#first of all let me know if there’s any issues !

[cameronspecial]

The Obligations Of A Fuck Buddy

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Swearing and SMUT

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 5.2K

Summary: Y/N and Rafe have made it very clear. They are only supposed to be each others' sexual release and that is it. However, what happens to their agreement when the lines start to blur?

Masterlist

Becoming fuck buddies with Rafe was a special choice for Y/N. Her emotions are always on display for everyone around her, so choosing to be with Rafe without any strings attached is out of character for her. However, once she gets to experience the skills Rafe possesses in the bedroom, she is prepared to try to do anything to keep being a part of that activity, including, letting him have his way with her out in the open on his dirt bike. His hand slips down her stomach to her aching core, “Come on, Pet. I know you want this.” He had dragged Y/N away from the bonfire and to his dirt bike hidden from sight anyone. At first, she was unsure about doing anything in public, yet Rafe had a way of convincing her to play along with the game. Her head falls back onto his shoulder, letting out a scrumptious moan. He freezes just within her underwear, “You are going to have to give me what I want if you want me to give you more.” “Please, Rafe. Let me feel your fingers inside of me,” she whimpers. Rafe chuckles and tugs her with him as he leans against his bike. His fingers make contact with her glistening cunt, using her wetness to lube his digits. She hunches forward at the feeling of him plunging into her depths. He begins dragging his fingers in and out of her, causing her eyes to roll to the back of her head.

“You like this, Pet? Being treated like a slut where anyone can see you,” he taunts with his lips pressed against the shell of her ear. Her head bobs, “It feels so good. More, please. Give me more, Rafe.” “My dirty little whore thinks she can tell me what to do. That’s not right. I’m going to have to teach you a lesson,” he tsks. Her eyebrows dip, questioning his words, when his speed increases and he starts to apply pressure to the bundle of nerves at the crest of her womanhood. This helps build a tension within her that is ready to be released. She closes her eyes when she is at the cusp of her orgasm and it doesn’t go unnoticed by Rafe. He removes his fingers from her, bringing them to his lips to taste her. She whines, “No. No. No. Let me come. Please, Rafe.” “I’m sorry, Pet. If that is what you want, then you better get to work. Got to teach you who is in charge,” he warns, eyes flickering to his bugle. 

With his message clear as crystal, she drops to her knees and works on removing his belt. She pops the button of his pants and listens to the zip of his zipper, yanking his pants pass his bum. The tent in his pants causes her to stare at it in appreciation for a second. She knows once she removes his boxer briefs that she’ll be in sight of the thick veiny glory she normally drools over. Rafe grows impatient, “Get to work, Pet.” He hisses at the feeling of her nail accidentally catching his skin a bit. She issues her apology through a kiss to his angry tip. He groans, shoving her parted mouth onto him until he hits the back of her throat. His hands grip the seat of his motorcycle as she removes herself from his length and then brings him back into her mouth. She continues to bob her head on his length until he is spasming in her mouth. He pulls out of her to release himself all over her face and the top of her breasts exposed by her tank top. He yanks her up to her feet by her bicep. Her thumb comes to wipe off the cum on the bottom of her chin and she sucks it into her mouth with her gaze on him. He pulls her lips against his by her chin, “Good job, Pet. I think you deserve what is about to come next.” He spins her around to bend her over his mode of transportation. Her elbows make contact with the leather of the seat and she pops her backside out for him to take what he wants. 

The buckle clangs against itself while he brings the top of her pants and underwear to below her butt. He surveys the environment to see if anyone is around. No one is in sight, so he lines his tip at her opening and slams into her. His balls slap against her bump and his pace causes her to grip onto the seat. Her mouth falls open, letting out into the night her sounds of pleasure. “You are such a slutty girl, Pet. Do you want everyone to know what we are up to? I gotta shut you up so we don’t get caught,” he criticizes. He pulls her up by the hair so her back arches, which allows him to shove his fingers into her mouth. She knows to wrap her lips around the digits to mimic sucking his dick. His other hand stays steady on her waist to allow him to pound into her. 

He feels her tighten around his dick and flushes her against his hips. His hand on her waist drops to stimulate her clit. He doesn’t bother pulling out to just the tip anymore, opting to buck his hips wildly into her. She finally lets the peak of her pleasure roll over her and collapses onto his bike. He continues to thrust into her until he is groaning her name with his release. His DNA stains her inside, oozing out of her as he pulls out. She is on birth control and he always makes sure to send her Plan B the next morning. They aren’t exclusive but have agreed to use condoms with everyone else except each other. Being able to be with each other without any barriers is one of the main reasons they started their sexual relationship. She trusts Rafe to stick to their agreement and she doesn’t care what anyone else says. They get tested on the regular. His fingers tease her entrance to push the leaking substance back into her before hauling her bottoms up her body. “Now, Pet, you are going to go back to that party with the knowledge that only I can make you feel that amazing.” He pats her bum to send her off without any more dialogue between the two. She knows this whole arrangement is a bad idea, yet satisfies every need inside of her and she would be stupid to let him go. 

———

They aren’t a couple. The only obligation they have to each other is a sexual one. It means no feeling, no taking care of each other, and no talking about anything personal while solely in the company of each other. So, technically, she shouldn’t be at his door right now. She had recently heard one of her supposed friends calling her a bitch behind her back and she didn’t know who else to turn to for comfort. Her father won’t care unless it is university-related, she is pretty sure her mother loves her so-called friends more than her, and her brother is living in another state, meaning he can’t provide her with the hug she needs at the moment. She has other friends outside of the two trash talkers, but she isn’t sure who she can trust. So being in his arms is the best solution she can come up with. Her hand shakes as she raises it to the door and lets it rapt against it. She wipes her tears away during a wait for a response. The woosh from the door blows Rafe’s messy hair back. He stretches his arm in the air and curves back before giving her his attention. “Damn, you must be really horny, Pet. We had sex last night,” he grins, reaching for her wrist to draw him against his chest. She jerks away from him with a shake of her head. “I was actually hoping we could talk. Something happened and I need someone in my corn.”

Rafe lets out an annoyed sigh, “That’s not what we do, Y/N.” She notices his shift in what he calls her and second-guesses her attempt. However, she needs this. “I know. But I can’t talk to anyone else because they will be biased and I’m feeling vulnerable, to be honest with you,” she confides. Her teary eyes bore into his. His icy heart is unaffected by the water running down her face. His arms cross, “And that’s my problem how?” Her mouth gapes open in an attempt to find the right words. “We may not be dating, but I at least thought we were friends.”

“Well, we aren’t. So we either fuck or you can leave.” 

She debates the offer in her head. This isn’t exactly why she went to Rafe. Her goal is consolation, not pleasure. She observes the manner in which his muscles flex under her gaze. She trails up to his face and notices how his curtain bangs have fallen in front of his face. It causes her thighs to clench together in want. She answers by smacking her lips against him. He wraps his arms around her, letting him consume her completely. 

———

She doesn’t let herself collapse onto the bed beside him once they’ve both reached their highs. She learned a long time ago that it is easier to leave right away instead of giving herself a moment to recuperate from the bliss. Staying seconds longer would give her the illusion that they could be something more. It’s a delusion to think so. He is always there to remind her of that fact. Today is the epitome of what their relationship is. He doesn’t say anything as she gets off the bed to keep looking for her clothes. He reaches for his phone and scrolls through it. She doesn’t doubt for a second that he is planning his next hook-up for tonight. It takes everything in her power not to let the little bubble of jealousy pop. They aren’t dating. There are no feelings in this agreement she reminds herself. Finally, she is fully clothed and goes to get her phone on the nightstand. She reaches for the doorknob and is stopped by his sharp voice. “Don’t ever come to me again with that emotions shit again, Pet. I won’t hesitate to replace you if you do.” 

———

Cocaine can’t be his vice anymore. He doesn’t know what made him choose to abandon the substance all of a sudden, but a little voice in his head is telling him that it isn’t what he needs anymore. He has been finding himself leaning less and less toward it for months now, so it is about time that he tries to go fully sober. It hasn’t been easy, especially with the consistent antagonizing from his father. “And why should I trust you, Rafe? All you ever do is lie to me,” Ward yells, his face as red as a sunburn and veins bursting from his forehead. Rafe uncharacteristically cowers at his father’s tone, “Because I’m trying to get sober. I promise. I’m hoping it will help me have a clear head more often.” Ward chuckles in a way no family member should at that news. “Like you promised you would buy the generator but actually used the money for your bike. We were without power for a day, Rafe!” Ward criticizes. Rafe runs his fingers through his hair and yanks at the end of it. 

“I’ve already fucking apologized for that! What is it going to take to get you to believe that I’m changing?”

“Going back in time wouldn’t make me alter the way I see you. You are a fuck up, Rafe. It’s all you can ever be. Why can’t you be more like Sarah?”

The shrapnel of his father’s words slits at his heart, causing him to feel betrayed. Rafe storms out of the room and slams the door to his truck shut. His fist slams against the steering wheel with an angry yell. He has to get out of here, yet where would he go? Topper and Kelce would just make fun of him. Sarah and he aren’t exactly close and Wheezie is away for camp. In truth, even if the others were available, there is only one person he wants to be with right now. He takes a deep breath and runs his hands down his face. He starts the car, setting off toward his destination.

———

Y/N is pulled out of her slumber by banging coming from her front door. Her hand darts out to beside her bed to pick up the bat she keeps there for safety. The floorboards creak as she inches her way toward the sound with the bat raised. She can’t hide the slight tremor in her hand as she approaches. “Pet, it’s me. Please, open up. I need you.” She instantly recognizes the voice and rushes to the door. Once the door is open, Rafe is there before her with red eyes. However, she can tell it is from crying and not his normal vice. “Can I come in, please? I can’t be alone right now,” he begs. She brings her lip between her teeth. The petty part of her wants to say no. Wants to remind him that they were fuck buddies, that’s all. Yet, she has heard rumours around town about Rafe trying to get sober and she doesn’t want to risk him relapsing because she isn’t there for him in his time of need. She steps to the side to let him in. She doesn’t expect him to run to her with his arms out. He buries his head into her neck and his arms are around her. She laces her fingers through his hair, “What’s wrong?” She feels his tears hit her skin. “Why can’t my dad accept that I’m not Sarah?” he cries, tightening his hold on her. 

She presses her lips to his forehead for comfort, “I don’t know, Rafe. I want you to know that no matter what he says, you are just as good as Sarah and you matter just as much. Do you want to talk about it more?” She can feel his head shake from side to side against her chest. “No, I really just need to think it all through first. Can I sleep here tonight?” She has never heard him sound so broken before. It is so unlike his confident demeanour. Her response comes in lacing her fingers with his. She leads him to her bedroom and rummages through her drawers for something he can wear. She comes out empty because he is always so stubborn about not mixing emotions in their relationship and leaving a shirt behind counts as that for him. He musters up the ability to laugh, “It’s nothing you have never seen before, Pet.” He doesn’t shy away as he strips off his clothes, leaving him in only his boxers. No matter how many times she has seen his bare chest and toned legs, it doesn’t stop her heart from fluttering. 

She shakes herself out of her shameless stares and snuggles herself under her covers. He slides himself beside her, resting his head on her chest. Her eyes cast downward to see his eyelids are closed. The gentle rise and fall of his chest tells her he is sound asleep. Listening to her heartbeat soothes his aching heart. The steady rhymes remind him that she is looking out for him and he couldn’t be more thankful. 

———

The empty bed beside him makes him panic, except it subsides at the sounds of clatter coming from the kitchen. Footsteps approach the room and she stands in the doorway with her hands on her hips. He has never been here to see the way the morning sun causes a glow to fall on her face. His stomach does a flip at how it accentuates her beauty. The mug in her head lets out the delicious aroma of coffee. “Your clothes are in the dryer and there is coffee in a travel mug for you on the counter. You can return it the next time we hook up,” she announces, turning to go back to the communal area. He didn’t expect her to be so quick with getting him to leave. 

For some reason, the walls of his heart tighten at the thought of her wanting him gone. She follows him out of the room and gets his clothes from the laundry room. After he puts them on, he joins her in the other room. His hand wraps around the purple travel mug, his fingers touch as he brings the cup to his lips. She doesn’t acknowledge his entrance; instead, her eyes remain on her phone that is on the counter. His other hand goes up to scratch the back of his ear, “Do you have work today? I was thinking maybe we can go out to breakfast. You know… So I can tell you about last night.” Her pointed finger freezes over her phone and she doesn’t bother to tilt her head upwards as she looks at him through her lashes. She drops her shoulders and gives her full attention to him. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. That would involve emotions and you are the one always sayin-” she tries to explain, ahead of him cutting her off. “Saying that emotions aren’t part of the deal. No, you are right. It isn’t in the bounds of our relationship.” 

She gives him a tight-lipped smile, “I’m sorry. I just think it is best to keep to the boundaries we set. Now that it is morning, you can talk about it with Topper or Kelce. They’ll probably be awake by now.” He frowns. She thinks he only came to her because his friends weren’t an option to go to, while it is partially true, another part of him merely liked the idea of being with her. That couldn’t be right though. She is meant to be a sexual release, that’s it. There had to be a different explanation as to why he wanted to be with her. It’s probably because he was thinking about sex to get his mind off of his argument. Yeah, that is why. “Yeah, that is so right,” he agrees, taking a step back with the travel mug still in hand. “I’m going to head out. Ummm… yeah.” He swings around, almost hitting the closed door because he underestimated the distance. He looks back at her with a nervous smile and steps back. The door whines as he pulls it open and shuts it behind her, leaving her to wonder what has the most self-assured and stubborn person she knows acting like a fool.

———

Rafe’s stare hardens whilst the room around him pays no attention to his line of site. They don’t notice the way her hair wraps around her finger. Or the harmonious giggle she lets out that Rafe swears he can hear even from across the room. Or how she is looking at him the way she used to look at Rafe. Rafe doesn’t remember the moment she stopped having that twinkle behind her gaze when looking at him. It didn’t used to matter to him, yet all of a sudden, ever since that night, it is all he yarns to receive. Now, her focus is on Derek. Derek doesn’t deserve her attention. He doesn’t know how to please her. He doesn’t know her favourite flowers are daffodils because she used to plant them with her grandmother. He doesn’t know the pressure she goes through with her dad about school and how most of her friends from the island are more focused on keeping up appearances as a cook. She thinks he doesn’t listen to her or notice those tiny things, except he does. His brain is moving a million miles a minute until a bump on his shoulder shifts his notice. 

He looks up to see Topper trying to hand him a red solo cup. The grumpy Kook doesn’t take the drink, much to the annoyance of his friend. “What’s in it?” Rafe gruffs, swatting the outstretched arm away from him. Topper’s smile vanishes, “Jungle juice.” Rafe shakes his head. “I don’t want it,” he grumbles, turning his concentration back to Y/N. Anger fills him at what he sees. Derek’s fingers lace hers and he is tugging her toward the front entrance. His first instinct is to go after them, but then he remembers another part of their agreement. There is no exclusivity between them and this causes Rafe to grab the drink Topper offered. He downs it in one go, getting up to get another one. This is going to be a long night.

———

Y/N doesn’t need a summer job; however, she enjoys working the occasional shift at The Wreck. Tonight is one of the nights when Mike needs her help. She expertly maneuvers herself around the table and heads behind the counter to punch in her new order. At the sound of a voice clearing, she spins around to find Rafe sitting on a stool at the counter. She beams, “Hey, Rafe. What can I get for you?” 

“I don’t know, it depends. How long until your shift is over?”

“I work closing, so I’ll probably get off around eleven.”

“Perfect, I’ll have a burger with friends and a coke. Do you have plans for tonight?”

“Not that I know of, so yes, I can come over.” 

He grins like a child, whose parents told him he can get the toy he has been begging for, and lets her get back to work in hopes it will bring them to eleven faster. 

About half an hour later, a new figure enters the restaurant. Rafe recognizes the buzzed, almost bald, head and the dark chocolate eyes, immediately scowling at the man. The last time Rafe saw him, he was taking Y/N who knows where. “Hi, Y/N/N. How are you?” Derek greets, sitting beside Rafe with a flick of his chin. Rafe looks afraid in fear that his jealousy will show and he’ll get into a fight with the new arrival. She turns to Derek and her smile is so bright that the acid in Rafe’s stomach swirls around the pylorus like it is a drain. He has to control his strength so he doesn’t break the glass in his hand. His ears disconnect with his auditory cortex, not processing the conversation going on between the other two. “So are you doing anything after your shift is over?” Rafe finally catches up with the conversation at Derek’s attempt to make plans with Y/N. He expects her to say she can’t hang out with Derek, yet she doesn’t. She giggles, “I’m free. What did you have in mind?” Not wanting to hear what the man has planned, Rafe gets up from his seat, throws a hundred-dollar bill on the counter and rampages out of the restaurant. The clatter of the dishware because of the stool chair being shoved harshly against the counter causes her to notice Rafe’s exit. She excuses herself from the conversation and her shift, running after him. 

“Rafe, wait,” she yells in a pant. She watches as his footsteps falter and he looks at her. “I thought you were going to wait for me to finish my shift.” He scoffs, avoiding eye contact, “I was. Although, I didn’t see a point in staying once you had plans with Derek.” His words drip with hate when he utters the name. She traces the back of her knuckles; her guilt blossoms in her stomach at the disappointment on his face. “You’re right. I did promise to go to your house. I’m sorry. Let’s go now,” she apologizes. His head whips from side to side, “I’m good. I don’t need your pity.” She steps forward and takes his hand. “It’s not a pity thing. I want to go home with you because you are a good time,” she swears, squeezing his palm. He could benefit from being more angry, except all he wants is to tumble into bed with her. 

It doesn’t take long for them to get to his bedroom. The door closes and he steps closer to her, his warm hands cupping her cheeks. The tips of her eyebrows plunge slightly. His gentleness is something new. Usually, their sex is primal. The typical emotion running rampant was desire. His head drops closer to her and their lips meet in a gentle yet passionate fashion. He cradles the base of the school with his fingers through her hair. She has never felt so adored before. No one has ever given her attention intertwined with love. Her parents are always busy with work or each other. Her friends keep her at a distance, even if they love her. This. This is different. He sets the pace, slowly lifting her shirt and unbuttoning her pants. She matches his speed as she sheds off his clothes. They look each other in the eyes and silently agree that foreplay isn’t something that is going to happen tonight. Because tonight isn’t about getting off. It is about the intimate connection they can form by having sex. He walks her back toward his bed while they kiss, breaking apart so he can pull the sheets back. His head gestures toward the bed and she gets comfortable on it on all fours. 

