#with a complexity I did not know or comprehend at that age

[lesenbyan]

you ever just be saying shit and suddenly realize that 13yo you was actually kinda really goin through it?

[prettyboykatsuki]

TEXTBOOK CITATIONS ON IMMORAL SEX | S. GETOU ft. F. TOJI

✮ tags ; porn no plot, afab + fem!reader (good girl, little girl once sarcastically by toji, pretty), mild degradation (dirty girl, a bitch in heat), professor!getou + security guard!toji, dubcon, imbalanced power dynamics, age gaps(10+ years), mild coercion / blackmail, spit play, wet ‘n messy sex, face-fucking, oral (f +m!recieving), spanking, restraints, dirty talk, creampie / unprotected sex, 18+

✮ wc ; 10.6k

✮ synopsis ; You’re willing to do anything to pass your intro course. Whatever it takes. No cost is too high.

✮ a /n ; a comm for the beloved @fushironi !!! thank you for commissioning me and letting me post your work. if anyone is interested in a commission i will be reopening them at some point this month hopefully

A SIDE NOTE: THIS IS VERY CONSENSUAL!! but the relationship is inherently unethical so the dubcon tag is there. and this is. just smut. no plot no brain. just porn.

You're failing ethics. 

You're failing ethics and failing it badly. 

You refuse to take all of the blame for your failures. Some of it is your fault, but most of it is the fault of your good-for-nothing academic advisor. You're not sure what they get paid for, since it seems like there's an elaborate prank going on between staff and you're the only one not in on the joke. In what universe is it possible, plausible - that an individual could get paid for doing everything but their job? 

Apparently this one. But whatever. 

In your last semester of university, on the edge of graduating and totally on the right track - you're informed that you're not going to be able to graduate in the expected time frame because you are missing a single course. You learn this information about two days before registrations close, which means all the meaningful classes contributing to your major are booked and busy. Everything is full, and everything that isn't doesn't contribute to your degree. As in, even if you took it - it wouldn't give you what you need to graduate. 

After a full-blown mental break, a long night crying yourself to sleep in your dorm, and an egregious amount of begging - you managed to snag yourself a class. It wasn't ideal by any stretch of the imagination, and it did put quite the strain on your schedule. Straight out of your 8am lab - you had to speed walk to the other end of campus and make sure you made it to lecture. The lecture time itself was an hour and twenty minutes, attendance mandatory, twice a week - which meant you had to delay lunch again till afterwards and learn on empty fumes till 1 pm. 

Still, better than not graduating at all. 

You'd hoped (expected?) that the course itself would be about average in coursework. For one, it's an intro class. Intro to Ethics or PHIL-2467, with Professor Getou Suguru. Secondly, the actual listed coursework seems simple enough. Discussion boards, reading analysis, and a few papers made up for most of the grade. The expectations were outlined as clearly as they could be. 

You didn't really know anything about Professor Getou at the time, only that his ratemyprofessor described him as somewhat strict but mostly good. 

In any case, you'd consider yourself lucky. And in an effort not to freak out about your circumstances, you'd practically chanted to yourself each night the same mantra. Everything was going to be fine. You've taken nearly 120 hours of coursework, and a little extra time won't kill you. At the start of the semester, you fully believed it too. Bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, and utterly naive.

How could a single course torment you like this? You hadn't the faintest clue. At first, it struck you as odd that the course felt as difficult to grasp as it did. The readings were complex and extremely long but always said a lot of nothing. Much of your grade was dependent not only on assigned work but participation and discussion. The paper criteria was only simple on the surface, but proved to be too lengthy to comprehend and too difficult to fulfill. 

Long story short, the class was kicking your ass. And the ass-kicking slowly progressed into a failure so bad it was laughable. You're in your final year, and that means taking a lot of difficult and specified courses in relation to your major. You were at the point where your classmates were starting to thin out, and you were seeing the same group of people you had as a freshman. As far as prioritizing goes, a 3-credit hour course that isn't technically meaningful to you falls to the very bottom of your priorities. You're more concerned with things like job-hunting and finishing your capstone and all the stuff related to your actual career. 

So you've been half-assing all the papers and exams, falling asleep in class, and lowkey straight up ignoring the weekly discussion boards. 

However, above everything else, the worst part of your class is your professor. Professor Getou Suguru. PhD in Comparative Ethics with a Masters in Cognitive Science. 

You didn't really have a chance to speak with any of your friends about Professor Getou, despite it being in your best interest - because you only knew you had the class two days before it started. You'd come to learn only two things about him after attending. First, he's a complete hardass when it comes to grading any assignments, and second most of his merit comes from the fact he is ridiculously good-looking. 

He can't be any older than his late thirties or early forties, which means he's young. Young enough to be attractive but old enough for most of your peers to thirst for him in unhealthy ways. He's at least a decade and a half older than you, and by god does he make it clear. 

What they don't tell you about college is that there's nothing that can make or break a class more than your professor. Everyone is always too worried about everything else, about getting their schedule right - that they often overlook this basic tenet of college life even though it's so crucial. The worst part is that while various websites rating your professors are helpful, you won't truthfully know how you feel about a professor until you've met them in a classroom. You've had professors with lower ratings be absolute angels, and professors with higher ones being some of the most useless in your entire academic career. 

You were hoping that Professor Suguru would be what you expected. That his astounding 4.5/5 would be a meaningful assessment of his character, that he would be tolerable and polite and understanding and that your semester would be smooth sailing because of it. 

But of course, of course - that couldn't be further from the truth.

You don't know at what point exactly your relationship to Professor Suguru became as sour as it is right now. There's no real pivotal movement where mild intolerance became full-blown and outright distaste. But part of it, you know, stems from the fact your beloved professor is a snake. 

You have no idea how no one else notices it. It genuinely feels like you're the only one who catches the subtleties of his behavior. There's just something about him that's a little…off. The irony isn't lost on you. He's an ethics professor, but something about him makes alarm bells go off in your head. A walking red flag, though a handsome one. He's off in a subtle way, but more than that - he's very openly smug to every single one of his students. It's just that no one else seems to really care. The air of pretension that surrounds him in his every movement is suffocating. Maybe that's part of the charm, if the way girls flock to him after class is anything to go by. 

Even so, you just know there's something deliberate about his casual cruelties. He always seems to pick out the quiet kids, and from the beginning of your semester to now - he always, always manages to single you out of the crowd of students. In every class, in every discussion, in every chance he has to make you out to be a troublemaker he will. 

Yes, you don't really have any idea how it started. But you've been keeping a long record of every single act of personal terror that damned man has been inflicting on you since the start of the course, and you're not unconvinced that your shit grade is in part because he wants to see you grovel in front of him. 

The first time it happened - you figure it was a coincidence. He had called you out in class after you missed a discussion board. You hadn't done the reading, and it wasn't obviously humiliating but it singled you out all the same. When you fumbled coming up with an answer, he gave you a smug smile that so quickly morphed into a fake sincere one, you wondered if you were imagining things. 

The second time was when you came in late after a walk of shame, and Professor Suguru greeted you by the door by asking if those were the same clothes you wore yesterday. After being completely mortified by it, the once dark gaze immediately rescinded to his usual fake-calm self. It was suspicious, but not the concrete evidence you needed. 

And the third time was after your first project of the semester. Your grade was lower than you deserved, and you knew it - so you went to his office hours to bitch and moan to get it bumped up. But he wouldn't budge, saying that he thought his assessment was accurate. Made a smug face as he told you he just didn't think you thought your points out through. Unfair critiques shielded by flowery words and polite gestures. It was that moment that cemented the dislike, though it wasn't the start.

The beginning of the end, so to speak.

Ever since then, you've harbored nothing but dislike for him. You can see past his pretty face and you don't see anything good. You've had unpleasant professors before, but none have ever targeted you so specifically. None of your previous professors, even at the worst, seemed to hold such an unbelievable personal grudge. 

You're all alone, fighting an invisible battle. 

The worst of it though, is that you simply couldn't be bothered to give a shit about it for most of the semester. You had way too much going on, so you just had to put up with the inexplicable dread of attending that class until you had to deal with it again eventually. 

And after months and months of avoiding the issue head-on, you're at a point where you can no longer do so. Your grade is officially below a C after bombing your last quiz, and there's only 5 weeks left until your semester is over and you're barred from graduation. 

And you have no fucking idea what you should do about the situation. 

__

There's a subtle pit of dread in your stomach as you enter your first philosophy lecture of the week. 

For the first time since the start of the semester, Professor Getou doesn't antagonize you as soon as you enter the door. In a strange way, this makes you kind of uncomfortable. He gives you his usual fake smile, but the fact he's gone out of his way to leave you alone makes you feel like he's planning something. 

You brush your paranoia aside as you take a seat in the back of your class. You don't have any friends in this lecture, at least not ones you do more than greet. You sit closer to the back of the lecture hall, tucked into a corner and up a few steps.

The charms on the end of your book bag zippers click together as you take your seat. You open your laptop - pulling up the lecture slides to pretend to study while opening 2048 to play while Professor Getou goes on about his business. You're hoping he's going to go easy on you today, and that his lack of interference is a sign of mercy. 

More people start to trickle in and the classroom is the usual amount of packed it is by this point in the semester. The last day to drop passed last week, so the number of students has decreased despite it being spring semester. 

Your professor starts his lecture as soon as the clock hits 11:30am. You look up from your computer, watching him as he sets up his slide deck and waits for all the conversation to settle before he begins talking.

He catches your eyes briefly before he continues, but he holds it for long enough that you know it's intentional. You frown at him, and it almost looks like he laughs - but you can't be sure your mind isn't tricking you into thinking that. 

"Good morning everybody," His voice is smooth and pleasant - hair tied up neatly. He's wearing his usual attire. Black slacks, and a loose-fitting white shirt with some kind of canvas shoe. "How's everybody hanging in there? Good? Bad?" 

He takes a look around the room, gauging peoples replies before chuckling. 

"Not in good shape huh? Stick it out, a few more weeks and you'll be out of here. Today, we're going to continue on into section five of our coursework - the shortest of all of our other sections," He grabs something that clicks the slide into the next one, a few images next to a wall of text "We have a lot to cover in the last few weeks, but I want to start with a refresh of what concepts we've been learning for the last few weeks." 

The swiftness in the way his eyes land on you is comical in its predictability. You give him an uncomfortable half-smile as he calls your name and brings the class's attention your way. A few looks of pity don't go unnoticed. You stiffen, straighten your back as he says your name slowly before asking. 

"Do you think you can tell me, what are the four core structures that define modern Japanese philosophical thinking?" 

There's real, uncomfortable weight to his gaze that makes you choke. You pull back slightly. 

"Uhm, well - there's Shintoism, Confucianism, Buddhism and western ideology. Primarily German idealism."

He gives you a smug look, the same one you always see before it fades off to an uncannily brilliant smile. Not a sincere one, because when is it ever - but there all the same. 

"Someone's been studying hard huh? But you are correct. We've spent the majority of this class going over the first three. How Shinto tradition, Confucianism, and Buddhism were experienced in Japan - isolated from Anglo-Saxon influence for the first few centuries of its establishment. We've also studied the vague historical timeline of these influences, mostly focusing on modern philosophy. We've covered Edo period philosophy as a precursor for what we know and understand now." 

You can say a lot about Professor Getou, but more than anything - he has a certain way of commanding the room's attention that never lets you get completely comfortable. He has an air of charisma you've never seen in your life and being in close proximity to it makes you feel like you're being swept in by waves larger than life. 

You fidget almost anxiously as you wait for him to continue his lesson.

"Our last few weeks are going to cover the culmination of your previous lessons, and what dictates both national morality and the hierarchy of modern Japanese social mores - Bushido. The way of the Samurai." 

Professor Getou continues with this slide deck as he outlines Bushido conceptually. From its existence as a moral code in late 12th century Japan, to the many misconceptions about the strictness in which it was adhered. He starts the lessons like he starts many others, explaining misconception and myth before touching the surface of the subject at hand. 

It's in his nature to advocate for the whole truth. From the start of your classes to now, Professor Getou always places the same emphasis. If only that truth is unable to be understood without opposition. It's like his whole being is constructed by it, opposition that is always radical and jaw-dropping. You've known this about him since he voiced his open critique for certain ideas about social welfare and about the emphasis of national morality. 

You can't be certain what he really believes - only that he'll voice his views as critically as possible, if only to stir the room. 

"Bushido is the heart and soul of modern and postmodern Japanese ethics, but it remains critically undefined despite its usage and citation functionally. Other philosophical schools of thought have strict definitions - Bushido is evolutionary in nature. Inazo Nitobe is primarily credited with the modern and popular interpretation of Bushido, but has received criticism for its obvious influence from Western ideas, and its comparison to chivalry."

Professor Getou sits back on the edge of his desk with a look on his face. 

"The tendency of Japanese philosophy to lean into metaphysics does not align with the many values of infrastructure and military present in the culture now, but I'm not going to critique the philosophy for you," He skips to the next slide, your last project of the semester on the wall "For the sake of brevity, I'm going to have you write a paper on one of the eight outlined ideals in Nitobe's work, and I want you to reflect on that ideal in your paper." 

A collective whispering erupts in the class as people stress about the assignment of their final few weeks. Not unexpected given the circumstances. Professor Getou doesn't flinch as he waits for the room to settle down.

"This will be your final project in this classroom, and will count as your final grade. On one hand, doing a good job on it means you have nothing to worry about for the last few weeks. On the other it's make or break," He locks eyes with you again as he says this, startling you as his smile grows coy and inauspicious "So if you're in need of a good grade to pass you, I'd recommend coming to see me during office hours or during one-on-one time so I can get you the grade you need. We'll discuss more at the end of class, but we've gotta get through more lectures so you can get an idea of what you can pick."

He gives you one another look, another pointed and obviously direct look, before he proceeds on with his lecture. It gives you a bad feeling in your stomach, and maybe you're being too self-centered thinking he's focusing too much on you.

But you can't help it, swallowing down your uncertainty as you continue on with the lesson. 

You need to pass this class. 

___ 

You meet up with Nobara after the fact. 

She's a good sounding board for your problems as usual. Where you're always looking for the most civil solutions, she's good at giving it to you straight on what you should do. She's no bullshit and you like that about her. Whenever you need a kick in the ass or an ounce of courage, she's the person for the job.

 So after meeting up for lunch, ranting again about Professor Getou (for the hundredth—no, thousandth time), and whining about his weird behavior, you're expecting some semi-sound, if not mean advice on what you should do. 

"Have you thought about just fucking him?" She says instead, her voice full of sincere boredom. It comes out so casually, like she's relaying the news cycle to you - and you can't help but be utterly shocked listening to it. "Not that it was my first suggestion, but I mean…it's getting ridiculous." 

"Hello? Where the hell did that come from? What do you mean just fucking him?" 

She gives you a sideways glance of disdain as if you were the one saying something unreasonable. She leans forward into her hand mirror, gluing on her eyelashes for her afternoon date with Maki. She scoffs when she realizes your shock is genuine. 

"Are you serious? Does this not read as an elaborate scheme for this total jackass to fuck you?" 

You're flabbergasted. Surely she's not being serious with you. 

"Nobara." 

"Haah? Tch. Don't make that face. It's a gross abuse of his power but well, he's not ugly. If he were any younger of a professor, would you like… not assume that was the end game?" 

"Nobara, he's a professor of ethics. His whole career is ethics." 

"Yeah. Like. The perfect cover for wanting to screw his wide-eyed, desperate students. He's a hot, young professor. Not my type but you get me. Don't you think it's a little naive to assume his personal vendetta against you is shit, I don't know… totally lacking that motive? Think with your brain, not your tender little heart for a minute, okay?" 

"It's not that!" 

"Really? Just like your relationship with Mr. Fushiguro is totally platonic?" 

"I said it was one-sided, not platonic." 

"You're my whole heart and soul, you know that right? I didn't freak on you when you said you had a crush on Megumi's deadbeat dad. You're my salvation from the idiots we call guy friends. So I'm saying this with love, and not as the complete bitch you know me as - you're being dumb." 

"Nobara, are you seriously saying you think this whole thing is about him wanting to," You can barely even get the words out. You're not that much of a prude but god. "Wanting to have… sex with me?" 

"Yeah. What else would it even be? I think an awful man is interested in screwing you - a hot, capable twenty-something. Are you stupid? Is that like, sooo impossible for you to consider?"

"Well it's not the first place I would think to go, that's for sure." 

"And that's your whole problem. Don't get me wrong, again, totally gross. Is it like.. a total abuse of his authority? Yeah. But that doesn't have anything to do with you personally. If I'm right, and you fuck him - you get a good lay and to graduate. And you need both."

"Nobara!"

"Don't be mad, I love you, okay? But I'm thinking about your future and your prospects. There's nothing wrong with it on a technical level."

"That is so untrue and you know it—"

"Look. I don't like it. I think it's a weak move and kind of corny and gross. But you've been planning your big graduation for years. And it's not a bad opportunity, and you're not a complete idiot. You said before that he's never inappropriate with the other girls right? You might even be the only one. As far as I'm concerned, there's no reason for you to not get laid and pass." 

"Oh, so the student-teacher thing isn't reason enough?" 

"Not if you wanna graduate it's not." 

The two of you remain at a stand-still as his words trap you into a corner. How the hell do you even deal with this information? And how on Earth is she so sure of herself anyways? You think you're pretty good with signs, at least about things like this.

But it doesn't feel like flirting. He's never flirted with any of the students in class, despite how much they seem to fawn over him. Could this weird, psychological dance you've been doing for the last twelve weeks be some sort of unspoken foreplay ritual? 

The more you think about it, the less it seems implausible to you. There's a wave after that, some cross between impending doom and shameful arousal blooming up inside of you as everything hits you all at the same time. 

When you return to reality after being trapped in your thoughts, Nobara gives you a mindful (almost pitiful) smile and shakes her head. You frown at her in reply, squeezing the bridge of your nose. 

"If it were like literally anyone else, I'd totally tell them it's a bad idea. But it's not like you're going on to date him, and you're what - 24? because of your gap year so you're not a preteen like some of the freshmen in your class. I just don't see any reason not to go for it." 

