#with no regard for anyone else’s feelings or safety or right to go to class in peace

[aqlstar]

So some absolutely deranged college students near me thought yesterday would be a good day to do a protest to “stop the genocide in Gaza.”

(There’s literally a ceasefire?? Say what you like about Bibi, but he’s trying a lot harder to hold this ceasefire together than Hamas, which has allowed multiple bus bombings to occur + gave back an anonymous body instead of Shiri Bibas. )

They occupied a building (actually a dorm that people live in) and live posted about it on insta + asked for people to bring them snacks and board games. They were also asking for people from off campus to come join them on social media.

As per usual, the school did absolutely nothing until the literal FBI called them to alert them of an increased security threat, at which point they easily dismantled the occupation because they could have done that at any point and were just choosing to let these morally bankrupt students take over a dorm.

Their chapter of SJP has been suspended, and the college newspaper is full of students whining about how unfair it is.

[sunder-the-gold]

'Legend of Zelda: Echoes of Wisdom' is not "woke"

The writers do not divide all characters and civilizations into 'Oppressed' and 'Oppressor'.

In the battle of divine light and darkness, no one frets about who is in the wrong or right. Zelda and her people can survive only if the darkness is defeated, and Zelda and Tri do not question the worthiness of fighting to preserve their peoples' existence.

There is no class struggle. Only the Deku Scrubs lack a clear leader. The Gorons and Zora have their chiefs, and the Gerudo and Hylians have their royal families and castles. There is absolutely no narrative about the evils of monarchy or the necessity of direct democracy.

There is no insistence that success is only ever inherited or given, rather than achievable through personal effort. Or that everything in life is a Zero Sum game where someone can only gain by taking from others. A number of characters are committed to making things themselves, such as Dampe the engineer, the Hylian farmers, the Gerudo mango-researcher, or the Deku Scrub smoothie-sellers.

The Hylians occupy the most territory across Hyrule, but there is no narrative of conquest, occupation, colonialism, or imperialism. The chieftain of the River Zora expresses no dissatisfaction with his bamboo hut compared to the stone castles built by the Gerudo, Hylians, or even the Sea Zora. The Gerudo never mention an envy for the lands of the other peoples. The only thing the Deku Scrubs want from foreigners is their business, in fair exchange for Scrub-made goods.

There is no San Fransico; each nation is homogenous. Visitors from other peoples are welcomed, but no one feels guilty for living among their own kind. The Gorons do not try to make their home colder for others, the River Zora do not make their water saltier, the Sea Zora do not make their water less salty. Everyone is happy being separate and distinct, without anyone trying to be everything to everyone else.

The chiefs of the Sea Zora and River Zora do not decide to be more like each other, but instead remember to respect and cherish their differences.

There are no gender wars. Women do not complain about men, men do not complain about women.

The bombastic male chief of the River Zora uses his booming horn to reignite courage in the timid; the graceful female chief of the Sea Zora uses her elegant harp to calm the nerves of the unsettled. They both endanger themselves to save their people. They both admit their own faults with starting and perpetuating their personal quarrels.

The boisterous General Wright uses his brute strength to pick up an old lady and carry her off to safety. The soft-spoken Minister Lefte uses her considered words to coax a frightened child into following her to safety. With only a moment to react, Zelda's father reflexively throws his daughter to safety without regard for his own life.

Zelda does not become the protagonist of the story because she is a woman breaking free of male oppression. She became the protagonist because she had a responsibility.

Staff of Echoes

Nintendo as a rule begins envisioning a game around a mechanic and then builds a story around it. Echoes of Wisdom began with the Echoes mechanic.

The Echoes mechanic could not shine in Link's hands, because his sword, arrows, and bombs would always provide more direct and efficient ways to defeat enemies. Tears of the Kingdom had this issue, where Ultrahand and Zonai Devices were not only inefficient solutions to combat, but were basically non-existent for the final battle.

Contrast with the Celestial Brush Techniques of Okami, which played a vital role in conflict-resolution from the beginning of the game to the end.

Nintendo decided that if they were going to stray so far away from Link's normal style of play, that it only made sense to use a completely different character who wouldn't be expected to play the way Link does.

Just as Samus Aran and Metroid were born out of the desire to make a new platformer that didn't play like Mario Brothers. Mario didn't curl up into a rolling ball, or double-jump, or somersault in mid-air... so Samus would.

Building Up Without Tearing Down

Nintendo understood that they could make Zelda the hero of the story without needing to make Link unheroic.

(Indeed, this Link might be one of the most heroic of all, because he was adventuring all over the world saving people by his own initiative, long before anyone suggested he had an official duty or divine fate, or that the survival of the world hung in the balance.)

Nintendo also knew they could make Zelda the hero without insisting that she never needed the help of others, especially of men.

Just as, in most previous games, Link needed the help of Zelda, or Navi, or Midna, or various male or female Sages.

Ultimately

The game is written as a fun adventure; an escape into fantasy, away from all weighty issues in the real world. Not as a lecture or a Chick Track sermon.

The writers do not feel the need to educate you, only to entertain you.

All exposition only serves to explain the rules or backstory of the game itself, where those cannot be understood by lessons from the real world.

[possiblyunhinged]

It makes me laugh that Trumpies are simultaneously screaming "mind your own business" whenever someone responds to another outrageous display of ignorance from their politicians that change people's perception of what America has become—essentially 4chan with a flag—yet are obsessed with inserting themselves into foreign politics.

Meddling in German elections, redefining borders that aren’t theirs, bending over for Putin, fantasizing about flattening Gaza, pitying us Brits because we’re being "invaded" (source: GB News and your uncle who makes crass comments about 16-year-old girls), and then, of course, there’s Canada. And Greenland. And the Gulf of America... And what? You think the rest of the world (sans Putin) is going to slow clap what bigotry-meets-arrogance looks like? Please. Engage brain cell and then speak.

And look, I find the weaponisation of deliberate failures in education really crass and cruel, but how the fuck are you going to claim to be the country of rationality when 21% of American adults are functionally illiterate, and around 54% have literacy skills below a sixth-grade level? (x, x) Millions of people have been fundamentally let down by their government—only to turn around and play directly into its hands by blaming immigrants instead of the system that failed them. Like... how does that not register?

And no, I don’t think the only people who should talk about politics are those who went to university or grew up in wealthy areas with access to good education. But I do want people to wake the fuck up and ask why their government has fundamentally let them down. Illiteracy, at this level, isn’t just negligence—it’s deliberate. And we’re seeing it more and more in the UK, too. It’s systemic abuse that benefits those in power, disarming working-class people and minorities from realising their own power. The less people understand the world, the easier it is to make them fear the wrong things.

Sorry, but sweet fucking Jesus.

I also wish every Brit were sat down A Clockwork Orange-style and forced to remember that we are, in fact, Europeans. I do not dream of becoming a walking microplastic or living in a country where there's chlorine in the chicken. I do not find anything aspirational about America, and I think the idea of the "American Dream" is laughable. The notion that the U.S. doesn't have "class issues" the way the UK does has always been absurd to me—because where there is capitalism, there is class struggle. And where there is capitalism without regulation, there is ever-dwindling class mobility.

The reality is, when you hold your national anthem in higher regard than the welfare and safety of human beings you deem "aliens," you’ve lost it. Your humanity is gone—if it ever existed. You have ceased to engage in one of the most basic aspects of human nature: empathy. I see a tube of Pringles as more worthy of conversation than you.

And I know it sounds like some left-wing, posturing bullshit that disregards people’s very real fears about immigration. I get it. Society looks different than it did when you grew up. Maybe that makes you uncomfortable. Maybe that discomfort is worsened by how discourse plays out online—where racism is called out, racists double down, and suddenly we’re locked in an endless culture war, painting anyone to our left or right as the enemy, while rich people get richer and bleed our struggling planet dry. Meanwhile, powerful white men twiddle their fingers, calculating how to extract more resources from human lives while making it look virtuous to invade countries for their wealth.

And what do we do? We turn against each other. We get consumed by cost-of-living crises that make survival feel impossible and enjoyment a fucking pipe dream.

Frankly, I have no resolve. I wish I were rational and capable of measured debate, but instead, I want to scream in the faces of people who have become nothing but mouthpieces for billionaires—while calling everyone else the sheep. I get that their lives are broken. I get that they want a fix. And they’re not delusional—there is a problem.

But that problem isn’t immigration.

It’s billionaires. It’s wealth inequality. It’s the demise of the middle class. It’s greed.

And instead of fighting that, they’ve been groomed into believing that every crisis is a conspiracy… unless it comes from the mouth of a rich man telling them all their problems could be solved if we just deported some people.

How do you reason with that? You don’t. So instead, it turns into pettiness. It turns into booing national anthems. It turns into ordinary people—who should be fighting for each other—hating other working-class and middle-class people simply because they’re from a different culture.

It turns into everybody feeling under attack—not just as individuals but as families, as communities, as a generation.

And yeah, I know I sound like a giant fucking dweeb, but the only solution is class consciousness. And that’s easier said than done when your "neighbour" has spent decades being brainwashed by "alternative media" that is still, at its core, rich men telling them who to be angry at.

So, if this post feels erratic and nonsensical, it’s because the world does too.

I like to believe this is just an internet problem. But it isn’t. It’s reflected in actual politics. It’s reflected in how little we care about Sudan, the Congo, or anywhere else that doesn’t fit the right geopolitical narrative. I think even well-intentioned, kind people are switching off—not because they don’t care, but because it all feels like too much.

And when that exhaustion sets in, we all just start screaming like fucking toddlers who need a nap and a responsible adult at the wheel.

Only, we don’t have a responsible adult.

We have an orange rapist and his fascist friend, who is built like a Roblox character.

What could possibly go wrong?

[edenfenixblogs]

Attention Goy Friends!

I was recently asked by another goy friend on Facebook to explain something. And I thought I’d share it here for people who are not in the know.

This person wanted to know why we get SO upset when synagogues are defaced. It wasn’t like they were telling me they didn’t understand why we got upset at all. But they didn’t seem to understand where the depth of feeling came from, especially when there is actual genocide happening to Palestinians. This is a good person acting in good faith and is working on holding two truths at once, so I answered. Here’s what I told them:

First of all, of course, we can fight for Palestinian liberation shoulder to shoulder and feel as awful as you do about it! I hate this genocidal Likud party and their deranged evil leader just like anyone else would. This does not mean we don’t also carry our own pain. It doesn’t mute the pain we carry for Palestinians. We just feel EVEN WORSE on top of that.

Second, with regard to synagogues and other places of Jewish social gathering—I think those of us living in Christian-majority nations all know a fair bit about Christian history just by way of cultural exchange. But if you are not aware—The Protestant split in Europe led to the translation of Church services and texts into English/the primary spoken languages of the various Western European nations worshipping within various Jesus-centric religions. This was a huge and important milestone for poor and lower class people who had every right to participate equally and fully in their religion and could now understand the scriptures and services.

However, to this day, shul is conducted in Hebrew. Prayers are sung in Hebrew. In every Jewish synagogue regardless of denomination. Sure, there are often parts in the common tongue of the area too, but the prayers themselves are still in Hebrew. Usually the same melodies or selection of melodies too. And it’s not because we are some elitist group, as some might claim.

It’s because, even in diaspora, I can go to any Jewish community in the entire world. I may not speak the common tongue of whatever place I end up. But I can go there, listen for the sound of Jewish prayer. If I have nothing to my name and no money or food or home or safety I can look for some Hebrew on a door or a Jewish star and listen for someone singing Oseh Shalom or the Shema Yisrael or the V’ahavta in the same melody that I learned it growing up. And I will have found safety. I will have found community. I will have found people who understand me.

And the part of this that I think most goyim don’t understand is that because of our long history with Christianity there is statistically a more than 50% chance that I or other members of my generation will actually NEED to employ that Jewish community as a resource in the exact circumstance I described above. Because we become victims of genocide within 2-3 generation intervals like clockwork for the last 2000 years.

When a synagogue is attacked in a nation that allows antisemitic hatred to foment unchecked it is such a brutal emotional blow. Because every synagogue destroyed is a safe place for Jews that is no longer safe. Not for the people who go there regularly. And certainly not for the people who may need to go there—who will VERY LIKELY need to go there. And with each space eliminated, we are sent further into diaspora.

[anxiousnerdwritings]

Omg i would love platonic yandere Dumbledore

Yandere Albus Dumbledore Headcanons (platonic)

Albus is someone no one would ever imagine being obsessed with someone. It’s just something no one could fathom and that’s what works in his favor. He’s a very behind the scenes type of yandere. No one would suspect a thing, let alone his obsession.

He would definitely be drawn to anyone who reminded him of his dear sister, Ariana. Whether it be appearance or personality, Albus feels an intense protection towards his obsession. It’s the overwhelming guilt of what happened to his sister, him blaming himself that really pushes his obsession. He’s probably too far into his memories of Ariana, both before and after her death, to realize just how much he’s loosing himself. It’s much too late when he realizes the unhealthiness of the situation. He’s already as invested as he is, he may as well see it to the end. Albus isn’t going to fail you, not like he did Ariana.

Albus is always very well aware of what’s going on in regards to you, both inside and outside of Hogwarts. He’s always watching over you, no matter where you are. It’s unnerving but weirdly comforting. If it were anyone else it would be creepy but Albus only has the best intentions in mind. He only means to keep you safe.

Given his connections and loyal supporters there will always be someone to watch over and care for you when he’s gone. Harry being one of these people. There’s no doubt Albus would entrust Harry with you. Minerva being another one high on the list of people he would entrust your protection to. No matter what, Albus would always ensure your safety and future would always be taken care of.

Albus isn’t necessarily delusional. He is very conscious of how unhealthy his attachment is. He knows none of what he’s doing would be considered right but he can’t help himself. He sees this as him doing what he should have as a brother, what he should have been doing for Ariana. He sees his obsession as a second chance. And he can’t pass that up.

The way Albus goes about things is very discreet. He handles people and situations very quietly and inconspicuously. No one ever really knows that they’ve just basically been threatened by Albus. Whether it’s an adult or a student, Albus is always very calm and collected, never truly letting his emotions get the best of him. Even when it comes to you he doesn’t let anything show. Now that doesn’t mean anything concerning you doesn’t get him worked up or upset, it does but he can’t allow himself to react the same way he feels. Otherwise it would be messy.

Really Albus can be quite terrifying in what he’s capable of. He’s powerful, wise, and he’s extremely respected. Not to mention you can never truly tell what’s going on in his head. He has a vast knowledge of an array of things, always having an answer for whatever. He speaks in riddles giving others the pieces they need, they just have to figure it out themselves. He does this with his threats too. Well, they’re not really threats per se but they still carry the same weight. He doesn’t have to get his hands dirty to still get the same result as other yanderes and that’s unsettling enough.

He wouldn’t be very affectionate, it would be much too obvious and maybe even a little weird. But that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t still be comforting and attentive towards his obsession. He cares about you and when you’re upset he’ll do what he can to help and fix whatever it is affecting you.

Albus often will send you little gifts, usually something sweet or something that he knows will make you feel better. If you’re struggling with your studies he will either find someone to tutor you, whether it be the professor themself or another student (probably Hermione, let’s be honest). Or he’ll gift you with other books on the subject to aid you in your classes. It goes without saying but Albus is completely anonymous in everything he does for you, especially the gifts. He doesn’t want you to have any inkling about anything he does for you.

Once Albus knows that his time is coming to an end, he will write to you. He’ll confess all of the things he’s done for you, everything he’s tried to do to ensure you a good life and future. Albus wants to give you some closure but really he’s giving himself closure, if that makes sense. You probably won’t even get these letters from him and there are a lot. He either hides these letters away or he gives them to someone he trusts to give to you when you’re old enough and farther along in your life.

[princeandcrow]

Bring Back the Bastard

Day 15: Haven’t You Heard

[This is a kind of dark and moody stream of consciousness and contains a little swearing.]

Severus woke early in much the same way as he usually did. Regretfully, unhappily, and wearily. But this morning there was an extra gnawing distaste; a yawning empty feeling at the knowledge of a situation that had ended without satisfaction nor proper resolution. Oh, for everyone else it was resolved perfectly nicely or so they seemed to think. Harry Potter had lived to fight another day - largely thanks to himself yet again. And of course Sirius Black was free. How wonderful. Dumbledore even had the gall to look pleased. Severus feels a dull stab of betrayal as he drags himself out of bed and makes his morning coffee on auto pilot.

Just like the first time, the Headmaster had sided with his precious marauders. On top of that the fucking rat was gone - and he was still undecided about the truth of that part of the tale. But after a few hours of restless sleep - the events playing over and over in his mind - his raging anger had settled to a low simmer. The whole thing had been a fucking disaster, not least of all dear Lupin. But of course we mustn’t blame him for forgetting to take his potion! Oh no.

Severus sneers to himself as he steps into the shower. It’s not as though he had spent a considerable amount of his time making the stuff for him all year in order to keep everyone at the school safe from a ravaging werewolf. Severus lathers the soap into his hair, rinses, dries himself and picks out a clean set of his standard robes. He had lost it yesterday. With very good reason, but still he didn’t like that anyone had seen him in that state. Out of control. Vulnerable.

He would go out there today with his head held high. They might think they have their happy ending, but Severus could see that was not at all the case. There was damage control to do. First stop was the Slytherin common room. He had kept Lupin’s secret long enough, and he wasn’t about to let his snakes continue to be taught by the man without being pre-warned.

At 7:30 am Professor Snape steps into the common room. A brief glance at one of his prefects is all that is required to get the students hurrying to congregate and within a few minutes all 192 Slytherins from years one to seven are waiting silently for their head of house to address them.

‘As you all know I take great pride in extolling the virtues of our great house. I have always done my best to challenge the negative assumptions people have against Slytherins. There are times however when House comes before school and the safety of the students under my care will always come first. I believe you not only have a right to know what I am about to tell you, but that I have a duty to warn you.

‘There has this year been a teacher at this school who suffers with a condition that when not properly managed can make him a danger to others. I myself have assisted in the management of that condition by means of a potion brewed using my own recipe. Until last night there had been no issues, however, yesterday the Professor failed to take his potion, resulting in him endangering the lives of several students and at least one other member of staff. The condition with which he suffers is Lycanthropy, and the teacher in question is Professor Remus Lupin.’

He pauses for his students to process the information before continuing. ‘I tell you this not for the purposes of defamation or inciting hatred; in fact any student who physically or verbally abuses Professor Lupin will be punished in the same manner as they would for any attack on another student or staff member. If however you do not feel comfortable attending his classes or feel the need to write to your parents regarding this matter, you would have no argument from me.’

Severus knew what people would say about him. That he was bitter, resentful, underhanded, but frankly he didn’t care. He had tried doing things Albus’ way. He had done his duty, kept Lupin’s secret, kept his concerns between himself and the headmaster. And what had happened? Exactly what Severus had expected.

At least 80% of his job seemed to consist of preventing physical injury and death on his students. Lupin’s presence conflicted with that. It was that simple. And if Albus would not listen to his concerns he would find another way to resolve the situation. He was a Slytherin after all.

@bringbackthebastard

[whosjunglejim4322]

SMUT, collegecrush!au, tattooed Johnny agenda, bff Jaehyun! And brief mentions of him being drunk, all the yearning, Johnny is whipped for you but you didn't hear that from me, he's got a big dick, brief dry humping, finger fucking and pussy eating bc....I'm a whore, sensual fucking cause he thinks ur precious teehee ngl I have a crush on this Johnny

A month ago, if someone would have told you that Johnny Seo would be watching The Matrix trilogy with you while sitting on your living room floor under a blanket that he'd brought to the routine occasion - you would have thought them to be crazy. Insane, even.

And not because Johnny is unpleasant to be around, quite the contrary. Despite his popularity he's one of the most levelheaded, endearing frat boys - for lack of better term - you've ever met, and you also happen to think of him as a superhero of sorts, always there the moment you need him.

It had been a party, where the two of you met - sort of. Not shocking, in the least bit, but also not the first place you would have planned to be on a Saturday night. Jaehyun, being the stubborn and puppy dog eyed best friend that he is, insisted that you come along with him - that he'd keep you glued to his side all night long.

Of course, in proper Jaehyun fashion, three tequila shots in and a game of beer pong had him barely cognitive and passed out on some ones bathroom floor within two hours. The house was big, but filled with people and between trying to lift him up while he giggled about your hair smelling so good and sweet - you also feared anyone seeing him like this. Even if it weren't the first time.

His presence spooked you, at first, a light tap on your shoulder from somewhere behind you just as you attempted to lift your aforementioned best friend for what felt like the hundredth time that night. You nearly dropped him back on his head, if it weren't for quick hands and a sturdy grip on the drunk boys slumped shoulders.

He looked like sunshine, honey skin and dyed blonde hair with the dark roots growing out - a soft, comforting smile across the smooth planes of his face. Dark ink peaked out from where the collar of his shirt had drooped, appearing to be spilling from his shoulder. Your arms felt weaker than before, and embarrassment regarding the situation began to make your skin hot.

"I got him, don't worry," he'd assured with a gentle grin, lifting your bestfriend with an ease you almost wanted to scowl at. His height had been startling too, and not just because you were sitting on someone's bathroom floor. "did you guys drive here?"

You shook your head, a sigh of frustration leaving your lips and slumping your posture as you remembered that you both had walked here. Johnny slung Jaehyuns arm over his broad pair of shoulders, and jerked his chin towards the door, which you opened warily.

"I'll drive you home, it's no problem," his voice was soft, reassuring and you were taken aback. He obviously knew Jaehyun, and you'd never met any of his friends that were so...pleasant. "let's get him to my car first."

It wasn't nearly as painful and humiliating to push past crowds of intoxicated people with Johnny leading the way, as it would have been if it were just you. No one even batted an eye at the way he was dragging Jaehyun like a ragdoll, while the boy grumbled under his breath like a child.

People looked at him, of course. Oh, they looked at him. But not because of his human luggage, and it felt odd to see so many eyes on one person, to realize that his presence has the same effect on everyone else as it did you.

He kept looking back, making sure you were still close behind him, and it wasn't until you were outside in the open that you realized he'd been clinging on to the fabric of your jacket, making sure you didn't stray. Your heart felt like it was bursting open. Focus. You'd thought to yourself.

"That's my car over there, can you open the door for me?"

You jogged towards the sleek, onyx colored SUV that looked like a shadow against the dark bushes, and in just a split second Johnny was behind you, maneuvering Jaehyun into the backseat.