He smiles and steps behind her. She can feel his hand on her shoulders as he twists them so that she is lying on her back. Her head forms an angle. Their go-to positions are ones where face-to-face contact isn’t necessary. Nevertheless, when they do missionary, it is so that he can choke her easier and harder. She is ready for the moment he enters her to have a little sting and is surprised when he eases his way in. She thinks he is going to through her legs over his shoulder to go deeper inside of her. That never happens either. He rests her legs around his waist, thrusting into her slowly and sweetly. His hands find their way back to her cheeks. She loves the heat it provides her. Her hips buck up with his movement to add to their pleasure and he may not be going as deep as he could, yet the intimacy provides all the satisfaction they need. 

They let out small pants as they worked together to bring each other to their climax. He remains inside of her while they both come down from their highs and collapse beside her. She gets up from the bed, ignoring his release that rushes down her leg. Her hand reaches for a tissue as she grabs her underwear off the floor. She steps further from his bed and he doesn’t stop himself from grabbing onto her wrist. Y/N twirls to look at him with curiosity in her eyes. “What’s wrong?” she worries, trying to see any visible injuries on him. His eyes can’t meet hers and his thumb fidgets with the bone of her wrist, “Can you stay?” 

“Why would you want that? Wouldn’t that make this too personal for us?” 

“Because I want us to be personal.” 

Silence fills the air, both of them processing what he said. He figures he should add more to the statement and sits up. He doesn’t bother to cover himself after the blanket slides off his lap and onto the floor. “I was crazing to think that I could keep things purely physical with you. Because the truth is… I have fallen head over heels for you and the only thing I want is to be personal with you. I want something personal, and romantic, and everlasting. I can’t keep being your fuck buddy, Pet, because I need more from our relationship. I-.” His rant is cut off by her lips colliding with his. She rests her knees on either side of his waist. Their lips disconnect and her forehead touches his. He twirls a strand of hair around his finger as they stare at each other in soft pants. His other hand kneads at the skin above her bum. “I need those things too,” she whispers. He grins like a child, “So I guess that means you’ll say yes to a date.” “I would love to go on a date with you,” she agrees with a smile. They enjoy each other's hold for a few more minutes until he catches her trying to hide a yawn. He stands up and holds the bottom of her thighs to take her with him, her arms instinctively wrapping around his neck. She doesn’t question when he walks to the bathroom and buries her head in his neck. 

He puts her on the counter and spreads her thighs apart. Her tired eyes watch him wet a wash cloth and clean off the dry cum between her legs, pressing a delicate kiss to her sensitive clit. He straightens to find her a new toothbrush and hands it to her. They brush their teeth together before he gets her a spare shirt from his bedroom. He helps her tug it over her body and carries her back to bed. He lies beside her, bringing the blanket to cover both of them. Throughout the whole routine, seeing her naked body gets him hard again, yet he ignores the rock between his legs and snuggles her into the crook of his neck. She feels how turned on he is and even though she is spent from their earlier round, she offers him a chance of release. “We can go another round if you want.” His head moves from side to side, “No, Pet. You’re tired. Let’s just sleep so you can get your energy back. Maybe in the morning.” She can’t disagree with him; nevertheless, there is something else that they can try that might be able to give him the same sensation he needs and she has wanted to try it. She looks at him with bashful eyes, “What if you put it in and didn’t move? Then we can go to sleep and maybe it will make you not as hard anymore.” 

Surprise flashes across his face and want brews in his stomach. He doesn’t think he has ever heard such a hot request before. He nods and brings the hand thrown over her waist down between their bodies to guide the head of his cock to her entrance. She places her hand on his chest and confirms she is ready for him. His thrust eases himself into her, her hand slightly digging into his skin for comfort. Once fully sheath inside of her, he kisses her and brings her closer to his front. “I love you,” he mutters against her lips. Her eyes are already fluttered shut, except she still hears his confession. “I love you too.”  They fall asleep with him buried in her and a romantic future on their minds.

Taglist: @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming @magicalyoura @rubixgsworld

[nonsensical-pixels]

yes, i know, this has been done already, in a much more 'advanced' way by @lindasims2. but i saw this post by @littlelittlesimmies and just felt very irritated by paywallers, y'know? so have @hydrangeachainsaw's kawaii neko gaming station converted from ts4 to ts2. it doesn't have flashing lights, but it's free for all😉

there are 5 items in this set (technically 7, if you count all of the extra versions!). everything is recolourable; the desktop and chair have repo'd addons. yippee, my first try furniture-meshing! both computers act as monique's hacked computers, too. check the readme or peek below for more info!

DOWNLOAD: SFS | MF 😽

credits go to @hydrangeachainsaw for the original ts4 meshes and textures! plus to monique and @hugelunatic for the original hacked computer and one-tile desk, respectively 💖

ITEMS INCLUDED

Chair - 7832 polys Chair V2 - 7832 polys, repo'd to Chair Desktop - 10796 polys Desktop Standing - 10833 polys, repo'd to Desktop Gaming Station - 4982 polys Keyboard - 7466 polys TV - 126 polys

COLLECTION FILE ICON

it was generated by zoviz so credits to them!

THINGS TO NOTE

In order to get the chair to slot in with the gaming station, don't put it on a diagonal. Turn off quarter-tile placement and place it directly behind the desk part, as you would with a normal desk and table. Go to live mode and unpause; it will slot right in!

The desktop will most likely only match with the gaming station. Use the standing version if you want to pair it with something else.

Yes, I'm aware lindasims2 has also done this set, with lots of neon animations and stuff. That's cool, go ahead and buy hers if you want. But mine… is free 😁

i have a lot more lindasims2 stuff made 'free' that i've been working on over the years. just need to finish it up... i hope. if there are any issues that you find with this set, please don't be afraid to let me know! happy simming, and when you download this, do keep in mind,

Love, ~ Ky 🥰

[stylespresleyhearted]

THE MAJOR’S WIFE

warnings: mentions of miscarriage, adultery, nsfw, marital problems, oral (m! receiving), spanking, being turned on even when your brain isn’t in it, bucky in 1x04, bucky married pre-war, slight age gap bc reader can come off slightly immature (i think?) angst, historical inaccuracies, new mediocre writer be nice

summary: John Egan gets to know his wife again

word count: 9.7k

notes: i’m not sure where this came from i wrote it all today and got no part of my research paper done. there’s really no point to it and also irl john egan was actually really close to his mother so i emphasized that here. he wrote to her so much. no disrespect to any of the real people, this is based on the show/show timeline as well.

Lila gets the call on the 2nd of October and her dreams come true.

Not entirely, no. The real dream would be having him home safe and the tragic war being over but she knows how fortunate she is to have the next best thing happen. Her husband’s been granted a few days leave and Colonel Harding believed it would do Major Egan some good to have his sweet, young wife join him during those days overseas. For the good of John’s mental health the Colonel or the President - or whoever was in charge, Lila really had no idea - had agreed to pay for her ticket and their hotel. There was only one thing they asked for in return and although it wasn’t explicitly said, Lila caught their drift: sort your husband out.

Lila knows it would do her no good to sit and wonder how horribly John must be doing in order for them to declare an all expenses paid trip for his spouse. All she does is worry for him anyhow so she forces herself to focus on the one good thing of the entire ordeal - she’s going to see her man.

There’d been letters, although not as many as she liked and she tried not to let it show how it hurt as every other wife received more than one letter at a time. Her John wasn’t the sort, she knew that when she married him. He was the kind of person who needed endless skies and land to maintain his sense of stability. Having him cooped up would do him no good and she partly wondered how much of what he was struggling with was the trauma he witnessed in the air and how much of it was feeling caged on base. At least his plane, good ol’ Mugwump (he wrote about her quite often) offered him the opportunity to head anywhere he wanted.

The only person he wrote consistently and readily to was his mother. It was rare if a week went by and she received no letter. During these instances it was more times than not an issue with the postal service.

Be that as it may, Lila knew who she married and it made her love him no less so she tried not to let it get to her. His mother was a saint. Firm and strong and loving all the same. Lila would have never survived sending John off if his mother wasn’t who and how she was. She held Lila at night when her cries woke her and she let Lila sleep in his old childhood bed. She kept food on their table and ensured everyone got their work done through the worry.

When John first left and Lila was sick to her stomach and vomiting multiple times of the day it was his mother who consoled her through the night when her sheets turned a crimson red and any ideals of having their baby through the war was lost.

Frances Egan was the glue holding them together. All of them, even her son who was an entire ocean way - so no. Lila would not be angry that she was John’s preferred pen-pal.

“You fix him right up,” Mama Egan had said in lieu of goodbye when leaving her at the airport, “you give him the loving he needs as his wife and the smacks he needs from me to get on the straight and narrow before sending him off to continue saving the world. You do it for him, not for any of them war bastards. You hear me?”

All Lila could do was nod. Dropping her bags on the floor and clutching her pseudo mother tightly. She was excited as she was frightened.

They had only gotten two months together before he had been pulled away. She didn’t want to complain, loads of women had gotten less time at all while others had only ever been left with the promise.

But her two months as Mrs. Egan? They’d been a dream. Her man was a romancer. He hadn’t hesitated in introducing her as the newly (and younger) Mrs. Egan, always resulting in an arm slap from his mother, he held open doors and he never stopped courting her; however she thinks the best times were when he was teaching her how to act married.

In their bed, at a home he had spent a year building for them. Using any extra pennies he had to pay off younger boys to help him hurry it along. Giving her the wrap-around porch she had always envisioned.

He showed her how to kiss. How to undress him. He had laid her underneath him, using his large frame to cover her completely, protecting her from the cold as he threw the sheets off them and making her feel tiny compared to him. She had never felt safer.

It had hurt the first time but he had held her through it. Never allowing any inches of space between their bodies; as if telling her they were in it together. She’d always known he was large, everything about him was large in general, but she never thought how much it would hurt to have all of him fit inside her. Lila hadn't wanted to disappoint him so she tried to muffle her tears and whimpers but he had swallowed her cries and gone slow, soft.

“If this is it, it’ll be enough,” he had promised, only about half way inside her and wiping away her tears with his thumbs. As a thank you she had taken that calloused thumb into her mouth and sucked. He allowed her; hiding his face in her neck and pressing wet kisses along there.

And for the first few times that had been it. She couldn’t take all of him and his thrusts couldn’t get too deep so he would only slip inside until her tight hole resisted and pulsed and he’d hump against that spot until reaching his pleasure.

“Do other girls take all of it?” She had asked a couple days later, trying to wrap her head around it.

She was no idiot. John Egan was no virgin.

“Yes.” Lila could always count on him to be honest. At least there was that. Meanwhile she couldn’t even fully pleasure him. She was failing as a wife. “Hey,” he lay facing her and she lay on her back. He tapped her cheek until she turned her face. “You’re my wife. That’s what makes this feel better.”

And she had beamed at his reassurance even though she didn’t feel much better. She knew John would never push her, and he couldn’t stand to see her cry, so if she ever wanted to learn to be a good wife she would have to take it upon herself.

So that’s what she did.

He was always on top and she was always on her back. That’s the first thing she had to change. From her understanding of it, from her talks with friends that always ended in giggles and blushing cheeks and from what she learned from John, it could be done in many different ways.

“I prefer to be in charge,” her school friend, Linda, had admitted to her. “Not like that -” she clarified, cheeks pink, “Just - if I’m gonna take it, I’d rather do it at my pace. Be on top. Some husbands are good like that. They’ll allow it.”

And knowing her husband wasn’t just good, he was great, she knew he would hold no qualms about it. The next time they lay in bed kissing it was easy to turn him over and straddle him. Move her wetness against his belly to let him know there was still more she just needed him to accept it.

Except he thought she was asking him to do it so he flipped her on her back again. And without breaking their kiss, she turned him over again.

It was more like they were wrestling.

Lila pulls away from his mouth, reluctantly, noticing his lips were wet and red and swollen and wondering if hers were much the same. They had been kissing for so long her mouth felt raw.

She loved it.

Straddling him, she reached behind her, feeling him standing straight and hard against her backside in between her cheeks. Sticky.

He gasped, bucking into her fist with a loud, guttural groan. It was so manly she rocked against his stomach again in need.

“Fuck, baby,” he grunted, “what’re you doing?”

“I want to try it like this,” she breathed, leaning over to whisper in his mouth, her tiny hand still wrapped around him and lining her up to her hole. “I want it all.” Lila clarified.

And John allowed it, like she knew he would. Let her take control and go at her pace. Let her swivel her hips on the way down to help with the tightness of being stretched so wide and thick.

Nothing but curses and promises of love leaving his lips. Gasping mine, mine, mine and my perfect fucking wife and I’m gonna fuck you forever.

He felt large inside of her, like if she was being split in two but it felt so good as the tip of him repeatedly hit a spongy part inside that had her coming with no contact to her clit for the first time.

She was beautiful, red splotches appearing on her body from the heat of their love-making, her hair tangled in his fists, her mouth falling open as she threw her head back - all of it was too much. He was flipping her over and pounding into her trying to chase his peak and a second one from her, their headboard banging against the wall in rhythm with his thrusts.

Things changed from then on. Sexually, that is. Becoming aware of how badly she needed to feel like she was pleasing him, John was not above using it against her. Like letting him lick at her.

“Good wives allow their husbands everything,” he would say, lips wide in a smile and eyes bright at the prospect of getting his way but Lila always knew the choice was really hers. He would respect what she wanted.

He was just too damn addicting. She couldn’t stand to tell him no.

His favorite times were when she allowed him to sit her over his face and let him feast. It drowned the outside world for him and he kept at it even after she had reached multiple orgasms and was pulling on his hair and the only thing keeping her up was his forearms locking around her thighs.

Her favorite was when he allowed her to taste him at the same time he was licking her. It was a tie between those times and when he held her down until all of him was in her mouth and she was spluttering, choking, gagging. Knowing she made a filthy vision and he adored it did something to her.

Now she was in London, closer to him than she had been in years, and all their intimacies were within reach. She could almost taste him, feel him petting back her hair and settling a hand at the low of her back. She still remembers the smell of his after shave and sweat, how he’d come into the kitchen asking for some of her homemade lemonade to help with the heat.

Jack Kidd was tasked with picking up Mrs. Egan from the airport and having her arrive at base with him. She remembers meeting him a couple of times before John shipped out early. Originally she was meant to wait for John at their hotel but there had been an issue when planning her flight and she arrived sooner than intended.

“Ma’am,” he greeted, placing a friendly kiss on her cheeks and taking her bags from her. “Bucky’s gonna be happy as hell to see your face.”

The tone in his voice - relief? alleviation? - had some of her happy wife's facade crumbling. How badly was her Johnny hurting that everyone was looking at her at his only chance to remain sane or alive?

Stop it. Maybe everyone’s just aware Johnny misses you. You’re his wife.

“Not as happy as me, I wager,” she returned with a smile. “I’m glad to see you’re doing okay, Jack. Glad to see you still kicking.”

His shrug didn’t soothe her worry but she saw him try to mask it with a smile.

“All we boys can do is pray.”

She placed a hand on his shoulder, gathering his attention. “You boys have got the prayers of our entire country protecting you.”

Jack simply nodded in response.

For the most part the ride to base was quiet. Her bags would be kept in the trunk until her and John were ready to drive out to London in a couple of hours and until then, she’d be his surprise at the officer’s club. Silver Wings, Jack called it. Where all the boys gathered and had drinks and celebrated accomplishments. And where some chose to mourn, too.

Her stomach was turning as she neared the hut, following Jack’s footsteps. There was so much that could go wrong and although this was meant to be a surprise, the U.S Army showing their gratitude towards a brave Major, she suddenly wished she would have called John and told him. She wished he knew so that she wouldn’t have to walk in feeling alone and unwanted.

Not that Lila thought John would turn her away, she simply wanted to have him hold her hand as she walked through the threshold.

“Stick close by,” Jack murmured, being respectful of where he touched her before deciding to lead her by her shoulder. “It gets crowded but I’ll take ya to him.”

As she walked through different groups, she felt the offending eyes of men and women alike. Wondering who she was. With a pang in her heart she realized she had met John’s squadrons before but all these crews were new. The boys she met, most of them at least from what she could tell, hadn’t made it. John never wrote about who passed away (except to inform her of Curt) ; most of their letters were him expressing his love and how he missed her so and asking what she got up to.

Having walked around the roundabout bar in the center of the room, her stomach in knots and fingers tangled in front of her - she caught sight of her husband smack middle in the dance floor. Pressed against a beautiful brunette.

Lila caught sight of him before even Jack did. That’s how connected she was to her husband. Jack whistled from beside her to gain Gale’s attention who was resting against the bar holding his signature ginger ale, also watching John Egan chat up the woman he was swaying with with something like disapproval in his eyes.

His large hands were occupying most of the space of her waist, keeping her body tethered to his as she laughed.

“Lila,” he gasped, eyes wide. He was smart enough to not turn and look at his buddy. To act as if nothing was amiss and she expected nothing less from Gale Cleven, “damn it all to hell. You’re a sight for sore eyes, Mrs. Egan.”

Because he was close to John, he didn’t hesitate in wrapping her up in a tight hug and pressing a kiss to her tinted cheeks. He knew John wouldn’t mind.

When he pulled back she patted his chubby cheek in return, “You still shame the rest of us with your good looks, Gale,” she laughed. “I’ll let Marge know when I see her next.”

Lila also knew she would share with Marge that while Gale was being loyal, standing off to the side her husband was exchanging oxygen with a woman on the dance floor.

His cheeks tinted at the mention of his girl. Buck and Bucky were both aware Lila and Marge wrote to one another and visited each other whenever time made it possible.

“Colonel Harding said Major Egan was in need of something from home,” she said, studying his reaction to see what she could read but Gale had always been aloof, cold. He wasn’t close to her like he was with Marge and John.

Gale thought back to a few moments earlier when John had disrespected their Colonel and all his actions before that too - disrespecting superiors, drinking more consistently, becoming angry - hopelessness in his eyes.

“He’s in need of you Lila,” Gale clarified and it wasn’t lost on either one of them that he they were referring to was currently on the floor wooing another woman.

“Holy shit! It’s Mrs. Egan!” Hambone animatedly announced and suddenly it felt like the eyes of everyone in there were on her. Her cheeks tinted pink, never having been one for the spotlight like her husband.

She was greeted with welcoming cheers and hugs.

John, for his part, disentangled from the woman he was holding at the mention of his missus. He was sober enough to appear sheepish and guilty, but in the next second it was gone as he stalked towards her. Determined. Quick. His smile growing the more he neared like he was becoming more aware she was really there and it wasn’t a fucked up scenario in his head.

“God, Lila,” she managed to hear him say before she was elevated in the air, his arms tight around her waist and lifting her high so they were at face level and he could kiss her. Channeling his love and exuberance and aggression into kissing his wife. “It’s you, it’s you, it’s really you,” he was saying in between smooches, “I missed you. So fucking much, doll.”

Basking in his love she didn’t feel the need to mention the woman that was so kindly keeping him preoccupied before she entered.

She couldn’t help the first tear from falling or the rest from following. It was like the tightness in her chest unlocked as she finally got to hold him and feel his heat surround her. He still smelled of after shave and the same hair gel that was kept in their bathroom at home but he tasted strongly of whiskey and cigarettes and strawberry lipstick.

