#and certain things come about not because of a certain event

[painted-bees]

You know, if/when Margie ever goes to get assessed for ADHD or such, it'll be over some executive function-related failure on a project that she had hoped would prove to her that she can excel at things so long as she actually 'cares' about them. It'd be something music related for sure--maybe some kind of collaborative videogame music charity thing that some other online music nerds have organized together--I dunno what the indie online musician equivalent of a "zine" is lmfao

Like, it's not even a big prestige thing, and she's not getting any money from it--but it's an exciting project and she gets to compose covers of her favorite viddy game songs and have her music featured alongside other artists she enjoys. But--you know, there's a hard deadline. And there are certain expectations--she want's to make something good and memorable with this.

She gets started on it, and it's going well--well enough for her to be like, "great, I can come back to this later and I'll have it done no problem!" And then she forgets. And then she gets a reminder in her email that submissions are due by the end of the week. The email was sent on Monday, it's Thursday evening. She panics, and tries to put together the rest of the composition that same night, dismayed beyond words that she had put this thing off until literally the last minute. And it's not coming together, she had this great sound and idea in her head, and now it's failing to materialize for her. Her mounting frustration and panic has built up past being a helpful motivator, and is now actively sabotaging her efforts until she can't do anything but cry about it. It's 3 am, the work isn't done, it's isn't going to get done...she utterly failed. At this thing she's good at, that she wanted to do, that she was eager to be a part of.

Materially, she loses nothing by being like "well, I can ask for an extension, and if that's not possible then oh well." It wasn't a paid gig, it wasn't some huge, prestigious feature, there were no awards or accolades on the line, really. But it was supposed to be an easy thing she could do to remind herself that she's perfectly capable at completing things if she just--yanno--cares enoug, puts her mind to it and deems it worth her effort. It was supposed to be easy self-reassurance. And she failed.

and so she's crying in the wee hours of the morning over some small, unremarkable thing that she had chosen to do, for free, in her spare time because she hung all her confidence and self-worth on her ability to complete it in a manner that she could be proud of.

And Raf's the one holding her, trying to figure out how to impress on her that this whole fiasco is not...a suitable way of measuring her worth. Like--it's not proof that she's 'lazy'. This isn't what laziness looks like, this isn't what a "lack of care" or "lack of motivation" looks like. Ugly crying over a low-stakes, free-time, "for fun" project after forcing yourself to work fruitlessly through the night is...disordered. Like, Raf of all people, gets it. He completely understands lmao but it requires attention and help. It's not the first time he's suggested to Margie that she should book an assessment. He's offered to help her get the process started several times in the past. She's always been very "yeahhh...nah" about it. He figured it was because she was afraid of being told that there was something """wrong """ with her. Which--he empathized with a lot, and so never really pressed her about it.

But, over this specific event, it becomes clear that what Margie is most afraid of is hearing and knowing definitively that's there's nothing wrong with her. She worries that her inability to complete things on time, to remember things, to keep organized and clean and to prioritize things is just something everyone has to deal with, and they just care enough to deal with it properly--while she has somehow internalized that crying about it means she won't have to worry about it anymore. Maybe cuz she was spoiled growing up, like her parents use to suggest; that she was never truly forced to face the consequences of her inaction. And, for what ever reason, that'd mean she's just...a bad person.

And once Raf realizes that this is what has been keeping her away from getting assessed, he commits to fully pleading with her to get assessed, promising that no possible outcome will change his opinion of her at his very core. And it works. He's able to get a referral for her from his therapist, gets her booked, and over the course of three appointments, she goes through the assessment--feeling an undeterred mix of anxiety and shame all the while 'cus what if they just think "this girl walks in with a latte and a 'problem' but her real problem is that she has never experienced a real struggle in her life lol" or "she's exaggerating things just so she can get drugs, no way is anyone actually this stupid" or "this is a huge waste of time". That's not how it turns out, of course. Between the self assessment, the assessment she had to give to 3 trusted friends/family members to fill out, the IQ test, the cognitive ability tests, and whatever else happened during the dialogue between her and the psychologist--Margie gets her ADHD diagnosis and an autism diagnosis. She gets Raf to sit in with her while the psychologist goes over the results with her, 'cus she doesn't trust her ability to recite any of that information to him herself afterward lmao To her surprise (and to Raf's quiet, triumphant validation for calling it correctly), Margie's IQ is, apparently, a very sexy 136...but is undercut by remarkably low results on tests pertaining to certain cognitive abilities--to the point of qualifying as significant impairments.

On the list of treatments, medication is suggested as a footnote following a list of things including therapy, habit-building and behavioral exercises, dietary suggestions, and further reading suggestions. Which comes to her as a relief, because it's gonna take her a few more years before she's comfortable with the idea of medicating (imagining in her mind that one unfortunate unofficial Calvin and Hobbes comic that has made her fear losing her enthusiasm for her creative musical endeavors lmao). Until then though, the therapy is, perhaps, the most helpful treatment suggestion on that list. Aside from contributing to supportive mental/emotional/behavioral exercises--after the initial relief of "omg there WAS something wrong, I'm not just a bad, lazy, uncaring person!!"--the backlog of hurt that follows the "I needed help but they punished me instead" revelation provides a lot to work through.

[77dekiru]

MHA 423: Breakdown + Speculation

(MANGA SPOILERS.)

I would like to start this off by saying that there was a lot set up with the OFA realm that never got used (if this is the true conclusion.)

Nothing further came from Katsuki entering the OFA realm. (I think that it’s obvious that Katsuki came back being able to tap into OFA, but that was never actually confirmed.)

Nothing came from Toshinori and his vestige syncing...

Nothing came from Star’s vestige reappearing. (Star originally gave up her chance to kill Tomura/AFO, because she saw Tenko still inside the vestige realm… this is all very interesting timing.)

“Master… I found a sad child. He’s right there.”

(This literally happened only 10 chapters ago. It’s not like these were older events that were suddenly written out as being relevant.)

All of this was done for a purpose, all foreshadowing for something more. It would be horrifically bad writing if quite literally nothing came from it.

How Tenko Will Survive:

“I have no doubt All For One was absorbed and stopped existing.”

Izuku questioned how AFO was able to come back, even stressing how he was sure that AFO had been fully absorbed (this literally happened 2 chapters ago…) and ceased to exist.

All For One isn’t the only character this has happened to either!!

Yoichi (+ the other vestiges) came back as well. AFO was certain that Yoichi’s vestige had been shattered and destroyed.

“How dare you destroy my One For All… My Yoichi…”

“When I heard the sound of Yoichi being shattered to pieces… my whole world turned grey.”

Even Star’s vestige reappearing is an example of this happening… the fact that we have gotten no explanation for any of this is so weird.

There is definitely something more going on here that hasn’t been revealed yet.

((I personally think that this is gearing up for All For One (quirk) reaching the point of singularity… OFA has already reached that point, but AFO has not. I feel like it’s somewhat inevitable, imo.))

I can see Tomura’s “soul” (his sense of self, IMO) being saved by whatever had originally brought back the other vestiges, and his body being saved by the Overhaul quirk he possesses.

Tomura believes that his only purpose (the reason that he was even born) is to destroy. He literally mourns the fact that he wasn’t able to destroy Izuku’s arms, not because it was something that he enjoyed, but because destruction is the only thing that Tomura believes he’s capable of…

Overhaul gives Tomura the ability to CREATE and not just destroy. Tomura didn’t even have a chance to process the idea that he could possibly do that. It didn’t even seem to register for him at all.

I think that Tomura referring to himself (“Shigaraki Tomura”) in quotations is gearing up for a “death of Shigaraki Tomura, rebirth of Shimura Tenko” type deal.

I also want to add that we never actually saw Izuku use One For All on Tomura.

We didn’t see Tomura’s body cease to exist, we saw his vestige be destroyed.

Izuku and Tomura do not actually need to be near each other in person to interact within the vestige realm!! (I truly wouldn’t be surprised if some Kurogiri portal fuckery is going on here as well.)

Speculation:

Alright. I’m trying not to be delusional about this, but there was definitely something off about this chapter. Not in a poorly written way, but in a “there is some fuckery going on here” type way.

This seemed like a purposefully manufactured “end” to One For All and All For One… A performance more than anything. (This could be the result of a rushed ending, but I’m going to be optimistic about all of this.) Izuku referring to All Might as “the Eighth” was so odd.