"Mmm...leather." Your best friend's giggle made you all the more grateful for the fact that you hadn't had to do this alone, his cheeks bright red and eyes crescent moons from the way he gleefully grinned. Still, you love him nonetheless.

You pulled your jacket off and prepared to drape it over his body before Johnny stopped you with a gentle hand, shaking his head. "I've got two on, let me."

His jacket probably sufficed more anyways, a heavy denim that would actually cover most of Jaehyuns body. You thanked him with a shy smile while he closed the door, and headed towards the passengers seat.

This experience had been the beginning, the car ride home that night being one full of conversations - genuine conversations, and he didn't leave once you both arrived at your apartments. Jaehyun snored in the background while the two of you talked, laughed. It was hard to look him in the eyes, to not make it so obvious - it's hard now, too.

Neo and Trinity kiss on the screen in front of you, and you wonder how Johnny sees you. Sure, he's flirty, overtly sometimes, but there's never been a definitive line to mark where the both of you really are on the friendship spectrum. If you even want to call it that.

Every time he touches your cheek or catches you staring, even when you're walking to your classes and his hand graces the small of your waist just before he waves you goodbye - you have to assume that he knows what he's doing - that the tension hasn't ever just been one sided.

His hair is a light chestnut brown now, longer than usual and flopping into his eyes from the sides. It's unfair, how he doesn't even have to try. The sharp slope of his nose, the bow of his lips, even the elegance of his neck and jaw. That awe from when you first saw him, has never left.

Not to mention that you often times forget he has so many tattoos whenever he decides to wear short sleeves, the art inky and stark against his olive skin - riveting down from his biceps like silk, cascading over his thick forearms and ending at his knuckles.

You turn your attention back to the laptop upon realizing that you've gotten caught up, heart still rattling underneath your ribcage. It makes it worse, the fact that the heat of his body is so close, that you can smell the scent of dryer sheets clinging onto the fabric of his shirt along with the natural allure of his skin.

"Why were you staring at me?" His breath is warm against the shell of your ear and you shudder, surprised by his sudden closeness and the timbre of his voice. You turn to face him with an incredulous expression, feigning innocence - but he makes it damn near impossible with the way he's looking at you - a dark eyebrow raised and a sly smile playing on his heart shaped lips.

"I was looking at your tattoos, cause - uhm, I forget they're underneath your clothes sometimes." You confess, and his knee knocks against yours underneath the blanket.

"Mmhm, so you think about what's under my clothes?" He teases, and takes pride in the way your eyes glower at him, a scoff leaving your mouth. It's hard to be annoyed when he's so vibrant, right here in front of you.

"Just the art, this one's my favorite." Eager to not have the pressure on you anymore, you reach out to grasp his wrist - not realizing how deeply of a need you've had all this time to do so, until you're tracing the flower that's decorating the top of his hand.

In hindsight, it's a bold move - but you can't go back now, not when he's staring down at you so fondly, scooting closer and placing his hand in your lap while you admire his body art.

"Yeah? Why's it your favorite?" He asks, genuinely curious. He nudges your shoulder with his when he sees the shy smile spreading across your lips, your skin hot to the touch. His comfort level has you less nervous than you were before, and the whole thing feels oddly natural, being so close together.

"I don't know, it just suits you. Your hands are so big, and the little vines looping around your knuckles really makes them look...delicate."

You don't dare look up, not when you realize his chest is rising and falling faster than it was before, just like yours is as you spread his fingers out and play with the digits, his face just inches above yours, voice warm in your ear.

"Second favorite." It's not a demand but it's not exactly a request either, and there's a safety in the energy pulsating around you both - mutual, rippling like a current through your bones.

Your eyes deliberately trail up the length of his long arm, scanning, and your fingertips press against the belly of the dragon that wraps around his bicep, sinewy tail tapering off just below his elbow. You've secretly admired this one for a long time, sneaking glances whenever you can. He turns more towards you just the slightest bit, and the closeness begins to make you feel dizzy.

"Your hands are soft."

This time, you can't not look at him, belly filled with a need to see his face, to save the memory of his features so up close in the back of your mind. However, once you do, look up at him - you almost wonder how you'll be able to handle it at all, his amber eyes boring into you as if he's trying to read your thoughts.

"So is your skin." Is what you manage to reply, willing yourself not to look at his soft, inviting mouth - afraid you'll give yourself away. You feel something stroke the side of your cheek and it takes you a second before realizing he's touching you, apparently giving yourself away isn't an issue. You feel like you're being set ablaze.

"Is it really just the tattoos, you think of?" You're not imagining things, he's definitely moving closer - you can smell the starbursts that he ate earlier still sweet on his breath, the wrappers crumpled on the coffee table next to the laptop.

It's all settling in, the realization that this hasn't been just you, fantasizing and daydreaming about someone who hasn't even realized how his natural charm has made you feel.

You're afraid to speak, so you shake your head as a response to his question, the atmosphere thickening impossibly now that he's cupping your chin between his fingers, the tips of your noses almost touching. You've placed your palm against his knee without even realizing it, steadying yourself.

"I've wanted to kiss you since the day we met," he confesses, dark eyebrows furrowed as if he's restraining himself, waiting. "is this...is this okay?" Your lower belly flutters, and you're almost afraid to move, to change anything about this moment and the way it is right now.

"Me too. I've wanted to kiss you, I mean." You breathe out, and now your lips are ghosting against each other, a moment of hesitation that feels both infinitesimal and fleeting. "It's more than okay." A heartbeat passes and he presses his mouth against yours, so pillowy soft that you gasp, surprised.

It's just a second, that he pulls away to look down at you, and your expression is so heavenly - so hazy and delicate. He kisses you again and this time your lips begin to overlap, from top to bottom, suckling and getting used to the feel of each other. He's still holding your face, but with both hands now, thumbs on your cheeks and fingers wrapping around to the nape of your neck.

You cling onto him like you've no other choice, desperate to have him underneath your fingertips, reminding you that this is really happening and that your mind isn't just creating very vivid daydreams. He pulls you closer and you grip onto his broad shoulders.

"Mm, you're so sweet," he lilts between his kisses, tone somewhere between bliss and desire. You're not expecting to be so worked up already. "even better than I imagined." His tongue slips past yours, wet and warm and it's like your body is being put on vibrate.

He senses this too, with the way you're almost in his lap, breath unsteady. His arms are around your waist before you can move any further, pulling you on top of him and locking you to his torso.

"Johnny." You strain, as the feeling within you becomes overwhelming, craving his touch, his mouth. It doesn't help that he's being so vocal, as well - the sounds sweeter, and more desperate than you'd expect from him. It has something feral igniting within you.

What shocks you the most is that he's already hard underneath you, and the thought alone is enough to have you keening further against his chest, tightening your thighs' grip around his trim waist- not to mention you can feel him snug against your ass, material of your shorts so thin it's palpable when he twitches.

So, naturally, your whine is petulant when his mouth departs from yours, his plush lips a deep blush, matching his cheeks in their hue. He's just as worked up as you if his erratic breathing and the way that he grasps onto your sides is anything to go by, and you shouldn't be as surprised as you are about it.

"You...have no idea," he pants, smoothing his thumb over your bottom lip. "how badly I've wanted you. In so many ways."

Your heart feels like it's attempting to burst through your chest in an effort to be closer to him, his sharp eyes lowly lidded but fierce in their honesty. You take this brief moment to touch his face, his soft cheeks and the smooth, taut ridge of his jaw. It all feels too real to be a dream. This must be reality.

"I'm only stopping because, well I like you," it's hard to pinpoint if the trembling of his hands is fueled from his desire or his nerves, but either way he's got your rapt attention. You doubt anyone could look away from those eyes.

"I like you a lot and...fuck, I don't want to do anything you aren't comfortable with or...sure about. Because I'm sure about you." He finishes, sincere and stoic while holding you against him. You feel like you're floating.

"I have a really big crush on you, Johnny," you kiss his mouth and he smiles against it, humming in contentment. Suddenly, your nerves are replaced by pure adrenaline. "and I like you a lot, too." When you pull back from his lips with a soft smack, his expression causes your skin to burn hot.

"So it'd be okay if I did..." he tilts your head to the side, and a flurry of goosebumps descend across your skin, his breath warm against your throat. "this?" A kiss, soft but purposeful, is placed there, and you shudder.

All you can do is nod in affirmation, heartbeat in your ears among other places. Your fingers run through the hair at the nape of his neck while his mouth begins placing warm, wet pecks against yours, and his body lurches when your thighs tighten around his torso.

It only manages to work you up further, of course, brain already high off of the fact that Johnny likes you back...in fact...he truly is as good as you've always thought, sweet and kind and nasty, groaning when you rut your hips against him.

"Baby, you're shaking." He mouths against your jaw, wondrously and laced with an undertone of hunger. His strong arms hold you tight, eyes softening when he looks down at you and realizes just how worked up you really are.

"I just want you really bad, Johnny." Your body emphasizes your point, chest pressed against the firmness of his, nipples hard behind your shirt. He can practically feel you throbbing.

It's a little fucked up, honestly.

No ones ever had him this head over heels, he feels himself melting against you, your voice sweet and syrupy, dripping with this ache just for him and he's losing it.

"Yeah?" He muses, the wide palm of his hands sliding down the curve of your back, and over the swell of your ass where it's planted so firmly atop of him - massaging you there. "Where do you want me, honey?"

The pet names have you too worked up, you really could get off of anything right now and he's tracing the back of your thighs now, swirling his soft fingertips around, leaving a wake of searing heat in their path.

"Want you everywhere, just - mmph." This kiss interrupts you, bruising in it's intensity and he cups your face softly as a silent apology despite the fact that you're letting out small coos of satisfaction, tugging at the ends of his messy hair.

For a second you feel like you're being lifted, not realizing he's just moved you both to the couch until your head is resting against the cushions, inky arms caging your body against the length of his. He groans when you palm at his stomach, touching and rubbing his sides and then the broad of his back.

All the while his free hand, the one that's not attached to the arm holding himself up, does some exploring of its own, palming your breasts through your shirt and squeezing with just enough pressure to have you arching into his touch.

Automatically, your legs wrap around his middle and your heels dig into the dimples of his back, and his hips pivot downwards to nestle right in between yours. You're both instantaneously struck by the sensation of your centers meeting, his length jerking inside of his pants, your clit throbbing in yours.

"Gonna touch you..." nimble fingertips dance over the skin of your inner thighs. "...here, is that okay?" The warmth of his hand cups your sex and now you're positive that wetness has begun to soak through your underwear, senses gone haywire from the way he's rubbing you, up and down.

"Mhm that's - yes, that's okay." You pant, desperate to feel him as well and reaching in between your bodies in an attempt to grasp at him - his height doesn't make this as easy as you thought and your pliant hands meet just his navel, the faintest of happy trails soft against the skin here.

He switches to his thumb now, instead of the heel of his palm to rub you through your shorts. He searches, for a short moment, finding what he's looking for and pressing the pad of his finger against your bud.

He kisses your whimper, shifting his hips and shuffling upwards just a smidge so that your hands can reach his hard cock. You have to maneuver your arm underneath his but it's working out fine so far, your eyes widening once you feel the twitch of his length.

"Oh." You gasp, expecting to have felt it all while you were on his lap, but missing by a longshot. He's big, bigger than anticipated and you're a bit too flustered as you follow it's bulge through his sweats. He groans your name, and you might be short circuiting.

"You're so hard...and b-big, Johnny you're really big." The incredulity of your voice only has his hunger growing, threatening to swallow him whole. In one breath your hands are pulled from him, pinned above your head with his gentle fingers barring your wrists.

"You're so fuckin' cute," he professes with an awed lilt, moving his hips in circles between yours - his shaft, heavy and thick, nudged against your lips. "wanna make you feel good...mm, wanna make you cum."

Butterflies threaten to flutter into your throat and suffocate you, his breath warm and sweet against your cheek before he's nipping at your earlobe. You feel like you're high, spinning yet completely grounded by his weight above you, against you.

"I want you Johnny, want you to fuck me." You try to turn your head, bashful of the way you're being so shameless but he's not having it, keeping his gaze on your every expression, trying not to lose his sanity when you grind yourself against him. Your voice, petulant and needy, is enough to have him at his wits end alone.

"I will baby, I will," he promises sweetly, accentuating his point by letting go of your wrists, and using one of his hands to pry your thighs open. He rolls his agile hips against you and the friction has you reaching out to grasp at his waist - trim and firm underneath your fingertips. "just gotta get you ready first."

He sits back on his haunches and you pout about the lack of content, his pleased grin a beacon as he hooks his fingers into your waistband, pulling your shorts off your hips and past your thighs - till they're at your ankles, and it feels surreal when he throws them somewhere behind the couch, too eager for his own good.

You're brought back to current reality when his big hands caress the tops of your thighs, before creeping down into the soft crease where they're shut closed in embarrassment, and pulling them apart.

He outwardly marvels and you wonder if he can see you clench, the moment overwhelmingly intimate with the way he's staring directly at the wet spot that’s soaked through the crotch of your panties. He takes only a moment to reach out and press his thumb against the dampness, balls tightening with the need to release each time you whimper or gasp.

With his cock leaking in his pants, he wastes no time, taking the flimsy piece of fabric off so fast you don't even have time to by shy about him seeing you naked and glistening in front of him. Furthermore, you don't think anyone could feel even the least but bad about themselves if he looked at them like this - slack jawed, and starved.

"Fuck...you're so beautiful," two long, inky fingers formed into the shape of a V, spread your lips open and then he's moving further away - no, scooting down onto his stomach, and suddenly his breath is a warm puff against your most sensitive parts. "so wet for me, hmm?"

You're not sure you can look away, too enraptured by the visual stimuli that's correlating with the circling of your swollen clit. You want to cry, a little bit. Scream, maybe. He's so beautiful you can't help but to reach out, running your fingers through the front of his chestnut hair and then his eyes are piercing through you like the shock of ice water.

Your body seems to register the feeling before you can process the sight by itself, back bowing off the couch, hips bucking. His hot, wet tongue licks at the hood of your clit, starting slow and picking up pace when you start to squirm. The blossoms painted across his skin decorate the arms that hold you down while his pillowy lips envelop the bud, suckling lewdly.

"O-oh, oh fu-mmm." You're already blubbering, lost and falling into the sensation of everything all at once. You've no doubt that he's had years of experience but this, you're not sure you've felt pleasure like this before.

"Feels good?" He mumbles between the flick of his tongue, hands traveling up the length of your body to grip your waist, kneading your skin. You almost laugh at the question, assuming your trembling body and the way you're involuntarily bucking against his mouth would suffice as an answer. Still, you humour him.

"Mmhm, feels- ohh, mhm feels good." Your voice is barely there, strained and whiny but he feeds off of your every utterance as if it's something he so desperately needs. The smacking between your legs becomes louder and like a magnet, you're drawn to the sight again, coil in your belly tightening impossibly.

He's a muss of hair, the dark strands tickling your thighs when his head moves from side to side. Your thighs attempt to clamp shut but then he's looking up at you again - purposeful in the way he maintains eye contact while he dives down and licks a stripe over your entrance.

You're not going to last long, and he knows this, from every twitch and squirm and whimper - he's preparing for your demise, humming in contentment while the lewd sounds of slickness continue.

He slips a finger inside of you, and then another once he realizes how soaked you are, and this proves to be the beginning of the end. You grip onto his forearms, needing to be grounded to something while he buries the digits inside of you, curling in a come hither motion.

It's all beyond what you thought pleasure could be, it's violet and red and all things euphoric behind your eyelids and the sound of his pleased groans are what finally have you giving out, melting against the couch cushions.

You're not sure if you're making any sound at all, honestly. It comes so quick, violent in it's force and you're hazy headed - tears welling in your eyes from the way he's still massaging you, licking you while your walls squeeze and contract around his fingers.

"That's it baby, mmm, let go."

The velvet voice is warm against your sensitive sex and you're still twitching as you peel your eyes open to peer down between your legs and see him there, staring up at you like you're the sun, slowing his movements while the aftershock of your orgasm seeps through you.

His knuckles are buried to the hilt inside of you and he pulls them out slowly, petal pink lips kissing your clit gently, adoringly. With your brain still foggy and embarrassment no longer present, you grab his wrist, bringing his slick soaked fingers to your mouth and wrapping your lips around them.

He moans an expletive and then he's hovering over you again, watching with a soaring heart as you suckle your juices clean from his digits, lashes fluttering when you open your eyes.

For once in his life, he's speechless. You have to pull him down to kiss you in order to breaks him from his reverie and it's now that he's realizing how excruciatingly hard he is. He doesn't remember the last time he's ever been this worked up without his dick even being touched for more than five minutes.

It's safe to say he's taken by surprise when your hand slips into his bottoms and briefs to palm him this time, and his body lurches against you while a desperate sound bellows in his throat.

"Baby." he coos, relishing in the softness of your palm, the difference in size of his own. He wants to protest when the intense bliss of it is gone, momentarily, only to feel your fingers attempting to pull his sweats down.

You're still buzzing from your orgasm but you've never been more positive about something; about someone. Your whole body feels as though it can't be satiated, not until you have all of him after having such a sweet taste.

"Please, now, want you now." You nibble on his bottom lip and he has to pull himself away or else he'll get too caught up in your mouth by itself, but he's on a mission - searching for his wallet and scrambling for it when he sees the leather square sitting on the floor.

The tips of your fingers and toes tingle with a mixture of unbearable anticipation, and nerves for what's about to come when he pulls the condom from his wallet and tears the corner of the foil.

It's just a second but it's enough to admire him silently, the twitch of his mouth, the elegance of his fingers even when they're eager and uncoordinated. A part of you feels overcome by the need to be encapsulated by his presence, for his skin to be a permanent silkiness against your lips.

He catches you in the midst of staring and it's like he's glowing from the inside out, pulling his pants down his thick thighs along with his black briefs, kicking them to the floor.

Without thinking your arms are reaching forward, gripping the small of his waist as if to still him, and he pauses at your will. He's cupping your chin with one hand while your fingertips explore underneath the hem of his shirt, and you're grateful that he's allowing you to soak this in, that he's not rushing despite the fact that both of you are like exposed lit wires.

"Here, let me take it off." His arms are reaching behind him before you can blink, biceps curling as he pulls his shirt off of his broad shoulders before discarding it with the rest of his clothing.

Your breath is audible, pupils blown wide while you examine the length of his torso and the permanent shapes that are marked there. Only patches of his honey skin peek through the array of tattoos he's got climbing his sides, over his chest, and you swear you've never seen someone so beautiful.

"Take mine off too." You barely manage to get out, and he's kissing your lips again with a soft sort of fondness, while his knuckles graze your skin and your shirt is being stripped from your body. He's back to kissing you and your naked chests meet for the first time, a fierceness gripping you by the throat when when when the shaft of his cock nudges your clit.

"You're sure about this?" He asks, gentle in the way he strokes your cheek with the back of his hand, pecking your mouth between glances at your nipples where they rub against him. His touch travels to your jaw and down your neck, before he's tweaking the buds between his fingers, and your legs wrap around his middle in an effort to solidify your answer.

"Yes, I'm sure," you run your fingers through his hair. "very sure."

Lips press against your cheek and then you're presented with the sight of him again, bare in front of you, just a few inches away. It's now that you really find the courage to look at him, not expecting to be out of breath and shock stricken once you lay your eyes upon his dick.

It's pretty, as pretty as you knew it had to be; curved just slightly, the tip swollen with arousal and a shade deeper than that of his lips that you've come to have photographically memorized.

You watch with probably more fascination than most while his slim fingers roll the condom onto his length, down the shaft that protrudes with a small vein right in the middle, until it's snug and securing the fact that you and Johnny Seo are about to have sex.

As always, here there right when you need him most, aiding you in forgetting about anything that isn't crucial to right now. His arms are wrapping around your thighs and pulling you closer - your small gasp doesn't go unnoticed.

And then, there's also the way he's looking at you, again. It's like he's compacted every emotion you could feel in a moment like this, and somehow managed to reflect it's opacity back at you through the glimmer of his irises.

You jerk your hips against him and he grins at your urgency, diverting his attention to the space between your legs and holding you steady by the hips with one hand while the other goes to grip his cock.

He levels his pelvis with yours and brings the pink head down to your entrance where it leaks for him, gathering the slickness and smearing it through your folds, around your clit.

His fingers search for yours and suddenly he's interlocking them while you feel the initial stretch of his dick finally entering you, a soft expletive leaving his mouth while he pushes himself into you halfway, peering down with half lidded eyes as a silent affirmation.

Your expression must be as expressive as the soft mewls that involuntarily fall from your lips, and he bottoms out while leaning down to kiss you as he's come to realize that this action is single handedly way more addictive than it should be.

You feel so full it's impossible not whine, and within seconds he's pulling himself out of you nearly all the way - mouth hovering over yours so he can watch your features contort when he sheathes himself back in with a snap of his hips.

With the need to hold on to something becoming incessant, he allows you to throw your arms around his neck while your thighs tremble around him, his hips creating a slow but steady pace that draws lewd sounds from between your bodies with every slow drag of his thick cock.

It's strange, how you provoke such tenderness within him when you shudder and pant beneath him despite the fact that he's barely done anything yet- a juxtaposition to the feral, nagging type of ache that brews in the center of his belly to have you even more a mess.

It's not that he's fairing any better, though. Even you can see that, feel it in the way he keeps his lips on your skin, trying and failing miserably to hold back his groans while your nails create crescent moons on the broad of his back.

"You - f-fuck you feel s-so good." He stutters, and if you could find your words maybe you'd even have the confidence to tease him, but right now all you can comprehend is the feeling in which he's providing, the nudge of his tip so deep inside of you.

"Faster, can you - oh yes, yes." It's like he knows what you want before you get it out all the way, and his tongue is warm against your throat while he obliges your request, furthering your haziness.

You're quick to realize that Johnny is a generous lover. Despite the fact that he's holding himself together on the edge of his coherency, he's already atuned to each tense of your muscles, the strain of sweet sounds you coo in his ear. He uses this as a guide, working his hips skillfully, circling when he pushes himself back in.

The fact that you're sopping wet helps as well, audibly soaked and your walls are taking him in so generously he doesn't know what to do with himself. Your hands are in his hair and tug at the dark strands without thinking, drawing a sweet, serene moan from the back of his throat.