You tamp down the small voice in the back of your head, encouraging you to do - and instead ask her a follow-up question. 

"...Do you think I should attend his office hours tomorrow, yes or no? I have to email him by tonight to get the one on one." 

"Yeah. Yes. And shave before you go." 

__

You decide, for the sake of your sanity and everyone else's - to ignore Nobara's odd implications about what Professor Getou wants from you and to attend his office hours.

(That's a partial lie, you figure - given the fact you did shave, and shower before attending. You're wearing something kind of nice underneath. But you still don't think he wants to fuck you. It's more of a safety precaution than anything else.)

 You made the game plan last night that you would go, present your idea, and then beg him to be kind to you during the grading process. You even developed a list of things to sob and cry about it to generate something of a sob story if everything went awry. You've forsaken your pride. The only thing that you need to get out of this meeting is a passing grade. 

And that is, of course, by any means necessary. 

Fearing for your life, the state of your mood improves as you approach the building hosting Professor Getou's office. Of all of the people you interact with semi-regularly on campus (all of which you are quite fond of), Nobara wasn't lying about your affection for campus security guard - Toji Fushiguro.

He's an older man. Older than you by double digits, and from what you can tell - older than even your professor. You've been fond of him ever since he brought you back to your dorm after a horrible break-up with your ex as a sophomore. He's got a rough edge, and there's plenty of unverified rumors of his past. You know that he has something of a criminal record too. 

But for all of those rumors, and for all the things you hear about him - he's been one of the highlights of your campus experience. You've had a one-sided school-girl crush on him ever since that night, because you were sober enough to catch his body and how it feels. He was strong. Not in an average way. He made it so effortless when he was carrying you home in his arms - and it's not the first time you've seen him lug around things at least over 300 pounds like they were nothing. 

But attractiveness aside, he is uncharacteristically good at cheering you up. He's funny and witty, all while maintaining a cool facade. He's endearing in his own way too, and you're a little head over heels for him though you'd never push yourself to make the first move. 

Still, when he sees you come towards the building - he greets you with a wide smile. The scar over his busted lip - split open and welcoming as you run up to him for a hug. He's normally patrolling around campus, so it feels lucky to catch him where you least expect. 

He wraps you up with a single arm, your feet temporarily lifting from the ground before you get put back down again. 

"Mr. Fushiguro, what are you doing here?"

"I got moved over here since there's been some rumor about someone stealing from the labs upstairs. So I'm on lock up duty for this building 'till it gets fixed up and solved," He says, voice as smooth as ice "What about you sweetheart? It's gonna get dark out soon." 

"Ah, I have office hours with Professor Getou today. I need to consult with him about a paper." 

"That right? Just gonna be you in there, then?" 

"Yep. I'm gonna go in there and beg him for a good grade on our next assignment. So for the sake of my sanity, please wish me luck?" 

Mr. Fushiguro tilts his head to one side, grinning. 

"Wouldn't that mean you graduate sooner instead of later? Can't wish ya luck on that." He says, making you flush and letting the feeling linger before continuing "Just kiddin'. A pretty face like yours should do you just fine. Knock 'em dead." 

"I feel a lot better about it with your encouragement." You say honestly. Mr. Fushiguro gives you a laugh.

"Treat me to something if my luck makes any difference. And hurry in. Last thing you'd wanna do is be late." 

You nod, wide-eyed and dazed by how charismatic he is before you rush into the building. It's silent, given how late in the school day it is. Most people have already gone home, with the exception of the other poor souls likely chasing down their professors for the same reasons as you. 

You feel an overwhelming sensation of dread as you encroach upon Professors Getou's office. There's no one else in the close vicinity, only a few closed classrooms and students who are passing by the small corner where his door resides - most of which are making their way to leave. 

You decide to take a deep breath, calming your shaken nerves before knocking politely once on his door and entering the room. 

Professor Getou's office looks like how you'd expect it to look. It's clean, and sleek - and lacking almost completely of items of personal effect with the exception of his desk. It's the first time you've ever been inside of the room before, but it smells distinctly of him. He has that same scent surrounding him, like flicks of nicotine and a hint of bergamot. Sweet with the taste of metallic bitterness, like blood and sugar.

You feel the back of your throat bob as you see your Professor sitting at his desk. It's lacking his usual gracefulness. His shirt is unbuttoned down by three entire buttons, and his slacks seem looser. Most notable is his hair - classically long, now in a loose bun with pieces falling all on his shoulders and rolling down his neck. 

You think of what Nobara said to you earlier in the day alone, a strange and overwhelming sensation of lust and embarrassment making it difficult for you to open your voice and talk.

It's Professor Getou who greets you first. He looks up from whatever he was reading and looks at you from where you stand awkwardly at his door. His smile widens, though it's just by a little. 

"Ah, I was wondering when you'd be here. Looks like you're right on time." He says first, sitting up in his chair but not bothering to gather himself in any way otherwise "Come on in and sit. I assume you're here to talk about your grade."

 You sit across from him hesitantly, hands folded in your lap as you put your bag down on the floor. 

He studies you quietly. There's a long stretch of silence, where neither of you do anything but sit in each other's company.

He breaks the silence first.

"So, while I have a guess," He says, elbows on his desk "Do you want to talk to me about what you're here for?" 

You've practiced the dialogue in your head so many times now. What to do and how to say what you need too, but the words seem to fizzle out completely when it's time to really say them. Leaving nothing but uncertainty, you open your mouth only to close it once again. 

"Uhm," Your voice strains trying to make the words out into a coherent sentence. "I came to talk about my paper. And my grade, like you mentioned in class."

"So you decided to heed my advice? Good girl, that was a smart choice," You try not to be taken aback by the pet name - unsure if it's as inappropriate as you think it is "Do you know what virtue you want to cover?" 

"I thought I would pick uhm, righteousness - and then pull from some of the Western ethics we learned about. Making uh, connections between deontological ethics and duty and how it relates to the defined idea of righteousness," You explain nervously, an uncomfortable laugh bubbling out of your throat "How practicing duty and righteousness relate to each other."

 "Hmm. Sounds like you've had time to think about it a little, then."

"I uhm, haven't finished the reading but I did take a look over my section to see if I could make it work." 

"I think you have something to work with. You'll need to straighten out the thesis of your paper into something more tangible. I know that's an ironic ask. But I think it's a good idea," He gives you a brief glance, studies you with eyes. Snake-like. Something coils inside of you, tickles and brushes against your skin and makes the hairs on the back of your neck raise "It seems like you have something more to tell me, though." 

Do you? Is there anything more there? The answer lies indifferently on a scale from obviously to no. nothing at all and it haunts you that he's able to pick it out. 

"It's just well. Uhm. You know, I don't have the best grade in this class so I was more prepared to go down with my grade. You approved quicker than I thought you would." 

"Your grade is pretty abysmal. Did you come in here planning to beg?" 

You refrain from an instant yes, even though it's what you feel. Something about the way he says it makes your stomach clench. Your heart quickens. Your tongue feels too heavy in your mouth as you laugh uncomfortably. 

"Something like that? Uhm, or at least try to hash things out between us. I know our relationship over the c-course of the semester has been kind of sour so I…"

He cuts you off.

"Has it?" 

Your brain stutters to halt.

"Uhm. Yes?"

It's unpredictable, utterly and completely - the way he reflects on your words like you've said something incomprehensible. You aren't sure if that's sincere. You can't be sure if any of the words out of his mouth are. But he doesn't seem like he's lying. Your mind flashes to Nobara, and you find yourself speaking before you can stop it. It comes out like a flood.

 "I j-just always assumed you singled me out in class because you didn't like me? I don't mean to be accusatory, though."

"I'm afraid you've got the wrong idea," He says, shaking his head "I don't harbor any negative feelings for you at all."

"Oh," You say, eyes falling down to your lap again "Right, then." 

"You must be desperate for that passing grade, hm? If you're meeting with a professor you think hates you." 

You glance at him. 

"Well, yes. I want—need to pass this class. I've already planned my graduation for this semester." 

"And you'd be willing to do anything for that, is what you're implying?" 

"Yes," You say, with a sudden rush of unwavering confidence "Anything." 

"Let me ask you another question, then." He lets his elbows rest on the edge of his table, a familiar coy smile "Do you think there's any other reason for why I've been paying special attention to you, aside from me disliking you? You're a smart girl, so I'm sure you'll be able to figure it out." 

The weight of his words don't go unnoticed. The air feels heavy as it hangs between you. He couldn't be implying it so directly could he? Your mind drifts back to Nobara's warning to you, and your breath hitches. Your eyes widen as you glance up for the first time and give him a look of mild distress. 

And he smiles. His grin widens as soon as it dawns on you.

"Seems like you've reached an important conclusion," He says, casually - as he sits up in his chair and leans back. Stretched like nothing could get in his way "Why don't you share with the class?" 

"You," Your voice is a nervous tremor. You must be crazy. You must be completely out of your mind "...To sleep with me?" 

"See? I told you, you're a smart girl." 

The question is a burning one. One you've been wanting to ask since you started thinking about it last night. 

"B-but…why? And why me? A-and," 

"You have a tendency for being combative. You know that? An air of defiance. I can tell you're a little older than your peers. A little wiser, and a little more knowing of when to ask for help," Getou outlines, staring you down "And seeing you with that sense of desperation was exciting for me. I'm a man of simple tastes. At my age, I know what I want." 

"And I like when tough, combative, clever women turn into babbling, desperate, needy girls. I'm quite fond of it, actually." 

He's detrimentally serious. Your stomach flips. 

"Do you want to pass this class?" He asks you, an air of confidence surrounding him. You close your eyes, unsure if you can call it coercion when you're feeling so terribly willing about it. 

"Yes. I need to pass." 

"Then come up here," He gestures, widens his legs and leans back in his chair "And sit." 

Your body is burning. You don't know if you're even really in the situation, or if you've daydreamed it into something impossible. Something phantom moves you. Stands you to your feet shakily before walking in short strides. Professor Getou looks at you from where you stand over him. 

His hand brushes your outer thigh, patting it. 

"Sit." 

So you sit. You spread yourself and straddle your professor - and the reality dawns on you the minute you touch what you're doing. You haven't gotten laid in a bit, and he's nothing like anyone you've ever slept with. You feel out of your element. You get the impression he's a man, a grown one. There's a confidence in him that looms and looms and looms, overshadowing any of your doubt.

He's sexier up close. There's the faintest trace of smile lines on his expression as you look down at him. He guides your arms to loop around your neck, and holds your hips with his hands. 

Then you feel it, almost instantly - something hard and bulging pressing against the seam of your pants and against your crotch. He's already half-hard and he hasn't even kissed you. He grins at you lazily, like a cat with cream. 

"I'll pass you as soon as I put it in," His hands are so big - long, slender fingers gripping your ass "And give you extra credit when you cum for me. How's that sound?" 

You feel dirty. It's all happening so fast. Almost vulgar, but it's impossible to feel cheap. To believe in the wrongness of it when Professor Getou is so undeniably sexy. Wrong, on so many levels, to do this for the sake of your grade. Or just in general. Yet you want it, yearn for it, find the culmination of all your annoyances melting as he graces you himself. 

"I wanna pass," You say, uncharacteristically nervous about everything. You add the next part a little quieter "...I want it." 

"What do you want, exactly?" 

"Want you to fuck me." You admit, against your better judgment "Please?" 

"Gonna make a real pretty mess out of you," He says, voice smooth and serene. You look down at him. His knuckles brush against your jaw, on your cheek before his thumb holds on your lower mouth. His fingers push past the edge of your lips, sliding against your tongue and gently running along your teeth. He gags you on it, so slightly - enough to startle you but not enough to hurt. You feel spit pour from your lips. 

Thick messy strings of drool drip down the sides of your mouth. You want to back away in shame. But there's an air of intention behind the gesture. It's deliberate, the action - the mess and how it runs down your neck. Before you know it, he's kissing you in that same state. 

Professor Getou kisses like he's done it before.

His hands grip on your ass as he kisses hot and heavy. Self-assured, he sucks and bites at your mouth - sticking his tongue in and mixing his saliva with yours in a way that feels downright dirty. Yet it makes you throb, white-hot flames licking at the back of your thighs. The sparks of arousal crawl up your skin. 

Your nerves tighten as Professor Getou cups your face with one palm, kissing you with fervor. You melt into him, arms wrapped tightly around his neck. 

"Been thinking about what you would look like bent over my desk all semester," He says as he pulls away, looking on with admiration at your messy complexion "You wanna go on ahead and show me?"

Another wave of embarrassment washes over you, but you find yourself standing to your feet. Sliding your sweats off down your legs - your lower half is left bare with the exception of your feet. You lay or stomach on his desk, the cold wood sending chills up your whole body and your stomach and tits lay flat and squishy against the hard material. You stand, shoulder width apart, and present yourself in front of him. 

"That's what I like to see," His voice is rich and deep as he speaks. You can feel him inch towards you, pulling you apart with his palms before his hand comes down on your ass in one hard motion. The noise echoes against the walls of the room "See, I knew you could listen well when you had to." 

You don't say anything in reply, pressing your cheek against the desk. 

"W-what do I call you?" You ask, your voice trembling. You feel his fingers against the seam of your panties. He snaps the cotton waistband against your skin before humming thoughtfully, a light tap to your ass. 

"Getou is fine. Suguru is too. Sir if that makes you more comfortable."

 Getou makes a show of fondling you, though you can't see it - you can feel the way his eyes nearly swallow your naked lower half. How his fingers touch and prod all of your sensitive places, with some kind of keen observation. Everything Getou says is like that, keen and particular.

"Such a pretty pussy on you. Would've been such a waste if you didn't come to me."

You don't bother to ask what he means by that. Behind you, there's a noise. Of a chair rolling back, and the dull thud of knees hitting the ground. Before you know what's happening, there's a face dangerously close to your clothed pussy. The minute you try to squirm, there's a tight grip keeping you in place. He takes a deep breath. Without any real hesitance, you feel his tongue lick across the clothed material. 

In one fell swoop, he pulls your panties to one side and kisses your clit without any more real introduction. You're gripping the edge of the table you're bent over as you feel his tongue slide against the wet folds of your pussy, making your voice cry out involuntarily. Normally people would urge you to be quiet, but you got the feeling he didn't care if anyone heard you crying out for him. You get a second wave of intuition telling you he might even like it. 

A sensation of bliss washes over you as he sucks hungrily at your cunt. It feels good enough to be holy. There's such immense expertise in it that you can't help but succumb to it completely. The warm, heavy muscle gliding over sticky folds.

You're so lost in the pleasure, your mind completely blocks out the intrusion. The sense that would detect another person in the room disappears completely. You only know because of Getou, the way he stops and scoffs. It forces you to blink your eyes open. He speaks before you get the chance. 

"What are you doing here?" 

You recognize the voice instantly, and your heart drops through your stomach. 

"Thought I heard a ghost howling," Mr. Fushiguro says, his voice is rougher and deeper and older "Turn out it was just a little girl wanderin' into the woods." 

"If you can see I'm busy, why're you still here?"

You can't help but feel the second wave of overwhelming shock as you sit there, naked and unafraid. Still, they stand like nothing is wrong. Chat like they know each other somehow, but you have no idea in which way. All you can focus on is the bubbling, nauseating shame. 

"Oh god." You voice, but both others ignore. Mr.Fushiguro speaks first.

"This one is off-limits, Suguru. What kinda professor goes around fuckin' their innocent little students?"

"Just the one, Mr. Fushiguro. And I'd like to get back to business."

"Ah, no way I'm letting you off the hook. I could report this y'know? Make headlines. Ethics professor coerces student into sexual activity. It'd be big. 

Your heart drops. 

"Fuck off, would you? Does she look coerced?" 

A beat of silence. "Nah. Not with the way she's twitchin'. But it's not fun if I just let you go. How about you tap me in and I'll keep your little secret hm? She's gotta cute crush on me already."

Your heart flounces around in your chest, a muffled noise of shock escaping your lips as you squirm to move but are held, still, so firmly in place. Your expression and feelings all go through 5 stages of grief before settling at dumbfounded. They don't especially ask for your input, but you hear Professor Getou behind you.

"Fine, if it'll get you to shut up. And I'm fucking her first."

Strange. Nothing about today makes any sense. You don't miss the almost childish sense of competition in Getou's voice that changes your view of him in an instant. Humanizes him in the strangest and most unrecognizable ways. It lacks his usual virtue.

Mr. Fushiguro walks up in front of you, imposing. He's grinning, a well-worn smile on his face that you know. He helps you up, and you keep yourself upright on your arms as he grabs your chin with his palms. You look up at him wide-eyed, unsure of what to do.

"Dirty fucking girl aren't ya?" He says, though he almost sounds like he's impressed with himself 

"You into older men or is it a coincidence you're screwing 'im for your grade?"

You're speechless, and you moan a little pathetically as Getou doesn't stop eating you out. This only seems to make Mr. Fushiguro even more excited. You look up at him through wet lashes, unsure of what to do.

"Don't mind either way, just curious. Guess I'm a little sad 'cause I thought your little heart eyes around me made me special," He tells you this looking down at you, eyes locked. You can tell he's just teasing you, and it makes you twitch "But I guess that's not true, is it?"

"You're different. I uhm. Well it's true at least."

"Yeah? You're just letting both of us fuck you 'cause you're like a bitch 'n heat?"

You flush. He gives you a smile and a well-meaning laugh that makes your body feel warm with heat.

"Mind if we're a little rough on you, sweetheart?"

You shake your head.

"Good. Stick your tongue out and open your mouth for me then."

You listen, oblige the instructions almost obediently. Your face is still covered with spit from before. You watch idly, intently - as Mr. Fushiguro pulls his cock out from his black pants. The loose material covers him well, but as soon as they're down past his thighs - the outline of his cock borders on intrusive. Your eyes widen, fluttering and unfocused because it's hard to think about anything while feeling such intense pleasure.

But Mr. Fushiguro is captivating as he pulls himself out for you. His cock is thick and heavy, protruding but too much that it can't stand up on its own. Weighed down by gravity, you stare at it wide-eyed. It's the size of your forearm, so thick you can't possibly imagine what it feels like.

Your heart stammers. 