The scene of AFO speaking to Yoichi’s “embers” was also very strange to me. The entire conversation between Yoichi and AFO felt off, as if Yoichi was just a distraction. Also the fact that all of the vestiges were able to hold their full forms, except for Yoichi is such a red flag… (Even AFO’s vestige was able to revert back to its pre-injured self.) Especially since Izuku had held onto OFA the most out of all of the past users quirks… OFA is special to Izuku, not for its power but because it had been a gift from All Might.

Izuku is not incapable of being selfish.

I can definitely see him trying to hold onto something from One For All…

The reason that AFO’s “soul” was finally shattered is that the idea that Yoichi was truly gone left him with nothing else… AFO no longer cared about ruling over others, finding it pointless without him.

If there is even the smallest bit of OFA left, I can very much see AFO coming back again (😭) I genuinely think that he wouldn’t give up if there was even an ember of Yoichi left…

All For One definitely will not be getting any sort of redemption by the end of the series, but I do think that he will possibly get some sort of closure for Yoichi's death... which will be what finally stops the cycle.

[End of meta, beginning of rant:]

If there is nothing more after this, that was probably the worst conclusion to a plot line that we have ever had in the entire series.

I am of the firm belief that what happened this chapter would've been fine (minus, Tomura's possible conclusion) if it had been spaced out between even 2-3 chapters instead of a single one. It felt rushed and this "climax" fell flat.

I don’t think that Tenko is dead (or at least will stay dead) but the idea that that was the conclusion of the OFA/AFO plotline is making me feel insane.

There is so much important shit that still needs to be resolved, and the idea that it's gonna happen AFTER the climax in some post-war bullshit is also making me feel just a little bit crazy. ngl.

It's all just gonna feel so anticlimactic. Unless something changes drastically in the next chapter, I just know the ending will be disappointing on some level if things stay as they currently are…

(Even if this is not the conclusion of the OFA/AFO plotline, this chapter could do so much possible damage if things are not handled properly, I really don’t know if whatever is being planned next could even fully salvage it…)

Izuku’s actions:

I’ll be honest, I’m not particularly surprised with how Izuku acted this chapter. His view of Tomura has always been flawed, and that had been shown time and time again throughout this battle…

(I’m working on a longer post about this. It’s been something that I have kept to myself for a while now, and I think now is a good time to post my thoughts on it.)

Izuku never wanted to save Shigaraki Tomura, he wanted to save Shimura Tenko.

I think that this chapter perfectly displayed that particular flaw to readers… I really don’t think that this is the result of poor writing, but was a flaw purposefully given to Izuku.

(A flaw that he has yet to overcome… I do hope that this will be something that is resolved by the end of the series.)

The Fandom Response:

I’m seeing a lot of people say things like “Tenko can rest now.” or “Well, I guess Tenko’s heart was saved in the end.” when that is simply not true.

Tomura did not have any sort of revelation about AFO’s grooming. He still believed that he was born to destroy, that did not change in the slightest.

Tomura did not get any closure for the death of his family. He practically learns that he and his family were doomed from the start, and then just accepted it.

Tomura did not die “happy” or even at peace.

The idea that the only way for Tomura to be stopped was for him to be killed is just simply not true. He literally gave up a few chapters prior. It’s not like he was “too far gone” or on a rampage and needed to be put down.

…I have a lot more thoughts on this chapter that I won’t be sharing (yet) but I just can’t accept that it ends there. I cannot accept the idea that the main plotline of the series was so horrifically fumbled after all this time.

If Tomura truly died like that, it quite literally threw out 5+ years of development.

Tomura was humanized over and over again. For nothing?

It all just seems very… cruel.

[tellmeallaboutit]

knock knock (Raphael x F!Player)

Chapter 4, In Which You Attend A Very Special Event (Part 2)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

AO3

Chapter 4 (part 2)

TW: bad, very bad, horrible BDSM etiquette, spanking, what could be considered dub-con (protagonist is willing but immobilised), if you are sensitive to dub-con, DO NOT PROCEED, sleep paralysis. 

The waiter led you back to your seat from the restroom, disturbing Raphael's lively conversation in Turkish with someone at a nearby table; in their talk, they repeated the word "ASELSAN", as if calling upon some kind of a devil.

The moment you sat down, the waiter leaned in close and whispered as he set something right before you, "This dish may remind you of the things that scare you". 

No reminder was necessary. The thing that scared you was seated right across from you. 

You cautiously sampled the dish; not so much a bite but more of a gulp. It required a spoon, its formlessness demanded it. Oddly enough, it didn’t taste like cherries or sulphur; it tasted like nothing. Not even dust and ashes, just emptiness. No heaven or hell, no gods or devils, no grand design, no meaning or narrative. Monkey lives, and monkey dies; there's nothing more to it because there was never meant to be anything more. 

It tasted like nothing at all, and you did think that chef conveyed the feeling masterfully - an accomplishment that would likely warrant a four-figure bill, but fortunately, you weren't the one covering it.

"What does it taste like for you?" you asked. "The things that scare you?"

Raphael didn't appreciate the question; his response came after a long pause.

"A cacophony of flavours too complex to describe," he finally answered. "Too chaotic to make sense of."

He was afraid of chaos, of course, ever the control freak. You put the spoon away. Tonight, you were probably getting killed, possibly getting fucked, but one thing was for certain: you wouldn't leave here without feeling hungry.

"So where were we before you left?" Raphael continued nonchalantly, “Theatre of Cruelty isn't about sadism per se, it can be; but must not be. It's about a visceral determination to shatter false realities; to dismantle illusions."

You weren't much of a theatre kid, but in that moment Artaud's philosophy resonated with you in ways it never had before.

“Oh, I get him”, you whispered. “I would love to shatter some illusions as well.”

"I had no doubt that you would understand," Raphael replied, his voice laced with genuine affection. "You possess an artistic flair and a vivid imagination."

“I do”, you nodded. “So vivid I can hear the rustle”.

“The rustle of what?”

“You know what,” you mumbled. His wings. You could feel them fluttering, you could almost outline their shape (could you?) through your blindfold.

Raphael sat across from you with his wings fully extended. Meanwhile, his tail was still misbehaving under the table, prickling against your skin, tickling you, poking against you, goading and provoking you and succeeding at that.  

You couldn't keep going on like this anymore.

That’s it. That’s it, you were personally coming for his bloody tail, wings and horns, you were catching him red-handed, literally so. 

“May I try your dish?”, you said in your sweetest, most seductive voice. 

"Indulge yourself," he said. "What's mine could easily become yours."

Uh-huh.

Pushing yourself up from the chair, you curled your fingers around the table edge to anchor yourself as you navigated the short distance towards where Raphael should have been sitting. 

You stopped just before his seat. Inhaled, exhaled, pausing momentarily before taking the plunge - landing unceremoniously onto his lap. He let out a surprised gasp, a satisfyingly human response to your bold move.

“We could have asked the waiters to switch the plates”, he laughed into your ear, his warm breath tickling you.

“Would you have preferred that?”

He was hard already, almost painfully so (you’d hope painfully so for all the trouble he had put you through), body heat searing even through the thick fabric of his slacks, his bulge pressed against your arse. You couldn't help but imagine it pressing into you, and for a moment, you forgot about what you were supposed to be doing in his lap in the first place. 

"No, I indeed would have not," he confessed, repeating for emphasis: "I would have not."

You made a point of shifting and wriggling all over him until you heard his breath hitch in his throat, and that left you very much satisfied with your newfound power.

Your hand found his and he used it to guide the fork into your mouth.

“How do you like the taste of my fear?”, Raphael asked.

His left hand slightly tugged at your cross. The thing must be annoying him tremendously.

The dish tasted like all the leftovers in the fridge thrown in the pot to make a soup, chaotic, yes, but not disgusting. You weren't going to say that, however. You said, grinning ear to ear, your turn to provoke him now:

“It’s delicious”.

His wings fluttered at your words. You scooted away from his groin as you tried the dish, which he did not seem all too pleased with. He grabbed your hips, the sharp edges of his talons palpable through the fabric of your dress, and pulled you back right onto him 

The layers of fabric that separated the two of you made it difficult to gauge his exact size, but you just knew: he was generously endowed. That was one fact you never questioned. 

Anything else may be up for debate, but not this.

You couldn't help but wonder: what did he look like? You were so curious to see a real-life cambion. Is it like bad CGI or is it like ultra-realistic nightmare fuel?