"Mm, feels good?" He asks despite knowing the answer, your countenance painted with the colors of bliss. He peers down in between your bodies and almost regrets it due to the pulse it sends through his groin - threatening to send him over the edge too soon.

But it's a sight too mesmerizing, his entire length disappearing inside of you with an easy glide, his hips colliding with the back of your thighs and your clit waiting to be played with. You're just as taken by the sight, surrounded by only him, inside of you and around you like a life force. Your hands travel over anywhere and everywhere, down to his belly where the muscles flex underneath the painted skin with every thrust.

"So good, you feel s-so good Johnny." You're becoming even more petulant but he doesn't mind, not when you're clinging onto his biceps and mewling his name. He slips his tongue into your mouth while his hands cup the back of your knees, hiking your thighs up higher around his middle.

Your skin burns where he touches, his pace increasing and now you wouldn't be surprised if the neighbors knew exactly what it is that the two of you are doing, skin against skin and coos of pleasure echoing through your small apartment. You have a hard time forming thoughts that make sense.

"M' all the way up there baby," his voice is deceivingly sweet, hips dangerous and borderline ruthless now that you two are drenched in the essence of lust and desire, driven by your need to come undone. "such a sweet pussy."

He means it, too. Maybe that's what makes this all so much more enthralling. From the clench of his taut jaw, to the way his dark eyebrows are furrowed, even the crimson of his lips from the way he's been biting down on them - Johnny is nothing but honest. It's somehow stripped you of the shyness you'd normally be harboring, compelling your mouth to speak without a filter.

"It's all yours, I'm yours."

This seems to spur him on, more than you thought because now he's all but cradling you in his arms, mouthing his words against your lips, not allowing even a centimeter of space to reside between the two of your bodies. It feels whole, complete.

"Mm, yeah sweetheart? Mine. Fuck, you're all mine."

It's a growled statement and you quiver against his solid form, warmed from the inside out like a furnace and set ablaze. You're still sensitive from his mouth but that doesn't change the orb of pressure within your belly, or the waves of pleasure that spread through your thighs and up your spine from the way your clit is rubbing against his pelvis while his cock reaches new depths.

You should've known his mouth would be filthy, and it's really ticking every box you've literally ever needed to be ticked and you're sort of embarrassed by how far gone you are already, properly mewling with your fingers gripping onto his bulged biceps where he uses them to hold himself up.

His face is a sight to behold in itself, as well - plush lips parted, cheeks hot and a shade of deep, ravishing plum. If he weren't steadily hitting that sweet spot inside of you maybe you'd actually be able to keep your eyes open long enough to admire it more - but it's obvious it won't be long until you're unraveling.

He's thankful, in a way. Because you're sighing out sweet words that profess how good he's doing, and he swears that he's never felt anything as good as this. Through and through. You're made for him, wrapped around his being, tight like cellophane and it's silly but this is all he's dreamed of for months.

"Open your eyes sweetheart," his hips stutter at the same time you involuntarily squeeze around the tip of his cock as he goes to seep back into you and you're drawn to the plead of his voice. "let me - fuck, let me be yours, please?"

His voice is honey, coating you in it's sweetness and you're teetering on the edge of your release. It beckons you soothingly, like a siren in the wake of a wave and it doesn't calm when you pull him down to your mouth by the nape of his neck, your shared groans being swallowed by the other. Your thighs are a vice around his waist, keeping him locked against you as he grinds his cock into you.

"You're mine, J-John- oh, oh please." His fingers have reached down in the limited space between your shared skin to rub your clit in circles and you know this is it - mind and body completely encircled by everything he's made of, the scent of his skin and the heat of his body and even the way he says your name.

"Want you to cum for me, please, please cum for me baby." His breath is warm against your ear, a vibration that wracks through all of your senses and your body knows it's coming before you do - instantly under the influence of his begs and pleas.

You're descending, voice nothing but a gasp and an echo of an expletive when the dam inside of you finally bursts - leaving you to tremble like a leaf beneath him while the feeling threatens to consume you inch by inch, nerve by nerve. 

You've all but gone limp, bright dots of light flitting through your vision and you feel his mouth everywhere, like a soft, warm reassurance that he's not going anywhere while you spasm around him.

"Just like that, oh fuck, yeah just like that."

In this place of completeness, you bask in the rise in octave of his usually low timbred voice, in the way he's holding you so firmly in his arms, as if scared to let go and put even an inch of separation between the two of you.

You're still twitching when you feel him throb inside of you, your name a warm whisper against the side of your neck while he pumps himself into you with no real rhythm; filling the condom with spurts of his cum while your fingers gently scratch the back of his scalp, through his hair.

Your breaths are ragged and have only that in common, his weight comforting despite the fact that both of you are in such a fragile state. It all feels surreal, like maybe you’ll wake up soon even with his cock still buried inside of you, half hard. More than anything, it feels right. Apprehension nor guilt nor worry brews underneath your skin, instead overshadowed by pure elation.

Wet pecks travel across your throat like marks of gratitude and your smile is automatic, involuntary.

"I meant it, you know," he's out of breath but concise, palm cupping the side of your face as he makes his way to your mouth and kisses you there, afraid to look you in the eyes. "about...about what I want. About wanting you."

You actually do laugh this time, suddenly outrageously giddy at the words leaving his pretty mouth, mildly entertained by the fact that someone could be almost as oblivious as you are. Almost.

He looks worried for only a split second until you're kissing his face, over his nose and fuchsia cheeks, a feather against the soft autumn ground.

"I meant it too," your voice is light, airy and he swears he'd believe anything you told him, even if it weren't as absolutely resolute as it is right now; your smile against his lips like a seal of promise. He meets your gaze, and everything within him calms, settles.

"I'm yours. And you're mine."

This, he thinks to himself, is all he's wanted to hear since the day you looked up at him with all the stars in your eyes.

Completely worth Jaehyun stealing his Armani denim jacket, honestly.

[kirschteinsj]

Pinky Promises

Nanami x fem! reader

Warnings: nothing too much! maybe language but overall just a bunch of fluff and lovey dovey stuff 

Word Count: 2.9k

Summary: Domestic Nanami and reader, just thinking about how much they love each other. sappy and cute stuff.

A/N: Hi! ^_^ Second time posting, I’ve had this one shot saved for a bit now! finally posting it lolz. I've noticed a lot of people have written domestic Nanami pics or drawn art, very glad society as a whole has this perception of him. it truly heals the soul I think. anyway, I hope u like this and sorry if there’s any grammar errors I wasnt able to catch U_U im thinking of doing a hc post next.... unsure hm, we’ll see ^_^!!

“I’m hooooome.” He says loudly as he steps through the apartment door, setting his briefcase down and taking off his beige coat. Putting down the grand kitchen knife she was using to chop up spinach, she rushed to the door with a smile and engulfed the tall blonde into a tight hug, saying hello. She took a deep breath, inhaling the soft scent of his cologne, the smell of something sour and musty soon taking over. Her face scrunched up and she let out a giggle.

“Oh god, Nanami, you stink, what did you go against today?”

“Nothing too bad. Just a grade 3,” He sighed “A smelly grade 3.” He sounded disappointed, probably because he knew he stunk too. Though the smell was horrendous, she still remained in his arms and he still held on just as tight.

“Are you tired? I was thinking of making dinner with you tonight but if you’re too tired I can-”

“No no. I’m fine. Just let me wash up and I’ll help out.”

“You sure?” She asked looking up towards him, questioning once more to reassure. He looked down and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head.

“I’m sure, dear.”

While he showers upstairs, she gets back to readying the ingredients so they could begin cooking their masterpiece as soon as possible. Tonight she had chosen chicken alfredo with a tossed salad; One could say it was her favourite, but saying that would imply that she would eat it when cooked and served by whomever. But to her, she would only eat it when it was him who had made it for her.

Y/n adored him. He adored her. To her, he was her light. She could simply not imagine life without him, not after he had come in and changed her in such a way. She never in a million years would have thought to be so in love with someone. To have known someone who cared enough to hear all about her day or listen to all her tangents, whether they made sense or not. Who listened to her talk forever about anything just so he could see the faint glow of passion in her eyes. Someone who remembered the small details in regards to the things she loved and the things she despised; Like how she hated the feeling of peanut butter on her fingers and how she absolutely admired the scent of fresh pages in a new book. Sometimes, she felt undeserving of him.

He admired her like no other. Never did he believe he’d be capable of opening up to anyone in such a way, at least not until she walked into his life. He could write a million lists, all full of everything he loved about her. The way she smiled cheekily at him after a witty remark, how she'd give every hug as if it was the last, the way she was oh so patient with him. It took him time to become vulnerable in the slightest, he just didn’t know how to do so without burdening her. She knew his job was hard, he’d told her. But rather than running away like he expected, she stayed with him right by his side. She refused to leave him over that. If anything, it made her want to stay more since she felt the need to be there for him. It felt like a punch to the gut but a good one. “So, is this love?” He had asked himself then. Nanami had someone who brought out the much more joyful side to him. At the end of the day, he knew he’d walk through the front door only to see her, arms wide open and with a big smile offering a cozy hug. She was his home. Sometimes, he felt undeserving of her.

Putting the final piece of broccoli into the container, she tidies any clutter and went back to their shared bedroom. Sinking into the bed and falling on it with a plush thump, she lets out a deep sigh mixed with some sort of a groan. She herself was exhausted from work too to say the least. She didn’t deal with curses or anything like that, but she did teach a class of 9 year olds which one could consider just as frustrating. Yawning, she checks her phone to read the time: 6:15 PM. Nanami hadn’t been in the shower for too long, a small nap wouldn’t hurt. Quickly, she settled for a little 30 minute nap. That way, she could get up soon enough to help him out in the kitchen and not abandon him to do everything on his own. She turns her phone off and slowly, her eyes shut.

…

Y/n slowly opens her eyes and notices a grey throw blanket placed on her, something that she doesn’t recall going to bed with earlier. “Must’ve been Nanami.” Grabbing her phone, she turns the screen on, wincing at the incredible blue light piercing into her skull. “Fuck.” she mumbles. Once her eyes adjust, she glances back at the screen for the time: 7:30.

“FUCK,” she says, voice croaking “I overslept.” With the speed of light, she leaves bed and runs down the hall to the bathroom to freshen up. She soon makes her way over to the kitchen silently, slightly ashamed and guilty. Y/n mumbles a whine with a frown, “He’s probably done making things now. I could have helped.”

The kitchen is filled with the delicate scents of sauces, cheese and herbs. She watches him from the door frame, admiring her boyfriend. He stood in front of the stove mixing at the sauce for the alfredo, which scent alone made her mouth water. Nanami seems to be in his own world, as he stands humming to himself softly, stirring the pot of sauce and adding in the broccoli and spinach, not seeming to notice y/n. With a final stir, he carefully sets the lid and turns to rinse his hands. Her gaze sits upon his figure, how his grey oversized shirt slightly clings to his shoulders and loosens as it goes down his body. Looking down, she noticed the bright red christmas pyjamas he had on, the ones with adorable little reindeers all over them. Grinning, she remembers how she had bought those for him. She purchased a matching set for the two of them and insisted on wearing them all day on Christmas last year. Nanami had responded to the idea with a stern “No” which left y/n in shambles. She didn’t expect him to agree, but hey, a girl can dream. However, on Christmas day, lo and behold, she had woken up to find Nanami sitting on the couch, watching the news with his reindeer PJs on. Immediately, she had attacked him with hugs and kisses and all Nanami did was sit there and accept them, secretly loving it the whole time.

A deep voice throws her out of her thoughts. “You know, it’s rude to stare, right?”

Y/n chuckles quietly and makes her way over, wrapping her arms around him from behind, snuggling into his back.

“I like to stare at you, you’re cute,” she breathes in his scent once again, “ah, you smell so much better now. Like the nami I know.”

“I am not cute. I am a grown man.”

“C’mon, you can’t possibly be saying that right now. Not while you’re wearing these pants.” She coos, gently patting his butt. He goes silent, refusing to rebuttal knowing that he’s lost. He leans against the counter, his front facing her. Though he didn’t say anything, y/n sees this as an open invite to his arms. The rope of his arms finds her waist this time, her arms in an embrace around his neck.

“Whatever, tell me, how was your day, hm?” He posed, changing the subject.

“Same old, yenno. The kids and I had a discussion today about drugs and safety. It was cute, hearing them rat out their neighbours for smoking cigs and talk about how yucky they thought alcohol is. It was… sweet. How was work for you, hon?”

“Shit.” He retorts, closing his eyes, “Work is shit.”

“Oh come ON, I’m sure it’s not always that bad, right? Say, how’s your friend doing, you know, the one who kinda looks like one of my makeup brushes! Isn’t he good company?”

“Yeah, if good company means having to deal with a nuisance to society on a daily basis then by all means, yes, Gojo is wonderful company.” He joked, loosening his grip on her and making his way over to the stove to check on his sauce. She follows, opening the first drawer and pulling out a silver spoon, “You’re so mean sometimes. I think he’s a great guy to be around! I met him once, such a flirt.”

He teases calmly, “If you love him so much, why don’t you get with him?”

Taking her spoon, she lowers it into the pot and brings it back up to her face, blowing on it carefully before she puts it to her lips to taste. “Hmm, I would. But I don’t think he’s as big as you. I’ll have to pass.” She smirked, putting the spoon into her mouth as he watched and sighed in disappointment.

He glares,“God, you’re something else.”

“I’m just kidding, babe.” Bringing her spoon down for another taste. He swats at her hand and she retreats it with a whine. “Don’t do that. You’ve tried it already, and will again when we get to eat.” He scolded tenderly, “Plus, you shouldn’t be given these privileges anyway. It’s not like you helped out or anything.” He smiled, teasing her.

“Nanamiiii, I’m sorry,” she whines, half laughing, “I promise, I was going to help! I just got a little bit sleepy and sort of lost track of time…” He turned over to her and lifted her face with a finger under her chin. Laughing, he delicately caresses her cheek, tapping it admirably with a curled finger. The blonde chuckles and looks her in the eyes, “I’m just joking with you, love. I know you’ve been tired lately, I can tell. Why haven’t you been resting?”

Her smile falls and she sighs. Y/n wrapped her arms around his waist and brought him into her, hiding her face into his chest. It was true, she was exhausted but she didn’t deem it to be anything so serious. Work was just heavy this past week from having to grade her students’ work in time for report cards. All she wanted was the best for her kids and was finding ways to get the kids out of their comfort zones enough to do well in class. That reminded her, Nanami also mentioned having a student of his own.

She takes her face out of his chest and glances upwards. “It’s just this week of work, I promise I’ll be back to normal soon. I’ve just been busy with lesson plans and activities, yenno. Anyway, speaking of students, how’s the one you’ve been assigned to?” She posed in a soft tone. Half smiling, he turned around to add the strained pasta to the sauce, scattering it into the pot.

“He’s special. Quite lively. And cheerful. He reminds me of you sometimes,” his voice strains as he stretches to grab the bowl of cooked chicken to finally add into the pot, finishing the meal, “He’s got potential.” Y/n beamed with happiness. Nanami really seemed to like this kid and if he thought you had potential, then it sure as hell meant you had it.

She lets out a squeal, “EEEEEEK!!! That sounds amazing! I’m so happy for you!” Nanami suppressed a laugh and rolled his eyes, “It’s not that-”

“This calls for a drink, don’t you think?” She babbled with excitement, “We should have some wine! Right?”

Grabbing her wrist as she skipped her way over to the bottle, he reminded her, “You have school tomorrow. You always end up having more than needed and struggle to wake up in the morning.” Y/n frowned at his words, to which he noticed and tried to fix, “Tomorrow’s Friday, you can drink plenty tomorrow, hm? I’ll drink with you.”

“Ugh, fine. You’re right. But you have to promise.”

“I promise you ca-”

“No! You have to pinky-promise.” She demanded, pouting as he stuck out her pinky finger.

His heart skips a beat. Was she always this cute? Her angelic eyes stare into his tired ones. Bottom lip poking out, awaiting Nanami’s pinky to interlock with her own. He knew she took pinky-promises very seriously despite her grown age. It was among one of the many petty details that he cherished. Something about this pinky-promise was enough for her to ensure trust onto someone, it made him laugh. Her naivety is what made her so kind hearted, what allowed her to see the best in people. He felt that this naivety is why they’re together to begin with. He didn’t ever think she’d give him a chance. He reminisced of their first few encounters. The way she did her hair back then, the way she dressed, her shy smile and how she’d look at the floor whenever she’d blush. Maybe it was her timid nature that made him fall head over heels for her. Or maybe it was her generosity. Perhaps her beauty. He was unable to simply confine the reasoning for his infatuation with just a few traits. She grew overtime, more comfortable and less shy, she was more confident around him but he knew he could still make her blush so badly that she’d have to hide her face from him. He enjoyed their banter, her company. He felt it was luck. Or maybe it was fate. Who knows. He didn’t want to think so much about it. He wanted to live in the moment, adore her in this present time. In that instance, he felt the strong urge to kiss her. And so he did.

The kiss was short and sweet, yet full of an unfathomable amount of love. It took her aback, she didn’t quite see it coming. She too stood in the present moment, then and there, cherishing the man she loved.

His lips leave hers and he extends the smallest finger on his hand, declaring, “I pinky-promise.” And a ginormous grin washes over her face. In a whisper, she squeals and scoops her arms around his torso, resting her head onto his chest. They stay like this for a while, not too long really, but to them it felt like an eternity being in each other’s affectionate embrace. He goes to speak and she feels the vibrating boom of his voice make his way up from his chest.

“I love you.”

She sighs, “I love you too.”

Turning her head, y/n smoothly gets on her tip toes and clasps her arms around his neck, giving it a tender kiss and attempting to make a trail leading up to his sharp jaw. Catching onto her tactics he laughs, putting his big hand against her face and pushing her back.

“Seriously?” He chuckles, “You couldn’t wait till after dinner? Come on, take out the plates.”

“Wait for what? I was just kissing you! You’re so dramatic, Nami.” She lies, playing innocent. She knew damn well what she was trying to do. She wasn’t going to admit to it though. Taking out the plates and utensils, she readied the table.

…

After dinner and meaningless conversation, the two lovers tidied and headed towards their room. “Do yo wana wah a mohee tomowwow nie?” Y/n proposed from the bathroom as she brushed her teeth. He perks his head up, confused, “Do I want to what?” She spat into the sink and rinsed her mouth, repeating her question.

“I said, do you wanna watch a movie tomorrow night? Like at home? There’s this documentary I saw on Netflix, it looks really good! It’s crime related.”

“That sounds fine with me. Though, that’s only possible if you don’t end up drinking too much. I always have to get you to sleep early when you drink.” He states nonchalantly, nose poked into a thick book. She rolls her eyes and smiles, “I promise I won’t drink all that much.” Shifting his book to the opposing hand, Nanami silently takes his pinky finger and holds it out to y/n. She snickers and reciprocates.

“You’ve now pinky-promised. Don’t break it, y/n.”

“I never do.”

The nightstand lamp illuminates the room with a soft yellow glow. Shadows of objects on the nightstand hang on the walls. Laying in bed on her phone, y/n turns over to Nanami, who was still reading his book. “Nami, come lay next to me, I wanna cuddle. Please?” Her voice faint. He looks down at her and puts his book away immediately. He could use a cuddle too. Bringing himself down, he lays on his back, y/n closing the gap between the two. Their legs intertwine, her arm and head resting on his chest while one of his hands rested on her bum, the other dotingly playing with her hair. Neither of them spoke a word for a while. Until y/n broke the silence.

“So, were there no other pairs of pants you had left to wear or-”

“Please, be quiet.”

[cinnamonest]

Yandere Profile - Izuku Midoriya/Deku (BNHA/MHA)

I'm showing up in tags again yay! Time to repost this

Finally I am dishing out MHA content and kicking off with one of my favorite boys nice

TWs: Fem!Reader, Yandere, kidnapping, delusional mindsets, infantilization, mentions of violence/mutilation, mentions of murder, mentions of fake suicide, n//s//fw themes/mentions/brief content, mentions of virginity/sex shaming, dark content, mentions of a high school setting

TWs (n//s//fw section/below the cut): noncon, brief dealing with/mentions of past sex trauma, generally depraved/dark content, pain content, infantilization What are they generally like? Lucid, aware? Obsessive? How do they behave?

High key delusional. (I think everyone I've seen in the yan bnha community agrees on this lmao.) But really, he acts that way because he's not naturally that way - he has to make an active effort to lie to himself and to you in order to believe his delusions.

Obsessive. I mean, look at what this boy does to his heroes. You bet he has an entire notebook dedicated to your existence. It starts off simple, an entry regarding your quirk if you have one, or perhaps he feels compelled to write a simple entry about someone he met if you don't. Gradually it turns into a log of all his encounters with you, his observations of your day, his thoughts about you, a strict schedule of what you do. The things you do while he watches - you KNOW the boy is a stalker. He has a folder in his phone gallery of just quick snaps he's taken of you walking around, smiling, laughing, looking at your phone, lots of pictures from the back, sleeping at your desk, and a few more risky ones. The time he accidentally walked into the wrong shower room after a class and just happened to catch you getting out of the shower. Slightly blurry pictures through the window of the girls dorm of you getting dressed, laying in bed, sitting at your desk doing homework. Dark, barely visible images of your sleeping form just barely illuminated by moonlight. You really ought to lock those windows.

He's on the border where he's just comfortable enough to talk to you, but far too nervous to ever confess, or spend as much time with you as he'd like. Of course, preferably he could spend every waking moment by your side, but, he's aware enough to know you need space. He's fine with that. He's technically with you anyway, you just don't know it. And really, he likes stalking, genuinely. He likes the feeling of knowing you're unaware of his presence, the thrill of risk and the giddy satisfaction he gets knowing this is your candid, non-performing self, he can see what you're really, truly like when you think you're alone, and it's just so cute.

Particularly for a quirkless, civilian darling, or if darling's quirk has no combative purposes, he'll be much more protective. He's one to have the delusion that you're too fragile for the world, and that you're inevitably bound to get hurt, it's not safe out there. You're like a little kitten, one that's just a little too curious for her own good, doesn't know how big and bad the world is, how people who want to hurt her are out there. Kittens stay inside all day where they belong, safe to be the soft little housepets they are.

