#for someone so prone to removing myself entirely from everyone around me

[immortalsins]

self-isolation during times of stress is pretty bad actually shame it took me 2 years of uni to realise this

[robotsareneat]

It's a monster . . .

So, this is a pretty darn great kit! It's got all the nice stuff that I've come to expect from G-Witch gunpla - great articulation, plastic on plastic joints, cool effects pieces, and just generally a killer design.

And it's got that broom. I love that broom.

But. But.

I think I overhyped myself on it.

I've seen so little negative press about this kit, that in my mind I guess it got a little . . . deified? Like, I went into this convinced that I was just going to have an amazing time, that this would be the best gunpla experience I've ever had and that a choir of angels would be singing the entire time.

Angels had another gig that day.

Don't get me wrong, Calibarn is a fantastic high grade. It's sleek, it's classy, it's got panel lines for days, and right now it's got the coveted Desk Space so that it can be admired when I'm supposed to be working. It truly feels like a culmination of everything I enjoyed about the Aerial and Aerial Rebuild.

But . . . I just don't feel like I can play with it, you know?

Now, I know, I know, it's a kit, not a toy, but generally I like to be able to experiment with different poses and equipment before condemning my kits to the Shelf of Eternal Immobility. This is less a critique on the actual kit itself (little bit of that later) and more a reflection on my own neuroses. I just have real trouble finding a pose with it that I'm fully happy with, but at the same time I don't feel the sense of fun I had when posing kits like the Lfrith or the Demi line.

Now, I do love several things about this kit. The big ol' rocket-broom-rifle, as I'm sure everyone agrees, is fantastic and really fits the vibe of the kit well - and despite what was reported when the kit was first released, I'm happy to say that with some finangling, Calibarn can ride the broom (albeit sidesaddle.) The bit-on form looks amazing, but more importantly the attachment points for when they're not attached don't look particularly incongruous. The big ol' attachment points on the backpack just look like rocket packs! The adjustable slots on the butt just look like a rocket . . . butt? Okay, but they do look cool. And the shield is identical in build to the one that comes with Aerial Rebuild, so you can mix and match them if you want!

In terms of actual build nitpicks - quite a lot of stickers! Doing the end of the broom was an exercise in frustration, and sadly a lot of the colour correcting stickers are in places where it's not really feasible for someone as heavy handed as me to try painting. I gave it a go on a few spots here and there - eyes and headcams as usual, under the forearms, and a touch on the broom's camera - but by and large I was beholden to the stickers.

Another thing I'm not so keen on is the V fin. I love the rainbow effect, it looks incredible from the front, but it's backed by some kind of silvery plastic or paint. It feels very delicate and means that rear shots of the head don't look as nice, but I'm guessing that's there to help the rainbow pop a bit more from the front. Maybe I'll try removing it in the future, I'm not sure yet.

Surprisingly for a HG, Calibarn comes with a stand, but personally I think I'll be swapping it for something a bit sturdier. The V base is okay when just doing a standing pose, but if you try for anything more dynamic then the broom makes it veeeery prone to overbalancing. You can counter this by having the kit facing backwards on the stand, but as you can see it looks a little goofy.

I will say though, I do like the way the feet fold in for high manueverability mode. It really makes it feel like something designed to operate in space, rather than trudging around on the ground with us mere mortals.

Is she perfect? I'd say no. Is she still a lot of fun? Yeah, I'd say so. I did have a few moments in the build that were a bit of a frustrating slog (see above comments about broom stickers, seriously that took me ages cos they're so small and fiddly) but if someone gifted me with another kit of this, I'd build it again.

(If my wife is reading this, please keep continue to encourage this nonsense. I adore every model you get me even if the kits themselves frustrate me at times.)

Calibarn! If you love the suit or don't mind a bit of a fiddly kit with a lot of stickers, go get it!

[nettlespinning]

whizzer my good friend whizzer and I have been talking about shame holding us back from being self-indulgent so I wrote whilst thinking about me and lilia. in a sappy way. unedited idc about accuracy I have an essay to write right after this

someone like me, who's already experienced so much of my world, who's dedicated their life to understanding its history and culture and form, being torn out of it and sent to a completely different dimension where I know nothing. nothing! and I'm stuck with all this useless information on religion and war and language and monarchy that means nothing to anyone because, well, it's not their history. for all they know, I'm completely making it up.

and so the only thing I'm really good at is null and I have to teach myself thousands of years worth of new stuff when everyone around me has had a life's head start, all while I'm dealing with the horrific reality that I will likely never see my world again. I do think about how much mourning I would go through while at nrc. I've been completely removed not only from my immediate reality, but also from my culture, my history. I will never get to go back to my family home. I will never see the ocean from la rochelle again. I will never be able to read the books I love or see my favorite paintings. not even online, ever. they don't exist in this universe. a huge portion of my identity is effectively nonexistent and left up to my feeble human memory to preserve.

I and I alone am weighed down with the knowledge of an entire universe, filled with lingering questions that no one here can answer. places I will never see and things I will never learn.

it's a lot like dying.

and I just have to live with that. and what's more, no one really cares! I'm expected to just assimilate to this world without causing any problems. as if my entire reality hasn't collapsed around me, as if I don't feel like with every passing day I lose more of myself.

then there's lilia.

weighed down with the knowledge of eras long past and thousands of memories of things that don't even exist anymore. ever-curious lilia, who loves to travel, to learn and experience. lilia who would exchange stories with me, who would find my recitals of ancient wars and art movements fascinating. who would lend me stories of his own, one by one until I have a basic foundation for this weird place.

lilia! who I could talk to for hours without getting bored, who would let me go on until I run out of things to say, or until my retellings of myths and revolutions turn into personal quips. who makes me comfortable enough to believe him when he says that he doesn't mind hearing about my life back home. he likes learning more about me, actually. he finds me interesting.

lilia, who understands what it feels like to be homesick for something you can never return to. who understands how it feels to mourn. who starts to see the worst sides of me when my personal anecdotes turn to my failures, my angers, every account of how I've hurt people in ways I feel I will never rectify. all the people I will never be able to apologize to now. lilia, who reassures me that he still likes me- he's probably done worse, after all. he says it with a smile but there's something painful behind that. I tell him the same.

lilia, who's there when I want to grieve on days that would have been holidays back home. he wants to understand completely, but we both know that isn't possible.

he still tries.

lilia, who always seems to be awake at just the right hour when I'm bored and can't sleep, who's always prone to bending rules so we can do whatever. what's the headmage going to do, stop him? impossible. lilia, who wants to show me that he cares, so he starts attempting to make me food. his cooking abilities do not improve. of course, I accept every gift. I insist on returning to favor to him, at least once a week. I'm always sure to make enough so I can feed his poor children something edible.

and slowly, through exchanges of unbaked cookies and tupperwares of soup, I'm visiting him daily. lying on his bed and complaining about silly, trivial parts of my day while he sits at his computer. asking about all the weird shit in his room. feeding his kids again. he starts haunting ramshackle, hanging upside down in the halls between my classes, following me around to oh-so casually leer over me when I'm working or rest his elbow on my shoulder. one time he waits in my room for three hours to startle me when I come back. another time I start slipping condiment packets in his pocket while he's not paying attention for him to find later.

he asks me where I would take him if he got to travel in my world. I say europe. he asks why. I say because it's my home.

we hold hands, sometimes. we have our own bad thoughts and bad dreams about things we both hoped we've moved on from. unlike everything else, we don't talk about them. sometimes when I lie in his bed he lies with me. one night he makes me recount le petit prince from memory, sits in silence the entire time, and then asks if they really rereleased morbius just for it to flop a second time.

he starts holding my hand a little tighter, and wondering if it's possible to be in love, at his age and circumstance. one day he tries to kiss me and I dodge on instinct, expecting a bite. he laughs about my reflexes and kisses me anyway.

I can't understand his homesickness just like he can't understand mine. we still try.

we dye chunks of each other's hair one night and the next morning we wake up in the same bed. at some point he says he loves me like it's the most natural thing. I understand. I love him like it's breathing. it feels like the easiest thing about this world.

[thebookbin]

The Unthinkable: Who Survives When Disaster Strikes—And Why

Amanda Ripley

Publisher: Crown Publishing Group (Penguin Random House) Genre: sociology, psychology Year: 2008

Is there a point in every girl's life when she is obsessed with disasters? I remember accidentally pulling an all-nighter watching tsunami videos only a few years ago. Maybe it was the fact that when I was in kindergarten when 9/11 happened, that year and every year after our teachers, media, and government set out on retraumatizing us every year, forcing us to watch videos of it, watch documentaries of the people who jumped to their deaths, forced us to revere the men who went to war to traumatize a whole new generation of children. And I've lived through a few disasters of my own. I survived Harvey in 2017. I survived getting caught in a tornado. Who wouldn't be curious? It's that curiosity that drove me to pick up The Unthinkable and in the end to be disappointed by its lackluster offering.

Fundamentally, I think this book suffers as a product of its time. Published in 2008, and surely years in the making, this book cannot escape the perverse fascination of a post 9/11 world and all that it entails. Ripley spends an inordinate amount of time on the World Trade Center, survivors, and Ground Zero stories. Despite claiming to be interested in the average person, Ripley almost solely focuses on soldiers, policemen, and special forces stories and studies, and only scales her research to a white western audience, which she tacitly acknowledges.

Despite feeling a certain kinship with Ripley over our interest in disasters and how people respond to them, I found myself almost disgusted with how uncurious she seems to be about the most interesting questions she poses (and then abruptly brushes aside). At her core, Ripley is a bioessentialist and a skeptic. She believes in a rigid and inflexible binary that colors everything. You are the sum of the labels foisted upon you. Altruism is nothing except an evolutionary biproduct of breeding rituals: looking like a hero makes you appeal to the women around you—a woman being a hero? We don't do that here—and if you die being heroic then the women in your family will get more attention and therefore breed and make more babies ensuring your genetic material lives on.

Ripley briefly acknowledges that men are more likely to be labeled as "heroes" as a by product of them having more dangerous jobs in general, or being more prone to engage in risky behavior but is so dispassionate about exploring the reasons why. Combined with her hero-worship of the people who do the most harm in this world: soldiers, police, and special forces, it seems like Ripley is trying her best to appease a male audience who won't take her seriously unless she engages in the imperialist circle-jerk of the military industrial complex.

Ripley is also incapable of removing herself from the narrative, even though she claims to be a journalist. She dedicates an entire chapter to, bizarrely enough, the size of her amygdala. Instead of acknowledging her own humanity as a subjective and connective force of her storytelling, Ripley feels the need to insert herself into the narrative alongside the survivors she interviews, despite not being a survivor herself (or acknowledging herself as one). She's like a child at a birthday party, incessantly reminding everyone else it's her birthday next week. We can indulge you once or twice, but after that "Honey, it's not your turn. Let someone else have a go."

This is an ambitious work that falls short of its goal. Despite its claims it did not introduce me to my "disaster personality" nor did it pose any questions that I had not already asked myself as a person with an interest in disaster, who has survived one or two of her own. I can't quite tell if this work suffers as a product of its time, or if Ripley was simply a poor messenger for its delivery

storygraph | bookshop.org | local houston

★★ sad, uncurious stars

[lotus-flowerz]

hello hello I love your writings so far sobs I couldn't help but do an ask myself aa (it's my first ask ever help hwkajd) could I request perhaps gn reader that flinched away from the boys by reflex? (preferably with Diluc, Kaeya and Kazuha but you can add or remove someone if you want to!) like they were hanging out and reader was lost in thoughts and suddenly when they see in the corner of their eyes how the boys raise their arm for smth reader quickly raises their arms above their own head to protect it- how would they react and how would they comfort the reader? I hope it's not too much or if you're uncomfortable with it you can ignore it if you want to whaaaa

AHHH TY IM SO GLAD YOU LIKE MY WRITING! i actually do this too, some of my old friends would make fun of me for it, so i hope that my writing here is accurate >.<

i also added beidou in here, hope you don't mind, i just had to since she's my favorite character <3

TW!! FLINCHING, ANXIETY, PAST TRAUMA, MENTION OF DEATH AND INJURIES

SLIGHT INAZUMA ARCHON QUEST SPOILERS

KAEYA BACKSTORY SPOILERS

The cherry blossoms fell silently from the trees under which you and Kazuha were sitting. Those had remained unchanged since you and Kazuha were children. The beauty of the pink blossoms falling towards the green earth without a care.

It had remained the same through the vision hunt decree, through the war, through watching Tomo get killed by the shogun, through both of you getting injured during said fight. Kazuha's hand was burnt from Tomo's vision, and your body had a large scar running from your knee to the side of your neck from a stray bolt of lighting from Tomo's divine punishment. If not for Kazuha's determination to not lose another friend and Beidou and her crew caring for you, you would be dead.

These days, although you and Kazuha both carried the same trauma, he seemed to be doing leaps and bounds better than you were. Your eyes flitted to Kazuha, who was writing poetry. The only sound that could be heard was his pen gliding across the paper, filling it with his eloquent words that always seemed to flow so smoothly.

You were deep in thought, when out of the corner of your eye you spotted something coming towards your face. Instinctively, your hands flew out to shield yourself, leaving a very confused Kazuha, who was only scratching his head, looking at you with concern in his eyes.

"Dove.. did you think I was going to hurt you?"

You slowly lowered your arms, guilt washing over you.

"No! It's just- sometimes, when movements are too sudden.. I.. you know, I try to protect myself because uh.."

His eyes drifted to your scar, then looked up at your face, only to find it tilted to the ground. He put a finger under your chin, bringing your eyes up to meet his, then kissing your forehead.

One hand snaked around your waist while the other traced lightly over your scar, sending shivers down your spine. You wrapped your arms around him as well, putting a little of your weight onto him.

He kissed your lips, squeezing you tight against him.

"I'll never let anyone hurt you again. I promise."

"Kazuha, it's not-"

"I know it's not my fault. And I know I couldn't have prevented it. But I promise you, you're safe now."

He brought his hand up to cradle the back of your head as you buried your face in the crook of his neck.

"Thank you." you said, squeezing him a little tighter.

"No need to thank me. I love you, Y/n."

"I love you too, Kazuha."

You had been a part of Beidou's crew for just over a year now, after meeting her in the wharf of Liyue harbor after finally finding the courage to leave your abusive and toxic partner. You didn't have a place to stay and you were clearly distraught, so when she asked if you were okay and you immediately began to cry, she offered you to come on her ship. You trusted her, since she was the well-known captain of the Crux. After you had explained your situation, she offered you to join her crew. You agreed, and began dating her about six months after joining the Crux.

Because you had been aboard the Alcor for a year, you knew the crew was loud and prone to get drunk. You had never liked to drink, preferring to quietly sip a small glass of dandelion wine while sitting next to Beidou while she drank a few beers and talked with her crew.