Your hand slowly found its way to where his wings should have been, and sure enough, they were there.

"Do you know how I feel about the line between reality and fantasy?" Raphael purred in your ear.

His wings quivered under your touch, the raw grain of the leather pulsing under your fingertips as you traced the outline back to his shoulder. You always wondered what they would feel like. Like a rough skinned hide.

They were real. Warm, coarse and real, and he allowed you to touch them. His anatomy doesn't even make sense. How can his back support the weight of his wings? His muscle mass wouldn't be enough. How could he possibly fly?

"There is none. There never was," Raphael continued. "Fantasy bleeds into reality, reality bleeds into fantasy, it's a loop, a circle, an ouroboros. The gap between what we dream of and what we shall do given the opportunity - which we are almost never given -  is non-existent".

He was right about one thing: fantasy bled into your reality; bled all over it.

"I have fantasies that I wouldn't act out in real life," you protested, but not very fervently.

"What might they be?" he asked.

You, for example, you thought and realised that your statement was proving the very opposite of what you wanted it to prove. 

“Oh, many”, you said. “Like… Well, if I could try them out in real life, I would like some…”

You stopped in your words, thinking about your own personal conditions, your limits, your moral compass, and you'd never felt more lost about what those were. 

You struggled to articulate anything coherent. Probably too much wine.

"What would you like, pray tell?" Raphael asked again. "A safety net? Soft and padded escape routes should the monster get too terrifying, too lifelike? Such a scaredy little mouse”.

He was grinding against you at this point: if you ever had any doubt that Raphael wanted you as much as you wanted him, it was gone. 

The 'monster' was becoming frighteningly real and frighteningly hard against you. The things Raphael was saying were undoubtedly all wrong, and you knew you should contradict him, but you could not find the words.

“Says the control freak”, you said. “The ultimate control freak”.

You paused for a moment, wondering if he was familiar with the term "control freak." But then you remembered that he owned two iPhones and drives a car, so he probably was.

"Do not presume to know what I am," Raphael replied icily.

“Oh no, I know exactly who you are,” you protested.

"Is that truly the case, or is it simply a product of your oh-so-vivid imagination?" 

There was such casual, dismissive, cold arrogance in his voice it blinded you even with a blindfold on. How dare he speak to you in such a superior tone with his cock straining against his slacks?

No, you were not fucking imagining things.

Your fingers wrapped around the upper horn, feeling its rough texture and curved shape under your touch. It was massive, making your small palm feel even smaller. You held onto it tightly and gave it a slight squeeze.

He pretended not to notice.

“Caught you by the horn, Raphael,”, you whispered to where his ear should be, and pulled your blindfold down. “Now try to fucking deny that!”.

But there was nothing for him to deny; he didn't have horns at all. Or wings. Or tail, for that matter.

Instead, you were holding onto the curve of his chair, just above his head. The wood was rough and rugged beneath your grip. 

As with all the traps, it was only apparent that it was one after it had already been triggered

Should have checked for the lower horn.

Should have. 

“Oh”, Raphael said in his perfectly human form, still blindfolded, flashing you the most crocodilian smile you’ve ever seen. "Caught you by the hand, you little rule-breaker”.

All the blindfolded people looked exactly your way, as if sirened by his voice, as if tadpoled, possessed by a common will. The murmurs grew louder as the lights flickered back on.

You tried to pull away from him in sheer panic, but Raphael's grip on your wrist tightened before you could fall off his lap.

“You were warned about the rules and yet you chose to break them”, Raphael chided and pulled down his own blindfold. “Tsk-tsk-tsk."

“You made me”, you said. “You provoked me into it”.

"The devil made you do it?" Raphael kept on smiling. "Trick as old as the world itself; believe me, it never worked".

He had a look of pure joy on his face, exactly the same wicked face (you used to think that face was funny, but not anymore) when he declared his victories in the ending, only now he wasn't on your laptop screen, he was inches away from your face.

Then you remembered every debtor in the House of Hope, slowly, one by one, and their punishments. The archivist with the ruptured spine. Ruptured a thousand times. “Because you know how Raphael likes to play”.

At that moment, you wished for a Chinese Great Wall between reality and fantasy. This was real life, real pain, real consequences, your real body, and you only had one. 

Your blood ran several degrees hotter now, sweat poured down your arms.

“Please”, you begged. "Don't kill me. Don't… flay me."

(the very word ‘flay’ seemed so medieval and absurd spoken out loud)

Raphael’s smile widened at your pleas. He squeezed you lightly, in very genuine delight, like a child squeezes his new favourite toy. “Any other requests?”

"Don't break my spine," you whispered, trying to recite the Lord's Prayer in your mind, but from the second line on, your thoughts got all mixed up. 

"Duly noted," he said, swallowing his drink in one gulp and watching you cling to your cross. "I thought you weren't religious. Found your faith now, have you?"

"Will it help?" you asked with a faint hope.

"Well," Raphael tilted his head and grew serious as if he was giving it some actual thought. "Your God is not known for being very helpful. But who knows? Perhaps he will make an exception for you, since you so kindly wore his symbol today."

He shook his head at the last sentence. 

It won't help, you realised and let go of the cross. 

"Put your blindfold back on," Raphael ordered, and you complied immediately. "Ah, such extraordinary speed and obedience! That's a good girl indeed. Ha, Anya, the expression on your face is delightful. You really do enjoy it when I call you that, don't you?"

"I do," you admitted, because you did, and because you desperately wanted to appease him. 

Raphael gave you a kiss on the lips - just a small one, a brushing one, a quick one. You felt his tail flick against your thigh in anticipation. Then he helped you from his lap - his touch surprisingly gentle - to your feet. 

"I will handle this personally," he said to someone in the crowd - presumably the dwarf. "I brought her, she is my responsibility."

"As you wish, R," he replied. "Your kingdom, your rules".

Raphael pushed you towards the stage. He lifted you up onto it with extraordinary ease, as if you were merely a small cat in his arms, when your legs seemed to forget how to climb stairs or move at all.

You didn't resist him; it didn't even occur to you to do so. The security guards weren't there for you, they were there for him, so no help would come from them either. They did not budge, that’s for sure.

No one here would do anything to help you. Let's hope it would be just a public fuck, just a public fuck, just a public fuck, let's pray for a public fuck (no, don't pray to God for that)...

How many people were there? Fifty? With the waiters, sixty? Some of them might know your mother. Colleagues. Neighbours. 

You tripped over something soft, just above your knees. A footrest? A loveseat? What was it? Your fingers traced its surface, trying to decipher its identity by touch alone.

"It's perfectly shaped for you to bend over," Raphael offered you some help. "Something you definitely should bend over."

Slowly, reluctantly, your body obeyed. You sank to your knees and leaned forward, your stomach pressed against the plush fabric, your hands reaching out for stability. You found it on the chair legs - their smooth surface slightly worn from years of use. 

Raphael lifted your dress carefully, taking care not to damage it. Then he slowly pulled your panties down until they rested around your knees (thank God they were so new and pretty). Then he planted a tender kiss on your right buttock, almost chaste in his touch, which was both the hottest and most embarrassing thing you had ever had experienced.

Then he parted your legs slightly. Now he would see that...

He would see that...

"You were really looking forward to your punishment, weren't you? Such a naughty little mouse," he chided. "Was that the very reason you broke my rules?”

A naughty little mouse. In spite of yourself, a smile spread across your face. He finally recognised his true self, and even better, he recognised you. 

You spread your legs a little further. Raphael was standing right behind you, your aching pussy fully exposed to him. 

And everybody else, of course. But you couldn’t see them, hear them, or care less about them. 

Snap.

A sharp sting on your bare bottom that made you gasp in surprise. It wasn't a hand... nor was it a crop... It moved swiftly yet precisely - long and flexible with a pointed end - just what the thing you'd been trying to grab all night had come back for revenge.

You’ve never been whipped, or spanked before. Your exes hadn't been into this sort of play and forcing them into something they were clearly uncomfortable with ruined the whole idea.

You rubbed the spot where the sting still lingered, warmth spreading from it, and for that you got one on the back of your hand.

And another on your calves, another on the bottom of your thighs, another one, this time higher.

And then another.

Each time his tail struck you, you flinched and recoiled in the chair. The initial sharp sting soon gave way to a warm sensation, then heat, and finally a searing burn that slowly engulfed your entire body. 