John tucked his face into her neck, setting her down and bending to her level. Sniffling in there as he continued to hold her.

“None of that,” she did her best to stop her voice from wobbling or breaking, “we’re together. That’s all that matters.” She drew his face out from where he had hidden to pepper him with a few more kisses.

None of it was enough.

The rest of the guys were kind enough to return to the dance floor and act like they couldn’t see them.

“Who? What - why? How?” He was obviously having trouble forming coherent thoughts in between the kisses he continued stealing from her.

She was crying and laughing and trying to return all his touches. It was a terribly difficult ordeal but she had never been happier.

“Colonel Harding called and said you had a weekend leave. He said he talked to some of the higher ups but they couldn’t allow you a leave home so this was the next best thing,” she explained, cupping his cheek as she rubbed her thumb over his cheekbone. He had minor scars that weren’t there before.

She wanted to kiss every single one of them.

He was still bent towards her height, taking her in as she was taking him in.

She forgot how blue his eyes were.

He was whole. Complete. Hers.

“You’re here for the entire weekend?” He asked to confirm and she nodded, laughing when he lifted her again with a loud whoop to celebrate. That got a few of the guys to join in although they had no idea what their Major was celebrating.

“I need you,” his voice suddenly dropped, setting her down as he turned to the door. “Let’s go.” He was buckling up her coat to make sure she was protected from the freezing London air. She was lucky he was too far gone to scold her for arriving with it unbuckled in the first place - she could get sick.

“John, John - relax, my sweet man,” she laughed, cupping his cheek to get his attention. “We can stay for a while. We don’t have to go yet.”

It’s why she was at the officer’s club in the first place. She had arrived early.

John turned stiff in her hold, straightening to his full height as he suddenly loomed over her. “I’ve got you in my arms for the first time and you want to stay here?” His voice was tight. His face stern.

“Yes - no, I -” she was unsure of where she went wrong or how to fix it. She clasped his hands in hers but he didn’t allow her to thread their fingers together so it was just her holding on. “I just meant we’ve got time, John.”

The way he was looking at her made her want to cry. She felt her lower lip quivering.

She felt ashamed, whispering, trying to get him to keep his cool.

“Time? Time?” He laughed loudly. She was mildly aware of Gale breaking away from a group of guys to near them, worried but she was mostly focused on John. The tense lines on his face even as he laughed and the quirked eyebrow even though she found no amusement in their situation. “You think I’ve got time? You have no idea what it’s like up there.”

She shook her head but didn’t try to verbally explain herself. She wasn’t sure she could manage a few words before breaking into tears.

“Come on, Bucky,” that was Gale stepping in to save the day. Perhaps the only person who could get John to listen. “When have you ever left before dancing with your girl? You gotta show these rookies how it’s properly done right?”

With Gale slapping a hand to John’s shoulders, he seemed to snap out of it. Releasing a deep breath and seemingly all the tightness in body with it.

He leaned down again, pressing his forehead against hers. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, clasping a hand around her neck so she wouldn’t pull her head back. As their eyes locked she felt a tear fall again and this one wasn’t happy. “I’m so fucking sorry, baby. It’s this place. It’s fucking with my head.”

And she chose to believe him, nodding her head in understanding and trying not to think about how she wasn’t his preferred person to write letters to or the one who could clear his head.

Maybe the Colonel should have allowed a weekend pass for Gale and John.

Lila swallowed the thought, allowing John to pull her to the dance floor as he lost all anger and aggression and became charming and loving all over again.

“Everyone, this is my wife!” He bellowed and everyone cheered in response. “She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen and -” he hiccuped and she realized he was drunker than she thought, “and I bet we can out dance any couples here tonight!”

So for the next hour she found herself being twirled around the dance floor by her husband. She almost forgot their prior negative interaction; his love and energy was so infectious. For the slow songs he would hold her close and she would rest her head against his chest, letting it lull her to a relaxing state. He was alive and she was with him. That had to be enough. For the more upbeat songs, he was challenging any couple beside them. Asking those sitting who were better dancers? Who could perform certain dance moves better?

And all throughout, he was like he used to be back home. Loud and happy and the center of attention, keeping everyone entertained. He kept announcing to his boys that his beautiful wife was there and then he’d place a wet kiss on her mouth that had their cheeks (and hers) turning red but all he would do is smile and continue on.

She was finally able to disentangle herself from him when Crosby pulled him in for a conversation. Lila wonders if her state of disheveled hair and panting breaths made him want to aid her in allowing her to sit and grab a refresher.

Once she accepts Crosby’s hug and cheek kiss, she excuses herself to go grab a drink. John only pulls her back once to steal a kiss before she gets too far.

Her lips might be bruised by the time they leave if he kept it up.

She orders a cup of ice water from the man tending the bar, looking back out at her husband as she waits. He’d always been tall and strong, but she notices the change in his posture. The bulges in his arms as he twirled her around and lifted her in the air. His eyes were only bright when he forced it. They had lost their shine and she wishes she brought the picture from back home. Where he looks young and full of life and joyful. Even when he smiles he seems hollow; hopeless.

She’s there but he doesn’t really care because in his head he’s already thinking of when she leaves again.

She wasn’t used to that. Her John only lived in the moment.

“He keepin’ you busy?”

Gale settles up behind her and pushes the glass water towards her. She didn’t even notice when it was put down.

“Dizzy, more like,” she jokes and gets him to crack a smile. She thinks to when she walked in and seen Gale, how he’d been watching the scene unfold but with a disapproving look in his eyes. How he didn’t try to hide the scene from her or excuse it. He let it be. And she knows John has never shied away from attention. He’s always been handsome and charming and girls always swarmed but Lila wasn’t aware she had to be around to keep him loyal. She thought he just was. And she knows it’s not too long before they leave now so she decides to be direct with him. “So, does that happen often?”

She sees Gale’s expression split for a second, like he debates playing dumb before deciding against it and she respects him even more for it.

“I think you should talk to John about it.” He decides on.

“Is it something that needs to be mentioned?” She doesn’t like playing this game with him but she knows at the first words of cheating and adultery Gale is going to excuse himself and her chance will be lost.

She can’t be simple and ask: Does my husband cheat on me?

“Another ginger ale, Marty,” Gale raises two fingers to grab the man’s attention and mutters a thanks as his drink is immediately refilled. He turns his attention back to Lila. “He still loves you, Lila. It’s just - hard. Being out here.”

“You seem to be coping fine.”

She feels bitter. Crazy. There’s a sob she has to choke back.

Lila’s too embarrassed to meet Gale’s gaze. Ashamed that everyone knows what’s been going on and she was the ditzy woman being twirled on the dance floor.

“I think I was used to loneliness. He isn’t.”

And he says nothing else as he leaves her behind heading back to his boys. It’s just Lila and her shattering heart and her husband calling to beckon her back to the dance floor.

Luckily they didn’t stay much longer. She walked over to Bucky but he wasn’t able to pull her back out for a dance - it’s my song, Lila! - because Jack Kidd was approaching, letting them know it was time to leave them at the train station.

Lila waited in the car while Bucky ran into his quarters to pack his bag. He didn’t have many things to take, he would be stuck wearing his uniform anyway. Gale walks him back out to the car and despite the earlier conversation Lila exits the safety of the interior to say her goodbyes.

“Take care of yourself, Major,” she squeezes him, “I need you to stick around after this weekend to look after my man.”

“It’s a hard job but I try,” he replies, both of them ignoring Bucky’s protests.

Besides that, Bucky’s quiet on the ride to the train station. He carries her bag on board but he’s quiet for the duration of the train ride. Lila doesn’t disturb him; he might be tired or hungover or both.

And if she’s honest she’s scared of him snapping at her like the night before.

Instead she takes the time to take him in. He’s handsome in his suit. Tall and big and strong, his sharp jaw and powerful mouth, his eyes blue like a sunny day and his curls coming undone from the gel after all the dancing he did.

Lila doesn’t allow her mind to wander down this path too often but suddenly she can’t help it. Would their baby have looked like him or like her? She wishes more than anything they would have had his ears. She wishes they would have had his heart and his strength - but her loyalty. Her faith in them.

It’s crazy when she stops to think she was nineteen when she married him and now she’s twenty-one. She’s loved him for more than she’s been allowed to have him. She has changed without him like he has without her and it’s frightening to think neither of them could be accepting of those changes. Whatever they may be.

Lila shuts those thoughts out, closing the distance between them to sit on his lap. Passerby’s and his horrible mood and what scares her could be damned to hell - all she wants is her man.

John doesn’t deny her; she admits she was a little scared he would.

“I love you,” she tells him, catching his eyes.

“I know.”

He doesn’t return the words as they continue staring at one another but she refuses to let it get her down. This is her husband. She has the rest of her life to get to know him; new or old habits, she doesn’t care.

So instead, Lila plasters a smile onto her face. “What’re you gonna show me first in London, Major?”

“Well I really wanna show you our hotel room,” he plays along, allowing her to trace the edges of his mustache. She lets out a knowing chortle. “And I really want to show you -” he cuts himself off to look around, making sure no one was near them as he leans in to whisper, “- my cock, Mrs. Egan.”

She turns a bright red, trying to sputter out a proper response for that but all she can do is indignantly scold him. “John Clarence! If your mom were here -” and they both break out in loud laughter at the many possibilities of what his mother would exactly do to him if she heard his wicked mouth.

“Wanna grab some grub first?” He asks instead, knowing she hadn’t eaten at the officers club and before then she had been stuck on a plane. “I know a few places.”

Lila nods happily, pressing a kiss to his mouth. His lips are warm and as plump as she remembers them. His mustache tickles her.

“Let me feed you first, woman!” He groans, trying to be a gentleman. “When’s the last time you ate?”

She puckers her lips to think about it and that’s the only answer he needs: food is definitely first.

When they arrive at the hotel John enters to check them in but he slips a few bills into the bell boy’s hand with strict instructions to leave the bags in their room before pulling her back out to the London streets.

Lila felt underdressed surrounded by women in diamonds and fancy hats, and it didn’t help that John was beside her in his uniform looking dapper and catching the eye of many. They were stopped multiple times on the way to the diner; men wanting to shake his hand and show their gratitude while the women introduced themselves, uncaring of Lila under his right arm.

As long as he wasn’t ignoring or dismissing her she realized she didn’t really care. It wasn’t much different back home; everyone knew and loved John Egan.

The diner he chose was small and cozy and his legs were too long to fit under their table so his boot and his knee kept bumping into her own and she adored it. She wanted to feel close to him and since sitting on his lap currently wasn’t an option she figured this would have to do.

He tells her many stories but none of them are sad or tragic. He only shares the happy ones. He talks about how he convinced the Colonel to allow Buck, Curt, and himself a London weekend pass one time and they had shoved Gale into a haberdashery where he tried on a multitude of top hats worth more money any of them would ever see combined. But because they were soldiers and majors at that, the owner allowed it. There’s a museum nearby he talks about wanting to take her too, it showcases art from as early as the 1400s and he says he’s gotten lost in there plenty of times and it was lovely.

All the while, she listens without hearing him. Choosing to take him in and letting her mind wander to how it would be if things were different. It pains her to think how much older he looks since she last saw him. Looking more like it was ten years instead of the measly two. John’s always been one to smile freely but the wrinkles by his mouth, eyes, and forehead aren’t from smiling or laughing too much.

Lila knows they’re from worrying and stressing and being scared and she hates that she can’t understand him or be there for him. No matter how hard he tries.

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes when a sob breaks free. She curls in over the table and John’s reaching over to rub her shoulders. She grabs a hold of her hand in his. “I just missed you so much.” She presses a kiss to his knuckles. “I don’t think I know how to not miss you.”

John doesn’t say anything but he motions a server over to settle the bill and once that’s done, he’s taking her hand and pulling her out the chair.

“You got enough food in you?”

All she can do is nod.

Her body feels electric on the short walk back to the hotel. He doesn’t do more than hold her hand and she thinks that is what has her nerves jittery, his palm in her hand sets her alight. She can feel his rough skin and the calluses on his fingers and the fingertips he runs over her skin and she bites back a moan.

Moaning in the middle of a bustling London street? She’d be thrown into an asylum she’s sure.

Beside her he’s quiet but his steps are quick. She has to lightly jog to keep up with long strides. He pulls on her hand to help her keep pace. It makes her think he’s as impatient for it as she is so she was surprised when upon closing the hotel room behind him he stays by the door. Not nearing or touching or kissing.

Just - nothing.

Her throat becomes tight again as she remembers the girl from the night before and her conversation with Gale. Is that the reason why?

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he says before she can spiral any further. Approaching her and bringing their lips together in a searing kiss, wasting no time in sliding his tongue alongside hers.

“I love you,” she responds and once again he doesn’t say it back. She figured he wouldn’t but she wanted to try. He takes her mouth in his again.

She gets irrationally angry, suddenly feeling the need to claim him so she bites at his bottom lip. He pulls back to press a finger to his lip, wiping the blood there.

Lila pulls on his belt, dropping to her knees right there in the middle of the room.

Mine. He’s mine.

“Make me your wife again,” she’s not sure but it sounds like she’s begging as she manages to unbuckle his belt and pull them around his strong thighs.

“God,” he breathed, “fuck. Look at you.”

Swollen lips parted for him to put to use. John wrapped his fist around her long hair to maintain a good grip, allowing the tip of his cock to hit the back of her throat. There was no resistance, no gag, her body remembering how it was taught to take all of him even though time had passed. John loved that fucking mouth and he found himself angry as thoughts entered his mind - if anyone had fucked her mouth while he’d been away - and he jerks his hips more forcefully. Rough.

This time Lila does gag. Her hand goes to push against his hip but he doesn’t allow her to pull away.

“Did anyone else do this?”

She splutters, eyes on him and confused with a mouthful of cock, unable to talk.

“Did you suck someone else’s cock? This is mine, Lila. Mine.”

He holds her down for a couple of more seconds before allowing her reprieve. She sputters and coughs, looking at him the entire time.

His dick is still hard and long, standing to attention, and he’s not sure whether he should apologize before she’s taking his bobbing dick back into her mouth. To the back of her throat and gulping and fondling his balls. Her nose kissing the coarse hairs on his belly trail and although it feels fucking amazing - he can feel the anger too. Her anger.

How dare he accuse her.

When she pulls off there’s a strand of saliva connecting his prick to her tongue. She has half a mind to go back for more but he’s pulling her back by her hair.

“I’m so lucky to have a wife who’s cock hungry,” he groans, pulling her to her feet by her hair and connecting their mouths in a rough kiss. Their teeths crash and tongues wrestly and he feels fucking crazy that she tastes like him. Simultaneously ripping each other’s clothes off.

Lila didn’t have any warning. One second she was kissing him and ripping open his shirt and the next she was bent over the bed with her ass in the air. John ran a finger over the wet patch on her underwear. The bite on her cheek was also unexpected and she clawed at the sheets, sure she could come from the feeling alone.

“This is mine, Lila,” he leaned in close, burying his face in her underwear. “Mine.”

All she could do was whimper and agree.

John smacked her ass so hard it jiggled. Lila yelled and after the pain ceded, time seemed to stop. Nothing but their rough breathing filling the room. John had never done that before.

She wasn’t sobbing but there were tears escaping. She was sure he didn’t know. He was waiting for a reaction.

Lila wasn’t sure where this side of her husband came from. Had he held back those two months? Did he learn it in Europe? Was that why there was another woman - because she couldn’t satisfy him?

She can’t lose him.

“Please,” she begs, hiding tears in the duvet, “do it again.”

Lies. It was all lies but John believes her and he strikes again. She yelps, fisiting the sheets. He believes it’s in pleasure.

Ten slaps. That’s how many she endures before he begins shushing and petting her again. He runs his fingers through her folds and although she didn’t enjoy the punishment mentally - she did nothing wrong, he was the liar - her body certainly did. She’s sopping wet, she’s gonna have to throw out her underwear because they’re destroyed.

“Did you enjoy that?” He grabs a fistful of her hair to sit her up, her back against his sweaty, matter chest. “You like being spanked, baby?”

“Yes.” It’s only half of a lie.

“Now - now, I’m going to fuck you. Nice and hard, just how you like it,” she wants to scream at him. She wants to hit him. When did she ever like it hard? When was hard ever nice? Who was he thinking about because it wasn’t her.

But at the same time she rocks back against him to feel his cock hard between her cheeks. She can’t say she doesn’t want it. Him. This.

He pushes her back down at her teasing, using his now free hands to spread her cheeks and show her tight asshole. Untouched and pure. He presses the tip of his cock against it but he doesn’t push. He doesn’t move.

She jerks at the pressure. Drools on the mattress as she tries to bite down to temper her screams.

Do it.

No, don’t.

“One day,” he promises, pressing deeper so her hole opens but not deep enough to push. “But today, today I want this.” And without any prepping like she’s used to, without any more warning, he’s sliding down and pushing into her. Hard. Deep.

She screams, can’t help it, claws at the mattress in an attempt to crawl away.

It hurt but it felt so good.

Who was she?

“You think you can go be with other men? Let them use the holes I trained? The ones that belong to me?” He pumps into her deep. Once, twice. She’s so wet the noises filling the room are pornographic, her yelling and his panting and her sopping wet vagina smacking against his thighs and taking his cock so well. “You like it like this, Lila? Like when I fucking own you?”

“Yes, yes,” she swears and this time she isn’t lying. It’s all she can manage; she thinks she’s gone cock dumb. There are no words, no feelings, just the feeling of him filling her.

She clenches tight when he slides out. She wants him inside her forever.

He releases his hold of her hair, stepping away. He’s tired of muffling her moans and words. He’s tired of not being able to see her beautiful face.

John’s favorite face in the entire world.

“Turn around,” he commands.

Lila kneels on wobbly legs as she turns over, having little to no energy and bouncing as her body lands with no grace on the mattress. John grabs one of her jiggling breasts in his large hand, squeezing tightly.

“I fucking missed these.” He takes one in his mouth, biting down on her nipple hard. She shrieks but holds his head to pull him closer.

Her thighs are forced open by his hand and then he’s taking hold of himself and thrusting in deep again. Releasing her breasts from his mouth in order to look at her mouth. Lila’s face when he’s fucking her is as close to heaven as he thinks he’ll ever get. She’s incoherent but she’s begging for more - that much he can make out. She manages to gather the strength to grab hold of him and pull him down, clawing at his back.

He hisses at the pain and bites on her collarbone to reciprocate it.

When she grabs the nape of his neck, the cool touch of her wedding ring against his skin, it gives him pause. This was his wife. His wife.

John has been gone so long he thinks he forgot he was married.

“I love you,” he finally says it, pressing his forehead against hers as he slows down. He sniffles then, leaning down to press a wet open-mouthed kiss against hers and swallow her moans. John can’t believe he forgot he had this; can’t believe he forgot for a minute how lucky he was. She’s gorgeous (and not just externally) and he’s quite sure he somehow managed to dream her up. “I love you,” he swears again.