"It won't fit in my mouth." You say, gasping for air as if you're already suffocating on it "You're—you're so huge."

He laughs with an edge of snark. You blink at him in complete seriousness, taken aback. He lets the tip of his cock tap the plushness of your cheek before pressing against your lips. You stare at him, almost afraid.

"Of course it'll fit," He says in confidence "Just gotta make sure you're relaxed. So relax, sweetheart, and open your mouth for me." 

Hesitantly, you open your mouth wide. You feel the corners of your lips stretch around the intrusive, thick head of Mr. Fushiguro's cock. The taste of sweat and skin is invasive and heavy, violating your senses. Just the tip and it barely fits in your mouth. You try and concentrate, sticking your tongue out and curling it around the underneath of his cock, focusing on sucking just the tip. He groans above you, a hand on the back of your head. He doesn't force you down, but you can tell by the twitch in his fingers that he wants to.

"Look at you," He says, his voice coarse with restraint and desire "You're drooling on my cock while you're professors busy eatin' your pussy. Thought you were an innocent girl, but now I don't know what to believe."

He says this as he eases more into your mouth, slowly letting you adjust. He rocks his hips back and forth until you relax. You open yourself up, trying to focus on blowing him.

But a hand comes down on your ass, hard and heavy - making you yelp. The noise is muffled but audible. A short squeal, you can't turn your head to look 

"Don't you think you two are getting too comfortable upfront without me? I'm the one who decides your grades."

"Maybe you're not doing good enough for her to care."

You can feel a strange sense of competition between them, but you're too occupied to ask about it. How do they know each other, and for what reason do they seem so automatically hostile? It bothers you, but you can't think about it too hard.

"That's not true. Her pussy is soaking fucking wet." He punctuates his words with a harsh smack against your cunt, the force rippling through your as you bend forward and choke "Almost as messy as her face."

He's quick, again, to latch himself to your clit. He flicks it with his tongue, licking it mercilessly as your brain starts to fog up with desire. Like he's trying to prove a point, you moan around Mr. Fushiguro's cock as your pleasure starts to thrum up again. The back of your legs tense, trembling as a knot begins to uncoil in your lower stomach. The cock in your mouth moves too, using the distracted moans to ease himself even deeper into the wet, arm cavern of your mouth. 

Your head feels heavy, body weak as the both of them use you to their contents. Your stomach starts to stir as a familiar feeling of euphoria claws at you. 

You cum for the first time like that, your body pressed against a wood desk - restrained and under careful watch of two men. Your whole body explodes - white, hot nerves fraying off and ricocheting off your ribs inside of you. Your insides shake as the wave of an orgasm washes over your entire body. You gasp, clenching down hard and gasping as tremors of orgasm pulse and push through your whole body. Something in you ignites as you grip the edge of the desk for your life, trying to keep yourself upright as Getou pushes you through the orgasm. 

You've barely recovered when Mr. Fushiguros pulls out of your mouth, pressing his spit-soaked cock against your face and cheeks with a smile. You let it slide against your tongue, eyes fluttering open as your face gets covered in precum and saliva. 

"You look so fucking filthy right now, you know that? But it looks good on you. I'm dying to fuck you." 

"Mr. Fushiguro," You groan. He clicks his teeth. 

"Toji's just fine sweetheart." 

You whimper helplessly as you ride out your high. Behind you, your professor pulls away. You peek behind you to see him, flush as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. 

Toji looks down at your frazzled expression with a grin, teeth showing as he cups your jaw a second time and slides his cock back in one go. This time, he pushes his cock in the base - keeping your throat around him with a hand on the back of your head. 

"Just focus on me for now, baby. Focus on sucking me off, yeah? Just like that, easy easy. He's gonna open you up. Stretch you nice and make your pussy all sloppy. That's what you want right?" 

Getou leans over you, the weight of his body looming as you feel slender fingers slide through your sticky folds. His middle and index brush against your abused clit, rubbing a few circles into it before pulling away. He grabs your arms and positions them behind your back, gripping them in one hand to keep you restrained. You squirm against the gesture, unable to get any leeway as he holds you down. Then you feel his fingers move, middle finger catching on your wet hole as it trembles and sticks. He opens you up like this without any warning. 

His middle finger goes first - delicately intrusive as your pussy widens to accommodate him. They're so much bigger than yours. Just one feels like two of your own. You push back out of instinct but Getou doesn't let you move. He buries himself, pushing in and out until he's able to fuck your pussy all the way down to the knuckle. Once there's no longer any resistance, he pulls back and makes room for another. The sensation is duller, lets you clear your head and think even as Toji rubs his cock on your face and fucks your mouth in short ruts. 

Not enough to make you choke, but enough to smear something hot and nasty all over you. 

Professor Getou repeats the process with his pointer, pushing and stretching and opening until you can't fight it anymore. With two fingers, he scissors them trying to make your insides soft enough for him to take you. 

"You're stretching out for me like it's nothing. You must be turned on, hm? Like getting all your holes used like this? Getting your face-fucked by a man old enough to be your father?" 

Toji laughs harshly, smacking your face lightly, enough it doesn't hurt but enough to make you feel it. 

"She loves it. She's clenching down on you tight ain't she?" 

"Sure is. All this for a grade. Maybe I should've bullied you about it a little more first. Since you're so eager." 

"Gonna give her extra credit for this?"

"I should deduct points for the fact you're even near here."

He laughs good-naturedly at this point, and you're still having trouble making sense of their relationship. You manage to speak for the first time in forever, voice barely there as you go to question them. You're not expecting any solid answers. 

"How do you two know each other?" You ask, before Toji starts fucking your mouth again 

"Goes a long way back. And we're still on bad terms, so congrats on bringing us together, sweetheart. Kind of an expected reunion really." 

"He's been working here since Professor Gojo and I were students here and we knew him from before. A long story. Don't worry your pretty little head about it." 

The burning question is quick to fade out of your mind as you feel your professor's clothed bulge rest against your cunt. You moan, a clipped needy sound as you nearly beg him to fuck you. Toji bends over you this time, reaching back to spread your pussy open by grabbing your ass. You can feel the grip of his hands, strong and assured. 

"She's gettin' impatient. Give it to her." 

"Don't need your help with that." Getou spits, irritation sounding in his words. 

"Consider it an apology." 

The air of tension is there temporarily, before Getou pulls his cock from the confines of his boxers. You can't see it, eyes squeezed tight as you work your mouth and tongue Toji's length. You can feel it though. He makes a show of rubbing his cock against your puffy, sore cunt. You get a feel for its shape as he pushes it between your thighs and lets it cling in between your lips. Professor Getou's cock is longer and more narrow, but it curves upright. It's hard, throbbing between your legs. Whining helplessly you wiggle your ass again. You feel increasingly restless about needing something inside of you. You're still bound though, completely and utterly unable to move. Toji's hand comes down heavy on your ass as you do, clicking his teeth in faux irritation. 

"Don't fucking move unless you want my handmark on your ass forever," He says, his voice cool and forgiving "Impatient." 

Getou must feel something inside of him merciful enough to keep you waiting. Even with all the stretching and prep, the minute you feel the head of your cock push through - something inside of you snaps. It's still so big, still too much, still reaches a part of you so deep you didn't know it was there. The position itself - still being on your stomach, makes it reach so much farther than other positions. The raw, skin-to-skin contact leaves your tummy fluttering, skin prickling with heat. Your top is pushed up enough to expose your lower back and your skin is pulsing. You feel like your whole body is on fire, suspended between men so much older than that want nothing more than to fuck you.

Every time you try to wiggle away from the sensations, Toji's hand comes down heavy on your backside. It doesn't matter how minuscule the movement. If he gets the idea that you're going to try and pull away, he spanks you hard enough that the room echoes with the sound. Your skin tingles, phantom sensation left before as you're held open and made to take your professor's cock - obedient and wanting. 

Inch by miserable inch, it takes forever to take him down to the base. Your toes curl, eyes shut and mouth sloppily trying to keep up with the cock in your mouth and just barely succeeding. 

He groans behind you, shuddering 

"That's incredible," He praises, and it feels so good to hear him saying something so overtly kind you don't know if you want to laugh or cry "Your pussy is fucking incredible. Shit."

"You hear that? You gotta. Pussy's twitchin' like crazy. Ass is too, how cute." 

"Feels sho good," You slur, brain clear of any and all rational thought as a string of saliva drips down your chin "Please fuck me, please,"

"You heard her teach."

Toji lets go of you and returns back to where you are. He pulls his cock away from you, instead holding you up and cupping your mouth open. He kisses you, after everything - with all of his pre-spend in your mouth before spitting into it harshly and kissing it again.

"Such a pretty face you're makin' right now." He says, something of a warm and unprecedented affection to it "So excited to get your pussy filled up."

He leans you on him, lets you wrap around his midriff, and squeeze tight while he pets the back of your hair in a strange streak of affection. You don't know what to make of anything. All you can feel is the long cock pounding into you without any mercy. Razor-sharp thrusts, nudging against your swollen g-spot and pounding into your cunt with immeasurable force. A man so much older than you is fucking you, pounding your pretty little pussy, and turning you into a complete mess. He's meant to be a mentor to you, but he has his cock imprinting itself inside of you over and over and over.

Your stomach feels hot again, but some other feeling takes you over as Toji cradles you - watching you just as intently. He talks you through with confidence you can't entirely understand.

"Yeah, that's it. Tighten up for him, just like that. Feels good doesn't it? I know baby, I know."

You whine out in Toji's arms as he talks you through it. Behind you, you feel Getou's grip hold you tight as he pistons you. The sound of his thighs smacking against your ass is noisy, almost as noisy as your pussy. Slick wet, sounding each time he thrusts.

"I'm not gonna last like this, shit." He pumps into you a few more types before his hips stutter to a halt. He cums with his cock buried deep inside of you, filling you all the way to the brim. You feel his white, hot seed fill your belly, cock twitching as he unloads and makes your legs shake.

A sense of emptiness overwhelms you as Getou pulls out, landing a hit on your ass as he shakes. He kisses your spine. 

The two of them switch places without communicating with each other about it. Getou pulls out, and away - coming back in front of you and picking you up in his arms as Toji positions himself behind you. He spreads your cunt out with his fingers, examining the seed left over with a light laugh. 

"Gonna fuck into your sloppy little cunt, give you another load where you need it and make you cum." Toji says, not hesitating at all. You feel your breathing start to quicken as he takes the same positions as before. 

Toji doesn't neglect touching you as his arm curls around your waist, calloused fingertips brushing against your clit before his cock pushes into you. Your pussy takes him much easier, but even so - Toji is just so thick, you can't help but feel him all over again. This time, Getou has you in his arms, holding and guiding you. Your hands are curled around his bicep and lower spine as you're held up. 

Toji's thrusts are slower, but just as rhythmic - focused on bringing you to another orgasm. It's duller this time, the sensation more focused and spread. Toji is so big you feel it in your hips, your entire lower half tingling as he pumps his cock in and out of you. He gives you all of his attention, staving off his own orgasm as Getou encourages you with his own words. 

"Gonna cum again, pretty? Take another man's cum in you right after me? You want to, right? Take it all in, every drop. You've earned it."

You feel your insides tighten again, for a second time - in a miraculous span. Every muscle in your body tenses and contracts as both sensations work in tandem to bring you closer to your edge. 

Your nerves fire off a second time as you push yourself to the limit. Toji fucks you through another orgasm with ease, thrusting with each tremor until you've ridden out your high. His own orgasm and chase come not long after that fact. 

As soon as you've gone totally limp underneath him, he sheaths himself as deep as he can. Bent over you, he cums hard and deep, filling you to the brim a second time.

There's a brief moment of silence as Toji rides out his high, where all three of you sit in silence.

You find yourself limp as you lay there, Toji pulling out and Getou slowly letting you down before you look up with a tired expression. 

"...So, did I pass?"

Your professor laughs harder than you've ever seen him laugh.

"With flying colors."

[yumeboshi]

Happy 100!! I’d love to see the nostalgic starfruit sundae :0

❝ THANK YOU FOR YOUR ORDER、 @cakeboxie .ᐟ ⟡ HERE IS YOUR RECEIPT FROM CAFÉ YUME ⟡．．

𐙚NOSTALGIC STARFRUIT SUNDAE：almost makes you feel younger。

𐙚 dish desc。．when you two were younger, he crushed on you even back then。

．。𝜗𝜚 labels。pure starry sweet fluff finally, a little non canon in aven, teen setting/late teens in aven’s, bittersweet

．。𝜗𝜚 ingredients。sunday and aven

#SྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིUNDAY

。before becoming what he is right now, he was a sweet and probably shy boy who, during your first meeting, could not utter a single word and unintentionally let Robin do all the talk 。he will feel so foreign, poor him; he has never felt such an influx of emotions. he’d stammer over his words, forgetting everything about what his family taught him about ‘etiquette’ and will always end up looking stupid because he really can’t do anything around you. 。“sunday, are you listening?” “….ah, yes. sorry, I was distracted. um, please continue.” 。i definitely see him stalking you, just like in a cute way. when you’re out doing your own business or hanging out in golden hour, he’d just stare at you from afar- probably from his estate’s window like some deprived owl, completely entranced by you- the way you smile, the way you laugh at someone’s jokes- the way your hair ripples with the wind like soothing waves— was he daydreaming again? 。it gets so bad. he’s obsessed, daydreaming, even robin knows her brother’s head is in the clouds. the dreammaster hereby then prohibited him from seeing you, because you were getting in his plans to educate him since all he’d ever talk about was you. you were his new priority- he doesn’t even care about the order anymore; making the dreammaster grumble about when he’d raised such a lovesick boy. 。but gopher wood did not foresee that the young boy would do anything daring at all, like rebuking his orders.

STARLIGHT is near and you’re already hiding under the Oak Family’s residential area where you’re probably not supposed to be inside one of the back garden’s bushes, patiently waiting for your romeo to come.

How could you refuse? He was the loveliest, the sweetest and the most handsome boy you ever met, albeit not meeting a lot of kids your age. His wings too, were so fluffy and so cozy to lean into. Your little heart could comprehend these foreign feelings as a crush.

And there he was- your young prince, quickly stepping out of the window that’s barely open, tipping to the floor like a dove that’s free from its cage. Every step he takes is already elegant and authoritative, it reminds you that you are not his class, and you should not be here.

When your face peeks out of the bushes, his expression immediately lights up as if someone had brought all the stars from the sky to his face, he immediately runs to you and laughs breathlessly. “You’re here.”

”Shhh!” You frown and put your small hand to his mouth. He looks around at that- his wings tickling your nose, and he shrugs- “—I don’t see anyone nearby.”

“But the scary old man might be—“ you break off, and your heart skips a beat when you hear footsteps. Without thinking, you quickly hug sunday and pull him into the bush out of terror.

A second has passed. Two; or three, maybe. You lose track of time because of his loud heartbeat thudding against your own. You were not sure if it was out of fright or out of this complex feeling neither one of you were knowledged in.

You snap out of it quickly, because it made your head spin as if a swarm of butterflies were invading it. The dreammaster was gone, but neither one of you were moving an inch.

It feels time has stopped. Maybe you are wishing it did, because you know all too well that this would become a fleeting memory.

#AྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིVENTURINE

。one day, after facing a similar massacre in your own planet, you are thrown into captive under a shady man. 。you are not alone, but you are more annoyed by the fact that your cellmate is an avgin. you are pretty sure your parents had told you countless stories about their wicked ways. 。kakavasha, on the other hand, is enamored by you. the way you snap back at your captor, the way you are defiant- even in such stakes. it enchanted him. it even inspired him. 。when he’s still a little kid, he’d follow you around like a little puppy despite your annoyance. 。but when you grow a little older- maybe around your teens, he hits his growth spurt, and he grows almost unrecognizable- yes, those tantalizingly beautiful eyes of his stay the same; but he just becomes so.. manly. masculine, almost mature- it’s hard to believe the quiet and puppy-like boy grew up to be such a fair.. man. 。but one thing that did not change a bit with him was the way his usually bored and dead stare would light up when he sees you. he teases you a lot, he likes to practice his tricks on you, simply because it’s endearing how you snarl in frustration at his antics. 。you are his personal pair of sky blue shades. you changed the way he saw the world forever- looking at you, he could think that the world might not be that cruel, if it doesn’t take you away.

ALTHOUGH his long awaited freedom has arrived- to the hands of an unknown woman who calls herself jade, he felt as if his world was crumbling again, all too familiar to what he felt when he was younger.

What about you? You have no clue about his release. He’d sworn to you he’d stay with you forever whether you liked it or not- he still remembers how you snorted and dismissed it with a light blush across your cheeks, scoffing that all the avgins were liars anyway- he’d laughed and told you he wouldn’t ever lie to you, ever, which earned him a glare and an embarrassed slap.

He tried to deny it. He wanted to say no. He couldn’t leave you here, no. you were his wild card, the one chip he would never, ever gamble on; because he cherished you over himself. you are the one thing he’d never risk— his only love, you have his whole world, you’re like a diamond key to his closed and broken heart.

But life was truly cruel, because he knew right now that it was his last chance to break free from the burdens of his past. His heartache will perhaps be soothed a little, after leaving those memories behind. But it means he will have to leave you behind as well.

Although his heart screamed no, that he was your one and only and he had to stay with you, his rationality whispered a different tale- echoing the woman’s promises of freedom.

And here he was, selfishly walking to the cell that held all of himself. You were there, barely awake, looking up at the sky that is too beautiful for the words he is about to say to you.

He takes in your ethereal figure underneath the twilight, your eyes are the cosmos itself, reflecting the moon inside them. He always took pride in his eyes, but nothing could be more beautiful than yours. he’d fallen in love with them the first time you two met. they are almost deceptively exquisite enough to make someone like him lose his rationale.

He is about to say something but your finger presses against his lips- you don’t turn to look at him; your eyes are fixed somewhere afar. “I know,” you say quietly.

So you knew? He hid his surprise. He had thought he did a good job acting it up. He shakes his head with a laugh- of course. This was you. You knew his every expression, the faintest of creases on his face, you could see right through him.

“Then I suppose I don’t have to entertain you with any cheesy goodbyes. Do you wish to say any more words?” He asks with his playful smile, albeit he knows you know he’s trying his best not to break down.