"Were you looking forward to your punishment, little mouse?" Raphael asked again, his voice a low, soft rumble; like a storm approaching. “Don’t make me ask thrice”. 

Your skin throbbed, burned, but you could tolerate this pain. There was something else beside it. You clutched onto the wooden legs, your hands trembling as you focused on this other feeling. 

Another lash seared across your backside, harder than those before… With this one you realised what you never had a chance to know for sure; that sure; you had been missing out, and terribly so.

You realised that you liked the pain he caused you. No, no; you loved it. Not just the pain; the forbidden, the taboo, the dirty, being bent over dirty in front of a bunch of strangers. So you could not hold back your answer. 

"Yes," you admitted breathlessly, shaking, and after another strike from his whip-like tail, you confirmed it with fervour. "YES! YES!"

A small part of you hated yourself for saying it, but a much larger part agreed wholeheartedly. 

The voices in the darkness laughed.

"Ah, so did I, little mouse," Raphael's words were soft, almost reverent. "I've been looking forward to this, terribly, terribly so." 

His voice became more and more disembodied; it seemed to come from everywhere now. The more he spoke, the more disorientated you became. You felt what he said rather than heard it. 

The tail took another wide swing, now slashing across your thighs, leaving rising welts on the skin. You screamed at the burn, less restrained now, and then you screamed like you didn't give a fuck, because you didn't. 

Your eyes glistened, overflowing with unrestrained tears, your blindfold damp; hot trails down your cheeks, the taste of them salty on your lips. Your body was running hot, hotter, hotter, your clit throbbing to the rhythm of this burning.

You were lost in a red-dark haze; the pain had become a background noise, but you couldn't ignore it. And you didn't want to ignore it, intoxicating and addictive and releasing as it was.

Each sting of the whip sent waves of pleasure through your cunt, causing it to clench and release, leaving a trail of wetness on your thighs. Not an orgasm, or maybe it was; you were no longer sure of anything.

"Elle s'est jouie juste en recevant une fessée?" someone to your left snickered. "Putain Raul, où est-ce que tu trouves ces salopes? Pourquoi je trouve jamais des salopes comme…"

"Ta gueule!" Raphael snapped back, and that someone promptly shut up. “Don’t you dare call her that ever again if you want to live”.

Somebody gasped. 

"Touch me... please..." you whimpered, taking advantage of the pause. "Do anything to me... anything!"

Raphael laughed. 

Your mother would be very proud of you now, a nasty little thought crossed your mind and you shoved it away with utter contempt, just like all the other thoughts that screamed at you that what was happening was obscene and obscenely wrong.

"I will, oh, I will," he said. “All in due time. Allow me to help you," he reached out and grabbed your waist, pulling you to your feet. "The most exciting part of dinner is about to commence."

Raphael reached down to your knees. His fingers brushed the delicate lace of your panties, and in a teasingly slow motion he began to pull them up.

It was the opposite of what you had imagined to be the exciting part.

"What part?" you asked, making another pained, pitiful sob, fully determined to pity him into fucking you.

His hands moved from your waist to straighten your dress, tucking it neatly into place before smoothing down any wrinkles. Your knees were red, and aching from the hardwood floor. You could not see anything, but you were sure your arse was a tapestry of criss-cross red marks.

"Why, dessert, of course," he breathed out with anticipation. "We're about to be served dessert! Let's cross our fingers for chocolate mousse; I've got quite the craving."

You waited, hoping it was a sexual metaphor, though you did not want to think any further about what exactly that metaphor was supposed to stand for.

As he led you back to the table, hand around your waist to guide you, you realised it wasn't. You weren't going to get fucked, at least not right away, which was a far more bitter disappointment than finding out he didn't have horns. 

Raphael was referring to the actual dessert, which he was very much looking forward to. He put you back in your chair as your arse screamed in pain and your pussy screamed in overwhelming need. 

Then he sat down opposite you. The cloth rustled; his blindfold was back on.

And then he continued.

"Pray tell, where was I? Ah yes, the most scandalous fact of all is that there existed but a single - can you imagine, a single! - production in the entirety of the 20th century inspired by Arnaud," Raphael said as the dessert plates descended onto the table. "It bore the title of The Persecution and Assasination of Jean-Paul Marat..."

He said it in one sentence, one bloody sentence, one run-on sentence, without pausing to breathe. 

"...as performed by the inmates of the asylum of Charenton under the direction of the Marquis de Sade..."

The only saving grace in this situation was that the dessert smelled absolutely delicious.

“…staged by Peter Weiß in post-war Germany, early sixties, I believe…”

You nodded and picked up your spoon. Sweet and tangy and oh-so-delicious creamy cherries - you couldn't help but moan in pure bliss, actually moan, and swallow it down with the rest of your pride, sanity and common sense.

What was there left to be embarrassed about?

“…shortly known as “Marat / Sade”. Oh, my dear, you are quite enjoying yourself, aren’t you?”

"I am in fucking heaven," you exclaimed with a laugh. 

Raphael cleared his throat at your use of profanity.

You devoured the dessert with gusto, each spoonful better than the last, until there was nothing left but an empty plate and the lingering taste of cherry mousse on your lips.

If it was socially acceptable at a restaurant like that, you would have asked for seconds (not that anything you did here had been appropriate).

“Remove your blindfolds”, the dwarf commanded, and you ripped yours from your face as soon as you heard the verb remove.

As your eyes adjusted to the light, they landed on what was left of your plate. 

Nothing. You had eaten it all, licked it clean.

But on Raphael’s plate, who was sitting right across from you in his human form, about to light another cigarette (oh, now that you saw it, it was actually a cigar), on Raphael's plate... there was still something.

Your stomach cramped and hurt at the sight. 

Cherry red and sticky and slimy and full of texture and mass and shape and... 

And very much like...Very much like......brain tissue...

Which was... 

It was...

You mean ....

***

"What happened?" you asked, your voice groggy.

Your head was nestled in Raphael's lap, his fingers gently stroking through your hair, the soft hum of the car's engine lulling you back to sleep.

"Ah, piccola," Raphael exhaled with an amused sigh, "you decided to take a little nap after the cherry pudding”. 

You were sprawled on the plush leather back of a car, not the one you came in; some other limousine, whatever it was.

"It wasn't the cherry pudding." Your gaze flicked to the front of the vehicle where the driver sat, a dark shadow against the dashboard lights. "I saw something...like brains..."

"My bad, if I knew you were such an impressionable sort, I would have taken you elsewhere," Raphael said. His hand continued to gently stroke your head. "The dish presentation was a bit on the extravagant side, I agree, but trust me, no one was serving us prion diseases."

Maybe they were, maybe they weren't. You were too dazzled to argue anyway.

Raphael was back in his Raul persona. The change was slight, but it was there, in the timbre of his voice, in the movements - more businesslike, more impatient, more "my time is more valuable than yours", with a very slight Italian inflection at the end of sentences.

"I hope you still enjoyed our evening together as much as I did."

"Unforgettable," you said as you rubbed your aching bottom.

"Interesting choice of word," he muttered, gazing out the window with a humanly troubled expression. "I wouldn’t say that, but it was delightful, and hopefully one of many to come."

You felt too sleepy to ask to make any sense of what he was saying - was he saying the evening was delightful, but forgettable? Huh?

Nevermind. Lost in translation, probably.

"Where are we headed?" you asked instead, snuggling closer to him and closing your eyes.

"I'm taking you home," he answered. "That's what I promised you."

***

Less than an hour later, you were standing at the door of your apartment, which you had said goodbye to not so long ago, but which you now wished you did not have to see again so soon. 

You leaned against it and looked at Raphael. 

He looked thoughtful, his eyes a dark, glistening honey, the white shirt a little less tightly pressed now, but still tugging at his tanned skin, a thin gold chain around his neck.

In the half-light of the corridor, he looked particularly imaginary. The look suited him. 

What a handsome man, you marvelled. And yet fictional enough that you wanted him to kiss you, despite, well... despite who he was. 

What more could you lose? Your old life was gone the moment he called you a naughty little mouse from the screen.

"I brought you home safely," Raphael said. "I recall I promised to kiss you good night as well”.

You opened your mouth and were about to take a step towards him, but he was faster. He pinned you against the door of the flat. His stubble burned your face and his lips and mouth and skin tasted of tobacco and cherries and expensive leather. Hot and wet and smokey.