This time she’s the one who doesn’t say it.

She clutches at neck and pulls him down to take a boob in his mouth. Looking him in the eye hurts too damn much. Why did he have to do this now? She was lost in the pain; she had been taking her punishment.

Lila squeezed her eyes shut, moaning loudly as she thrashed around the bed. Her orgasm taking over her body. She wrapped both legs tighter around John, squeezing and pulsing around him and dragging him to the edge with her.

“Fuck, fuck,” he roared, “so damn tight. Yes, Lila. My perfect wife.”

For a couple of seconds, they lay in the aftermath. Lila could feel the heat of John’s breath against her neck. She counted how many breaths they shared in between one another as they recuperated.

Forty-seven that’s how many breaths they shared as they stayed connected.

Forty-eight that’s when John managed to lift his head and place a peck against her mouth. One she didn’t return.

Forty-nine that’s when John pulled back in concern. Lila was so still.

Fifty. That’s the breath she used to say, “you cheated on me,” looking him right in the eyes as she broke out in uncontrollable sobs.

She cried and cried underneath him. Unable to move because her legs felt like jello and they held no power. Unable to push him off because she didn’t want to let him go. Unable to speak because she was suffocating in her heartbreak.

John watched her until he couldn’t, until he was afraid she was going to choke on her own tears and then he was sitting her up, trying to ignore the way she fought against his touch.

I’m sorry, I’m here, he kept saying.

I hate you, she thought but didn’t say.

Until finally, “don’t touch me!” She yelled when he got too close and made to wrap her up in a hug. “Get away from me, John. Stay away.” She crawled to the edge of the bed and curled herself into a tiny ball. Aware she was fully naked and he was still leaking out of her but she couldn’t find it in herself to do anything except cry.

She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t open her lungs and get any air in. She slapped at the headboard, aware that she was having a panic attack as suddenly everything hit her all at once. It was entirely consuming and she couldn’t do anything to fight against it except cry. All the feelings rushed her at once.

This was going to be it. The weekend of two lovers reunited was the weekend from hell and this was going to be it. She was going to return home in a day and he would stay in Europe and continue to fight the war and seek out other girls and when he returned she wouldn’t be his wife anymore.

Lila would be scornful and full of resentment and miserable and he would leave her. This last time was going to be all she had and she hated him for ruining it.

Why couldn’t he hide his affairs better?

Why did she have to surprise him?

She was perfectly happy not knowing. She was worried and stressed to hell and crying every night missing him but, oh God, all that was better than this.

Lila isn’t sure how long it’s been since she last took a breath but she feels herself fading. She’s shivering and naked in their bed and she can only slightly take in that John’s wrapping her up in the duvet and curling himself around her to warm her up. She’s trying to tell him she can’t breathe, she’s suffocating, at the same time he’s blowing air in her face.

She’s fading when she feels it. A sting on the left side of her face. Hard and sharp and enough to have her gasping for a deep breath.

“Baby, please, wake up,” he’s crying over her, his head on her chest, “wake up. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Her chest aches. She coughs.

He whips his head up so fast she almost laughs. Almost.

“Lila,” he holds her against his chest, rocking them back and forth on the bed as she takes in her surroundings. She isn’t sure how long she was out or how long she was panicking for. Had the sun been setting while she lost her shit? It was dark outside now. “Don’t leave me, you can’t leave me. Please.”

She taps at his arms to get him to release. She doesn’t think she can talk.

John allows her the space but he doesn’t remove himself from the bed. He stays kneeling, watching her. His hands keep twitching like he wants to reach out and touch her but he’s trying to respect her wishes of not being touched.

She doesn’t lay back down, she stays resting against the headboard. Breathing hurts. She’s scared of suffocating once more. Her left cheek begins burning and she wishes she had the strength to go look in the mirror. Did he mark her? She hopes he did.

Lila’s glad he made it hurt.

“You need to go,” she finally manages to say, ignoring the way he’s already shaking his head in defiance. “Leave me here, John. I want you to go. Get another room.” Find another woman. “I leave in a day.” She wishes she never came to stupid London. She wishes she could forget this entire trip.

“Lila it’s the war,” he starts, shaking in his own tears. “It’s all the shit I see, baby. None of it was because of you okay? None. You don’t fucking know what it’s like up there for us but I stay alive in hopes of coming home to you.” He promises.

She shakes her head, fighting back any more tears. How the hell could she still have any tears left?

“But Gale didn’t cheat,” it bursts out of her before she can stop it and she knows it’s the wrong thing to say entirely.

John stops his apologies, clearing his throat as he gets up and begins dressing into his suit. She doesn’t stop him. She doesn’t take back any of what she said. She gets tired of sitting so she lays on her side, staring out the window and noticing London doesn’t have many stars. Is that why it’s so horrible here? Because there were no stars to wish upon.

She could hear his boots stomping on the ground as he reached the door. “Maybe you should have married Gale fucking Cleven then.” And the door slams shut behind him.

She wonders if he’s angry enough to find a girl and sleep with her. Her eyes blur. The time on the clock is six p.m and London’s already dark. She realizes she hasn’t slept since her plane ride. About 19 hours awake - her and John.

Lila allows her eyes to close, hoping when she wakes everything will be better.

Shadows over her eyelids wake her up. Lila finds she hasn’t moved. She’s in the same position facing the window. Facing London, only now bombs are dropping over it. The prettiest colors burst forward in the window but she knows it's truly only tragedy and loss. Murder.

She recognizes John sitting in the arm chair and she wonders when he got back. He isn’t facing her, he’s watching bomb after bomb drop and land no more than mere miles away from them. He’s holding a whiskey on ice, twirling the ice so it hits against the glass.

Lila wonders then if it was the shadows or the noise that woke her up.

“I must have punched in my card a long time ago,” his voice is strong in the dead of the night, seemingly even louder than when he’s singing in the pub. “It must be the reason for all of this. Karma.” He scoffs.

I deserve this, is what he’s trying to say.

Lila feels her stomach twist and spin and there’s bile sitting in her throat. She closes her eyes to stop herself from imagining John in a plane, dropping a bomb that lands on children. She closes her eyes so she doesn’t have to see the hurt sitting on his shoulders.

She remembers how angry she was when he first signed up. Before they were married. They had been dating for over a month, barely, and she already scribbled ‘Mrs. Egan’ over her notebooks. She’d heard it from his younger sister, Eileen, and she felt her world stop. She hadn’t hesitated to run to the stables he worked at and confront him in front of all the men.

“You’re leaving me,” she had accused him. “You’re gonna leave! I’ll never forgive you, John Egan.”

And in front of everyone he’d knelt down and produced a ring, the one his father had given his mother and said, “Marry me.” He didn’t ask because they both knew it wasn’t a question.

She was already his.

And he was hers.

Lila had forgiven him and promised to love, honor, and obey for the rest of her life.

She doesn’t have the strength to stand so even though her throat burns she speaks. “Lay with me,” she croaks. Her voice is raspy and broken and even clearing it aches.

John shakes his head. “You don’t want me to.”

“Lay with me,” she repeats, firm. “I just want to fall asleep with you.”

He looks at her like he's scared to believe. Trying to figure out whether she’s simply being cruel and going to kick him out in her next breath. Or more likely, he’s scared she’ll lose her shit being near him again.

John, hopeful and never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, sets his drink down and nears the bed. Lila keeps her eyes locked on his and he does the same. Their moves and tension resemble a game of chicken, one of them afraid any sudden change can have the other running off.

“Take off your uniform,” she says when he pushes back the covers while still fully dressed. He jerks his head in confusion and she bites her lip to contain a laugh at his dirty mind. Sex is the last thing on her mind. “I want to feel you, that’s all.”

John does as she asks, setting his cap down and shredding every layer before he’s naked and gorgeous and sliding in beside her. She doesn’t allow herself to think about what it means when she immediately slides closer.

Lila’s the one to wrap her arms around him.

Lila’s the one to intertwine their legs.

John follows her lead, lifting an arm so she can raise her head and use it as a pillow. She scoots her face closer and she nuzzles into her armpit, smelling his deodorant and feeling his hairs poke at her nose. She moves further along, escaping the cocoon of his armpit to press her cheek against his chest. She clutches his dog tags in her palm, tight, so he can’t get up in the middle of the night.

“Can we fall asleep together?” She asks, but when she looks up John’s already there.

The next time Lila wakes up her palm aches. She releases what she’s gripping, remembering how she clung to John’s dog tags when he slid into bed beside her. She lifts her head and finds John already looking at her.

He’s got the saddest eyes she’s ever seen and she hates that she’s partly why.

“We should talk,” her voice is low and cracks from not being used. John nods his head but makes no move to begin.

Lila lays her head back on his chest, lightly picking at his matted, curly chest hair. She presses her lips to a freckle near his nipple and his intake of breath lets her know he felt it,

“I’m not the one you write the most letters too,” she starts, finding it easier to not have to look him in the eye. “You write the most to your mom. And I’m not the one who can calm you down when your anger gets the best of you,” she’s so tired of crying, “that’s Gale. “And I can’t even be here for you at the end of a mission to console you or kiss you or help you forget,” she chokes on a sob. “That’s whoever else.”

I couldn’t even keep our baby healthy, she leaves out.

“What’s your point with all this, Lila?”

Lila lifts her head from his chest, “My point is I’m a horrible wife. I - I don’t know if it was too soon or just not thought out but this - I- ” she can’t get the rest of the words out.

“Don’t say that,” John sits up against the headboard, forcing her up as well. He grabs both her wrists in one of his hands to pull her closer and grab her attention. “Don’t fucking tell me that, Lila.”

“I don’t make you happy,” she shakes her head.

“You do. Everything I do, everything I’m doing - it’s for you Lila.”

“I don’t want to marry Gale. Or someone like him. I love you. Only you. But I’m scared that I don’t make you happy. You deserve better.”

“Oh you dumbass,” John coos, suddenly finding the entire situation amusing. He pulls her in for a hug. “You’re my entire fucking heart, Lila Egan. You don’t think you make me happy? You’re the only thing in my life, in my head, that makes me happy.”

She pulls away to hold his face. “If you’re gonna leave me John you need to tell me now. I don’t care about the girls if all they are is to pass the time. And I don’t care that you write to your mom more than me and I don’t care that Gale is the one you listen to but I just need to be the one you love the most. I need to know I’m making you happy.”

His heart aches at the fact that he made her feel she was ever anything less than the most important person in his life. “Lila,” he presses a kiss to her lips, “Rose,” another kiss, “Egan,” another. “Are my only reason for staying alive.”

[mytheoristavenue]

How MHA Guys React to Fangirls

Summary: Dating a pro hero can be a challenge, especially one so handsome, with so many rabid fans.

Warnings: jealousy, fluff, gn!reader, very little angst

Katsuki Bakugo:

Bakugo has never been into having fans as he is just being all together admired. Not one for social interactions, he tends to clam up and become defensive when asked for an autograph, so when he's approached by a fangirl, he wants nothing to do with them. Especially if he's out with you, off duty. If one does happen to approach, and ignoring them doesn't do the trick, he'll make sure he's not their favorite hero anymore by the end of it.

"Do I look like I'm on duty to you? Can't you see I'm out with my partner or are you fucking blind? Piss off, I ain't signin' any damn autographs."

Izuku Midoriya:

Izuku totally understands how it feels to be a hopelessly obsessed fan, so he cuts his fans a lot of slack- sometimes too much. Though he rerfused to admit it at first, he has a lot of fangirls. and he's never the type to hurt someone's feelings on purpose, so he almost always stops for free autographs and photo ops. It can be sometimes frustrating how much of a people pleaser he can be, but rest assured, if he feels like you are getting too uncomfortable, or a fan is becoming too bold, he politely and swiftly ends the interaction.

"Hey, thanks for the support! I'd love to stay and chat, but it's actually my day off, so me and and my partner here are gonna move along. Hope to see you at the next event I attend, though!"

Tenya Iida:

Iida does truly enjoy interactions with his fanbase, but he considers that part of the job, and he's very strick about working off the clock. Because of this, he declines nearly every interaction if he's off duty. He absolutely has no tollerance for being flirted with, either, especially in front of you.

"I appreiciate your enthusiasm, but I and currently off duty and will not be indulging in fan interaction at this time! Please feel free to catch me anytime you see me in uniform! Good day!"

Shoto Todoroki:

Shoto doesn't beleive he has fans, genuinely. He can't quite wrap his head around having a fanbase, or being a fan of a celebrity in the first place, due to how he grew up. It tends to bewilder him when strangers approach him on the street wanting autographs, even more so when they try and put the moves on him. It just goes in one ear and out the other.

"You want an autograph? Why? Well, okay, I guess, but then we should get going. My partner and I are busy."

Eijiro Kirishima:

Kirishima tends to have a very healthy balance of pleasing fans and knowing when to say no. He loves giving out autographs, taking selfies, and giving hugs to all his fans. He especially loves interactions with child fans because it reminds him of how he idolized Crimson Riot, and he hopes to inspire someone like that too. He is, however, very aware when he's being flirted with or sexualized, and has no issue with promptly, albeit politely shutting it down.

"Alright, ladies, I understand someone as manly as me attracts a lot of attention, but my partner here is the only one I've got eyes for, and I ask that you please respect that."

Denki Kaminari:

Unfortunaely for you, Denki loves attention from fans, especially from his fangirls. He never turns down a signing or photo op, posing with girls however they want, even if it means something suggestive. To his credit, he will stop if you ask him to, but you still have to ask.

"Oh, what's that? Okay. Sorry ladies, we gotta run, but catch me at the next meet and greet!"

Hanta Sero:

Like Kirishima, Sero seems to have a pretty healthy mix of reactions. He loves his fans to death and would do most anything for them, especially kids. He lets his fangirls sexualize him to a small extent, knowing they probably don't totally realize he's a real person, but if they come to commenting on his body, or touching more than his shoulder, upper back, or elbows, he puts a stop to it.

"Now, that's enough, ladies. I appreiciate the admiration but even us celebrities have to set boundaries. It was nice meeting you, but it's actually my day off so me and my partner are gonna get, have a nice day!"

Minoru Mineta:

Like Denki, Mineta unfortunately lets his fangirls do whatever they want to him, short of carry him off. He actually does sometimes feel guilty for hurting your felings, however. He just doesn't realize how his flirting can affect you at times. He hopes you know that, even if he does flirt back, it's you who he truly loves!

"Awe, babe, I'm sorry! They don't even matter to me, I swear! It's you that I love, not some silly fangirl!"

Tokoyami Fumikage:

Tokoyami for the life of him does not know how to interact with his fans. He gets overwhelmed by crowds, but can usually handle interactions if they come one or two at a time. He typically caters to most requests, unless they happen to be personal questions, or something embarrassing. He doesn't like the idea of some fans being attracted to him, as he's only attracted to you, and he feels guilty beign someone's unrequited love. Due to this, he doesn't entertain any kind of flirting from any of his fans, no matter what gender.

"Sorry, I'm not comfrotable signing that for you, can you pick something else? My partner here is my only love, so it wouldn't be right of me to sign your photo with anything romantic."

Mezo Shoji:

It took a lot of convincing to get Shoji to understand that he had fans, let alone ones that were attracted to him. he's just not used to people other than you thinking of him that way, with his mutations and all. You actually had to show him all of the fan works of him online to get him to believe you. That being said, Shoji loves his fans, but he tends to get overwhelmed by the sheer number of them, and the fact that the can forget he's a person, not a character. In the past, he's had issues with fangirls stroking his muscles during photo ops, squeezing his pecks, and one even tried to yank his mask down. Luckily since then, he has learned how to manage fan interactions much better.

"Hey, don't do that. I'm a person, just like you, please treat me how you'd want to be treated. And don't disrespect my partner by tyring something inappropriate right in front of them."

Mashiroa Ojiro:

Like Shoji, Ojiro had a hard time accepting he had fans, but took much less convincing on your part. What he really struggled with was coming to terms with some of his fans liking him romantically. He doesn't typically turn away fan interactions, even on his days off, but he does cut them shorter that he would if he were working. If someone tries anything inappropriate, he ends the interaction right there.

"Sorry, I don't appreciate what you just did. Besides, it's my day off and I'd like to spend it with my partner here. I forgive you though, and hope to see you again at a meet and greet in the future!"

Tamaki Amajiki:

Tamaki appreciates the thought of having fans, and when standing intront of a cheering crowd, he can soemtiems handle it, but he really hates fan interactions. He never knows how to handle them, and many end up with him just nervously standing by while a stranger takes pictures with him, many times without his permission. Many times, you have to step up from him and ask the person politely to move along, which he always appreiciates.

"T-Thanks, babe... They were making me really uncomfortable but I didn't wanna hurt their feelings..."

[wonbin-truther]

inspired by @diorcities imagine

chenle was stubborn and you were too, if not more. your friends always said it was a match made in hell. you two pushed and pulled against each other but it was never anything the two of you took serious. if anything chenle admired the fact you always stood your ground, backing up what you believed in, and you felt the same about him. arguments happened often but nothing had ever went this far.

"so you hate me?" your voice was low and shaky but chenle didn't pick up on it. "who said that? you're so delusional sometimes I don't even know where you get this bullshit from," chenle was practically yelling across the kitchen. you had never felt so small in your life. you tried to keep the tears at bay as you continued on, "but then why wouldn't you tell me she messaged you?"

"it's not that serious. you're being overdramatic about it."

"chenle it's your ex for fucks sake why wouldn't you tell me your ex sent you a nude," you felt a tear slip down your cheek but you quickly wiped it away. chenle let out a scoff as he watched the tears slip down your cheeks one after the other. he always knew you were stubborn, but he didn't think it was so bad you would try to guilt him by faking tears.

"i can't believe you're crying right now. what's wrong with you? i told you i blocked her right after so i don't see what your issue is. god you're so insecure sometimes," he continued to spew, eyebrows crinkled as he rolled is eyes at you. you couldn't say anything back. your vision was blurry and all you could do was stand there as you took hit after hit from him. choked sobs were the only things that left your mouth as chenle stared at you.

even if you were faking it, seeing you cry made a pit form in his stomach. yet your boyfriend was too stubborn to back down, even if it did feel as though his guts were being turned inside out. "can you stop crying already? it's not gonna work." his expression shifted as he stared at your figure. he stood and stared as your crying didn't stop and your breathing got quicker, quiet gasps leaving you as you tried to take in the smallest amount of air you could get between the tears that wracked your body. as you crumbled to the ground, knees pressed to your chest and your own arms wrapped around yourself, chenle realized you were genuine and it ate up his entire being he let it get this far.

it took his body a minute to move from the shock but he ran to where you were, crouching down in front of you. he gathered you up into his arms and held you close to his chest. you tried to push his arms away from you but he held you tighter. he knew if he were to let go this could possibly be the end and it scared him. you eventually gave in, sobbing into his chest as your breathing remained frantic and uneven. "fuck im so sorry. baby breathe with me please. slowly," chenle counted slowly as you tried to follow along with your breathing. you started to calm down and the tears subsided, turning into small sniffles. you two stayed on the floor of the kitchen in silence for a while.

chenle was the first to break the silence, "you were right. i should have told you. i'm so sorry for yelling at you and arguing."

