#alls well that ends well or some bullshit like that

[ramhaiba]

𝖢𝗁𝖺𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗈𝗇𝖾 (𝖸𝖺𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖠𝗍𝗌𝗎𝗆𝗎 𝖷 𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋)

Masterlist Contains- college au, bullying, dubcon, oral (f receiving), virginity loss, unprotected sex, slight breeding kink, manhandling

It’s not Atsumu’s fault you can’t handle a little teasing. Why are girls like you always so sensitive? So what if he’s tripping you in the dining hall, making you drop your food all over yourself- frankly, he thinks it’s your fault for not paying attention. 

He doesn’t care if he has to go out of his way to make your life a little more miserable because of the frustrated look you give him afterward. Where your lips are formed into a pout, teeth grinding in anger, eyebrows furrowed- yeah, that look just makes it all worth it. 

“I know you took my wallet, I want it back” 

Atsumu heard your annoyed voice from behind him, he's turning around to see your pissed-off expression, arms crossed.

“Princess, I don’t know what you mean. I’m just trying to get back to my dorm” Atsumu replied, a friendly grin on his face as if he wasn’t lying straight through his teeth. 

“You’re such an asshole, y'know that? Just give back my wallet. It has my ID in it” you sighed. “Well if I did have it- which I do not- I would say your ID picture managed to make you look worse than you already do. I guess rock bottom does have a basement, after all, huh?” Atsumu teased.

“I-it’s not my fault, I was in a rush when they took that picture and couldn’t freshen up properly. You could just keep my wallet, all I need is my ID back” you huffed, feeling slightly embarrassed.

“I don’t know, I kinda wanna keep it for hmm- three to four business days. Does that  sound good for you, sweetheart?” Atsumu suggested. “I need it today, Miya” you demanded, tone stern with a hint of anger.

“Is that so? What’s so important about you getting your ID back today” Atsumu interrogated. You could try lying to him- but that never turns out well for you. Years of playing volleyball made him an expert in reading body language, he’d call your bullshit from a mile away. 

“I’m going to a party today and I need my ID to get in” you sighed, closing your eyes as you didn’t wish to see whatever cocky expression he had on. 

“Is lil goody two shoes Y/n finally going to her first college party?” Atsumu cooed, his hand pulling out your wallet from his back pocket, holding it in front of you. Just as you were about to grab for it, Atsumu raised it above your head.

“Which one,” he asked.

“Which what?” you repeated. 

“Which party are you going to tonight?” Atsumu added, teasingly swinging the wallet above your head, just centimeters out of reach. The first thought that came to mind was - wait there are multiple parties going on tonight? Maybe you do live under a rock. 

“Why do you want to know” you questioned. “So, I know which one not to go to. A girl like you would totally cramp my style” Atsumu waved off your concerns. 

“The one tonight at Oikawa’s penthouse” you sighed. “You’re going to Oikawa's party? You know that guy always has weird themes for all of the parties he throws” Atsumu commented.

“So what? I’m still going. Now- can I please get my wallet back” you huffed. “Alright, alright- here you go princess. But you should know-”

“I heard Oikawa’s last party ended in an orgy”

Atsumu whispered the words in a teasing tone causing your face to boil, he sneaked his hand down your back pocket, sliding your wallet in there before pulling away to show his obnoxious innocent smile

“Don’t have too much fun without me, ya?” he cooed.

Atsumu was right.

Oikawa really does throw strange-themed parties. That’s why your face is covered with a white bunny-like masquerade mask, the pale animal mask outlined in gold paint. 

“Do I really have to wear this?” you asked your friend, Yui, who was the one to encourage you to go to a party. 

“Yes, and you look great! It’s totally on theme” Yui beamed. “And what is the theme exactly?” you questioned.

“Humanity’s inner animal” Yui quoted, shaking her hands to add some ‘pizazz’ to the ridiculous idea. “And I’m a bunny?” you added. “I didn’t have any other masks, I’m sorry- but the bright side, you’re finally going to a college party. Maybe you’ll even lose that pesky virginity of yours, huh?” Yui cooed, nudging you with her elbow.

“Yeah- yeah. I’m just hoping this night isn’t going to end in a disaster” you laughed.

---

The walls were highlighted by the flashing LED lights, music was booming in your ears, and you could feel the vibrations of crowds of people dancing around you. Of course, with the enormous amount of people at the party- you lose your one friend. All your senses were useless- it was too dark to see anything, it was too loud to hear your friend's voice, or the loud music drowned out your voice if you tried to call out for her. So you wandered aimlessly into the crowd, clutching onto your red cup until you bumped into someone’s chest. 

“Christ-” he huffed, solid black shirt with the sleeves scrunched up now splashed with your drink, it was hard to take a good look at the unfortunate man in front of you but you could tell he had light hair by the way the LED lights shined on it.

His outfit was casual, a black shirt, silver chain around his neck, and khakis pants. He wouldn’t be on the theme at all if for the solid bronze fox-faced mask that he was wearing.

“I am so sorry” you yelped, as you tried to search in your purse for napkins. “Don’t worry about it, I didn’t like this shirt anyways.” he laughed, putting your hand away from your bag. 

“I really didn’t mean to bump into you- I’m just looking for my friend-”

And just like that, from the corner of your eye, you spot Yui talking to a familiar officer-in-training, your hope is lost.

“I’m guessing your friend bit occupied, huh?” he questioned. “I knew coming here was a mistake” you sighed in defeat.

“Hey- c’mon, bunny. The night ain't over yet. Forget about your friend. I’ll be your chaperone tonight” the masked man offered. “You don’t have to, I don’t think I like parties anyways” you rejected, turning around to retreat to the door.

 “You only don’t like it 'cause you haven’t done anything fun yet. Now, let’s get you a new drink and maybe that could loosen you up a lil, yeah?” he interrupted, his hand on your shoulder spinning you to face him.

There is just something about the way he talks to you, perhaps there is a reason why he’s wearing a fox mask, he’s too cunning to say no to.

That’s how you end up playing a couple rounds of beer pong with a stranger, dancing with him to a song you never heard before, and why you’re leaving the party with him, laughing as you exchange kisses. 

You’re blaming it on the alcohol in your system when you agree to follow him back to his dorm, grinning against his back as he unlocks the door to his room.

Once it’s open, you both barge inside, hands desperate to tear off each other clothes, managing to pull off the black shirt he was wearing, lips pressed against each other.

That’s when you finally notice, you know this room- you know this room because you’ve barged into it before when you demanded Atsumu to unpost that terrible picture of you online. The stranger in front of you could sense your realization because you pulled away from him.

“Don’t look at me like that” he chuckled as he leaned over to lay wet kisses on your neck, his now clearly blonde hair grazing your chin.

“Get off of me-” you yelped as you pushed him off of you. There it is. His classic obnoxious grin, the one annoying smile that he does every time he wins. 

He slowly undid the ribbon that tied his mask, letting it fall to his feet as he maintained eye contact with you. Atsumu Miya. 

You left the party with Atsumu Miya. The man you’ve hated for years, the man that has tortured you for years, and you were minutes away from actually letting him take your virginity. 

“I thought we were having fun, Y/n” Atsumu cooed.

He knew- he knew it was you and he let you believe that it wasn’t him under the mask? 

“This isn’t fun, this is you lying to me like you always do. God- I can’t believe you” You commented, throwing your mask off in frustration, your intense anger boiling your cheeks.

“Lying? Sweetheart, it’s your fault for never asking for my name before you came home with me” Atsumu remarked.

“You know what I meant. W-were you actually planning to have sex with me? Y’know what? I don’t want to know the answer to that. God- why are you so obsessed with me? I get that you like making my life a living hell but you seriously went too far this time” You begin to raise your voice, years of anger from being harassed constantly finally coming out of your thoughts and into your words.

“Y/n- 

“I’m leaving- th-this was so wrong” you huffed, aiming for the door, only for his forearm to corner your face, his hand pressing against it, forcing it closed.

“You’re. Not. Leaving”  he uttered, eyes narrowing as he looked down at you, playful tone morphing into something much more stern and dark.

“ Atsumu, you can’t force me to stay here,” you remarked. 

“ I told you, you’re not leaving, not 'til I’m done with you that’s all,” he responded.

“W-what are you talking about” you questioned, slowly backing away from him.

It’s ironic that you decided to wear a rabbit mask tonight and he wore a fox because that’s exactly how you feel- like a rabbit being hunted by a fox. 

He’s pouncing on you, his hand curling over your nape, shoving your face closer to his, lips crashing onto each other as his tongue slipped out of his mouth, aggressively pressing against the softness of your lips.

You’re struggling, trying to push him off of you by his stern chest, gasping for air as his lips move towards your neck, sucking, biting at any exposed skin, blonde hair tickling your chin, legs becoming weak.

“ A-Atsumu, stop it” you whimpered,

“ Why? Bet your pussy is liking it,” Atsumu responded, licking a stripe up your neck, smirking against the skin.

“ She’s fucking beggin’ me to play with her, ain't she?” Atsumu teased. “ I don’t want this” you uttered.

Atsumu pulled away, averting his eyes as he recollected his thoughts to turn them into an idea,

“ Show me you don’t want this and I’ll let you leave,” Atsumu responded, lips turning into an innocent smile.

“ How do I exactly do that” you questioned,

“Get on the bed and show me that your cunt ain’t wet and I’ll let ya go without a problem, easy right?” Atsumu suggested, tilting his head towards his dorm’s mattress.

“I-I’m not going to strip for you” you argued,

“Fine then. I’ll do it for you, sweetheart “ Atsumu replied, easily flinging you over his shoulder due to his ridiculously muscular arm and then dropping you on the mattress. Before you can even register, his palm is pressed against your stomach, effectively holding you down, while the other is sneaking under your dress. Your breath hitches once you feel his finger tracing your slit through your panties until he’s sliding them down.

Atsumu didn’t need to look at your cunt to know it was wet and needy, he could already feel the dampness through your panties, still, that didn’t stop him from ducking his head under your dress, to make eye contact with your cunt. You tried to push him away only to receive a harsh bite on your inner thigh.

“ Settle down sweetheart, just gonna take a closer look. Wanna make sure this cunt is wet f’me” he hummed.

You hate him. You hate him because you know he already knows the shameful answer but he still decides to tease you anyway.

You’re snapping out of your thoughts the second you feel his hot tongue slip between your folds,

“ Atsumu” you gasped, hand going to reach for the blonde locke you hate so much.

“ Just gonna take a quick taste that’s all. ” Atsumu cooed.

Then he’s lapping at your cunt, tongue rolling over your swollen clit, fingers pushing deep into your walls, thrusting in and out.

‘Quick taste’ yeah- right, there's no way in hell he’ll be stopping soon because he’s getting off at the feeling of your cunt clamping down at his thick fingers, your thighs trembling around his head, and how you’re failing to prevent a slutty moan from slipping out of your glossy lips. 