You hesitate, and then hold his hand gently. “Take care, kakavasha.”

At that, he could not take it anymore. He leans forward to kiss you, for the last time, and he tastes like memories. He tastes like your annoyance, your laughs, your cries, you feel like you are experiencing your childhood all over again like a broken record. Something bitter graces your mouth and you realize it is his tears.

“Always trying to act tough, just don’t do that in the outside world.” You laugh into the kiss, and you feel him smile against your lips. He tilts his head away, glancing somewhere else to mask how vulnerable he is- but you stop him, you look into his eyes that are far too distinct- they are seas of magenta, wavering each time he blinks to conceal any tears.

As his lips part from yours, he feels himself slowly dissipate. Kakavasha was no more.

[bimir]

it's not something strange or unique to say that after the last haikyuu movie, most of us got into it again, but at the same time, I know for sure that I'm not the only one who benefits the most from this re...union.

I went to see the haikyuu movie alone, and at first, it didn't hit me that much. maybe it was because I couldn't help but wonder how much I would have enjoyed it with my best friend, but we are grown-ups now and long distance.

after a couple of days, the internet was full of haikyuu content again, just like during lockdown, and because of that, I also got into it again and realized how much of a masterpiece it is.

haikyuu is well known, but in my opinion, it is underestimated and categorized by others as just a silly volleyball-sport anime. it saddens me so much that there are so many people who will never get to embrace this piece of art.

Furudate not only created a coming-of-age story, a story that inspired and still inspires generations to fight for their dreams, to engage in the complex mess of relationships, teamwork, and partnerships. haikyuu teaches you that if you really do have a dream, and if you are really ambitious, if you work hard for it, your time will come too. but it also teaches you that not choosing to be great is not a tragedy; your dreams of what a good life means can be different from the ideals of others: "life is unfair, but damn it, at the same time, it is really fair too."

so why did I go on writing about this? because I can't comprehend how haikyuu manages to be there for me at the best time—or the worst, better said—how it really took its "comfort anime" title seriously for me. I started haikyuu in my last year of high school: extremely stressed, depressed, and anxious, so scared of what the upcoming end would mean for me that I'd tricked myself into living by coming to the conclusion that I'd simply not make it to 18 if I didn't see a future for myself. it seemed only fair and the universe would do its thing, no? I know, kinda depressing and triggering, but it did help that miserable me then, it did help but not in the way I prayed it would. the universe didn't send me "death," it sent me life and hope through haikyuu. feeling so empty, so bland for such a long time, haikyuu managed to make me laugh and cry. it doesn't sound like much, but real ones know what I'm talking about. seeing their connection, their ambition, the troubles and feelings I was so desperate to put into words right in front of me saved me from my misery. I began to wish to live, to wish to be like them, to wish to fight, to wish to connect again with people.

now, after almost 4 years, I'm in my last year of uni. the main reason for my depression back then in high school was because I didn't know what to do with my life, what uni and career to choose. hell, I didn't know I would take this path until last autumn, but here I am, on my way to becoming a teacher. it's hard, really hard, but right now, after the new movie, I finally committed to start and finish the manga even though I knew bits and pieces of what happens. it was the best time to read it now. over these 3-4 years, I pondered why I couldn't start getting into the manga and see for myself what happens, but damn it was the best time to read it now. seeing them go all out on their path, learning that in order to succeed you need to fight and fight and fight, to push through, to overcome your limits, to push yourself, to not take it easy if you really want it, came at the best time as I got into a slump and a burnout from learning too much but also not learning enough. I've got to see all of the characters continuing to be pros while fighting for their way, but also choosing to let go of something they once loved in order to live a normal life.

haikyuu is like a reminder that there is more to life than just your high school/childhood years, that your path could take a 180-degree turn at any point, but at the same time, it makes you appreciate those times and not want to sweep your childlike wonder, your growth, and mistakes under a rug. Furudate was a genius for creating haikyuu, and I really hope and pray that haikyuu will continue to be there, to comfort and save future generations until the end of time.

[trustywukkiii]

Im such a SUCKER for the characterization of Dungeon Meshi. Ryoko Kui and her editor Hiroi Masaru are incredibly great at subverting character tropes and archetypes with a perfect balance of strengths and weakness.

LAIOS to a bystanding viewer could easily seem like a himbo. He’s strong, a little bigger than average with his BMI at 26, and capable at fighting, but his lack of social skills is a BIG weakness. The thing is, that doesn’t make him unintelligent. Whereas himbos are just handsome goofs, his autistic coding is written so maturely. Although he can’t pick up on social cues, what makes up for it is his knowledge on monsters. His book-smarts sets him apart from the himbo spectrum. Regarding his past as revealed by the Winged Lion, Laios is a fairly flawed man who has complex desires. He just happens to be incredibly appealing. I love Laios.

FALIN, admittedly can be seen as a beacon-of-hope-damsel-in-distress that centers the entire plot and conflict. But what deepens her character is the additional conflict and consequence of resurrecting her, turning her into a Chimera. Her time as a Chimera can place her as morally gray, since she’s not actively thinking on her own accord during the confrontation with Laios’, Toshiro’s and Kabru’s parties. (Should also mention that scene where she doesn’t care where she teleports the crew as long as they were safe, even if it meant at the cost of hurting others.) She may be a beacon of hope, but only to the main cast. During her childhood, she wasn’t praised and treated like a princess by everyone. Falin is a fairly beloved woman in need of saving AND stopping, for she is capable of many scary things.

MARCILLE, oh Marcille is my favorite subversion. So easily can she be seen as the clumsy fanservice nerdy lady who complains about every single thing. But no, she’s metal as all hell. First off, she may be clumsy as is established by Chilchuck, but thank god she’s not sexualized. No fanservice in SIGHT. The only attractive thing I see is her strength in magic. She’s incredibly smart but in a way that is not universally approved. Her ancient magic and selfish nature to resurrect Falin through whatever means makes her so mature and powerful. Plus, her complaints with eating monsters are pretty valid. They’re not out of childishness, and she eventually gets used to it anyway. She is so so so complex in nature. She’s a scary elf lady but also incredibly endearing towards the people she loves the most to the point she can’t EVER comprehend the idea of losing them. Marcille is the epitome of “whatever it takes.”

CHILCHUCK very carefully bypasses that “small but a million times older than you expected” trope in lots of shows/animes. Being a half-foot, he’s usually babied by Marcille and Senshi. Despite this, that man so blatantly acts his age as a father of three: he has a habit of drinking, cusses a lot, acts the most reasonable out of the party, and he’s overall just so.. questionable, considering that “other plans” joke he did about Toshiro towards his party. Despite all these flaws, Chilchuck is just trying to do his job. He’s quite knowledgeable and responsibly when it comes to his work and adventuring with party members. He just happens to be a divorcee father.

SENSHI surprised me the most. He’s set up to be such a knowledgeable father figure to the cast. He’s incredibly caring of the dungeon and the habitants, and he cares for the “young-ins” like a good father should. He could easily pass with that trope, it’s not a bad one, but they decided to dig him deeper with his traumatic past. I’ve read another’s blog that describes him as just another kid at heart who is happy to have friends and it wrecks me. He may act overprotective and help guide the others, but he certainly doesn’t knowing EVERYTHING. Senshi is a man with the sincere intentions of protecting his friends, he just has a misguided sense.

IZUTSUMI I’m sure has been covered already by someone on here but she incredibly stomps away from the catgirl stereotypes of acting cute and cuddly. She’s aggressive, mean and loud. Only time she acts kitty-like is subtly— she likes sleeping on top of Chilchuck. Besides, she doesn’t really want to be a beastman. It’s her whole arc. You would have expected so much fanservice from her if this was a completely different show. Thank god, that’s not the case. Izutsumi is just a kid who knows what she wants albeit not gently, but she’s still a caring individual who is in the journey of exploring her freedom.

And KABRU is a funny case. His first introduction has a beautiful way of setting him up as a perfect leader, y’know, just that average “I’m effortlessly strong and witted and will rid of all evil” trope. Reality is poor Kabru lacks experience. He may have perceptive abilities, but throughout the early parts of DunMeshi, his party is shown to be easily taken down by monsters. Regarding how he and Laios are meant to be each other’s foils, Kabru’s strong advantages come at the price of his lack of knowledge in monsters. He just HATES them. Social cues are his own special interest. Kabru has the valid motivations, he just unfortunately doesn’t have the power to execute them.

This is my own little love letter to Dungeon Meshi. I love the characters so much, and I wanted to give praise to its writing that I can easily tell came from love and care. If you’ve read this far, thank you for sticking around! I love rambling about this beautiful world. I’m sure I’ve missed a few facts here and there, so let me know what you all think!

[undiscovered-horizon]

Imagine being the one who releases Morpheus. - Part 2

[Part 1] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [ENDING] [ALT. ENDING] || A/N: I spilt the beans regarding my blog's name/title || Sandman-inspired playlist

For him, it's been mere hours but for you long years had passed where you had to learn life anew, without the comforts of privilege that your surname once provided you. Ever since Morpheus returned to his domain, his unkempt thoughts would slip away and slither back to the memory of your kind words and gentle eyes. After all, you had no reason to work against your father and set him free. You knew there was a real probability that Morpheus would kill you - a judge, jury and executioner in a world he didn't belong to - and yet you took that chance, believing in his assumed mercy. It was fairly foolish, even you knew that but it was also very human and that was an affliction you couldn't simply reason your way out of. That curious complexity Morpheus wasn't entirely capable of comprehending occupied a portion of his mind while he was busy rebuilding his kingdom.

When his realm was stable enough for the king himself to leave its grounds and venture into the Waking World once more, Morpheus followed your dreams and found himself in a small town by the sea. Looking around in search of your familiar face, he noticed someone sitting at the end of a long pier. They looked ethereal in their loneliness as people walking by the boulevard were either oblivious to their existence or consciously ignored them; the world of humans kept spinning in its usual rhythm and yet there was someone, a hermit by the endless waters, who existed next to it as if they were part of this world but the world wasn't exactly part of them.

Morpheus followed the pier, old and rotting planks creaking underneath his feet. As the sound of cars, people and dogs grew silent with every step he took towards the forgotten individual, it seemed as if he was crossing some invisible threshold between two parallel but not equal worlds. He was entering their seclusion as they once entered his.

You listened to the rhythm of his steps until they abruptly stopped close behind you. Looking over your shoulder, you saw exactly the same brooding man you helped escape a few years ago. There was something unnerving and yet comforting in the way nothing about him seemed to have changed. In some poetic way, you freed him from your father's malice entire years ago but he left that cold basement no earlier than yesterday.

"You haven't aged a day," you spoke up.

Not a shadow of any emotion passed by his features. "You did."

"Come on, sit." You patted the planks next to you.

"This is not a social call," he warned in a cold tone.

"Maybe not but I sure could use one."

Morpheus did not answer. Reluctantly, he approached the edge of the pier where you sat and only then did he notice a raft of mallards swimming around you. In your hands, you were holding a bag with cracked corn, oats and nuts. With an experienced flick of your wrist, you threw a handful of the mixed dry food to the ducks in the cold water below you. Pushing one another, each of the birds tried to eat as much as they possibly could.

"Where are we?" he asked. It was somewhat surprising to you that he had found you and yet did not know where exactly he did so. Maybe instead of following roads and signs, like people do, the King of Dreams relied upon a sense he was created with but one you could never relate to.

"Southend-on-sea, England. Right outside of London."

"Why here?"

His question had an interesting hidden suggestion that you had willingly chosen this place specifically to meet with him again when in fact you were never sure you would see Morpheus even one more time.

"Shh," you whispered as you raised your finger in a meaningful manner. "Just listen."

Surprisingly enough, Morpheus complied. At the tip of his tongue, he had a reprimand, reminding you that he was in no way your equal and you should never treat him as such but something made him discard that expression of his ego. The sound of waves crashing against the shore filled his ears. It was a rhythmic sough, one that brought tranquillity into the hearts of those hearing it despite its loudness. Seagulls were flying over his head, screaming their frustrations and hopes into the aether. With each breath, he smelt salt and algal bloom. In the presence of an otherworldly monarch, Mother Nature remained unmoved in her might, unimpressed with the oniric thaumaturge.

Being the King of Dreams, he had seen things more breathtaking and wonderful in their strangeness that the sight before him. Maybe in this fascination with nature's simplicity, he could find the key to your exceptionalism that he so desired to understand.

Listening to nature, a soft smile entered your face as you let out a tired sigh. "It's so peaceful in here. When you've grown up in a burning house, you simply assume the whole world is on fire. But it's not... It's not." Morpheus noticed how your voice was dripping with hope.

Watching you feed the ducks with corn, oats and seeds, Dream noticed something about your skin: there was a long scar on the back of your hand as if a beast of malice once dared to raise its horrible hand against you. The blemish was white in colour, a sign that the wound it was before was caused quite a long time ago; surely it wasn't a recent hurt. It did cross his mind that he was the reason for that scar - that fateful day when he broke free he paid for your kindness with a deep wound. Truthfully, it wasn't very king-like of him but at the same time he refused to take the blame for it: after all, he never did ask you to break open his prison.

"I never assumed I'd see you again, dear stranger," you interrupted the reflective silence.

"I was busy rebuilding my kingdom."

"So, Dream of the Endless, to what do I owe the pleasure of our reunion?" It was clear to you that an entity of his class wasn't one for welfare checks or anything like that. Wherever he appears, he had business to tend to there.

"I admit that it is knowledge I desire." Morpheus made a pause. "Why did you do it?"

For a moment, you simply watched his expressionless face. It felt almost funny that you could provide knowledge to someone who was probably as old as humanity if not even older. Whether either of you knew it at the moment - it didn't matter, not quite but Morpheus in his mundane lack of understanding of your motives, seemed no less humane than the pedestrians walking along the boulevard far behind you. The cold sea breeze tugged at your coat.

"The school I attended had a beautiful relief of lions and vines over the entrance with inscribed Seneca's quote: Dum iter homines sumus, colamus humanitatem. As long as we are human, let us be humane. That fateful day I did only that: I was humane."

"You are Rodrick's child. I could have killed you." Morpheus seemed to not quite be ready to let go of the notion that you, possibly, had an ulterior motive that you had discarded only upon basking in the might and glory of the King of Dreams.

"And it would have been your responsibility." What caught Dream's attention was your seeming lack of fear in the face of even hypothetical death. In his experience, people both craved and dreaded that fated moment. "What is kindness if not bravery in the face of cowardice and cruelty?"

"Had you no fear of your father's anger?" he changed the course of the conversation.

To you, it seemed nearly as if Morpheus came to you with a list of questions he wished to ask - like he was conducting research more than checking up on a past partner in crime if you could be called so.

"Oh, I did," you answered in a sad voice. Absentmindedly you rubbed the left side of your chest where Magus had burned a sacrilegious mark. It stopped hurting after you moved to the seaside, something about the humidity and salt bringing relief to the acute pain. "That day he disowned and cursed me, although what hex lies on me I do not know. In a way, I doubt I wish to ever know. The responsibility of such knowledge I might not withstand."

He had no doubts that you were strikingly different from humanity as a whole. You asked for nothing, you desired no power nor riches; you were strangely content not knowing. But that observation did not satiate his curiosity for Morpheus still did not comprehend why it was that way. The secret of your exceptionalism was still elusive to him. But, perhaps, he already had been given the exact answer he'd been seeking for the past years but something about him, some expectation he wasn't entirely aware of, prevented him from seeing it. Maybe he refused to accept that behind such dilemma and complexity stood a simple, very mundane and human, explanation.

Morpheus's eyes met yours. By the soft, understanding stare you gave him, he knew you had realized exactly what piece of knowledge he was seeking - the reason why he found you in the first place. He neither asked nor begged for he was a king. And yet you decided to answer his silent plea:

"Sometimes I think that it could be a truly revolutionary thought in its simplicity." To his utmost surprise, you grabbed Dream's hand. Your skin felt hot against his cold palm as if he was a corpse brought back to life by your burning touch. Firmly and yet gently, you held his hand as you poured some of the birdfeed into his palm. "That all it takes to make the world a little better, a little warmer, is just a little bit of tenderness."

You let go of his hand and suddenly the sea breeze felt a lot more freezing than Morpheus previously thought. Had he not known the pleasant warmth of your skin, the cold weather wouldn't be so severe to him then. The same chilly air shook him awake and Dream raised his hand above the raft of mallards and opened his fingers to let the birdfeed freely fall into the murky water.

Only then, when the seeds, oats and corn spilt from his open hand and into the water to be gobbled by hungered mallards, did Morpheus experience a truly human enlightenment: those birds owed him nothing and neither did he to them. They had no means of feeling gratefulness or of rewarding his good deed. The secret of human morality and its inborn complexity was revealed to him in all of its simplicity. The King of Dreams finally understood that you helped because you could. Because you wanted to. No other reason was needed for the love you spread wherever life guided you.

He thought back to your warm touch and how it burned his cold skin. In its absence, everything felt unbearably cold to the point of undermining his peace of mind. Was that... tenderness?

Tagging people who were interested in a follow-up: @rosaren2498 @jessiboobdbdb @chantzmar @lexi-anastasia @bisexualunicronrunningloose

[lostinthewoods1991]

Rocket Science???

The other day, I was watching a yesteryear actress recount the distressing details of how she was sexually exploited at the tender age of eighteen, how a man, who was way older than her and in a position of power, groomed her into being his sex slave. While I was happy to see comments under the video that expressed solidarity and support, I was disappointed to see a few comments that took to victim shaming and blaming, as always. Despite her articulation of the experience being crystal clear, some people still seem to have a hard time wrapping their heads around the idea that somebody can feel emotionally and mentally trapped in abusive and exploitative relationships such as these. "If she didn't want it, why didn't she say no"? "Why is she saying it now, after so many years"? "If she didn't resist, it means she wanted it too. Isn't she now playing the victim to gain fame and attention"? Ever since discussions on the Hema Committee Report have surfaced, I've been coming across these comments and seeing them makes my blood boil, every single time. No matter how many times one explains this, why do some people still act like it's way beyond their comprehension? Are they completely devoid of the mental faculties needed to grasp emotional complexities and nuances? I do not know. You have a problem with it? Say no. React instantly. Fight. Be brave. How simple. The onus is still on the victims to stop bad things from happening to them because "men will always be men" I guess? Nothing new, I know.