History/info stalker as well. He will find out everything about your past and you in general - memorize things like your height, birthday, grades, blood type, etc. Will also deep-dive through any social media you have, even managing to find anonymous ones, probably by sneaking through your phone as your sleep. He'll learn about your family, how well they treat you, gauges how hard they'll search for you. He'll want to know about any history you have regarding relationships and sex, too. He'll be disappointed to learn you've ever been with and done things with someone else, but that's ok. Everyone makes mistakes, and he can forgive that.

Massive savior complex. This goes double if he did save you from a situation -- he's literally your hero. And he expects that you should at least be grateful enough to acknowledge that. If your family or boyfriend or past boyfriends were abusive or unkind in any way, if you were generally struggling in school or work, if you had any sort of bad life, it will also emphasize this, and he feels he saved you from all of that, and is giving you a better life. And he'll remind you, frequently.

How likely are they to kidnap their darling? How quickly will they do so?

Inevitable, but he's a planner and he takes some time. He's smarter than he seems and he will formulate an extensive plan. If we're talking senior Izuku, well, he's limited, as he only has the dorms and his old apartment where his mother lives. He's likely to wait it out until post-graduation, wait until he gets his own place, which will now be as soon as possible. Whenever you plan to start university or hero work or whatever, well, you'll never actually make it there.

As for how, it depends on your trust. If he's managed to get close to you as he hopes to, at least to the point of friendship, he'll likely just invite you over, one last time before you go your separate ways in life. You walk right into your own imprisonment, not thinking anything is off when he locks the door behind you. If not, if he was never that close to you, or you turn down his offer, well, he'll just do it the old fashioned way. You're a naive little thing, and you'll inevitably be walking by yourself at night at some point for whatever reason, and he knows how to make chloroform. He may look small-ish, but he has a deceptive strength even without the use of OFA, you can't actually hope to overpower him. If he can't catch you out walking, well, once again, you really ought to lock those windows.

Now, a hero Deku, a few years into his 20s and quickly gaining popularity, that sees some poor little civilian getting hurt, he'll just use the excuse of taking you to get help. Clearly you've suffered a concussion, you're not in your right mind, and if you pick up on what's going on and try to call for help, he'll just say so to passersby. People have no reason to distrust him, he's a well-reputed, extremely popular hero, he would never harm someone. So when he says he's just taking you to get medical assistance, no one bats an eye.

How difficult is it to escape from them? How do they keep you restrained? How do they deal with attempted escape? 

Like some of my previous yans, he's one that will intentionally set up escape opportunities just to see how well your conditioning is going. Leave the door unlocked, but sit and wait outside. Make the bonds just a little bit too loose to see if you wiggle out of them. Leave things that could be used as lockpicks to see how smart you are. It's all a test, though, don't worry. He'll be waiting right outside to make sure you don't actually end up going out into the world and getting yourself hurt. He'll be disappointed in you, but don't worry, he's not too mad - it's just his way of knowing you don't understand yet.

Generally, it's tight security. He's one to invest in electronic security -- a shock collar, tracking anklets, cameras that sense motion, a bracelet that tracks your heartbeat, and all of which send him notifications to his phone if anything is out of the ordinary. The cameras he'll be able to watch a live stream of at any time - he's gotten to where he eats lunch alone in his office so that he can just kick back and watch you.

Now, he has something of an urge to show you off, he would love nothing more than for the world to see what a cute little wife he has, but he restrains this urge for your safety. He has a lot of enemies, and he can't have them knowing about his weakness, he can't stand the thought of you getting hurt because of him. So don't expect to even have anyone who knows about you to rely on.

As for attempts... Should you manage to get through all his measures, well, clearly that means they weren't enough. He's another yandere that, you probably shouldn't try unless you are one hundred percent certain you'll succeed, because if not you likely won't get another chance. Security measures will bump up, and he'd likely implant something in you - a tracking chip beneath the skin, deep enough you can't hope to cut it out. That way, even if you get out into the city, he can easily find you and save you again. If you seriously manage to escape for a while, he doesn't handle it well emotionally, to be honest, he might get pretty upset, but again, everyone makes mistakes, so if you apologize -- and you will, even if he has to resort to unpleasant measures to force one out of you -- he'll forgive you.

How easy are they to trick, deceive, or manipulate?

Izuku is significantly smarter than he seems, much like his strength. Despite his deluded nature, he still recognizes that, since she's too dumb to comprehend her own safety, she's likely to try and pull tricks to get back out of her cage. He's perceptive and can read facial expressions and tone of voice very well, so if you're a good liar there's about a 75% chance he'll pick up on it -- anything else and he definitely will.

He's likely to go along with it, just to expose your lies or plan in the end. He likes giving you the humiliation because it will hopefully make you even less likely to do it in the future.

How lenient are they? What privileges can you have, and what will you be denied?

Izuku goes out of his way to keep you well-entertained, but it's all very... infantilizing. For example, he gets you streaming services and the like, but puts parental content locks on everything so you basically can only consume extremely g-rated type of content. He doesn't want you watching anything violent, or dirty or vulgar, it's not suiting such an innocent little thing. He won't even let you watch the news, unless occasionally forcing you to watch something that he knows is being aired about him, in which case he wants you to see so you're reminded of how good he is. He'll also be able to see your search history, and know if you tried to look up anything he wouldn't approve of, especially things like lockpicking or "how to disable human shock collar," you know, that sorta thing. Or more... adult things, which are also blocked. Besides, you have him, you don't need that.

He'll let you cook, but only in his presence, can't have you getting hurt without him there to fix it. You'll probably start off restrained to a bedroom -- a very heavily safety-proofed one -- in the beginning, gradually earning the privilege of going to other rooms once you've proven you can be trusted.

He'll also really try to get you almost anything you want, really. Clothes, books, hobby supplies, anything he thinks will make you happy and adjust more easily. You can use this to your advantage, really, if you're willing to settle in for your new lifestyle.

What kind of rules do they have? What kind of punishment would they use?

Of course, besides the obvious no escaping, no outside contact, and no attacking him, he's actually still got a lot of behavioral rules. Much like the content he allows you to consume, he expects the same from you -- no cursing, no drinking, no vulgarity. No handling knives while he's gone, and he'll know if you do, from the motion-sensing cameras that will alert him of your presence in the kitchen. He's one to humiliate you. Specifically, if you've proven you can't behave at all, or tried to really fight him, he'll get you a nice big cage to live in until you have learned your lesson. The kind they make for big dogs, short enough to force you on all fours, complete with bedding, a padlock, and a water bowl for you to drink from. You'll stay there until you can understand what you did wrong and are ready to grovel at his feet about it. During that time, he'll also ignore anything you say, acting like you're not there.

How do they deal with rivals, or perceived rivals? Will they get rid of them? Will they kill them themselves, or find another way?

He can't risk anything that would damage his reputation and career, so murder is off the table. Unless, of course, it's not murder, but rather a sort of, how do they call it... suicide by hero. There was no other choice, really. It's sad to have a kill on his record, but people understand that sometimes these things happen.

This changes if someone has hurt you in any way -- in that case, he's not hesitating to actually kill someone. The thought of someone hurting his little treasure is infuriating, not only at them, but at himself for not coming into your life and saving you sooner. He'll be sure they know exactly why they're dying, that they spend their last moments begging for forgiveness for what they did to you.

How easy is it to make them mad? What does their anger look like?

Easier than you'd think. Izuku doesn't like his delusions being challenged since, again, he has to put in effort to believe them in the first place. If you're being bratty and having tantrums he won't let it slide - even the slightest step out of line is dealt with to ensure you'll at least hesitate before doing it again. If you are the bratty type and blatantly go out of your way to defy him and his rules to his face, it's ground for immediate and pretty intense punishment. His anger is terrifying in its own way. He's beaming, grinning from ear to ear, talking to you so sweetly, but with just the most subtle underlying tone that lets you know he's furious. It's a warning voice, telling you to fix your attitude or else. He doesn't cease the babytalk or petnames when he's mad, it actually gets worse, it helps him contain his fury. But when you hear him say sweetheart in that quiet, sweet, but low voice you've come to recognize and immediately become afraid, he's pretty pleased when it reaches a point where that alone can shut you up. He believes there's a healthy degree of fear that pets should have of their masters.

The easiest and fastest way to set him off by far, though, even more than being mean or disobedient, is silent treatment. That sets him off unlike anything else, and is most likely to make him snap to actual, unrestrained anger, finally showing his true rage and snarling at you, grabbing you by the throat and lifting you off the ground. It will only last a few moments, though, before he comes back to his senses and lets go, apologizing, telling you he hates doing that, but you really seem to try to make him mad, sometimes.

So they see you as above them, beneath them, or equal to them?

He kinda bounces back and forth. He's a bit of a worshipper, telling you how beautiful and amazing you are and how he doesn't deserve you, really no one does, you're angelic, nearly a goddess - but at the same time, you're also his little kitten. A pet to be controlled because you don't know what's good for you. Kept away from a world hellbent on harming you. When you agree with him or do what he wants, it's the former. When you disagree with him, it's the latter, and he talks down to you like you're a child.

How determined are they for you to love them? How hard will they try to make it happen? Or are they content just having you?

He'll try until the day he dies. And try he does, very much so, always buying you gifts, telling you sweet things, reassuring you how much he loves you. Even if you show no sign of ever giving in, that doesn't deter him, ever the optimist. It can become infuriating... and maddening, slowly driving you to the brink of insanity. When it comes down to you trying to break him of his delusions versus him trying to break you into them... he will win, you will crack first. No matter how stubborn you think you may be, rest assured, he's even moreso.

Bonus: Is there anything that makes them unique, in comparison to other yanderes?

I have a unique little headcanon... he hints to someone about your existence, and will select someone as a back-up caretaker. See, he's worried about the possibility of being killed in his heroism, and what would happen to his poor little kitten then? It might be weeks before someone enters his apartment, and they would never understand -- they would think he did something wrong, they would try to recondition you to the world, sure they'd have good intentions, but they wouldn't realize they're making things worse for you. So, he gets a very trusted friend, someone he knows would understand and... perhaps whom he gets the feeling has a bit of the same tendencies as himself, and more or less tells them that if something should happen to him, they need to go to his place, because something very important to him is there. As jealous as the thought of someone else having you makes him, he can't bear the thought of you being released back into the world... and you're still in the denial phase, so you still act like he's a bad guy and all that, so you might tarnish his name and legacy with lies. He can't have that. So, after careful consideration, he picks someone to take over as your caretaker, should something happen. He would rather know you're in the capable hands of someone he trusts than left to starve in his apartment or thrown out into the world, even if it means someone else having you.

Maybe an odd choice, but I could see him going for Shoto on that one. His personality may be very different from his own, and he may not be as close to him as some others, but he senses they have the same... tendencies and inclinations (am I implying he's definitely a yandere too? Yes), and be trusts him to care for you but also be able to handle and tame you. And honestly? He's one person he knows without a doubt will actually prefer to follow through and have you rather than disregarding his wishes - anyone else, and he's got a little doubt they might just not understand the situation, not understand your unique case, and take you to the police or God forbid, just release you back into the world. He leaves a little note with you (making sure to detail how you can be hard to handle, be patient with her, ok?) and tells you that should anyone with this physical description (I mean, it's a pretty unique description, not too many people look like Shoto), ever come and tell you that he's gone, give them the note, and be nice to your new owner, he's sure he'll love you too. But never forget, he loved you more.

General perverseness: how sexual of a person are they? What’s their drive like? How touchy do they get? Do they have any reservations about sexuality?

Horny lil thing. His stalking tendencies result in a lot of perverted shit -- stealing your clothes, jerking off to all those pictures of you he's taken, putting hidden microphones in your room so he can hear when you're touching yourself. He's got a high drive, and jerks off quite a bit. Watching you in class often leads to his thoughts racing, and you notice he gets up to use the bathroom pretty frequently during class.

Prior to abduction, he's not brave enough to be touchy, although he will use his innocent demeanor to try and get a nice full-front hug every now and then that seems to last just a bit too long for comfort. After abduction, though? He makes up for all the touching he's wanted to do since he first saw you, wrapping arms around you all the time. When you're cooking he'll come up behind you and just wrap his arms around you, standing there and just enjoying feeling you. At night he's always very cuddle and wants to snuggle on the sofa or have you in his lap in some way. He also gets very grope-y beyond that point, frequently reaching up to cup your chest in his hands, squeezing your ass or thighs, or just spooning and grinding a hard-on against your ass.

How forceful are they? Do they care about your willingness?

Too far into the delusions to care. Granted he understands why you are so resistant, why you fight so hard - you're just scared, but don't worry, it will only hurt just a little bit. Or you're insecure - he'll tell you lots of sweet things, he would just hate for you to not know how much he worships you, you know.

Or maybe you're just prudish, or traumatized. Repeated resistance with time and failure to quickly give in leads him to this conclusion, he becomes convinced that maybe you were raised in a sex-negative environment, a too-conservative household, and you were taught to think such a thing was wrong. Maybe you had some kind of negative experience in the past. If you confess to either of these being true, that just solidifies in his mind that that's the sole reason you're so resistant. He'll adjust based on whatever the issue is - are you one of the "until marriage" people? Well it's not official, but he'll try to prove to you that you're basically married, even make a fake contract for you to sign, buy you a cute white dress and a cake and basically say this is no different from being truly married, after all, the government approval is a modern convention and in the past people were married just by vows.

Is it trauma? Well, as said before, he's reluctant to murder, but if that turns out to be the case, that knowledge is enough to push him over the edge, and he'll be sure to make them regret it while they die - he'll even be sweet enough to take a picture, show you how much they rightfully suffered, and he'll be so so sweet, reassuring you he's not like them, kissing your forehead even as he's ignoring your little cries to stop and sinking deep into you.

Just a prude? That's ok. He'll teach you otherwise, rid you of that mindset -- all the more reason to ignore your struggles and pleas, because once you feel good enough, you'll stop resisting. Once you understand how good sex is and how nice he can make you feel, he's confident he can turn you into his own little cock-hungry slut. And managing to do so -- making you cum despite how prudish you are -- gives him a massive ego boost. Especially if you did have past partners, because clearly they weren't doing their job well, since you're so frigid. He'll make you tell him how much better he is than anyone else from before.

He's not a patient man, he's far too eager and really there's nothing you can do to stop sex from happening like... probably within the first hour of your new life together. He's been waiting such a long time, you know. If you happened to be a civilian in the situation mentioned previously, and you didn't know each other beforehand, he might give you, say, 24 hours to adjust, but again, he's not patient.

What sort of kinks or fetishes do they have, or would they fill?

Oral fixation

Just. He likes eating you out. A lot. Even if you don't. Even if he has to restrain you, holding you down so you can't squirm away. He likes the taste and the way it makes you squirm and writhe and whimper. He loves blowjobs, too. Just. Suck him off and he's wrapped around your finger, but be warned, he lacks self control in this area and will definitely end up grabbing your hair and just jerking your head like a fleshlight, forcing you to deep-throat him until he can cum down your throat.

Infantilization/Lingerie, corruption/defilement

Specifically the cute kind. He likes things like the kitty keyhole lingerie, thigh highs, schoolgirl uniforms, that sort of thing. Innocent looking, cutesy, lots of soft pinks and pastel colors. He never really ceases treating you like a dumb baby, even with sex, cooing at you and making you whimper, softly reassuring you everything is ok, and he'll make you feel good. He likes the innocence, even if you're not (convinces himself any past boyfriends "don't count" for whatever reason), and gets off to the idea that he's corrupting that innocence, ruining you, making you his and his alone. His little toy to play with and break and ruin, make sure you're so trained to his body and voice that no one else could ever make you feel as good as him. As aforementioned, he likes the idea of taking a little prude and turning you into a little cumslut that begs and whimpers for him. It's an ego, pride thing for him.

Petplay/D/S dynamic/Worship

Just. Kitten. It's good. He's super into the cat ears and tail, finding cute ears that perfectly match your hair color, and a little tail plug that makes you whimper when he slides it inside of you. Definitely calls you "kitten," or "kitty," and importantly, makes sure you call him your master. And good pets love their masters, worship them the way they deserve to be worshipped for taking care of you, feeding you, doing everything for you. Masters are their pets' whole world, and he will be to you, too. Also buys a collar, a nice thick one with a leash he can use to make you walk around on all fours, or use to yank you back onto him when you're getting fucked on your hands and knees.

Cockwarming

Unfortunately, the part of hero work they don't talk about as much is the paperwork. There's quite a bit, actually, and studying for license renewals. He's got a kinda short attention span and he needs some stimulation to keep him focused. Which is how you end up sitting in his lap at his desk, panties down on your ankles, holding perfectly still with him deep inside of you. He tells you not to move -- you'll distract him too much. Eventually, though, it can get to be too much, so he just ends up fucking up into you right there, but after he's done he'll stay inside, gradually getting hard again and repeating the process.

How do they feel about pregnancy or babies? Do they want them?

He likes the idea in theory, but ultimately decides against it for a couple of reasons. See, his little kitten is so... difficult, and he fears you might teach them to resent him. More importantly, people would wonder -- if he's got kids, where's the mom? He can't afford to have people snooping about that. Finally, much like with you, he fears that his enemies might kidnap his kids, or hurt them somehow to hurt him. If darling is especially well-behaved, once she's finally broken in and understands his way of seeing things and becomes more agreeable, there's a chance he'd consider it, but the concern over their safety would likely still stop him.

What kind of (nsfw) punishments would they use?

Definitely spanking and impact pain. He's gonna invest in it, too. Leather straps and hard rubber paddles -- probably gets one of the ones that have a little shaped hole or raised part that puts a nice little design imprint on your flesh. Likes making you count for the added humiliation, or making you choose a number of swats that you feel is appropriate for what you did -- but of course, if you go too low under what he had in mind, he'll go with his number and add extra, being sure to let you know you get more for underestimating what you deserve.

Speaking of the monitoring from cameras and all that above, he also has a firm rule that you can't touch yourself. And he'll know -- the bracelet you have alerts him to any increase in heart rate, and he can look into the cameras and see what you're doing. If you're trying to be sneaky, it's still obvious when your heart is racing while you're locked in a bathroom, or the little movements he can make out from under the covers. It also warrants punishment. You want orgasms that bad? Have some. Too many. He'll make you cum over and over, to the point it's horribly painful and sensitive, tying you firmly so you can't move an inch and can't get away from his fingers, tongue, vibrator, or whatever else he chooses. Keep going until you're sobbing and gasping for air, apologizing and crying that you won't do it again.

What body parts of their darling do they like the most?

Thigh boy. He likes using them as a pillow, feeling them wrapped around his head when he's eating you out, running his hands up and down the soft flesh. He's also fond of leaving little bite marks and hickeys all up the inside of your thighs -- not that anyone else sees, but it's just a little reminder to you of who you belong to.

[queen-bunnyears]

Murder on your mind ~ Tom Holland

Pairing: DCI!Tom Holland x DI!reader

Summary: Inspired by my love for B99, and my guilty pleasures Silent Witness and Luther. What more can I say. 

Wordcount: 5,4k+

Warnings: This is about a serial murder investigation, so it does discuss murder, violence, a chase, guns and shotwounds, a caraccident, unconciousness. They swear. Mentions of alcohol. A small kiss. 

Okay if you need help understanding uk police ranks, (I did) I looked it up. So we have a chief inspector who in this case is the highest rank. Directly under him come the DCI’s (Detective Chief Inspector). Then a DI, (Detective inspector) and for today the only other rank I use is an officer, which is lower in rank than the others.

“And then the remaining time of today's briefing is for DCI Osterfield, he has a case he would like to discuss,” your boss says. Harrison stands up from his seat, and picks up the clicker for the screen.

“Thank you, Miss Carter. So, anyone who likes to take a guess about the crime?” he asks, and immediately hands fly up. “It was committed just an hour ago. Janssen?”

“Money laundering,” Janssens confident voice thunders through the room. He often wins these betting games, but mostly because nine out of ten times it is indeed money laundering. Harrison shakes his head.

“Too bad, it is definitely a big break in,” Claire says next to you. You shake your head. For a break in he would be talking with the uniform officers, he wouldn’t have needed to discuss it. Unless the stolen items are over a million, but then the news would surely have spread across the city already, and the new apps hadn’t put anything online yet.

“Hostage situation?” Jimmy shouts from the desk behind you. Jimmy always wants it to be hostages, because he is the only negotiator at the station. But hostages are way too uncommon, the chief would have told you about it. You know what it is the moment Harrison points at you.

“Too bad, you are all wrong. Y/n, like to take a last guess?”

“Murder,” you say, clicking your pen and closing your notebook. You cock your head to the side, “And it must be real nasty if you wanna discuss it,”

“Bingo! So we have a big ol’ murder on our hands,” Harrison says, clicking to the next powerpoint slide. A photograph of a bloody crime scene comes up. “And it is not just on our hands,” he clicks and points dramatically to the man who comes up on the screen, “This is Tom Holland, DCI in Southwest London. He is gonna be helping me because,” the next slide shows three almost identical scenes. “It’s a serial!”

“Ohh Tom is a handsome colleague. I would love to do a stake-out with him, if you know what I mean,” Jimmy bends over his desk and whispers to you. You shake your head laughing.

“Jimmy, you have a problem in need of fixing. Have you tried going on a date?” you whisper back. You don’t move quickly enough, and his playful slap hits you on the back of your head.

“For the record, you are way too excited about this,” Claire says, and DCI Osterfield blushes slightly.

“I just want to catch him, and not be a total mood ruiner while informing you,” he replies, clicking to the end of the slideshow.

“Does anyone recognise something from an old case? He works really neat, so Holland thinks it might be someone who has done it before,” The briefing room stays quiet as no one answers. You shrug your shoulders.

“Well please dig in your memory today, anything you remember might help. We have to solve this. I will need assistance, and chief told me detective Y/l/n has just closed her last case. Wanna help me?”

“Yeah sure,” you say, folding your hands underneath your head. The pictures look awful, and nothing like you have ever dealt with.

“Great, we leave for the crime scene after this,” Harrison says, and you nod at him, “Okay, that concludes the discussion. If press asks you about it, direct them to me or to the PR people, don’t tell them anything,” he walks back to his desk while Carter stands up.

“Good luck today, don’t forget to apply for the training day next week,”

“Okay so what is the deal Haz?” you ask. You sit in the car, on your way to the crime scene. He drives, and you drink from the Starbucks cup in your hand, trying to get them to warm up. Police cars are always terribly cold.