It was now the one year anniversary of when you had left Liyue Harbor, and conveniently, the Alcor was anchored there for a bit for a supplies run, imports drop off, and exports pickup. While out and about with Beidou, you had seen your ex in the wharf. They were about to come and talk to you, when you had pointed them out to Beidou. Beidou had slipped her arm around your waist, glaring at your ex, who glared back and turned heel to walk away.

Now, you sipped your wine beside Beidou, deep in thought. The loud atmosphere wasn't helping your anxieties, and you couldn't get your ex's glare out of your head. You didn't even realize you were completely zoned out until Beidou raised her arm to sling it around your shoulders, after she noticed you were zoned out.

Your arms flew up to shield yourself, and you spilt wine all over the both of you. The cup clattered to the floor, but luckily no one else noticed what just happened.

Beidou's face dropped and she quickly picked up the cup, setting it back down on the table.

"Men!" she called out. "Y/n and I are turning in early tonight! Make sure you scallywags have this cleaned up by the morning!"

The crew cheered their goodnights, raising their beers to their captain and her first mate. Beidou smiled, slipped an arm around your waist, and led you back to your guys' shared quarters.

"Alright doll, what happened just now?"

She closed the door behind her and sat on the bed next to you, looking at you with a certain softness that made you melt.

"I'm.. I'm sorry, I was just thinking of my ex, and how we saw them earlier, and I couldn't get their glare out of my head.. and I left them exactly a year ago.. I don't know why I flinched away from yo-"

Beidou cut you off by taking both of your hands into hers.

"Y/n, don't say sorry! You know, your ex wouldn't stand a chance against even my weakest crew member. They will never hurt you again."

"I don't doubt that for a second," you said, a small smile growing on your face, "Thank you for taking me in, Beidou."

"No, the pleasure is all mine. I couldn't ask for a better first mate. You're safe now, okay?" she smiled, squeezing your hands.

You looked into her eyes for a moment before throwing your arms around her. She squeezed you back, kissing your head.

"C'mon, let's shower and get this wine off of us." she giggled.

You laughed. "Yeah, let's."

Kaeya had told you his backstory, but you never mentioned yours. You just weren't ready to talk about it. Your parents had never been great, you always walked on eggshells around everyone, and everyone was all too rough with you, emotionally and physically.

You had met Kaeya in the tavern one night, while trying to drink away what you were feeling. Kaeya had noticed how obliterated you were and let Diluc know he was taking you to stay at the Knights Headquarters, and would keep an eye on you. The rest was history, and now you and Kaeya had been dating for a little over a year.

Kaeya had told you his backstory on Monday. That same day later on, you had a run in with your parents at Blanche's, where they had yelled at you for deciding to become a Knight, and proceeded to pick you apart from your very core.

In turn, you had been drinking a little more than usual for the entire week. You seemed more withdrawn and just not fully there. And it all came to a head when you were laying in bed next to Kaeya.

He went to put his arm over you, a loving gesture, but your arms came up on instinct to shield yourself. He sighed loudly.

"You're scared of me."

"Oh Archons- I didn't mean to- no, I swear it isn't-"

"You've been acting all angry and cold ever since I told you about my roots. I thought you would be the one who didn't leave me after I told them."

"No, Kaeya- please, just let me explain!"

"I'm listening."

You began to hesitantly tell him about your parents. His face grew angrier and angrier every time you told him another thing your parents had done to you.

"I'll kill them. I had no idea that that happened though. I'm sorry for assuming."

"It's alright, Kaeya. I didn't even consider that you might think I was acting weird because of where your confession."

"I swear they'll never get near you again, alright? You're safe now. It's alright."

He pulled you into him, wrapping you up in his strong arms and putting his legs over yours, making you feel protected and safe.

"No one will hurt you, not on my watch. I love you, Y/n."

"I love you too, Kaeya. I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner."

"No need for apologies, you were gonna tell me when you were ready. Now let's get some sleep, that dandelion wine I downed earlier is starting to get to me."

You giggled, burying your head further into his chest.

"Alright. Goodnight, Kaeya."

"Night, prince/ess."

You and Diluc had been dating for a few months now, you had met when he had needed to hire a new bartender, and you volunteered your mixing skills to the Angel's Share. You had caught his eye immediately, and he had asked you out on a date soon after you began your work there.

Your ex wasn't a kind person, to say the least, so you had been hesitant to say yes. You assured Diluc that this was just because your ex was unkind to you, but you had never mentioned physical harm. You hadn't wanted to worry him.

You were sitting on the couch with Diluc, his arm slung over your shoulders while you stared into the crackling flames of the fire burning before you. Diluc wasn't paying attention, as he was reading a book in his free hand.

He raised his arm up, attempting to adjust to a more comfortable position, but you misread this. Your arms were shielding your face in an instant, and Diluc was looking at you with a shocked and concerned face that quickly morphed to anger.

"I'm going to kill him." he growled/

You lowered your arms and looked down, avoiding looking him in the eye.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that."

"Did he hit you??"

"I, um, didn't want to worry you."

"Barbatos.. and this domestic abuser is just, what, roaming around Mondstat? No punishment for the pain he put you through?"

"I didn't tell anyone because I didn't want him to come and hurt me. I also didn't want to cause any trouble."

Diluc rubbed a hand over his face, before wrapping you in a hug.

"You're safe here, alright? I will never lay a hand on you to hurt you. I won't let anyone else hurt you either, okay?"

"Thank you.." your eyes welled up with tears, "I thought you would be upset that I didn't tell you."

"No, never. It's a hard thing to talk about. If you'd like, I have connections. We can have him arrested."

"I don't want to cause trouble.."

"You won't. He won't be able to hurt anyone else this way. But we can discuss this later. Would you care for a cup of tea?"

"That'd be nice. Thanks, Diluc."

"You're welcome, angel. Tell me if anyone hurts you again, alright? I'll protect you."

"Will do. I love you."

"I love you too."

[pyroclastic727]

Luz is kinda right to be oblivious

I know you all are relentlessly teasing Luz for being completely oblivious to Amity’s clear romantic advances. And while you definitely have a point, Luz isn’t entirely wrong to do this. Luz’s assumption that her and Amity are just friends is her way of protecting herself and Amity.

Let’s start by laying out the scenario from Luz’s POV. You’re a human from another realm who visits a magic realm. There you meet a bunch of amazing people, but one lettuce-headed blushy mess sticks out to you. You start doing all these favors for her, things you would only do for Eda and King in the past. She returns a few of them. Then she starts getting comfortable around you, where she feels good enough to hug you and stuff. Well, then there’s this dance, and she doesn’t ask you out, and she feels bad because she’s afraid of being rejected by the person she does want to ask out. 

Well, duh, of course Amity likes her! But Luz has quite a few things to disprove that.

First off, we’ll start with the psychology that makes this possible. (This is what happens when the analysis blog takes a psych class). There’s this thing called confirmation bias, which I’d say a good proportion of you are familiar with. For those that aren’t: if you have a preconceived opinion, you’re more likely to look for things that support that, rather than those that disprove it. Everyone uses this all the time. Usually it’s fairly harmless, but when in the wrong hands, it is a powerful tool that can be used to influence elections and such.

In Luz’s case, her confirmation bias comes from good evidence. Any wlw who has actually lived on Earth knows that it’s dangerous to assume your friend likes you. First off, there’s the selfish aspect of it (you know, the “who am I to assume that I’m cool enough for someone to have a crush on me? You can’t control those things!”). Second, there’s the fact that straight girls on Earth can be very affectionate. One of my straight friends kissed me twice until I asked her to stop because I did not want to fall for her. In Luz’s mind, Amity could easily be one of those touchy straight girls. So of course she’s looking for evidence to stockpile and convince herself that Amity doesn’t like her like that.

And there sure is a lot of evidence to stockpile.

To start with, Luz doesn’t think she knows Amity that well. I mean, the girl has been to Luz’s house twice. They haven’t had a lot of time to spend together. And even their dates have been sporadic: Luz took her top student badge so Amity watched her get dissected, Luz and Amity fought to what should have been their death, Luz almost got Amity killed at the library, Luz almost got Amity’s friends killed at the Knee, Amity almost got Luz’s friend killed, and then they danced. That’s it. As for the rest of Amity’s life...that’s largely a mystery. Luz didn’t figure out that Amity’s parents are abusive until last episode! Amity was actively avoiding her on the first day (hiding out in the halls and such), so who knows what she was doing then? And she spends a lot of time with rich kids: what if one of them was her crush? There’s a lot of Amity’s life that Luz can leave up to her imagination.

Secondly, Amity has shown Luz explicit proof of liking non-girls. Particularly, Malingale the Soothsayer. While their gender was never confirmed, Malingale seems to be male or nonbinary. With Luz, this could be some extra proof of not liking girls.

Okay, well how has she not even noticed all of Amity’s blushing? She has. But here’s the thing about white people: we blush a lot. As a blush-prone white person myself, I will blush when I’m angry, when I’m humiliated, when it’s too hot, when I exercise, when I’m uncomfortable, when I’m insecure...the list goes on. From Luz’s point of view, Amity really has permanent redness. I mean, she’ll hold her breath when she’s angry and her face will go red. She could be always angry to be around Luz. And especially in the past two episodes, whenever she so much as looks at Luz, she blushes. With how red her face is, Luz could even think it’s how her face always is. Or, that it’s a skin condition she got recently. Yeah, a lot of that evidence is grasping for straws, but remember that Luz has confirmation bias working against her.

How about all those times that Amity did heroic things? Luz’s love language is literally acts of service, and Amity has done those several times. Like when she caged Luz because “you’ll only get hurt.” Or when she burst from the trees as the leaves formed a heart around her and T-posed in front of Luz. The truth behind that is that Amity is starting to pick up on how Luz shows affection and is reciprocating it in her attempts to be the type of person Luz can love. But there’s another interpretation, which Luz could easily be using. 

Luz was the one who started the acts of service. She was the one who decided to befriend the Amity, to burst in as Luzura and save her, to say she’s not actually a witch, to save her siblings, to learn an extra spell and be in Amity’s class, to go fix Willow’s memories...the list goes on. So for Amity to reciprocate that? Maybe she’s just making it up to Luz. Amity probably feels bad about all the times she has let Luz be the hero, and wants to make her feel better about it.

Amity has also shown Luz proof of liking another girl. Right before Grom was Understanding Willow, which was an episode about Amity reminiscing over her childhood crush and fixing the damage between them. Sounds like friends to enemies to lovers, the trope that She Ra showed us to be an emotional and rewarding trope. Since Luz is a fanfic type, she could totally be looking for that trope.

And besides, you saw Luz in Willow’s mind. She literally watched Amity and Willow hold hands, gaze into each other’s eyes, apologize, make up, and look like they were going to get married. Sure, Luz wanted to go in there and claim Amity, which is part of why she put her hand on Amity’s shoulder there. But she is big enough to know that when her crush likes someone else, she should back off and support it. She would rather see Amity happy than see Amity with her, if those happen to be mutually exclusive. Which she thinks they are.

Going off that, Amity’s last words before her fear was revealed were a bit suspicious. She said “I’m sorry.” Who the hell would apologize as she was saving her friend?

As audience members, Amity’s reasoning for this is clear to us. She did this because she thought Grom was going to out her in front of everyone. She thought Luz would see her crush and hate her for it. Which makes sense if you assume the point of view of Amity’s repressed self, where her only crush was literally removed by her parents, and proceeded to hate her for years afterwards. If Luz knew that a monster like Amity liked her, she would remember what happened to Willow and cut Amity off like she was a long hairstyle.

From Luz’s point of view, it’s much worse. Deep down, Luz knows that she likes Amity and wants Amity to like her back (although she might not have the words for it). And think about it: if Amity’s fear is romance-related and she’s apologizing to Luz for something, wouldn’t it be for not liking her? From Luz’s point of view, she has been pretty obvious about her crush. She literally risked her life countless times for her. She even faced her worst fear for Amity, even though Eda strongly cautioned her against it. And besides, it wouldn’t even occur to Luz to hate Amity for liking her. So Luz thinks Amity is apologizing because Amity knows that Luz likes her, and she knows that her crush will hurt Luz. That also explains why Luz didn’t recognize her own mudsona: she was looking for someone else’s face to be reflected in it, so she could maybe help Amity by being her wingman.

Also, Luz can’t even stay in the Boiling Isles. Let’s say that everything goes perfectly. Luz falls for Amity, Amity falls for Luz, they date, they kiss, they face the Emperor’s Coven together, they face whoever’s writing notes to Luz’s mom together, they call each other girlfriends...all that won’t last, because Luz has to go home. 

Luz knows this. She already knows that making attachments is bad. That’s why her mom is her worst fear: it means she loses her real mother figure Eda, her best friend King, her love interest Amity, and her friends Willow and Gus. So of course she wouldn’t want to fall in love! She’ll only end up breaking Amity’s heart, and breaking her own. She saw how Amity reacted to having to leave Willow. Do you really think she would do that to Amity?

So can you blame her for the pain in her voice when she said “that’s what friends do?” She knows that’s not what friends do. But she has to put up that wall or risk hurting everyone.

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

Good as Gold pt. 15

[part fourteen] | [part sixteen] [prostitute!jaskier masterpost]

There’s a festival in town and initially, Jaskier had wanted to attend; festivals draw everyone out so the brothel has been quiet today and no one would really miss him. But when he’d headed out, he’d found Vivienne sitting out on the porch and found her invitation of wine and company too good to refuse - there will always be other festivals. So now he’s lounging in the sun with her above him, sitting on the railing and they’re watching people go back and forth toward the festivities. He takes a sip of wine and shuts his eyes, basking in the sun’s rays.

“Who wears a cloak in the dead of summer?” Vivienne scoffs and Jaskier chuckles, slowly opening his eyes to see who she’s talking about. His heart gives a little thump of excitement as he recognizes the silhouette.

“Oh! That’s Geralt.”

“Your Witcher?” she asks, just a touch condescendingly.

“Yes,” Jaskier snarks back. “I wonder what he’s doing in town. Gods, but he is magnificent, isn’t he?”

“You’re drunk,” Vivienne accuses. Jaskier doesn’t take his eyes from Geralt as he speaks.

“I’m not. I’d never let myself get drunk while I’m working. It’s bad practice. It just so happens that Geralt of Rivia is the most gorgeous man I’ve ever laid eyes on. Plus, he’s the kindest man I’ve ever had in my bed. And thoughtful and actually quite charming once you get to know him.”

Vivienne just gives him a look that clearly says Jaskier, don’t and he laughs it off.

“He’s just a customer, Viv.” But even as he says the words, he silently prays that Geralt can’t hear him. In the moment, he’s not sure which is worse, Geralt thinking Jaskier only thinks of him as another customer or the fact that that’s a blatant lie.

“Jaskier.”