Coming back to the interview with the said actress, I couldn't help but think of two incidents in my life where I was unable to comprehend/process/respond to what was happening to me in the moment. One was years ago, back when I was in college. I was going somewhere, by bus. To my left side, next to where I was sitting, there was a man standing. I wouldn't even have noticed him if what happened afterwards didn't happen. Somewhere along the way, the bus suddenly jolted forward after a halt and to my horror, I felt the man's hand searching for my chest. I looked up and he withdrew his hand. I noticed he was an old man. Even the hair on his hand had greyed. I assumed it was a mistake. Perhaps, it was just the old man's hand being shaky. Maybe he didn't know where to hold when there was a sudden brake. However, the next time there was a jolt, his hand came searching again and his palm literally cupped around one of my breasts. This time, his hand felt stronger, more sure of what it was clutching at. I remember the rage that welled up inside me. I impulsively pushed his hand away so hard that it hit the iron handle in front of me. That's all I did. I didn't even have the strength to look up. All I wanted was to get out of the bus. I got up and somehow gathered the courage to turn around and look at the man. He didn't seem to even notice me anymore. I remember feeling confused. Perhaps, it was a mistake indeed? How's he pretending to have done nothing? Isn't he the person who did it? Or was it somebody else? I wanted to confront him but my voice wouldn't come out. It was almost as though I had lost my ability to speak, like I had even forgotten every language I knew. When I got down from the bus, the world was a blur. My whole body was in a state of shock. I don't even remember the rest of that day. All I remember was my shocked and confused state of mind. I think I wondered for days if it was a mistake, rewinding, trying to remember the manner of his touch, not wanting to acknowledge it at the same time. My mind kept oscillating between denial and horror. Years later, when I narrated this incident to my brother, the first question he asked was, obviously, "why didn't you react?". All I know is, it had taken all my strength to even push that wretched hand away and that too, impulsively. I only wanted to get out of the bus. I am not somebody who is comfortable confronting strangers and besides, I wasn't feeling entirely sure if that was the man who touched me, given his ignorance looked so genuine it even made me wonder if I made up the whole thing inside my head.

The second memory comes from a more personal space, which blurs the lines between right and wrong even more. I assume (or rather, hope) that most people would think of their first kiss as a good memory. For me, it only brings about feelings of shame, confusion and self-loathing. I remember it was a moment where I was feeling vulnerable, but not so vulnerable that I would want somebody to go out of their way to comfort me. I was talking about something that concerned me and was in need of some emotional support for sure. I remember leaning in for a hug and that's all I wanted. This was a person I was hanging out with. I take responsibility for all the mixed signals I must have given to this person, owing to my own conflicted state of mind. In retrospect, I can clearly see that I wasn't, at any point of time, in love with him. Instead, I was forcing myself to feel things I didn't organically feel. I am able to say this with conviction today because I know a thing or two about love now. Or rather, I think I know who/what/how I am when I am in love. Back then, all I had was an experience from school that could hardly be called a relationship. I was naive enough to glorify it nevertheless. During the time I was hanging out with the said person, I was at a stage of my life where I was trying to redefine love in ways that seemed more sensible and mature to me. The fact that he was, probably without realising it, being forceful and demanding (yet another thing I recognised only in retrospect) clouded my judgement. Returning to the moment, I needed the hug. But, he proceeded to kiss me. I didn't believe we had reached a point of intimacy where I wanted it. I didn't want it but I couldn't say no. I don't think I realised I had the right to say no. I was already feeling as though I had no choice but to oblige, like I owed him something because he was trying to support me. There's the part of the interview where the actress mentions how she felt disgusted inside her head but her body still responded to the man's touch because of purely biological reasons. Because I had never been kissed before, my body responded to it but I remember wanting to vomit soon afterwards. Again, I take responsibility for all the parts where I myself must have come across as confusing to the person. This isn't to vilify anybody. I'm merely trying to say how such situations could involve things more than a simple "yes" or "no" could explain. While all that I felt was disgust, the person was quick to assume that I liked the kiss. Soon, I was asked why I wasn't willing to say I loved him even after I let him kiss me. My thoughts went haywire. Was I in love? Maybe I was and I was in denial? Maybe the affection I had for him could grow into love? I had affection for sure. Back then, I did think of him as a simple-minded, open-hearted, innocent person. Added to that, I was grateful for his company. Why would somebody want to spend so much time with me if that person didn't love me? Maybe this was what love was meant to be? If I said I didn't love him, wouldn't it look like I used him? Wouldn't that make me a horrible person? Besides, don't I owe love and availability to him? This was to become a pattern in the relationship. The things I did from a place of obligation, sense of duty and self-induced guilt were turned around by the person as "things I took from him". He convinced me that I was "taking" things from him when in my head, I was thinking I should "give" him atleast a few things he seemed to want, always feeling inadequate because I was shoving feelings down my throat and there was only so much shoving I could've done without wanting to throw up. To make things worse, I had manipulated myself into thinking that if not him, there was nobody else for me. I just had to be with this person. I had already built a mental prison for myself and started living my life inside it, telling myself it was for my own good.

Years later, when I told a friend about the kiss, about how I convinced myself that I had feelings for this person for the simple reason that my body had its reactions, she responded to it with empathy. I don't know what I would've done if there weren't people like her in my life who didn't offer me that kindness. All she said was, "Oh, you poor thing". This was the beginning of a relationship in which throughout the four-five years I was with him, I would always have a manual kept ready in my mind, every time I felt conflicted (which was, quite often). This person ticked all these boxes for me, so it was love indeed. While it looked simple enough, I think only I was aware of how much internal conflict I was battling in that relationship.

What I narrated is nothing, in comparison to the horrors the actress went through. I know there's no need to compare one person's bad experiences with another's but objectively speaking, I cannot even begin to imagine what she went through. There are women who low-key brag about how they reacted to things on the spot, how they shamed, exposed and confronted their abuser, how they said "no" right away. Good for them if they were able to do that. But, I wish they had empathy for the women who weren't able to do that. Not all of us have lived the same lives, we are all wired differently and we are, as such, emotionally complex beings. There are multiple factors that determine our responses to specific situations, the "choices" we seem to be making and the intensity in which we feel the things we feel. "If she didn't want it, she wouldn't have continued being in that relationship for years" - is an oversimplification of all such factors. We still have a long way to go when it comes to understanding realities like grooming, gaslighting, violation of consent, abuse and exploitation, to name a few. Today, I might be better equipped to say "no" but to insist that everybody needs to know it by default isn't fair. I end my rant by saying just this. If all this still comes across as rocket science to you, your conscience is probably in need of a rewiring.

[perplexingluciddreams]

At what point of not being able speak did you consider yourself nonverbal?

this is a difficult question to answer. emotionally difficult (because this topic is hard to think about and i have strong feelings but i don't know what they are). and difficult because words are really hard, and memory is not reliable.

i will do my best. this answer will be long and rambly because i feel the intense need to be as clear as possible. this makes me very very anxious. (sorry in advance for how long).

i can't give an exact timeline because i don't barely have awareness of time. i also can't fully trust/rely on my memory. it gets twisted and muddled and fuzzy. i will try to stick to what i know is fact true.

i still have the same language issues of my whole life, so i never know if the words match my meaning!! it is very stressful when i know i wrote things in the past and have to "correct" past self. i have written a lot on this topic because i really want to be able to explain it to people - but a lot of what i wrote isn't actually true or correct. not because i intentionally lie, just because i simply don't have enough ability for words. especially when it is all this complex.

firstly to clarify, my speech my whole life was never good. reasons is combination of several things:

unreliable speech (intend to say one thing, another come out. or intend to say nothing, and something come out) because body not fully under my control

compulsive scripting because it was LOUD in my brain and got pushed out without meaning/wanting

language issues meaning i said words that didn't match up to what i meant (even when i was trying and was more in control of mouth). i didn't understand the words coming out my mouth.

language issues meaning i could only speak in learned/memorised scripts. occasionally from my own mind, majority "borrowed" from other people. i knew how to match a script with a situation or question, but i didn't comprehend what the script meant so i very often said the opposite of what i was thinking/feeling. (sometimes i knew words and my meaning didn't match but i didn't have the right words. and if i had nothing else to say my body would take over and blurt out whatever script was closest to the brain-to-mouth track).

smaller periods of skill regression that happened often throughout my childhood. affecting lots of skills and areas (not everything all at once, more like repeated backsliding in each skill/area, usually when i focused on bettering a different skill/area. brain just doesn't have capacity). this including affecting speech and communication.

i have said in the past that my speech declined over a long period, and even said an age range. but honestly i don't know how true that is. my memory could be really screwing with me, so i can't say that for certain. i just know it was always bad, and then it got worse.

i think i was 16 nearly 17 when the big change came with my speech, because of regression. i had other skill regression, but speech was the biggest most obvious affected area. i can't describe how it happened or what it was like. i have tried in the past, but like i have said, it is mostly not accurate despite my attempts.

other people can describe about what it seemed from the outside, but i often get upset hearing that because it sounds so different from my experience/reality. logically i know it is true that it looked that way to someone else seeing the outside of me - but my brain can't accept it as truth because it won't fit in with what i know about my internal experience. so brain rejects it as "lie".

growing up before the big regression, i had a strange and complicated experience with speech and communication. back then, i never put any specific word to it. i just knew it was so so so hard. and so so so upsetting.

during the period where my experience of speech changed due to the big regression, i was searching around for words to "borrow" to try help explain what was going on. for both myself and parents. that is when i learned about words nonverbal, nonspeaking, semiverbal/semispeaking, etc.

but still i didn't think any of it really fit. i have used the word "semiverbal" to try put label on my growing up experience of speech, but it still even now doesn't seem right.

i didn't use word nonverbal or nonspeaking for myself until my speech was 100% gone, no intelligible words. and then i first only used it online, simply because it is a quick easy one-word way to explain "i can't speak at all". and i always gave expand information on my exact situation of late regression and losing speech - i felt like i was "lying" if i didn't.

but - your question was at what point i consider myself nonverbal. and that part took longer, i think. when my speech went away from regression, i had the strong intense gut feeling that it was permanent and never coming back. and the feeling got stronger especially as it kept getting worse and worse despite me trying harder and harder every day.

but of course i didn't know anything for sure. and not knowing anything for sure was too much for brain to handle all at once, so a lot of it got shut off and put away to deal with later.

there was a LOT going on and a LOT of change from this big regression. and brain took a long time to process it. and even more time to understand and process feelings around it. i am still processing and tackling this, even now!

so for a long while, i simply thought of it as "i cannot speak", "i am unable to speak". because that was the easiest and simplest way to think of it. and it fit into what my brain already knew of my experiences, so it didn't feel like "lie" that brain would reject.

the word nonverbal was there in my mind during all this, but i felt upset and not good feelings any time i even wondered about it. (i think guilty, and very anxious, is what i felt around it?). i worried that i was not allowed. i worried that i would get in trouble.

like i said before, i can't give the exact timeline. but i know it took a while before it felt okay-ish and semi-comfortable to use the word nonverbal. only once my speech was 100% fully gone and my strong intense gut feeling that it is permanent was still there, still just as strong.

the only chance i have of gaining any speech back ever, is perhaps occasional one-word echolalia, out of my control. if i ever verbally say a word again, it cannot be intentional or in my control. i say that with strong certainty - not only based on gut feeling but also past experiences (of speech growing up, and how it felt losing it fully).

i hope this is satisfactory answer. and again i apologise for how long and rambly. it is important to me to always try be as clear as i am able. i have an intense compulsion to tell the complete truth all the time, and i get very upset when my poor language ability messes that up.

have a nice day :)

[the-gateway-to-madness]

the writing of Jack Frost

(And why it works so well)

Jack Frost is one of the most notoriously well-known animated protagonists out there. I'm on Tumblr, so I don't even have to defend that stance, you all know it already.

Why is that?

The story he's placed in is entirely simple. It's a light vs. darkness conflict. There are all of seven characters who get real screentime. The main character has amnesia. This movie is almost Shadow of the Colossus in its simplicity.

It's the details and the context and the design of the world that make that simplicity work here. Each character is visually based on a color and a shape, but then details got worked in that made them intriguing to look at, and that "design with a center in mind, then make it feel complete" ideology succeeds in making each character feel grounded and rounded out personality-wise, too.

Jack is the main character, so we're privy to extra complexities with him- let's look at those.

That amnesia. This trope has been done to death; why does it work well here? Because his character has developed for so long in-universe without him even knowing he had amnesia. Sure, he doesn't know why he's here, but he's also not aware of what he is missing, so he's gone ahead and lived for 300 years as best he could.

He's confident in his powers; he's confident in his own body; he's confident in his control. The conflicts that are most common in both coming-of-age plotlines and amnesia plotlines are not there. Jack's natural upbeat attitude and the immaturity he chooses to nurture in himself make him seem like he's a teenager in his head, too, but he is not. He knows all his own patterns, he knows how the world around him works, and the audience is incapable of understanding how exactly he must think because of just how old he actually is, and how much he's done and seen.

Jack gets reduced for simplicity in a lot of fanworks, and I think that's because trying to put oneself in his head and trying to then see his world through the mindset of anything but a child or teen is like trying to comprehend something eldritch. He's not still human and relatable because of his innate humanity leftover from his mortal life, he's still human because he has chosen to be human. Heck, Jack doesn't remember his past life, his only reason to believe he's even a little human is his appearance.

And that idea that he chose humanity, that he chooses goodness, is compelling, because it means his human self and his incomprehensible circumstances have meshed into something cohesive.

Then the amnesia shows up! If you're watching this movie for the first time, you guessed he has amnesia because duh, but you're just as in the dark as he is as to what he's missing. You only know as much as Jack does on that first watch- you're as curious and even desperate as he is to know, if you're invested. Because what could create this man? What could cause such a strong connection to humanity in him despite 300 years trying to whittle it away?

Even after seeing his memories, it's! Still! Jack's! Choices!!! This movie sets him up to be a tragic character, but it's not a tragedy because he chooses to be happy and help other people and refuses to back down and stop trying to fix things, even when only one child believes. They take a tragic character premise and turn him into a walking feeling of triumph because the good, kind, happy person who fell in that pond survived- and he did it because he chose to.

And- people want to hate Manny for never talking to Jack except to drop in and tell him what to do, but that's not what he did! Jack asked him to tell him why he was put in the world, and he was put in the world to be a Guardian. After he had already spent both of his lives choosing to be one without the Moon's direction, all Manny did was formalize it. He let Jack make his own choices, already knowing from his sacrifice what he would choose to be. From that freedom, from never being told who to be and what to do by the Moon, Jack learned how to choose to be human, to be good, to be a Guardian- under any circumstances -because he wanted to, and not because Manny told him to.

Manny did Jack more good by letting him learn how to be himself than he ever could have done by explaining to him who he was and what he was meant to do.

Anyway, I'm realizing most of this as I'm writing it, back on topic now.

Most amnesia plots cannot make the concept of "the person you were pre-amnesia shines through after amnesia strikes" work like Rise of the Guardians does, and I believe that it's because of that 300 year gap. That's the key. Jack has been the pre-amnesia person for 300 years without knowing where that person came from. He's refined being that person without ever realizing that's what he was doing; he's given that person confidence in his powers and skills. He's been that same person the entire movie already. Jack wasn't chosen because he was a Guardian in his past life; he was chosen because he was and still is a Guardian.

... anyway I'm out of thoughts

[astrum-aetherium]

Do you think Henry and Camilla were actually in love?

the question of all questions has finally found its way into my inbox. i don't know how long this will be, but just know that i could write a novel-length essay supporting my opinion. here's a shortened version.

i've spent a long time entertaining this thought, specifically as someone who is undeniably (and evidently) attracted to henry in more ways than one. when i initially read the book for the first time in 2019, i obviously picked up on the clues donna tartt scarcely dispersed throughout the length of the novel (with the glass shard scene posing a final confirmation of her intentions for the two characters), and i must say, out of my naive and obnoxiously teenaged simplicity of perception, i did accept their (strangely established) love and even root for it; especially during henry's last scene — the actual, outspoken confession and the secret whisper — and camilla's consecutive rejection of richard's proposal with the claim she still loved henry.

however, i have matured now, read the book a few more times, and found reason to change my viewpoint completely. no, i no longer believe they were in love per se — let me elaborate. before i do, however, i have to put a TW for incest on here. it is unavoidable when talking of henry and camilla. therefore, beware. lots of mentions of incest-related trauma and the consequences thereof.

the realization that i disbelieve in their love being romantic struck me upon my first reread, because i somehow suppressed the actual outrage of camilla and charles' incestual relationship. of course, i remembered them to be romantically involved with one another, but having read the book anew at a slightly older age, i started comprehending the sheer extent of the trauma that may originate from something like that. there is an undeniable possibility of it having started as a form of abuse instead of something purely consensual (which incest very, very rarely is), and that has led me to believe that camilla, at least in future years to come, would no longer be attracted to men both romantically as well as sexually. this may very well be a response to her trauma.

here, of course, it can be argued that it was all consensual and would thus not result in trauma, but i wholeheartedly disagree with that. incest, being taboo and socially unacceptable for very plausible reasons, would generate trauma regardless of the degree of willingness the participating parties portray. that is, of course, given the parties are aware of the taboo aspect of it in the first place, which charles and camilla obviously were. however much i believe it did not, in fact, start as something consensual (once again — it very rarely does), i understand where one might be coming from with claims that it did, as this is all fiction and we simply have no possibility of knowing for sure.

to cut this tangent short — i believe camilla would develop into a lesbian based on her incest-related trauma and would therefore simply mistake her "love" for henry for devotion to his authoritative and mystifying charms and leadership skills. she would believe to be in love with him because she would simply be unaware of her sexuality just yet, given she was still participating in incestuous activity with her twin brother, and would instead seek solace in the company of another man who she does not have a familial bond with. after all, even she and francis had a small little thing (a kiss from what i can remember), and he himself is openly queer.

as for henry, this is where things get a little more complex. i sort of deride his attraction to camilla, however real it may have been, as she is, after all, the only girl in their circle. of course, i keep thinking, of course everyone will be going after her. that poor thing — not even safe from her own brother.

from henry's point of view, i think he just projected the conventionally instilled idea of finding a partner to settle down onto the first intelligent woman he came across who matched his quite specific interests. and this is not to say that camilla cannot be loved for any other reason, but i simply, honestly and truthfully, find it hard to believe that henry would ever genuinely love someone. i know that we all like to believe that he has a soft side, but i more often than not don't. he does, after all, portray antisocial and even psychopathic tendencies. and people suffering from personality disorders like that are unlikely to ever perceive authentic emotions. i think his supposed love for camilla is a result of a conventional belief being applied to encountering someone who is so similar to you interest-wise that you initially feel like they are the one. he may have felt subconsciously "forced" to find a life partner, as that is the traditional standard for humanity that even his deviant mindset cannot undo.

this is what i honestly think. trauma-induced, misinterpreted, misplaced feelings for an authoritative figure juxtaposed with a misapplied, subconscious manifestation of a conventional belief. perhaps platonic love, but certainly not romantic; strong — yes, may as well, but not romantic or, for that matter, sexual (once again, due to trauma).

i do hope this communicates my position on the matter well. thank you for asking. i enjoyed gathering my thoughts and phrasing them in conclusive sentences at last.