“Gonna make a mess f’me baby? Go ahead. Wanna see how slutty my girl is” Atsumu uttered against your cunt, pressing a kiss on your throbbing clit, the tips of his fingers hitting so deep in your cunt that you wonder how you’re going to cum again without them. When you’re orgasm is hitting you Atsumu’s tongue is collecting every last drop he can get from your sopping wet pussy. 

When he’s finally pulling away, you can see how damp his chin is, how his eyes narrow at the sight of your messy cunt when he finally looks up with you, his lips curl into a smirk.

“Wanna taste baby? Promise you’ll like it” he teases, showing you his slick coated fingers. “Fuck off” you cursed, averting your eyes from the erotic sight as you tried to hide your embarrassment with your attitude. 

“More f’me then” he replied, letting his fingers sink into his mouth, licking them clean. Just as you think it was over and you’d get to leave, go back to your dorm, and pretend this never happened, you glance back at Atsumu leaning his head back to your cunt and throwing his spit onto it, chuckling at the sight of his saliva dripping down your pussy.

“Atsumu-that’s enough. You got what you wanted” you yelped as you tried pushing him away, only for him to laugh. “You really think that was enough to satisfy me? Baby, can't ya see how hard I am for you? Fuckin’ thought I was about to cum in my pants while eating you out” Atsumu responded. 

“C-can’t you just use your hand to get off then I-I want to go back to my dorm” you mumbled, voice quiet due to embarrassment. 

“Use my hand? And waste this perfectly tight virgin pussy I got wet f’me. Ya were so eager to lose your virginity to some rando you met at a party. Ain’t this better? To fuck someone who actually knows yer name” Atsumu remarked. 

“H-how do you know I’m still a virgin?” you asked. Atsumu hummed, as his lips curled into a sadistic smile.

“Cause I made sure of it. Can’t let another man touch my girl, my Y/n” He answered. The truth is finally hitting you, all those guys who ghosted you, all those boyfriends who dumped you on the first week of dating, fuck even the first guy you kissed was sent to the hospital afterward from a serve injury caused by an ‘unknown’ culprit. 

You thought Miya, Atsumu was only capable of verbally teasing you, annoying you, and sometimes even getting a little physical with you but he’s been tarnishing your love life since high school. All so he can get this moment. Being the first guy to give you an orgasm, being the first guy to play with your pussy, and now he’s going to be the first guy to fuck your pussy. 

And if everything goes to plan. He’s going to be the only person who’s ever going to put his dick into your pussy.

Atsumu’s sadistic laughter is snapping you back into reality. “Ya scared, sweetheart?”Atsumu asked, his tongue licking his front teeth.

You couldn’t respond, Atsumu having to force out a reply by slapping your cunt. “N-no” you yelped, pathetically lying to him even though he could see right through you.

“Usually, I just fuck girls, I don’t give a shit about going slow, or ‘makin' love’ type of bullshit” Atsumu confessed- unbelievable, he’s really talking about other girls right now?

“Lucky for you, there's a difference between you and those dumb bitches I fucked in the past” Atsumu added. 

“And wh-what is that?” you panted, looking down at Atsumu between your legs, a sick smile forming on his lips, as he unzips his pants, pulling down his boxer just enough to release his painfully hard erection.

“I won’t be picturing someone else when I’m fucking you” Atsumu confessed.

Then his cock sank into you, each inch causing an unbearable stretch, tears of frustration forming in your eyes.

“ Atsumu- ‘S too much” you cried, trying to back away, only for him to grab your waist, and slam his entire cock inside of you, a gasp erupting from your lips.

“Forgot how fuckin’ tight virgins are” Atsumu laughed,

Completely disregarding your concern, no- He seems to be getting off at the sight of you all nervous, eyes teary, chest heaving with anxiety, legs shaking as he relentlessly drilled his cock into you.

He’s leaning over, tongue poking out of his lips as he licked the salty tears off of your flustered cheeks, “ such a crybaby, Y/n” he teased.

You feel like he’s about to split you into two by how harsh his pace is, how your brain is going dumb with every thrust of his cock. You could try to close your eyes, and imagine that someone else is taking your virginity but Atsumu looked memorizing. You feel like a deer in headlights. How could you possibly not be attractive to him at this moment?

His brown eyes were narrow as he was immersed in the image of his cock slipping in and out of your wet pussy, his eyebrows furrowed, toned abs on displayed, arm muscles flexing as his hands gripped your waist.

He grins when he glances back at you, noticing how flustered you’ve become. 

“It’s like you were made for me by the way this pussy keeps sucking in my cock. M’gonna put a ring on that pretty finger the second we fuckin’ graduate. Then you’ll be all mine, baby. Mines to touch. Mines to hold. Mines to fuck” Atsumu huffed, thumb reaching down, rubbing teasing circles on your swollen clit.

“‘Tsumu- Stop can’t anymore. Gonna-” You’re howling his name, nails curling into the bedsheets as you felt your climax approach, your legs shaking as he continued to thrust deep into you, his cock bullying your cunt.

“Gonna cum f’me, sweetheart? Go ahead, make a mess on my cock. I’m all yours, pretty girl” he interrupted.

You're sobbing as your orgasm hits you, so loud you’re pretty sure the room next door could hear you, your walls clamp down on Atsumu’s cock. He's surprised he managed to fight back the urge to bust right there, fill your tight pussy with his cum and watch it drip out. But he can’t get you pregnant yet at least. Can’t let a baby interrupt his plans. He promises he’ll take good care of you, once he manages to play professional volleyball after college then he’ll fuck a baby into you on your wedding night. 

He manages to pull out last second, spilling his cum all over your bare thigh, his chest heaving as he admired the mess he made, how your legs are still twitching, hickeys on your neck, bite marks on your inner thigh, and soon, they’ll be a shiny ring on your finger. He lays down next to you, gently pushing a strand of hair out of your face so he can get a better look at your face, watching you as your eyes slowly close from exhaustion.

He knows that by the morning you’ll be gone, probably hiding in your dorm from him and he’ll be forced to drag you out.

But that’s not his fault, you should really learn how to handle his teasing.

[dreamwatch]

Kick 'em When They're Up

Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest June warm-up round.

Prompt: Band on the run | Word Count: 997 | Rating: T | CW: Language | POV: Eddie | Pairing: Steddie | Tags: Established Relationship, the press being scumbags, angst, Eddie Munson needs a hug, and Steve is going to give it to him, they're in love your honour | AO3

*title from Dirty Laundry by Don Henley

****

It’s taken eight years for it to come out; one world tour, three albums. One video that blew up on MTV. And that was the problem.

Because being a metal band, while they were famous, in metal magazines, in the scene, they weren’t famous. They weren’t Metallica. But it was cool. They were successful enough, they had everything they ever wanted.

But see, you have a successful single, and people who don’t know you, well, now they know you. And they want to know more about you, so they buy magazines. And some magazines, some shitty, low rent, nasty fucking rags, they really dig.

It’s been a long time since he’s seen his photograph alongside Chrissy Cunningham's.

They’d barely got off the stage in Quebec before Phil, their manager, was getting them into cars and back to the hotel. No one telling them a goddamn thing, just “We have a situation, we have to go.” They all piled into Phil’s hotel room, still sweaty, towels around their necks, before the bomb got dropped.

“Bullshit,” Eddie says, even though he can see it in Phil’s face. He scrambles to turn the television on. And it’s there, on the news, not just MTV either, it made CNN. 

He barely makes it to the bathroom before he throws up.

He has no idea how long he’s been sitting on the bathroom floor. People have been knocking but he ignores them. They probably need a piss. They’ll have to go to someone else’s room.

There’s another knock and he just wants to tell them to fuck off but they speak before he gets a chance.

“Eddie?” Jeff, talking to him so softly, which makes him feel worse. Because this isn’t just about Eddie, it affects them too. If this blows up— fuck, he doesn’t even want to think about it.

“Dude? Steve’s on the phone. I think you should come out and talk to him.”

And that’s the trigger, that’s the thing that gets him off the floor and unlocking the door. What he walks into isn’t a hotel room anymore, it’s a fucking war room. Phil is on another phone, the cable leading from the corridor outside the room. Their tour manager and publicist have their heads together at the desk. There are members of the road crew coming in and out of the room, dropping off food and drinks. When the door opens he can see security posted on the door.

Holy fuck. All because of him.

He takes the phone and turns to face the wall. “Steve?” His voice is rough from the adrenaline and stomach acid. He needs a drink.

“Hey,” says Steve in that oh-so-gentle voice, and God how he fucking needs him right now. “How are you holding up?”

“Been better,” he manages to force out. 

“Shit, sorry, stupid question.”

And Steve knows what he needs to hear before he can even form the words; Wayne is fine, Steve is fine, yes there are photographers and press outside his house, no there is no one outside of Wayne’s. 

“You’re all on flights out of Quebec this afternoon, okay?”

“To where?” They were supposed to be back in LA at the end of the week. But now… he has a hot stone in the pit of his stomach just thinking about it.

“Dublin via Toronto. You liked Ireland, right? And it’s quiet, it’ll be easy to hide there for a bit. Dustin has a friend-of-a-friend thing going on, but basically he’s got us a house in the middle of nowhere. We’ll be fine.”

“We?”

“I’m at LAX now. You’ll probably beat me there, you can hide out in the lounge and drink all their booze.” Eddie can hear the smile in his voice. He never stops marvelling at the way Steve just knows him, knows what he needs morning, noon and night. 

He clutches the phone, knuckles turning white. “I can’t do this without you.”

“You can. You won’t be alone, Phil is going to fly in with you, he’ll take care of everything. Just, tie your hair up and keep it under a cap. And take your rings off, okay? Keep your arms covered if you can.”

“Try not to look like Eddie Munson?”

There’s a pause at the end of the line before Steve lets out a soft sigh. “Yeah. Just for now though, right?”

“Right.” 

“I gotta go, my flight is boarding. I love you, okay?”

Eddie feels broken, the thought of hanging up like cutting his lifeline and he almost can’t bear to do it. “Okay. I love you too.”

“Always and forever?”

Eddie can hear the light teasing in Steve’s voice, and he smiles for the first time since Phil told him his life had been turned upside down again. Because that is what Steve does to him; blows away the tears and the clouds and the rain. Takes the open wounds of him and pulls them taught, stitching them together and making him whole again. 

“Always and forever,” he whispers back. 

He still feels sick, still has that putrid, adrenaline-filled rock in his gut just sitting there, but Steve’s voice reminds him of what they can’t take from him. They can take his band, his career, everything he worked for. But Steve will always be there for him. So many times in his life he’s questioned whether he is loved, like, truly loved. Even Wayne, who gave up so much for him, Eddie always worried that it came from a sense of obligation, even though deep down he knew better. But now, trapped in the middle of this maelstrom, the target of another witch hunt, he’s never been more sure of this: Steve Harrington loves him. And he loves him back in a way that should be scary but feels like oxygen, feels like life. And that’s what it comes down to, ultimately;  Steve is his life. 