“Listen,” he says, rising to his feet. “I’ve been looking forward to this. Geralt is an incredible fuck and I can’t remember the last time someone actually made me come. Don’t ruin this for me.” He winks as he steps down the stairs and thinks of anything to steady his heartbeat.

It doesn’t matter what Vivienne or Anise or anyone else at the brothel thinks about his relationship with Geralt, but he certainly doesn’t want to say or do the wrong thing with the man himself. Geralt spots him and his lips twitch just so, completely undoing all the hard work Jaskier’s done keeping himself calm and collected.

He pushes himself up from his seat, crossing to meet Geralt halfway to the steps.

“Hello darling,” he hums, wrapping his fingers around the folds of Geralt’s cloak as Geralt’s hands settle on his hips. There’s something intensely satisfying about that and he hopes Viv is watching.

“Who is she?” he asks, looking over Jaskier’s shoulder.

“Vivienne. A friend.”

“She doesn’t seem too pleased to see me,” Geralt muses. Jaskier turns back to find her scowling at him.

“Ah, no. Decidedly not. Don’t worry about her, though, are you coming with me?”

“Of course.” Geralt gives him that little half smile and Jaskier’s stomach flips over itself.

He leads Geralt into the brothel, every bit as aware of Vivienne staring at them as he is of Geralt behind him. But he’s not worried about her or whatever she’s thinking about him - most of which is probably correct anyway. Because Geralt is here now and he’s tense but talkative and usually that means he’s very pent up or already hard. And while Jaskier mourns the chance to get him hard himself, his blood rushes at the thought of Geralt getting worked up for him.

They get up to his room and Jaskier shuts the door and locks it. It isn’t that he doesn’t trust the girls, but his relationship with Geralt has become something of a… talking point amongst the other courtesans. He’s fairly certain there’s even a betting pool of sorts - he’s overheard chatter - but he’s not sure what for exactly and not entirely sure he wants to know. So locking the door is just a precaution - more for Geralt’s privacy than his own. And it doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Just a friend?” he asks, eyeing the door. “She really doesn’t want me here, does she?”

“Just a friend,” Jaskier assures him, “she’s not fond of my ongoing involvement with a Witcher. She’s jealous,” he adds with a wink. Geralt drops into the chair in the middle of the room, looking to Jaskier with an eyebrow raised in suspicion.

“I find that unlikely.”

“Yes, well…” Jaskier slips around to Geralt’s front, unclasping his cloak and draping it over his own shoulder before undoing the buckles of Geralt’s armour with ease. It’s funny, he thinks, how accustomed he’s come to Geralt’s armour - and this is new for the third time since they met. It was difficult the first time, but even with the new pieces, Jaskier quickly became speedy at removing them. Another thing he could prove useful for, he thinks, if Geralt would ever allow him to join on his journeys.

He tries not to think too much about that or about Geralt’s outright refusal to let him come with him, despite their continued closeness. But if Jaskier has learned anything about the man over the past couple of years, it’s that Geralt is very closed off and getting him to open up is a slow and arduous process. Which is maybe why no one has bothered to do it. But Jaskier is patient.

Geralt smiles up at him as Jaskier’s fingers slip under his chin, tipping it up. It’s one of those rare genuine smiles that Jaskier has learned are saved for people Geralt feels at ease with - and one of the more prized rewards of Jaskier’s patience with him.

He returns the grin, pushing Geralt’s knees apart with his own and moving to stand between them. He aches to lean down and catch that smile with his own lips, to feel Geralt’s fingers through his hair as they kiss, to feel that wicked tongue between his lips. But he laid down the rules that first night and won’t break them now; his rule about kissing is the firmest line between them now, keeping Jaskier from tumbling headfirst into a love that would certainly consume him.

So he restrains himself, bends to kiss Geralt’s neck the way he always does, moving up his jaw as he lifts the final piece of Geralt’s armour over his head. He ducks down again, kissing Geralt’s shoulders, his neck, his jaw - anything close enough to his mouth that he can pretend. He shouldn’t even allow himself this, but Geralt is always so soft and needy under his touch and he can’t help himself.

Jaskier gets him out of his shirt and pulls Geralt to his feet, slipping his fingers into his waistband. Geralt is aroused already, his cock pushing against the front of his trousers, and Jaskier wants to touch, but he knows how much better it is - for both of them - if he can hold out a little longer.

He draws back, smiling coyly as Geralt groans his protest, and walks back to the bed. He drops onto it, tugging his own shirt over his head and tossing it aside. Geralt’s eyes remain on him, looking him up and down, and even after so long, Jaskier’s body heats under the attention. He smirks, crooking a finger in a gesture for Geralt to come to him. And he does.

Geralt crosses the room and stands between Jaskier’s thighs, resting one hand on his cheek and tipping his head up to meet his eyes. The urge to kiss him returns stronger than before, and Jaskier’s hands fly to Geralt’s trousers to occupy himself. He gets them undone in a moment, shoving them down around Geralt’s thighs and running his hand along the underside of his stiff cock.

Jaskier slips a hand around Geralt’s hip, smoothing over the curve of his ass and pulls him close enough that he can get his mouth on him. He wraps his lips around the head, flicking his tongue against him and Geralt groans, leaning into the touch.

Jaskier’s fucked and sucked more people than he could possibly count, but this is something he never gets tired of - especially when it’s Geralt on the receiving end. He likes the weight of a cock on his tongue, the way his lips stretch around it, the musky scent and almost bitter taste. And he loves the way that, when they’re really turned on, they’ll drool against his tongue. And gods Geralt does not disappoint in any aspect.

He loves the taste of them, of Geralt, and he takes him down as well as he can. One of his greatest achievements of late is how much of Geralt’s cock he can fit in his mouth at once - something both of them enjoy if Geralt’s stuttered moans are anything to go by. His hands are on Jaskier’s shoulders, his face, his neck. In his hair. All over him, and always moving. And gods, Jaskier doesn’t think he’s ever wanted someone as badly as he wants Geralt all the time.

Eventually, Geralt’s hands settle on the back of his head, tangling in his hair but never pushing. Jaskier’s never had a customer so gentle as Geralt and he doesn’t know how he ended up lucky enough to wind up with him at all. He presses up into Geralt’s touch as he sucks him down and moans around him. His own cock throbs in its confines, pressing firmly against the front of his trousers and as much as he tries to put it out of his mind, to focus on Geralt, he can’t. He’s weak when it comes to Geralt, prone to doing and saying things he should probably regret. But he finds it hard to regret anything when Geralt continues to indulge him.

Geralt’s hips stutter as he presses forward and Jaskier runs his tongue under him as he pulls off. He presses a kiss to the head of his cock, then another, letting himself get distracted by Geralt’s little pants and groans before drawing away completely.

“Do you want to come like this?” he asks and Geralt’s eyes flick down to his, lidded and dark. Fuck, he’s sexy.

“You’re hard,” he breathes, tilting his head to one side like that’s an answer.

“Not what I asked, darling.”

Geralt pulls up, lifting Jaskier’s hands off of him so he can climb up into his lap. “I want you to fuck me,” he breathes and Jaskier’s breath catches at the tone of his voice. He wraps his arms around Geralt’s waist, slipping his hands up his back.

“Anything you want, beautiful, but we have to get you out of these first.” He pushes Geralt back to his feet, following after and pressing his lips against his throat.

He gets Geralt’s trousers open and shoves them down thoughtlessly, eager to have him naked. He moves to remove his own trousers and Geralt brushes his hands away.

“Let me,” he says, leaning in to breathe against Jaskier’s ear, and Jaskier can’t deny him. He lets Geralt get his trousers undone and pushed down before Jaskier slips from his hold and drops to his knees again. But this time he barely gets his mouth around him before Geralt’s hands are under his arms, pulling him back to his feet and then he’s lifted right off the ground and plopped onto the bed. He tips his head up and Geralt steps out of his trousers and climbs into his lap. He rocks against him and Jaskier groans at the press of his cock, wrapping an arm around his waist to haul him forward.

He lets his fingers wander, slipping between Geralt’s cheeks as his mouth finds his shoulder. Geralt’s breath shudders as Jaskier presses a little more firmly and he smiles to himself, pleased that he can have that effect on the Witcher. His Witcher, he thinks absently. Only Geralt isn’t his, not really, he’s just borrowed for a little while. And if their time together is brief, Jaskier will do whatever he can to make it worth Geralt’s while.

He wraps one arm firmly around Geralt’s waist, holding him against his chest as he leans over to find the bottle of oil he keeps next to the bed. It would be easier if Geralt would keep his mouth off of him for more than five seconds at a time, but he doesn’t really mind the delay. Geralt’s mouth is hot where he kisses him, soft and eager in a way that always makes Jaskier’s heart flutter and his blood rush. And besides, they have all night - Geralt almost always stays the night.

When he locates the bottle, Jaskier straightens up, using his teeth to pull the cork out so he doesn’t dislodge Geralt. He slicks his fingers up, impressed with his ability to not spill oil all over both of them as Geralt wriggles in his arms. He reaches back again, pushing between Geralt’s cheeks and pressing against his hole. There’s little resistance but there rarely is with Geralt; he’s always soft and welcoming to whatever Jaskier presents him with and this is something Jaskier knows he likes. And so he makes it as quick as he can, but Geralt is still too impatient.

He bats his hand away, mumbling that he’s ready after only a few moments and when Jaskier’s hands slide away, Geralt shifts forward, rising onto his knees and sliding onto Jaskier’s cock with ease. He’s quick about it and Jaskier holds him, fingers digging into Geralt’s skin as the tight heat overwhelms him.

Geralt immediately rocks in his lap and it takes Jaskier a second to adjust to the intensity of it.

Jaskier’s clientele consists of men who want to fuck him, men who get off on watching but want nothing to do with touching him and Geralt. No one else ever wants Jaskier to fuck them and even with Geralt, it isn’t every time. But when he does, oh the sounds Geralt makes - it’s enough to drive anyone insane. Jaskier can hardly be blamed for being so affected by him.

Geralt rocks onto him, squeezing around his cock and rutting against his stomach. He’s eager for it tonight in a way he hasn’t been for a while now and Jaskier doesn’t ask why. Geralt doesn’t spook as easily as he used to, but it has been a while and Jaskier isn’t in the habit of prying - least of all with someone as reserved as Geralt. So he wraps his arms around Geralt’s waist, grabs his hips and holds him down, fucks him hard. For a little while, Jaskier can pretend that this thing he feels is mutual and that he’s not just a pathetic child who went and fell for the first person who was genuinely nice to him.

Then Geralt shifts in such a way that he squeezes hard, pulling up on Jaskier’s cock and Jaskier’s breath catches, his head dropping onto Geralt’s shoulder.

“Oh gods,” he groans, “Geralt you feel so good. Fuck, I-” he bites down on the confession, his heart hammering as he realizes what he nearly said. He tamps down the feeling, but it’s too late. Geralt pauses, sitting back on Jaskier’s thighs, and looks at him.

“What’s wrong?” he asks and Jaskier curses himself for the slip-up.

“Nothing for you to worry about.” Jaskier offers up a soft smile and snaps his hips forward as if to convince him. But Geralt is not convinced.

“You smell different all of a sudden.”

“I’m just excited to see you.”

Geralt frowns at him. “I know what your arousal smells like,” he hums, “not like that.” Jaskier just groans at him because honestly? that’s kinda hot.

“Don’t worry about it my darling, just let me make you feel good.” He keeps one hand on Geralt’s waist, snaking the other one between them to wrap around his cock, pumping him slow and steady. Geralt’s eyes flutter shut and he tips his head forward but he doesn’t seem to want to argue anymore.

“See?” Jaskier hums, “I’m fine. It’s fine.”

Geralt hums and his head drops to Jaskier’s shoulder, his nose pressing in against his neck. It means they’re done talking about it for now, but Geralt won’t drop it entirely. After so long, Jaskier’s learned to read his Witcher, knows what every little gift and groan means and he knows how to take him apart with ease. He also knows Geralt is still thinking about it so he leans into his neck, bites his earlobe gently.

“Stop worrying about me,” he breathes. He moves and Geralt goes with him without much difficulty, shifting up the bed so Jaskier can lean against the wall. But he doesn’t. He rolls his hips and watches the way Geralt’s cock slips between his fingers, hot and hard and practically begging for his mouth. And Jaskier is flexible. And Geralt needs a distraction.

Jaskier presses Geralt back gently, leaving just enough space between them to allow him to bend over. If Geralt was smaller, it might not work, but Jaskier bends over him, flicking his tongue at the head of his cock. Geralt groans, leaning back on one arm and wrapping his other hand around himself.

He moans as Jaskier gets his mouth around him, mumbling something Jaskier can’t quite understand. He presses up into his mouth and when he drops back onto his cock, he lets out another stuttered moan. Jaskier takes as much of him as he can and it’s not a lot but Geralt doesn’t seem to mind when there’s a hot mouth around the head of his cock, a tongue winding its way around him.

He’s close already, his hips stuttering and his little moans and groans becoming less restrained. When Jaskier sucks hard, Geralt’s hips buck hard and his cock throbs against Jaskier’s tongue. Heat sears through Jaskier’s body and he pushes harder despite the discomfort, taking Geralt deeper and pressing his tongue against the underside of his cock.

It doesn’t take long after that before Geralt is stuttering, his thrusts shaky and uneven as he spills onto Jaskier’s tongue.

Jaskier wraps both arms around him, steadying him as Geralt rides through the aftershocks of his orgasm. As soon as Jaskier pulls off his cock, Geralt flops back against the bed, still shifting his hips. Jaskier runs his hands down Geralt’s thighs and rocks into him gently.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers. “Look at you, darling, you’re so good for me.” He keeps touching him, rubbing his thighs and thrusting lightly into him. Geralt is always most sensitive right after he comes and Jaskier is gentle with him, breathing praise into the air as his fingers slip over his skin.

He comes quickly with Geralt squeezing around him, laid out so bare and open before him, and it’s hardly a surprise when Geralt tugs him down on top of him, wrapping his arms around Jaskier’s middle.

“Hello,” Jaskier grins, pulling back just far enough to look at Geralt. Geralt looks at him for a moment before pressing his nose under Jaskier’s jaw. He inhales slowly and Jaskier shuts his eyes as Geralt nuzzles against him. Jaskier forces down the swell of emotion as Geralt’s lips press into his skin and he presses his head against the mattress, working his hips slow and steady. He’s not quite ready for it to be over.

These moments he gets with Geralt are brief and fleeting and while Jaskier knows he can’t ask for more than Geralt already gives him, he wants to. He wants, for once in his life to be greedy, to ask for things he knows he shouldn’t want. Because he suspects, at times, that Geralt might give it willingly.

Jaskier slips a hand around the back of Geralt’s neck, drawing him closer as his thrusts deeper until he’s rutting into him, holding Geralt’s body close against his own. A second orgasm creeps up on him and he comes just like that with Geralt’s nose pressed into his cheek, teeth slightly grazing his jaw. His hips stutter and Geralt’s hands slip up to his shoulder, holding him close.