You kissed him as voraciously as you had ever kissed anyone before, real or imagined. Your fingers were tugging at his hair, tugging so hard it had to hurt. The skin on the back of his neck was so soft, so unlike him. His tongue was deep in your mouth, ready to plunge straight down your throat and choke you. 

If that's what he wanted, why the hell not?

The only thing you really wanted from him was for him to be as obsessed with you as you were with him. The rest, all the rest, you could live with, learn to live with. The things he might or might not have done, the debtors, the crimes, they weren't real enough anyway, at least not yet. 

That kiss was. You moaned against his mouth, his tongue pushing into your mouth until all you tasted was him, all you breathed was air from his lungs, all you felt was what he felt and what he wanted. 

Then, Raphael pulled away from you, and you wanted to slap him for it, and for a second you seriously believed you would. 

He took a step back, looking both annoyed and defeated and confused, adjusting the gold watch on his wrist. 

"There are certain rules I cannot ignore," he said. "I trust you understand."

There was no rule against fucking on the first date, NO SUCH FUCKING RULE, you wanted to scream at him, and if there was, it had been abolished and overruled long ago, and you didn't understand shit - but instead all that escaped your lips was an almost inaudible "Yes".

"Good," he coldly replied, before bidding you good night and letting the darkness of the staircase swallow him whole.

***

"back home all good," you texted your mum, and within three seconds you got a 'God bless' back, and then a whirlwind of other messages you didn't read.

Your laptop was still wide open, glowing brightly in the darkness of the room. Missed messages, pop-ups, a couple of flashing notifications in the bottom right-hand corner. 

You slammed it down.

Then you took off your clothes and jewellery, your cross, earrings and rings, everything, because everything itched and scratched and yearned and frustrated. Your skin felt like it was on fire, slick with sweat and saliva from his kisses. 

You lay down on your bed and buried your face in the pillow to escape the oppressive heat. It was April, wasn't it? 

Feels like the middle of August.

Exhaustion washed over you, wave after wave, but you didn't want to give in, because you had to think about what had happened, but you couldn't because your brain was melting. So you drifted off to sleep. And as you drifted, just as you were about to drift, a sensation that hadn't bothered you for years crept all over your body.

You recognised it very well. It was unmistakable; once you know it, you know it forever.

The sleep paralysis. 

Your muscles loosened, and your body relaxed as your heart raced in your chest. You took short, sharp breaths. Then a sense of inevitable doom flooded over you.

Your body betrayed you, stuck between dreaming and being awake, betrayed you and left you paralysed and at the mercy of him who you knew was standing in this room right next to your bed. 

Even without smelling the stench of sulphur, you would have sensed his presence like an animal senses a predator.

"I almost forgot, my darling mouse, my apologies," Raphael said. "I did not see to it that you had the sweetest dreams”.

A clawed hand landed beside the pillow your face was plastered to. You stared at it; viscerally real, five long, sharp black talons. Huge. Right beside your pillow and within arm's reach of the bed stand where you had discarded your jewellery (and your cross).

Then you felt his mass settle on you, pressing your prone body into the mattress; heavy, hard, burning hot, and very masculine in its arousal. So hot that you imagined little clouds of smoke rising from him into the air.

"Do not be afraid," Raphael said as he planted hot kisses along the nape of your neck and across your back. "As I have promised, you need not fear me, not me, never me."

You could feel him pushing your knees apart. He rose up and positioned himself behind you, easing between your legs, his shaft rubbing against your slick folds. 

His tail wrapped all around your right leg, as if to protect and hold you close.

You would buck your hips against him, you would moan if you could, to show him how much you wanted him, wanted this, but you couldn't move or make a sound. 

"Just look at you, my needy and desperate little human, my, my, mine" Raphael said with pure admiration, his talons stroking your still aching backside, his forked tongue licking you as if you were the most delicious of all treats. "What an exquisite sight you are. Tell me, does it feel good to finally lie beneath me?”

If you could tell a thing, you would tell him that good was not the right word; divine was the word, blasphemous as it was. 

You felt his thighs press inward, heavy and sure and inescapable.

"You will understand everything in time, I promise," Raphael whispered in your ear. "There are rules we must play by for now. I have not made them, or things would be very different between us.”

Yes, yes, whatever you say, I'll play by your rules, fuck-me-just-fuck-me, you thought, and he granted your wish; you felt the head of his cock push you apart and push into you, and you felt as if this, not any moment before, was the end of all the life you had lived before. 

Every moment felt like a century. It took a millennium for his cock to slide all the way into your pussy, and even though it was too big to fit comfortably, it fit just perfectly.

"Aren't you lovely?" Raphael cooed, his body pressing you into the mattress. "Aren't you so sweet to me? So accommodating, so soft, so deliciously pliant."

He went gentle at first, slow and methodical strokes, not abrupt or hard as you'd feared (or hoped), and you would have screamed if your throat wasn't dead, screamed in bliss, but instead you lay perfectly still under his massive weight, perfectly happy to be suffocated this way, a burden you were always meant to bear.

So many times you've had to fake excitement, moans, orgasms, and the one time you really didn't have to fake anything, you couldn't do anything, all you could do was lie there and enjoy the sensation of being taken. 

It felt so good to be so naked and so helpless. You hoped he liked being inside you as much as you liked having him inside you, because you'd gladly spend every evening of your life lying beneath him.

You listened to his breath, how it quickened with each plunge of his cock, his low grunts, the beads of sweat trickling down your skin, his or yours, you were not sure. 

He thrust in and out of you and you wanted to rub your clit so badly. You never came just from a cock without rubbing your clit. Some women just can't, you read it, not wired that way, not built that way. 

“Do not doubt yourself. I know better what you're capable of; you would be surprised. I will show you."

He picked up the pace now, his hips rolling against your backside, testing the limits of how hard you could take it; the limit being as hard as he wanted to give it to you. 

You were so eager for this orgasm, so sure it would be mind-shattering (what was there left to shatter?), so sure it would be the way it was always supposed to be, the way it was promised to you in all those stories and movies, but it never was quite that. 

Each thrust brought that promise closer. He hovered over you on one elbow; the claws of his other hand tickled your side, from the edge of your thigh to the outline of your breast. 

"You've already done so much for me, my little mouse, and you've done so well. Opened the door to this wonderful, powerful world," Raphael said, but his words suddenly lost all meaning except for the fact that it was his voice and he was moving on top of you. "I owe you a thanks and I do promise to repay you in kind."

Then it came, it came, his cock bringing it to you, drilling it into you, thrusting it into you, pushing it into you, giving it to you, that foamy heaviness building to an explosion of pure distilled pleasure. 

There you were, in its eye, feeling the violent trembling of your legs, drenched in a pool of sweat forming beneath you, your drool on the pillow, orgasm twisting your insides into a knot. 

In that moment, right there, everything clicked into place and you finally got it.

Why everything revolved around sex, or its promise, or its danger. Why people wanted to ban it, shut it down forever, exorcise it, control it, and how terribly right they were (and how terribly wrong).

Why it's all about that.

The veil that hung over the world was pushed inwards, and you started seeing things that were not there, yes, but also the things you could not see before.

You were falling into a very dark, very black and very long abyss, euphoric, life-altering - and life-threatening - and you hoped that this fall would never end, but it did end, it ended in blackness, in nothingness, except for the last words:

"But know this, my little mouse

your work for me

is not yet 

done”.

[stardewrotsession]

Note: I finally got this done, holy shit. I tried to make these head canons more different than their 10 heart event since I already did something similar, but on some of the bachelors I just couldn’t help it. Either way, I thought this was a neat little premise.

When the bachelors plan to propose, but you beat them to it

Sam

- So I think to think of Sam as one of those “I’m gonna fake it till I make it” and pretend to be nonchalant about it on the outside.

- But on the inside he’s freaking out lol.

- You’re the first person to really get him, without the whole “you’re just a kid, grow up” attitude towards him.

- He doesn’t necessarily wanna make it too romantic. But he wants to make it romantic enough to show you he really does love you.

- Maybe he’ll write a song for you. No, maybe he’ll do something cheesy like bring a boombox to your farmhouse in the middle of a storm. No, maybe he’ll make a poster!

- He’s just a tad bit indecisive lol.

- He was thinking of writing a song about you. Was actually halfway through the song when you randomly went up to him in the middle of fall.

- “Hey, I was gonna stop by the forest to gather some mushrooms… did you wanna come with me?”