And no shitty third rate magazine is ever taking that away from him.

****

Thanks to the wonderful @devondespresso for beta-ing!

[befuddledcinnamonroll]

We Are and the evolution of Thai BL tropes

The QL discord started a rewatch of My Engineer a few weeks ago, and damn, has it been an interesting experience. At the time I originally watched My Engineer, there was little that stuck out to me, because so much of what happened felt so incredibly common in a lot of the (admittedly rather limited) number of BLs being produced. It felt like pretty standard fare.

But going back and watching it in juxtaposition with We Are airing has been so fascinating. This genre has been evolving, y'all.

As much as we all joke about always getting more university BLs, there is something to be said for a format that can be used as something of a metric for the genre. And though there's only four years between My Engineer and We Are, seeing them both at once gives me such an incredible appreciation for the direction the genre is going in, the impact of having more queer voices involved in the creation of QLs, and how there's a lot of good we can find in seemingly simple spaces.

Obligatory disclaimer: This is just my perspective and subjective interpretation of what I have seen as a BL viewer of some time; also I don't have time to go in and do a university deep dive, so this isn't a real analysis, but more of a brief writeup of observations.

Trends are not black and white, of course, there is a spectrum. I'm sure we'll suffer through more Dinosaur Loves. At the same time, having such predominant production companies as GMMTV putting effort into hiring queer creatives and subverting old cliche tropes is an encouraging thing. (Especially as they were the creators of the original university trendsetting BL with Sotus).

Note: For newer QL viewers, I highly recommend @absolutebl for brushing up on trope history. For university BLs in particular, this post and this post are great starting primers.

Let's talk tropes!

Ok, one more note - some tropes are being what I would consider subverted, some more adapted to a newer framework, and some just played with - I'm going to talk about how they appear to me, but I'm not going to be super pedantic over it, because this is just for fun.

Trope: Bullying/hazing behavior

This did not age well in My Engineer, and I would guess hasn't aged well in a number of BLs (and other media, because the whole "he's mean to you because he likes you" bullshit has been around forever). Not just because the behavior was shitty, but because it was played off in the script as cute, and implied that it was completely justified for the seme to do whatever he wanted in his pursuit of his uke.

(There was also quite a strong tone of internalized homophobia, with the lead feeling more comfortable in expressing his interest through harassment than honest emotion, but the show never actually engaged with that in any meaningful way.)

We Are sets up a very traditional enemies to lovers/bullying start to the story, with Phum taking advantage of Peem's economic situation to make him his "slave".

And yet... there's some important elements here that make this more than the standard use of the trope.

Phum keeps it pretty light in his bullying behavior, and clearly is using it more to keep Peem around as company, versus the kind of bullying in My Engineer, where Duen is literally hit by a car, and yet still expected to keep jumping to Bohn's whims.

As soon as Phum realizes he really upset Peem by leaving him waiting at the mall, he genuinely feels awful about it. It's clear that his intent is not to cause harm, and that he has a conscience. He wrestles with his feelings on it quite a bit, and it ends up being the thing that gets Phum to finally express an honest emotion with Peem.

And most importantly, the script does not let him off the hook. His behavior is bad, and is identified as such by the writing. Peem pushes back and is shown to be right to do so, Beer openly says he disapproves.

So instead of a cliche story beat that's used just to start the action, or a seme who's allowed to do whatever he wants because "passion" (blech), we're seeing it used for characterization, giving us important beats about who both Phum and Peem are in how they engage with each other through the use of the trope.

Trope: Obsessive/jealous behavior

Oh, this one was painful in My Engineer. Duen couldn't even talk to another human being without Bohn getting jealous and angry and dragging him away.

Phum gets jealous, particularly around Kluen, but what makes it feel so subversive here are two key things.

Phum's jealousy has a purpose here, it's not just for drama's sake. It's not the cliche seme doing whatever he wants and being treated as justified. It's deliberately being used to explore his insecurities, and give him a challenge to overcome. Phum doesn't stomp over and drag Peem away, he retreats, he hides. When his jealousy causes him to lash out at Peem, he is immediately aware he fucked up.

And again, the script is making it clear that this behavior is not ok. Peem chides Phum when he acts unkind to Kluen, and Beer makes it clear that the solution is not petty behavior, but actually figuring out a way to communicate his feelings with Peem before he misses his chance. This is portrayed as a barrier for Phum to overcome in order to be with Peem, not an expected part of a romantic relationship.

Trope: Friendship group

There are not enough words to express how much I love the friendship group in We Are. To be fair, this is one of the better historical tropes. We've gotten a lot of amazing friend groups, even in mediocre BLs.

But it's still different in We Are, for one simple reason. In most university BLs, the friend group is a supporting structure. But here?

The story lines may be about the romance, but the point of We Are is the friendship.

I will die on this hill, y'all.

I don't have enough time to go into it fully here, but this show is a love letter to friends. It's a tribute to finding the people who see the real you and have your back unconditionally. Who cheer your successes and commiserate over your defeats, who pick you up when the world knocks you down, who call you out when you make mistakes, and push you to be better.

And romance is lovely, but all of these budding relationships are about being friends first, and then lovers, because that friendship is just as important as everything else, if not more.

Trope: Pink milk

Lol, ok, kinda kidding, kinda not. I know we all got mad over the drink wastage, but also check out these visuals - it's about diversity baby!!

TanFang speed round

My two little trope-busting bebes. These two are already so beautifully non-traditional in their composition, but I love how frequently they are used to make fun of and play with tropes just on their own.

Introduced as pining crush/friend's older brother pair, but actually secret enemies to lovers.

Grumpy/sunshine pairing, where the sunshine used to be a fighter, and grumpy smiles when he thinks no one is watching.

Wound-tending where they keep poking each other instead of acting soft.

Openly mocking the jealous boyfriend trope.

Setting up the possessive trope when Tan doesn't pick up Fang's calls, only to immediately have Fang question if he's being unreasonable.

Setting up their own cute eating scene for kicks.

"First time" sex scene making it clear this is anything but their first time.

Tan holding Fang down in the cliche possessive pose, only for Fang to take the agency of kissing Tan. (And overall saying eff off at the cliche top/bottom roles old BLs were such a fan of).

In Summary

I'm sure there are more tropes that will come to me, and we do still have 5 episodes left of We Are, so there are some potential trope uses that I am keeping an eye on. This is by no means an all-inclusive list.

But I wanted to write this, because I was genuinely shocked to realize how different my My Engineer watching experience was this time compared to my first time. How over the last few years I'd come to expect more thoughtfulness in my QL media, even in the ones that seem shallow on the surface.

Considering how fast and furious the QLs are coming these days, it's easy to forget how recent it was that we were much more starved of content. And I think sometimes we forget to take in the big picture, of how far we've come in just a few years.

Critique is always going to be important, of course, it's part of what helps us make progress. At the same time, it doesn't hurt to take a moment to look around and see some good in where we are.

@sailorbryant thanks for the push to get this written! Feel free to add thoughts!

[mirrors-are-green]

How to make Tim & Damian friends? Through animals. Obviously. Also Damian should've gotten a horse waaaaay before there was a cow. He's a 10 year old aristocratic child. Which likes animals. OF. COURSE. HE. IS. GETTING. A. HORSE.

Damian is a horse girl. No, I will not elaborate.

(It's a sport. Dignified. With animals. Which you get to train. Actually the better you train them, the more successful you are. OF COURSE he would be into it. Come on.)

(horse riding training in Mongolia was actually used as a reward/present for him from Thalia. Still training. Technically. But you all know how it went.)

(bonus points if he gets to bond with a stable man)

What if Tim got a horse from his parents for a late random-rich-folks present? Like a car, but he was too young so... He names her Queenie Buttercup.

What would Tim do with a horse? Well, he researches. Alright. His parents bought him a place in the best stable in the city, but it's so obviously corrupt. Also incompetent. Tim' s gotta take care of that. Obviously. Also some horses are horribly mistreated by their owners. Or sold to the slaughterhouse. He manipulates, blackmails, bribes these people off. And.... he somehow ended up with a full stable some day, without even realizing it or planning it one bit???.

Also he lets all the poor kids in (he hired some people to supervise dw) to the horsies. Obviously. They help around. Get to ride? There is one pair of twins from Crime Alley (most of the kids are from there...) taking care of this one old horse in particular. They're making him the most beautiful looking food, braid his mane, decorate him with frills...

There is a quiet red haired boy, with black eyeliner, heavily tattooed. He always helps the younger kids and is the best at shushing any spooked horse.

There is a great competition who can decorate their saddle the prettiest. Some adults even try to cheat...

There's also one reeeealy ambitious kid. He wants to compete for real. He showed up, determined, fists balled up, at Tim's front door one day. He said that he discovered some of Janet & Jack artifacts were in fact very convincing fakes like this one tile, from example. Supposedly from Hadrian's grave. But it was identified on the basis of three papers, all of which cite in a critical junction a paper which, under closer examination, is clearly just pretending to answer the question of the origin, in fact it was written with the specific person in mind from the very beginning, isn't it strange that....... etc etc. But he won't tell anybody, no siree. He'll spare Tims' family the embarrassment. But only if he gets to ride Queenie Buttercup. And if he's good, get the chance to compete.

(He has a mother who supports him very much. And a stepfather who loves him. And two no no-nonsense older sisters (one is veterinarian, Tim hires her immediately. Pays her VERY handsomely. She always sees through his bullshit and doesn't care about his money or power or status, her brother and animals come first. Damian is Very Impressed and demands to be made aware every time she does something so he can watch or even assist.) who do whatever they can to help him realize his dream. Actually his whole block loves him. When he competes the whole Crime Alley keeps their fingers crossed for him to win. He gets a big celebration when he comes home after winning his first big trophy.)

There's also a girl from Tim's class really into horses. She's overly formal and does karate in her free time. Tim never noticed her before, but now they're besties. They trade statistics and have regular fights about what's the most likely breed to do XYZ.

Damian of course wants the piece of that fairytale dream stable as soon as he finds out (so maybe the stables are not on the manor grounds idk). Also after realizing how many animals Tim has rescued he starts to respect him.

How he found out?

Tim obviously doesn't advertise that he's got a whole stable and is literally changing lives of a bunch of kids. No one cares about his stuff, obviously. He would bore them to tears when talking about it, just like with any other of his hobbies. Also it's normal and totally what anyone would do. Besides, doesn't every upper class family have stables? It's, like, a requirement when you're filthy rich. Like having a yacht.

Also that could make Tim, who always wants to do everything by himself, the most experienced in terms of normal farm adjacent/ manual labor. Like, the Bats are city boys through and through. Jason maybe did idk some construction work when he needed money, but he wouldn't get the chance to actually muck about with horse manure probably ever. So it would be HILARIOUS. He could casually bring it up? His casual knowledge of this kind of work. Everyone would think it was a joke and something he researched, so in poor taste even to pretend to actually have experience with this hardship and act all knowledgeable. Jason would scoff at the silver spoon Tim has been fed with since birth, so what can he possibly know. And he just goes...