“There were three murders last week in Southwest, and tonight one on our area. As you saw in the pictures, it is all done almost precisely the same. So naturally we have to go there, because it’s our area, but the DCI from Southwest will be joining us as well, because he has worked this case for days now,”

“Do you know him?”

“Tom and I were together in high school, and at the Academy. We are good friends. He is an excellent detective,” Harrison tells you. Harrison was in the year above you at the academy, but you never really interacted with classes other than your own. You fall silent, not having much else to say. Your mind goes to the slide show of the victims. All the same position, almost the same place of impact. The photograph of this morning's victim flashes before your eyes.

“Any info on the victim already?”

“Sally Stars, 33, she is a tourist from the US,” you see the image of her again. Small woman wearing a yellow raincoat, lying on her back. Her shoes next to her body, no bag or anything. A big red spot on her chest where the bullet pierced her skin. One shot, quick kill.

“Where in the US?”

“Phoenix, Arizona,” That tells you precisely nothing. Although you don’t know what you hoped for.

“Other similarities between this case and the others, beside how they look?”

“All of them are tourists. It is a drama, working together with all the embassies,” he sounds bitter. The happy, teasing Harrison is gone now. At the station you can joke around, but as soon as you go out it becomes serious business. You hope this case can be solved quickly.

“DCI Holland, please let me through,” you hear a voice say. You look up to see the man from the photograph walking up to you. Removing your gloves you come up from your crouching position next to the victim.

“Goodmorning DCI Holland,” you extend your hand and he shakes it. You put your globes back on while you introduce yourself, “I am detective inspector Y/n Y/l/n. I will be helping you and DCI Osterfield with the case,”

“Great,” he says, before turning away to Harrison. “Please tell me there is anything different on this one,”

“Not as far as I can see Tom,” Harrison says, a thoughtful look in his eyes, “but you know more of the case, does anything seem different to you?” Tom takes his time inspecting the crime scene. He lifts things, ruffles through the bagged evidence and asks for some extra pictures. When he returns to Harrison and you his face looks almost angry.  

“It seems like everything is the same,’ he says, suddenly he slams his hands down, “the fucker did it again. No fucking mistakes, how does he do it?”

“Something will come up,” Harrison says. You look around you, staring at the forensic experts who were bagging the evidence. The answer had to be here somewhere. Then you see a young man bag something a few metres from the body, at the edge of the scene.

“Hey, wait!” you scream, and you walk over to him, carefully stepping on the cleared ground. You almost smiled at what you saw, “Is that a,-”

“A phone,” DCI Holland says and he hurries over to where you are standing. You grab the bag from the stunned mans hands, and take out the phone. It feels icy cold through your gloves, and you see water drops on the side.

“It is soaked from dew and the rain this morning, I hope the lab can get something out of this,” you say, handing it over to Harrison, “It’s turned off, please keep it that way. If they dry it properly it might still work and that makes everything much easier.”

“This is new, the other bodies didn’t have a phone on them,”

“It’s his first mistake,” Harrisons says. You frown.

“Why do you think it is a man?”

“A wild guess, wanna bet on it?” he replies absently. Then he gives you the phone back, “what do you think of this? Does it tell you anything?”

“Old iphone, not a special model, Iphone 5. The case suggests that she is a big Harry Potter fan, that could explain why she was in Londen,” you take the case off the phone and grab the wet piece of paper that sits behind it, “And I wager she has a room in a hotel near Victoria's station. These are directions from there. To the right, past Victoria theatre, and so on. Call the station, they should be able to find the hotel,”

“That’s not right,” Tom says. His mouth is a thin stripe, and his forehead is wrinkled in a frown.

“Sorry what?”

“They already found her hotel room, near Covent Garden,”

“Then were would this lead to?” you wonder, inspecting the note closer.

“That is a very good question.” DCI Holland says, and he walks away. You stare at the piece of paper, as if it would start speaking if you look at it enough.

“Well, let’s go to this adress then,” Harrison says. You take a photograph of the paper and carefully put the phone back in the evidence bag. The ride is quiet, both you and Harrison deep in thoughts about the murder.

“Hello, I am detective inspector Y/l/n, and this is my colleague DCI Osterfield,” you show your badge to the man at the front desk. “We have some questions for you, regarding an ongoing case. Have you seen this woman?”

He inspects the photograph carefully and looks at Harrison. “Yes sir, I saw her yesterday. She came in to rent a safety box for a week. I can show you, although you need her permission to open it, or an official order.”

Harrison looks at you, and you shrug. “Shouldn’t be a problem. Can we see the box please?” he asks, putting his badge back in his pocket.

“Of course sir, follow me.”

“Nothing interesting in the locker, nothing in her hotel room. The first conversations with her family shows nothing of interest. There is no connection between them. Just the tourist thing. So based on that we have to assume he is killing at random,” Harrison is on the phone. He has big blue circles underneath his eyes. Probably matching yours. The second day on a murdur case is always heavy, as most of the evidence is processed, and the first results from the lab come in. You hear some murmurs on the other side and Harrison ends the call. He looks at you.

“Tom is on his way to us. He will bring his map of evidence and everything he gathered with the old cases,” you nod absently, looking at the giant board filled with photos, and the map. Red dots and lines all over the place, but it doesn’t make sense yet.

“Tourists don’t know the city well, so he might be able to guide them somewhere under false pretenses,” you say, “So maybe a cabbie? Who else moves anonymously through the city like that? I wanna see the CCTV,”

“There was no CCTV in the other cases,” Harrison tells you while typing on his laptop, “But we are lucky, they just placed a new camera at the shop across from the entrance of the park. They might have something. The officer should have sent,-” his voice trails off when he opens his mail and sees the file. Behind Harrison you see the door open and DCI Holland walks into the room. Harrison looks up.

“Tom, great, we were just going to watch the CCTV I texted about,” he starts the recording. The street on the screen is empty. “This is 21:00. Forensics guess she died around midnight,”

The screen stays empty as the video goes on to 21:00. At 22:38 a man walks through the screen with his dog. The small clock in the corner ticks through, 23:00, 23:30, 00:00. Just as Harrison wants to stop it you see something move in the corner.

“There,” you point at the bicycle that comes into view. A man is riding it, and when he turns into the park you and Tom see it at the same time. You shoot up, pausing the screen. 01:04.

“That’s her,” Tom says. Limp, on the back of the bicycle sits a woman, “is she conscious?”

“I don't think so, see here, he hits a bump and she doesn’t react at all,” Harrison says, playing the shot again.  

“Does he return later?” you watch the remainder of the video three times, but nothing appears.

“He is smart, uses another exit. Who knows what happened after this, we need more on him,” you say, noting the times and details in your book.

“First we need to know who he is. Did they run facial recognition already?” Tom asks, turning to look at Harrison, who shakes his head.

“No, we are the first to see this material. Get the boss, I want to run this man through the system immediately.”

“I know him,” Carter says. She sits up straight in her chair and starts the tape again. She pauses it right as the mans face is in view. “Jason Sanders, ex police officer. He used to work for me back in the 90’s. He has grown older, but I am like 99% sure it’s him.”

“If he is an ex copper his face should be in the system,” Tom says. You just nod, noting down the name, and opening your laptop to start a google search. Two clicks and you are on his facebook profile.

“Yes he is a perfect match. Look at these pictures,”

“Okay, I want Claire to run a background check,” Harrison says, pointing at her. “Names, friends, family, address, possible gun registration, workplace. I want to know everything you can find. First, run his face through the system, I want to be sure it's him,”

“Sure, that should take about an hour,” she immediately opens her laptop and starts typing. Tom clears his throat.

“So, two of us have to go to the lab and talk with the forensic experts. And one needs to go through the three cases, see if we can find a new link. I have stared at the cases for hours now so I think it’s best if one of you takes a fresh look.”

“I will do it,” Harrison replies just a second quicker than you, “Y/n can go with you to the lab. I believe Henry will do the post-mortem, so she is probably happy to go with you.”

“I will tell you one more time Haz, no funny business between me and Henry,” you say with a stern look on your face, but you smile afterwards. Harrison always jokes about the doctor at the lab who has a small crush on you. In return you tease him endlessly about the defense attorney who is just a bit too sweet and open to Harrison for it to be professional.

“Well if the two of you are done wasting time can we leave, Y/l/n?” Tom is at the door quickly walking outside, but his harsh look doesn’t go unnoticed by you and Harrison. Harrisons shrugs his shoulders and you follow Tom through the door.

“Can you tell us anything interesting?” you ask Henry who is standing in front of a big window that shows the postmortem room. You look inside, shivering at the sight of the body on the table with all it’s organs stashed neatly beside it.

“There are so many interesting things to tell,” he laughs at Tom’s annoyed face, “Let’s get to business,”

“Please,’ Tom sighs, causing you to roll your eyes at Henry behind his back. Henry points to the large body bag on a table in the far corner of the room.

“That’s her. Full postmortem will be done tomorrow, it’s busy, but here is what we already can confirm. Victim is female, nothing weird about her body or anything like that. He probably killed her with that one clean shot. She has been drugged, we found alcohol and ketamine in her blood,”

“Just like the others,” you add. Henry nods and walks through the lab to a screen. He clicks on some buttons. A file opens, and you see a tinder profile and some messages.

“But Jackie ran tests on her phone, and there was a damned good reason he kept the other two.” You look up interested at those words, nodding to Henry to continue, “She was on Tinder, trying to make friends to go out with during her stay. She has texts with a man whom she had a date with last night. He called himself James, and had a random model photo on his profile,”

“Did you run that profile through the computer? Anything?”

“We can’t track the phone that belongs to the profile. We are waiting for access to the profile so we can see his other messages, that should be here later this afternoon. There is a possibility this is the way he finds and contacts his victims,”

“Shit” you say. Tom looks at the text chain unmoving. “Holland, are you okay? This could be a breakthrough.”

“Yes, could be. But we know nothing yet. Nothing is sure,” he says curtly. He walks to the door. “You let us know when the rest of the data is in,” he opens the door, gesturing for you to come after him. You stretch slowly, and smile at Henry.

“Thank you so much for your hard work, this could really mean much for the case,” you say, sending a provoking look towards Tom, “And I am sure my colleague here is just as thankful, don’t mind him, he has a bad day.”

“No problem Y/n, see you later,” Henry replies, sending a broad smile your way. You nod one last time before following Tom outside.

“What was that?” the anger in his voice is apparent. You smile sweetly and pat him on the shoulder.

“That, DCI Holland,” you pause shortly and look him in the eye, “was common decency. Be kind to the lab, and they will be kind to you. That applies to more things actually,”

“Don’t tell me what to do,”

“Don’t be unkind then,” you say, smiling at him, ignoring the irritation that burns within you. Damn that man. But you have dealt with a lot of unkind, bitchy police officers in your days, you won’t let him bring you down. You walk towards the car, grabbing the key from Holland's hand. “I’ll drive,”

Stakeouts are your least favourite part of being a detective. Nothing is worse than sitting the entire day, hoping for something to happen. You always called it the most boring aspect of your job. Even paperwork was more exciting. Problem was, you were very good at stakeouts. You somehow always noticed the change in a pattern that pointed to whatever you were looking for.

You sit across Harrison, your teacups on the table between you. The cafe is extremely busy, but you barely hear the noise around you. Your head is in filter modus. Tinder hadn’t yet given access to the account, so you and Harrison went to the place “James” had met up with Sally. You have been sitting here all day, going over some paperwork to pass the time, and with every hour your hope of seeing the person who pretended to be “James” dies a bit.  

“What do you think will happen if tinder James is not Jason?” you wonder, stirring in your tea. Harrison looks up at your words.

“Well I am sure it has to be him. All the clues point to him,” he says, taking a sip of his tea. “The CCTV, suspects report, psychology sketch, background. His clean kills, any good copper knows how to clean up after himself. And we can’t find him at his home, because his wife kicked him out,”

“Good for her,” you mumble. Harrison chuckles, chugs the remainder of his tea and puts his papers in his bag. “Wait where are you going?”

“To the office. Tom is here to do the rest of the day with you. It’s only two hours.” he says. He gets up and stands up. He walks away, then turns around. He puts his hand on your shoulder. “Try not to kill him please,”

“Ha ha. I will try,” you say,

The hours with Tom are absolutely boring. He doesn’t even really look at you, let alone talk to you. And again, no one shows up. When the cafe closes you and Tom pack up your stuff, and walk outside. Then you feel your phone buzz. The screen flashes; Henry.

“Hey Henry”

“Are you in a car?”

“Almost, why?”

“Get in there and drive to Borough Market,” you turn to Tom and start walking faster.

“Get in the car Tom!” you almost shout as you run towards the driver side. Your emergency senses kick in, adrenaline courses through your body.

“We got to his profile, he has a meeting there in less than 10 minutes. Seventeen year old Canadian girl,”

“Shit,” you curse, and you slam the car door behind you. Your fingers fumble to get the key in the lock, but when you have it you immediately drive away. Tom hasn’t even closed his door properly. You put Henry on speaker and push on the button you put your sirens on. In front of you the cars make way for you.

“We’re driving, tell me everything,”

“We just got access to his profile, and we saw the meeting. At Borough market, 6 PM by the fudge stand. Harrison is at the station, he won’t make it in time. Look for Jason, and the girl has blonde hair, blue eyes. Her Tinder says she is nineteen, but we looked her up and she is seventeen. Harrison told me you two are closer, so hopefully you’ll be on time. He is on his way. I have to go,” you hear the beep that signals Henry has ended the call, and you take a quick left.

“Do you need me to navigate?” Tom asks. He is checking his gun, and picks a weapon stick from the glove compartment. You start to shake your head, but then you nod.

“It’s rush hour, could you check the streets I need to avoid?” you are calm now, your initial surge of energy is slowly leaving your body, making room for your more rational side. Tom is looking through his maps, and reassures you that you’ll be fine with the usual route. No detours.

“Could you check my gun Tom?” you ask, and you lean forward so he can grab it from your belt. He hesitates. “Come on I ask you to. You won’t even touch me. Quickly now ‘cause we are almost there,” He grabs the gun and starts to check it. You see you are getting closer to your destination, so you switch off the sirens. No need to alert everyone you are coming. Two minutes later you see Borough Market appear.

“Okay we both get out and walk to the stand. Do you know where it is?” Tom shakes his head. You park the car, put your gun back in your belt and cover it with your coat. “Luckily I do. Follow me, stay close, we don’t want to attract attention.” You walk towards him and he wraps his arm around you so you are close to him. It is an old tactic, one you have done about a million times with Harrison. You look like an uninteresting couple, and your heads are close, so whispering is easy. Perfect cover. But you feel Tom’s arm burning through your coat. That never happens with Harrison.

“Okay, lead the way,” he says, you shake your head to get rid of your thoughts and you start walking towards the market. You see the fudge stand, but no one suspicious around there. It’s busy, the market is closing soon, and the sellers are trying to sell their last bits.

“Do you see anything?” Tom asks, and you shake your head. You see a plate with testers for fudge and you walk over there. With the fudge in your hand you seize the opportunity to stand still and observe the whole market. Then you feel Tom shake your shoulder.

“There, at six.” you slowly look to your six o’clock, and you see a young girl. “She matches the description. We ought to approach her,” Tom says. You nod and step towards the girl, but then you freeze. At the other side of the market, close to your car, you see a man. Jason. You are sure, and then you see him dragging another young girl with him.

“Tom it's not her, there he is,” you don’t realise you are running until you feel yourself push people out of the way. Jason and the girl are about 50 metres away from you, but there are many people between you. Jason pushes the young girl in the back seat of a car, and you hear yourself shouting.

“Stop! Stop!” You run as fast as you can, but you feel your gut sinking. You are too late. As you see Jason step into his car you memorise his number plate. You try to throw yourself before the car, but you are too late to stop him from driving away. You pull your gun out, but you realise it is of no use in this busy street. You could hit his tires, but then he might swerve and hit some bystanders. You curse loudly.

“In the car, now!” you hear Tom shout from behind you. You start to run again, and launch yourself into the driver's seat. Your sirens blare, your tires screech, but you have him in vision. As you are driving you recollect your breath, and next to you you see Tom fastening his seat belt.

He calls Harrison, who says he can already see your car. Without looking away from the road you ramble the number plate to Tom, who repeats it for Harrison. You hardly hear their conversation, but you do feel the blood pumping in your ears. The car before you is driving unsteady, as if Jason is not yet sure what he is going to do.

“Where is he going to go? It is rush hour, traffic is awful! And he drives towards the city centre,” it doesn’t make sense to you. Until you see him diving towards a bridge over the Thames. Then it clicks.

“Shit, he is going to drive off the bridge!” you shout. You look to your side, and in Tom's eyes you see the same conclusion you just came to. Your mind races, searching for a solution. You see the car before you change lanes. You push the gas harder, accelerating and you also turn to the left lane, “I am gonna block him!”

“Are you sure? We might get hurt,” Tom panics. His hands are gripping on the side of his seat, his eyes wide from the adrenaline. Or fear, you don't know. Before you the car goes to the left, heading straight towards the rather fragile looking railing of the bridge.  

“He will hit the seat behind me, not us,” you say, changing lanes, “I am like 75% sure this won’t end up getting us hurt. Badly.”

“That is not very comforting, Won’t he push us off?”

“No I don’t think so, trust me Tom!” you are driving faster now, and his car is almost near the edge. The last seconds before the hit seem like ages. With a bang the car hits the side of yours, precisely in the backseat of the driver side, as you predicted. You moan in pain as you feel the impact.

“Get out Tom! Catch him.” you scream, trying to cover up the fact that you are in pain. Getting your own door open appears impossible, and you use your gun to smash the window to get out. You feel adrenaline rush through your body, your mind blank, nerves numb. Your moves are by instinct, and when you see Jason run towards you, you throw your body towards him, blocking his way and bringing him to the ground.  

“Jason Sanders, you are arrested on the suspicion of triple murder and attempted murder. Anything you say now can be used later in court,” you say as Tom gets the handcuffs on him. Behind you the other police cars all stop, and you hear Harrisons voice as you shakily get up.

“What was that!?! Y/n that was not safe!” you ignore his worries. First you need to see the girl. You stand beside Jason's car opening his backdoor, and you try to lift the unconscious girl out. Another officer takes it from your hands. “Are you hurt?” Harrison continues as he comes to a halt next to you.

“No I normally leak blood out of my side,” your adrenaline rush slowly comes to an end, and you feel the pain now. Your head feels heavy. “Probably cut it when I climbed out of the window. Also, I might have a concussion from the hit,”

Ten minutes later you sit in the open back of the ambulance. The victim is in the bed inside, and you were relieved to hear she had only passed out from the shock, but furthermore she was fine. After they checked on her a medic found time to stitch the scratch on your side. After their close examination your injuries are deemed minor. A deep scratch that looks fine after it is nicely stitched up and wrapped in bandage. After careful inspection of your head, they conclude you don’t even have a concussion.

But after that, you catch some faint whispers about shock and mental damage as they sneakily look at you. A blanket is wrapped around your body, and a few moments later, you also receive a cup of tea. And another blanket. You are about to run away when Harrison walks up to you. He clears his throat when he sees you, and gives you a quick hug.

“I have a lot of things to say, but none of them matter now. Well done on getting him,”

“Harrison, they keep putting blankets on me, I don’t want the blankets,” you say, shrugging them off and giving them to him.

“You’re in shock” he says, putting the blanket back over your shoulders. You shrug it off again.

“Yeah, not really. And even if, that wouldn’t mean I need blankets, I need booze,”

“Booze and a concussion are a terrible combination,” Harrison shakes his head at your comment.

“I don’t even have a concussion or pain meds. Really, I am fine. Where is Tom? I probably have to say sorry for risking his life.”

“Only if I file a complaint with HR,” Tom's voice makes you sit up straight and look around you. He walks around the corner of the ambulance. “Something I won’t do,”

“Oh great. Well I am sorry anyways. It was way too risky.”

“You executed it perfectly,” he says, a hint of a smile on his face, “Now I believe you said something about a drink, didn't you?”

Harrison laughs with you, but then excuses himself.

“You two go have that drink, I need to fill in all the paperwork. I’ll talk to you tomorrow,”

“Your loss,” Tom says, before turning to you. “Let’s go?”

“Lets go.” You say, smiling as he offers his hand to help you up. You think of slapping it away, but then you feel the stitches pulling in your side and you decide to take up his offer. Just this once.

~ One year later ~

“I can’t believe you had to almost kill him before he dropped his bitchy act,” Claire says laughing as she gives you the paper back. You and Tom shine on the cover of The Guardian, a press photograph taken on the night of Sanders' arrest. “J. Sanders locked up, evidence overload in serial killer case” the headline says. 

After the arrest things moved slowly, Sanders his lawyer was a very persistent man. But now, months later the court case was wrapped, Sanders' guilt proven, and the judge ruled for the maximum sentence. 

“Yes, his resting bitch face was a pain during that investigation,” you chime in, taking a sip from your beer. 

“I am glad I dropped it though,” Tom says next to you, his arm wrapped around you. You smile, pressing a kiss on his cheek. So much has changed. 

[anjuschiffer]

Amira Wayne - Chapter 14

Happy Halloween everyone! Here’s day 14 of @biodad-bruce-month that I’m catching up on QuQ

Chapter 14: Wayne Gala

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P.Tag: @theatreandcomicfreak @damianette-is-life @toodaloo-kangaroo @elijahcrevan

Tag: @vixen-uchiha @we-want-mini-mini @ramos123 @bluesimani @redscarlet95 @greatcatblaze @promiswords @fantasiame @corabeth11 @anonymously-odd @alexandriamw @officiallydarkgeek @galla02006 @maleive07 

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MASTERLIST | FIRST | PREV | AO3

Alfred looked at the teens in the back of the car that conversed in French, glad to finally meet the duo that were Amira’s latest addition to her circle of friends. 

While Amira called them mere conveniences, Alfred knew that they were anything but that. After all, she would talk about them during half of their weekly calls. 

Shortly before leaving for Paris, Amira had asked if she was able to do weekly calls with him, Alfred quickly agreeing and even giving her a private line for their calls.

Around two and a half weeks ago, Amira had told him about her two friends going to Gotham and asking if there was some way to ensure their safety. 

Amira suggested the family hosting their stay, in which Alfred found it to be a marvelous idea. 

  “If I may ask Miss Amira, why did you suggest this idea?”