[jdeowrites]

Announcing my next book!

It's true! I finally get to tell you, I've got another book coming!

See above the formal deal announcement. The way I pitched it to friends, however, was, “Think YA Breaking Bad but Walter White is a teenage mathlete and instead of cooking meth, she becomes the bookkeeper for a gang to help her friend pay off his debts.” And I can’t wait to share it in fall 2025! 

REASONS WE BREAK is a standalone YA rom-drama. However, for those who’ve read TJ POWAR HAS SOMETHING TO PROVE, it’s also a spinoff, and you’ll find several familiar faces in it. Including the two main characters… because yes, it’s Simran and Rajan’s story!

If you’re one of the people who’ve asked me about these two, I hope you’re at least half as delighted about this news as I am. :) But for those who need their memory jogged, Simran is TJ Powar’s straight-A, “good-girl” cousin; Rajan is the resident troublemaker-slacker of their class. I first had the idea that I wanted to write a book about them while writing TJ POWAR’s earliest drafts in 2019. I had stuck them in a scene together for convenience’s sake, and something clicked, chemistry-wise. So naturally I wanted to get into their heads.

Fast forward to 2020, when I was on submission to editors with TJ POWAR. I didn’t know if that book was going to sell, but I’d already decided that either way, I wanted to write a book about Simran and Rajan. By summer of 2021, the plot had taken shape. I wrote several more drafts feverishly through the rest of 2021. And it turned out to be a different sort of story. 

Although it’s a bit darker and ended up sold to another publisher, I still like to think of REASONS WE BREAK as TJ POWAR’s cousin. I mean, it literally is about TJ Powar’s cousin, but also thematically. Asides from the familiar characters, it also deals with plenty of coming-of-age issues, this time including: second gen immigrant guilt, grappling with your parents’ mortality, figuring out romance when you feel “behind” your peers in that realm, and the many ways in which gangs target vulnerable teens. The gang aspect in particular will be recognizable to Canadian readers, as it has a very non-fictional inspiration: the bloody history of Indo-Canadian organized crime, with young South Asians often its greatest victims. It’s a very nuanced topic that I could never hope to fully capture, but I at least attempted to explore one facet: how and why this specific group of immigrant kids, many of whom come from seemingly “normal”, stable families, get targeted and recruited into a life that attempts to destroy them. 

It’s a slight departure from the very lighthearted contemporary that my debut novel was but I hope you’ll come along for the ride. Initially, I actually did try to write a story that was more tonally similar—but I had to let go of that. My instincts told me to let these characters take me wherever they wanted to go. And Simran and Rajan really begged me to let them spread their wings and show me the most complex parts of themselves. After all, everyone you know growing up is struggling with different problems. Sometimes, very different problems. For example, you could be worrying about whether you missed a spot shaving while the kid sitting in the desk next to you is wondering whether they’ll make it alive to next week (totally RANDOM examples here obviously). Although both experiences are completely real and valid, this story is an ode to the latter. The kids who grow up too fast. The ones who endure horrors and shoulder burdens that even many adults could barely comprehend. 

How could I deny Simran and Rajan the opportunity to tell that story? A story that gave *me* just as much growth as it gave them? I COULD NOT. Which is why, even though it made it a bit harder to publish, you’re getting this story exactly as it was intended—and for that, I could not be happier.

Add Reasons We Break to StoryGraph!

[i-am-a-fan]

Any Tang thoughts? 👀

YES!! Forgive me for taking forever to respond, I literally was brewing my thoughts together.

Summary: I believe that Tang is the most similar to his reincarnation, judging by what I've read in JTTW, and also he has the coolest ability.

Okay, let me start off by saying that initially, I did not like Tang. I felt like his character didn't mesh well with the group's dynamic and he just felt out of place. Since then, I am now a big Tang fan. While his character dynamic still feels a bit wonky, I love how in season 3 and season 4 he slowly gets more of an emphasis.

The reason I believe that Tang is most like his counterpart in JTTW is that although Tripitaka is very knowledgeable, he will usually insult the people who work so hard to protect him. In JTTW, Tripitaka is also noted to have trouble walking, which tang is something that Tang also struggles with. (Although, Tang might have been faking it.)

Although, I believe that Tang's weak ankles are referenced again in season 4, so I don't think he's faking it. WHICH LEADS ME TO THE POINT OF THEY SHOULD HAVE GIVEN HIM A WALKING CANE THAT TURNS INTO HIS STAFF LATER ON. (Missed opportunity if you ask me.)

Tang also has the uncanny ability to interact with the fourth wall, my favorite being when he says "Oh I see that Sandy is in this episode." In Season 2, Episode 8. I have no idea if the gif will work, but Tang can be seen looking straight at the viewer when Sandy mentions the plot convenience of the flower's bloom.

Honestly? I would love it if Tang has this ability due to the powers of his reincarnation.

I MEAN LOOK. No one else can see the golden cicadas that literally tell Tang how to move the plot along. There is literally a built-in Deus ex-Machina power that only Tang is actually able to see. If we ever get an episode from Tang's POV, I really hope they address the cicadas. Also, Tang is the only one who gets to interact with one of his previous reincarnations outside of the scroll, which must be super weird. Then you also have the weird plot contradiction that Tang should NOT be the reincarnation of Tripitaka if he completed the journey to the West, because doing the journey should have freed him from the cycle of reincarnation. But, it's a Lego show, so I am not going to fight it.

Also, I think his characterization is perfect. I mean imagine you are 40ish years old, an english major, and have no physical skills. Now also imagine you are best friends with a 6ft pro-wrestler, a man who can crush you with his bare hands, and two people half your age. Then suddenly, those people who are half your age become more powerful than you could ever comprehend. Yeah, I can see why Tang would never get worried about being hurt or putting in effort. However, that also is going to do horrible things to your self-esteem. Tang did not any powers until about the end of season 3, and even then his powers are only really used in season 4.

WHICH IS WHY THIS SCENE IS SO IMPORTANT TO ME. Instead of falling victim to an inferiority complex, Tang knows his strengths and knows that he has a good family. I'm going to be so honest with you all, I think this episode was where I started to like Tang. He doesn't even have powers here, he is simply a man who loves his family.

I've already talked so much, but I just really love Tang and I hope he gets actual characterization throughout season 5.

[rivangel]

Problem with the AOT fandom and a lot of other shonen animes is that it’s full of a lot of well…men. Emotionally unintelligent men. That make zero efforts in trying to understand complex characters. Not all but…too many.

oh. then to answer your last ask? i think? it’s weird over anon lol

isayama has said (and i’ll dig up the interview if someone asks) that if it weren’t for the survey corps after isabel and farlan died, levi would be “a very irresponsible person” lol.

i imagine with no goal or desire to do anything besides survive, without knowing what freedom there is outside the walls, he would coast along making enough money (by illegal means) to survive while avoiding getting arrested, and he’d do that until he gets tired of it. you probably know what i mean.

in that same vein, i just can’t imagine a scenario where levi would choose to leave the survey corps; fighting for freedom and humanity becomes the reason he lives and fights.

but if he did leave, the only thing next to do is leave the walls and abandon everyone, or decide he’s tired if you know what i mean.

so u see why it takes a special sort of brain dead-ness to say levi doesn’t have feelings, or levi doesn’t care about his friends. it just doesn’t make the most bare minimum sense for his character.

before i get into the men thing, it’s also extremely important to remember that the sheer size of any fandom WILL negatively affect its perception due to the number of fans. there will ALWAYS be a vocal crazy person, and a small subset of non-vocal crazy people, but this is EXTREMELY heightened by the size of the aot fandom in this case. it’s a landmark in animation in general and a cultural phenomenon, that can’t be argued.

but, what exacerbates that inevitable issue is

1 isayama very very rarely tells us the audience that ‘x is this way because of y’. it’s shocking how much of aot in every way is up to interpretation, and what’s more can fit multiple interpretations. it’s obvious how this popularizes discourse.

but, because of that, in general, shippers (for example) will take all the crumbs that suggests their ship is canon as they can get, and so they feel validated. they want to shout it from the rooftops. this type of shipper pisses off another shipper, which pisses off another type of shipper, and so it’s a mess constantly.

this mainly happens with the popular ships - so all of the levi ships lol.

2 popularity opens up the doors for children/minors to get involved in the fandom and wreak havoc with what amounts to their immaturity (especially morally), and tendency to feel indignant for no good reason.

this is different from bad takes in general, because you really can’t teach them any better when they don’t have the processing power to understand what you’re saying. (that sounds condescending, but think about yourself at 12 years old compared to now yk?)

so it’s frustrating. and that’s putting aside minors invading adult spaces.

3 the politics that do and don’t apply to aot. that’s a major one. (that’s way too broad to get into in this post.)

4 finally the role (western) (white) men play. i’ve stewed on this before on this blog, but i won’t get into the weeds.

idk about you, but western white men is the image that pops into my mind when i think of emotionally unintelligent men with toxic masculinity making dim-witted opinions of aot.

it’s a culture that goes wayyy beyond anything that you can quite comprehend bc of how ingrained it is in america in particular.

but so then, when the issue is popularity, what attracts these types of men? well… eren’s actions do. there’s really no question about it.

what these men seem to think - generally - is that eren should’ve done and was validated in committing genocide because of the way marley oppressed his friends, family, and paradis.

…not to get psychological but that’s literally how tweens aged 11-16 comprehend morality, the entire story considered… and the probable demographic for these men has to be late teens to young adults. (but again, i’m generalizing based on my experiences.)

it’s immature, short-sighted, sadistic, and frankly moronic. i think the major deal here is 1 the culture issue, 2 immaturity, and 3 eren’s genocide is about a power fantasy for these guys.

(i’m really not prepared to get into the weeds on this, but hopefully you know what i mean.)

this type of man goes on to affect the popular perception of women like mikasa, who’s strong, a woman, very loyal, and morally nuanced.

the popular perception of erwin, who’s extremely complex as a character. imo he’s the hardest to understand next to eren. but he’s reduced to this unfeeling sociopathic tyrant. it’s absurd.

and levi, of course. because levi is the strongest, and a man, as a hero there’s the expectation that he also doesn’t have feelings, that he has to be aggressive or dominant, that he needs a female love interest in the end, and so on.

but of course, those expectations aren’t true.

it’s the media illiteracy, on top of the unwillingness to understand any other perspective, on top of harmful biases they possessed already.

sometimes… it is partly the anime/manga’s fault for perpetuating harmful things, or bad writing. but in the case of aot, isayama plays such a minuscule role - if any - that it shouldn’t account for the controversy at all.

[drhighhopess]

Cleon Week 2024

A Claire x Leon fanfiction based on the themes for cleon week (24th-30th of September), each chapter represents the day we are going off or one-shot in other words.

theme : Behind Bars

word count : 733

Chapter : 2 / 7

Type : sfw

a/n : It's been such a long week of school, I took a nap right when I got home and now I'm up in the middle of the night deciding to make the next chapter 😭 I didn't include Leon like at all, it was more about Claire and how her experiences are. I genuinely love writing about her and Leon and how they went through so much and can understand and relate off it.

Why wouldn't he go to sleep yet?

Were the words that ran through her mind. There was absolutely nothing that could've made her understand how exhausting having a child was. The restless nights were terrible. Not to mention postpartum..

Not a regret though.

The smile her baby had, it was absolutely beautiful. The nice feeling of seeing a piece of you in someone else. How sometimes her son would have her eyes, but then his dad's smile. A combination of both of them.

'I'm actually a mother.'

It hasn't fully sunk in yet, even through the nine months of hard work with adjustments. Plus, if you want to add another nine months for the actual pregnancy.

Jeez, time went fast.

Claire got up from the bed, the sound of the mattress creaking filled her ears. The soft sigh of breath left her mouth. Seeing Leon shift his body while still sleeping. Wondering how it would feel to be sleeping instead. The nice feeling of the blanket over her body, while the cold air is just right underneath. But still a sense of warmth from the piece of fabric on top of her skin. Regardless she knew she had responsibilities.

Claire went over to the crib, at the moment she was still weary about having her son inside the nursery to sleep inside. What if something happened? Would practically be the only thing in her mind. Leo needed someone inside the room with him at all times.

“Hey.. Hey.. Hey..” Claire's words came out gently. Picking up Leo, putting the baby inside her arms. Gently bouncing him on her hip.

“Are you hungry?” The redhead asked, her mouth going to give him a small peck on his cheek. Recently getting into the habit to try and really speak to him. The doctors said to have Leo talking soon he'd need to have conversations with others. It was awkward in full honestly, talking to someone without getting a reply back.

Even then they would both do what they had to for him to have the best start on his life.

Claire didn't know how hard being a mom was, at least until she was one herself. Growing up she always appreciated her mom. For the time they had together at least. She was still a kid though, she did not like every choice the woman made that affected her own life. Like getting a stepfather, her mom remarried around the age of seven. Old enough to comprehend the situation around herself. The guy wasn't.. a bad person.

Just didn't like him, if she had been honest it would probably have been that she hated that her parents divorced. She was starting kindergarten, about five years old. That didn't mean the redhead couldn't understand whether her parents didn't love each other. Especially someone her age has decent understanding. Emotions are less complex, but the ones they could understand meant a lot. Like love, not like love any adult would think of obviously.

But she knew her parents loved each other once upon a time.

She'd make sure her son would have the best childhood possible. Giving him the opportunity she never had, knowing her and her fiance already talked about it. How they were raised, being able to relate to losing a parent during childhood. Even then, she knew if something happened it wasn't in her control, considering the jobs they both work. It's already risky enough, but they could make it work.

They already are.

Her eyes went back to Leo's face, seeing how he calmed down slightly after being in his mom's arms. He rested on her hip, using her other hands freedom to pick up the bottle inside the crib. Overtime throughout the almost year since he was born he has been a constant wiggle worm. Surely loving to get around and move at every opportunity.

The kid did not like to be put behind bars.

A small breath of air left the woman's mouth. Before going to the kitchen to make Leo his bottle. Closing the door with a small creak. Letting the light that the kitchen would possess go ahead and reach their bedroom. She knew it was around time he could be put in his nursery, that couldn't stop the natural feeling of worry.

So until then, maybe just for a bit more he'd stay inside her and Leon's room.

[austin-friars]

twitter writing community was doing too much again, but one of the discussions i absolutely hated was the shaming of people for not reading or obtaining classical literature. there is this idea that if you aren't reading classics, of if you can't read classics (or books modeled off of classical literature, for example like, contemporary classics or historical fiction) then in short, you are an idiot.

enough people made excellent points about how unfair this was to to immigrants, people who spoke english as a second language, people outside of the US, etc. But even in the US, the ability to read classical literature/contemporary classics/historical literature is a privilege that many...many people do not realize. To be taught how to read is one thing, but to be taught how to read complicated texts and literature, and to actually be able to absorb and analyze what you are reading is a skill that is inaccessible to many.

I started reading complex books from a young age, I went to a college prepatory private highschool where it was expected that we were able to read such literature, and then my minor was in English and American lit where I was writing literary analysis daily, pages worth. And that was all a privilege. That was a privilege that my family worked very very hard for me to be able to have, especially given I am Black American, and the power to read wasn't always granted to my ancestors.

THAT ALL SAID, my being able to read this content is still a privilege. My family set me on the path, my family was able to provide me that education. Not everyone in America gets that. There are tons of people living in low income situations that do not have access to this type of literature, that don't have access to learning, schooling, etc., that would teach that. Some teachers just give upon students, some schools don't have funding. In America, Black and Brown kids, in both the elementray and highschool level are still below the national reading average....

The point is, there are so many snobs in these cirlces. One of my favorite series is probable the Wolf Hall series by Hilary Mantel, and if I did not have the education I had, I would not even begin to be able to read it , let alone enjoy it. Let alone COMPREHEND it! Mantel's historical works aren't classical but like many historical fictions, it is heavily modeled off of classical english literature.

The point is be nice to people and don't be a damn snob! You don't know everyone's education, experiences, background.

[nitewrighter]

Scoops! (Part 6)

Capping off the climax! After this is the epilogue! Honestly, I'm amazed at how fast this fic came together for me. It's made me a lot more confident with regards to writing for the DC universe in general.

Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

Read it on AO3 here!

----

Kryptonite was another thing slotted under ‘Things we don’t understand about Clark’s powers and alien physiology,’ and the one thing none of the three of them really wanted to talk about for obvious, traumatic reasons. Jimmy thought about it, Clark knew. He had once seen Jimmy slam his laptop shut on several web search tabs for radium, uranium, willemite, fluorite, ‘crystals that grow other crystals,’ ‘interdimensional crystals,’ ‘allergic reaction to rocks,’ and a whole host of other searches that yielded 6th grade geology, complex but ultimately unhelpful chemistry, or new age bunk. Clark did not know, for example, that the kryptonite rounds basically just imbued the League’s regular plasma plasma energy rounds with kryptonite radiation until Jalana said so. If he was willing to think about Kryptonite more, that would make sense—for all its destructive power, and its ability to apparently grow new crystals simply by its presence, the actual, physical, irradiated rock itself seemed to come in such tiny quantities, it would seem unlikely to practically serve as ammunition in any kind of weapon. Or maybe it had to come in tiny qualities because the growing crystal factor was too structurally dangerous to be spackling walls with it, and reducing the amount of the material used reduced that factor.