"Oh yeah, I run a stable actually. Yes I do the clean ups with everyone. Obviously. So that's why I know about that. Anyway so what are we watching?" And they're just SHOCKED.

Or alternatively

Tim is of course the owner of like, 6 cats. Actually there was just one stable cat at the beginning but she had kittens so... yeah it's 6 now. Yeah we take care of them. They're cute. And he just casually brings it up to Damian?

Tim: "I totally get making so many pictures of your pet. I have, like, five thousand pictures of my cats. I sometimes stalk them, even. To get better shots. And they look so adorable in each of them!"

Damian: "You. Have cats. As in. Multiple."

Tim: "Oh I've never told you, sorry, completely forgot haha. Do you wanna see the pi- *grabs his phone*?

Damian: "That. Was. The. Stupidest. Question. I've. Ever. Heard. OF COURSE I WANT TO SEE. SHOW ME NOW OR PERISH.

Damian, some time later: And just as I was looking at Ismat Hasna...

Tim: Woohoo stop. I don't know what you're talking about. None of my horses are named like that?

Damian, completely seriously: Well obviously. If she was originally named like that, it would mean you have some common sense and I wouldn't have to rename her. But, alas. You named the most majestic horse on this plane of existence QUEENIE. BUTTERCUP. So. Obviously she needed an intervention from someone more sensible than you.

Tim:

Damian: You're welcome, by the way. I already corrected her paperwork.

And they just bond and start being friendly towards each other and Dick is soooo proud, Bruce has no idea what/how (he suspects blackmail or witchcraft), Jason and Tim team up to support Crime Alley kiddos in pursuit of their hobbies. Jason got literal tears in his eyes when he saw, in real time, some harmless contact with animals and getting a chance to take care of something slowly, slowly breaks the circle of violence these kids were stuck in.

His next charity project is some martial arts centre, an indoor basketball court, paying some good trainers to just believe in those kids. It works wonders.

Idk just some thoughts I would be very glad if someone made it into a proper story or even help me develop the concept fuller... just tag me!!

[tadpole-apocalypse]

I wrote a little something! Yes I’m sure the title is probably overused. It just worked for this scenario.

***

Careful, I Bite [AO3 link]

Astarion gets some blood and puts his plan in motion. A rewrite of his proposition scene to fit my narrative.

Pairing: Astarion x Morgan (female human tav)

Rating: M for sexy blood drinking

Tags: vampire bites, detailed descriptions of blood and the inherent eroticism, high elf bullshit, human tav, Gale slander, emotional manipulation, fangs, licking, astarion pov

***

They had tents now, at the campsite near the blighted village. After days of laying out in the open around the fire like a pack of wild beasts, any sort of shelter from the elements was a luxury in this filthy wilderness. All thanks to their weird little minions, of which the gith has taken complete charge of. She has put the hirelings to work; hauling supplies, tending the cookfire, patrolling for threats, as well as taking care of all the menial tasks around camp Astarion hated doing himself, like setting up tents. She even disciplined one when it performed a task that didn’t meet her exacting standards, which was just delightful to watch!

Morgan’s tent was erected on the outskirts of camp and further from the others, as they all learned her wild magic is capable of surging in her sleep when illusory clones of herself floated all around camp, exploding on whatever they bumped into. Everyone agreed it would be better if she kept her tent far from the others.

It makes it easier to discreetly slip inside, this far away from the light of the campfire. He finds her awake, sitting cross legged on her bedroll with a small wisp of light to illuminate the cramped tent. It casts harsh shadows on her blunt features that do no favors for the scars and blemishes marring her face. Ah well, she wasn’t entirely unfortunate looking for human; he’d certainly pulled far worse in his time.

Her mismatched eyes flick up to meet him when he enters, acknowledging his entry before she returns to her task of trimming the ends of her braids with a knife. A rather dull knife, from the hack job that was being done in his presence.

“That won’t do at all,” he tuts. “That thing isn’t fit to cut a stick of butter. Here.” He pulls his dagger from its holster and holds it up as an offering. “Sharp enough to stab clean through a goblin’s ribcage.”

“Ew.”

“I cleaned it, after,” he clarifies.

She accepts the blade, and slices off the blackened, burnt hair with a few short wrist movements. She turns to show him her handiwork, where one braid now hangs, a few inches shorter than the other.

“Shall we cut the other, so they match?” he offers. Her shoulders slump.

“No, it’s fine,” she says through gritted teeth. The loss of a few inches of hair seems to vex her for some reason. He shrugs, not really caring either way.

She brushes the braids to the side, drawing his attention instantly to the smooth column of her neck. His eyes track the faint marks from where his teeth last pierced her, remembering her hot blood filling his mouth.

Astarion swallows. His fangs feel heavy, as does the deep hungering and craving in his belly. Her heart beats as loud to his ears as one of the goblin’s war drums since he’s been glutted on the blood of thinking creatures, and Morgan’s blood in particular sang to him from under her skin the longer he went without. Her wild magic perhaps, gave it a certain ambrosia that the bandits and goblins he fed from couldn’t begin to compare to. All of it swill, compared to the vintage in front of him.

There’s a moment when the scent of blood so close sends his bestial craving into a frenzy, and he’s overwhelmed with the monstrous urge to pin and bite, to rip and tear into her neck and gorge himself until there’s nothing left of her.

“I take it you’re here for blood?”

She’s staring at him staring at her neck, and he quickly wrests control over the thrashing beast of his hunger and looks up at her with his mask in place. A practiced smile, given thousands of times. “Are you offering?” He leans into her personal space, slides a hand on her hip. Lets a bit of heat rumble into his voice, pitched low next to her rounded ear.

Her expression doesn’t betray her, but the roar of blood rushing through her veins at her quickened heart rate is proof enough of her arousal at his nearness. Typical human, he smirks. Always flattered by attention from their betters.

“Yeah, I guess I am,” she answers him, flipping the dagger around to hand it to him handle first. Sheathing it quickly, he sits back and pats his lap.

“Come here darling, let’s get comfortable.”

She settles between his legs, back against his chest. She tilts her head, holding onto her braids. Her pulse jumps and his craving intensifies.

It hadn’t taken much effort at all to maneuver her into this position. A smug satisfaction fills him from head to toe, all the more potent by the anticipation of their blood exchange.

He intends to draw out the moment of the bite and savor it, but with her neck offered before him he gives into his need and sinks his teeth into her flesh, forgetting to be gentle in his eagerness. She winces and makes a pained sound so he pulls his fangs back to soothe the wound with his tongue with her blood on his lips. As like all the times before, his senses are flooded with sensation and feeling and an awareness he’d been lacking for so long.

How denied he had been! Made to beg for the putrid blood of insects and vermin, decade after decade, and even being happy to receive that after years without anything at all but the deepest pits of hunger clawing at his sanity. The taste of sewage and ash was all he’d known, and now a veritable feast fit for a Lord lies in his lap, freely given. The rich, complex flavor of her magic touched blood bursts on his tongue in ways completely foreign to him.

His mind, sharp and focused now without the fog of hunger clouding his every move. The heaviness that dragged his limbs was gone as a warmth began to bloom in his chest. He could take on all of his siblings in this state, he thinks, feeling drunk on her power. The image of throttling Petras fills him with a giddy sort of glee that makes him grin against her throat.

A drop of blood escapes him and begins to dribble down the side of her neck. He chases it with his tongue, licking his way back up to the wound he’d made to press his mouth back to it. She shivers, the movement drawing his attention with predatory intensity.

Her arousal would be obvious even if he couldn’t taste it in her blood. He could see it in the way she shifted against him, clutching his forearm and making those little breathy sounds he was all too familiar with.

Her life’s blood slides down his throat, and he groans from the taste, his newfound strength, and her own sexual arousal leaking from her tadpole to his. Even his squirming little brain companion seemed pleased by the feast before him.

Careful, careful, he reminds himself. He can’t weaken her too much, in case Cazador’s minions find them out here and try to bring him back.

An unwanted feeling of helplessness and panic runs over him, and he curses the power his old master still holds over him even in his absence. Pathetic.

Still, he needs her hale. He can’t be too greedy, lest the cleric turns her temper back onto him again.

Morgan’s eyelids start to droop and he pulls back reluctantly, staunching the small wound with his fingers. The smell and taste of her blood lingers in his mouth and he sighs, feeling warm and altered.

She stirs and tries to sit up, but falls back against him. Shit, maybe he did take too much.

“Shh…shh…just rest here a moment,” he reassures, guiding her to the bedroll. He hovers over her and puts a hand on her chin, looking into her eyes. She meets his gaze and appears coherent but weakened, which satisfies him. However, best to not leave her in such a state to ensure she wouldn’t suffer any ill effects that would earn him another thrashing from the cleric, or worse, a stake.

“How do you feel?” He asks her, trying to keep her awake and talking.

“Weak,” she wheezes, in that odd accent of hers. He still hasn’t placed it. “Almost blacked out, trying to stand.”

“Hmm.” He inspects the bite marks on her neck, finding them scabbed over already. His fangs itch to open them once more and drain her dry, but he clamps down on the intrusive urge and reaches for a jug of water. He pours some into a tin cup and bids her to drink.

Morgan downs the cup quickly with a shaking hand, prompting him to refill the cup after she drains it. She drinks that one too, then groans and manages to sit up.

He makes his move.

“Ahh, poor little pudding. I do appreciate the sacrifice you are making, on my behalf,” he says, letting his unnecessary breath ghost across her skin as he plucks the empty cup from her grasp. His fingers linger a little longer than necessary on hers. “How could I possibly repay you for such a debt?”

“Umm,” she seems distracted. He smiles inwardly. “It’s fine, if it helps you fight. The weakness doesn’t last long.”

“Still,” he tuts in mock consternation. “You deserve a reward for all of this. I am so very grateful for all you’ve given me…” he sets the empty cup aside, and very gently rests one of his palms on her thigh.

She snorts as she considers him for a moment. “What are you offering?”

“Well…” he lets the phrase linger on his tongue as his fingers dance a trail up her clothed thigh. “Perhaps a night to ourselves, so I can show you in great detail how pleased I am with what you’ve given me.” He pauses. “And I do mean sex by the way, if that wasn’t clear.”

“Okay. When?”

Well, that was easy. This woman was clearly an idiot, agreeing to meet a vampire alone in the darkness, and he couldn’t be happier with his fortune.

“Tomorrow,” he purrs, gracefully sliding next to her on the bedroll. He props his head up with a hand and raises his other to push some stray hairs out of her face. “I’ll find us a nice secluded paradise where we can make all the noise we want without the others to trouble us.”

“Why not now? I can be very quiet.”

That drew a genuine bark of laughter from him. “Eager little thing!” His eyes rake down her form in a show of rakish approval before his free arm snakes around her waist to drag her down to him. She lets out a little squeal, which he likes. “I’d much rather have you screaming my name all night, if it’s all the same to you,” he growls in her ear.