“I need to make sure they’re safe.” She told him. “Paris’ Victims are one thing, Gotham’s villains are another. Seeing as I’m not allowed to even be near a gala until I’m officially introduced to society, I need to do what I can to ensure their safety...I don’t want to lose them.”

“Pardon me for suggesting this Miss Amira, but why don’t you just come to Gotham to ensure their safety? 

“As much as I know that I can, you know I really can’t. Paris needs me here. They need Ladybird to remain in Paris until the Hawkmoth threat is lifted. Until then, I am to stay here…”

 “M.Pennyworth, is this really okay with M. Wayne? In regards to hosting our stay, that is.” Chloé asked, feeling Adrien squeeze her hand. 

Despite already being teens, there were still habits the two still shared. After all, Chloé was the only other child Adrien knew growing up. She was his safety blanket during events they were forced to attend as kids... just like he was hers. 

She still remembers them as clear as day. 

“Have no worries about it, Miss Chloé, Master Adrien. Master Bruce and Master Dick were delighted to hear about the two of you attending tomorrow’s gala, Master Dick more so than Master Bruce.”

“Master Dick?” Adrien decided to ask. His father never told him about there being another Wayne. 

“Master Bruce’s son. Adopted, of course.” Alfred elaborated, not once taking his eyes off the road. "We have arrived. Welcome to Wayne Manor.”

---

Tim peeked from behind the doorway when he heard two accented voices join Alfred’s upon the manor door opening. 

Tim watched as the two blonds gawked at the manor interior, setting their luggage beside themselves. 

He jumped when a hand landed on his head, Tim turning to see Dick smiling at him with a tired smile. 

Tim frowned. 

“You should be in bed.”

“I have to make sure everything goes according to plan. For everything to work out as if he was here with us.”

“Dick, stop pushing yourself like this. You have to rest.”

Dick simply smiled at Tim as he chose then to approach the two guests. 

“Welcome! The two of you must be Adrien and Chloé! Marinette speaks so much about you two!” Dick cheerfully said, stretching out his hand towards Adrien. 

“You know Marinette?” Adrien asked, wondering- that’s right. He must know about her if Marinette knew Selina. “That must’ve sounded stupid. Marinette knows Mlle. Kyle, so it must make sense if you knew her as well.” Dick let out a chuckle. 

“Not at all! Sometimes we forget the connections we have with one another, so things like this tend to happen. Now, I’m pretty sure the two of you are tired from your flight. Alfred, if you would show them to their rooms?” 

With a bow, Alfred ushered the guests to their rooms, Adrien and Chloé taken aback by the massive portraits in one of the halls that they passed by. 

While the two wanted to ask Alfred who the smaller boy in one of the portraits was, they couldn’t bring themselves to ask when they saw M. Pennyworth look at it with sadness in his eyes. 

In one particular photo, Adrien couldn’t help but notice a small girl in the distance, feeling as he had seen that girl before. 

Or maybe he was just drawn to her bright smile that warmed up him as he walked through the chilly manor. 

“Here are your rooms, Miss Chloe, Master Adrien. I hope they are to your expectations.” Alfred said, signaling towards the two rooms across from each other. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”

---

Barbara sat in class, tuning out her professor as he talked about the different sectors of the brain. 

That’s when she saw a notification on her phone, making sure to not let a sigh escape her as she read it. 

Grabbing her things, Barbara left the lecture hall without another word, dreading the fact that she is going to have to ask someone else for notes in her next class. 

Her finger hovered over the name of the person who was the subject of the text, wondering if this was a good idea. 

She was glad to know she was sent to voicemail. 

“Hey, Tim just filled me in. Are you sure this is a good idea? Please call me when you get the time.” 

With that said, Barbara pocketed her phone and directly headed to Wayne Manor, not liking the heavy premonition weighing in her mind. 

What were they thinking? 

Didn’t they realize that all of their secrets were in danger by having two outsiders within the manor?

Sighing, Barbara prepared herself for the possible danger that may ensue from this.

---

Chloe just couldn’t stand doing nothing, so when she asked Alfred what places they were allowed to roam in, she wasn’t expecting a gym as an option.

Of course, there was no way in hell Chloe was going to expose herself by going to the gym, so she asked to be guided to the manor’s library.  Adrien happily tagged along, talking about wanting to start on some of their homework before heading back to Paris in two days. 

“Chlo! I found us a place.” Adrien squealed, dragging her to a spot near the library windows where a perfectly placed desk with floor seats there, beckoning them to sit. 

Adrien quickly sat down on the tri colored one while Chloe hesitated to sit on the other one that was black with golden threads.

“This feels wrong.” Chloe ended up blurting out, quickly getting up from it. “I feel as if-”

“Chloe, you’re just nervous about being here. Just take a seat and do a bit of homework, it’ll take your mind off the uneasiness.”

But the uneasiness wouldn’t leave her. She felt as if they weren’t supposed to be sitting there...as if the seats weren’t meant to be used by anyone but those who usually sat there...

With a sigh, she complied. “I guess you’re right.” Maybe she was uneasy.

---

An hour passed until Adrien got up, stretching his legs a bit.

“ And where would you even get help? We can’t reach Marinette without using a phone from this home. Our phones don’t work here, remember?”  Chloe said, gesturing to her phone. “I totally forgot to get my other phone that works abroad. Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous.”  She muttered, going back to doing her chemistry work. 

“We’re in a library Chlo. I’m bound to find something that could help us.”

Adrien walked off to the front of the library, going from bookcase to bookcase, baffled to not even find a single book on chemistry. 

It wasn't until he got to the second level where he found some chemistry textbooks, when a certain workbook caught his eye. 

Taking it off the shelf, Adrien opened up the French workbook, surprised to see full marks on every page. 

As he kept turning the pages, a photo slipped out, Adrien managing to catch it as it fell.

When he picked it up, the same girl from earlier smiled back at him as well as a boy her age. 

The two children were covered in grass and dirt, Adrien noticing how the girl looked oddly like Marinette. 

“Did you find anything?” 

“Oh. Um, yeah! Just one though.” Adrien fumbled, putting the photo and the workbook back into their place before grabbing the chemistry textbook he had found earlier. 

“ Just one?”  Chloé scoffs. “Some library this is.”

“At least it has one?”

“Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous.”

Adrien smiled at Chloe’s antics, sitting back down, only for his mind to trail back to the picture he saw just minutes ago. 

Why did she seem familiar?

---

After a few hours of studying, the duo were called for dinner. 

The two managed to sit in comfortable silence, not questioning the fact that they were the only ones at the table.  

After all, Adrien was used to it while Chloé enjoyed not having to talk to any Wayne. 

Not having a Wayne meant a more at ease Adrien, meaning not having to listen to Adrien forced to butter up a rich man just to please his father. 

Stupid Gabriel. 

Thank the kwamis Chloé was never trained to do that. Then again, maybe she should have. 

Maybe it would’ve been a chance to learn etiquette from her mother…

Who was she kidding...her mother wouldn’t even waste her time doing such a trivial thing. 

Dinner lasted just half an hour and soon it was time to call it a day...or so Chloé thought. 

Chloe tipped toed out of the kitchen, Pollen having gone ahead of her with a napkin filled with some flowers she found in the kitchen. 

She had woken up with a jolt due to hunger and not wanting to bother Alfred so late at night, Chloe decided it was best to go herself.

Confident in herself, Chloe walked to where she believed her room was located, turning corners as she made her way back. 

She proudly stood in front of what she believed was her room, turning the knob and letting out a sigh of relief. She closed the door behind her, only to realize it wasn’t her room. 

After all, she didn’t have a wall filled with notes and photos. This was her first day at Gotham, this collection belonged to someone who obviously lived here for longer than a day. 

Turning to leave, Chloe did a double take on what caught her eye. 

Slowly closing the door with a soft thud, Chloe walked towards the wall, slowly making out the subject of the photos thanks to the moonlight seeping into the dark room.

As Chloe got a closer look at the photos, a giggling little girl in different frilly dresses were in each one, showing different milestones in her life. 

Her first steps, her first pet, her birthdays, a few displaying some drawings or baking.

In each one, Chloé couldn’t help but notice that it was only M. Wayne in them, never once the girl’s mother being there. 

As the girl grew, she began to resemble her father even more, the smile vanishing and now wearing a scowl on her face. Her midnight hair got longer by the photo, her emerald eyes sharper. 

The girl was always shown with the same uniform from Gotham Academy in these later photos, but the photos were always taken from different events. 

Assemblies, science fairs, art galleries, math decathlons, trips, award ceremonies...the girl was practically in every Gotham Academy event!

But then those photos completely stopped. 

Soon, two boys entered the picture and the perfect model student from Gotham Academy vanished completely. 

Whenever the two boys were in the frame, the girl was smiling, grinning, baking, running, in sport competitions, and just...simply being a kid.

There was even one where she was dripping blood from her nose as she was shown winning a dodgeball competition, the boy beside her holding it as well. Meanwhile, the teen behind them ruffled their hair as he, too, smiled at the camera. 

This toothy grins from the children cause Chloe’s chest to twist for some odd reason. 

As for the teen, he looked like a more younger version of Dick. maybe it was him.

But just like the other school photos, those soon vanished as well...or to be more honest, all the evidence of this girl growing stopped completely. 

There were no more photos on the wall, the wall barren.

Chloe noticed a photo album on the floor, picking it up. It was empty.

Looking back at the photos, Chloé wondered what exactly happened to the girl, to the boy her age. 

Deciding to take this as her cue to leave, Chloé noticed a photo peering from under the bed, only managing to see the tip of it. 

Upon picking it up, Chloé felt her heart stop. 

The photo looked back at her with an all familiar scene. 

A scene only Queen Bee and two others should only be able to see. 

Looking back at her, her favorite view of Paris was staring back at her. 

Paris at its most gorgeous view, from on top of the Eiffel Tower once the sun has set and the moon rises, stars that peppered the night sky. 

Chloé didn’t know how long she had been staring at the photo until Pollen poked her forehead. 

“My Queen! There you are! You had me worried sick when I noticed you weren’t behind me!” Pollen cried, hugging Chloe.

“Sorry about that. Got a bit distracted.” Chloe patted Pollen’s head, assuring her that she had meant what she had said. “We should probably head back. We got a long day ahead of us and we’re going to need our beauty sleep if we want to survive tonight’s gala.”

Smiling, Pollen agreed, Chloe placing the photo on the dresser before closing the door behind her, never noticing the pair of eyes that caught her leaving the room.

---

Chloe huffed as she tucked a loose hair strand behind her ear, regretting putting her hair into a messy low bun. Despite her bangs being in place, having the rest of her hair in a mess was ridiculous!

Then again, she wanted it this way, the only way she could think of wearing her hair tonight. After all, it paired decently with her black pantsuit. 

She couldn’t help but fall in love with the way the pantsuit fit snuggly, how she didn’t have to bother with worrying if she'd trip over the hem of a skirt or get it caught somewhere.

Now she got why her mother loved wearing these things.

Of course, her mother also wore a large sun hat no matter where she went, but Chloe wouldn’t dare wear such a hideous thing.

To think her mother called herself a designer and fashionista. 

Ridiculous! Utterly ridiculous!

“Chloe, Earth to Chloe.” Adrien whispered, Chloe looking at him from the corner of her eye.

“I know, I know.” Latching on Adrien’s arm, she plastered a smug smile on her face as she watched a few girls walk back from where they had come from. “To think this is the only reason why you want me around.”

“It’s not like that!” Adrien squeaked, pulling Chloe towards the punch bar. 

Chloe looked at the suit he was wearing, pursing her lips as she grabbed his jacket’s cuff. 

“M. Pennyworth wasn’t kidding when he said he was a jack of all trades. His embroidery is impeccable! And to think he did this in one afternoon.” Chloe couldn’t believe the detail on the golden design, how it was sewn so elegantly onto the black suit. It was just as professional as the design on her belt, just as precise as well.

A matching set.

Chloe let go of the cuff, holding her head high as they passed by a group of older teens.

“I feel bad for making him do it, but after considering what you had told me this morning, I knew I had to get it done.”

To prevent from other families trying to impose their children onto Adrien or Chloé, the two thought of making their wardrobe to match, to give the impression that the two were already an item with each other.

So far it was working, even though a few people didn’t buy it.

“There you two are. So, are you guys enjoying the gala?” Dick managed to snap the two of them from their french conversation.

“Dick!” Adrien said with a grin. “To be honest, it's kind of draining. Never had to run from so many adults wanting to introduce their daughters to me.”

“You’re telling me.” Dick said with a chuckle, cringing at the many times he had to talk to older adults who had once sneered at him when he was young. But upon hearing that he was to inherit all of Bruce’s wealth, they all tried to get into his good graces.

As if he would. Plus, love wasn’t in his mind at the moment.

Burrowing those unpleasant thoughts to the back of his head, Dick noticed a pair approaching them. “Chloe, Adrien. I would like to introduce you to my father, Bruce Wayne.” He gestured behind them before leaving the teens with the adults.

Turning around, Adrien and Chloe were faced with tonight’s host, Selina pressed snuggly against his arm.

“Good evening, Adrien. Chloe. It’s a pleasure to finally meet the two of you.” Bruce smiled at them, Adrien having to tilt his head back a bit. Chloe now understood why all the ladies of Gotham fell for him. “Care to join us for a drink?”

---

Tim watched as Amira’s friends stirred up a conversation with Bruce, the two blonds chatting as if they had known Selina for years.

“Shouldn’t you be there?” Tim jumped when he heard Barbara talking from behind him, almost falling out of the computer chair he was in. “Careful there! Wouldn’t want to give Dick a reason to scold you for being down here without one of us with you.”

“I could say the same to you. I thought you wanted to know more about the two Parisians.”

“Touche.” A silence fell between the two. “Come on, Tim. Bruce is going to come looking for us if we don’t hurry and make an appearance.”

Huffing, Tim straightened out his tuxedo and followed Babs out of the Cave, dreading tonight’s events.

On one hand, he had yet to tell Bruce and Alfred of what he saw last night. What would they say when he tells them of one of the Wayne secrets being exposed? On the other hand, he had to deal with seeing something he never thought Bruce was capable of doing.

How did Dick let him do this?

---

Adrien and Chloe were grinning from ear to ear as they listened to Selina’s retelling on how she beat Bruce in poker during their first date when Bruce’s attention was drawn to something across the hall. 

Selina managed to see what caused Bruce to become distracted, noticing that Adrien and Chloe also caught onto Bruce being signaled by Dick from across the hall.

“Seems like it’s almost time for the speech.” Bruce muttered, turning back to the two teens. “It’s been nice talking with the two of you. I hope to speak with you two soon.”

“Pleasure was ours,  monsieur .” Adrien said with a curt and a grin. 

“It was a pleasure meeting you and getting to talk to you. I can’t wait to rub it into my mother’s face the next time she calls. To think she has yet to talk to you while I have.” Chloe puffed out her chest as she took a sip of her drink, Selina laughing at her words.

“Please tell me how that goes. Can’t wait to hear how she reacts to that.” Selina said, giving her a piece of paper.

“I promise I will.” Chloe said, giving the woman a grin as she accepted the paper and stuffed it into her pockets. 

With that, Bruce and Selina walked away from the two teens, Chloe and Adrien watching as they were left alone for possibly the rest of the night.

They watched as they waved as they passed by people before seeing Bruce become a bit grim when he got to Dick.

Seeing Bruce’s face didn’t sit well with Chloe, taking a sip of champagne as she watched the Waynes walk together to the front of the hall.

Just what were they hiding? Did it have to do with the kids in the photos she saw last night?

Noticing that she was out of champagne, she turned to Adrien.

“Adrien, fetch me some more? I feel like I’m going to need it.”

---

“Are you sure you want to do this, Bruce?” Selina asked, giving his arm a squeeze as he got hold of a mic.

“Selina. He wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.” Bruce tried to reason, but knew fully well that she had already seen through him. “Jason and I had prepared for this for months. What would he think if I couldn’t go through with our promise now that he was gone?”

Selina caressed Bruce’s cheek before pecking his lips.

“Just remember, if you need a breather or if you feel like you need a minute to compose yourself, I’m here.” Smiling, Bruce turned his attention back to the guests and turned on the mic. 

Taping on it, the sound gathered the attention of everyone in the room, Bruce possibly regretting doing this despite how much it hurt him to do so.

He watched as Dick soon left his side and walked right out the hall, watching as Barbara tried to bring him back in, only to fail. 

She looked at him with concerned eyes, only then noticing that Tim was looking at him with worry in his eyes.

Bracing himself for what was to come, Bruce plastered on a smile he hoped his guests couldn’t see through. 

“Good evening everyone. I do hope you are all enjoying yourselves. My name is Bruce Wayne -for those of you who don’t know me already- and this is my lovely fiance Selina Kyle. Yes, I’m sorry to disappoint, but as rumors already have it, I am to get married sometime next year.”

A series of mixed chuckles, cheering and sobs filled the room as Bruce awkwardly stood there.

“Putting that aside, I welcome you all to this year’s Wayne Gala.”

---

Adrien listened as Bruce continued to talk, growing a tad bored of the man’s roundabouts about the improvements on Gotham and the different charities the gala once was known for.

He was starting to sound just like the many people he had met during those stupid parties he was dragged to with his father. Hosts who would go on and on about their achievements and brag about their wealth.

Just your ordinary asshole.

But as Bruce started to transition to his next point, Adrien picked on the odd tone lining his words. His words were coated in guilt, sorrow...and love.

“This year, my son Jason and I decided to start a new foundation, the Catherine Todd Foundation. Now, as most of you have noticed, he’s not here. While tonight is not a school night, he does have other things to attend to tomorrow, so I made him turn in early today. You should’ve seen the pout on his face when I told him it was past his bedtime.”

The crowd laughed.

“Of course,” Selina picked up. “Just because he isn’t here to say it himself, doesn’t mean he can’t tell you all what this foundation means to him.”

Murmuring filled the room, Adrien picking up a new champagne glass for Chloe and turned to got back to her, only to freeze in place.

A screen protector had been lowered and there, on the screen was the boy he had seen yesterday.

“The boy from the photo.” Adrien muttered to himself, only then remembering that this boy was also in the family portrait he saw when he first arrived at the manor.

This boy...he is a Wayne...his name is Jason…

Jason Wayne...Bruce’s son…

Adrien listened as Jason greeted and thanked everyone who was able to make it to the gala. He went on how he had planned this foundation with Bruce, what the foundation would do. How the foundation who help to create safe shelters for the kids that lived in the slums, help create rehabilitation centers for those with addictions and more notably, create resources for those enduring domestic violence.

 Adrien listened as Jason went on a tangent on how these were the things he didn’t want any other person to have to go through, just like how his mother did.

 In honor of his mother who raised him and had to fight through poverty, addiction and abuse, Jason named the foundation after her.

To pay homage to the woman who he loved the most and allowed him to make it this far in life.

The video then ended with Jason thanking everyone again, the hall erupting into a large sound of applause, Adrien hearing a few sniffles here and there.

He didn’t know how, but he somehow found himself back at Chloe’s side.

“ I think I need some fresh air.”

---

Chloe wandered around the hall, exiting it and turned a corner, slumping against the wall.

“It was the same boy as the photos.” Chloe told herself, placing her head on her knees. 

The same one, there was no denying it. But the video felt off.

Looking at the half empty champagne glass in her hand, she chugged it down, tilting her head back to drink the last drop.

Something was wrong, and Chloe knew it. Despite Bruce telling everyone else that he was sent to bed early, she had yet to meet the boy.

She’s been here for two days and she had never seen him around the manor at all. 

Just what was going-

“What were you idiots thinking!” Chloe heard someone whisper yell, Chloe deciding to stay where she was, placing her head against her knees.

“Babs,” she heard the other say. So the first voice belonged to Babs. “Bruce said this was the only way-”

“Was Dick on board with this?” Babs asked, letting out a heavy sigh when Chloe assumed he nodded. “Tim...what the hell?”

“Listen, I wasn’t the one who-”

“I don’t care about who suggested it and who gave it a green light. I’m worried about Amira. What is she going to say when she finds out-”

Amira? Who’s Amira?

“Amira? She’s who you’re worried about?” 

“Tim, Bruce pulling a stunt like this isn’t going to sit well with her, especially not after the last time they talked.”

“What if she doesn’t find out? What if we don’t tell her? After all, she lives across-”

“Did you forget what happened last time? Just because she lives in Paris now doesn’t mean she won’t find out. She will and when she does...who knows what’s going to happen.”

“Babs, you’re-”

“I’m not over thinking this Tim because I know what might happen and that’s what is scarring me... What if she starts to hate us even more because of this? What then? Will she ever accept and forgive us? Tim...I can’t bear with this...I can’t.”

Chloe heard the woman’s voice crack, a few sniffles as well.

“I miss the days where the two of us got to share recipes, small stories of our father’s getting along, the days where Amira was able to be herself again, to be the child she was meant to be.”

I miss the days where Dick didn’t have a smile plastered to his face every damn second of the day. I miss the days where he let himself get angry, to become upset and frustrated without having to hide in an empty classroom.”

“Babs...I-”

“Is that too much to ask for? Is it too much to ask to get my two friends back? Is it, Tim? Is it?”

Chloe listened as the silence became unbearable with each second that passed.

“Barbara, you should know better than to wish for that. We can’t control something that we have nothing to do with.”

“But we can do-”

“If we do anything, we’ll make things worse. Or did you forget what happened a month ago?”

Babs went quiet. “Remember how she reacted when she saw us? How she  ran  when you called her by her alter ego? Do you really think we should be interfering with the Waynes’ family matters when we don’t have a spec of her trust?”

 Tim huffed. “I know you just want to make things right with her, but I suggest you wait until things get better before things turn out as bad as it did with the Justice League when they lost her respect.”

The Justice League?

“Wait, you know what happened between them and-”

“Of course I do. Did you really think Bruce’s passwords would prevent me from trying to find out what’s behind it?” Tim asked offendedly. “ Anyways, as for what happened, they thought it was a good idea to kidnap her before attempting to recruit her. They almost got her to join them until she found out they just wanted to keep an eye on her. Wasn’t onboard with them viewing her as an unfortunate child dealt with the burden of protecting Paris.”

Chloe froze.

Protecting Paris?

 “Wait, you’re rich?” Bee screeched out, looking at Chat for back up. “I mean, that would explain the burner phones, the equipment at the- you have the money to buy out an entire floor!”