- He was planning on taking a walk at some point, so why not?

- As you two walked there, he would mess around with you and tease you while you playfully bickered with him.

- And he loves your little bickers and jabs back at him. You always laugh or smile at him in the end, and it gives him a warm feeling.

- “So, I may not have been honest when I told you I wanted to pick mushrooms with you,” You said nervously.

- “I thought you just wanted to get away from the house,” Sam replied. “Be my knight in shining armor and take me away from my room!”

- Drama queen lol

- “Well, that,” you said, laughing when he grins at you. “But there was also something else. And I wanted to do it when you were taking your fall walks up the river and to the forest.”

- “Okay… now you’re scaring me a little,” Sam says jokingly, although you could hear his tone beginning to shift.

- You took a deep breath and grabbed something in your pocket, revealing it to be a small mermaid’s pendant to him.

- “I know it might not be the most romantic,” you began to say. “If I was as talented as you, I would’ve written a song or something. But… I really didn’t wanna have to wait that long after I got stuck on a few rhymes.”

- This man was flabbergasted lol.

- You knew how to take his breath away.

- “Um… say something,” you said nervously. “Please…”

- It took you by surprised when he immediately hugged you afterwards, spinning you around and cupping your cheeks in his hands.

- “You kidding me?” He asked. “Of course I’ll marry you!”

- You let out a sigh of relief and laughed, smiling against his lips as he leaned in for a kiss.

- After he pulled away, he said, “You know, I was halfway through your proposal song. But I might as well finish it so I can sing it to you at the next concert.”

- “You wrote a song for me?” You asked.

- “Of course I did,” he said while hugging you happily. “Who do you think I am?”

Sebastian

- Sebastian never planned on getting married.

- It wasn’t really on his mind that much. He was so determined to get out of the small town first, away from the countryside.

- But after meeting you, he starts thinking about it. A lot.

- To the point where sometimes he’ll half jokingly bring up liking the countryside more because of a “certain person”, and imagining his life with you and him still in the town.

- He starts to think about his life with you a lot.

- How things would be if he moved in with you, how his life would look if he married you, or even had a family with you.

- Over time he realized he really wanted to do that.

- To the point where he couldn’t stop thinking about it. You were on his mind 24/7, and imagining you getting married to him felt like it could be a reality now.

- Now the problem was where he’d propose to you.

- He could do it maybe on the cliffside where he goes to look out at the city. But that could be weird, considering he used to go there to get away from the town. Now, he wants to stay in it.

- Maybe by the beach, but he only really goes there when it’s raining.

- The Mountain Lake isn’t anything necessarily special for the two of you.

- The whole time he was rack his brain trying to figure out where he’d propose to you. It started getting on his nerves, tbh.

- But the funny thing is…

- …that you end up proposing when you two are relaxing at the farmhouse, watching a movie together.

- “Hey, so I was walking around the beach the other day,” you began.

- “When it was raining?” He asked. “I would’ve gone with you.”

- You smile and shake your head.

- “Yeah, you could’ve. I ended up seeing a frog by the river on my way back.”

- “Lucky,” he said while grabbing some popcorn.

- “But I wanted to go to the beach, for this…”

- You slowly pull out a mermaid’s pendant, carefully holding it out towards him.

- He glanced at it, then looked back at the movie. Then did a double take.

- He immediately paused the movie and turned his body towards you, carefully admiring the pendant.

- “I know this isn’t the most romantic place,” you began. “But I really think you’re something special, Seb. And I really wanted to ask… will you marry me?”

- He couldn’t help but crack a smile, holding out his hands and admiring the pendant in its full beauty.

- “Of course I will, how can I say no to that?”

- He leans in and kisses you gently, as if his words didn’t already tell you enough.

- Sure, it could’ve been done in a more romantic way. But I don’t think Sebastian really needs that.

- He’s honestly just glad you’re here for the ride. With him.

Harvey

- So remember when I said Sam would be nervous about it?

- Harvey’s like, 10 times worse.

- He HAS to get this right, in his head.

- It’s not like he’ll think you’ll dump him if he doesn’t. Even though the thought has crossed his mind once or twice.

- He just thinks you deserve the world. Poor guy barely thinks he’s good enough to be with you, but you’ve comforted him enough to let him know he’s more than enough <3

- With that being said, he’d want to propose doing something out of his comfort zone.

- Kinda like when he took you on a date to the hot air balloon. But even bigger.

- Maybe he’ll take you to a Ferris wheel, or take you somewhere to watch fireworks.

- Or both??

- Harvey never really liked Ferris wheels. But, he was determined to go on it. To give you an amazing view, and amazing memory, and an amazing time.

- Besides, he’s gone on a hot air balloon, right? He’ll be fine.

- So he brought up the mermaid pendant that night with you in hand, planning on proposing once you two hit the highest point.

- …But he didn’t really consider how scared he’d be in the moment.

- Right when the Ferris wheel began moving, his knees locked in place and he kept closing his eyes to stop himself from looking down.

- As you two got further up, you soothed his mind by holding him, giving him soft kisses, and comforting him with words.

- “I’m sorry,” Harvey sighed. “I wanted to make this romantic for you.”

- “We still can,” you say as you start rummaging through your pocket.

- Harvey could feel his face heat up when he sees you pull out a mermaid’s pendant.

- “I wanted to do this when you were more comfortable,” you began. “But I can’t wait any longer.”

- He’s smiling a lot, and nods his head.

- “Yes, of course I’ll marry you,” he manages to say, before pulling you in for a kiss.

- Now can you imagine kissing Harvey while the Ferris wheel hits the highest point, fireworks going off in the background as the rest of the world around you two disappears?

- Stop it, you guys are literally so cute.

Alex

- I’m ngl, I think Alex would definitely want to make his proposal very public.

- He loves you, and he wants everyone to know just how much he does.

- So maybe he’d propose in the Saloon on a Friday night, when he knows everyone will be around.

- Or he’d propose at a gridball game during half time, the cameras glued to the two of you as he told the whole world just how much in love he was with you.

- Either way, he had everything set up. He settled on the saloon so you would be more comfortable.

- He might want to show you off but he also wants to make sure you feel okay first.

- He wanted to ease into his plan. Maybe take you to the beach when the sun’s setting before walking over to the saloon.

- It was so cute, he had this whole thing planned where he wanted Gus to play the violin, like your very first date.

- However when you two got to the beach, you ended up being one step ahead of him.

- Walking over to the beach, he noticed a something drawn in the sand.

- At first he thought it was one of Jas’ or Vincent’s drawings. But walking closer to it, he noticed there was a huge heart with words in the middle.

- “Will you marry me?”

- He was stunned, to say the least.

- I honestly don’t know whether or not he’d slowly turn around to face you, or whip his head as fast as he could towards you lol.

- Either way, he sees you pull out the mermaid pendant from your pocket or backpack while smiling sheepishly.

- “I tried to make it as romantic as possible…” you said.

- He laughs while nodding his head.

- He’d be a fool to not accept.

Shane

- I’m gonna be honest, I didn’t really know how Shane would approach marriage.

- I know if he were to consider it, it’d definitely be because you’ve changed him for the better.

- I just really don’t think he’d know how to go about it.

- He’s never really been the romantic type, has never really thought about dates or serious commitments like that.

- Hell, before he met you, he barely thought he was gonna make it to tomorrow, let alone plan out how he was gonna propose to you.

- But he knew he had to change. Not only for you, though, dating you made him feel like he actually wanted to plan out his future.

- He knew he had to change for him, to make him happy.

- So he got to work.

- Sometimes he’d say he was going to the saloon for Joja Cola or to play Prairie King, when really he was going to ask advice on how to ask you to marry him.

- Obviously Gus was all for it.

- I think Pam was too wasted to care.

- I think Shane would settle on trying to propose to you at the saloon. Gus wanted to support Shane in any way possible, and Shane, surprisingly a romantic, wanted everyone to know how devoted he was to you.

- Unfortunately for him, he didn’t exactly know how to get a pendant.

- Don’t get him wrong, he’s heard stories and tales about it “magically appearing when the time is right.”

- But he wanted it right now, man was impatient af.

- For now, he was just going to accept your offer to go to the movies, and figure out how to get the pendant for you later.

- Jojamart had been long gone since you came, and truthfully? He was happy it was gone.

- Before it was a mixed feeling of not occupying any of his time anymore. But that time was spent with you instead.