“All night? That’s a bold claim, don’t you think?”

Brat.

“The cleric said you should rest after giving blood in any case,” he reminds her, dragging a thumb across her lips. She catches his thumb and bites it, leaving a weak impression of her blunt teeth. “You’ll have to control your lust for a little bit longer, my dear.”

She rolls her eyes at him, but her smile is lazy and amused. Good.

”Fine,” she yawns, punctuating his point. “Yeah, I guess I’m pretty tired.”

“Then sleep, lover…and after a stimulating day of slaughtering more goblins, no doubt, we will indulge in our every desire.”

“Sounds good.” The word are slurred from her exhaustion, and come out more as “s’goo.” Her eyes drift shut.

Astarion lifts himself off her bedroll and watches her for a second. Her heartbeat and breathing has returned to normal levels, so he lets himself out of her tent. Back into the darkness of the evening, his senses flare to life; vision piercing through the darkness, conversations from all the way across camp playing in his ears, sensing a myriad of delicious heartbeats and pulses throbbing all around him.

None as enticing as the feast he’s had just now.

He slips into the shadows between the tents, remaining undetected until he reaches the one he has claimed as his own. The interior is littered with jars of congealed blood from enemies he’s attempted to preserve, but the thought of consuming them now after the banquet he just dined on is unthinkable. He lays back onto his own bedroll instead to contemplate his good fortune.

It was good he got to Morgan first, given how both Gale and Lae’zel had been looking at her. Though imagining her and Gale together was laughable; if his lectures didn’t put her to sleep they wouldn’t stop bickering long enough to get their clothes off. Morgan had made her disdain of wizards clear enough, not that it stopped the man’s pathetic longing in her direction.

Lae’zel would be a bit more problematic if she chose to pursue his target. He’d have to keep an eye on the gith.

Without those two mucking around in his territory, Astarion was confident he could keep her interest, if tonight’s little dance had been any indication.

He’d secure Morgan’s favor, and convince her to talk the others into helping him kill Cazador after dealing with this worm business. Then? Well he had all the time in the realms to figure that out.

**

Thank you for reading! I did not plan to write any fanfiction for this fandom but @mercymaker and I have been chatting about sexy vampire bites and throat ripping and it changed my brain chemistry and wouldn’t leave me alone until I got this out of my system 😅

[writingquestionsanswered]

Worried About Traction/Why Write?

Anonymous asked: Okay answer me this, so I've read how trad publishing is going to shit, but self-publishing I doubt I could gain any traction with. Then why fucking write, ya know? People say, "write for yourself," which sounds like a lot of goody bullshit. I want people to love my writing, I need some type of validation. So, how the hell do I get anyone to care about my stories?

Just a quick note that this ask came in off Anon, and I wasn't sure if it was meant to, so I put I'm posting it Anon to be on the safe side.

So, I don't want to get too much into the "is traditional publishing dying" debacle, because it's a conversation that's complex and nuanced and outside of my energy reserves at the moment. What I will say is that the traditional publishers--the Big Five in particular--still dominate the market, especially where print books are concerned. And although self-publishing can respond more quickly to trends and shifting tastes, traditional publishing continues to evolve.

Having said that, even if traditional publishing was stronger than ever before, that wouldn't guarantee you a book deal. Even in the best of times, the odds of being traditionally published are between 1 and 2%. Even if you get a book deal, that doesn't guarantee your book will be a best-seller. Hundreds of thousands of books are traditionally published every year, and far fewer than 1% of those books will become best sellers. Being traditionally published doesn't even guarantee your book will be sold in brick and mortar bookstores. I can point you toward traditionally published books that have been out almost a year and still have fewer than 10 reviews on Amazon. I can point you toward many more with fewer than 30.

And, while we're on the subject, I can show you self-published books with thousands of reviews (positive ones, btw...)

The point is, it doesn't really matter how you publish. What you write, how you write, and how you market is far, far more important. But the reality is, most of us aren't writing the kinds of books that are going to be best-sellers, BookTok sensations, Oprah's Book Club selections, or get optioned for film rights before the ink on the book deal is even dry. So, when you say you need validation, what does that look like for you? Does it mean seeing your name at the top of the NYT best seller list for five weeks straight? Seeing your book on eye-level shelves at an international airport? Hundreds of fans showing up to your book signing? A-hundred thousand followers on Twitter eagerly awaiting news of your next release? Or, does it look like someone... anyone... enjoying your book enough to leave a 5-star review... someone calling you their favorite writer, several fans re-posting your cover reveal because they're so excited for your upcoming book, or someone writing to say your book got them through a difficult time in their lives? Because, while I would never tell you not to dare to dream of achieving the former list of expectations, I will absolutely tell you the latter list of expectations is well within your grasp. So, if that's validation enough for you, write for those people. If it isn't, and it's not enough to write for yourself, then I think all you can do is try. Write the best stories you can write. Get them out there. Promote the hell out of them and see what happens. Maybe you will be one of those lucky few who see their book at the top of the NYT best seller list for five weeks in a row. Or, maybe you won't, but you get a two-page e-mail from a fan who says your story changed their life. And maybe, after all, that's enough. Here are some posts that can help you start building a following ahead of publishing, whatever route you end up choosing. Building a buzz on social media ahead of publishing and consistent promotion afterward can make a big difference. Even if you publish traditionally. Guide: Getting Your Writing Noticed on Tumblr Guide: Author Platforms-What, Why, and How? Guide: How to Promote Yourself as a Writer/Author via Social Media 12 Sites for Sharing Original Fiction

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

♦ Questions that violate my ask policies will be deleted! ♦ Please see my master list of top posts before asking ♦ Learn more about WQA here

[hannahbarberra162]

Can't Fix Fix A Broken Heart - Chapter 3

TW: crying, mentions of abuse, brief mentions of death, anxiety

Notes: I HC Thatch as being Mexican. We're getting a little yandere-y...

Also I don't think I mentioned but this is AU where Thatch, Ace, and Whitebeard don't die because I love them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You weren’t really sure what you were doing. Your body was moving but you didn’t feel like you were controlling any of it. You couldn’t think, couldn’t focus on anything, could barely breathe. You realized you were still clutching the poster in your hand, so you forced yourself to relax your grip and put it in the pocket of your apron. You crouched down on your heels by the end of the alley with your head in your hands. You started rubbing your fingers on your scalp as a way to try to ground yourself in the moment. All the stupid bullshit methods of self regulation you had been reading about weren’t working. Your thoughts were swirling like a maelstrom, threatening to drown you in their chaos. You were angry so very angry and sad and scared so very scared and worried and back to angry. 

You didn’t know how much time had passed but at some point you picked up your head and saw Thatch seated next to you leaning against the side of the alley. Even though you saw him already, it still spooked you to see him so close. You jerked a little bit but didn’t move your position. 

“Rough news, huh?” he said with a gentle tone. 

“Yeah.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet another Fourth Division Commander!” his light hearted joke didn’t land as you didn’t respond. You could barely process your own thoughts, let alone navigate social interactions.

“I’m not a pirate” you said and sat all the way down next to him. You bent your knees to your chest and placed your head on top of them.

“No offense mamacita, but I didn’t think you were. So what’s with the bounty then? Are you a Marine on the run? We have a few Marine contacts if you ne–”

“I am NOT a Marine” you said emphatically as you shot him a look of malice. Immediately you deflated - he didn’t deserve your ire. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t called for. I just…I’m just angry. Not at you, though.” You absently started to fix some of the cracked cobblestones near you. It was a good outlet for your energy at least. 

“I thought all the Twisted Pirates were killed a long time ago. I haven't heard about them in years” Thatch said, scratching his goatee.

“Yeah, they were.”

“And the Marines are saying you’re the Twisted’s Commander? So if you’re not a Marine and you’re not a pirate, what’s going on? That’s a huge bounty for a civilian.”

You looked into his eyes and grimaced. You were already in so much trouble, you didn’t think telling anyone at this point would make a difference. Besides, he looked like he might actually listen. You weren’t sure you could make it through the story without crying, but taking in a shaky breath you started. 

“Um, well… about 7 years ago my island was attacked by the Twisted pirates. The pirates destroyed everything on the island and took me with them. I was with them for a while until they were defeated by Marines. The Marines took me from the pirates and kept me on their ship for about 5 years. A few months ago, the ship I was on was wrecked and I ended up on this island. I guess they want me back.”

Thatch was listening and watching you intently. Your eyes had started to water so you turned your head to face the other way. 

“What do you mean they kept you on their ship? Like they forced you to join their ranks?”

You turned your face back towards him and shook your head. “No. At first when they brought me on their ship I was so grateful. I thought they would take me back to my island or somewhere closeby. But they saw my devil fruit power and just kept me on the ship as an unprocessed pirate captive. They never took me to a base, never charged me with anything, just…kept me on their boat. Since I was never processed on any Marine base, there was no record of my so-called rescue or how I came to them. I had no status, no rights. I was just there to do with as they wanted. ”

You were crying now, tears running down your cheeks as you talked. “All the other Twisted pirates were killed in battle, so there was no one to corroborate my side of the story. They said I was a pirate since I have a jolly roger on me and it was my word against Marine officers.”

Thatch reached into his coat pocket and handed you a handkerchief. For a moment he hesitated, seeming to want to dry them himself. But you were glad he let you do it himself.

“So I stayed there, a prisoner on the ship. They never let me leave the boat or be seen by other officers or commanders or anything. I fixed their ship all the time, I worked a lot….stuff like that. They weren’t…nice to me. Then the ship sank, so…” you trailed off, feeling deflated. You didn’t feel like talking anymore about what had happened. Your initial adrenaline had worn off and you were feeling exhausted.

Thatch tilted his head with a concerned look on his face, and extended his arm to pat your back with his hand. He didn’t touch you immediately, but waited until you nodded slightly at him. His large hand started rubbing soothing circles on your back while your tears dried. It felt…nice. Warm. You laid your head back down on your knees and closed your eyes. No one had rubbed your back in…you couldn’t remember. You hoped he wouldn’t stop.

Thatch POV

Even though he was gently rubbing your back, Thatch was smoldering with rage inside. If you weren’t there he would have punched a hole through the brick wall. He hoped he was keeping a neutral enough expression on his face. The last thing you needed was to see more aggression.

Kept as a slave for years on a Marine ship? No wonder you were so upset when he asked if you were a Marine. He couldn’t imagine your time on the pirate boat had been any better either. He was sure there was even more to the story underneath the surface of what you had said. He wanted to ask you questions but now wasn’t the time. 

It was obvious that the Marines wanted you back to continue using you for your Devil Fruit and who knows what else. All the women he had ever met who were captives held deep and lasting trauma. With your fruit he couldn’t imagine how much money you’d saved the Marines over the course of 5 years, completing repairs for free. He was sure someone high up got a fat bonus for saving money on the bottom line, too. Based on your wanted poster picture, they were running you ragged. He wondered how they kept you a secret from all the other crews and officials.