“Yes Bee. I’m rich, although it’s my father who’s rich and was stupid enough to forget to take away my black card.”

 There was no way… but… didn’t the day she become Queen Bee...

“So that’s how they got banned from Paris.” Barbara muttered. “Does-”

“He does and wasn’t happy to know they did that to her. He-”

“So here’s where you two are!” Dick scolded. “Selina and Bruce have been looking for you two! 

“Sorry about-”

“There’s no time! Bruce needs you two to help look for Jagged Stone! He’s the opening act and you two-”

Chloe listened as the trio’s voices trailed away, Chloe lifting her head until it hit the wall behind her.

“So this is where you have been.” Chloe watched as Adrien crouched in front of her. “Come on Chlo! Jagged is about to-”

“I’m not feeling so well Adrien.”  Chloe whispered, slamming her head into her knees. “I think I drank too much.”

Helping her get up, Adrien didn’t question Chloe any further. Her face had said it all. Something went down and she needed more than fresh air to clear it out of her mind.

“I’ll make sure to tell Alfred of our early retirement. I just hope M.Wayne doesn’t feel offended by you being a total light-weight.”

“Oh shut it! You know damn well I resisted drinking too much because we’re considered underage to drink in America!”

---

The gala was a success, or so that’s what Dick told Adrien when the two literally crashed into each other when Adrien had walked into the kitchen that morning.

He also thanked Adrien for his father’s donation and to relay the thanks to Chloe as well. 

“Who gave the larger donation?”

“Bourgeois.” Dick said, grinning into his milkshake when Adrien let out a grin. “I’m guessing your parents are always trying to outshine the other?”

“Since they knew each other on the field.” Adrien had answered back before Dick had to leave for school.

On his own -since Chloe insisted on wanting more sleep- Adrien wandered through the manor’s gardens, roaming around and taking in the serene ambiance. 

After an hour of wandering through the shrubs and rose garden, Adrien stumbled upon a secluded gazebo covered in vines and daisies. 

As Adrien stepped onto in, the floorboards thanked him in the form of creaks and squeaks. A table and a pair of cushions that matched the ones in the library greeted him, Adrien noticing some greater wear in the black one than the other.

Was the tri-color one more recent then?

“So you found the old gazebo.” Alfred spoke up, Adrien having a heart attack from the elder’s words.

“M. Pennyworth, how long have you been there?”

“Just a few moments. I actually came here to air out the place.” Adrien let Alfred do what he said he had come for, watching him slowly and gently clean the dirt and dust off the table. Alfred gently beat the cushions a bit before carefully setting them back down in the same spot there were. 

“M.Pennyworth.” Adrien dared to speak up, feeling awkward being in the gazebo with Alfred. Something told him he should’ve left the moment Alfred had arrived. Watching him cleaning the place felt like it was something sacred for Alfred and Adrien didn’t know why. “This gazebo...it’s very important to you, isn’t it?”

The trees swayed in the wind as Adrien waited for Alfred’s answer.

“Yes. Yes it is.” Alfred stared at the cushions he had finished cleaning. “This was Master Jason’s and his sister’s favorite place to study whenever the day let them be outside.”

“His sister?” 

“Amira is her name. A sweet child she is, though it pains me to not be able to see her again.”

“Not see her? But she is Jason’s sister, so didn’t M.Bruce-”

“M. Bruce only adopted Master Jason. Miss Amira didn’t have the same luck as Master Jason you see. Another couple took her in and took her elsewhere after…” Alfred trailed, Adrien noticing the elder man stare at the tri-colored cushion with sorrow, the same way Adrien’s father’s eyes would look when he broke to him about the news concerning his mother.

“Please M.Pennyworth, you don’t have to tell me anything. Forget-”

“Even though it pains me to remember Master Jason, this is part of the healing process. This is part of my healing process of my grandson’s death.”

Adrien stared at Alfred with wide eyes.

“Jason...is dead?”

“Master Jason… he died in a villain incident almost a year ago.”

“But hold on a second. Wasn’t that video from last night-”

“Pre-recorded.” Alfred cut off. “Master Bruce insisted on doing that last night despite my being against it. Should Amira find out about it, it would be sure to-”

“Amira? As in...his sister?”

“And best friend.” Alfred added. “Those two were inseparable. Attached to the hip. Even after the two were taken in by different families, the two went to the same school and stayed together. But when Jason died, her parents took her with them to open up their business in Paris. To start anew and let Amira recover from his death.”

Adrien watched as the daisies swayed in the wind, watching as they continued to flourish despite the harsh fall winds.

“Well, look at the time,” Alfred said as he took out his pocket watch. “I have to start prepping on tonight’s dinner. If memory still serves me correctly, we have a few more guests tonight. Until dinner, Master Adrien.”

Alfred left Adrien to ponder in the gazebo, hoping that the boy was able to catch onto the hints he left for him.

“Continue being a friend for my granddaughter Master Adrien. I trust that you and Miss Chloe help to bring her back from the abyss of despair.”

It’s been three days since Bee’s and Chat’s departure. Tomorrow, they were coming back, but Ladybird told them to take the day off. No matter what happened tomorrow, they weren’t to make an appearance until the day after.

“So, is this goodbye?” Carapace asked Ladybird, watching as she huffed.

It was finally Carapace and Gris’ last night of patrol, Carapace wondering if this truly was the last one.

He had grown fond of his new role, even if it was for only four nights.

But he knew better than to try and ask Ladybird to let him keep his miraculous. After all, Chat Noir and Queen Bee were to return two nights from now. 

“Who ever said I wouldn’t need your help in the future?” Ladybird said with a smile, Carapace grinning at that. “After all, the end of Hawkmoth’s terror is growing near.”

At that, Carapace’s grin fell as did Ladybird’s. What irony.

“The final fight…” Gris muttered, looking at the tranquil Parisian night. “I wonder what awaits us when that day happens.”

The trio looked out into the distance, wondering what the future held for each of them.

For Ladybird, she hopes it brings closure.

NEXT

[chandelier-s-notebook]

Doodlewash April 2021 prompt 18: Dragon

I made another AU. Because I don’t have enough of those I guess.

Also. I don’t really know how I feel about the pacing of this, and there is so much telling. It’s just a first draft, I need to sleep on it before I like it, but I don’t have time to do that. So while it’s fresh off the line, please enjoy this fic.

If anyone wants to be part of a taglist of this Dragon Rider AU, feel free to message me/send an ask/or mention it in reblogs.

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

This was the best school fieldtrip ever. Ridiara Prep had taken its students to the Premier League Juniors’ Dragon Racing Finals.

The day’s races were not only for national championship spots, but it was also a school day – which meant that huge swaths of the stands were reserved for half price student tickets.

The Manbri National Junior’s Dragon Race Eventing had space for four jockeys from each of the sixteen districts. Even before the Finals the people of The Yaston District knew that two slots would to go Number 35 and Number 13, or as their names, Technoblade and Dream. It was just a toss up to see who slots three and four would go to.

Tommy, Tubbo, and Ranboo sat in a cluster about as far away from the action as you could get. Not my choice, no they’d much rather be pressed against the rails, leaning over the edge watching the events unfold. Unfortunately, the seats provided by Ridiara Prep where all the way in the back corner. And if they were going to be confined to the back-most section, then these boys were going to sit all the way in the back and be petty.

The air in the stadium was electric as school started pouring in from all over Yaston.

Tommy was a bored kind of excited. The kind where you sit still and do other things while the anticipation builds internally. The kind where you know what to expect, but the energy and the thrill gets you going.

Tubbo was to bouncy type of excited. The kind where you can’t stay still and can’t help but look around at everything.  The kind where you absorb the energy of everyone else in the room and let it out with your movement.

Ranboo was the talkative kind of excited. The kind where you can’t contain yourself; where you ramble on and on about the things on your mind. The kind where you know that you might be annoying everyone around you, but you don’t care.

At 10:50am the first fleet of four racers came onto the course. The crowd screamed. The racers flew their dragons into the cages. At 11am the jumbotron screen showed the gates fall down and the cages lower below the course as the jockeys shoot forward.

The dragons weaved around each other and the course. Six laps around, the first two to cross the finishing line on the last lap would move onto the next round.

The course had a simple winding fight path with straight-aways, sharp turns, and more rounded ones. There was also a lower and upper flight limit, the dragons could overtake each other by going around or over or under, but you had to catch up first.

There were sixteen racers in the Finals, which meant seven races over the course of the day. Technoblade and Dream were on opposite sides of the tournament bracket so it would be in the afternoon when they faced off – if neither of them choked on their way to qualification for the Nationals placement flight.

The crowd had just as much energy at the end of the day as the beginning. The Nationals team was going to be Number 35, Technoblade; Number 13, Dream; Number 54, Punz; and Number 3, Puffy. The final race of the day was simply to put them in the tournament brackets.

Ranboo and Tubbo were Technoblade fanboys. They were screaming for their favourite to win. Tommy was just as excited, but it was infinitely less obvious. He just didn’t express his joy, but he did have on a dopy smile the whole time, and his eyes narrowed when anyone overtook Technoblade.

The thing about the Juniors’ League was that it was the lowest age category with the over sixteen rules. And honestly the only difference between above sixteen and below sixteen was the saddle. Those under sixteen raced with a saddle, while those over had foot stapes attached to a harness wrapped where the saddle would sit on the dragons. Don’t worry, it wasn’t a hard shift when kid turned sixteen, they could start practicing with foot stapes at twelve, but racing rules changed at sixteen.

Techno had his reigns held tightly in his hands. Held perfectly so when his dragon pulled forward, he could lean back comfortably. So when he did turns he could shift is body weight easily from foot to foot. Techno’s hair had been braided and curled into a bun at the base of his skull, his roots where very brown as he hadn’t had the time to dye it back pink recently.

Unlike Techno, Puffy was leaned all the way forward. She held the reigns much closer to the bit and saw hunched over close to her dragon’s neck. She was concentrated and gave a little shout whenever she passed someone. Whether she was falling behind or pulling forward.

Dream was much the same as Techno, but his blond hair was cut pretty boy short. He held himself with confidence and seemed to be outwardly enjoying himself while staying super competitive.

Punz was leaned forwards as well. He pretty much stayed super competitive the whole time. He trades spots with the rest of them a few times. None of the four was ever clearly ahead.

In the end, the standing where: Techno, Puffy, Dream, Punz. The crowd blew up when they realized that Puffy got second, she was a fan favourite and it was always an event when either Dream or Techno were knocked down a placement. And neither where salty about it, so no one gave a shit. They gave cheers.

Then it was time to leave. There were only so many so many school busses and Ridiara Prep hadn’t managed to book the first wave, or the second, they were on the third wave of busses. So they had a lot of time to kill. And after the second wave of students left, the teachers let the kids run free.

Tommy had a plan. He was going to sneak into the dragon stalls and see the racers. Tubbo was all for this plan. Ranboo wasn’t.

But Ranboo did give in, in the end.

The three of them whispered to each other as they ran around and tried to find what they were looking for. And they did, Tubbo had found a map and they slipped past security. Of course once they were inside the dragon stables Ranboo warmed up to the idea.

“Can we go find Carl?”

“Carl? Technoblade’s dragon?” Tubbo asked. “Oh my god we could go find Technoblade’s dragon. Let’s go find him.”

“Come on!” Tommy bolted. “Let’s go find the red dragon.”

“Carl’s scarlet.”

“Fanboy much Ranboo.”

“Shut up Tommy.”

The three kids looked at every dragon they passed and named which racer they belonged to. They finally reached Carl’s stall.

Ranboo put his hand up for the dragon to sniff. Carl came closer and bonked Ranboo’s hand with his snout. Then Tubbo did the same. Tommy was keeping watch while the other two interacted with Technoblade’s dragon.

“Hey!” a voice called. “I don’t think you kids should be here.”

“Is that Dream?” Tubbo whispered.

“Yes,” Tommy whispered back. “Hey big man!” Tommy shouted to the third place winner. “I’m allowed to be here.”

“You are?” Dream humored him. “What about your friends? Are they allowed to be here?”

Tommy pointed to Tubbo, “He has plus one privileges, not sure about that guy though.”

Ranboo snorted. “Thanks man.”

Dream walked up behind them. “You kids should leave. Just go and I won’t call security. Also, Techno really doesn’t like people messing with his dragon.”

“It’s fine,” Tommy dismissed. “Carl loves me. Don’t you boy?”

Dream shot Tommy a strange look. Then there was thumbing from Carl’s stall, like he was waving his tail and there wasn’t enough space. Dream glanced at Carl. “Huh.”

“See?” Tommy in all his bravado put his hand through the bars on the door into the stall. Carl started rubbing his snout on Tommy’s palm. “We’re good man.”

“I will call security.”

“Do that.”

“Don’t do that.” Ranboo grabbed Tommy and started pulling him away. “We’ll be on our way. Sorry for breaking and entering.”

“Ranboo!” Tubbo scolded. “Don’t make it seem worse than it is. We didn’t break anything.”

“I believe you.”

“Good.”

“Tommy. Come on. We should really get back to the class.”

“Why? I’m just going home?”

“Yeah?” Tommy continued to shrug off Ranboo and play with Carl. “Who’s a good boy?”

Dream smiled softly at the exasperated and apologetic looks Tubbo and Ranboo were sending him. “I’m very sure that Technoblade doesn’t like when people mess with Carl.”

Tommy waved his free hand. “I’m not messing with him.”

“Messing with who?”

And that was went Tubbo and Ranboo froze. On the one hand; Technoblade, they were messing with his dragon and should apologize and dip. On the other hand; Technoblade, must fanboy.

Dream gestured to Tommy petting Carl with no regard for his safety.

“And?”

“And?” Dream gestured more expressively. “Kid petting your dragon?”

“And?”

“You don’t let me do that?”

Tommy turned around to stick his tongue out at Dream.

“You aren’t the kid?”

“But why can the kid? I let you interact with Spirit!”

“Carl’s not Spirit.”

“Obviously.”

“Techno can I ride with you home? I don’t want to take the bus.”

“Yeah sure,” Techno said without a first thought. “My dragon. I make the rules.”

“Did you just?”

Techno turned to the sound. “And you are?” he asked Tubbo.

“Uhm.”

“That’s Tubbo.”

“This is Tubbo?”

“Yeah. But of a bitch isn’t he?”

“No?”

“Other guy is Ranboo. My other friend.”

“Right.” Techno turned back to Tommy. “They coming over for dinner?”

“Can they? Will we all fit on Carl?”

“No. But I brought Andrew. He could probably fit all three of you. You’re all tiny.”

“Well Technoblade.” Tommy’s voice took on a bratty quality. “We’re only fourteen, that’s not super small Mr. nineteen.”

“Do you want to ride Andrew home or would you rather crawl back into the hole you came from and take the school bus on?” Techno deadpanned.

“Andrew.”

“Cool. Let’s go get him.” Techno kept walking down the corridor to Andrew’s stall a little further down.

“What just happened?” Ranboo asked, still processing a few sentences behind.

“Technoblade’s my older brother.”

“Wilbur’s your older brother,” Tubbo corrected.

“Wilbur has a twin.”

“Huh?”

“Come on. Let’s go. We get to ride Andrew home. I’ll drive, you two and just sit tight.” Tommy took both of his friends’ hands; he knew they wouldn’t be walking on their own for a few minutes more.

The racers were all tacking up their dragons for the return journey and the busses had yet to come for the third wave of school children. Tubbo and Ranboo settled themselves into Andrew’s saddle ina daze while Tommy strapped his feet in.

Dream was still following, pestering Techno about his little brother.

“Hey Toms. Do a few loops around the track while you wait for me.”

“Yessir!”

And they were off.

Tommy waved to the teacher before flying off into the skyways behind Techno. Just letting him know not to wait up for the three boys.

[farmgirlusa]

All right so I had some thoughts about facial hair in our favorite C-Drama The Rebel Princess/Monarch Industry/Ode to Shangyang.  I figured I’d take my whole one class of film criticism and put it to use examining the potential choices for why 3 out of 4 of our guys on the show went from no facial hair to sporting some.

Now in a lot of Drama’s I’ve noticed that facial hair is often used to showcase the passing of time. How long it took for people to journey from point A to point B, or how long it’s been since person 1 has seen person 2.  This show has had several passages of time pass without the addition of facial hair. The time after Xiao Qi and Awu’s wedding was supposedly a while and no one new sported facial hair to show case the passage of time.

The first person we see to suddenly sport facial hair after previously having none is Ma Zilong after he is enthroned as emperor.  Now obviously some time has passed but after examining who else suddenly sports facial hair in this drama so far I’m not so sure that’s the only reason why our favorite Potato suddenly sported a mustache sparse though it was.

The next two we see getting some facial hair is Wang Su and Song Huaien.  Their facial hair first shows up on their journey back to the capital again seeming to imply the length of time the journey took.  Again based on other facts I’m not certain that was the sole reason why our favorite Turnip and not so favorite former Ningshuo General started sporting goatees.

Our final contender to date in the facial hair pool is Xiao Qi, and here’s where the time passage excuse starts to fall apart.  We get lots of clips of Xiao Qi during the Hulan arc.  Beating up imperial mooks, traveling place to place, riding his horse majestically up and down the country side.  In all of these clips he remains facial hair free.  The first time we see our favorite ML with the goatee is when he swoops in to save the day in Hulan.  It wouldn’t have been hard to add in some of the later shots of Xiao Qi on his horse riding to include him with the facial hair but they didn’t they choose not to.

All four of these men went through changes in character, some good some not so good and I think that more than anything is what the addition of facial hair is supposed to show.

Zilong changes after he becomes the emperor.  It shocked a lot of us viewers with how much more mature he was about being emperor and that surprisingly he wasn’t a half bad emperor.  Zilong didn’t get a full goatee just a mustache and I think that represented his character only really changed slightly from the self-absorbed crown prince he had been to the slightly less self-absorbed emperor he became.

Asu’s growth of facial hair I think is more in line with his becoming more like his father, so naturally his appearance becomes more like Wang Lin’s.  Asu is now the political Wang in the imperial court so having his appearance mimic a lighter version of his father makes sense.

Song Huaien is a slightly different story.  We’ve discussed this in the past that SHE is effectively a sponge who soaks up his environment and doesn’t have the solid core of convictions to resist temptations or molding from outside forces.  At the beginning of the show he was the upright Lieutenant General in the Ningshuo Army who was faithfully serving Xiao Qi.  We only saw him in outfits that reflected Xiao Qi’s.  Once he came to the capital there started to be changes.  His outfits still mimicked Xiao Qi’s to a degree but now his styling started to show an individualism that set him apart from his mentor.  After Xiao Qi’s supposed death and posthumous conviction for treason he fell in with the Wangs and the rest of the imperial councilors and we see his style, dress and framing in the show reflect that.

Xiao Qi abhors politics and wants the simple life on the border with his wife and his people.  But now after having this attempt made on his life, his men branded as traitors, and his wife kidnapped and sold off to Hulan he’s made his own change.  Xiao Qi was never just a simple soldier.  He always was aware of the politics he just wasn’t interested in playing the game. In one of the earlier episodes after he’s made aware of Prince Jingnian’s movements he dispatches men to watch all imperial relatives to see if anyone else is abetting or looking to rebel themselves.  For Xiao Qi the addition of facial hair is more of a symbol that the gloves are off. He’s no longer going to hold himself or his people back to let the elites sleep soundly in their beds.  He’s going to do whatever it takes to get justice for his men and ensure safety for his people and his family.

Which brings me to the final reason for all of this.  There’s one main character who hasn’t grown any facial hair at all yet despite the passage of time.  Zitan remains the last facial hair free main male character on the show.  It struck me as I was looking at the screen caps and clips from the current released episodes that his look hasn’t really changed from episode 1 to now.  A part of that I think is because Zitan hasn’t really changed, everything about him has been there from the beginning.  Quite honestly the only difference from him and Zilong in the first arc is Awu liked him back.  There’s a part of me that wonders what might have happened during that arc if Awu’s feelings for Zitan had been the same as her feelings for Zilong and Zilu, loving them like brothers, but really not interested in marrying him.  Based on current evidence it’s likely we would have seen Zitan doing everything in his power to get Awu to marry him and change her mind even after she got married to someone else.  Zitan in a lot of ways is worse than Zilong as his brother put away his feelings for Awu after she got married.  Zitan hasn’t given up on her which is evidenced time and again from him leaving the mausoleum to go search for her after she was kidnapped, to him willingly walking into the palace during Zilu’s coup because he wanted to die with Awu if she was going to die.  He’s now progressed to fratricide and attempted murder of Awu’s husband but those are just progressions along the same road that we’ve seen him traveling for a while.

So to conclude I believe that the appearance of facial hair in this drama isn’t just to show the passage of time but to show evolution of character.  Xiao Qi, Zilong, Huaien, and Asu all evolved as characters along with the passage of time so their character’s visage changed to showcase that they are no longer the same people as who they were when they started the journey.  Some changes are good Zilong wasn’t have bad as an emperor for a potato, some changes remain to play out.  I’m not holding my breath in regards to Asu and Huaien’s changes being good.  Then you have a character like Zitan who refuses to change no matter what happens or the passage of time outside his little world view.  It could be 10 years later and Xiao Qi and Awu have a passel of kids running around and Zitan would likely still be holding onto the delusion that if he’s patient or does whatever scheme Awu will come running back into his arms.

I stole the screen caps from posts by @dangermousie​ and @orsuliya​,  I did not make any of them myself.

[ddarker-dreams]

Out of all the yanderes that you write for, which ones would be the most possessive/protective of their darling?

Bakugou: 

Bakugou might not be the type to compliment you often, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t think highly of you. For someone with as high standards for people as Bakugou, that doesn’t come without some weight to it. He holds you in high regards so he figures that other people feel the same about you. If he thinks you’re amazing, everyone else most likely does right?

This adds with it a sense of competitiveness and concern that someone might try to take you from him. He doesn’t think he’s unworthy of you or anything, far from it. Just that you being so likable means others might try. He doesn’t think you’d ever betray him in that way, but his trust doesn’t extend to others. 

This all creates a perfect storm for his possessive nature. Under the guise of wanting to be a caring boyfriend, he’s deluded himself into thinking cutting others off from you is for the best. That they’d only try to poison you with their thinking, and he’s fending them off for your own good. 

It also goes without saying that he keeps an eye out for you at every given opportunity. If you were in class together, he’d try to protect you during training exercises and the like. It’ll be accompanied by him chastising you, but he secretly feels content when he keeps you safe. It makes him feel like he’s the only person that could do this for you, and really validates him. 