- Anyways, two you walked to the movie theater together hand in hand. The fresh smell of popcorn hit the two of you when you entered.

- “Let’s watch It Howls in the Rain,” you suggested.

- You got him his favorite snack and practically ran to the movie room, confusing Shane but ultimately giving him something to chuckle about.

- The whole time watching it, he was reminded of how much he loved you.

- Everytime you tensed up when you got scared, when you held onto him close when a scary scene came up.

- Everything just felt right.

- “Hey Shane?”

- The movie had just ended, and people were starting to leave.

- “Yeah?”

- “I’ve been meaning to ask you this for a while now,” you say, beginning to slip your hand into your pocket. “Close your eyes.”

- “But it’s dark here anyways-”

- “Just do it.”

- He listens carefully as you pull out something, holding his hand out when you’re ready. You close his hand around something small. Something skinny, with a little point at the end. And a string. It almost felt like a…

- He opened his eyes to see the mermaid’s pendant in his hands, and looked over at you.

- “Where did you-”

- “Don’t worry about it,” you said with a grin. “Will you marry me?”

- He looks down at the pendant again, a grin beginning to form on his face.

- “I’d be stupid if I didn’t say yes.”

Elliot

- I’m sure Elliot’s a die hard romantic, he’s gonna want to make sure everything goes right

- I mean, he always imagined a romantic relationship would be as amazing as it is in the books.

- But as cheesy as this sounds, his romantic relationship with you blew those expectations out the park.

- He truly felt loved by you, and every moment he spent with you was nothing less than a dream come true.

- So he planned it all out. Even got the mermaid pendant somehow, from some weird guy on the beach in the rain.

- You two went to the library together later that evening, and he was constantly recommending this romantic fantasy novel to you.

- He was going to plant the pendant at the end of chapter one, and once you got to it, he would get on one knee and ask the question.

- It sounded like an awfully romantic plan, to him anyways.

- However, he was so absorbed in his plan that he didn’t even notice you slipping your mermaid pendent into his pocket in the morning.

- By the time you two got to the library, he began to take out his wallet when he felt something small poke his finger.

- “What is this?” He asked before pulling it out.

- Ngl, at first he was petrified. Poor guy thought he forgot to put the pendant in the book.

- But after you explained to him how much you wanted to marry him, he realize you two were planning on proposing on the same day.

- He couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle, which did make you a little insecure at first.

- “No,” he said, immediately sending your uncomfortableness. “I mean…”

- He grabbed the book he wanted you to read and pulled out his mermaid’s pendant. He smiled at you as you pieced together the puzzle.

- “Really?” You asked in disbelief, a smile creeping onto your face.

- “I say we both wear one,” he says while taking yours in his hand.

- He puts the necklace over his neck and puts the necklace he gave you over yours.

- He smiled looking at you, now wearing the pendant with pride.

- “We really do think alike, my love.”

[magicaii]

The fact that when tsukasa tenma experiences something highly traumatic he instantly zeroes in on what he did wrong to end up in that situation, drills into his head how to avoid experiencing something like that again in the future, and immediately tries to forget the event ever happening because it’s not only a reminder of his failure but the memory would also cripple his self value enough to hinder his ability to be the person people expect him to and move forward with a new lesson learned to avoid being traumatized again. The problem with this is that you can’t forget your trauma, because then you’ll never be able to fully process what happened to you and recognize what effect it has on your life and outlook. Tsukasa is never able to do this because he does his damndest best to completely erase the memory. When someone has trauma, it’s a completely normal response to come up with a strategy or solution to deal with the damage you’ve been dealt, whether it’s simply withdrawing from those feelings inwardly or acting outwardly in a way to make sure it can’t hurt or affect you again. The problem is that these aren’t healthy patterns, and you’re supposed to get help so that you can acknowledge what happened and move PAST it. Tsukasa is so adamant to pretend shit never took place that he is stuck in this horribly unhealthy phase with terrible mechanisms to get through it all, and since he never processes his trauma has even taken it to the next level by piling it on and on every time something new happens. Saki forced herself to smile because of me? I can never disappoint someone again. The audience didn’t enjoy our play? I said I wouldn’t disappoint people anymore, so I can’t believe I did it again, I have to double down now. The troupe broke up and it’s my fault? I let them down as a leader, I need to take on every burden by myself so that I’m the one solely responsible for everything and I will make sure nothing goes wrong again. Thing is, all these feelings are valid to a certain extent, there’s nothing wrong with not wanting to disappoint people and feeling remorseful when you make them upset. It’s just not good when you’re basing all your worth as a person on how well you live up to peoples standards. He’s so fixated on how well he “performs” that his behaviour becomes EXTREMELY erratic when he is faced with his own failure. Sometimes he straight up lashes out or retracts, both so different from his usual demeanour that people are utterly taken back to the point where even if they are concerned about tsukasa they find it hard to say anything because it’s almost like dealing with an entirely different person. I don’t know how to wrap this up but he’s so mentally ill and I feel that people overlook it a lot because he’s also a comedic character.

[tillywunderwing]

IEYTD - Hardcore Mode

AKA an AU with no real plot yet but that’s pinging around in my brain anyway

So I’m an avid believer in the ‘literal game overs’ — Phoenix as a character who cannot be permanently killed is really fun to explore in fic, cause you get some interesting characterisation there for their general bravado or recklessness knowing they never stay dead long. I make this true by default for most to all of the IEYTD fics I write, because it’s fun to me!

However. I have considered an alternate version of this.

AU where every time Agent Phoenix dies, they do get a chance to start over — but when they do, they’re sent all the way back to the very first mission of the very first game. They have to live the entire ensuing year/s over and over again, making only the slightest bit of further progress each time before something inevitably cuts them all the way back.

I think it’s an interesting thought experiment to wonder how they’d behave here. On the one hand, they’d have to keep some of that flippancy that comes free with immortality, but they also would have to be a lot more careful because their mistakes do have a cost here. Nothing they can’t ever technically recover, but at a certain point it’s about the repetition, the emotional strain of it all. How many times can a person hard-knuckle through the same two years, dying over and over again at the same end point because too much time passes between rehearsals for the hard earned lessons to really stick? How many times before they start to lose hope?

It would also give a fun narrative spin in the sense that they can go back and change things at the root, now. Like… they would never have been able to save John Juniper in the current timeline, regular resets on or not, it was too late and he was too far out of reach. But if they go back to before he ever joined with Zoraxis, could they have stopped him? Would they have thought to try, even for the sake of doing one thing different this time? Same goes for Prism — maybe they could save her from losing her robots, maybe they could alter the course of events from the stem.

Would they treat it like a blessing or a curse? If one first and the other later, where — when — does that shift start to come through?

Like I said, this is mostly an interesting thought experiment for the moment, might get a fic to itself one day but I need first a plot and time lol. Feel free 2 talk at me if you have any thoughts or ideas abt this! :]

[sadsongsandwaltzes]

I am not a psychologist so I have no clue if this is just my own crackpot theory or what. And my apologies if I’m speaking out of my ass here.

We were not made for a fallen world. We were made for Eden. Since we have to live in this world corrupted by sin, the brain does what it has to in order to survive.

A toddler doesn’t know what “hot” means, until one day you warn the child not to touch a plate because it’s “hot,” they touch anyways, they feel the sting, and now they understand what “hot” means. The brain, now acknowledging this is something that can be a threat, has an immediate response to “hot.” Anytime someone says “hot,” we immediately recoil and make sure we don’t touch whatever is believed to be hot. The brain is simply trying to survive.

I think there’s a similar thing happening with trauma response. It’s the brain doing the same thing, but to such an extreme degree that it’s almost impossible to function. If someone survives a near fatal car crash, they may panic when they go near a car. Why? Because the brain has learned this thing to be an immediate and serious threat. The brain is now trained to fear and recoil. If you lived in a war zone and learned to sleep with one eye open so to speak, the brain is now trained to sense danger at every turn, especially when you’re in such a vulnerable state as sleep. You’re living in a constant state of anxiety because you expect a fatal threat. It’s why sudden noises and movements can trigger anxiety.

The brain is doing what it does. It adapts to perceived threats for survival. This heightened state of anxiety is deemed necessary by the brain, but we were not made to live in such a state. We cant. So the brain is, ironically, slowly killing itself. The brain is rewired and burned out and always looking for that next serious threat. It’s always reminding us that the threat looms. It’s where the subconscious lives. It’s why there’s constant anxiety, why there’s nightmares.