For a few minutes, he lets himself linger against the warmth of Geralt’s chest, before prying himself away. But he’s barely disentangled himself when Geralt sits up and looks at him almost sadly.

“Do you ever not want to have sex?” he askes, dropping his gaze to the mattress.

“All the time,” Jaskier admits, “but I can hardly say no to someone who’s paying me for it.”

“You can and you should,” Geralt huffs and Jaskier realizes with a start that maybe he thinks that was the problem tonight. He reaches out, cupping Geralt’s cheek in his hand.

“I choose who and when. If it was really bad, I would say no.”

“If it’s with me I want you to tell me.”

Jaskier huffs a soft laugh, ducking his head. He knows he shouldn’t say the words, but they come out anyway. “It’s never with you.

"But if it was-”

“Geralt, are you worried that I didn’t want you tonight?”

“No, I can smell it on you.”

“Then why the sudden worry, love?”

“Something about you was different tonight.”

Jaskier shuts his eyes, wishing he’d had more control over himself. “It’s nothing,” he whispers, “I’m fine, just a momentary lapse. Lie down and I’ll fetch a washcloth.”

“Not yet,” Geralt mumbles and when Jaskier looks at him, he looks almost worried. “Stay for a moment?” Jaskier smiles and lays back down, slipping an arm over Geralt’s hip. He draws him close, breathing in his scent as Geralt tangles their legs together again.

[slashedthroughtheheart]

The boy behind the wall Pt. 2

She managed to quietly close the door to the basement she’d found, and slowly snuck her way back to the kitchen, putting her long forgotten empty glass in the sink and made her way to the front door just as it opened with a very vexed looking Mrs. Thompson at it. “Oh, there you are. Your fath-uncle is here.” She didn’t dwell on the slip up, and Layla didn’t point it out in any way either.

“I was just coming to check if it was him. Guess I lost track of time daydreaming and dozed off. Sorry about that!” She did her best to hide behind a sheepish smile, hoping that her lie was good enough and any face she might be pulling would be easily chalked up to embarrassment at ‘falling asleep’ at the kitchen table.

Mrs. Thompson seemed to readily accept this answer, shaking her head briskly. “No matter, but you better get a move on, your uncle seems to have places he wants to be, since he’s still got the truck running.”

And with that, she moved to the side and Layla scampered past her, stomach doing flip flops as she brushed by the older woman.

She felt cold inside, trying to figure out how anyone could treat someone else like that.

They didn’t stay long after she left the house, having bound down the steps as well as she could, making her way over to the passenger side of the truck her uncle was in, leaning towards his window, talking with Mr. Thompson.

They said their goodbyes, and her uncle reversed before heading off their property.

He asked how it was helping out around the farm, and she gave a non-committal shrug. His eyebrow quirked at this.

She knew her uncle to be a kind man, he loved his wife, loved his younger brother who was her father. It was a shame that they had gotten a nice big ranch with a big house only to find out he and his wife just couldn’t have children. They loved kids though, and loved her unequivocally.

So upon seeing his usually very talkative niece being aloof set off a warning bell in him, like the tornado warnings. It wasn’t right.

Before he could probe about the shift, she asked her own question.

“Do the Thompson’s have any children?”

At this he pauses, his first response was going to be no before an almost forgotten image of seeing Mrs. Thompson round with child popped into his head from a time long ago when he’d ran into her in town. She’d been so happy back then.

The Thompson’s were never the same after she lost the child during birth.

It was a very hush hush topic, never brought up in polite company, and not talked about except behind closed doors.

He made a low noise in his throat. “Well, not exactly. They were supposed to, but years and years ago they lost the baby she was going to have. It was tragic, and they’ve not been the same since, especially not Evelyn. She went from being happy and full of life to having a very… uh… tight lipped way of dealing with anyone.” He glanced over at her from the side before returning his attention back to the road.

“Did they… did she do something to you that made you ask that?” He had a feeling of dread in his stomach, hands gripping the steering wheel hard enough for his knuckles to turn white.

With the change in her demeanor paired with the odd question, he couldn’t shake the bad feeling taking root at the base of his skull screaming danger.

She looked at her hands clasped together in her lap for a long moment, almost long enough for him to prompt her once again, but she beat him to it once more.

“How long ago did they loose their baby?”

At this he really had to think. He tracked back in his memory as they were pulling up to the ranch. “Well, I think you were born just a year after it happened. I remember having that small fear of ‘what if?’ in the back of my mind when your father told me about your mother expecting so soon after it happened. So 19 years ago?” He ventured a guess, before turning to look at his niece now that the truck had come to a stop and the engine had been cut.

“Did something happen over there, little one?” He had a deep frown on his face, but the touch he used on her shoulder was light. He was concerned.

She worried at her bottom lip for a moment, before turning back to him, deciding to trust her uncle. He liked children, and he couldn’t have his own and that must hurt him so very deeply. So maybe, maybe if she told him the truth, he’d be willing to help her free the boy.

“I think they’re keeping their son locked up in the basement. I don’t think they lost him at all.”

He removed his hand for just a moment in shock at her words, not having expected the conversation to take this turn.

“You think… wait, why do you think any of this of the Thompson’s?” He sounded skeptical, but he also knew his niece was not one prone to lying or over exaggeration. In fact, his niece tended to downplay the seriousness of most things, especially her discomfort. She wasn’t one to inconvenience others.

So this kind of declaration from her was shocking, but he couldn’t immediately rule it out.

A small flash of worry crossed her face, before she seemed to take a moment to collect herself. He watched her hands tighten in her lap before she turned to face him fully, a very grave expression on her face.

“Because… I saw him. He’s kept in the basement behind a crude brick wall with just a single brick not in place where he can see out of. He looked… different. Like his face was smooshed up from something. Kind of like how a blood hound looks different from a german shepherd dog, but for people. His eyes have this… like.. extra skin around them. It looks rather painful, honestly. He can’t talk, but he understood me talking to him. I asked him questions uncle Andrew, and he said… well more like grunted in a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ way. He said he lives there with the Thompson’s, but he didn’t seem happy about that. And that he can’t leave the room! It’s awful!”

She had run away with the conversation, passion filling her voice now. She was almost breathless after explaining everything to him.

He took a moment, and looked real hard at her, trying to tell if she was pulling some sick joke or if she was being actually honest. And when she didn’t waver under his intense gaze, but instead switched to an almost pleading tone, he realized she was telling the truth.

“He couldn’t have been much older than me, so it fits. He’s gotta be the baby from back then. And they… they locked him up because he was different. I don’t know if he’s ever even been out of that room before. He didn’t even know what a hug was, I had to explain it to him. And he looked so sad after I explained it. He’s never been hugged before, I just know it. They’re being awful to him just because of the way he looks, even though they’re his parents and supposed to love him, all of him, unconditionally. He’s just… he’s just a kid, their kid. He shoulda gotten hugs…”

As she went on, trying to impart upon him the sincerity and the urgency, she wasn’t able to hold back the emotions she’d been tamping down for the better part of the day. Her voice cracked at the end, and the tears she’d held back in the basement resurfaced with a vengeance.

A very small and broken “I couldn’t imagine papa never hugging me… or teaching me how to read… or loving me.” And at that last bit she burst into sobs, the big tears rolling down her face as she hugged herself tightly, rocking softly.

Her heart was aching, but not for herself. For the boy locked in a basement, unwanted by those who were supposed to take care for him.

“It’s not right… he’s alone…” she barely managed to get those words out through her choking sobs, her mind too young to emotionally handle something of this gravity without breaking down a little.

He didn’t doubt his niece, not after seeing how broken she looked and sounded. He did scoot over, drawing her up in a hug and rubbing her back and shushing her softly, trying to get her to calm down. Doing his best to soothe her.

“Shhh shhh, little one. It’s alright, it’ll be alright. We’ll look into it, okay? We’ll figure it out, it’ll all be okay.” He didn’t want to make any promises about this supposed boy, but the story was plausible. He just didn’t want to promise anything in case the situation wasn’t as it seemed.

But she shook her head. “We need to get him out of there. I promised him, and even if I hadn’t… you can’t… he can’t just stay locked up in a basement. It’s not right, uncle Andrew. He was crying when I had to leave, I can’t… I can’t leave him there. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I let him stay down there to-to… to just wallow alone.”

Her tears hadn’t stopped, but her sobs had lessened. She still sounded like she was crying, even while talking.

He pulled a grimace, but nodded. No one deserved to be locked in a basement with no contact from anyone. That was just cruel. And if it did turn out to be the long thought dead Thompson boy, then it was an even worse situation.

He finally nodded, his mouth still in a grim line. “If he’s down there with no way out, we’ll get him out, okay? That’s all I can promise. But we gotta be smart about this. Do the Thompson’s know you found him?” He turned to face her, still holding her in a reassuring way, but wanting to make sure she knew it was important to go about this the right way.

Shaking her head, she sat up straighter, hands going to wipe at her tear stained face before responding verbally. “N-no. Mrs. Thompson thinks I fell asleep at the kitchen table while she gardened.”

He took a breath, trying to think if that was believable enough or not, but then remembered that everyone knew his niece he took in for the summer was of frail constitution and tired easily. So it was entirely plausible.

“Alright, well you can’t go back right away, we have to think this through. So for now, no wandering around, you’ll stay at the house, alright?”

At this she seemed to resist the idea for a moment, before nodding. “I’m just worried about him. I trust you, but how are we going to check on him and get him out?”

Quiet fills the truck as they both sit in anxiety while turning over different ideas in their own minds. He breaks the silence first.

"Well, I think the easiest way is to get the law involved. I've known Dale since I moved here, him and Irene went to school together. He's good people. We can have him come out and check in on them." He seemed sure this was the best course of action, but Layla worried at her bottom lip.

"What if... what if that makes things worse? Like, if they hide him or hurt him?" She had only ever read about things like this. And even then, they weren't quite like this situation. The stories she'd read were detective novels. Ones where once the police closed in and the bad guy had nowhere to go, they lost it and hurt the person they were stalking or had kidnapped. It never ended well.

He gave a low hum at what she brought up, it was a fair thing to be worried about. "I could have him over soon, invite him early in the day and we could tell him what happened. Make sure he's gonna be on our side, and then when we go over to check, it'll be me and him together. They won't be able to hurt him if both of us are there little one. We'll make sure he stays safe, alright?"

She contemplated this for a moment, anxiety eating at her. She wanted to say no, that she didn't want him to be in danger, but she also knew he was an adult who knew what he was doing. Had been an adult far longer than she had been, having only just turned 18 at the end of winter.

A shaky sigh passed her lips before she nodded. "Alright. When can we have Mr. Dale over? I don't... I'm not gonna sleep well until we get that poor boy out of there." Her voice had started out strong, but trailed off, barely above a whisper by the end of it.

Shifting to rub soothing circles on her back, he looked out the windshield. "Well, we oughta tell Irene all this, run our plan by her. She's the brains, after all." A soft, affectionate chuckle left him at the joke.

With a bit lighter hearts, the two of them got out of the truck and made their way inside to run their plan by aunt Irene. Layla had hope that aunt Irene might have a better idea than involving the police or putting uncle Andrew in harms way.

[pigspeetsandhooflikefeets]

Hey. I don’t like posting this because I like to be a positive person and this is a really cool and positive fandom, but I need to say please avoid melodicalmusic on DeviantArt/doggiebeats on Quotev. Initially I thought it was just someone who was missing the point, but they are far worse and actively harmful. (notes under cut)

melodicalmusic/doggiebeats is the author and illustrator of an au fic named “Velo Life”. At first glance it is harmless, the art is fine. The story revolves around a mask named Pap (a papillon dog) doing things, being an assistant to the monarchy, and dating Fox. Sometimes other masks get chapters, but the overall focus is on her oc, which is fine, as ocs can be good. The problem isn’t conception, it’s execution.

Transphobia: Melodic decided to cast Leopard as a non-binary intersex character. It was a fair design choice, other than the fact she referred to them as a “pseudo-h*rmaphodite”, which is medically outdated, as well as the inclusion of ‘pseudo’ is more offensive than the slur alone. Leopard has biological cubs, despite most intersex (obviously not all) being infertile or unable to carry children showing a lack of research on the topic, as well as it being a very dysphoric situation for many trans and intersex people.

Leopard was referred to as a “quing”, combination “queen” and “king”. Now. Mull over it. Okay stop mulling, because she had every inch to just use “Monarch”, such as “Monarch Leopard”, as well as titles like “Their/Your Majesty”, which works for both kings and queens, so it should have been suitable for Leopard.

Unprompted, she backpedaled saying “But I wanted Leopard in my AU to be a actual female. Cause I think it's for the best. Everyone kinda hated Leopard, but I love everything she does. No not Transgender, just really a female.”. Besides the fact she took it in her own hands to decide that a mask played by Seal was ‘now a cis woman’, she implies that trans women are not women, calling cis women ‘really a female’.

In her fic, the only other trans character is Egg, who is exceptionally ambiguous to being trans, not specifying if Egg is NB, FTM, or if he as well was going to be intersex. She dedicates a chapter to pride month, yet a lot of the focus is on the cishet masks (Pap (her oc), Frog, and Fox), as well as a concerning ship of T-Rex and Poodle, as everyone knows that T-Rex is somewhat coded to be a child, since Jojo was only 16 when she performed. Despite claiming to respect trans people, she only had two trans characters, and decided that one of them wouldn’t be trans anymore because “I admired the high-pitch voice that was fitted for the Leopard, it just suits SO well. Even if the show kept going, I always hear the digital high vocals.”. Call me crazy, but that’s not a reason to make a man a cis woman.

As a trans man, Leopard was disgustingly handled in the show with the panel first week, accusing Seal of ‘tricking’ them for wearing drag and acting feminine (not acting like a woman, acting feminine), and I hoped it wouldn’t leech into the fandom. Clearly I was wrong.

Homophobia: Where to start with this. As stated, she changed Leopard from a NB intersex character (in her original canon) to a cis woman. In the fic, Leopard is married to Nick. I don’t need to tell you that she made Nick x Leopard into a straight ship. She made the only gay ship tease in the show into a straight ship. I wish it ended here.

Somali, an oc, has potential. Not here, but he has it. Somali is gay. If you think I’m undermining his character, that is his character. Somali likes magic and theater, and is very flamboyant. He is a gay walking stereotype. In his description, it is stated, “The story is that he turnout Gay, Of course Pappy was Supportive, but she knew it wasn't fair, especially through everything she's involved.” If you need me to translate: Somali broke up with Pap after realizing he was gay. Pap saw that as unfair, and that she was a victim of being lead on because he found out he was gay. Yes, Pap is making Somali being gay and dealing with his internalized homophobia… about herself. She goes to the point of calling him her nemesis. Which is a... toxic way to refer to someone who broke up with you on clean terms.