For a measly 25,000 Beri they’d be able to have their free service back without having to look for you. You would fall prey to the first bounty hunter to look for you since you weren’t a fighter and didn’t have connections. It was a good plan from the Marines, but not one he was going to let happen.

Thatch noticed you started crying again, completely silent. You seemed to be used to crying and either no one caring - or worse - being hurt for making noise. Your jumpiness and nervousness made more sense with the new information. 

“Pobrecita…no te preocupes…estoy aquí” Thatch started cooing to you in Spanish, saying whatever came to his mind. Even though he was enraged at the situation and feeling sorry for you, he did notice how sweet you looked crying like this. You were like a little doll, a little broken thing he could have and fix. Thatch knew himself well enough to recognize his protective - and possessive - streak. You were so sad, so worried, so fragile. He knew what he wanted - he just needed the others inside to agree. And how could they not? After all, you were so helpless in such a big, bad world...

[eldritchqueerture]

petty morons are back on their bullshit, facing the infamous Consequences of Their Own Actions. @lighthouseshepard 💜

---

As soon as the doors to the hotel closed behind him, Arthur knew he had made a mistake. He very much did need John, and not just for his sight – a part of him had always known that. He swallowed as panic started to grow in his gut, an electrifying force travelling with his blood to every part of his body. He retraced his steps to the alley.

“John?” He asked quietly, hoping no passersby were around to hear him. “John!”

No answer. His chest tightened, pushing the air out of his lungs. Did he really leave? Arthur didn’t let himself think like that when he woke up to an empty room – didn’t even want to consider the possibility that John might not want Arthur in his life, now that he didn’t need him.

And it was the truth. John didn’t need him anymore. It was Arthur who needed him, and perhaps… Perhaps he would only be a burden in John’s mind. Arthur had served his purpose, just as Oscar had back on that farm, and John was free to create the life he wanted, whatever that would entail. And Arthur… Arthur had just lost another person.

He leaned his back against the wall and let out a shaky breath. He couldn’t help but look back on every single friendship he’d had: James, Parker, Oscar, Noel, John. All of them, dead, hurt or pushed away some way or another. He just couldn’t seem to figure it out – couldn’t let a single person stay, no matter how much he’d tried.

No, that wasn’t right. He wasn’t giving up – not now and not ever. If he had control over anything in this fucking life, it was his own actions. Hurtful things have been said, that was obvious, but they didn’t have to be the end. Not as long as Arthur had anything to say on the matter.

He reached into his jacket’s breast pocket and took out the lighter. With an almost unconscious movement he opened it and struck a flame, passing a thumb over the engraved words. This too shall pass .

With a deep determined breath, he gathered himself, pocketed the lighter, and returned to the hotel lobby. Remembering the way to the reception desk, he strained his ears not to bump into anyone and called it a success once his hand touched the surface of the desk.

“Can I help you?” The receptionist spoke with a polite tone.

“Yes, could you direct me to the phone? I, uh, can’t see very well,” he chuckled.

“Oh, of course.” The rustling of clothes and a creak of the chair suggested the man was getting up. “What of your companion?”

Arthur’s smile soured; he wasn’t overly thrilled that this man remembered them, but he couldn’t really expect anything else.

“Ah, just… A stupid fight,” he sighed. “He’s… We’re both rather hot-headed at times. I do have someone to call, though.”

“Of course. This way.”

The receptionist led him to the phone and offered to put the number in as well. Arthur breathed with relief – he didn’t have a perfect memory for numbers, so going on that alone was bound to end in him making a bunch of wrong calls. But this way, he searched his wallet until he found the familiar card and gave it to the man.

He took the receiver with a tight knot in his stomach. They hadn’t heard from Noel after they made sure he was at the hospital and his wound was being taken care of. He didn’t know whether he still worked there – whether he was still alive at all. All sorts of things could have gone wrong during surgery, or he could’ve lost too much blood, or—

“ Yes, Detective Noel speaking? ”

Arthur let out a shaky sigh at the familiar, lilting voice.

“Noel,” he said. “I… It’s A-Arthur.”

He heard a sharp intake of breath on the other side. “ Arthur! It’s good to hear you. You had me quite worried there, disappearing like that. ”

He couldn’t help a small smile forming on his face at the thought.

“Yes, I–I’m sorry about that… S-So you’re still in New York?” He asked, a little nervousness stealing its way into his voice.

“ Yeah, for now. Not many prospects anywhere else at the moment. Where’ve you two gone off to? ”

Arthur’s throat tightened. “Yes, um, about that. We’re… Ah, in New York, too. Actually—Can I meet you somewhere? I’d rather not have this conversation over the phone.”

“ Are you okay? ” Noel must have detected the strain on Arthur’s voice. “ D’you need anything? ”

“We’re—I’m…” Arthur faltered.

“ Where are you? ” Some rustling on the other side made it to his ears.

“Hotel Tudor, just off of Grand Central,” Arthur offered with a deflated sigh.

“ I’ll come pick you up. Hang tight. ”

The connection ended. Arthur let out a sigh that could have just as well been a laugh as he put the receiver back in its place. He hadn’t expected Noel to drop everything and come get him, but it made something warm flutter in his stomach amidst all the worry and regret. With Noel’s help, maybe they could find John and fix the situation somehow. They’d always come out of fights like this better for it, right?

As he directed his steps towards a seat in the lobby, a treacherous part of him whispered that before this, all their fights had ended because their survival depended on it. They could not afford to be at odds when they shared a body and the potential of death. It was just like Kayne said; there were universes where they’ve separated earlier, and it had never gone well for their friendship.

But thinking like that would not get him anywhere.

With nothing to do, the minutes passed torturously slowly; every time he heard steps approaching and thought it might be Noel, it turned out to just be random person. He forced himself to disregard the sound entirely, relying on the voices surrounding him, looking at where he assumed the faces of the people entering would be.

“Hey there!” He finally heard, and with all the nervous energy accumulated in his muscles, he jumped in his seat before standing. “You alright?”

“Noel,” Arthur sighed with relief. “Thank you for coming, seriously. I—”

“Don’t sweat it, kid. I’m glad to see you again. C’mon.”

Arthur followed Noel as best he could by sound alone, but late morning brought more guests to the lobby. He almost managed to get to the door without bumping into anyone, but Noel still noticed the difference.

“Are you okay?” He asked, putting a gentle hand on his forearm. Arthur let out a huff.

“I can’t see,” he whispered. “And John is… gone. Alright?”

“Gone? What do you mean—”

“That’s what I want to talk to you about,” Arthur replied, exiting onto fresh air. “Let’s just… Get someplace safe.”

“Sure.” Noel sounded worried now, but he knew when to put off an interrogation. “You need an arm, or…?”

“Yeah, thanks.” Arthur took the offered arm with gratitude. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, kid,” Noel scoffed with a chuckle. “Just tell me if you need anything else.”

Noel took them to a café at the corner of the street and ordered them two coffees. When they settled into a booth, he somewhat awkwardly informed Arthur that the café wasn’t busy, and that they were sitting by the window overlooking the street. Arthur appreciated the effort.

“So, what’s going on?” Noel asked intently once the waitress, who brought their cups was out of earshot.

“John and I separated,” Arthur said, cradling his steaming cup.

“Separated?”

“Yes, it’s… a long story.” Arthur waved his hand dismissively. “We performed the ritual in an old cult hideout near New York, so we decided to stay here to… figure things out, I suppose.”

He didn’t need sight to sense the frown on Noel’s face.

“We got here last night. John was quiet, uncharacteristically so, and—and I thought he’d need some space… You know, it must be overwhelming with a new body and all, and…” Arthur took a shaky breath. “And when I woke up this morning, he wasn’t there.”

“You mean he just left?” Noel asked disbelievingly.

“I mean, I—I don’t know what I thought at the moment, but I went to look for him eventually and… And I suppose I was angry.” He chuckled bitterly. “He found me down in the lobby and we argued, it… It seems stupid now.”

“What did he say?” Noel asked, taking a sip of his coffee.

Arthur rubbed his face. “I think he was… worried I’d get hurt without him. He lashed out, and—and gripped my arms so tight…”

His voice faltered. “Fuck. I got all defensive about my own autonomy, but I didn’t consider how it must’ve felt for him.”

“I imagine he must be pretty conflicted,” Noel mused.

“Conflicted?”

“Between protecting you and being his own person.” He put the cup down with a clink. “Does he even know what he wants out of life on this plane?”

Arthur frowned and took a breath to answer but halted with a sudden thought. He let out a laugh. “Do any of us ?” He offered instead.

Living with the prospect of deadly encounters on a daily basis wasn’t exactly grounds for long-term life goals; and Noel must have realized that, because he too let out a startled laugh.

“Alright, got me there. But you catch my meaning.”

“Yes, I… I suppose.” Arthur rubbed his thumb on the rim of the cup.

“You don’t like it,” Noel observed after a moment of silence.

“I…” He started. “I—I mean, we’ve worked towards this for—for so long, we… That was the goal. To separate, to have my—my body back and…”

“And you don’t like it.”

He inhaled, desperately wanting to deny it, yet knowing he could not. Noel was right – he didn’t like that John could just leave now, create a life all of his own without involving Arthur in it if he so wished. He didn’t like that John was now so far away, not just across the city but in a different body; he didn’t like the silence in his head, and using his left hand still felt foreign and strange.

“I can’t not like it, Noel,” he said instead with a crack in his voice. “John… deserves a body of his own, to know and enjoy all life has to offer. He was trapped in my head, probably more so than I was trapped with him. This is… This is the right thing.”

“Yeah,” Noel agreed. “And you’re allowed not to like it for a while.”

Arthur blinked instinctively, parting his lips, though no words came out.

“Kid,” Noel sighed. “Where is he now?”

“I—I don’t know,” Arthur mumbled. “I left him outside the hotel and when I went back he was gone.”

“Did he say what he looked like?”

Arthur surmised how John had described himself to him in front of the mirror at the hotel room and recalled that brief little moment where he held his palm to his face. It was fragile and full of possible meanings that Arthur couldn’t let himself examine right now. He left that, as well as John’s tentacles, out of the description.

“Right.” Noel said. “Any ideas where he could’ve gone? Places that come to mind?”

Arthur chuckled under his nose. “So, this is becoming a missing persons case now?”

“I mean, might as well,” Noel smirked. “Gotta do what we do best, right?”

“You do have a point.” Arthur nodded and finally drank the coffee. The taste was mildly bitter, leaving a watery and slightly nutty aftertaste on his tongue. “Honestly, we didn’t spend that much time here, and I don’t imagine he’d want to revisit any of the places we’ve… Maybe except for Marie’s,” he said. “But she wouldn’t know him, of course.”

“Alright,” Noel replied. “We can go there, check the area, then go back to the hotel. He might just come back.”

“Yeah,” Arthur nodded through the bile in his throat.