"do you really think i'm dramatic and insecure?" your voice was low and sounded broken. it was shaky and chenle wanted to punch himself.

"i don't. i'm so so sorry. i didn't mean anything i don't know why i said any of that," chenle pulled you away to kiss the tip of your nose that was now red from your sobbing. "you're perfect. if anything i'm the dramatic one between the two of us."

"i know," you rubbed at your eyes and let out a small laugh.

"i love you. so so much. and i'm so sorry for saying all those hurtful things," chenle stood up and brought you up with him.

"i love you too. think before you speak next time though," you cupped his cheeks. he just nodded and let you pull him in for a kiss. you gasped as he pulled away, lifting you over his shoulder and carrying you into the bedroom. you giggled and lightly punched his back, "lele what're you doing?" he tossed you down onto the bed and laid down, "cuddle time and a nap. i think we need it after that."

[himbeereule]

Орлёнок Demo Release

Finally, the demo is here! It's not exactly January anymore, but better late than never, right?

You can play it right here!

I also made a post on the CoG forums, if you want to check it out: Link

Features include:

Meeting your family! And getting bullied.

Getting executed!

Rising from the dead!

Celebrating life by slaughtering some rebels!

(Being extremely miserable!)

Feedback:

This is, quite obviously, a work in progress. It is made available so that you, the reader, can give feedback that improves the game.

So, while you can - and should - obviously tell me whatever you want, a specific list of what I need most in terms of feedback can be found here:

Language. English is not my first language (actually, not even my second one), and I mostly read non-fiction academic works when I read in English, so my writing is certainly not at the level it should be. If you have any concrete issues, please tell me, and I'll try to learn how it can be improved.

Spelling. I don't expect much in the way of outright errors, but I do know that I mix up British and American English all the time. The intended style is American English, so please point out spellings that are wrong in that regard.

Inconsistencies. There are a lot of variations between scenes, and I'd like to make the story as immersive as possible; so, if a phrasing, a character's behaviour etc. feel like they don't fit into the choices you previously made, please tell me. In detail, if possible, otherwise I won't be able to amend it.

Sensory descriptions. AuDHD makes my brain process sensations, including visual impressions, very differently, which means I often end up forgetting those exist. Please tell me about scenes that lack description in that regard. (My first grade elementary school report card called my writing 'efficient and devoid of feelings', and I'd very much like to move past that.)

Technical problems. The code should be pretty solid, but with how complicated it is, it'd be weird if there weren't at least some problems. If you find them, please try to include as much detail as possible when telling me about it. (CS Quicktest and Randomtest are not usable due to the complexity of the code, lol.)

You liking the story. I remain thoroughly convinced that I am a worthless person who isn't able to, nor deserves to create anything, and currently my only motivation to continue this project is derived from pure stubbornness. So, if you, for some reason, actually like this demo, please tell me. It won't change my mind about how bad I think it is, but it will force me to continue in order to avoid being even more of a disappointment.

Additions. If I like your idea, I'll probably add it right away; if I'm unsure, I'll do a poll. You can get me to do almost anything if you say you're sad if I don't do it.

Formatting. Although I try to playtest as much as possible, it's not that easy with how many variations there are, and in VS Code it's sometimes hard to see how well or badly readable text passages actually are.

CWs/TWs (v0.0.1):

Graphic violence and gore

Attempted sexual assault (against the player, avoidable, f!MC only; also against an NPC if massacre route is chosen (is dealt with quickly))

Suicide attempt (by the player, avoidable; f!MC only)

Loss of loved ones

Massacre of civilians and/or PoWs (avoidable)

General misery

(please let me know if you think this needs additions)

As of yet unfinished content:

Autistic variations do not exist yet for the latter part of the demo

Only one of three locations for taking a walk available for now

Tooltips are incomplete

Asexual is not available yet, as it requires a lot of additional scene variation text

Special (psychopath) routes are missing from some scenes as they were added late in development

Choices that are locked and marked as (WIP) are unfinished

Interaction routes for Semyon/Selena, Mikhail/Marina and Leon/Leah. They are top priority for the first set of updates

It is recommended that you play this with a stable state of mind. If you choose the suffering paths because it's relatable and/or as a coping strategy, please make sure you have support available and avoid triggering yourself too much.

The whole point of this game (apart from the dress-up part) is that, no matter how bad things get, you shouldn't stop fighting. It's your enemies who deserve destruction, not you.

Please keep in mind that I am both literally insane and pretty reasonable, so: if there is anything you find grossly offensive, don't assume I meant anything bad by it. Just explain to me why you think it shouldn't exist, and if I am convinced, I will amend it.

[paradiseprincesss]

Ooo I have been loving ALL your fics and your robert fischer one gave me an idea… the reader is a call girl who grew up poor, he hires us and after a while slowly falls in love with her and feels guilty and happy ending for both of my sad babies🥹

pov - robert fischer x reader

hi anon! I'M SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG but i love this - robert fischer will always be a soft character in my mind, i feel like he's just...like that. i just feel like he's a sad and lonely guy with the sweetest heart - i need a robert fischer in my life fr.

summary: as a call girl, your life was chaotic. ever since you were a little girl you had struggled with both self acceptance and self love, but you suddenly meet a client who changes your perspective of everything you thought you knew.

warnings: smut 18+ minors dni!!, oral (fem!receiving), p in v, kissing, swearing, mentions of toxic household, daddy issues, mentions of escorting/prostitution lol

…to be loved is to be changed.

you never know when you'll meet the one that changes everything - fate is funny that way. you don't know when they'll show up in your life, maybe you already know them, maybe you don't.

"god, you have no idea what it's like for me! i was struggling to pay my tuition. i'm doing what i have to do to get by, mom!" you scream, tears streaming down your face.

"then go get a job," she yelled back at you, "being some old mans escort is not a real job!"

"i'm- jesus, i'm a call girl it's- it's just different, okay? and it pays well. i can't continue to pay for college if i don't do this. you know a regular job doesn't pay shit." you say, your hands trembling as you argued with your mom.

the one figure in your life that was supposed to show you unconditional love wasn't there for you; but you didn't hold any animosity towards her. she was struggling as much as you were. did.

not anymore.

you hated this - fighting and arguing with her. it hurt you deeply. but, you did what you had to do to get by. your father wasn't in the picture, and your mother worked two jobs but that was barely enough to make ends meet.

your whole childhood was tumultuous, you grew up in a home with a single parent, the other one gone without a trace. you didn't know love growing up, and honestly, it fucked up your perception of the world - of the word love.

you put your all into school; it was the only thing that distracted you from your home life, and you were good at it. you managed to get pretty good grades in high school, no less than an A- in any subject you took, and post-graduation, you got into a pretty good college in your area.

you had moved out the day you turned eighteen, eager and excited to go out and blossom in life; but reality hit you, hard.

rent was expensive, and paying for college? god, that was a struggle in itself. you worked the odd job here and there, whether it was a cashier job or waitressing job, but neither paid enough. you did a little online research and came across escorting. the only thing that really enticed you was the paycheque - and my goodness was it a hefty one.

you kept this life of yours a secret - but you told your mom the truth earlier when she came by to visit you. she was surprised to see the apartment you were living in; decked out and lavish. she'd asked you where you had gotten the money to pay for this from, and you told her what you were doing.

turns out your mother wasn't too happy about her daughter being a glorified escort, and after arguing with you, she slammed the door in your face, which left you a sobbing mess.

but at least you had money now, right?

after scoring a position with a lucrative company which you couldn't disclose for...certain reasons, you received your first job. then you booked another, and another, and soon, you were a top money maker there.

with a face like that and the body you had - you were not short on cash, let's just say that. you were getting paid thousands just to make appearances with rich men - and getting paid tens of thousands to sleep with them.

as much as you loved the cash, you were miserable on the inside. money got boring after a while, it was just another part of your unexciting, depressing, melancholy life.

diamonds and designer bags couldn't fix the hole in your heart, they couldn't fix the emptiness that lingered within you.

if there was someone who understood this feeling better than anyone else - it was robert fischer.

sure, he never grew up poor or struggled to have money, but he knew damn well that money couldn't solve all your problems. in fact, having a lot of money came with more problems, he thought.

robert didn't know love - it was unfamiliar to him. none of his ex-girlfriends loved him, they just loved his money. they didn't care about him, they just cared about cashing in.

and every time he broke it off with them, they would tell him "don't leave, i miss you" - but he knew better than that. they didn't miss shit but the money, designer bags, and the lavish lifestyle.

after a particularly agonizing day at work, robert came home to his penthouse; head clouded with stress. honestly, it had been months since he had sex - been forever since he just felt loved or had any form of intimacy.

he craved it real bad.

so, he sighed as he dialled the number on his phone, waiting as the line rung quietly. quickly, someone answered and he put in his request - "i'll give you fifteen grand to send over your best girl," was all he said over the phone, quickly giving his address over afterwards.

and that is the story of how you ended up as robert fischers personal call girl - but that was just the beginning.

when you first met robert, you were pleasantly surprised. usually, your clientele consisted of old, rich men who were (at least in your opinion) disgusting. however, robert on the other hand was handsome, young, kind and rich on top of all that.

he was your best client thus far, and you were his favourite girl - not that he had any other girls, anyway. he paid you way more than any other man did, and he tipped generously on top of that.

soon enough, you were only seeing robert - exclusively. for work reasons of course. and he tried to tell himself that, too. that this was just sex. it didn't mean anything, right?

wrong.

he pushed you down onto the bed gently, running his hands all over your body while his lips caught yours in a deep kiss. today, you were waiting for him in his penthouse wearing a baby pink, lacy babydoll with matching pink panties and some stockings.

robert damn near lost his mind when he saw you in your lingerie, his cock was straining against his pants the second he laid eyes on you - sprawled out on his bed, biting your lip teasingly.

"fuck, i love you in pink." he groaned against your lips - but what he was really trying to tell you was "i love you."

he positioned you so that you were now sat up against the headboard of his bed, propped up against the plush pillows looking like a princess. slowly, he took his hand up to your thigh, blue eyes still locked with yours, and teasingly started to take your stockings off. he did it excruciatingly slow with the other one, too.

once your stockings were off, he looked at you with admiration. he truly thought you were the prettiest thing he had ever seen. ethereal. "can i?" he asked softly, his hands now trailing down your inner thighs, dangerously close to your clothed heat.

"m-mhm." you hum with a small nod, trying not to lose your mind. keeping your composure around him was proving to become more and more difficult every time.

he hooked his finger into the waistband of the tiny, lacy, pink thong and pulled it down your legs, groaning softly at the sight of your cunt all soaked for him.

"you're soaked. i can see it." he said lowly, and it takes every fucking ounce of self restraint you have in your body not to moan at the way he says it.

"y-yeah. s'cause of you, robbie." you say softly as he spreads your legs open, his mouth watering at the sight. he peppered kisses onto the insides of your thighs, teasingly kissing everywhere except where you so desperately needed him to kiss you.

"please." you whisper, and that was all he needed to hear before he was lapping up your pretty pussy. he licked a stripe up your cunt and you let out a desperate moan at the feeling of his mouth on you.

he continued to eat you out as if it was the last thing he'd ever do, making your head spin. you were moaning his name over and over, begging him to let you cum on his face as he sucked on your clit.

he took one of his fingers and slowly started to pump it in and out of your soaking hole. "oh fuck, i-i need you inside of me." you pleaded, feeling yourself getting closer and closer to release.

"only if you cum on my tongue, baby." he says between your legs, and you started to gasp and moan as you felt your orgasm approach you at full speed.

"i'm- gonna cum!" you desperately cry, feeling yourself cream all over his face as he took every last drop of it.

he sat up wiping his mouth and chin, glistening with your slick, and smiled at you dopily - he was in heaven.

“lay back on the bed for me, princess.” he commanded softly, and you oblige immediately. as you find comfort within the huge, king-sized bed and soft pillows, he unbuttoned his white dress shirt and undid his tie, taking it off while you watched like a predator stalking its prey.

next came his slacks, which he was rushing to get out of. as his cock sprung free from his boxers, your body felt like it was going into overdrive. robert got between your legs and took hold of your hips before lining his cock up with your drooling entrance.

slowly, he pushed in and the both of you let out sinful sounds. sex never had any meaning for you - it was just your profession, you didn’t know any different. but when he was inside you, when you let him into you - things felt...different.

robert was in way too deep to get out now (both figuratively and literally), and he slowly started to thrust himself in and out of you at a slow pace. one thing you noticed about robert, especially when you guys were fucking, was that he never broke eye contact.

nobody had ever fucked you so sensually before, let alone with such care. he fucked into you gently, the both of you moaning and breathing heavily, and he got lost in your pretty eyes.

he loved you - and he knew it was wrong.

it was the one thing you shouldn’t do when hiring a call girl - fall in love with her. he knew he shouldn’t fall in love with a woman who’s literal job was to pretend that she loved you and fuck you right, but he couldn’t help it.

robert - like you - didn’t know what love was until he felt you. until he knew you.

“f-fuck, faster robbie.” you whispered, breathless and feeling almost out of touch with reality with how good he felt inside you - it was like he was made for you.

“god, you’re so fucking tight. you- ugh, you feel so good, baby.” robert moaned, and you could almost hear the desperation in his voice. “i’m already about to cum, jesus-“ he stammered, voice strained.

“then cum, ah-.” you urged, wrapping your arms around him in a way that was a little too intimate for it to just be part of your job.

“how much extra do you want, ten grand?” he panted as he fucked your pretty pussy, feeling you tighten up around his hard cock.

“wha- robbie, what?” you try to talk properly through the pleasure he was bringing you; it was overwhelming. you weren’t sure why he was bringing up payments and money now of all times, this had been discussed already at the beginning of…whatever this agreement was.

“how much to make you mine? please - i love you.” he said, losing himself in the feeling of you.

you felt your mouth go dry as the words fell from his lips, and in a panic you struggle from underneath him, trying your hardest to push him away.

“wait- wait, stop-“ you say all flustered and panicked. this wasn’t supposed to happen - this should never happen between you and your clients.

he stops as soon as you say the word, and you backup into the the headboard of the bed anxiously, grabbing the blankets to cover yourself up as soon as he had pulled out.

you had never known love before, so when you heard those words, it sent you into an abysmal spiral.

“i-i’m sorry, i just-“ he stammered, the two of you looking each other awkwardly, and robert felt his heart break in two silently.

“don’t apologize, it’s my fault.” you sigh, looking down.

“no, cmon- i shouldn’t have said that.” he said back, and you glanced at him for a second - he looked like he was hurting. like it physically hurt him to tell hear you turn him down in a sense.

you felt a tear run down your cheek, and you wiped it away, already embarrassed enough. this had never happened in front of a client before.

was robert just a client, though?

before you had a chance to answer your own question, robert answered it for you. he took his hand out, gentle and soft, and wiped the tears away from your cheek.

“what’s going on?” he spoke softly, and you just shook your head, avoiding all eye contact.

“i- please, i’m so embarrassed. i’m sorry. you don’t need to pay me for today.” you whisper.

he shakes his head, and grabs a robe that he had draped over the ottoman in front of his bed, and quickly threw it on. you stayed with the covers pulled up over your chest and the rest of your body, watching him carefully.

he approaches you cautiously, and without another word he pulls you into his embrace - warm and inviting, just like him.

it felt like the missing piece in your chaotic, incomplete puzzle that you called your life.

words failed you in that moment, but it felt foreign. the feeling of being loved, being comforted, being vulnerable was new to you. you didn’t know such feelings could exist - at least, you grew up thinking that anyway.

"i'm really sorry, i shouldn't have said that." he said softly, petting your hair gently. "no, it's- fine. i-i don't know why i reacted like that." you reassured him, not quite knowing the reason behind your erratic behaviour.

"we don't have to continue, okay?" he reassures you in a soothing tone, and you let yourself fall into the feeling of his touch and embrace for a moment too long, before coming to your senses.

"t-thank you," you mumble, "i just don't think i'm in a good head space right now."

"and that's okay." he reassures you once again - he was really good at that. "why don't we just end todays session and i'll see you again next week, same time?"

"yeah, okay. i'm sorry, robbie." you murmur, and robert could feel his heart beating rapidly as you said his name like that - the name you called him.

after that, you had left in a rush (and felt super unprofessional about it), profusely apologizing for what had happened but he kept telling you that it was okay.

once you got back to your place, you ran a hot shower for yourself to collect your thoughts and calm yourself down. after that, you got into bed and fell asleep quickly, exhausted from the day you had.

the next morning, you woke up feeling groggy, and frankly - still super embarrassed from yesterday. cringing at your own actions, you felt like you just wanted to curl up into a ball and never show your face again.

why did you react like that? why did you have to make a scene? why did robert's confession throw you off so badly?

deep down, you knew the answers to these questions.

you reacted like that because you grew up around constant chaos and poverty, you didn't know what it was like to be cared for, to be loved. you made a scene because for someone who's never known love, facing the unknown was terrifying.

but why did robert's confession throw you off? why?

you sat there in bed, wondering. wondering to yourself why he would want you of all people - some call girl he ordered because he was bored. why wasn't he with some other girl who had come from money like him? come from class? why would he chose you?

in that moment, it went right over your head, but his confession threw you off because you didn't feel worthy. you didn't know how to trust - you couldn't see yourself the way robert saw you, after all.

suddenly, you heard your phone buzz beside you. looking a the notification, you found yourself shocked. you had received an e-transfer from robert of double the normal amount he was paying you.

your jaw dropped and you had to re-read the numbers in your account to really make sure this was real. in a state of shock, you look through your contacts and give him a call in the spur of the moment.

"hello?" his slightly raspy morning voice answered, and you felt your heart do a little flip at the sound of it - but you pushed it aside.

"hey, robert, it's me," you say, taking in a breath, "i...you didn't have to pay me, i told you."

he sighed on the other line, "no, i shouldn't have...told you what i did. i'm sorry, i...i've been thinking about it."

you stayed silent, unsure of what to say next, but he continued talking regardless. "can we talk? i'll pay you for your time."

"you don't have to do that, robert. and yes, yeah let's, um, talk." you say to him, and the two of you arrange to meet at his at three.

you get yourself ready, doing your hair in your favourite hair style and your makeup all glamorous, throwing on your favourite saint laurent heels with a matching satin mini dress.

you rush out the door, and hopped into your car, speeding off to his place. usually, he would send a driver out to yours, but you were off the clock. he insisted over the phone, but you urged him that you could drive and it was fine.

as soon as you got to the building of his penthouse, he buzzed you in and you made your way up the elevator. after knocking on the door, he opened it with a small smile on his face. he was wearing the usual - suit and tie, of course.

as he welcomed you in, he told you about the meeting he had at his office earlier that day - hence the whole suit and tie getup.