Somali eventually teams up with Rottweiler, Pap’s brother (who abuses her, despite it being out of character in every means) and is. Evil, and he hates Pap now apparently. We can’t go a minute without the gay oc being evil huh. Somali being gay doesn’t add to the story, it just suggests the only reason he stopped dating her was that he was gay (which is bad and offensive in Pap’s eyes) because he is not shown to fall for Rottweiler, or have any crushes on other male masks. His homosexuality is an accessory tag, and it’s really not a good one when he is the only gay character with a lot of lines.

Every. Character. That. Is. LGBT. Is. A. Token. Ice Cream and T-Rex are the closest ones to not be tokens, as Ice Cream has a job at a diner and T-Rex gets lines, but T-Rex is only used for exposition, and again, a child shipped with an adult mask. Peacock’s and Rabbit’s role outside of the first chapter is to have a rocky relationship, being forced to rekindle their relationship after Pap tells them to do so for a love festival. Several of the female masks are bisexual or lesbians, but they add so little to the plot, that I don’t even remember which ships are which. Every [since Leopard used to not be but is now] main character is heterosexual and cis (Pap, Fox, Leopard, Kitty, Frog, Turtle, Rottweiler) which doesn’t imply that she actually is that pro LGBT. Drawings of hers for Ice Cream and Egg are captioned “Just something Gay for you guys to see~” (fetishizing much?).

Ableism: One of the ocs in the fic is a Red Panda, who is related to Panda (don’t be confused, animal wise they are not closely related at all). In the fic, Red Panda suffers from PTSD due to an accident which caused her to be disabled in the leg, who uses a single-leg-crutch to walk. The physical disability is handled well enough, not being a hindrance or made fun of, but her personality is the worst. Red Panda is a cowardly and sniveling child, scared of her own shadow and completely incompetent. Her PTSD is very thinly written, not giving her any specific triggers or reasons for anxiety. If her PTSD was presented with her being afraid of entering a vehicle or certain smells that would relate to the accident (rubber, smoke, leather), it would make sense, but Red Panda is scared of everything. On a dare, Frog tells Kitty to impersonate a mask. Kitty impersonates Red Panda, making fun of her cowardice, which can be an actual attack on people who have PTSD (like myself), Kitty justifies herself, saying she couldn’t think of anyone else, Red Panda immediately accepting it. Being a minor character, there is no time for her to develop, and the Red Panda we were presented with is already a mess.

In the same chapter that Red Panda is introduced, Axolotl (mentioned a lot later) dares Fox to remove his prosthetic arm. I don’t need to need prosthesis to know that asking someone to take their ARM OFF is unfunny and uncalled for. Pap, Fox’s girlfriend, decided to take the time and kissed the welt, commenting that it “looked interesting”. Don’t- don’t do that. Don’t kiss people’s scars or cuts or welts or anything related to their disability, especially without permission. Axolotl was being ablest to Fox and somehow Fox didn’t know better and forgot to tell her she was acting uncivilized, despite being one of the smartest masks in the canon.

Condoning Incest: One of the ocs in the fic is an Axolotl. The axolotl is Frog’s biological sister, Frog having Turtle as his adopted brother, which in fic Turtle is stated to have been adopted in Frog’s family for over 15 years. In the axolotl’s description, it is stated “Though Axolotl is a relative of him, She deeply has a crush on him. Which maybe weird but hey, Turtle's Adopted. So not a big deal”. No, it’s not ‘ok’ because Turtle is adopted, especially since they’ve been related 15 years. It’s not like Frog and Turtle are ‘close enough to be brothers’, they are related by law. Axolotl is presented to quirkily force a kiss on Turtle in one chapter, which she is not punished or condoned for 1. Sexually harassing him 2. Committing incest and putting it on his conscience, OTHER than her getting salmonella, which all characters who kiss Turtle are prone to getting (Ice Cream in chapter was stated to have fallen sick after kissing him). Axolotl is treated completely fine and Turtle has her in his band, regardless of the fact she is predatory towards him. Additionally, Axolotl is treated as a babysitter towards all of the children on the island, despite, again, sexually harassing someone she is related to, which people saw happen.

Incest is a harmful thing that can cause people to self-deprecate themselves or worse. It’s not a quirky “ha ha, they kissed, so funny!” because Axolotl DOES want to prey on Turtle. She DOES want to be with him. She didn’t CARE about his feelings, in the moment or after. It wasn’t a cute kiss on the cheek, and it wasn’t funny.

Fetishization of Japan: Pap is a weeeeeb. Pap is stated to be Japanese (her last name being Akita) which is confusing on account of the fact Rottweiler and her family are not shown to be Japanese? Anyways, Pap uses broken Japanese, completely unsparingly, and just says it in a way she expects everyone to understand her. It’s not Engrish, she speaks English well enough, she just adds it in sentences, and Melodic doesn’t even offer translations at the end of chapters. Phrases used are arbitrary, one some reason ending with “translator”. Entire sentences can be in Japanese, making the story hard to follow. If this fetishization of the language was limited to Pap, it’d be more tolerable, but other masks, ones who have no reason to know Japanese, use it as well, equally poorly.

Xenophobia: Some reason the USA and UK masks are all good guys (other than Rottweiler) but the German masks live in a ‘badlands’. German Monster teams up with Rottweiler and is his girlfriend, while German Dragon sexually assaults Kitty when they go through the badlands. There is no rhyme or reason why they are the scapegoated ‘evil’ series, but it leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

Inability to handle criticism: I tried. I tried my absolute best to tell her that what she was writing was harmful and past borderline offensive. I told her that Somali was a gay stereotype and very poorly presented, not getting a personality out of ‘likes singing’ (which all masks do…) and ‘is evil gay’. She didn’t care. We told her she was using slurs and that turning a mask played by Seal into a cis woman was offensive and transphobic (as well as Leopard already poorly being handled). She didn’t care.

In fact she more than didn’t care. She called us insensitive and whiny. Quote from her, "Now, I been feeling upset about some Haters/Karens harassing me on my AU ideas. And yes that's dumb.” Karens. You know, the stereotypical older women who hate the gays and trans people and bully people doing their jobs? Karens? Yeah, no. A Karen would be against any characters being trans or gay, insisting the show is for families, not telling them to stop using literal slurs (which have been outdated over 20 years) and to actually write gay characters. She genuinely acts like she can do no wrong and that everyone that doesn’t fawn over her is bad. This has nothing to do with the quality of the writing and the lack of grammar, this is about how she is unapologetically offensive and writing triggering content for the sake of being ‘quirky’.

I’m not saying “go rally against her” or “dox her” or “flame her story”, I’m suggesting please don’t give her attention. She’s clearly a child, and she’s not willing to change. All we can do is limit how much attention she gets until she grows up.

[patchwork-panda]

If A Moment Is All We Are (part 4/???)

AO3 format here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24121633/chapters/58072957

Genre: Romantic Drama/Comedy

Pairings: OC x Dazai, OC x Kunikida. 

Story takes place after S2-S3 of the BSD Anime and follows OC’s adventures as she joins the ADA and solves cases with the detectives and falls in love with Kunikida and then Dazai (Dazai will be endgame).

TW: suicide ideation/mentions (see Dazai, see OC)

Thank you to @discoten for beta-ing (I changed this chap a lot tho)!!

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

“I think she’s waking up.”

“Then stop hovering over her like that, you’ll scare her!”

I groaned and brought a hand over my eyes. The after effects of my visions had been pretty bad in the past (usually ranging from feeling like a slight headache to a bad hangover) but never had I experienced anything close to this. My head was pounding like a drum and honestly, if I didn’t know any better, I’d guess I’d just been hit by a truck. All around me was the clean, sanitized smell of rubbing alcohol and fresh gauze so I had to be in the hospital and the two people I’d just heard talking must be the nurses assigned to my area.

Still clutching my aching head, I slowly sat up and tried to process the entire vision I’d just had. This was the longest and most vivid one to date; I must’ve seen an entire day’s worth of events in one go, so it was no wonder I passed out. There were so many people and so many names... I knew for a fact that this vision was of my own future and I could already feel the anxiety gnawing at my guts as I tried to figure out when it would come to pass. Everything else I’d seen within the last six months had already occurred, so why should this vision be any different?

I took my hands away from my eyes and the room slowly swam into focus.

Green curtains and white cot? Check. Medicine cabinets along the far wall? Yep. Looked like a hospital ward, alright.

But something wasn’t quite right. Where were the nurses I’d heard talking earlier? Rubbing my eyes, I slowly turned to my right... There, sitting at my bedside, was a man with a very familiar face, an attractive man with shaggy brown hair, cheerful brown eyes and a deceptively charming smile.

“Sleep well?” Dazai asked brightly.

Instead of answering, I screamed.

“Woah, Woah! Calm down!” someone suddenly shouted. “It’s okay!”

I twisted to the left and saw a skinny redhead in a white sweatshirt and jeans rushing into my field of view from behind the curtains. He was frantically waving his hands in the air in an attempt to get my attention.

“You’re okay!” he repeated, as I scooted as far away as I could from Dazai, who was somehow covered in more bandages than ever. “There’s no need to be scared! You’re safe here!”

“Then why is he here?!” I shrieked, jabbing a finger accusingly at Dazai, who merely blinked in confusion.

Without waiting for the redhead to respond, I grabbed the pillow from behind me and hurled it at Dazai, who caught it right in the face. With a muffled yelp, he tipped backwards in his chair and hit the floor and I immediately reached behind me for something else to throw in case he got back up. The redhead flinched as I turned my attention to him, second pillow in hand.

“Who are you? Where am I?” I demanded. “What’s going on?!”

“I’m Tanizaki Junichiro!” the redhead cried, backing away from me as I aimed the second pillow at him. “I’m a member of the Armed Detective Agency, you’re in the infirmary in our office building and you need to put that pillow down right now!”

But I was in full fight-or-flight mode and I was in no mood to listen to him. I threw, Tanizaki ducked and the pillow crashed loudly into the medicine cabinet just over his head.

“Why should I trust you?!” I snapped, reaching for the only thing left at my side: an empty glass pill bottle.

As I snatched it off the tabletop and held it between my shaking fingers, I watched Tanizaki’s expression go from startled to alarmed.

“How do I know you’re not lying to me like he did?!”

Tanizaki shot Dazai, who was still on the ground, an incredulous look.

“What the hell did you do to her?” he whispered, as the door behind him burst open with a wall-shattering crack.

“What’s going on?” a familiar, gruff voice shouted. “We heard screaming.”

I looked to the door and saw the familiar figure of a tall, blond detective in glasses running into the room.

“Kunikida-san...?”

I felt my grip loosen just a fraction on the bottle and at once, there was a rush of relief. If Kunikida Doppo, the man who saved me from capture, was here, maybe I really was safe.

Kunikida’s glasses looked slightly cracked and he had a fair amount of blood on his well-tailored beige ensemble but other than being slightly out of breath, the man seemed completely fine. He quickly readjusted his glasses as his gaze shot back and forth between Tanizaki, cowering by the medicine cabinets in the back, to Dazai, who was still on the floor with a pillow over his face, and finally to me, backed up against the headboard, hackles raised and a glass pill bottle clutched tightly in my hands. His green-gray eyes widened in shock.

“What the...?”

“Kunikida-san!” Tanizaki exclaimed, obvious relief flooding his face. “Thank goodness you’re here. I don’t know what happened! She woke up, saw Dazai and then she just started throwing things—”

“Of course I’m throwing things!” I shot back, “You’d throw things at him too if he had a gun to your head the last time you saw him!”

Tanizaki’s jaw hit the floor. As Tanizaki looked from me to Dazai and finally to Kunikida, the blonde detective slowly dropped his head into his hand and let out a very heavy sigh. His lips barely moved as he spoke and I had to strain to hear him as he mumbled something under his breath.

“I knew we shouldn’t have gone with your plan, Dazai...”

My eyes widened. My fingers tightened around the glass bottle in my hands as the silence in the room seemed to deepen.

“What...?”

As my half-whispered question echoed around the room, it was as if the temperature had dropped several degrees. Nobody was moving. Tanizaki was still and Kunikida appeared to have figured out his mistake the instant my eyes locked with his.

“Kunikida-san...” I asked slowly, “What exactly are you all planning to do with me? Tell me... What was the plan?”

His eyes flicking momentarily towards Dazai’s prone form, Kunikida took a single, cautious step towards me. He slowly raised his hands into the air.

“Kusunoki-san.”

His hands still in the air, he took another step towards me. Something didn’t feel right...

“It’s not what you think—”

“Stop.”

He froze. I was squeezing the bottle in my shaking hands.

“I never gave you my name.”

A sharp crack echoed throughout the room; the glass pill bottle had broken in my hands. A warm trickle of blood ran down my palm.

“Get the hell away from me.”

Just then, a woman ran into the room. The tails of her white lab coat flew behind her like a sail as she dashed forward and a speck of gold glinted in her short-cropped hair, prompting a strange, nagging familiarity somewhere in the back of my head. However, the moment I spied the enormous cleaver gleaming in her right hand, the entire memory evaporated like a wisp of smoke.

“What’s happened?” she asked sharply, looking from one face to another, stiffening abruptly as her violet eyes fell upon me. “Why is she...?”

There was a low groan and Dazai finally stirred. He removed the pillow from his face, where a large patch of gauze had just been knocked askew, and sat up, looking fairly groggy as he did so. His was the only movement in the room; everyone else had stopped what they were doing to cast wary glances at each other and at me. I noticed Tanizaki’s eyes distinctly following the trail of blood flowing down my arm. Dazai turned to look at me and as he did, I suddenly remembered something important: just before he tried to cut off my legs, Akutagawa had said that the Port Mafia needed me alive...

The question was: did the detectives also need me alive?

Before anyone could react, I took the cracked bottle in my hand, the thin glass already splintered and weakened, and smashed it against the headboard. Shards of glass flew everywhere and all eyes in the room focused more sharply on me as I took the biggest shard and held it to my neck.

“Kusunoki-san,” Kunikida started, looking terrified, “Put that down—”

“I don’t know what you want with me,” I said quietly, “What anyone wants with me, but if organizations other Ability Users calling themselves the Port Mafia or the Armed Detective Agency wants me alive, well...”

My hands shook as I pressed the broken edge of the glass against my skin. In spite of myself, I grinned, weakly.

“That can’t be good, can it?”

I could hear something like static inside my skull. The intrusive thoughts I’d shoved away for so long began to emerge, clawing out from the darkest depths of my mind and fully breaking into my conscious thoughts. My fingers tightened around the glass shard and I could feel the warm wetness of my own blood dripping down my elbow as I spoke.

“I know... that I’m absolutely useless in a fight. I know that my power cannot be used to help people. I tried that earlier today and look where that got me.”

My voice shook as I spoke.