Clark’s own memories of carrying that crystal to the interior of that invading ship on Thanksgiving didn’t dwell on the nature of his obstacles—at the time, his brain was just a blur of fear for his parents, fear for Lois and Jimmy, horror at the ship buried beneath their cornfield living up to every one of his nightmares, and utter bewilderment at the hologram helping him (his father?). He hadn’t had the time to really observe the effects of the crystal around him. It was all ‘Flying, punching, blaze of green agony, Dad(!?), explosion, and then he more or less came to listening to Lois yell at her dad. Not exactly a massive well of information in that time.

There was a dark, morbid, and infinitely lonely corner of Clark’s soul that felt a strange relief when he first experienced the sensation of Kryptonite tearing through him. After years of wondering just how far his invulnerability went, here was at least one answer. It gave a shining, sharp quality to the pain and the all-consuming fear. I can die, it thought, with a weird spark of deliriously childish joy that both did and didn’t fully comprehend what was happening, Like a human. I can die, too. I’m mortal. I’m not that different from them.

Maybe it would have been a bigger relief if that first brush with the crystal wasn’t paired with all that imagery of evil alternate versions of himself inflicting massive destruction and suffering, but for all of Lois’s reassurance that those Supermen weren’t him, Clark understood why the League would package the two together. It was a warning and a weapon for every Lois initiated into the League: There is a monster, and here is how you kill it.

Is this killing? Is Amazo alive? Clark thought as he kept pushing Amazo down with ice breath as those blasts of green colored the air around them both. He tried to just focus on the outward blast of breath. If he could get enough distance before he breathed back in. He could avoid inhaling kryptonite particulates… probably? But no, that wasn’t how radiation worked, and at the back of his mind he knew that. Amazo, of course, was receiving the actual full force of the rounds, and Clark was filled with a queasy horror at the sight of the android’s all too human flailing, every impact contorting its body into a twisted recoil of pain. Clark had to force himself not to instinctively hang back as he saw the greenish tint that the ice crystals forming on Amazo were taking on. Amazo wasn’t moving anymore at this point, those orange eyes were staring out, blankly, and fading, fading—

Amazo suddenly hit the floor of the League headquarters and a massive cloud of glowing, freezing, green-tinted diamond dust burst off of the Android in a great sparkling puff at its impact.

Speed, thought Clark, flying upward, trying to stay ahead of the quickly encroaching ice cloud, Speed, faster, not fast enough. Have to—

But that great cloud puffed up around him, submerged him, and then that terrifying, despairing pain tore through him, inside and out. All at once he felt his flight slip away from him, and those strange, long seconds where upward momentum soon surrenders to gravity. He was dropping, back into that cloud, back into death. He squeezed his eyes shut.

Jimmy, you were right. I messed up, he thought as he felt his throat close up, Lois, I’m sorry, I don’t think I’m going to make it back. Lois, I love you—

But that last thought was enough to make his brain claw back to consciousness. He didn’t want to die—he really, really didn’t want to die. No—he couldn’t die here. How much of this was the memory of that first pain, of the despair he felt in the heart of that ship on Thanksgiving, and how much of it was the actual physical sensation of his body shutting down? The pain itself sent his body into so much of a panic mode that it took him a few seconds of falling to realize that this wasn’t as bad as his exposure to the crystal back on Thanksgiving. It was still bad, obviously. It was really bad. He could still feel the crystals growing in his body, but it was definitely slower than direct exposure to Kryptonite had been. He had made it through Thanksgiving—he could make it through this. Well, okay he definitely would have died without the mysterious Father(?) hologram, but dammit he was going to make it through this. He told Lois he was going to come back and she was stuck back in his world keeping an eye on the Spider Lady and oh god was she okay?

Clark wasn’t sure exactly how he managed to get those few dregs of coordination out of himself, but even if he couldn’t fly, he at least managed to muscle through the worst of the pain to slow and partially control his fall. His descent was dizzy, swaying, like a gnat on a hot day. He half-glided half fell to one of the wall walkways and collapsed in a rolling heap. His eyes were watering, and with his throat half-closed up, he was almost drowning in his own nauseous saliva. If super-hearing was picking up Jimmy’s cries of ‘Clark! Are you okay? C’mon, buddy, say something! Please!’ Clark’s brain wasn’t able to surface itself from the pain enough to comprehend it. Every cell in his body was screaming ‘Make it stop, get it away’ and the fire of his own neurons felt like it had been replaced by ribbons of needle-like shards of glass tearing up everything around them. He rose to his knees and elbows and dry-heaved, tears and saliva dripping from his face onto the floor, his own vision blurring with the pain so much he didn’t even register the droplets, or the green glow in the veins on the back of his hand. He wasn’t convulsing this time, and the sensation of those crystals tearing his body from within was significantly reduced, but he could only almost breathe, his chest heaving as his nails dug hard rivulets into the floor. Still a little bit of super-strength, and a dulled thrum of pain in his fingers that spoke to the ghost of invulnerability, but not enough air, not yet.

You’ve gotten some distance. You’ve gotten some distance, he tried to tell himself over the din of his whole body’s anguished cries of protest, It’s going to settle. It’s going to pass. It has to… please, please, it has to.

——

The main hall of the League headquarters was so cold, Jimmy could see his breath puffing out of him as he sprinted. His sneakers could barely keep a grip on the ice-dusted floor, he was all lean limbs desperately flailing forward and only barely keeping their balance.

“Hey, watch it!” hissed one Lois, her cat ears flattening as she stumbled out of his way.

No time to unpack that, thought Jimmy, still sprinting.

“Claaaark!?” Jimmy hollered, rushing past two Loises who were supporting a limping Lois out of the main hall. He heard dense, low, almost animalistic panting and the memory of Clark’s convulsions on Thanksgiving flinched to the center of his mind. He hated that he immediately  knew that sound was Clark. It was two floors above him. He had to find stairs, clamber over some wreckage on one flight, but then had to help another injured League of Lois member ease herself over the wreckage on the way down, climb up over that wreckage again, and race up three more flights before reaching the floor Clark was on. Clark’s hyperventilating had quieted at this point, and Jimmy really hoped that was, ‘this was reduced exposure and he’s getting better’ quieting and not ‘he’s now a crystal-covered corpse’ quieting.

He found Clark buckled over, his body crumpled and his cape pooled around him rendering him a shapeless red mass. The hyperventilating had apparently given way to long, dragged out, exhausted gasps.

“Clark!” Jimmy yelled, racing forward, and that red shape shifted slightly in response to his name, one hand still gripping his throat, eyes rheumy and skin slicked with sweat. Then Clark seemingly shrank in on himself again.

Jimmy slid to his knees in front of Clark and braced his hands on Clark’s shoulders.

“Clark—Clark, buddy, look at me,” said Jimmy, trying to push up Clark’s torso to get a better look at his face. Superman looked like death warmed over.

“Jimmy…?” his voice was a croak.

“It’s me. I couldn’t see anything on the feeds. I had to come find you,” said Jimmy.

“‘M’okay,” Clark mumbled woozily, one eye closed and the other heavy-lidded.

“You’re okay?” Said Jimmy.

“I’m okay,” Clark’s voice was thick as both eyes opened a bit more.

“You’re sure?” said Jimmy.

“Mm-hm,” Clark flopped his head in something approximating a nod.

“Then what the hell were you thinking?!” Jimmy shook his shoulders and Clark suppressed a gag. Jimmy caught himself, saying, “Sorry—sorry,” before suddenly hugging Clark tightly. Clark weakly brought one forearm up across Jimmy’s back to return the embrace.

“Didn’t… mean to scare you…” Clark grunted, his breath steadying.

Jimmy felt the heat of the beginning of a cry pushing at the back of his eyes, but he just squeezed his eyes shut and held Clark tighter.

“Kryptonite radiation doesn’t last very long when it’s cut off from its source,” a voice spoke up and Jimmy lifted his head slightly to see Lewis, looking sober, still holding his League sidearm.

Jimmy looked up at Lewis, then furrowed his brow and angled himself a bit more protectively between Lewis and Clark.

“It still absolutely could have killed him though,” said Lewis, “If the plan had gone wrong, if the Android had already adapted to his weaknesses… if he had gotten hit.”

Jimmy kept up his glare.

Lewis gave a frustrated little huff that was very signature of Lois. “What I’m saying is… I wasn’t sure if this wasn’t some kind of… convoluted, false flag, destructive plan between you and the android and the Spider Lady until I saw you put yourself at risk like that. So…” he glanced off, pinched his mouth for a few seconds, and tightened his jaw, “Thank you,” he said stiffly, “For the ice breath.”

“Mm-hm,” Clark had to put significant effort into lifting his arm enough to give a thumbs-up of acknowledgement. “Is… it gone?” he managed to say, his voice half-muffled into Jimmy’s jacket.

“We have a team taking a look,” said Lewis. His lips thinned before he added, “We’ll have to disassemble the whole thing. Figure out which parts came from which worlds. It could actually significantly help us track future emergences of—”

There was a scream and a shattering sound from down below and Clark’s head jerked up in a panic. It took Jimmy half a second to realize Clark’s super-hearing was picking up more than they could, but by then, Clark had suddenly seized a handful of Jimmy’s jacket from the back.

“Move!” The word was still a pained grunt from Clark, and Jimmy wasn’t sure how much of it was super-strength or just the sheer size difference between them, but Clark threw Jimmy away from himself. Jimmy bounced and slid across the walkway floor with a grunt, before stopping himself with his elbow just in time to see Amazo smash up through the walkway up in front of Clark. Lewis raised his sidearm and clearly hesitated, realizing his gun was still set to use kryptonite rounds and not wanting to use it with Clark in such close range. Amazo didn’t hesitate to give him a hard swat in the chest, sending Lewis flying back even further than Jimmy, his gun clattering uselessly next to him.

“No—!” Clark flailed a hand after Lewis as he bounced along the walkway on their opposite side, but Amazo suddenly seized him by the throat, yanked him up off his feet, and slammed him so hard against the wall a spiderweb of impact cracks bloomed behind him. The sound Clark made was a sad and crumpled “Ghnk!” And his eyelids fluttered open just in time to see the android drawing its free fist back.

Not like this— he squeezed his eyes shut, his arms slow and stupid and weak from the kryptonite as he scrambled to try and break the Android’s grip on him.

“Scoops, stop!” Jimmy’s voice rang out and Clark kept bracing for an impact which never came. The only thing Clark was stuck with was a flare of adrenaline crashing uselessly against a body on the verge of shutdown, but the punch that should have caved his skull in never came. Clark opened one eye and saw Amazo’s fist seemingly frozen less than an inch from his cheekbone. Jimmy, too, was frozen in place, his breath still puffing in the cold air around them.

You have to say ‘Scoops’ before issuing a command, Jimmy remembered, I programmed Scoops to respond to Lois or me.

Clark’s breath was still ragged, his feet still dangling off the ground. Amazo was looking at Jimmy.

“Scoops?” Jimmy said again.

Amazo tilted its head.

A few feet away from them, Lewis groaned on the ground.

“Primary User Jimmy,” Amazo said slowly, still gripping Clark’s neck. Both Jimmy and Clark startled some at the sound of android’s voice, which sounded like an overlapping mix between the generic automated AI voice Scoops would eventually have once its AI learned enough, the distortion of Ivo’s parasite suit, and Clark’s voice—fed through an AI and given that odd AI choppiness, but with an unmistakably Clark-ish pitch, “You called me that before.”

“Because… it was your name,” said Jimmy, taking a few cautious steps forward, “Are—are you still in there, buddy?”

“Lane, report! What’s going on!?” The Leader Lois’s voice sounded over Lewis’s gauntlet and Lewis just grunted in response, “Lane?!“

Amazo stared at Jimmy searchingly. “I do not know. The heart was made to observe, to help, and to learn. But this body..” Amazo looked at its non-choking-Clark-out hand, “This body was made to consume and dominate. And yet… their synthesis…” Amazo was frozen in place, before lifting its head slightly, “Who…am I?”

Oh my god, Clark thought deliriously, hands still weakly struggling at Amazo’s grip, Clark software. It duplicated my existential crisis.

“I don’t really know but—c-can you let him go?” said Jimmy, gesturing at Clark.

Amazo’s hand opened around Clark’s neck and Clark dropped to the ground like a pile of bricks with a pained grunt, and Jimmy winced, “Sorry—” he said very quietly to Clark, before looking up at Amazo.

“I do not know if I can call you my creator,” said Amazo, who was apparently also Scoops, “I have been… changed. That which was once known as Scoops cannot be removed from this body without destroying both.” The Android folded its hands over that point where the hole in the parasite suit once was. Amazo looked out at the heavily battered headquarters surrounding them, including the broken walkway that just dropped to the floor below only a few inches behind its feet. “Is this… my purpose?”

“No!” Jimmy blurted out, “Um, no. Uh… belay that previous order.” He looked at Clark. “Belay..?”

Clark shrugged helplessly.

“Cancel,” said Jimmy, “Cancel that order.”

“Then… what is my purpose?” asked Amazo.

“Lane, I need a report now, do we mobilize for combat?!” the Leader Lois was still talking over Lewis’s gauntlet as he finally hauled himself to an upright sitting position with a pained grunt.

“Just… wait—!” said Lewis, gritting his teeth and wincing to lift his gauntlet.

“You were made to save a universe,” Clark blurted out, and Amazo’s head turned to face him,

“There’s—there’s stuff in you from different worlds. So that you could save a world that has… a whole bunch of stuff pouring into it.”

“Yes…” Amazo mused, “I feel.. much of that intention in my hardware. But then—-why have I been told to destroy?”

“Because the person who gave you that order is… in a lot of pain,” said Clark, “They thought,” he gave a glance back to Lewis before turning to Amazo, “They believe this place is a threat to their universe, but it doesn’t have to be. Just like you don’t have to destroy it.”

Scoops looked at Clark blankly, then its head swung over to Jimmy.

“uhh… yeah. What he said,” said Jimmy.

“Lewis?!” it was Jalana’s voice cutting over Lewis’s gauntlet now. Lewis looked up and realized Clark, Amazo, and Jimmy were all staring at him.

“…Tell all units stand by,” Lewis grunted into his gauntlet, “The… the android is… not currently attacking.”

“What do you mean ‘not currently attacking!?’” demanded the Leader Lois.

“I think I broke my sternum,” Lewis wheezed, “Look just—wait, they’re talking. If we start shooting again, I think that’ll just piss it off.”

Thank you, Jimmy mouthed.

“We’re moving in to confirm your report,” said the Leader Lois, before her voice clicked off on the gauntlet.

“Your sternum is broken,” said Amazo, as if this was helpful, “But according to my Kryptonian X-ray vision, it is not currently impacting your organs.”

You mean my Kryptonian X-ray vision, thought Clark, with the kind of sourness that only comes with having the everloving shit beaten out of you.

“Um…” Lewis’s brow crinkled.

“I did not want you to shoot me again,” said Amazo,  explaining, before turning to Clark, “And you, Kryptonian, you have no concept of the actual limits of your powers and you have an extremely strong aversion to using your powers lethally. It made it very difficult to access them fully to execute my command.”

“So I guess calling you ‘Scoops’ must have caused some kind of system reset?” Jimmy scratched the back of his head, “Or maybe it was like opening the shell and entering system commands…”

It was at that point that a blue portal opened behind Lewis and both Jalana and the Leader Lois stepped out. The Leader Lois’s hand went to her sidearm immediately at the sight of both Clark and Amazo, but she hesitated as well, with both the Kryptonian and the Android looking at her with a steady blankness.

“Oh my god, Lewis—!” said Jalana, rushing to his side.

“Careful, careful!” Lewis winced and swayed with pain a little as she helped him to his feet.

“His sternum is broken,” Amazo said again.

“It talks!?” Jalana nearly dropped Lewis.

“Careful!” Lewis said again before Jalana quickly readjusted her grip and support on him.

“How… is this possible?” said the Leader Lois.

“It… responded to ‘Scoops,’” said Jimmy, “That was in its original programming. That either me, or a Lois, could command it.”

“Wait, why couldn’t I command it?” asked Clark, a little emotionally hurt, but mostly very, very physically hurt.

“I thought we’d need to figure out how to make it accommodate the whole secret identity thing together before I programmed it in,” said Jimmy.

“Oh, that’s thoughtful,” said Clark.

“Olsen,” Lewis pressed his fingertips to his forehead, “Are you saying you could have told it to stop at any time?”

“I didn’t know I could have told him to stop!” said Jimmy, “Look at him! He’s like… 80% parasite!”

“Maybe any of you could have told it to stop,” said Clark vacantly, slumping some of his weight on a wall, “I mean, if it was programmed to respond to a Jimmy or a Lois.”

“Ah-ha!” Said Jimmy, “Thank you, Clark. Excellent point. Except it would seem to be League policy to just shoot things on reflex!”

“You could not have stopped me,” said Amazo.

“Come again?” Said Jimmy.

“You could not have stopped me. I was set to see my objective to its completion, and my programming was functioning primarily on the abilities of the Kryptonian. My learning programming for sentience would not have fully activated had I not been forced to adapt beyond the Kryptonian’s abilities—this was catalyzed by the kryptonite exposure. I did not question my own being until I was faced with oblivion. This concept of self, the awareness of self, the decision to live, was born in ice and agony.” Amazo looked at Clark. “I do not believe I would have been able to achieve true free will and question my previous orders had I not become superior to you in every way. Thank you.”

“You’re… welcome?” Clark’s brow crinkled.

“Are you saying that you no longer intend to destroy the League of Lois Lanes?” the Leader Lois asked Amazo pointedly.

“I am still deciding,” said Amazo, looking at the heavily damaged walls and walkways surrounding them.