"anyways, i'm sure i'm boring you with the details about my work meeting." he says, laughing softly and you smile. "not at all, it's refreshing to hear you talk about other parts of your life besides...you know, the usual stuff we talk about."

he smiled back at you, but it seemed he was having trouble getting his words out - he didn't know how to tell you what he wanted to tell you.

"er, please know that, fuck- i just, i didn't mean to scare you away with what i said." he stammered, clearly flustered.

"...what did you mean, robert?" you ask meekly, avoiding eye contact. he slowly steps a little closer, closing the gap between the two of you.

"i have feelings for you." he says, voice strained out of sheer nervousness.

"don't say that," you sigh, "this- us, it isn't real. it's just like, playing pretend."

you so desperately wanted to say, "me too, i fell for you too," but your insecurities stopped you. even though you worked in a profession where you were paid to be pretty, paid to look good as arm candy, you felt inadequate all the time. you didn't feel pretty - you felt indifferent. sometimes, you didn't even know who you were.

there was a lot of baggage that came with you, but it was nothing that would ever scare robert off.

"i know what it's like to 'play pretend,'" he said, emphasizing his words with air quotations, "i've done that for the last ten years of my life - with every woman i've ever dated. they pretended to like me for me and not my money, and i pretended that i didn't see what they were really doing."

"you're literally paying me to sleep with you, robert. this is transactional." you say, trying to convince yourself into thinking that was the truth.

"god- it's not. it's not, you know it, i know it. we both know it." he exasperates, and you look away again as he continues. "i can feel it in the way you touch me, the way you look at me, the way you say my name, i can tell. and i know you can tell by the way i hold you, talk to you - the way i don't want anyone else but you."

as he confessed, you felt your cheeks go pink. you didn't realize that he was this much of a romantic - it was kinda cute. it was obvious that he was so serious about this, but you on the other hand...

you weren't too convinced. you had never received such attention, such care or such...love before.

"why are you lying to yourself?" his voice snapped you out of your anxious thoughts, and you finally found the courage to meet his gaze.

trying your hardest not to get lost in his ocean eyes, you manage to get a response out. "i-i don't know. i guess i just don't understand it. i don't understand how you could like, fall in love with someone who does...what i do."

he sighed softly, tilting your chin up with his finger, forcing you to meet his gaze once again. "let me help you understand, then."

one second you were trying to deny every lovey-dovey feeling you had for him - and the next his lips were on yours. it just happened so naturally.

in that moment, you could feel every insecurity, every anxious thought, every piece of pent up trauma and trust issues subside with him.

he wrapped his arms around your waist lovingly, holding you in his embrace as he kissed you softly.

you were off the clock, and so was he. neither of you were your personas anymore. you weren't just some call girl anymore (not that he ever saw you as just that), and he wasn't robert fischer of fischer morrow right now - he was just yours.

you were the first to pull away from the kiss, and you looked up at him with a small smile, which he returned.

"you have no idea how much i care about you." he whispered softly, "i wish you could see yourself in the way that i see you."

his words struck a chord for sure, and you felt yourself getting teary eyed again. "jesus, robert - stop making me cry." you laugh softly, trying to hold back the tears.

"i want to know who you are - not the usual work stuff. tell me about your life." he said softly, keeping you close.

and so you did - you did exactly that. that evening, you had spent the whole time getting to really know each other. from childhood memories to what you ate for breakfast that day - no parts left out. he told you about himself too, and finally, you felt safe.

you finally felt like the years of walls you had built up were gradually coming down, and all the baggage you accumulated over the years was slowly fading.

you looked over the terrace of your suite in your lace slip, taking in the beauty of the eiffel tower which you could see from your luxurious hotel room.

"s'pretty, just like you." robert says, wrapping his arms around you from behind, placing a soft kiss behind your ear. "good morning, mrs. fischer."

ah, that's right.

you were mrs. fischer now - newly married and happier than ever. after that fateful night in roberts penthouse, the two of you just clicked. it was fate, no - destiny. it was like something you had never known before, the pull between you two was on a metaphysical level, and for once, you didn't fight the fall.

now, nearly three years later, you were taking in the gorgeous view of paris in the early morning on your honeymoon.

your wedding was beautiful - private and intimate - but beautiful. it was just the way you imagined it would be; everything you dreamed of. robert had proposed to you a week after you graduated from your program in college, and the two of you were happily in love - still happily in love, and always would be happily in love.

you decided to quit your call girl job, as there was no longer a need to work anymore at all. robert covered all of your finances, never once did you ever pick up the bill with him. he supported you in everything that you did, always being there for you and showing up for you when you most needed him.

he never judged you, never belittled you, never made you doubt how much he loved you. it was like he had superpowers with the way he was able to permeate through all the past trauma you had. it didn't matter to him if you were working in the escort business before he came along; he simply didn't care.

your past is in the past for a reason, that wasn't you anymore. you were a different woman now. softer and no longer had her guard up constantly. sometimes, you felt like he knew you better than you knew yourself.

because he loved you for you. he taught you how to be grateful for yourself, to show up for yourself, to love yourself the way he loved you.

"i love you so much, honey. god, i love everything about you." he said softly, kissing down your neck, making you giggle.

"mm, i'd love to see me from your point of view." you say, taking in the breathtaking view of paris, and your new life.

[tumblingxelian]

Chloe Bourgeois - Not a Typical Mean Girl

No, I am not going to sit here and talks about Chloe's family, or issues, or one writers seeming obsession with her. No!

I am here to discuss what I think is a very common misunderstanding about Chloe's character and the show in fandom that often crops up in discussion regarding her.

Namely that the thing Chloe needs most is to be chastised, rejected & punished for her mean behavior, that will sort her out!

As though that wasn't already a thing that happens?

Bear with me and I'll explain that claim first:

The school does not like punishing any students. The only reason Alya was punished for coordinating an effort to break into Chloe's locker is because Chloe threatened the principle. The only reason Marinette was almost expelled was because Lila framed her for cheating, theft & assault all in one day & she still needed to make a scene of the whole affair. There's one teacher that punishes students, but she does so unfairly, cruelly and haphazardly and in season 1, Chloe was not shown getting any special treatment from her. Special treatment from the faculty was not a thing unless we are counting later retcons.

So now that the faculty is out of the way, wat I mean is that Chloe is not a typical mean girl because she is not popular.

In stuff like Mean Girls, Heathers and so on, the usual standard is that the mean girls are mean, but they are also revered, beloved, popular in one way or another despite their horrible behavior.

This is not the case with Chloe.

Even in Season 1 where only Marinette & Nino seems to start the season disliking Chloe. (Her presence unpleasant but hardly traumatic given the Origins level bickering) Chloe was still not widely well liked by the class or school.

She had one friend in Sabrina and a second oh so briefly in Adrien, which did let her absorb some of his celebrity by proximity. But within 48 hours of having him she lost him; with Adrien becoming more distant to divorce himself from her behavior.

That's it and while one can say her haughty attitude and ego are the reason we know from season 2 she is aware everyone hates her & it upsets her.

S1-Chloe did get invited to some class events, but even then her presence was not largely welcomed with most far less prone to be patient with her than they were with others even if they exhibited similar behavior. Such as Kim bullying Ivan, or Nino expressing blatant frustration with Mylene, ETC.

By late season 2 she was pretty much entirely segregated from her peers, barring Sabrina, and her presence welcomed with shades of disinterest, disdain or outright hostility. Sometimes evoked on her part or just in general.

This is a big difference from the usual Mean Girls = Popular Girls trend but I often don't see it acknowledged in fandom discourse.

This especially feels to be the case given so often I see people arguing Chloe "needs" to be rejected, or told her behavior is bad, or that no one likes her... But she is, all the time, she is entirely aware people don't like her and unhappy about it.

The issue is not that her bad behavior is being rewarded in school. The issue is that bad behavior is what she was taught at home and what is encouraged there and what is shown to work for her parents. But it doesn't work for her and she doesn't know why, because no one really bothers to teach her why. hey just get angry and snap at her or ignore her.

& sure you can say its not her peers job to explain morality o empathy to someone who was explicitly taught by their father how to cheat at & win elections by intimidation. But the fact is no one at home is going to do so because they are modelling, encouraging & teaching the opposite up until it impacts 'them' personally.

Not sure if there's a greater point to this, but...

I often find people acting like the thing Chloe needs is for her bad behavior not to be 'rewarded' or 'indulged' by her class and to instead be 'rejected' and for her to face 'consequences'.

But she does! That's basically all she does; & When she doesn't usually an Akuma tries to murder her anyway!

So yeah, Chloe isn't a typical mean girl.

She's actually deeply unpopular among classmates and the school has a discipline issue all over, it didn't come from her.

More negativity is not going to magically make her "better".

[yingjiaoyue]

Jiao Yue's Ex Reference Sheet

Meet Dong Syaoran! (His name means "Winter Wolf")...

He was born at a highly respectable family. He's currently 27. He's smart, naturally charming, strategic, and presentable to the public. He owns a restaurant in the city and knows a lot about entrepreneurship. He was also one of Mr. Ying's partners in business. But despite all that good public picture, he's not the kind of person most people think he is...

Syaoran & Jiao Yue's History...

(W: Toxic Relationship)

As mentioned, they used to date back at high-school. Though things happened and Jiao Yue had to left him. But why?...

As I've said, Syaoran isn't the perfect kind of man most people think he is because he is actually manipulative, controlling, and possessive towards her before. Back when they were still dating, whenever Syaoran didn't get what he wanted, he tended to let out his anger or frustration towards Jiao Yue. When Syaoran does something wrong to Jiao Yue, he gaslights her that it wasn't his fault. He also constantly uses emotional manipulation to get what he wants from her (validation, trust, materialistic items, etc.) Their relationship lasted for about 2 years and a half, starting from he was 18 to 20.

___

During the first year of their relationship, Jiao Yue and Syaoran had an ideal relationship. They were both comfortable with each other, safe and happy too. But it changed when Jiao Yue tells Syaoran about her true identity (her being a senri) and that she may have hunt people before and killed them when she was venting to him. Syaoran felt a bit uneasy though he didn't want to show he was scared so starting from that day, he shows little signs of dominance towards their relationship and would also begin to get toxic towards her. Syaoran would constantly say things like:

"You think you're better than me?" (Dominance assertion)

"I gave you everything I had!" (Guilt-tripping)

"Are you going to cheat on me?" (Making her look like she's the toxic)

"How could you say that! It was never my fault! If you didn't brought that discussion up then we wouldn't be fighting, you started this!" (Gaslighting)

Etc- (other toxic stuff)

___

Jiao Yue finally ends up leaving him when she also caught him cheating on her with another girl. Of course, she also decided to delete and remove all contact she has on him and had gained a lot of issues from now and then. (Trust Issues, Attachment-Issues, Being Emotionally Unstable, Constantly needing Reassurance, Etc.) But now at least he is out from her life..... for now.

Extra Note

Their ship name is called "SnowMoon" cuz yeh brr

Ngl... I may reconsider of bringing Syaoran to the comic for some angst <3

Oh and drama for Lunareclipse/Bluemoon..

So yeah, that's all! Sorry for the delay ahh school so busy TvT.. I will be answering any questions about Syaoran! :3

[whateversawesome]

Spy x Family Chapter 98: An Explosion

Let's start with the most important thing and we'll go from there. Ready? This panel:

Blink and you'll miss that insignificant comment from someone we don't even know their name. Nevertheless, given the implications of Project Apple, this panel is huge! Because, even if back then it was just a rumor, there's a chance it could also be true. Project Apple could have started during the first conflict. This leads me to the following theory:

Anya's biological parents were prisoners of war.

The story about Twilight as a soldier, Martha and Henry, as well as Millie, Franky, and even the Lady Patriots Society tell us about the dehumanization of the enemy. So yeah, it's very possible that it was acceptable for either side to do anything they wanted with captured enemies, that includes experimentation.

And by prisoners of war, I'm not only referring to soldiers and medical personnel, but also spies. Wouldn't it be funny if Anya's birth parents were also spies? It's too soon to tell, but it's so much fun to speculate 😆

At the beginning, it's stated that Anya was created by accident:

Maybe she was "an accident" between two prisoners of war or between a prisoner of war being experimented on and a scientist 🤔

So here's another crazy idea: Everyone thinks that Anya learned Classical Language because it was used in the lab by scientists, but what if it was her biological parents the ones who taught her that language in order to be able to communicate with each other?

At some point, I thought that even if we learned about Anya's past there was a possibility we would never know about her parents, now I think we will.

About the Chapter

Clearly, SXF is an anti-war story that wants to show us how terrible war is for EVERYONE. That's why big and small characters, side or main, have been affected greatly by war.

I'm sure plenty of people will talk about Martha and Henry's love story. After this chapter, I think it's clear that they probably were separated by war and that Henry had to marry to save himself, leaving Martha up in the air. (I know I am a fool, but I keep hoping she's the one he married, but I don't think so 😭)

Anyways, leaving the cautionary semi-tragic love story aside (Ahem, watch out Twilight and Yor)...I see what the author is trying to do: The story shows us very clearly what happens to every person when pushed to their limits, when they and their families are in danger. It's a story about loss, loss, and more loss.

The story is trying to make the readers root for peace and be very adamant against war. This is a masterclass on "Show, don't tell." So even if a lot of these stories seem insignificant because it's about side characters, they are meant to influence the readers' point of view about war, so when it reaches the main characters, we all know what could happen to them. These stories are meant to raise the stakes for the main characters.

Now, I've said it before: It's very possible that close to the climax of the story, Ostania and Westalis will be at the verge of a third conflict. By then, we'll know much more about the main characters' background as well as many other stories of side characters affected by war (don't be surprised if The Garden was created as a consequence of it). So when we're close to the end, when war is about to happen, we'll know exactly what could happen to the Forgers, because it has already happened to so many people: loss.

Something to Keep in Mind

The more the story moves forward, the more curious I am about the Desmonds. Since all of the characters were affected by war, I'm wondering how were the Desmond affected? Melinda certainly has issues (did this happen during and because of the war?) and Donovan Desmond is still a BIG question mark. It easy to relate to what normal characters feel. If any of us were going through something similar, we would be terrified too. However, how is it for someone in charge? How did Desmond see and suffer war? I really want to know.

One Last Thing

If in two chapters focusing on two side characters Endo has managed to create such a beautiful love story, can you image what he plans to do with Twiyor, which is the main couple of the story??

I know I say this a lot, but after seeing this my expectations are high and I am convinced it'll be worth the wait.

Food for thought.

[dixonsemoboy]

comfort. ₊˚ෆ˚ 🐇

male! reader x daryl dixon

plot: daryl gives you your much needed comfort. (sigh i feel weird saying comfort twice but i can't think of any other word right now.)

warnings: shitty, rushed writing but it's okay i'm just a boy, reader has daddy issues, non-sexual use of the word daddy.

You've been in bed all day so far, haven't got up to shower, haven't got up to eat, haven't even got up to use the restroom. You've been like this for a couple weeks so far, staying in your room, pushing everybody away. Everybody in the group has taken notice of this, especially Daryl, but he and the rest of them know better than to force you, so they mostly just let it be.

But Daryl couldn't go like this any longer, watching you slowly become worse and hit rock bottom. It pains him more than anything else in the world. He had to do something about it.

You hear the thumping of steps and soon the sound of your bedroom door creaking open, revealing Daryl in the doorway. He keeps his head down and awkwardly steps in, closing the door behind him. He looks at you. You're in bed, facing the wall, curled up in a fetal position with your knees to your chest. He presses his lips together into a thin line as he contemplates on what to say.

"Ya alrigh'? Haven't been outta bed all day," he speaks softly.

You glance at him, then back at the wall. The room reeks of silence for a good moment until you mumble something barely audible.

"Fine."

He crosses his arms over his chest and gets a little closer to you, looking down at your curled up form. "Ya ain't." He pauses for a second. "Ya've been doin' this a lot, not leavin' yer room. Somethin's wrong. Don't lie t'me."

You're not sure what to say, so you just hum in response, not seeming to interested in the conversation.

He lets his arms fall back to his sides and sighs. "Look, I ain't gonna force anythin' outta ya, but ya gotta talk t'someone eventually. Ya can't jus' keep goin' on like this."

You turn your head to look at him, your eyebrows furrowing. "Like what?" you question, your tone slightly aggressive.

"Like this." he snaps as he swings his arm towards your direction.

You look at your surroundings: used dishes, some with uneaten food on them, empty bottles, and dirty clothes covering your floor and nightstand. It's a complete wreck. You feel your stomach drop a little. You're sick, and you know you're sick, but staring at it, really taking in just what state you're in, what you're doing to yourself, it does something to you, something unexplainable that makes your bottom lip start to quiver, but you're quick to hide it.

"'S not healthy," his voice softens, along with his gaze. He saunters over to your bed, sitting on the edge of it, looking at you, concern displayed on his face. "'M worried about ya. Ya ain't even eaten yet today, have ya?"

You're eyes are locked on him, just staring. You don't respond.

He reaches up to rest his hand on your thigh. You feel the firmness of it against your skin through the blankets. The touch is calming.

"Somethin's goin' on wit' ya. Like I said, ya ain't gotta tell me, but 'm always here if ya need t'talk, y'know that right? I love ya 'n' I care about ya."

Hearing those words made you crumble. Your body tensed and a lump built in your throat, your eyes swelling up with tears, your bottom lip starting to visibly quiver.

Daryl instinctively pulled you close to him as he saw the tears.

"C'mere, sweetheart," he uttered, putting his hands under your armpits and lifting you into his lap gently. His big arms encaged your body, cradling you as if you were a baby, one arm under your knees and the other against your back, your face pressed against his chest as you cried.

You felt safe like this, in his arms. It was as if he was shielding you from all the bad in the world. It was the first time in your life you've ever been held like this, comforted like this, have someone show so much love towards you. You didn't know it was possible. "I got ya, shh, shh, 's alrigh'."

Words spill out of your mouth faster than you can think, shaky and barely coherent. "'M-.. 'm sorry, Daryl. 'M jus' so tired, 'm so t-tired.."

He holds you closer and wipes the tears from your red face with his thumb, pressing a kiss to your hair. "Shh, I know, baby, I know. Ya ain't gotta apologize fer nothin'."

His words fulfilled your entire body, spinning inside your head like all of your worries, but this time it was something better, something you've been yearning to hear for a while, something that warms you. It just makes you sob harder, body practically shaking in his arms. You can't speak, or do anything for that matter, just let Daryl hold you, keep you in this cocoon of warmth. You never wanted this moment to end.