“I went out to try to get help for my neighbor today and now look what’s happened. People are hurt. People are dead. So what does that tell me?”

I swallowed uneasily.

“My powers can’t be used to help. They can only cause harm.”

I felt it: the whispers, the static inside my skull growing louder. My pulse throbbed in my bloodied hand and when I looked up into Kunikida’s eyes, I could see my own hollow eyes staring back at me from the reflection of his glasses, the pupils like bottomless black wells.

“I’ve heard it said that anyone who has an Ability has something wrong with them inside. I kept refusing to believe it, because I didn’t want to think it was true. I didn’t want to think that something really was wrong with me. For years, I kept it all to myself, even locked myself away for the past six months thinking that it would be enough... But I was wrong.”

I squeezed my eyes shut so I didn’t have to look at my reflection any longer and I was plunged into an even deeper darkness, my ears filling with a horrible rushing noise.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone. I don’t want to be the cause of any more pain.”

And then it came to me.

All of a sudden, the thoughts I’d been having on and off for some time now no longer seemed so intrusive or destructive. They were soothing and they offered me a solution. If I just did what I’d been putting off, what I’d been running away from, this could all end... Not just for me, but for everyone...

I opened my hollow eyes and took one last look around the room.

“Guess there’s just one thing I can do, huh...”

Taking a deep breath in, I readied the glass shard.

“Stop.”

Dazai stood.

“That’s not going to work,” he said quietly.

And without understanding why, I listened. My hands stayed exactly where they were and as I watched, Dazai softly pushed Tanizaki aside and strode towards me. Nobody made a move to stop him as he approached and as he got closer, I thought I saw something familiar reflected in his clear, brown eyes—a nameless, haunting something that I’d seen before though I did not remember where. The static in my head slowly began to fade as Dazai sat down at my bedside and continued to hold his gaze.

“You are in the presence of one of the best doctors in the city,” he said, inclining his head towards the woman in the lab coat. “If you try anything, she’ll bring you right back, I guarantee it.”

He held out his hand to me and as I looked at it, I thought felt the darkness inside me slowly reach back...

“And as they said,” Dazai continued, “you are totally and completely safe here. Now, if I was really going to hurt you...”

He smiled.

“I would have shot you before Akutagawa even had the chance to take you away. So, could you please drop what you’re holding and give us a chance to explain?”

I looked at him. I looked up and around the room, at the three people standing in the back. Kunikida nodded and without meaning to, I slowly loosened my grip. The glass shard dropped out of my hand.

“There, that wasn’t so bad, right?” Dazai asked, his smile widening as he took my hand.

And then I saw it.

There, in the depths of his pupils, was the nameless darkness that had haunted me for years. Somewhere in his heart...

He was just like me.

Still smiling gently, Dazai folded one half-bandaged hand over mine, his eyes never leaving my face and for a moment, it felt like we were the only two people in the room. I could feel a strange sense of calm coming over me. And then I felt something warm and wet in my hands; my blood was soaking into his bandages and I had slivers of glass embedded in my palm.

“Thank you,” Dazai whispered.

He ran his thumb across the back of my hand, his expression softening further.

“But just so you know, if you’re still looking to kill yourself after this,” he continued, still gently stroking my hand, “I have been looking for a beautiful woman to join me in a double suicide—”

“Shut up, Dazai!” both Kunikida and the woman in the lab coat shouted in unison.

It was as if a spell had broken and I looked up towards the back wall where the woman in the lab coat was now striding towards us, her deep purple eyes blazing.

“Nobody is killing themselves under my watch.”

Her eyes flicked momentarily to Dazai and for a millisecond, I thought I saw a hint of unease. She put her hands on her hips and addressed me.

“Kusunoki-san, I can prove to you that no one here intends to cause you or any of the public any harm. Lift off those covers and take a good look at your legs. It’s as Dazai said. I’ve brought you back from death’s door once before and I can—and will—do it again.”

“Death’s door...?” I murmured, trying to remember.

Images of an exploding fire extinguisher and a brilliant sunset came flooding back  and at once, I tore my hands out of Dazai’s and threw the covers off my body.

My eyes widened.

“How—?!”

My body was completely whole. Gone was the bloody gash in my left thigh, as was the numbness in my leg. I was still wearing the same jeans from this morning and though parts of the pants leg itself was still cut up, caked in dried blood and hanging by a thread, the skin underneath looked as smooth and unbroken as it had the moment I’d left the apartment. Gingerly, I reached up to touch my cheek, where I remembered a bullet grazing my skin while I’d been running down the stairs and was shocked to find that it too, seemed exactly the same as it was in the morning. However, my hair was nowhere near as long as it used to be and my fingers brushed against short, choppy, split ends where I used to have a long, tangled mess that had once stretched down to my rib cage.

I looked up at the woman once again and as I squinted at her, I spotted a flash of gold in her hair—a golden butterfly pin. As I stared at it, I suddenly remembered where I’d seen her before.

“Wait a second,” I gasped. “I saw you outside the art gallery! You showed up the same time the police did!”

Breathing a sigh of relief, the woman nodded.

“That’s right. My name is Yosano Akiko. I’m a physician and a member of the Armed Detective Agency. As you can probably tell, I’m also an Ability User.”

“Is that how you healed me?” I asked, poking at my undamaged legs.

She nodded.

“You’re lucky I got there when I did. You actually broke your neck when you hit the sidewalk. If my Ability wasn’t specifically able to heal people who were just about to die, you wouldn’t be sitting here right now.”

My hands flew to my neck and I winced as I felt the glass move against my palms.

“Th-thanks. Sorry I messed myself up again.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it!” Yosano chirped. “I can definitely heal you again. Of course, I will need to get you back to the point of near-death...”

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Tanizaki shaking his head furiously and gesticulating wildly at me from the far end of the room. Judging from the traumatized look on his face, he wanted me to refuse her offer.

“No, thanks... I think just bandages would be okay.”

Shooting Tanizaki a dirty look, Yosano clicked her tongue distastefully.

“Fine.”

As she walked back towards the medicine cabinets, towards Tanizaki, the redhead took one look at her face and ran for it. I heard him call out a hasty goodbye to me as he abruptly departed. When Yosano returned, she had a magnifying glass, a pair of tweezers and a roll of gauze in her black-gloved hands. Taking Dazai’s seat as he vacated it, she pulled my bloody hand towards her and began picking out the glass...

***

“So let me get this straight,” I repeated, looking from Dazai to Kunikida as Yosano finished bandaging up my hands. “The plan was for Dazai-san to hold me hostage—at gun point—because the Port Mafia needed me alive and the only way to keep them from capturing me was to make it look like you’d shoot me dead if they tried?”

Dazai nodded, looking pleased with himself.

“And this was also a ploy to buy Kunikida-san enough time to set up the bombs downstairs so he could blow a hole through the floor and catch me when I came falling through. From there, he was supposed to escort me outside to safety...”

Horrified, confused and overall just stunned, I turned to Yosano who merely shook her head at me.

“Don’t think about it too hard,” she said, snipping the last bandage with a pair of scissors. “You’ll just give yourself a headache.”

“Dazai’s schemes can be... rather unorthodox,” Kunikida admitted, pushing his glasses up his nose, “But they do work...”

“Right...” I mumbled. “It’s just... a lot to take in right now.”

I shot a covert look at Dazai who waved happily and at Yosano as she stood and packed away her things.

“I didn’t know Yokohama had so many Ability Users.”

“People with supernatural Gifts aren’t as rare as you think,” Kunikida said, his green-gray eyes scanning me as he spoke. “But of course, they’re not exactly commonplace either. You just happened to have met some of the city’s most prominent Ability Users, members of the Armed Detective Agency included, within the last twenty-four hours...”

As he trailed off, I found myself avoiding his probing gaze and looking instead to the door, where the good doctor, having finished working on me, was now departing. Despite the fact that I had known Kunikida and Dazai the longest out of all the detectives, I felt a growing sense of unease at being left alone in the infirmary with them. It wasn’t that I still didn’t feel safe, I just wasn’t looking forward to the impending interrogation...

Noticing my anxiety, Kunikida sighed.

“I know it’s been a long day but your case isn’t quite closed. If you’ll bear with us for just a little longer, we have some questions. The Port Mafia doesn’t send its operatives after just anyone and we’d like to find out why they were interested in you. You mentioned having a non-combat Ability but something’s not right...”

He sat down next to Dazai and thumbed through his notebook.

“We decided to look in on your background earlier,” he stated, his eyes flitting across the pages. As he spoke, I noticed he sounded just a little apologetic. “And we learned a few things, the first of which was your name. From there, we found out that you left college about halfway through your second year and have been staying at that apartment you’ve been living in ever since. According to your neighbors, you rarely venture out of your room, which which is interesting considering we met you in front of that police station this morning.”

He put down the notebook and crossed his legs.

“What’s even more interesting is the fact that no reports were filed under your name at that station, even though we saw you go back inside after we spoke. Kusunoki-san... you mentioned wanting to report a murder when you met with us this morning. Do you mind telling us more about that...? About...”

He flipped back through his notebook and squinted at something on the page.

“Your neighbor, Yamazaki-san?”

I felt my pulse pick up in my chest.

“How did you find out about the murder? It seems she has no enemies, no hidden fortunes to speak of and lives in a relatively safe area... What made you think she would be killed in a week’s time? Is this related to your Ability?”

I thumbed the fresh bandages on my palm. I could feel Dazai’s eyes on me but I didn’t speak. Honestly, I did want to talk to them. I just didn’t know where I should start...

“I have a few ideas,” Dazai said abruptly, leaning forward in his chair as I gave him a curious, hesitant look. “But until you confirm it for me, it’s just a theory. Want to hear it?”

I nodded.

“Okay, then. Let’s start here: when we first saw you outside that police station (looking absolutely stunning, I’d like to add) you were pretty distraught. You’d tried to talk to the officers about the murder, yet they threw you out...”

He laced his fingers together, his eyes still trained on my face.

“I know those guys pretty well. They’re hard-headed but they’re consistent. They would never ignore something serious as a potential murder, unless the information they were given was unreliable in some way. That drawing you gave them... Why would you give them a drawing of a tattoo and not a photo of a face? Odd, don’t you think?”

At the memory, I flushed in embarrassment.

“The other odd thing is the fact that the second officer you spoke to seemed to have taken you seriously when all you did was give them the same information.”

He reached into of his pocket and took out my drawing, holding it up in a way so that Kunikida and I could both see it.

“This is the tattoo of a hired killer who only takes jobs from those he knows in the criminal underworld—of course a normal police officer, like the first one you spoke to, wouldn’t be familiar with it but if the second one was, that means she has some connection to the criminal underworld, the largest organization of which would be—”

“—The Port Mafia,” Kunikida finished, his eyes flashing in recognition. “Who we know for a fact has been actively capturing or recruiting Ability Users for the past decade or so, regardless of combat potential.”

“So, Kusunoki-san,” Dazai said, grinning, “Did I get it right? I really hope so because...”

I felt my pulse pick up as Dazai leaned in conspiratorially, bringing his hand up to his face as he whispered, “I have a bet going with some of the others, about what sort of Ability you might have, and I reeeeally want to see their faces when they lose—”

I pulled back just as Kunikida’s fist crashed down on top of Dazai’s head and their manzai routine started up again.

“Why the hell would you tell her that?! What bet? This is completely unprofessional, I’m going to have a word with the President about this—”

“Oh, Kunikiiii-da-kuuun. You’re just mad that you were left out of the pot. Small wonder when we knew you were going to react like this—”

“Of course I was going to react like this! Who wouldn’t?!”

As they jabbered back and forth, I felt all the tension in the room—and in my own body—vanish abruptly. A soft snicker suddenly burst from my lips. And for the first time in what felt like years, I was suddenly laughing. These two, these detectives, were Ability Users as well, and even though they dealt with life-and-death situations on a daily basis, here they were, fighting like children and making stupid bets—living their lives to the fullest even though they were cursed in the same way I was. Dazai and I had the same darkness curled up in the depths of our eyes and though he liked to make terrible jokes about suicide, he was still here.

If anyone were to believe me, if anyone were to understand, it would be these two...

I stopped laughing long enough to wipe a tear from my eye and looked up to see Kunikida and Dazai stop to stare at me, the former’s hands still wrapped around the latter’s neck (Kunikida appeared to be trying to choke Dazai again). As our eyes met, Kunikida immediately dropped his partner and sat back down, his olive-green notebook back in his hands, pen held at the ready. A tiny little smile playing about his face, Dazai adjusted his collar and looked to me as well.

Bringing my hands close to my chest and closing my eyes, I took a deep breath in.

“My Ability is called ‘The Story of Your Life.’”

I lifted up my fully bandaged right hand and extended it towards the detectives.

“It lets me see moments from the future. Usually, it’s mine but I can see yours too...”

I breathed out

“All I have to do... is touch you.”

[musutofu]

【 Family Matters 】 Drabble

♡ pairing | ᵞᴬᴺᴰᴱᴿᴱ Todoroki x ᵍⁿ Reader ✑ word count | 1.8k ✎ genre | yandere ✗ warnings | kidnapping, arranger marriage prompt | 5. “The world doesn’t deserve an angel like you.” 50: “I want to tell you I love you until my throat bleeds.”