“And then you gotta talk, kid.” He could imagine the look Noel was giving him right now. “I’m sure you can work this out.”

“Yeah, I… I hope so.”

---

John walked for what could have been hours before finally slowing down. Was he trying to escape Arthur – as if he’d been able (or better yet, willing) to chase him down? Or was he escaping his own thoughts, nagging at the back of his mind, spurring him ever forwards? He didn’t know what to think, he didn’t know what to feel, and everything happening in his guts, chest, and throat amounted to a maelstrom that just made him feel… sick.

He was lost.

As if on cue to the thought, a church bell rang to announce the hour. John stopped altogether to consider his surroundings. He had walked into a poorer part of the city, it looked like, with slightly more dilapidated buildings and a familiar-looking church. John frowned and inspected the area closer. Was this…

Yes. Not far from the church John could see the outline of the community center they had visited with Arthur when searching for Mr. Scratch. Where they had met Oscar.

Did that mean Oscar worked in this church? John wondered, staring at the door. It would be monumentally stupid to go in there, wouldn’t it? Even more so to seek him out – the man Arthur had had to abandon because of him; the first friend he had made since John showed up; the one John had tried to kill out of his frustrations.

But was he not frustrated now, as well? Wouldn’t that be the ultimate lesson for Arthur about who John really was, what he was capable of – the carnage, the power, the inexpressible cruelty that put him above these meager mortal shells; that let him thrive in the Dark World for countless years. He wasn’t human, and he never intended to be.

But he wasn’t those monstrous impulses anymore, either.

The violence would feel good for a second, the pleasure drowned and overpowered by shame and regret. He could feel the taste of them in throat even now, standing before the building dedicated to a god he did not know of. A god that might not even exist.

He went into the building without any idea why. One of the heavy wooden doors was open, and he passed it with a skeptical quirk of an eyebrow, as if someone else controlled this body and he was just there to judge their questionable decisions. In a second the bright light of day was replaced by the half-dark of stone walls and stained-glass windows, illuminated by flickering candles inside.

The air was chilly and smelled strongly of incense and old stone. There weren’t many people about, and they were mostly sitting silently and motionlessly in the pews, with their heads bowed in silent prayer.

He hesitated at the entrance. What the fuck was he doing here? An entity of madness fitted into a human body, standing in a catholic church. Did he hope for answers? Clarity? Absolution? Was he completely out of his mind?

He was about to turn on his heel and leave, when the smaller doors to a wooden box by the wall opened. An older woman left for the nearest pew, clutching a pearly necklace with a cross in her hands – a rosary, John belatedly remembered. From the other side of the box emerged a man in a priestly garb, his movements a little unsteady. He turned his head a little as he closed the door behind him, and he met John’s gaze briefly.

For a terrifying moment, John felt recognized. He knew Oscar would not, could not know who he is, not even knowing of his existence through Arthur, but still he felt seen like never before. That halted his movement enough for Oscar to approach, like a predator hypnotizing prey until it could comfortably devour its fill.

“You look lost, my friend,” he spoke softly. His voice, his accent, his left arm a stump at the elbow – all of that reminded John of his frustrations. Of what he craved from Arthur and, at the same time, what he ran away from.

“You don’t know,” he replied with a scowl, looking away. He felt Oscar’s eyes on him, on his face – rich brown and intelligent, that Arthur had called beautiful when John had described them to him.

“I may as well not,” he shrugged. “But God does.”

John scoffed. “Your god doesn’t care.”

Oscar blinked up at him, some sort of realization smoothing out his face. “Believe me, I know how that feels,” he said quietly, so only the two of them could hear.

John raised an eyebrow at him in doubt. “Do you?”

Oscar motioned with his head to follow him to the corner, closer to the confession booth. John felt compelled to follow, if only for curiosity’s sake.

Oscar looked up at him again, for a second trying to read something in his face. With the mask disguising half of his features, John deemed that an impossible task.

“I can tell you’ve been through a fair share of pain, my friend,” he spoke again in that gentle tone that made John want to smash something. “It seems impossible that a merciful God would allow that.”

John barely stopped himself from outright snarling. “ If your god exists, he is anything but merciful. Trust me.”

Oscar tilted his head at him curiously. “Yet you have come here. Why?”

This time the growl that brewed in his chest was directed at his own damn self. Why did he come here – to Oscar specifically? To scratch at old wounds, pick at the scabs that formed over tender flesh, and tear the thin layer of fresh skin anew with his blood-stained claws? Was this at all a punch directed at Arthur – or just a reminder of his own failing? What was he looking for in the recesses of his old identities that was so important and yet so lost?

“I…” He faltered. “I don’t know.”

He let his gaze fall to the ground, the anger and frustration dissolving into exhaustion that fell upon him like an avalanche.

“It’s alright,” Oscar said. “There are times we don’t know our purpose.”

“And what is your purpose?” He countered with a heavy frown, almost challenging him with the knowledge that he had. Oscar gave him a slight, sad smile.

“Other people,” he spoke. “There are times I struggle – we all do. But in those times especially we need other people to latch onto. To help. To protect. To inspire us. So, we may then inspire others.”

The glistening determination in Oscar’s eyes was too much for John to handle. He knew he spoke of Arthur, and a spark of that clawed, cloying jealousy reared its head, looking for something to sink its teeth into. But who was he to feel this way now? He left Arthur at that hotel alone because… what? Because he was scared of his own feelings? Frustrated with the intensity, the depth of what he felt, and feared that Arthur may not want him to stay, should he find out? Knowing what he’d done – knowing what he could do. Arthur wanted him to be human, undefeated – he wanted him to be other people for him, to inspire his humanity, but John would never be able to live up to that standard.

But Oscar could.

If he could give Arthur this – the companionship he craved, the friend he’d had to abandon – then maybe he could forgive John for failing. Maybe he could forgive him for being a piece of a shattered mirror – a shard of glass, always meant to cut his fingertips.

“Oscar,” he said quietly, noting the look of surprise on the priest’s face. “I am not here by mistake.”

Oscar frowned, trying to understand the change in tone. “I didn’t—”

“Arthur told me about you,” he lied. Oscar’s face paled in shock.

“What? A-Arthur…?”

“Yes,” John looked down at him, expressionless. “I can… tell him I ran into you. I’m sure he’d want to talk to you.”

Oscar stuttered for a moment, clearly thrown by this turn of events. “Why? Wh—Who are you?”

John took a breath. “Because I owe it to him. Because I,” –he huffed and gritted his teeth. “Because he deserves to have a friend like you.”

Gentle. Soft. Kind. With no teeth that could cut bone clean in half, no tentacled limbs that would smother every part of him if given the chance. Without masks, manipulation, lies.

No sharp edges that had sliced through his identity, leaving only shattered dust to be swept up with the wind.

He’d turned to leave, but Oscar grabbed his arm. “Wait,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I… He said—”

“Trust me, Oscar,” John said. “He will want to speak with you.”

“How do you know?” He breathed out, and John pressed his lips together briefly.

“Because he didn’t want to leave you. I told him to.”

Oscar let go of his arm, staring at him with wide eyes. John looked back at him one more time and, without another word, turned and left the church.

[hello-nichya-here]

are you familiar with allegations of Till Lindemann? ☹️

I am and thus I can assure you: It's all bullshit.

The ONE accuser that dared to actually speak to the police changed her story a million times. It started with "Till wanted to have sex with me, but didn't do anything to me once I told him I wasn't interested, and I think SOMEONE could POSSIBLY have drugged me during the concert at some point, but the tests I took at the hospital didn't detect anything" and somehow ended in "I totally have proof that he did something to me and waited to reveal this only after the case was closed because REASONS!"

The police BEGGED for MONTHS for any victim to come forward with their story, even without any immediate damming evidence, just so they could have SOMETHING to investigate, promising full anonimity to make sure no one would be scared of harrassment or threat to their well-being.

No one did. And the police can't just go tracking everyone that has ever been to a Rammstein concert in dozens of countries for the past 30 years in case SOMEONE, even single solitary person, MIGHT say "Yeah, I saw Till assault someone/was assaulted by him."

This isn't even a case of "Innocent until proven guilty." This is a case of "We can't treat this man as potential criminal when NO ONE is coming forward with a minimally credible accusation, let alone evidence"

If there's no alleged victim, then there's no alleged crime and no alleged criminal. Treating him like he's a sex offender on these grounds would be like treating him as a murderer because I, a rando online, said he totally killed someone - but I won't contact the police to tell them why I think that, where the body is, who the victim was, when it happened, how he hid it, etc. Everyone just gotta believe me, even though I'm not cooperating with the investigation, because "trust me bro."

It's literally "This dude is totally a criminal. Source: my ass"

[i-love-ptv]

“Lana, How I Hate Those Guys” ୨୧

Pairing: Sarah Cameron x Fem!Reader

Fluff, Sarah being the bestest friend ever, slight JJ and Kie slander (srry i love them tho), slight twist at the end ;)

Wc: 1,181 (ish)

An: Woah chat, character unlocked 😈 Why does literally nobody write anything for her?? Platonic or not 😰

Randomly wrote this?? Also way longer than I’d thought it’d be?? Hope you enjoy tho!

Feedback always appreciated bbs! <33

“Oh my god Sarah, like what the fuck does he mean that we were just ‘friends with benefits?’ It sure didn’t feel like it when he’d be practically wrapped around my body during every bonfire.” You exclaim with a huff.

You knew it wouldn’t be just smooth sailing when you met JJ.

You had heard of his reputation of course. A new girl wrapped around his arm every week, touron or not.

But for some reason, you had hoped that you two could somehow be something more. You’d be lying if you said that you hadn’t fallen for the blonde rather quickly. Obviously, every other girl in Kildare couldn’t refrain from falling for JJ’s charm and sweet tone.

You unfortunately, suffered like the rest, that were just tossed aside when he got bored. When you met JJ at the boneyard of the cut, he had called your whole “arrangement” or what not, off.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, did you know that his name isn’t even JJ? it’s short for fucking John Jay.” Sarah says with a snicker.

“No fucking way, are you serious?”

“Dead.”

She continues, “Like oh my god, John has to be the most generic name ever, plus it radiates dickhead energy.”

“…Your boyfriend also has the name John..?”

“Okay yeah, but we’re talking about JJ right now. Anyways, don’t let it get to your head babe, he’s just a stupid douchebag asshole- sorry can you relax your hand f’me?” Sarah says while she paints your nails.

It’s moments like these where you’re grateful for a bestfriend like her, despite all of the running around she’s doing with the pouges to get the gold, you both know that she’d drop everything in a heartbeat for you.

The two of you have been friends since childhood, originally meeting in the 2nd grade.

You both easily bonded due to coming from similar backgrounds; you were a kook as well.

You look up at her eyes and softly gasp, “Oh shit! Sorry. Anyways, I bet he’s got another girl in his bed right now. Y’know what? He’s probably busy trying to get into Kiara’s pants.”

“No pogue on pogue macking,” you scoff in a mocking tone.