He was treating you in a way your father didn't even do. This man, this treasure of a man you somehow stumbled across in the dark world of the apocalypse, treated you better than your father did. How? Why? Why you? Why were you the one who was picked by the gods above to receive this gift? You didn't deserve him, you didn't deserve anything good in life in your head.

You wanted to tell him, tell him how much he meant to you. He deserves it, you knew that after he told you about his childhood. He deserved the love he never received, but you couldn't form words. You just held him as tight as possible, hoping he'd get the signal, what you're trying to tell him. I love you, I trust you, thank you for being here.

He could feel the tightness of your grip. You were holding onto him like he was gonna slip away if you even dared to let go. His hands tightened around you too. He could make out your message. You've told him about your bad past, about your father, how he's impacted your life harshly, just as he did with you. He knew you needed some type of parental figure in your life, with how young you were. You needed someone to guide you. Maybe, just maybe he could take on that role.

"Shh, breathe fer me. 'M here. Daddy's got ya. Daddy's got ya, sweet boy. Jus' breathe," he speaks, his tone gentle, as if he was talking to a fussy baby.

His words made your breath get caught in your throat, the world stopping around you. Daddy. Sweet boy. It was like you were a little boy again, being nurtured. You were a fussy baby, being held and soothed oh so tenderly once more. Your breathing suddenly slowed and the hurt in your throat eased as Daryl pressed another little kiss to your hair.

"There ya go. Jus' like tha'. Good boy," he praised, the gruffness of his voice vibrating against your ear, his forehead against yours.

He continued petting your hair and whispering sweet words into your ear. He comforted you in a way nobody else could. He was your father right now. You felt safe in his arms. He wouldn't let anything hurt you whatsoever.

It took some time, but you eventually calmed down, and Daryl was with you for the entire time, holding you the whole way through.

As he heard your sobbing turn into nothing but soft sniffles his grip loosened on your body, letting you take your face out of his chest to look up at him, your eyes glossy and your face tinted with a light shade of pink.

He flashed a grin, something that you didn’t get to see very often. You appreciated the sight, even if it was small.

“Better?” he questioned, stroking your hair, moving a couple strands out of your face.

You nodded, giving a hum of confirmation.

“Mhm,” you let your head loll to the side, back on Daryl’s chest.

“Anythin’ I can do fer ya? Ya hungry? Thirsty?” there was genuine concern in his voice. He wanted to put you at ease in anyway he could.

“Mm-mm,” a purr came from your throat. You were too tired, too weak to speak clearly. You felt all limp and fuzzy inside now that you’ve got the cry out that you’ve been needing to release for ages, “sleep.”

He let out an understanding grunt, standing up with you in his arms and resting you back down on your worn out mattress again, reaching for the blanket and covering you with it, making sure to tuck you in nicely.

You buzzed sleepily, cuddling up in the blanket and closing your eyes, feeling your exhaustion begin to overtake you. Daryl stared for a moment, admiring you. You were a sleeping beauty in his eyes, to say the least. You looked so peaceful. He leaned down hesitantly, letting his lips brush against your hair, kissing it then standing up to his full height again.

He turned, starting for the door. He grabbed the doorknob, turning it before he heard your voice again, making him stop and turn his head towards you, your eyes open again, glazed over with sleep.

“Stay, please.”

He grunted, then blinked, his hand falling from the door. He hesitated. Daryl was never much of a cuddler, he thought it was too sappy, but if his boy wanted something, he’d damn well give it to him, no matter what.

He strutted to the bed, his head bowed slightly. The bed creaked under his body weight. He reached down, shuffling his boots off of his feet, hitting the ground with a thud.

He placed his hands on the sheets of the bed and crawled to you, until he was right next to you. He lays down, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close.

You bury your face in his neck and let your hands roam around his body, feeling the cold leather of his vest beneath your hands, sending a shiver down your spine. A yawn escapes you and you close your eyes once more, now content and able to sleep.

He holds you tight as he watches you slowly drift off, stroking your back. Once he hears the soft snores coming from you, he lets himself rest too, nuzzling his face into your hair with a grunt. “Night, sunshine..”

this is short but it literally took me a month to write. ive just been so lazy lately thats mb 😿

ALSO!!

I HIT OVER 100 FOLLOWERS ?? OML THANK U GUYS SM !! I LOVE U !! 💗💗💗

[shirtlessradfahrer]

So I've been politically active since before I was even eligible to vote. I've followed North American politics near religiously since 2014, and I've been a card-carrying member of my country's most prominent left-wing party since before the start of the pandemic. I barely slept at all during the week Ukraine was full-scale invaded, and I've been stressed about it every day for the last two years, given that my grandfather was born there and I've very much wanted to visit someday. And this was all before the horrific debacle of October 7th, and the subsequent atrocities committed against Gaza practically every day since. Lately I've weaned myself off a lot of international news and been more active in local politics because that's where I feel my efforts have been more effective, but...

...the reality is I am tired. I am so fucking tired.

I blacklisted just about everything remotely political when I made this blog because I wanted this space to be my escape from all of that. He is my escape from all of that. A badly needed one, because between the state of the world, the state of my country, the state of my workplace and the state of my personal life, my mental health has been....not very good for most of this decade and last.

I know this is unhealthily cynical, but as someone who had some pretty shitty friends in the past, and continues to have some incredibly shitty family members, including my own father (who, despite having Käärijä levels of charisma and putting on an excellent act in public, has repeatedly hurt me and let me and others down when we needed him most)....I expect famous people I admire to disappoint me. I very much expect famous men I admire to disappoint me. It may be in three days, or in three months, or in three years, or in thirty years, but it will happen at least once, if not multiple times.

Which is why I don’t-and never have-looked up to musicians or any other celebrity for guidance on my political or moral beliefs. It's a surefire way to set yourself up for not only disappointment but feelings of betrayal towards someone who was never "loyal" to you in the first place. And I wish so many people didn't learn that lesson far too late.

I don't like Jere Mikael Pöyhönen because of his insightful commentary on the state of geopolitics. To be extremely blunt, I like him because he's hot and he entertains me, both of which bring me happiness. Once I no longer feel that happiness, I'll move on to other interests, just as I always have. It would be very nice, however, if that day came in thirty years rather than in three. Which is why I felt relief when he expressed his wish to remain politically neutral, even regarding politics in his own country.

That being said....am I disappointed he went to you-know-what? Yes, for reasons both political and non-political. Am I disappointed that he willingly interacted on camera with you-know-who? Yes. In fact there are several things he has done and people he has associated with that I'm not particularly happy about. But in this case do I understand WHY he went and why he interacted with them? Also yes.

I don't believe he had any malicious intent, quite the opposite. His kindness is both his greatest strength and his greatest weakness-he is kind to the point that he foolishly undermines his own credibility. I don't know if there's an equivalent of Hanlon's Razor in Finnish but it goes "never attribute to malice that which is adequately explained by stupidity".

And.....well. This is a guy who couldn't tell the Ukrainian esc23 representatives from the Greek ones. Who didn't know what the trans flag was until he was personally handed one last year. Who, AFAIK, has never received any sort of higher education (vocational school would still sort of be considered such where I live, but whatever) not that that automatically makes someone "smart" and others "stupid", but it can and often does help with understanding international issues. And based on my overall experience with hockey fans/players (of which he's both)...they typically aren't terminally online debating anything besides individual player and team statistics.

So I'm not shocked that he didn't think about how Just Being Nice on camera with that representative would look to others outside of his own bubble. How that would not have looked particularly "neutral". But he should have, considering this isn't the first time he's had to deal with angry internet mobs coming after him for a relatively minor mistake. Considering his favourite band got into very hot water last year and dealt with the controversy very poorly for too long.

Is it fair that I can block some tags, turn off the tv, and get on with my day, while he has to worry about his image the moment he leaves home? No. But...this is the inevitable downside of the life he wanted. Unlike me, he now has an audience of millions, a not-insignificant number of whom are going to be thinking about this stuff, meaning he needs to as well. And if not, he needs to pay someone to think about it for him. Goodness knows he can afford it now. I can do without all that pyro if it means none of us have another week like this one.

[starlightkun]

⇢ teaser word count: 2.2k | series word count: 67.8k ⇢ warnings: past unethical experimentation, brief blood and gore descriptions (some human and some non-human), you have to accept the premise of a single human empire in space in the future with colonies and a military and not think deeper about that ⇢ genre: sci-fi, set in the near-ish future, humans and aliens and robots, black op mission, captain kun, ?????? reader, slow burn, fluff, dash of angst, ft. wayv as the crew of the vision ⇢ extra info: took a lot of obvious inspo for this one from isaac asimov’s robot stories, specifically his concept of positronic brains & the three laws of robotics (and if you’ve read any of his stories, you’ll probably be able to see some other places too) ⇢ estimated release date: saturday, may 18, 2024 6:00 p.m. eastern time ⇢ series masterlist

The air smelled like blood, burned electrical components, and whatever horrible odor came from blood getting onto electrical components as they sparked. All the blood wasn’t human, you could tell that, too. Skipper blood always stung your nose like rubbing alcohol. It was pitch black in the space you were hiding in, or maybe it was just nighttime. You should be scared, but your heart wasn’t beating fast for some reason.

Two pairs of heavy footfalls. One was heavier than the other. Walking, so definitely not Skippers. Both were still too light to be heavier races.

They slowed to a stop outside your hiding spot, and you really hoped they couldn’t read the Outspacer controls that would open the otherwise impossible-to-see door. After all, it was a language that had been dead for hundreds of millions of years, there was no way—

“Hey, Zennie, you got a read on these?” A man’s voice came from nearby, muffled by both the wall and presumably a helmet as well. Human, or related species.

You couldn’t hear this ‘Zennie’s reply, as it most likely came through the comms in his helmet, but you could hear the man’s side of the conversation.

“Oh, of course, how dare I, a mere meatsack, doubt your high-and-mighty artificial intelligence,” he replied with fake deference. “Yeah, yeah, I know that’s not what you meant. Alright, so just tell me which one’s the self-destruct button so I don’t press it?”

“Move, Wong, before you blow us up.” Another voice interjected. “ZEN? You said it’s a passageway? Oh, safe shelter. Bit different, don’t you think? Mind translating the dead language right the first time?”

He paused as he probably listened to Zen’s reply, then continued, “So? You know which one’s the open button?”

You couldn’t go anywhere. The hideout you were in was designed to hold only a few people for weather emergencies, to be structurally sound; not to have a back door in case you needed to escape intruders. You just had to hope Zen was completely wrong and they wouldn’t get it open.

Click.

There goes that.

The door dematerialized, and the rancid smell from before became even stronger. A man peered in barrel-first, and you recoiled back from the sudden light flooding your vision. You couldn’t press yourself any further back into the corner, but you still turned your head away to shield your sensitive eyes.

It only took a couple strides for one of the men to reach you, the other stayed back in the hallway, keeping his rifle fixed on you. The man stood over where you were sitting on the floor—your legs had gotten tired of standing after so long—and lowered his gun slightly so you could see the entirety of the front plate that covered his face. It was a reflective shield that gave you no clue to who was behind it, only let you see a warped, thinned and stretched version of yourself cowering in a corner. His armor was an improved version of the standard issue United Human Navy, if the insignia on both of his shoulders didn’t make that clear enough. It looked the same as the standard issue, but the heft of his footsteps had belied a weight difference that wasn’t explained by his stature or build, so it must be the grade of material.

“Are you hurt?” His voice came through an external speaker on his helmet. He was speaking in standard human. You couldn’t detect any sort of odd stiltedness or lag that sometimes happened with computer-assisted translations. He was assuming you understood standard human, and you did.

“No,” you replied, slowly uncrossing your arms to show your hands first, that you didn’t have anything hidden in them to attack him with. You still weren’t scared, for some reason.

“Oh, she’s pretty,” his companion commented from the hallway. The two of them must be sharing helmet feeds, as the one in front of you was definitely blocking most of you from his sight.

“Wong, shut it.” The outer speaker had been turned off for that, but it was still pretty clear to you.

“Sir, yes sir.”

“Can you stand?” His weapon was still at the ready, his finger resting above the trigger.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d wiggled your fingers and toes, and it felt good to do it. “Yes.”

He stepped back, the unexpressive mirror of his face shield watching as you pushed up from your half-sit half-crouch, bracing yourself against the wall. Your body instinctively took a deep breath to try to recover from the sudden exertion, but the vaporized Skipper blood burned your entire respiratory tract, and you coughed and spluttered trying to force it back out, catching yourself on the wall on your forearms to stay upright. The odor made your head swim, your eyes water, and your chest hurt like someone had put gasoline in your lungs and struck a match.

“Okay, woah, woah.” Two gloved hands were on your arms and back, helping you stay up. His voice was muffled again as he switched to his in-helmet comms, “Xiao, get over here! We’ve got a survivor! Yes, really, just look at my stream.”

Then, his voice was projecting to you once more, “Breathe, breathe.”

You felt the roughness of a thumb wiping at the tears running down your cheeks, the durable material of his glove scratching against your skin. He grabbed the front of your shirt collar, pulling it up towards your face at the same time he firmly pulled your hand down that had been covering your mouth as you wheezed. Positioning the material over your nose and mouth into a makeshift filter of some sort, he continued holding it there for you as you took a few breaths.

“Better?”

You nodded shallowly. The smell of Skipper blood still cloyed to your throat and lungs, but the shirt helped keep more from entering.

More footsteps from down the hall, then another pair entered the shelter.

“Holy shit…” Someone breathed out.

“I know, man,” the voice that you were already pretty sure was ‘Wong’ from earlier replied.

“How long has she been in here?” A fourth voice asked, belonging to the footsteps getting closer to you.

“I don’t know,” the man already with you answered. “Wong and I just found her while clearing this sector.”

“Okay, well, you mind, Captain?” He said indicatively. “Can’t examine my patient through you.”

“You got it?” The captain asked you, shaking the collar slightly.

You took it from him, holding it over the bridge of your nose yourself as he had been doing for you before. Looking into his face shield where you were pretty sure his eyes should be, you nodded firmly this time.

He didn’t step back until you felt another pair of gloves grabbing your elbows where he had been. The newcomer’s uniform differed from the others’ in one way, he had a neon green rectangular patch on his right arm below his UHN insignia, as well as a few other places—intergalactic signal for medic. It was removable for the wearer’s own safety, and his in particular was slightly askew, as if he’d just slapped it back on in a hurry.

The medic flipped through the pockets of a pack strapped to his thigh before pulling out a small disc of clear plastic and pushing that against your hand. “Here, this’ll work a lot better than your shirt.”

You accepted it, and he helped you orient it the right way over your nose and mouth. It was apparently a mask or rebreather of some sort. It wasn’t exceptionally bulky, and you could feel that there was some sort of fine mesh material on the inside. Immediately, you could tell the difference. The air coming into your lungs carried only the slightest tinge of lingering burning electronics smell, and while you could tell that there was Skipper blood, it didn’t burn, or make your head spin. It was just unpleasant.

“There. How’s that?”

You gave him a thumbs-up, the standard human gesture for good, since they all seemed to speak standard human. The mask didn’t allow much room for talking.

“Alright, good. Are you injured?”

You shook your head.

“Do you feel pain anywhere?”

You shook your head again.

“Good, good. I have more questions, but we should get somewhere you can breathe. Give me a second.” He looked upwards as if talking to the heavens, and his outer speaker turned off. “Liu? Professor? Did you finish clearing the building? Alright, ZEN, got readings on air quality for her?”

After a pause, both the medic, Xiao, and the captain, who had been hovering behind him the whole time, nodded.

“Thanks, ZEN.” Xiao’s speaker turned on, “Here, our teammates found somewhere that you can breathe. It’s going to be a little bit of a walk, though. Is that okay?”

You nodded. Your legs would just have to deal.

“It’s not pretty out here…” The only one that hadn’t been identified to you in passing called out as a warning from his position in the hallway with ‘Wong.’

You turned around and pushed off the wall as your answer.

Stepping into the hall, you knew why you had smelled that particular concoction of smells. Just off to your left were two dead Skippers, their uniquely-articulated hind limbs that gave them their distinct gait—and consequently, the questionably flattering nickname from humans—stuck out at awkward angles now. Dark purple sludge seeped out from under their armor, Skipper blood. On the outside of the armor were smears, streaks, and splatters turned a gleaming ruby red under the emergency lights, human blood.

You couldn’t see any dead humans, or pieces of them, in this corner, but you remembered what the captain had called you. A survivor. Which meant there were others who didn’t survive.

“Come on.” It was the captain who ushered you the other direction from the Skipper bodies. “This way.”

Their helmets must have been mapping out the facility as the unit cleared it and displaying a route in all of their HUDs, because the four of them moved as if they knew the building like the back of their hand. The captain and Xiao flanked you on either side, with Wong at the front and the fourth unnamed one at the rear. You couldn’t tell if it felt more like a protection detail or a prisoner transport.

You kept your eyes on your feet not only so you didn’t have to see all of the mutilation, or to keep from stepping in something, but to avoid the unsettling, cold dread slowly sinking over you when from the moment you caught a look at the first dead human you passed by with her remarkably in-tact face, dandelion yellow blouse and lab coat, and realized you didn’t recognize her. When you inhaled sharply and shot your eyes down to your feet, you could tell that the captain noticed. He turned his head just ever so slightly towards you, off of the consistent path it had been before, and he paused, then went back to keeping watch.

They weren’t kidding when they said it was a bit of a walk. You could feel the muscles in your legs get sore, then start twitching, then start shaking, but you didn’t even consider asking to stop.

“Woah, Liu, slow down!” The captain ordered into his headset. “Okay, yeah, I see it. Don’t touch anything. We’re just sweeping right now, remember?”

“Great, the kid’s found more toys,” the one behind you snorted.

Xiao and Wong suddenly erupted into more laughter than that statement warranted you were pretty sure.

Wong then informed him with a snicker, “Mic’s on, Ten.”

“You say that as if I wouldn’t have said that to his face, too,” the one now finally identified as Ten retorted.

“ZEN, the mics, please?” The captain sighed. “Thank you.”

“Now he’s going to whine that we were shit talking him behind his back,” Xiao groaned. “Again.”

“Well we are,” Ten laughed.

“If he just stopped acting like a baby, Captain here wouldn’t have to step in and put him in time out all the time,” Wong clicked his tongue.

“You think he’s the one in time out right now?” The captain replied dryly.

You couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle into your mask, trying to cover it up with a cough when all four of their reflective shields whipped around to face you, as if they’d forgotten you were there. After an uncomfortable stretch of silence, they all shifted back into their watchful stances.

The captain suddenly spoke again, “Yes, Professor? Okay, sure… ZEN, put that on everyone’s HUDs.”

The lack of commentary from any of them for seemingly several minutes was startling, and you weren’t sure if you wanted to know what this ‘Professor’ was showing them.

“We’re going to have to go back there after dropping Xiao and her off, aren’t we?” Wong was the first to speak.

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to,” Ten sighed.