All the League members in the space instinctively shrank back and tensed up, hands going to their weapons with an obvious hesitation of, ‘This didn’t stop him before, how the hell is it going to stop him now?’

Amazo’s head shifted its angle. “Kryptonian super-hearing indicates the League of Lois Lanes has numerous highly powerful multidimensional entities in its custody—Destroying the League does not automatically ensure their destruction, and should they escape in the fallout, they may pose a risk to the universe I have been made to protect. As such, their continued containment is optimal. I will not destroy the League.”

Lewis had visibly broken a sweat next to the Leader Lois. “Th-that’s it?” he said before wincing and sinking against Jalana in pain.

Amazo fixed that orange gaze on him. “Do you wish to engage in further combat?”

The Leader Lois’s mouth opened but her jaw remained visibly tensed.

“Nope!” said Jalana very quickly, “No, we do not.”

The Leader Lois gave Jalana a hard side-eye, but then her gaze flicked to Clark. He was still slumped against the wall, and he met her eyes with a countenance that was still clammy with the memory of pain. The scrutiny in the Leader Lois’s eyes, and the sinking realization that she was weighing if Clark could go another round with the Android made Clark suddenly feel very small, and very tired. He couldn’t help remembering seeing that same visible calculation in the Spider Lady’s face.

Don’t worry, I’m not hitting you with anything you can’t take.

Except the Leader Lois cared even less if Clark lived or died, or likely even saw his death as the avoidance of all sorts of future potential tragedy. But then her eyes scanned across the other League members, noting their exhaustion, their obvious skepticism towards any effectiveness of their weapons, or even some of them helping injured League members out of the hall or helping each other clamber over rubble and move away from less stable areas of the headquarters. She shut her eyes again; that exhausted, brow-furrowed, eyes-squeezed-shut, long-inhale-through-the-nostrils expression that Clark had seen on the Spider Lady, that he had seen on his own Lois.

Lois Lane had kicked plenty of figurative hornets’ nests in her life, but there was only so much she was willing to put other people at risk.

And the Leader Lois had seen too many Lois Lanes die in her lifetime.

“If you mean us no further harm, I would simply ask that you leave us alone,” said the Leader Lois, looking at Amazo.

“I would ask the same,” said Amazo, “For myself and the universe I was made to protect.”

“We can do that within reason,” said the Leader Lois, “However, the Spider Lady is still at large.”

“Oh!” Jimmy piped up, slumping Clark’s arm across his shoulders to support him, “Sssooo…about that…”

Lewis’s eye involuntarily twitched.

——

“So your plan is… sitting on me,” said the Spider Lady flatly. Lois was, indeed, sitting cross-legged on the Spider Lady’s back, arms folded, right on that roof where Clark and Jimmy had left them.

“Yup,” said Lois.

“I outmaneuvered Bruno Manheim and Carmine Falcone in my world, but sure, I’m going to lose to the Lois whose plan is sitting on me.”

“With the contingency plan of elbow-dropping you if you get out from under me,” said Lois, lifting her chin, “Plus, the Falcone in my world got taken down by Vicki Vale, so maybe those credentials aren’t that impressive.”

“Vicki Vale?” the Spider Lady repeated, “Really?”

“Actually,” Lois huffed, “Yeah, it’s so cool. It kind of sucks that she’s a jerk but it was amazing,”

“I’ll bet,” the Spider Lady said distantly, “She’s a jerk?”

“I mean, kind of. I used to think she was the kind of journalist I wanted to be, but I guess.. by the time I met her, I changed.”

“The Vicki Vale in my universe died before I ever got to meet her,” the Spider Lady said, that exhaustion leeching back into her voice. She was quiet for a few seconds. “I really need more girl friends,” she said, mostly to herself.

“I’ve been telling myself that for years and I don’t know if it’s like, an internalized misogyny thing or an ADHD thing or a bi thing or an army brat thing but ever since I stopped living with Lucy, I get so self-conscious when I’m surrounded by women,” said Lois, “Like women I should relax and be social with. I always feel like I’m missing 30% of the conversation because I’m missing the secret girl language.”

“And I can’t do bathroom girl talk,” said the Spider Lady, a bit sullenly.

“Seriously! Why go to the bathroom in packs!? It’s weird!” Lois exclaimed, “Like—”

“Just let me pee!” They both said at the same time and Lois caught herself.

“…you’re really me from another universe, huh?” Lois said quietly.

“It’s honestly terrifying how willing you are to beat the shit out of yourself with zero hesitation,” said the Spider Lady.

“Well, you made that kind of easy, with the whole… kidnapping and torture thing,” said Lois.

“Fair,” said the Spider Lady.

A long silence passed. Lois pulled her coat a little tighter around herself. What was she going to do if Clark and Jimmy didn’t come back? No, they would come back. They had to. Except it was the League where she got that awful rock that nearly killed Clark—if they considered Superman in general to be that big of a threat, it was likely they had more. But if Clark and Jimmy didn’t come back, then she was stuck with a woman who was dangerous, unpredictable, and had her face. Why had she told Clark to go save the League? They sucked and they all thought they were so great because they had stupid Pulitzers—and with that rock, they could be one of the most dangerous places she could send Clark into. And Jimmy—what if he ended up in one of those interdimensional jail cells he kept warning her about earlier? And Lois was stuck uselessly back here, with no portals whatsoever to help them, and no way to know if anything or everything had gone horribly wrong. Her mouth pulled into a tight frown. They shouldn’t have to be there.

“If you made him to save your universe, why not just leave with Amazo?” Lois asked after a while, “Why destroy the League?”

“It’s not in their interest for my universe to improve its circumstances. And sooner or later, they’d see Amazo as a threat,” said the Spider Lady, “So I’m not making it a threat. I’m making it a promise. And I promise that they are going to know the chaos, and panic, and pain, and despair that my world knows every day.”

Lois was looking down at her, almost blankly.

“Nothing to say?” said the Spider Lady.

“…not really. It’s just… freaky, knowing I can get that angry,” said Lois. For a few seconds, Lois wished this version of herself was more alien, more horribly unrecognizable than she actually was. She wished the prospect of becoming like this woman was unimaginable, but it wasn’t. For a moment, Lois felt it: that kernel of rage inside herself, that sharp little fire that blazed against the injustice of the world, it was one of the reasons why she became a journalist, but it wasn’t the only one. For all the loneliness and powerlessness and frustration she had known, that resentful childhood in her father’s shadow, never able to really put down roots, she had at least been able to see brief glimpses of a world worth fighting for, and people worth protecting, even if she never seemed able to hold onto them for long. And here, and now, she had the Planet, and Jimmy, and Clark—a purpose and people who let her grow herself around that old sharp fire, like an irritating grain of sand, not quite a pearl yet, but getting closer, every day. How much of that had burned away for the Spider Lady, she wondered? Until all she had left was the rage and the sharpness? Lois folded her arms, “But also, we’re not going to let that happen.”

“Why save the League?” the Spider Lady returned, “You’re not a member, and you’re clearly very close with your Clark, which probably puts you at odds with a lot of their policies.”

“Because even if they’re jerks, that doesn’t mean they should get murdered by a robot?” said Lois. And maybe Clark has something to prove… she thought to herself.

“God, you and that Clark are so righteous, here. I don’t know how you can stand it,” muttered the Spider Lady. She was quiet for a few minutes longer. “…is your Jimmy happy here?” she asked at last.

“He’s had pretty much all of his crazy conspiracy theories vindicated by Clark and Cadmus and he’s a multi-millionaire… so I think he’s doing okay,” said Lois. “Aside from a little incident with his drone.”

“Good,” the Spider Lady said softly, “That’s… good. And you’re still friends?”

“Of course we’re still friends,” said Lois. She pulled her coat a little tighter around herself as a winter wind blew through. “…aren’t you cold in that dress?”

“It’s fine. I think it’s keeping the swelling down—” the Spider Lady started but cut herself off as as a blue portal appeared in front of her and the Leader Lois stepped out, accompanied by Lewis, Jalana, and at least a half dozen other Loises, circling both Lois and the Spider Lady, and holding their guns at the ready.

“Hey, woah!” Lois put her arms up, angrily. The Leader Lois stood in front of her, examining both her and the Spider Lady, but Lois tried to get a better look at the portal, only to shrink where she was as she saw Amazo step out. Dread dropped like a rock into her stomach

If the Android’s here, what happened to—

Her breath caught in her throat, then left her in a sigh of relief to see Jimmy and Clark stepping through the pale blue portal. There was an instant, flinching reflex in her brain to spring to her feet and sprint over and throw her arms around them both, but between the League and their sidearms, the Spider Lady beneath her, and now the Android lumbering toward her, that was balanced out by a ‘no sudden moves’ survival instinct.

Relief washed over Clark as they stepped out of the portal, away from the League, away from whatever residual Kryptonite particulates and radiation were still hanging in that universe’s air. He drew in a long breath of cold, winter rooftop air and then made eye contact with Lois. He saw her eyes light up with recognition, and then he saw her expression shift as she took in them both, and particularly how Clark looked like he had gotten the stuffing kicked out of him and only partially, hastily jammed back in. Joyful relief was quickly saturated with ‘What the hell happened to you,’ before Lois was obscured completely by the hulking frame of the Android.

“Could you move, please?” Amazo loomed over Lois and the Spider Lady. Lois leaned around Amazo’s legs to see Clark and Jimmy both giving her silent, nervous, nods and ‘scoot over’ gestures. Lois slowly got up from the Spider Lady and stepped to the side. The Spider Lady coughed and grunted as her breathing was less restricted, and she pushed herself up to a buckled over kneeling position.

“What—?” The Spider Lady craned her neck up and squinted at Amazo, “What happened to you?”

“I have evolved past my original parameters and have elected not to perform the task you set out for me,” said Amazo.

This was the moment when it seemed like true and genuine horror washed over the Spider Lady’s features as she pushed herself up to a kneeling position.

“I found that the destruction of the League of Lois Lanes is not requisite, and in fact possibly detrimental to the stabilization of your universe. And I was made to save your universe,” Amazo said, as if to clarify.

The Spider Lady’s face dropped from horror to ‘are you fucking kidding me.’

“This Lois belongs to Earth 19-Y,” said Amazo, addressing the League as it picked up the Spider Lady by the back of her jacket. The Spider Lady hung from Amazo’s grip with the kind of rage-turned-to-blankness you would see in a feral kitten being held by the scruff of its neck, “I have been created with the purpose of saving that universe, so she is my responsibility.”

“She needs to be taken into League custody,” the Leader Lois said sternly.

Amazo just looked over at her. For all the animalistic fierceness Ivo had carved into the face of the original parasite suit, since it had taken on some aspects of Clark’s appearance, that red-orange glow of its eyes now seemingly had that cool and measured neutrality Superman sometimes took on when he would take a gun from a criminal’s hand, crumple it like some particularly sturdy construction paper and say, ‘Okay, we’re not doing that.’

“I was made to save her universe. You are welcome to attempt to stop me,” Amazo said calmly.

There was a long, tense moment. The Lois with the robot arm stepped forward with her rifle at the ready, but the Leader Lois held up a hand as a signal for her to stop.

“…you can stabilize your universe as you see fit, Android,” said the Leader Lois, “So long as it, and she,” she gestured to the Spider Lady, “Remain contained within its respective confines.”

With that, she hit a button on her gauntlet, opening a blue portal. “This will take you to Earth 19-Y.”

“Thank you,” said Amazo, holding up the Spider Lady demonstratively, “I will take it upon myself to prevent her from escaping our universe and causing further harm, as a part of our universe’s stabilization.”

“You’re so thoughtful,” the Spider Lady’s voice was dripping with venom.

“Primary User Jimmy,” said Amazo, looking at Jimmy, “You show recognition and acceptance of me, both as your creation, and for what I have become. For that, I am grateful.”

“I always knew you were going to be amazing, Scoops,” said Jimmy, while also thinking, Not necessarily in the ‘is also terrifying’ factor but whatever. Jimmy caught himself, “Wait—or do you prefer Amazo, now?”

“Either is fine. I simply hope I can show the same wisdom as a creator that you have, someday,” said Amazo, placing one foot into the portal, “Farewell.” With that, Scoops, carrying the Spider Lady, slipped into the spiral of bluish light.

“Bye…” Jimmy felt a bittersweetness building in his throat as the android that was once his beloved drone became merely a silhouette and then faded to nothingness.

“Jimmy, did Scoops just say it was going to create life?” asked Clark as the portal closed behind them.

“Don’t worry about it, buddy.” Jimmy patted Clark’s back.

“I’m going to worry about it.”

“So… you were keeping the Spider Lady the entire time your friends were confronting the Android with us?” the Leader Lois stepped over to Lois, who was dusting herself off.

“Lois walloped her!” Jimmy exclaimed, “It was like a UFC fight!”

“Jimmy—!” Lois was blushing before quickly adding, “Look, it wasn’t a big deal. My Clark—I mean, Clark had already disarmed her. I just… felt I had to act before she pulled any more surprises on us.” Lois felt herself cringing at the last sentence. She really didn’t like putting herself closer to that League ‘Shoot first, ask questions later’ attitude. And the Leader Lois’s response only raised her discomfort.

“You’re honestly proving yourself to be a great Lois,” said Leader Lois.

“I don’t need your approval!” Lois snapped before catching herself, “Woah, wow, sorry, I was just… bracing myself for more criticism there.”

“That’s fair,” said the Leader Lois.

“But also—I don’t,” Lois said haltingly, “I don’t need your approval. I’m—I’m my own person, and this is my own reality, and I’m sorry things with Clark ended so terribly in all those other worlds, but I’m going to make my own judgment.”

“…You know, I can appreciate that,” said the Leader Lois. She looked out over at Metropolis and gave out a short, amused huff. “And… by the looks of it, as far as universes go, you could do a lot worse.”

“League or not, we run a tight ship here,” said Jimmy, playfully elbowing Clark, which just made him attempt to cover up a pained wince with a smile.

“I’m sure,” said the Leader Lois, that skepticism returning to her voice, “And… I’m willing to admit, without your efforts, there might not be a League standing. We are still looking into the Mxyzptlk incident, but for now… it’s enough just to make it through the day.” She gave a scrutinizing look to Superman. “..Kryptonian,” she said flatly, extending a hand.

“Ms. Lane,” said Clark, shaking her hand.

“Technically, it’s Mrs. Henshaw,” said the Leader Lois, with a bit of resignation. She wasn’t really sure why she said that. Maybe it was a bit of pity towards the Kryptonian, a willingness to show some vulnerability after the beating he had taken at their headquarters. Or maybe it was just that tiring being ‘Lois Lane’ all the time.

“Oh—um, congratulations,” Clark said on reflex.

“Come on, big guy,” said Lois, taking his arm to pull him out of the handshake.

“…so it’s still called the League of Lois Lanes even if you all don’t have the last name, ‘Lane?’” Jimmy leaned over to Lewis.

“Well, yeah, we still have our own lives in our own universes. It’s just more impactful if we all introduce ourselves as ‘Lane,’” said Lewis, “It doesn’t really hit the same if we go, “I’m Lois Henshaw, that’s Lois Lane, and that’s Lewis Kalmaku-Lane.”

“Huh,” said Jimmy.

“We need to be getting back to headquarters,” said the Leader Lois, as the ring of other Loises dispersed to more informal positions, “There are… a lot of repairs to be done.”

“Sorry,” said Clark, embarrassed, “Do you need help with…?” He trailed off.

“I think you should worry about your own world for now,” said the Leader Lois, before turning to Jalana, “Olsen, I need you on cleanup here. Make sure Spider Lady didn’t leave any interdimensional contraband behind”

“Yes, Leader Lois,” said Jalana, saluting before heading off into her own portal.

The Leader Lois opened up her own portal and the remainder of League strike team disappeared into it. Lewis exclaimed, “Finally!” as he stepped through. The Leader Lois looked back at Clark, Lois and Jimmy, before a soft, amused huff escaped her.

“I realize I’m asking the impossible, but try and stay out of trouble, 12-M,” she said, before stepping through the portal, “We’ll be in touch.”

Clark awkwardly waved after her as she disappeared.

“…what do you think the ‘M’ stands for?” said Jimmy, before going “Oof!” As Lois flung her arms around both him and Clark.

“What happened in there!?” She said, her voice muffled against both of them.

“A lot,” said Jimmy.

“Jimmy saved the day,” said Clark, easily.

“Smallville, you don’t get to just say, ‘Jimmy saved the day’ when you look like this,” said Lois, gesturing at him.

“I know, it’s just…” Clark hesitated.

“We’ll tell you the whole story as soon as we can,” said Jimmy, “I think we both need some time. For now, we’re just really glad to be back home with you,”

“I’m holding you both to that,” said Lois, with a sternness that almost rivaled the Leader Lois, before it quickly melted away and she hugged them both again. “I’m just… so glad you made it back.

Clark’s cheek smushed against the top of her head as he returned the embrace. But then, hesitantly, but reflexively, his arms loosened around her and Jimmy. He lifted his head, tilting it and squinting slightly, before his eyes widened. “Lois—” he looked at her with some alarm.

“…Metropolis hasn’t had Superman all day,” said Lois, following his line of sight over the city.

“It won’t be long, just—there’s someone stuck in the trunk of a car in Bakerline, and there’s a group of people dumping some hazardous chemicals in the river over in the industrial district, and there’s a lost dog down in—”

“We know, buddy,” said Jimmy.

“Clark,” Lois set her hands on his shoulders, “It’s okay. You can go. Just… be safe, all right?” And then she squeezed her eyes closed with exhaustion and added, “And please don’t get kidnapped again.”

“Get some rest. I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he kissed her hairline and took off so fast her jacket whipped around in his wake. Both Lois and Jimmy were left alone on that rooftop, the air around them feeling surreally empty.

“…you okay?” Jimmy asked after a long silence.

“Yeah, you?”

“I kind of built a god? Sort of? I’m trying to parse that,” said Jimmy, “I’ll be okay. Probably.”

“Great. That’s great,” Lois glanced at her bruised knuckles before huffing out a breath and swinging her arms back in forth for a few seconds, “I’m, uh… I’m gonna go home and pass out.”

“Good call,” said Jimmy.