“It’s actually such bullshit, I see the way that he looks at her, and of course I see how her eyes somehow always drift to him. I don’t know if she thinks I’m fucking stupid or if she’s dumb herself, but I figured that it’d pass. After all, didn’t she kiss Pope and John B?”

“Mhm, I think she just strives for attention, y’know? She’s always getting all pissy when I come around, maybe it’s ’cause I’m dating Bee and she’s not.” Sarah murmurs.

“You’re all done, by the way.”

You fall back onto the pillows on her bed.

“Boys are just so dumb Sar.” You groan.

“Definitely. Also watch your nails, hon.”

Sarah also lays back onto her pillows, leaning on one arm.

There’s a few beats of silence between you two, just relishing in the moment while SZA’s ‘The Weekend’ plays softly through Sarah’s speaker.

“That’s it. No more moping and being gloomy. It’s a nice night out! We should do something!” Sarah exclaims.

You look at her with a quirked brow, “First of all, I don’t mope, second, what could we possibly do at this hour?”

“That’s the thing! We can just plan it along the way! That makes thing 10 times more fun.” The blonde says with a grin.

You think for a few seconds, and come to your conclusion, “Actually, yeah! That sounds good. Let’s go.”

Sarah squeals and jumps up from the bed, pulling you with her.

You and Sarah quickly pull on your hoodies, since that night chill will surely get to you both, and the two of you slide your flip flops onto your freshly painted toes.

Sarah grabs her speaker and keys, and put them into her tote bag, the one she had painted the day you two had made your ‘bikini crates’.

The two of you giggle while somewhat rushing down the stairs, without a care in the world.

“Sarah? Where are you two going?” You hear Rose call out.

Sarah looks at you with a glint of mischief in her eyes. She grabs your hand and with that, you both left.

You and Sarah had been running around outside for around an hour, your flip flops slapping against the pavement as you skipped around yelling the lyrics to ‘Melt’ by Kehlani.

You two had somehow managed to make it to figure 8 beach. There was something about it that always lured you and Sarah to it.

Sarah doesn’t hesitate to kick off her flip flops and set down her tote bag.

“C’mon babe! Get in with me!” Sarah shouts as she giggles and makes grabby-hands out towards you.

“But we don’t have any bathing suits!” You shout back, equally as loud.

“Who cares?! It’s just us!”

Sarah strips down and then looks at you expectantly.

You sigh, and begin to pull your hoodie over your head.

“Hell yeah sexy! Free those tittiesssss!” She drags out.

She grabs your hand after you finish, and starts running towards the water.

“Christ Sarah! Slow the hell down!” You shout while trailing behind her.

As you start to feel the water work its way up to the middle of your calves. Sarah looks back at you and yells, “Jump!”

You both dive make a splash, you find one another whilst you're underwater.

You come up with her, with your hands around her neck.

You brush her wet hair out of her face and look deeply into her eyes.

Her eyes remind you of the tree bark that you used to hug and climb when you both were younger, well, the bark that you would climb.

Sarah was never able to do these kind of activities, for her parents were stricter than yours. But this wouldn’t stop her from watching, and cheering you on.

That’s one of the things you loved about Sarah.

How despite your interests somewhat clashing, she still remained by your side.

You grew fond of how she opened herself up to the world and allowed herself to do more, very quickly.

You were never upset when she started hanging out with the pogues, in fact, you encouraged it. You wanted her to be happy, and you hoped that she’d allow you to stick around to see it, thankfully, she did.

Sarah’s whisper breaks you out of your thoughts, “Boys totally suck right? They’d never have this much fun with us.”

“Right.” You say, just as soft.

You continue to stare at her.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

“Shut up, loser.” You say with a slight grin, nothing but affection coming from your semi-chapped lips.

You’re glad that she drops everything for you in a heartbeat.

But you also wish that maybe, just maybe, she’d look at you differently..The way that you look at her.

But until then, you’ll still remain grateful for a bestfriend like her.

Fuck JJ. God, John B’s one lucky bastard.

This is what makes us girls.

[malwaredykes]

honestly tbh leigh's relationship with the ncr is REALLY funny because. she hates them. she has 0 allegiance to them. she doesnt help THEM she resolves matters in ways that often happen to benefit them in some way or simply prevents needless loss of life, but it never is about them and aside from that shes always stealing, sabotaging, disrespecting them, turning people against them, encouraging members to desert, putting their legitimacy into question, especially the legitimacy of them being in the mojave in the first place, and exposing their ineffectiveness. she has 0 intention of venerating The Republic that she comes from. she thinks its hilarious that anyone should take that stuff seriously.

but she ends up being a celebrity to them. because crocker likes her despite everything, and hsu likes her, and because shes from new cali but important in the mojave, and because shes done stuff like calm things down in the freeside and help at refugee camps and retake nelson. which makes her even more of a problem in a way. if she were Only a nuisance thatd be one thing, theyd just put a bounty on her. but shes a celebrity. she has a status in new vegas and in the ncr. shes kind of untouchable. and her crimes and sabotage can never quite be proven. of course to the higher ups theres having proof and theres Knowing. shit only gets worse when she and her buddies storm the legion fort and kill caesar and free a bunch of slaves because like. this strengthens her vip status AND is absolute humiliation to the ncr. like they cant take the credit and instead they have to live with the fact that what a lot of them dismissed as some upstart with a bunch of clueless locals backing her did something they never couldve achieved. "oh this was pretty much an angry mob of townies and misfits" yeah and they got caesar in his own fortress. shes out there making the ncr look like shit and pointing people to seeing the ncr as the problem and yet she never does it in a way that she could be prosecuted for. by the time the ncr realizes shes a lot of trouble they also know they would lose a TREMENDOUS amount of support if they did something to her

like shes never openly hostile. she never provokes open hostility. shes not Openly Antagonistic to the ncr but its not exactly a secret shes got something planned and would like them to leave. young ncr recruits seeing her are like Omggg ma'am its an honor!!!! ^_^. there are officers and rangers whod be REALLY appalled if you said anything bad about her because Well she sure has done a lot more for us here on site than any of you government people. and that was her goal. that is the game shes playing. folks youll eventually realize its not the ncr that has done good in the mojave despite its flaws, but yours were the hands doing the work, and all the reasons one might consider ncr good or necessary are within you, Are you, the people who joined hoping theyd make a difference. folks youll realize that the ncr has to lie and obfuscate and make bullshit orders and directives to maintain claim over that good work and whitewash its own crimes. folks, i have this ex-ncr friend here. do you know what the ncr got him? complicity in atrocities (lyrical miracle), ptsd, apocalyptic thinking, countless biases to unpack, hopelessness, enemies where he shouldve made friends. and so on. and do you know what he got from *me*? a chance to actually do good. a chance to question those false beliefs of his. a friend. new opportunities. 40 rolls of duct tape. new rifle. lots and lots of soda. TWO toy trucks. and an apple. just ask him

[addicsvt]

Him.

pairing - mafia au! hoshi x reader genre - angst angst angst angst word count - wip warnings - blood, murder, guns, killing, death synopsis - "I trusted you. You shouldn't have." a/n - SHIBALLLL 😈😈 hbd to this man 😭😭🙏🙏

"Agent y/n."

"Agent kwon."

"It was nice working with you." He says and gives you a smug smirk. Your confused, you just finished a mission and he began to act so weird. You suddenly feel a sharp pain in your chest, blood starts to pour out staining the cement crimson. You immediately fall to your knees, only to be met up from above with his sadistic smile.

"W-what" Is all that leaves your lips. You feel shocked, no, more than shocked. He.. Your mission partner of 1 year had shot you.

"I thought you would figure out my true intentions with your intellect, but I guess I'm wrong." He smirks bending to your level as you shoot him a venomous stare. He had.. betrayed you.

"All those missions meant nothing to you? All those politicians we killed together?" You spit out, hot blood rushing through you, your eyes brimming with burning tears. A knot grows in your throat, making it impossible for you to express the extent of his betrayal.

"I never thought you were the one for sappy bullshit." He remarks and you want to slap him hard. An unfiltered rage, a rage that leads one to murder. But you can't, the bleeding doesn't stop it further leads you to your demise.

"I.. I trusted you." You muttered, at this point you couldn't control your tears anymore letting them fall, hitting the hard concrete.

"Well, you shouldn't have." He laughed heartlessly before walking away. Leaving you to your inevitable death.

So.. this is how nearing death feels like? You've killed hundreds of people in your lifetime but this is how it feels to be the one getting killed. For the first time your the prey. And.. as your nearing the end of your life, you feel somewhat peaceful as if all the rage dissolved. Your back meets the cold concrete as you sigh, eyes meeting the stars. A cold gust of wind blows and you laugh weakly. You find solace in your ending moments. The moment before you meet your doomed fate.

FLASHBACK

"Why do you keep fighting?" Hoshi your annoying mission partner asked, taking a seat on the unwashed couch in the gym.

"If I don't fight I'm weak." You replied, hands balled into fists as you punched the punching bag for the 30th time.

"That's a basic reason, I thought you were going to say some cool shit." He jokes and you let out a dry laugh.

"Damn you kwon.." You curse him, voice weak and unsteady. The question lingers in your mind, "why do you keep fighting?" You hate to admit it but since he asked, you had been thinking about it. And now when your inches away from deaths cold embrace you find your answer.

Him.

[awkward-dazai]

IT HAS TAKEN ME FUCKING YEARS BUT IM FINALLY ABLE TO ACCESS THIS GODAWFUL ACCOUNT. i dont apologize for any inactivity and im surely not making a comeback, personally i’d like to forget this fucking blog ever existed. but im back nonetheless to give a life update or closing statement before i log out and finally live my life peacefully or smthn.

1. im not like this anymore. jesus christ. fortunately i’ve matured as a person now that i’m nearly 18 years old and i actually understand bungo stray dogs now.

2. nothing on here reflects who i am now. i fucking hate soukoku. i hate sskk. i hate bsd ships. i think a lot of the jokes on here were in poor taste and the whole schtick was character inaccurate… it was definitely fun at the time, but, alas, it is not that time anymore.

3. i have a new tumblr tjat u should probably go follow instead of this one if u ever want to see content from me. @nouveauxamoris 👍🏽

4. this has no relevance to anything else im just spreading my propaganda . chuuya nakahara is a trans woman . dazai osamu is a transmasc lesbian. dazai and chuuya have the exact same relationship dynamic as branch and his sleazy older brother from trolls. skk yaoi was never real and i no longer pretend like it was

[carpathiians]

the thing about javier. at some point I think he really just couldn't live with himself. at some point he had to get rid of everything that reminded him of the past and maybe he stopped caring about his appearance as much because it seemed to have no point anymore maybe he was simply too tired maybe he felt he didn't deserve to be like that anymore ... maybe he felt he didn't deserve to pretend to be the man he thought he was.

[front-facing-pokemon]

[forcedhesitation]

*wheeze* slowly, but surely, working on art of them all