Todoroki: 

Todoroki feels a sense of unworthiness when he’s with you. He adores you and puts you in such high regard, that he can’t help but notice how everyone else looks at you as well. Of course you’d be desirable to others, look at what you’re able to do to him! It makes him sick to his stomach, just the mere thought of someone else taking an interest in you.

He is protective over you to an overbearing extent. Always looking out for you, constantly going out of his way to ensure your safety. What he lacks in words he makes up for in action. Unfortunately for you this makes him desire to kidnap you as soon as possible. He views it as the ultimate form of protection, since no one else could interact with you.

He can be suffocating in subtle ways, not wanting to clue you in to just how delusional he is. Texting you almost too often but just stopping shy of being creepy, stuff like that. There’s a line that he comes close to crossing but before you’ve been kidnapped he stops himself from crossing it. Just for now anyways. 

Shigaraki:

Shigaraki wouldn’t have an issue with the immoral side of being possessive as much as most would. He doesn’t rush to try and justify his actions to himself, he simply just doesn’t see the point in that. He feels that he wants you, and he should have you. This means there’s no limit to his possessiveness over you.

On the off chance that he hasn’t kidnapped you yet, he would stalk you whenever he had free time. This means anyone you’re often in contact with would be observed as well. Anyone that acted a little too friendly for Shigaraki’s liking would be disposed off without any issue, their deaths ranging in intensity depending on how upset he felt about their relationship with you.

He’s not the textbook definition of protective, but he wouldn’t let you get into any situations where you’d be hurt. If he were to ever be watching you and saw someone trying to hurt you, they’d be suffering an awful fate for even making an attempt. It wouldn’t be a “knight in shining armor” situation either since he’s mostly upset about someone approaching you more than your actual safety being in jeopardy. 

He doesn’t know what to do with all the feelings you inflict upon him. It can be overwhelming at times, since he doesn’t have a good outlet for all the extreme emotions. Shigaraki doesn’t want to lash out on you, however, but that means someone else will get it instead. Most likely someone you were just talking to, or giving more attention to instead of him. 

Izaya:

For someone that likes humans and observing them in various situations, Izaya would not be keen on sharing you with the outside world. He wants all your new experiences to be related only to him, and no one else. He’s definitely the type to isolate you due to his own possessive nature, slowly making it so you rely only on him. 

He would take measures to prevent you from harming yourself. He isn’t protective in the traditional sense, since he doesn’t have any qualms to exposing you to extreme situations. But he wouldn’t ever want you to be mortally hurt or anything, his life wouldn’t be the same without you after all. 

Izaya definitely threatens those close to you into backing off before he kidnaps you. The range of subtly and severity of the threats depends on their relationship with you, but it’s enough to be effective. This is his way of isolating you and having you more open to him, but also satisfies his desire for you to only be with him.

Giorno: 

Giorno tries not to be extreme with his methods, opting on escalating things only if it’s necessary. He tries the traditional methods of getting you to fall for him before moving to anything else. But if you’re apprehensive about getting into a relationship with him, that’s when he starts to use less desirable methods. 

He often has someone watching over you, reporting back to him about what you’ve been doing and who you’ve been talking to. Every aspect of your life is fully exposed to him, as he starts to pull strings behind the scenes. 

Things such as your job suddenly firing you, a random eviction notice at your apartment… all so that you have to rely solely on him. It isn’t done with any ill will towards you, rather, he wants to set himself up to be a hero in your eyes. He would even say that your past rejection is already forgiven, and that he’d do anything that you needed. 

This set up would put you exactly where he wants. He’ll kindly offer you a place at his villa, as if he wasn’t the source of all your troubles. He’d be able to look after you better this way, and ensure your safety. 

[butyouvealwaysbeenthecaretaker]

There's something I'm trying to put into words,

about the discomfort of straight women who are very into slash and yaoi. It's been bothering me in a quiet way for a while, and then over the weekend it exploded, and I'm trying to pick my way through pain constructively.

There's a couple of things.

~*~

Point zero is that desire is good, actually, and so is fantasy. Keep this in mind, we'll come back to it.

~*~

The first thing is shame. People who are choosing to approach their own desire from the side, not willing to recognise their own bodies or vocalise their desire in their own voice, or think about sex in which their bodies participate. People who are too afraid to work on their own liberation, so take yours.

After all, feminist sexual writing is a whole genre and tradition. The only reason why queer men's liberation feels appealing to these women is that they have nothing at stake in it: it's fantasy, it's safe, it's nothing to do with or about them.

For actual queer men, the process of liberationary sex writing is - of course - mortifying; or there is a stage of mortification and pain one experiences in approaching it. It is not, and never will be, your safe space; that's why you're trying to transform it into one.

~*~

The second thing is privacy. I'd wake up and log on and there would be a full-flown gigglefest about sex in slash, and not being able to quite put my finger on how to say - this is making me feel bad and weird. And in retrospect, this picks up on point 1. Whose bodies are we sexualising in this space. I want to go back and start a conversation about how I prefer girl-on-top and how people who read missionary fic are gross, and hey when you read Barbie/Ken fic, do you see them mostly doing it doggy style?

Because I think that would make-it-real, for these women to feel their own bodies are at stake and being scrutinised in the conversation.

Making my morning coffee, I wonder what kinds of sexual relationships these women have, and if they know that "gay missionary" isn't this abstract concept that appears in fanfiction but a kind of sex they have all the right anatomy to experience for themselves. I suspect they would not like that, and that also the purpose of these conversations is specifically so that nobody envisages them having sex, or being sexual beings.

~*~

The third is experience.

A. thinks that it's a problem that teenagers watch gay porn. (A. wrote her dissertation on gay porn.) A has never had her rights removed on the basis that the world must be made "safe for children".

B thinks there's too much gross stuff in fanfic and it should be banned. B has never experienced fanfic archives removing LGBT material under the aegis of child-protection and removing what is "gross". B has never experienced a reasonable-sounding expansion of anti-kink laws being used in the vaccum where anti-gay laws once stood, the way they disproportionately target queer porn, or are used to harass sex workers, or arrest queer people.

C thinks that anyone who has a gross fantasy, is a hair-trigger away from actually hurting somebody. C is cisgender, and will never be arrested in a bathroom or have her body regarded as inherently a gross sexual fetish. C does not date women, and has never come to learn that a fist may be more easy to take than a kiss, when you are made to feel disgusting for desiring love. C is also asexual - the shame associated with having a sexual expression of any kind is not on her radar. C does not experience gender dysphoria, and had to wrestle with the downright odd things you brain does to manage a libido and an incoherent body all at once. C has never dated someone who survived the peak of AIDS, and has formed intimate connections between blood and sex and death, forged by decades of homophobic media and law. C. cannot tolerate the concept of erotic horror because she has never been made to experience her own body and desires as horrifying.

All these women spend all their free time making stories about imaginary gay and crossdressing men, talking about drag race, and sylvester.

This is not dissonant to them. As we have said, these women see queer man culture as a a place of safety - an escape from patriarchy and their own discomfort. They are unable to comprehend queer expression as a thing that is not safe.

They are very certain that they can tell the difference between a sexual expression that is gross and nongross; and hurting the gross is therefore OK, because punishing perverts will never be co-opted in their soft-focus world of tender coffeshop AUs and gentle longing and having the right kind of gay sex that is photogenic for women to consume.

~*~ A corollary: these things are not for you. What if we defined queer media - one of many possible definitions - as a thing that excludes. Their defining quality is a conversation between queer artist and queer listener, drawn from the conversations the artist had with their friends and lovers, or conversations with the world which anyone within the wall will find familiar.

I am suddenly, humbling-ly and viscerally aware of where the *don’t like white people who like ballroom culture* people are coming from

~*~

The fourth thing is that broader conversation about women with privilege (whiteness, class, straightness), being unable to consider that their behaviour could ever be dangerous or destructive.

Their own narrative of sexual victimhood and shame is central in their own hearts, and they are incapable of adopting an intersectional perspective which adds nuance to their experiences.

~*~

And the fifth is how much they hate you when you try and bring actual queer politics into their fragile world.

Simultaneously asking, on the one hand - could we make this space safe for work again, so it feels a little less like it does now? and being howled at, as if that's an outrageous restriction on their right to talk about pornography.

And on the other, if we are to be a porn conversation place, can we try and rethink the judgemental "anyone who likes weird sex is a threat" attitudes that come up over, and over, and over again.

Needless to say, the needle for "this man is a sexual predator" fired in under 30 seconds and, shortly after demanding I leave the community I established, nobody has spoken to me since.  

~*~

There's a particular soreness, I think, of being around people who want to casually chat about drag and feel like Born This Way is theirs and want to PM you about their dissertation on gay porn studios of the 1970s and stan the Marquis de Sade

but cannot take the reality of being around queer people or their lives.

An ugliness, a grossness, a grossness that compounds the passively "being treated like a sexual object" into an active bar on having sexual subjectivity. A be seen but not heard of the bedroom: be seen, a Bowie-chiselled Velour-glamoured Cowley-sparkling Velvet Goldmine vision;

but not heard, as in, don't ever cross that line into talking about real sex in our fantasies (even when our fantasies are your real sex), and don't ever make us consider that our words have weight.

I'm spending time in a little world with women who like Interview with a Vampire, the Company of Wolves, David Lynch and the Marquis de fucking Sade, and who are so fragile around their own fears of desire that they cannot tolerate someone saying - it's fine to be into stuff, and not be ashamed.

This odd middle space, where on the one hand I am comfortable in spaces which are sexually silent - where the horror and challenge of my body and life never come up; and on the other, I am comfortable in spaces which are radically sexually open, in which no-one need feel afraid or judged.

These women, on the other hand, want something else: this desire to talk about sex billowing out of them, irrepressably, but also to use that freedom to box other sexualities down tight - to judge, to shame, to define themselves coyly by describing others as disgusting, to feel that urge spilling into view only to publically run away from it and demand others do the same.

Erotica, without wanking. Desiring men, without women. Thinking about the sex lives of your toy dolls, but not being into that weird stuff. Fantasies, with no bodies. Male sexuality, with no actual men in it.

~*~

I am the last of three queer people who has left that community; and still, I imagine, the "define our own sexuality in coded ways by judging things we are not as gross, and creating in the gaps around our own bodies and desires a world of gay men who are like I wish to be" conversations are going on; but unobserved by any actual queers who might break the fantasy.

And reader, I liked these people. I'm heartbroken.

[tabby-shieldmaiden]

This is for @promptsforthestrugglingauthor ‘s Friday Night Fights. Please make sure to check the tags for content warnings, and I hope that you enjoy this! 

Reblogs would be appreciated! Comments too!

Just like any day where I have a scheduled exam, I arrive at school as early as I can. I had packed myself breakfast to eat there. Mostly out of habit. I like to eat at school, for some reason. It was a simple meal, two peanut butter and strawberry jam sandwiches and some coffee in a thermos. I ate it all while sitting under the old tree in the centre of the school’s courtyard. Afterwards, I pack away my lunchbox into my pack, pick up my sword, and head over to the centre of the yard.

I take in a deep breath, and adjust my stance. Then I determine my next move. My mind runs through the many ways I could swing my sword at a hypothetical monster. Most of them were moves I saw from other trainers, expert swordsmen. I had looked through lots of diagrams in the library, and I tried to recall as many as I could. I swung, trying to recall all the advice given to me. Took in a deep breath. Swung my sword again. 

It wasn’t as good as having a sparring partner or a dummy, but for the time being, while the gym was closed and I was partnerless, this was as good a practice I could get. Especially before the practical.

I wanted to pass this test. I wanted to be a good sword fighter period. I always wanted to be a knight or a magical girl or something along those lines ever since I was a little girl. In a world with so many monsters, where more and more different variants are spawning by the day, where researchers and the fighters of monsters are constantly dropping like flies while on the job due to the sheer number of new monsters, I was encouraged to go for it. 

At least, I was encouraged to go for it by my teachers. Other people who knew me for my interests at school.

My mother is still scared for me. I came from a long line of seamstresses. My father had been a baker’s son, before serving some time as a soldier against the monsters, and then dying. He was poorly-trained, and he was already a rather scrawny, sickly man. It was during a particularly intense battle. A lot of people died. Traditionally, in my country, funerals last three days. His funeral lasted three hours. Right before one, and right after there was another one.

It stuck with me. For years, it was all I could think about. I wondered if there could have been a way for him to live. I wished that I could grow up strong and brave. Eventually, I began asking myself questions. Could I get stronger, faster, become a better fighter than my father? Fight the monsters who took his life? 

Those questions, those hypotheticals, became challenges. 

As it turns out, I could. I got good enough to get past an audition, and into Northport’s School for Monster Hunters and Monster Research. Mother was scared, but ultimately supportive. “You’re a tough girl, Janey. But please, be as careful as you can.” I have her and my younger sister Lila praying for my safety every day. Every day, I make sure I work as hard as I can for them.

What no one told me was that most people who enrolled in these specialised schools for monster hunters were trained all their lives. They came from lines of acclaimed monster hunters. Powerful people, great fighters, who spent their youth slaying monsters and keeping the land safe, and then were  lucky enough to retire and go on to start families. 

My classmates were proud. They were good at what they did. They trusted very few. Cliques were common among the people I went to school with. Most of my classmates were better fighters than I was. They were more skilled, thanks to spending a lifetime around monster hunters. While I played with dolls and balls, their toys growing up were swords and shields. And they needed to learn how to use them well. Their families expected them to. And among themselves right now, because of their cliques (the environment was very cliquey), they trained and pushed each other every day. I was mostly friendless, and I had to do a lot of training by myself. It made things like sparring more difficult. Who was I supposed to spar against if all I had was myself most of the time?

I thought I was pretty good before. I was the neighbourhood bully hunter. The girl who would never go anywhere without her makeshift armour. Being an aspiring warrior was my ‘thing’. But once I started school at Northport, I suddenly became a small fish in a very big pond. Especially in terms of my fieldwork.

I was decent at theory at least. I studied monsters and the best ways to take them down - all their common weak points and vulnerabilities - as much as I could, and I was rewarded for my hard work in the form of Cs, Bs, even an odd B+. They, for the most part, are what prevent me from flunking out. I suppose this is a sign I should get into research more than fieldwork… hm…

In any case, in the present I need to focus on my swordwork. I’d been practicing in private a lot lately. Hopefully, they’ll be good enough for the examiners. I always found theory exams much easier than practicals. But hopefully, this time I’ll be good enough to pass this one the first time ‘round. 

I go from stance to stance. Rehearsing how to carry myself, and the right next steps after. They weren’t supposed to be static, which was the problem. The trainers always said I was far too stiff. I needed to be dynamic, flowing, my movements striking and powerful. I’d been practicing loads. But I still wonder, I question, I doubt. And I froze.

Shit, that wasn’t supposed to happen. If I had overthought my next move out in the field, I would have died. They had always said the problem was my way of thinking. Mainly, that I thought too much. “You’ll choke out in the field if you overthink it,” they said. “Just go with your gut, trust that you’ve practiced and let your instincts kick in.” Most everyone in the class was so good at going with their gut. It came as naturally to them as breathing. 

I had to argue with my mother to even get a sword. Prior to this, I had only a year of official training. I think what got me into the school was my good grades in my formal education. I pour countless hours into practicing my fighting skills. But I think too much when I really shouldn’t. I always have. Ever since I was little. And so far, it’s hard to turn that part of me off.

I sometimes wonder if anyone else in this school felt the same way. But honestly, if they grew up in a family of monster hunters, I don’t know why they would. I envy them sometimes. Growing up, they had access to some of the finest monster hunters to train them in the craft.

After a while, I stop and drop my sword. Panting, I pick up my bag, and make my way to the bathroom. It was about time I took a break anyway. I can’t go and take my exam while exhausted. Right now though, I needed to freshen myself up. I have to at least look presentable.

Well, technically I didn’t. The people who judge fieldwork are all seasoned warriors, and they all know not to judge a fighter by their appearances. But I still feel the need to look neat and tidy anyways.

I walk into the bathroom, and I steer myself towards the sink. I wash my hands. Scrub them clean of grime. And once they were clean, I splash some water onto my face. The sweat washes off my brow, and I felt a little more refreshed. I’m still all sweaty from the neck down, but at least my face was clean.

I wish I had brought some deodorant. Ah well. I still should try to do what I can to freshen myself up anyways. I undo my braid, which was already coming apart, and I start to redo it again.

Halfway through, my ears pick up a soft sound. Previously, I had thought that I was the only one in the bathroom. But upon closer inspection…

I turn around, and realise that there was actually a locked door behind me. Another soft sound. Something muted. If I had to classify the sound, I would say it was  a sob. It sounded like the person wanted to make a softer sound, but ended up sobbing louder than they had wanted to. 

I slowly walk to the stall, my concern growing. Was it any of my business? Probably not. But I was an ex-bully hunter. I always, out of instinct, would want to check up on anyone who appears to be having a miserable time in the school bathroom. 

I tap the door once. Twice. “Hey,” I whisper.

A sniffle. “Are you okay?”

No response. Another attempt at a muted sob, which came out loud regardless. 

“Are you crying?”

“Please,” their voice cracked against the word. “Don’t acknowledge it.”

I pause, and bite my lip. For a moment, I contemplated between walking off and leaving them alone, or staying with them. But that decision ended up being harder to make than I thought. I most likely had no idea who this person was as all. Would they even appreciate having a random stranger hang around for them in the bathroom? They sound like me being here was already a pretty big blow to their dignity. 

On the other hand… call me a chronic do-gooder, but I don’t like people being left alone to suffer. I just don’t. But I knew I had to respect them. If they want to be alone, they should be allowed to be left alone. Something my mother told me once regarding heroics was that assuming what was best for someone wasn’t necessarily doing what was best for someone. I had trouble grasping that concept when I was younger. Now, I think I should try to work harder at remembering that. 

With as gentle a voice I can muster, I ask them, “Would you rather be left alone now?”

A loud sniffle. A pause. “N-no. It’s fine.” Another sniffle. A choke. 

And then there was silence. I tap my fingers together, I wonder what to do. “Could… could you stay for a little while?” They asked, their voice soft, tinged with embarrassment. 

“Oh, uh, of course.” I dug into my backpack and pulled out my phone. From there, I check the time. I still had a couple of hours before the exam would start. Ultimately, I guess it was a pretty good decision to head to school early.

It was awkward there. I tried to focus on anything else. The weight of my sword hanging from my belt. The whirring of fans. The strong smell of cheap air freshener. The suspicious looking puddle leaking out of the stall in the far right. Then, they started talking again. “If you promise to not tell anyone else,” a sniffle, “can I vent a little to you?”

I was… well I was a little surprised at the request. I’d had a lot of people vent to me in my lifetime. But those had all been people I knew. Ergo, I knew what words to say to them to comfort them. But I didn’t know who was on the other side of the door. What does one say to someone who may be a complete and total stranger?

Maybe they really do just need someone to vent to though. “Sure,” I say. Maybe all I need to do is listen.

A sniffle. “Okay… okay…” And then a moment of silence. I figure they probably needed some time to put their thoughts together. So I stood there, patient.

“I…” they trailed off again. “I guess I’m just… I’m just worried about disappointing people in the fieldwork exam today.” My eyes widen. They were taking the test today too?

“I… My Mom and Dad expect a lot. They were all really skilled monster hunters back in the day… and… and… so’s everyone else in the family. I come home every day and I always hear about how even though they were so great, they all had their close shaves. And how someone like me could never be a good hunter like they all were…” Trailed off. More crying.

They calm down. “Like, sometimes I feel like I’m the talentless one of the bunch. I feel like I’m in the wrong place. But I actually wanted to be here. So I can only blame myself for failing.” A choke. A sniff. “I just made it into this school. If there had just been one more person auditioning, who… who had more potential than I did… I wouldn’t have even made it… I’m pretty sure.” I chew my lip. Regardless of whether or not I knew them, I honestly didn’t know what to say to help them feel better.

They continue, after taking more time to cry. I stood there, waiting patiently, growing more and more uncomfortable with my inability to truly go in and comfort them. Why couldn’t I think of anything which seemed like the right thing to say? 

“And all my friends… They’re so much better than I am at everything too. They get better grades at everything they can stick with their study schedules… I think I’m actually pretty replaceable to them. Anyone else in my class just seems so much more hardworking than me, and I don’t know why… I don’t know why I can’t seem to ever work as hard as they do. I want to, but I can’t, and now I’m scared I never practiced enough to pass.” They cry some more. It sounds like an insecurity they’d been grappling with for a long time. 

I swallowed after hearing that. Did they… are they a classmate of mine? And if they were, was I actually an object of envy in some ways?

The perspective I had just been given, along with how it was revealed to me, only made me feel something strange. I wasn’t quite sure what I would label that emotion. They continued to sob behind the bathroom stall.

“I see,” I replied, after they had quieted down. I still had no real words of comfort to give them. A bit more crying from behind the door. I look down at my sword, and kick the tiled floor. 

“Thanks,” they say, “thanks for listening by the way. Promise you won’t tell anyone about this?”

I nod. “Of course I won’t.” That was a promise. “I’ll… I need to go now too. Good luck for your test.”

A sniffle. “Thank you.” I leave the bathroom.

It was weird now. Just earlier I had been worried about being held back, and now… those fears have been given a bit more perspective. And well… I suppose I am still worried about the test. But at the same time…

I look down at my sword, and then make my way to the holding room. Hopefully, it should be open by now. It was not. That meant loitering around in the corridor for a bit. Ah well. 

I read a lot of stories about great heroes back in the day. Beyond monster slayers, there were also many fictional tales about great heroes I loved. I still love them, somewhat. But I also realise, as I grew older, that so many of those tales made it feel like the world revolved around one very successful person. And everyone else there was merely a prop to help them attain greatness. And though the world doesn’t revolve around a person, at times, I found myself feeling more like a prop and less like the hero to my own tale. Simply because of how powerless I feel sometimes. 

There were exceptions to those though. The hero sometimes needs to learn that the world did not revolve around them. They needed to learn to accept their weaknesses while acknowledging the strengths of their friends. Then they empowered each other to live happily ever after together. Working together to make up for each other’s shortcomings.

Strangely enough, I suddenly got the feeling to reread one of those stories.

Maybe after the exam. Hopefully, the practice will pay off.