapears. You shouldn't be so scared, but the door closed means your trapped and the dark feels so oppressive now. Dark means you die, because you won't see a zombie before it bites you.

You realise that there's more than one person breathing.

Or rather, an illusion of breathing. A moan.

Your blood turns to ice as you spin. Your torchlight flicker flicker flickers, illuminating the face of somebody long dead.

"Oh my god," you say. It sticks to your throat like each word has been dipped in honey. Or ichor. "Fuck, Steve! Steve!"

"What?" he shouts back, equally freaked.

One eye opens. The other remains closed. One second, you can see the open socket, half an eyeball. The next, pitch darkness filled only by the grind of clicking teeth. Your breath catches in your throat and you keen as you walk backwards, the torch shaking in your hand.

The light flicks back on with your movement.

The zombie's face appears in front of yours.

You scream and fall flat on your butt, backpack preventing you from slamming onto your back. The torch turns off. You scrabble for your knife — where the fuck is your knife? Where's your knife?

Steve hammers against the door. "What the fuck?"

"There's a fucking geek in here!" you squeal, throat tight. You can barely get the words out. The zombie can't see you in the dark but it can hear you, it can smell you, and it's footsteps draw closer, one after another.

"Steve, get me out of here!" you beg.

He doesn't answer.

"Steve?" You don't sound like yourself. You're not sure you've ever made this sound before.

Nothing.

Your hands shake hard. You can't feel them as you bring the torch into your lap. You try to find the catch in the dark. When you can't you mess with the lens, screwing it tight to the right. You feel it move in, spinning back on.

The light exposes the zombies gained distance. He towers over you and you can't speak, can't breathe, can't sob. You hold your arms in front of your face and hope it won't hurt.

The door slams open. You get pushed roughly into the zombie's legs, the breath knocked from your chest.

You crumple in on yourself.

Footsteps slide with a rubber screech over the linoleum and you search the floor for your torch, breath coming in shirt pants. Your hand closes around it and you flick the switch with little success. Broken again. You must've loosened a fuse.

"Steve," you say desperately. Please don't die.

The zombie makes a noise like retching, Steve groans in extertion and then there's a sound of wetness, a sinking. A body falls to the floor.

Silence.

You flinch as he turns on his torch and shines it in your face.

"Oh, thank god."

Steve leans down and helps you up into his arms. You struggle to catch your breath, your face pressed hard into his chest. You can't cry though you desperately want to, too busy fighting for air.

Steve holds you, hands at your back. "It's okay. You got it, dummy, just take it slow."

You nod. You can't really focus as he pulls you out of the freezer. The air noticeably changes from brain matter to plain old stale.

"I thought you-" You swallow against an aching throat. "I thought you were gonna leave me."

"Why would you think that?" Steve asks.

"I was- I-" you stammer to a halt.

Your arms move of their own accord, over his shoulders and behind. You hide your face in the crook of his neck, hot tears spreading over his skin as you pull him in close, as close as you can.

Steve's hand is slow at first, hesitant against your shoulder. Your backpack stops him from hugging you properly, but you think maybe he might try otherwise.

"I wouldn't have left you here," he says.

There's hints. Confusion, sincerity. A rawness. You can't see his face, his torch pointed up at the ceiling, only where the light kisses his brow, the bridge of his nose.

Steve let's you cling until you've caught your breath.

"Let's sit down," he says.

He encourages you onto the old couch and shoves his small torch between the cushions. You miss his touch as soon as he leaves, an anxiety at being left alone dawns like a yawning chasm between you. Your relief when he returns can't be understated: you feel like a spent, abused nerve.

Cortisol and adrenaline crash through your veins. All that's left to do is come down. Hard, when you don't feel completely safe. Haven't felt completely safe in a long time. Steve's return helps.

"Don't touch the rim. It's sharp," he says, pressing an open can into your hand.

"Steve, is this-"

He passes you a spoon. "Sure is."

You don't have the luxury of nausea. Life or death situations start to wear off quicker when you're hungry, half-starved, and after a few good mouthfuls of pudding you're starting to feel better. Not perfect, not any less afraid, but there's a door between you and the zombie's dead dead body, and a door with a chair propped under the handle between you and the rest of the world. And there's Steve, a spoon between his lips with your poor torch in hand.

"You left your knife on the table. Do you know how stupid that is?" he asks, a spoon hanging from the corner of his mouth.

"Yes."

"Hm." He whacks the torch with his spoon. "Shit."

"I'm sorry."

"About the knife? You should be. You were totally defenseless."

"The torch."

He puts your torch down on the floor besides your gathered things. "Couldn't be helped."

"How'd you open the door?"

"Running start."

You sniffle and eat another spoonful of pudding. The last thing you'd eaten was half a gronala bar in the early hours of the morning when Steve had insisted you'd need your energy. It had been a year out of date and chalk in your mouth. The pudding may as well be straight molten gold for how valuable it feels.

It goes down soft. Calms your aching throat. By the time you've finished you almost feel settled. Almost.

"Steve... I'm sorry. For thinking you'd leave me. That's not fair. I mean, I know-" Why is it hard to talk to him? He's the only perosn you've had for company in God knows how long and you're still fumbling for the right thing to say. "You wouldn't do something like that to me. You have morals."

"I would do anything for my friends," he says, like he's disagreeing. "I would do anything to see them again. See them safe. Anything."

You bite your tongue. Tears sting. Hypocritical tears, because haven't you had that thought before? You'd do anything to get what you want. You'd do anything to live. Steve doesn't owe you anything.

"I didn't think you'd come back," you confess sheepishly.

"I'm always gonna come back for you."

You look up at him, finding his eyes illuminated in the dim light sweet and soft and brown.

"I want you to be safe."

"Are you saying I'm your friend?" you ask.

He glares at you. "Are we in middle school?"

"What?"

"What do you mean, what? What, I have to invite you to my birthday party or something? We need to go rollerblading together?"

"You're an asshole."

He snorts. "Asshole just saved your life."

"I didn't even wanna go in there, if you remember. I expressly said that I didn't wanna go in the freezer. It's your fault I was even in there in the first place."

"That's ridiculous. And a low blow. And fuck you."

"Not very friendly."

He laughs abruptly. It's a pretty sound, made golden by it's genuineness. Steve does sarcastic snickers and mocking chuckles, and none have ever sounded as his true laugh does now.

"I'll show you friendly," he mutters.

You raise your eyebrows. He moves enough to make the couch shift, upheaving your empty can and spoon. They fall together with a metallic clinking.

You watch mournfully. "I kind of wish I hadn't eaten it that fast. When's the last time we had sugar?"

"Don't speak too soon."

Steve shows you the stash. An entire box of pudding, enough to feed you both for a month, though the sugar might rot your teeth.

"We'll be sick of it in a week," Steve promises.

You're not so sure. Chocolate is chocolate, whether it's eaten during the zombie apocalypse or not.

-

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