A chill, then a shiver; the most gentle trembling of her shoulders as the cold traces up the ridges of her spine with the iciest touch. Barely a hair’s breadth of movement only captured by eyes keen enough to know what to look for, but enough to upset the balance of her hands. The needle poised between her fingers slips and eats through her skin, pulling away pearls of blood as it leaves like a syringe. She makes a small noise of acknowledgment, a wisp of a sound that hardly disturbs the silence that’s clouded the room. The following sigh is louder as she lifts the embroidery from her lap to more closely examine the red stain eating through the white fabric like wildfire. It spreads to the mauves and lavenders of the peonies she’d been stitching, ruining a few hours of work in a few seconds. Still, she doesn’t look to the damage to see how badly she’s injured herself, only mournfully swipes her unbloodied thumb over the unruined flowers with a rueful smile. The minute uptick of her lips is an expression she’s been showing more often, although it’s worrisome in this context. Not wanting to disturb her but concerned for the ribbon of blood dripping down her finger, you rise from your seat to take the embroidery loop from her hand. She lets you, smile falling just a fraction before her eyes focus on your face. “It’s ruined now.” She’s still smiling, head tilted and eyes closed as if she’s expecting something. It sets a pang in your heart at the thought of what she must be thinking of; the consequences she must expect after rendering a day’s work pointless. Whatever it is she doesn’t have to fear it from you as you gentle dab at the blood on her hand, whipping the tiny cut clean with a sanitizing wipe before covering it with a bandaid. She flexes her finger to test its durability, holding her hand up to admire the floral decals wrapped around her fingertip. The bright pinks and blues stand out against her pale skin and even paler hair. Humming a soft thanks, she bows her head, eyes catching on the doorway as she lifts it. “Ah, Shouto.” The boy is easily recognizable as her son, a perfect split between her and her husband. “I wasn’t expecting you today.” He makes a sound in his throat like he hadn’t expected to find himself here either, but still moves to give her a hug. It isn’t the most intimate of gestures but knowing from Rei how things went in the Todoroki household it makes you feel as though you’re intruding. Trying your best to go unnoticed, you quickly gather your things and move towards the door. Rei catches you as you’re quietly bowing your goodbyes and waves you back in before you can fully disappear behind the closed door. “Don’t go so soon, come keep us company a while longer.” Whether she’s truly lonely after having years of motherhood taken from her while she’s been here or simply being polite, you can’t tell, but decide to resettle yourself in a chair near to her son. “Shouto, this is [Name]. They’re a student volunteer that comes to visit me every so often. I believe you two are around the same age, aren’t you?” She looks to you for confirmation. “I suppose we are.” You’re both still in high school and you recognize him from this year’s U.A. sports festival. He’s the same year as you. “It’s nice to meet you, [Name]-kun.” You say the same, hoping he doesn’t notice the way you fidget in your seat as he looks at you. His eyes are mismatched; an icy grey and burning blue that sears through you until it feels as though his gaze has melted away everything but your soul. It’s a strange feeling that you needn’t linger in and you turn away first, feigning interest in Rei’s ruined embroidery. She sighs when you lift it for appraisal. “I know, it’s ruined. I can be so clumsy sometimes.” She says bashfully, sounding less tense than she’d looked before. “My grandpa once told me nothing is ever ruined, and he’s a kimono maker. He’s had to repair and restore all sorts of stains and tears. We could turn this into a bouquet of camellias and peonies. I have some red thread at home, I’ll bring it on my next visit.” Rei smiles again and it helps to stave off the strange feelings her son is encoring with his enthralled gaze still trained on you. The visit continues like that until a nurse comes to inform you that visiting hours are over. This time Rei lets you slip away without protest, but her son won’t allow you the same luxury. He finds you outside in the light of the setting sun. It makes his left side glow as the dull embers of the waning sun catch in his crimson hair. He says nothing, still just staring in a way that makes you feel like he’s looking inside you rather than at you. Unsure of what to say, but knowing it’d be rude to walk away you stay nailed to the spot, waiting for him to say or do anything that could release you from the binds of propriety. “What school do you go to?” He says finally. You tell him, a slight swell of pride filling the emptiness his eyes have left inside you as you name one of the most prestigious schools in Musutafu that specializes in clinical rehabilitation for people affected by the aftermath of villain attacks. He doesn’t even pretend to be impressed. His eyes pierce you like a pin and all the hubris leaks out onto the pavement. “Thank you for looking after my mother.” You don’t mention that you’re getting school credits for your volunteer work and he doesn’t say goodbye. He simply turns to walk in the opposite direction. His abrasive exit bothers you less than it should seeing as his departure takes away all the tension that had built up since his arrival. Rei is a nice woman but her son has a strangely aloof personality, though not so strange when considering his upbringing. You brush his intense presence off as a normality for someone in his situation. Quite nearly forgetting about ever having met him after several visits to see Rei go uninterrupted. She says he still visits, just never when you’re there and coyly wonders why you’ve taken a sudden interest in him. It’s easy to pretend it’s admiration when everyone in your class are swooning over one U.A. student or another. Truthfully, you’re glad for the lack of appearance on his part. One meeting with the stoic boy was enough. After today’s visit, Rei insisted you take her fully restored embroidery of red and violet flowers as a gift for being so kind to her. You tuck it under your pillow before you go to sleep, wondering if the maternal love stitched into each flower would give you sweet dreams. Strangely, you awake in the middle of the night. It hadn’t been a nightmare that had done it as the memories of some happy dream still cling to the edges of your consciousness, but they’re easily flushed away as you move to shift back to your side only to find your hands tangled with your headboard. A short tugs gives way to a quick bite of searing pain as the frozen restraints cut into your wrists. It takes you longer than it should to realize the headboard is different than your own, and that the bed is different. The entire room is foreign to you right down to the white shirt you most definitely hadn’t gone to sleep in, though your frantic shuffling tells you it’s the only part of your clothing that was tampered with. “Ah, you’re awake.” The voice comes from a corner of the room where the silhouette of a chair is occupied by the last person you’d want to find you in such a compromising position. Shouto is watching you with his lecherous eyes, taking in every detail of your struggle. Each second that passes drags to the length of an eternity as he silently takes in every detail of you prone form. When he shifts to stand you jerk away in fear, wrist tugging hard at your restraints. Hard enough to cut your skin open on the ice fractals. Warm lines of blood drip down your raised arms and Shouto clicks his tongue in distaste. “Darling, don’t hurt yourself. That’s merely a precaution. I’ll remove it as soon as you calm down.” “Calm down? You expect me to calm down when I’m in a strange place with a strange man? Don’t tell me to calm down!” Shouto sighs like you’re a petulant child refusing to go to bed even when it’s evident that you’re tired. “This isn’t a strange place and I’m not a strange man. You’re at home, our home. With me. I don’t see what’s so strange about it.” “Home? My home is with my parents, far away from you.” He sighs again, his expression a cross between endearment and exasperation when you move away from his approach. He still catches you around the waist, right hand cutting through the thin fabric of the shirt to send a chill through your skin below. “My parents are your parents. Marriage does that.” His head leans into the column of your neck, lips smiling against your skin like you’ve just told the funniest joke. “Marriage?” You incredulous. How had one chance meeting that only lasted a few hours lead to the leap from strangers to life partners. “It was arranged by my father at my request. Your parents were rather excited to hear that you were going to be married to a Hero. Mother was the one that encouraged me to pursue you. Said we’d make a lovely couple.” The words draw forth memories of Rei’s soft smile, but it’s soured by the reminder that if you hadn’t been assigned to her you would’ve never met her son, though it’s hard to loathe such a sweet woman. “I couldn’t agree more.” Shouto continues. “I love you. I wanted to tell you that first day at the hospital but I didn’t want to frighten you. Now that we’re to be married I can say it as much as I’d like. I want to tell you I love you until my throat bleeds. I want to keep you all to myself.” His arms tighten around you waist, pulling you impossibly closer. Your hearts beat against each other; yours a frantic flutter against his steady rhythm. “I want to keep you in my arms forever. The world doesn’t deserve an angel like you.” “And you do?” The words are said before you can stop them. Shouto lifts his head from where he’d been marking your neck with deepening bruises. “No, but I’m willing to spend every day of the rest of our lives proving my worth. You’ll love me then,” his voice darkens, “I know you will.”

[stellar-alley]

Spider Spaghetti

•Chapter 3•

<<Previous Chapter 

(Summary: The day of the Homecoming dance has finally arrived.)

Shout out to my Beta, go find her on Tumblr @scoobydoo-ghoulschool and on ao3 @ theblacklagoon  

Also, don’t forget to check out my Instagram Stellar.Cosplays if you want to see more of me and what goes on in my life!

~

Richie Tozier was normal. That’s it. Literally. No Tricks or plot twists. Richard Went Tozier was as normal as they came. Well aside from his Trashmouth.

So after everything that happened the night before with Spiderman, he realized that he was in over his head. He had no clue what to do about this, or if he could even help.

The wind blew through his dark curls from his spot on the roof of his apartment building. This was the place he went whenever he needed to clear his mind or catch his breath. Sure he loved his room and his parents, they’re great, but everyone needs time for themselves. And that’s exactly what he was getting, up until he heard the soft thump of something behind him.

“Spiderman” Richie said without removing his eyes from the cityview before him.

He could hear the hero stuttering behind him in confusion. “How did you-” Richie turned around to see Spiderman with his head tilted like a lost puppy.

“Who else would just drop out of the sky?” The corner of Richie ‘s lip curved up.

“Uh I don’t know, Superman?” Spiderman shrugged almost sarcastically. Then the hero shook his head, trying to get back on track with what he was saying. “You can’t go to homecoming” He announced.

The mood immediately changed, from a kinda fun banter to serious and confused.

“W-What?” Richie tensed up, confused about what he was being told to do.

“Ri-” Eddie stopped mid-word, to stop himself from saying Richie’s name again. “Dude some serious shit is going to go happen at the dance. So. You. Cannot. Go” Eddie pronounced each word carefully. “You’ll be in immediate danger” Spiderman said, determined.

Richie arched a brow, “what kind of immediate danger?” he questioned.

Spiderman let out an annoyed sigh, “The kind that would end up with you dead!” He exclaimed as he chopped the air with his hand.

“Ahh” He nodded his head as if he suddenly understood what Eddie was talking about, “That kind of immediate danger”. He took a minute, contemplated the idea before he shrugged and said “Nope, no can do Spidey. I’ve got myself a hot date and I literally cannot miss this, unless I wanna get my head chopped off”.

Eddie rolled his eyes from beneath his mask yet he could still feel his cheeks burning. I so would not cut his head off, Eddie wanted to mumble but didn’t.

“Please uh- what's your name?” Eddie tried to play dumb as if he hadn't already called him by his real name twice now.

“Richie” He smirked, almost as if he knew that spiderman already knew that.

“Okay, Richie. Please, do not go to the homecoming dance” Spiderman begged.

Maybe it was the fact that spiderman used his real name, but Richie complied, “Fine” he sighed as he held his hands up in defeat, “I won't go to the dance”.

“Promise?” Spiderman asked.

“Promise” Richie nodded in agreement.

~

“Lying sack of shit” Eddie grumbled as he watched Richie step out of Maggie Tozier’s blue jeep. His suit was black and sharp, Eddie wanted nothing more than to slow dance with him under the light of the disco ball, but he was still pissed he showed up after promising Spiderman to stay home.

Bill shot him a glance, obviously confused by the comment. Eddie quickly pulled his phone out and waved it, “Sorry, texting someone” he lied. Bill nodded, but if he didn't believe Eddie then he didn't mention it.

The day had finally arrived, the one everyone was waiting for, Homecoming.

Everyone looked good, all the Losers threw on their best attire and had congregated at the front door before they went in together. Eddie thought he had convinced Richie not to come, but he was wrong. Sure he would’ve preferred if it was just him without the other Losers to ensure their safety but he knew that out of all of them, Richie would be the most prone to follow him if/when he left to go kick Carter’s ass. Looks like I’m gonna have to use fucking ninja stealth, whatever, let’s just have fun for now. We are just kids after all.

Instead of questioning why Richie had come, he simply walked up to him with the rest of the Losers.

“Ms Marsh is that a Beverly exclusive that you’re wearing?” Richie asked as if it was a big scandalous act. To the Losers it was a big deal, Beverly had started designing clothes about 2 years ago and only Ben has been given the slightest glance at what she’s been creating. So seeing her now, displaying an entire dress, was a pretty big fucking deal.

The dress was beautiful, it was long and flowy, the fabric was a light pink with puffy sleeves and a V neck line that perfectly displayed her breasts without showing too much cleavage. But that wasn't even the best part, the dress was decorated with little red strawberries. Which Ben had actually matched perfectly to his pink, strawberry type, which Beverly also made.

She stepped back, away from the group and gave them a twirl, displaying her dress in all of its strawberry glory.

“It’s amazing” Ben said in aw.

“Your best one yet!” Richie hollered and whooped as she returned to them.

“You haven’t even seen my other pieces dumbass” She looked away as if it would hide her rosy cheeks. Before any of the other Losers could praise her anymore she wrapped her arms around the boys, 3 on each side, “My boys… Let’s go party like it’s 1999” She smirked as the boys cheered with excitement.

Eddie surveyed the gym where the dance was being held. He scoped out the big room for all the exits and anything that could be a threat, also ya know, the drug lord Mr Carter, who was suspiciously nowhere to be seen. But as he did so he noticed how fancy the gym looked. Streamers hung from the ceiling, making a cool kinda wall that surrounded the dance floor. Of course there was a big disco ball that hung above the dance floor and lights of all colours. The DJ was up on the stage with her obviously big headphones, bopping her head to the song as she spun a record.

“Nice, right?” Richie broke Eddie out from his thoughts.

The hero looked up to his date, “Yeah, they really went all out” he nodded.

“So th-this is where all of the ye-yearbook’s money guh-goes to” Bill rolled his eyes as he fixed the cuff on his suit’s arm. Once his arm was down by his side again, Mike swapped in and linked his arm with Bill’s.

He smiled his iconic Mike Hanlon smile and asked, “Would you like to accompany me on the dance floor?”.

Bill’s ears turned red, his eyes drifted up to meet Mike’s which only made his face hotter, “I-I’d love to” and with that, Mike swept him off to dance.

“Do I have to be that formal or can we just-“ Richie pointed towards the dance floor.

Eddie shook his head with a smile, “Come on trashmouth” He intertwined their fingers and then they were off.

“Well looks like I’m going to go find Patty” Stan nodded then proceeded to go find his girlfriend.

Ben was immediately nervous. Shit now I have to ask Beverly Marsh, to dance with me. But before he could worry any more, his date stepped in front of him, her dress flowing beautifully behind her as she turned and bowed slightly with her arm out.

“May I have this dance, New Kid?” The old nickname brought a smile to both of their faces.

Ben was so busy mentally fangirling about how in love he was with her that he almost forgot to answer. “I’ll always want to dance with you, Beverly” he said, reaching his hand out to meet hers.

The first song was more upbeat, the Losers stayed with their respective partners as they danced together, moving to the beat. The next song though, was more of a party song, more specifically LMFAO’S Party Rock Anthem.

Eddie watched with delight as Richie’s face lit up like a christmas tree. “I LOVE THIS SONG!” He exclaimed. Even though LMFAO hadn't put out a song in over 5 years, the ones they did release were timeless bops.

Fate worked in weird ways, like how the song came on just as all the Losers had subconsciously drifted towards each other on the dance floor. None of them questioned it though, they simply smiled even brighter in the company of their real family. Together they belted out the lyrics, jumped to the beat and danced like no one was watching.

After that song they were all pretty parched, “Wanna get something to drink?” Mike offered, they all agreed and walked over to the table that had snacks and a bowl that was usually filled with punch.

Bev caught the attention of the teacher running the table and asked “No punch this time? thought that was kinda like a staple”.

“Oh yes deery it is. Mr Carter said he would take care of it, you know the science teachers and how good they are at getting the ratios correct when mixing drinks” She explained. Instead the Losers grabbed the water bottles that lined the table and drank from those.

Once all of the Losers were sipping their drinks and chatting, Eddie stepped up towards the table once again, “Sorry but do you know where I could find Mr Carter? I said I would help him with the punch” Eddie lied.

“Oh, sure, he’s just in his classroom, do you need the number?” She inquired.

Eddie politely declined then thanked her before rejoining the Losers. “Guys I’m gonna go use the washroom” he announced, they all gave some sort of simple reply before he slipped out from the noisy gym and into the hallway where the loud music was muffled and he had more space to walk.