Of course, this can be exacerbated if the trauma is accompanied by severe grief or guilt.

This brings me to my point. If you would not tell someone to just pray the cancer away, I don’t think you can tell them to just pray the trauma away. We’re talking about a real physiological problem happening.

I think grief and guilt can be assuaged by the gospel. But the brain’s inner working itself? It’s a medical problem the same as any other. God absolutely can heal trauma same as cancer, but sometimes he doesn’t. Faith can absolutely bring about peace in hardships and give us the strength to carry on, but it’s not a guarantee that God will remove the hardship. That would be prosperity gospel.

And with all of this we can also recognize that certain treatments or habits may help relieve symptoms without fully curing, it exists on a medical spectrum.

And I think this is true about a lot of mental illness.

For the record, I think most mental illness in modern America is actually spiritual illness. And I think most psychologists are looney tunes. But people abusing a certain field of study and being stupid and misdiagnosing doesn’t negate the field of study as a whole.

If every sick person who walks into a doctors office no matter the symptoms gets diagnosed with cancer, it means the doctor is a quack and we have a problem of over diagnosis of a disease. But it doesn’t mean the disease isn’t real and that a certain percentage of the population doesn’t actually suffer from it. That would be a downright foolish thought.

Hormones, brain function, all of it can affect the mind. The brain is a complex organ. We still can’t fully understand it. And I don’t think we ever will. We know the brain can affect the mind. If it didn’t, people with TBIs would never suffer from sudden mental illness or personality shifts.

It seems wholly unchristian to deny the reality of both our body and the fallen state of the world.

[creative-hanyou-girl]

I don't know if anyone else feels this way but I think a big reason why I'm so chill about the changes made to the PJO show from the books is because I kind of look at each other as their own seperate canon.

Like, I read a lot of anime and manga, and anime adaptations have a huge habit for changing plot points for various reasons, and as a fan of said anime and manga, I've found that I can enjoy both versions of the same story even with the differences when I look at them as their own universe or canon. That's not to say I don't want them to be faithful or true to the source material, but if a scene or situation plays out differently for a logical or entertaining reason, than I can still appreciate that deviation from the manga even if I still like the other original version of that part more. And I can even like the reversal way if I feel an anime does something better than even the manga. But if I want to, I can look at certain moments as more canon than others because I got 2 different versions of that same scene or moment.

And, I don't know, I kind of apply that reasoning to the PJO series as well, mainly with the books, the show, and even the musical (not the movies put that right back where it came from). So far I'm loving the TV show, and while I miss some of the things they changed (like the pink poodle), this adaptation really is doing a great job with staying true to the heart and spirit of the original book that I personally am not even really bothered by the changes, especially when I remember that the books will always still be there with it's own version, or canon, of events.

Like, I will say 1 thing I adore in the books that isn't really in the show is the fact that a lot of Percy and Annabeth's "rivalry" during TLT has more to do with the rivalry between Poseidon and Athena. I just really like on how this adds a level of "forbidden friendship/love" to their relationship 'cause I personally eat the forbidden relationship trope up, especially when it's done well like with Percabeth.

Yet, even if this isn't really the reason percabeth have beef with each other in the show, I can still appreciate and enjoy that according to the show's canon, they have issues because they genuinely have problems with each other as actual people rather than their parents' rivalry, because at the end of the day, that's the PJO TV show canon, and I can always turn to the books for that version of Percabeth's "rivalry", as that is the PJO book canon.

Same goes for the characters too. I will always have and love my dark haired Percy and blond haired Annabeth in the books, but I can also welcome and love Walker's Percy and Leah's Annabeth from the show. And so far, they along with Aryan are KILLING IT as those characters.

I can love both versions of the characters.

I can love both versions of the same story.

I can look at both versions as they own seperate canon or mix them together if I so wish too (especially since both versions of PJO are written by the same guy)

And that's ok. The adaptation doesn't have to be a complete copy of the books. It doesn't have to have things play out eactly the same way. The characters don't have to look exactly the way they are described as in the books. And that's ok. I will still always have the books to love and appreciate, but I can also start to love and appreciate the new adaptation for it's new spin and twists to the same story that sets it apart as it's own canon while still staying true to the spirit of its predecessor.

Anyway, sorry if I'm not making a lot of sense. I just think the people complaining about the changes in the show are looking at it all the wrong way. The show has it's own canon just as the books have their own canon, or even the musical. At the end of the day, isn't that kind of cool to have different versions of the same story and characters? Doesn't it give you so many more options to look at the story in different ways that you can prefer or choose from? Doesn't it give you new versions of canon that you choose from? And really, as long as the PJO adaptation, or any adaptation for that matter, stays true to the heart and spirit of the original story and characters, do the changes made really matter?

[icewindandboringhorror]

sneepy cozy....

[banannabethchase]

I should not be allowed to watch Um, Actually because so many of their answers are wrong, even the answers that they claim are right. And my autistic ass knows way too much about way too much, and if I have to see somebody poorly draw a chimera ever again, and confidently state that it's correct, I will lose my mind.

[fellhellion]

seeing miguel takes that make u say aloud HE DOES NOT KNOW HE IS A FICTIONAL CHARACTER IN A STORY WHERE THE PLOT IS CONSTRUCTED TO ILLUSTRATE A CERTAIN POINT/MEANING BRO 😭

[yukipri]

hello! I have a question about the prime override. I really love the premise and all the world/culture-building you’re doing, but I’m also wondering about the future of the fic. it started out in one space and time, but now seems to be building up to a complete canon rewrite. is that where you see this going? or will we be going “back” to the post-war situation on Mandalore soon-ish? love it either way, but I’m just curious

First of all, thank you for being respectful and understanding in asking your question. I have gotten so many variations of "hurry up and get back to the present" regarding The Prime Override that it has admittedly severely cut into my enjoyment of writing the fic as a whole.

I am incredibly sorry that the flashback arc has felt like a "canon rewrite" though. I have been trying to build multiple sub-plots that are not remotely present (I assume) in canon, and while of course some core events happen, my intention is to only include them when they serve an explicit purpose within the unique plot of the Override. I also wanted to explore events like Muunilist, Jabiim, and Rattatak in greater depth because they are all from specific Legends contexts where there isn't much detail covered in any official media. But if it has all seemed like a simple canon rewrite, then that's probably my lack of writing skill, and I apologize for that.

The future of the fic? I'll continue writing it for as long as it brings me joy to do so. I know where I'm going and what I'm building towards. But at the same time, this fic is in many ways more about the journey than the destination. I already showed the destination in the first chapter, after all. For me, it's more importantly a deep exploration into who Jango and the clones are, their motivations and how their history and culture shaped that, and the process that Jango goes through which is almost a prose-shaped dissertation of one theory I have about how the chips and O66 worked. I, the writer, am working out these details and having discoveries along with the characters.

So to reiterate: I do know where we're going. I don't know exactly how we're getting there, and working that out through writing is what's fun for me. I therefore do not know how long it will take to get to certain places. To be fully honest, I don't even know what the next chapter will cover until I've finished the chapter before it. I didn't expect the current flashback to be so long, but there was more I needed to say and that lead to even more things, so here we are. I think it's still moving forward at a decent pace?

I will say that it won't be one solid block of time from the current flashback all the way to the present. I am currently planning (subject to change) to go back to the present once we reach the deployment of the main GAR point in the timeline—that is, after the Alphas are recalled to Kamino, and before the 212th deploys with Cody as the Marshal Commander and "Blue" within their number. I don't know how long we will be in the present after that. But after a bit, we'll go back to the past again, this time with the 212th.

I do not have chapter estimates for any of these—it'll happen when it happens.

I hope this info helps! Thank you for reading and for enjoying my work.

❀ ❀ Send YukiPri an Ask! ❀ ❀

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

Perverse intrusive thoughts manifesting themselves in dreams is the actual worst.

[chalk-homunculus]

I've been once again maining Klee throughout this Veluriyam Mirage questline a nd while exploring the mirage, both because I did get her skin, but also because it cheers me up so much to see her having fun.

[nuclearnyx]

people who don't use the tags to be sad and vent are so powerful lmao couldn't be me

[ghoul-haunted]

a most valid inquiry, so you see in the 8th grade my teacher had us read machiavelli, and it wasn't until the 10th grade that we did shakespeare's julius caesar