“Or already know the answer to,” the captain said. “If she has any wounds that Xiao needs to tend to, one of you will stay to keep guard. If not, it’ll be Ten and Wong with me to meet up with Liu and the Professor, and Xiao will stay with her.”

“Alright, Ten,” Wong rolled out his neck. “Rock paper scissors?”

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[ddollfface]

𝐀 𝐒𝐞𝐥𝐟𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐲

𝙆𝙞𝙮𝙤𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙞 𝙆𝙖𝙩𝙤𝙪 𝙔𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙃𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙘𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙣𝙨 (𝙋𝙖𝙧𝙩 1.)

Warnings; reader is a girl, yandere behaviors, misogyny, groping, letters/stalking, Kiyosumi is just an asshole, obsessive thoughts/idealizations, ngl this is a little rushed, bad writing, and me rambling some more :) If I missed anything, then please let me know ♡ Heyy, this is part two for the Kiyosumi headcanons. I'm still so confused as to why there's a word limit on Tumblr, nor do I know how I'm exceeding it?? Like I swear I've seen other authors go far pass what I'm writing (?). I don't know man... but we live on anyways :/

The second type of reader I can see Kiyosumi with is a spit-fire darling, someone who doesn't take any shit, and will call you out on it. She may or may not have some anger issues, willing to scream in your face if she thinks you've disrespected her (or someone she's close to). I like to think of this darling as an enemies-to-lovers troupe, and this darling is likely a fighter of some sort, bonus points if she practices karate.

Now, Kiyosumi originally hates you, absolutely wanting nothing than to tear you into pieces, pound his fist into your face.

Everything about you pisses him off, down to your stupidly soft hair, your firey eyes, your smooth skin, and god dammit, your muscles look abnormally nice today-

Okay, he may have a thing for you, but what can he say? You're a girl in the martial arts world, something that's not common whatsoever. And you're mildly attractive, just a pretty thing to look at, that's what he thinks anyway.

Kiyosumi will try to degrade you, saying that you're just a trophy wife, some inclusion hire, or some crap, anything to push off his feeling for you. He hates that he finds you attractive, strong, and all the things. He's jealous. He wants to be you, you, you.

Why do you get all the recognition? What does Doppo fawn over you, congratulating you on your success, teaching you new things? Why didn't he get that same treatment? It just isn't fair, he's just as good as you, no, he's better, stronger even.

Kiyosumi is no doubt a misogynist, someone who doesn't respect women on the level he should. He doesn't believe that women should be in the martial arts world, something about how they're far too weak, not capable enough to survive in that type of environment (if you're wondering, I think majority of the fighters have this type of sentiment, some more than others).

So imagine his surprise when he sees you waltzing into the arena/dojo, or whatever fighting environment the two of you are in. At first, he laughs, not beliving his eyes, then he's taken aback, eyes blown wide when you take down your opponet with ease. Now his ears are bright red, completely embarrassed that you clearly surpass him strength-wise.

I'm not too sure if you know this quote, but I first heard of it from this Holocaust survivor named Elie Wiesel, and he stated, "The opposite of love is not hate, but indifference..." I believe that to be immensely true, especially in this situation with a yandere Kiyosumi!

His hatred quickly turns into this selfish want, into a need to prove himself to you and keep you for himself. Though his thoughts were already twisted; how can they not? Especially when all he could think was how much better you'd look with your face crushed in, his hands bloody, and your legs contorted in all which ways (not like that). Nothing better than to see that kind smile wiped from your face, replaced with tear-stained cheeks and puffy eyes. Yeah... he likes that far better.

But what is he supposed to think when those dark desires become... warped. Now, when he thinks of you, he thinks of how pretty you'd look covered in... him, not blood, but something different. He begins to think you're pretty, not just covered in blood, with teary eyes, but in a sundress with your hair up. Not only that, but he stops cringing whenever you smile, instead, he thinks that the way your eyes crinkle is pleasing to the mind, or how your hair frames your face nicely. Your fighting style isn't stupid anymore. Now it's fuckin' awesome! And how dare those other men even glance at you while you look so badass? Who do they think they are? Do they think they even have a chance with a babe like you? Hell no, that's for him, him, him.

Oh boy, and when you meet Katsumi? Sheesh, that's when things go downhill. Kiyosumi is now paranoid, obsessing over you, you, you. Everything you do is monitored by Kiyosumi, whether you know so or not, wanting to know what you're doing at every waking moment. Kiyosumi has strayed from his original intentions. His feelings for you become warped as he slowly drifts further and further away from reality.

If you really think about it, Kiyosumi is like Katsumi but far grosser. Actually, I take that back. As yanderes, Kiyosumi and Katsumi are on the same level, but Katsumi hides behind this boy-next-door mask, allowing himself to get away with far more. Kiyosumi doesn't have that privilege, so he turns to... unorthodox methods of courting you.

Now you have these creepy ass fotos of you appearing at your work, doorstep, hell, even your purse! They're everywhere, and all you know is that it's from "K...", as your stalker titles it. (Kiyosumi is drunk out of his mind when he sends you these little letters, meaning his penmanship isn't the best... half the time he can't even write his whole name, leading to the K to be pronounced, but the rest of the letters to turn into scribbles lol)

Not only that, but now you feel like you're being watched, like there's a pair of eyes always on you, especially when you're taking a shower... creepy. It's as if there's some kind of shadow always looming over you, causing others to steer clear of you, not wanting to have to do anything with your stalker. It's as if he's right next to you.

And you have a hinting suspicion that it's Katou, seeing as he can't keep a straight face with you, baring his heart on his sleeve. Besides, you can't help but feel unwary whenever he's around.

He stands far too close to you, taking every chance to spare with you, touch you, smell you. Yeah... let's just say you've beaten his ass once or twice. The guy just won't take a hint! Now, it's beginning to piss you off, and you're just about ready to give him a piece of your mind!

Like who does this guy think he is? Touching you as if he has the right? Letting his hands wander down your thighs when you're just supposed to be having a friendly match, does he think you're going to let that slide? Yeah right! His advances just make you punch harder, and him fall deeper.

It's an endless cycle that's coming to a climax rapidly. This onesided romance is just brewing tension between the two of you, one is romantic, and definitely sexual, while the other one is spewing vile hatred.

Kiyosumi doesn't even take a hint when you scream in his face, telling him to fuck off. All he does is adjust his pants and grin, loving how heated you're getting, which just encourages your anger more.

He wants you to keep running your mouth. Yeah, get mad at him, yell at him, tell him how much you hate him. God, it really gets him hard when you talk to him like that, sweets. Don't you know you have quite the mouth? Don't worry, babe, he knows you love 'em, just give it time, time is all he needs.

[adragonsfriend]

Padme was not a Witness

I will never join the “Padmé was stupid to go to Mustafar” parade—she had valid reason to believe in the possibility of Anakin’s redemption—but there’s something awful in the fact that she didn’t have to witness either of his massacres.

Obi-Wan and Yoda walk past the bodies of their people—of their people’s children. Bail Organa goes to the temple and sees a kid get shot down trying to escape (more clones than Anakin, but still).

Padme hears about the second massacre after sitting in her apartment while the Temple was on fire. She’s told about them in vague terms. “I killed them like animals,” “he killed younglings,” She has a touch of denial when she goes to Mustafar partly because of her belief in Anakin, but partly because—I think—the Tuskan Massacre was never fully real to her. She understands it intellectually of course, but violence on that scale is difficult to conceptualise without seeing it, especially if it’s easier to just let it go. If she’d seen the bodies? Or seen Anakin kill them? She watched that one refugee kid die slowly, not at all violently, when she was working with the refugee organisation, and it affected her for the rest of her life. It is not a lack of caring on Padmé’s part that’s the problem.

Imagine being Obi-Wan listening to Padme saying “there’s still good in him,” after walking through the Temple, seeing the lightsaber marks on knights and children alike—not even to mention seeing her get strangled. It sounds not only wild, but honestly deeply offensive on more levels than one (besides the obvious issues it’s another, “train the boy,” prioritise Anakin over everything moment, except this time Obi-wan’s entire world has been torn apart, rather than just losing his Master)

If Padmé had actually been a witness to Anakin’s violence? If it was made present and visceral to her?

I think her opinions and her actions would’ve been different.

Thematically, it is crucial that when Luke goes to the second Death Star, he is under no illusions about who Anakin is or what he’s done, and in his most desperate moment he chooses to ask Anakin for help anyway. Padmé goes to him still a bit in denial, still a bit convinced things can return to how they once were. When she starts to push at the illusion, Anakin accuses her of betraying him and strangles her to shut her up, attempting to preserve the illusion (the difference between Anakin’s state at the time of his confrontations with Padmé and Luke is a whole other, very important topic). In part, her illusion allows Anakin to believe he can preserve the past (to be clear—he is the only one responsible for the choice to strangle her; Padme being imperfect is not an excuse for domestic abuse).

Side note, but if anyone is not sufficiently freaked out by Anakin strangling Padmé, it's important to know that strangulation is one of the flashing red warnings that physical abuse is doing to turn deadly, very, very quickly.

Luke’s complete and honest knowledge of Anakin’s worst self means there is nothing for Anakin to lose except his son, exactly as he is. No illusions, no wonderful past, not even any good memories together. Just his son.

To me, that’s one of several reasons (both thematic and logistical) why Padmé’s plea fails where Luke’s succeeds. None of those reasons has anything to do with her being stupid to go in the first place.

(There are some wonderful fanfics out there that show Padmé actually making her disapproval about the Tuskan massacre—both despite and because of her love—actively known during their marriage, and I think that interpretation of her is a stronger character than ROTS gives us, and more in line with what we’re shown in the first movie)

[lovelyjasmari]

Sweet Dreams for a Fair Queen aka VIL GET BEHIND ME

Hello everyone!

Currently, I’m still working on my addendum to my pomefiore arc analysis with the new content from the most recent JP update. I’m still waiting for all the translations to come in but I’m hoping to have it done by Monday or Tuesday. Honestly, I found that there is SO MUCH going on in this most recent update both good and bad. Too much to include in this addendum. Hence this separate post. 

Ironically, while my analysis was mainly focused on Vil and how he sees himself, the one thing from the most recent update that really needed a separate post was Vil himself. In this most recent update, we see the dreams of Vil, Epel, and Rook. I might talk about Epel’s later, and I’m saving Rook's for the addendum. But Vil’s…my god…SO MUCH to unpack, and unfortunately, none of it is good.

I don’t know if Yana was hit with a crowbar and developed amnesia while writing, or if she realized she did too good a job portraying the tragedy of Vil’s arc and had to backpedal, or if Disney took issue with Vil being too sympathetic because this is still a game based on villains. Either way, the way Vil is portrayed in his dream is SUCH a departure from his actual personality and morals that it bordered like a parody. His cruelty to Neige, how he spoke to Yuu and the others, and his generally conceded personality might be how a good deal of the fandom sees him, but this was NOT the true Vil Scheonheit we have come to know over the last four years. 

Unfortunately, Vil’s dream seems to have done even more damage to how this fucking fandom views him. I’ve seen many posts here and on the bird app saying how Vil’s dream proves his cruel personality isn’t just headcanon and that he is not beating the mean girl allegations anymore. It’s extremely upsetting because it’s true. Honestly, Vil is NOT beating the allegations and this time, it’s canon that is fucking him over. But before we dive deeper, and before I get too heated again, let’s look at Vil’s dream and how and why it goes against his established character so terribly. Finally, I will share with you all my own ideas of how I imagine Vil’s perfect dream would ACTUALLY play out. Obviously, spoilers ahead for the most recent update.

~~~

First, let’s quickly assess Vil’s character, to better understand why I’m so pissed. As a dorm leader, Vil is meticulous, tenacious and VERY altruistic. He genuinely cares for his dorm mates (and seems to have a soft spot for all the freshmen) and wants to see them become better people. And he goes to great lengths to see this through. Sometimes his methods come off as harsh and overwhelming but at some point even his most disgruntled subordinates come to understand why Vil is the way he is.

As an actor, he is equally tenacious but more importantly, desires that ALL his success come from his own efforts and not because he’s the son of such a famous actor and producer. To the point Vil went to the length of actually changing his legal last name to further distance himself from Eric’s legacy. It would be so easy for Vil to coast off his father’s success. Eric could probably secure for his son any role that he wants, including the heroic one that Vil so deeply desires. But such would be going against every value Vil holds and would open him up to accusations of nepotism. Further adding to the villainous image the public falsely has of him. 

And as for his dynamic with Epel, I know this is an unpopular opinion but the way Vil treats him is NOT abusive. I understand there is a cultural aspect to Vil’s issue with Epel’s speech patterns that was made worse by how EN translated it but even with that in mind, Vil’s demands aren’t really that unreasonable. He makes it clear from the jump that he takes no issue with his dialect and it could be argued that Vil being so hard on him is out of care for Epel. What do you think would have happened if Epel took up such an attitude with any other NRC student? He would regularly be getting his ass beat and Vil is trying to prevent that. Honestly I have a lot of opinions on Vil’s dynamic with Epel but they’ll have to wait for another time. 

And even then, it’s been implied a few times that Vil tries to help Epel out in ways that Epel doesn’t completely hate. Even if Vil doesn’t approve of Epel’s misogyny, he does accept his interests and understands he desire to be stronger. It’s further implied in Epel’s dorm vignette when Vil tasks him with creating the magical wheel for his film project because he knows that Epel would enjoy it.

So as we can see, Vil is probably one of the more upstanding characters in twst. His crimes, if you can call them that, can mostly be regulated by misunderstandings and he actually ends up subverting many of the expectations we’d have for a character type like his. Even when he overblots, how it happens is so removed from the other overblots (and even the ones that come after) that it’s actually incredibly tragic. 

Now, let’s look at how Vil is portrayed in his perfect dream world. 

Terribly, to put it lightly. Though I understand now one of the reasons we got the Tapis Rouge event. Anyway, in Vil’s dream, he’s still a mega famous actor, beloved by many fans. The main difference between this and real life is Vil himself. When away from his adoring fans, he’s shown to be conceited, arrogant and mean spirited. He speaks very insultingly to Yuu and the other characters and even threatens to curse them as well. Neige is also his assistant in this dream and Vil is downright abusive to him. Even Miranda Priestly was a kinder boss to Andy than Vil is to Neige here.

Later when Yuu and co attempt to wake Vil up, he ends up having another dream of the VDC. In this one, Vil actually SUCCEEDS in poisoning Neige, resulting in NRC Tribe taking first place. Despite the fact that this again goes against every value Vil holds and it was actually his guilt of what he could have done to Neige that caused his overblot in the first place. And despite the fact that Vil would be revolted at VDC victory at such a cost. EVEN MORE than if he had won with their imperfect performance. 

All in all, he seems more like a caricature of his archetype than the actual kind and complex character he actually is. The complete opposite of EVERYTHING we’ve seen from Vil thus far. Naturally, I took great issue with this, not only because this just feeds into the fandom’s misconceptions of Vil, but because it’s just not accurate. AT ALL! THIS IS LIKE A BAD FUCKING FANFICTION! 

Okay, okay, before I get too hot under the collar, let me actually explain why this is such an awful portrayal of a character I hold so dear to my heart. 

Departure from his canon personality: Despite being a famous actor and model celebrated for his incredible beauty, Vil is actually a very humble person. His nature is not naturally mean-spirited, and he’s not a spoiled brat. Even when people piss him off, he’ll make his displeasure known; make no mistake about that! But he’s always respectful and, in the instance during the Tapis Rouge event, sometimes even encouraging. Above everything else, Vil is never harder on people than he is on himself.

Oversimplifying/invalidating his disdain for Neige: Now I understand that Neige being Vil’s abused assistant is a reference to Snow White being the Evil Queen’s scullery maid. But based on everything we know and have seen from both Vil and Neige, the reference does a disservice to both their characters. I would even argue if the reference was really needed in the first place because Vil’s disdain for Neige was never so simple as just petty jealousy. There is an actual, unfair dichotomy between them that places Neige above Vil in the eyes of people like Rook and, ultimately, the public at large. Vil has every right to resent this and were he treated more fairly, he might even be more kindly disposed towards Neige. Because Vil isn’t a petty person. Neige clearly admires Vil and Vil at least respects Neige but the dichotomy between them unfortunately prevents them from having a healthier dynamic. I don’t know if this will make sense but I don’t believe Vil hates Neige, what he hates is what he represents. 

Disney vs Yana: Now, I wanna preface what I’m about to say next as it being COMPLETELY speculation of my own. I have no hand in creating twst and have no idea what goes into it beyond what Yana talks or tweets about. But I’ve always felt that Disney takes issue with their more heroic characters portrayed in a morally gray light. It would explain why we haven’t seen Prince Rielle, why we haven’t seen Farena despite there being a whole ass Sunset Savanna event, and why everything about Neige’s character actually works against him and why he should be seen as the fairest one of all. In this case, I wonder if Vil’s ooc dream could have resulted from Disney meddling. It wouldn’t be the first time something like this happened in a game Disney has a creative hand in; anyone who is a Kingdom Hearts fan and played  KH3 knows this all too well. If that’s the case, this actually makes me extremely worried when we see the future overblotee dreams. ESPECIALLY Jamil’s dream, if you know, you know. 

For the most part, those are all the things I disliked about Vil’s dream. But now, in the interest of not ending this post on a completely sour note, let me paint for you all a picture. Two in fact since Vil had two different dreams in canon. 

Scenario 1: Vil never sees Neige’s VDC rehearsal. He and his teammates review the rehearsal footage as he originally intended, and he’s not put in a position to be retraumatized again. So he doesn’t overblot and instead, NRC Tribe gives a perfect performance through and through. Even when Vil does see Neige on stage, he knows he’s given the best performance he can and still votes for his team. NRC Tribe wins and Vil is celebrated for his incredible talent and absolutely beautiful dedication. The first step in Vil finally seeing himself with value outside the villainous persona people have projected upon him.

Scenario 2: This one I like a little better. Soon after graduation, Vil is offered the lead role in the Legendary Sword sequel Adela tried to sign him up for in Book 5. He plays the role of the heroic prince phenomenally and people are wowed by how much tenacity he brings to the role. As a heroic prince, he's charming and snarky, no-nonsense but with a heart of gold. Bringing a lot of his personality to the role but in a way that makes the audience relate with him regardless of his otherworldly beauty. Proving that he has what it takes to be a hero and stand on the stage until the end, he ALWAYS had was it takes. Neige would still exist in his perfect dream world and may still be in the film. Not as a rival/villain, though, but maybe as a supporting character. But with Vil finally getting the recognition he deserves, his dynamic with Neige would likely become healthier over time. 

In the end, Vil is an incredibly misunderstood character, probably the most misunderstood character in twst after Kalim. Unfortunately, this most recent JP update did little to help his case. But either way, I at least hope I did an adequate job at explaining why. And I hope that in the future, Vil’s complexities are more accepted and acknowledged. By both the fandom and the canon.