Of course he would be the one in charge of the fucking punch- Bev literally said it best, it’s a staple for these kinds of things and everyone has it, even if it tasts like shit. When teens are thirsty they’ll drink literally anything (Literally anything). The punch is a perfect way for him to drug all these students and turn him into whatever super powered army he was trying so hard to create.

Eddie stopped by his locker, got his backpack then stopped in the washroom across from Carter’s room where he slid out of his suit. He carefully folded it and placed it in his bag, hoping he would still use it after he caught this guy. He had worn his Spiderman outfit under his suit which saved him time, all he had to do was put his mask on. Before he left he tossed his bag up, shot off a web and stuck it to the ceiling in hopes of no one finding it.

He was ready and standing in front of Carter's door, he let his spider senses kick in and tried to detect anythin- rapidly Eddie leaped up, off the floor and stuck to the ceiling, just in time to miss the door blowing off of its hinges. He stayed quiet as a being stepped out of the classroom, they looked down the hallway. That’s when Spiderman relaxed his body and fell down onto the figure. He wrapped his legs around their neck in hopes of knocking them out but this guy was quick, and strong.

He raised his arms, reached back, grabbed a fistfull of Spiderman’s hero suit and not only pulled spiderman off of his back but he flung him into the classroom. Eddie groaned when he landed on his back in the science classroom. He looked up to the ceiling he was used to seeing when he was daydreaming in class, but now the usual ceiling tiles were interrupted by someone looking down on the hero.

“See, Spiderman, all this time I had been trying to give my subject new abilities” Carter smirked, towering over the hero. “But turns out I should’ve been enhancing the abilities we already have. That's why your friend Bryce here might be a little bit stronger than you remember” He said with a wink before Eddie’s head snapped up just in time to see Bryce, who was significantly more muscly, grab his ankles and yank him towards him.

“You won’t win” Eddie groaned, looking back at Carter who watched as Bryce’s hands grabbed onto Eddie’s hips and hoisted him into the air.

Spiderman kicked and punched but Bryce was not flinching. He shot off a couple webs but they seemed to simply slip off of his skin.

“Oh I don’t know about that Spiderman” Carter hummed.

Eddie barely had any time to register what was going on as Bryce began to move forward and before he knew it, the hero was being thrown forward, towards the window. The glass broke on impact and spiderman went plummeting towards the cement below.

Just before he hit the ground, he shot off a web, it connected with one of the fire escapes above. He stopped just a foot before he hit the ground. Eddie let out a shaky sigh of relief. His feet dangled back, finding their place on the ground and steadying himself as he stood up. Immediately he scoped out the alley he was in, recognising it as one of the passages behind the school that was almost always empty.

It looked like any other alleyway, dark red bricks, garbage cans, with fire escapes lining the walls.

Spiderman felt the ground shake as something landed behind him. He spun around to see Bryce’s hulking figure as Carterr stepped out from behind him.

Eddie shot another web up onto one of the fire escapes and jumped up into the air. He was halfway up to the fire escape when he felt a hand grab his ankle and yank him back down. His web snapped as he landed flat on his back, again. Bryce stepped over him, one foot on either side of his body.

This is gonna hurt in the morning, Eddie thought as the pain of the impact ripped through his body.

“W-Why are you doing this?” Eddie stuttered, he tried to keep the pain out of his voice but that was hard to do since everything ached.

Mr Carter began to speak as Bryce raised two meaty fists into the air, preparing to smash the spider beneath him.

“Well I always found it unfair that some people got powers, like you. And others didn’t, like me and my parents”.

Just as the fists were about to make contact, the hero shot a web in the space between Bryce’s legs. His 2 fingers pressed into his palm and shot off a web which pulled him out from under Bryce and flung him into the air. He went flying. He was rapidly approaching the fire escape and prepared for landing. Thankfully for his sticky feet, he was able to land safely, giving him a moment to catch his breath.

“So of course I grew up in a household where we praised heroes” Carter continued, unphased by the fight going on before him.

Bryce leaped into the air, determined to catch Spiderman but the spider hopped from the fire escape to the one beside it.

“But what happened when an armed robber broke into our house? Did the heroes we praise come to rescue us? Oh no, no…” his voice drifted off, but he didn’t sound sad. “They let my parents die. Now heroes think they’re these big deals. But what would happen if everyone got powers?”.

Eddie shot a web off towards Carter in hopes of pinning him down. But just as he was about to shoot, the floor fell from beneath him. His hand jerked and the web shot off, hitting some window with a *splat*.

Bryce had gotten onto the fire escape beneath Spiderman and ripped the floor from beneath Eddie’s feet. Eddie shot off a web and hopped he would be able to swing away but Bryce, once again, jumped and grabbed his fucking foot. But this time when he landed, the weight of two supers was too heavy for the poor fire escape. The floor gave out from beneath them and they both went tumbling down to the ground, right in front of Mr Carter.

But Carter barely blinked as the two came tumbling down at his feet. Instead he leaned down, reached out and grabbed a fistfull of Eddie’s super suit and pulled him closer. “If everyone was super, then no one will be ' He whispered to the hero's face. His eyes were filled with ambition and his voice was tainted with determination. Just as quickly as he grabbed the hero, he dropped him. Eddie’s head bounced on the concerte as Carter stood up, dusted off his pants, and began walking away. He had taken a couple steps away when he stopped, turned his head just enough to glance back at Bryce, “Kill him or else I’ll take it all back” He demanded before he continued towards the school. “I have a gym full of students to drug”.

A loud ZAP sound echoed through the alleyway and Carter’s body dropped like a sack of potatoes. Eddie didn’t know what he expected to see in front of Carter, but what he certainly didn’t expect to see was Richie Tozier in his formal suit, with an outstretched hand, holding a tazer.

“Holly shit” the human teen sounded shocked as he let the taser fall from his grasp. It clanked against the ground and sent another little jolt into Mr Carter who hemorrhaged a little.

Spiderman didn’t even have time to celebrate because he was distracted by the heavy breaths of the villain behind him. Bryce now towered over Eddie, his face beaten and his eyes were furious. He looked like a lion about to charge its prey. Eddie was prepared to leap out of the way, to protect Richie, to do anything. But instead his attention was drawn to the woosh sound of a gun firing. Once again the villain fell lifeless at Spiderman’s feet.

This time instead of Richie standing behind the villain, it was a female. She wore a long black trench coat and held out some sort of gun which she quickly slid into the hosliter on her thigh. She had brown hair that fell to her shoulders in bouncy curls.

“Spiderman, happy to finally meet you” She said, her tone wasn’t serious but nor was it as happy as she claimed to be, it was neutral. Eddie could tell she meant business. Before he could respond she stepped over Bryce and towards Richie, “Rich, thanks for calling me” She nodded at him.

“No problem…” Richie said, still semi dazed. He finally started taking careful steps towards the mysterious women. “Anytime auntie” he shook his head, eyes finally focusing again.

“wait- Auntie?” Eddie asaked, confusion laced his voice.

“Yeah kid, I’m Maggie’s sister. Richie’s aunt, I am also the head and leader of a little organization, The Threat Assessment, Reconnaissance and Operations Taskforce, Tarot for short. And I am Alley Red” Her poker face shifted into a small yet proud smile.

“Wait- holy shit you’re the leader of T.A.R.O.T?” Eddie’s eyes go wide beneath his mask as he marvels at the aunt and nephew.

“Yes yes now keep your voice down before you attack unnecessary attention” She waves her hand at Eddie as she surveys the alleyway for spying eyes.

“Yeah shut is Spaghetti” Richie cackled.

Eddie was taken aback by the familiar nickname, “W-What?” he stuttered.

Now it was Richie’s turn to look stunned, “Oh yeah” his shock turned smug, “I know it’s you in there Eds”.

Eddi- Spiderman froze, his entire body went stiff as he stared at the smirking teen.

“Sorry you’ve got the wrong guy-” Eddie began to lie but Richie shook his head.

“The bridge? Spider man mysteriously knowing my name at Liberty? Then him asking me to not go instead of trying to convince the school to cancel the dance? Eddie you, are a terrible liar” Richie smiled proudly at his detective work.

“How’d you know about this?” Spiderman asked, disregarding the fact that his secret identity had just been revealed. Instead he focused on how Richie knew he’d be out here with Carter.

“Well see this was the one thing I didn’t know about. But after you left, I was taking a leak in the upstairs bathroom and somebody’s spidey webs shot the window, so I looked out and saw you getting your ass handed to you and called my favourite aunt-”

“I was not getting my ass handed to me” Eddie crossed his arms and pouted.

Before Eddie could get anything else in, Richie’s aunt spoke up. “Well boys I better be on my way. Can’t just leave a drug lord out here on the street. Eddie, we’ll be in contact alright? T. A. R. O. T. Could use someone like you” She gave Spiderman a nod. With the click of her bracelet a team of people in equally dark trench coats emerged from the dark corners of the alleyway and took the two villains away.

Then the two teens were left alone together.

“So can I see the babe under the mask?” Richie asked curiously.

Eddie hesitated, no one knew about his secret identity. But it was Richie… My best friend and biggest crush. Before the hero could overthink the situation too much he moved his hand up and slid his mask off.

Richie watched as the famous Spider Man took his mask off, revealing Eddie Kaspbrak. Richie’s heart fluttered at the other’s face, his big doe eyes staring back at him through his lashes. “Hey Eds” The taller boy’s voice was warm and his face went soft.

Eddie’s face heated up a little, realizing how close they were. He tried to hold back his smile but failed, “Hey Rich”.

Richie raised his hands up to sit on Eddie’s hips. The hero’s skin tingled at the touch.

Eddie didn’t know what to say, he had just taken down a villain and his identity had been revealed. He felt very exposed, especially under the touch of his best friend and crush. “We should probably go back to the dance before they begin to worry” Eddie decided to break the moment before he could mess anything up.

Richie looked visibly taken aback at the mention of leaving. He was so in the moment that when Eddie stepped away from him, his face was left with a small, disappointed frown. “Oh- yeah, okay” He tried to sound supportive. Dropping his hands from Eddie’s waist, now he felt as if he was trespassing for some reason.

“Well I should uh- go” Eddie took a step back and raised his hand that held his mask.

“Yeah of course” Richie nodded.

Without another word, Eddie slid his mask back on. He turned around and with his hand extended out towards one of the fire escapes above him he shot off a web. He leaped up and landed safely on the metal of the escape.

Richie was still in awe to see Eddie put the mask on, as if that made everything real. Eddie is Spiderman, he thought as he watched Eddie leap up and away. But before he could shoot off another web Riche stepped forward and shouted, “Eddie! Wait!”.

Spiderman stopped where he stood on the railing of the fire escape and looked down at the curly haired teen that was waving up at him. With his sticky feet he simply walked down the railing and stood upside down on the underside of the fire escape. He shot off a web, connecting it to the floor he was hanging on. From there his knees bent and his hands held the web. He hung upside down as he slowly made his way to meet Richie. When he stopped they were perfectly face to face, even if Eddie was hanging upside down.

“Everything alright citizen?” Eddie put on his ‘responsible superhero’ voice, which got a chuckle from Richie.

Richie shrugged, slowly he stepped towards the hero, “Nah, all is good. Just forgot to do something” he said as he carefully placed his hands on either side of Eddie’s face. From there he delicately slid Spiderman’s mask down, exposing only the hero’s lips.

Too late to back out now, Richie thought as he angled his head and leaned in to kiss the superhero. Eddie’s lips were soft and he could feel the breath hitch in his mouth as Eddie waited a moment before he kissed back.

Eddie thought that his powers made him feel something, but the way he was feeling right here, right now, kissing Richie? That made him feel like he could do anything. Sparks and fireworks exploded within both of their chests alongside their racing hearts.

Sometimes fate works in mysterious ways. For example, right at that moment, two things began. First it started lightly drizzling over New york, even when the weatherman said it was supposed to be a clear and mild night. And second of all, just after it started raining, the dance’s DJ randomly started playing Africa By Toto at that very moment.

Richie and Eddie had not stopped kissing, not after they separated to breath, not when it started raining either. But when they heard the muffled (but still audible) tune of Africa’s iconic intro started echoing through the dark alleyway, Eddie could physically feel Richie gasp against his lips. It sent a shiver down Eddie’s spine. He felt Richie’s lips heat up as he blushed against Eddie. Then, only then, did the two break away, the night air filled their lungs and cooled their skin.

“Wanna slow dance with me?” Richie asked, his voice filled with optimism and excitement.

“To Africa by Toto?” Eddie asked, realizing he was still hanging upside down outside of his school’s homecoming dance.

“Why of course! What song would be better for our first slow dance?” Richie arched his eyebrows in a charming manner.

“Oh trashmouth” Eddie sighs happily, he quickly let go of the web he’d been holding onto and flipped backwards, landing on his feet, facing Richie. “You have such a way with words” The hero ripped his mask off, tossed it to the side and smashed his lips up against the other’s.

After a moment their lips separated, instead the two opted to lean their foreheads against each other. Richie’s hands found Eddie’s hips again (something Eddie was liking more every time it happened), holding him close as they slowly swayed back and forth. Eddie's hands drifted up to Richie’s upper half, one hand dangled comfortably off of Richie’s shoulder while the other slid into his forest of dark curls. Even with his suit covering his fingers, he was still able to feel every inch of Richie with his Spidey Senses.

So that’s how it ended, with Richie slow dancing with Spiderman, Eddie, in the alleyway behind his school on the night of the Homecoming dance, in the rain, to Africa by Toto.

The End

Word Count: 4522

Final Word Count: 18598

Bing, Bang, Done! Three chapters, kinda short but I didn’t plan for this fic to be too big, I also know there’s some other Spider Eddie fics out there so I wanted to keep it short and sweet, which I think I achieved. 

Overall I’m pretty happy with how this turned out! I’ve always had trouble explaining fighting scenes and such, so this was good practice. I also just adored watching as Richie and Eddie’s relationship evolved and aw, it was so sweet!

As this is the final chapter I’ve gotta remind you guys to go check out my other social medias, Instagram (Stellar.Cosplays), Tumblr, (stellar-cosplays), even my youtube (Alley’s World). Also don’t forget to check out my other fan fictions! Here’s my master list, or go check out my account and you’ll find them all there.

Thank you all for the support this fic has received! I really enjoyed writing this piece and I hope you all enjoyed reading it. 

Well looks like the time has come, that’s all from me guys, catch you on the flip side. 

So Long and Goodnight

~

[Taglist]

@richietoaster @s-onora @that-weird-girl-blog @beproudtozier @ghostnebula @gen-s-stuff @bellarosewrites @s-s-georgie @lermanslogan @iamcupcakefrosting @madidraw @gazebobullshit @thoughtfullyyoungduck @aangzukos @ambitiousskychild @reddieonwheels @breadheadscorpius

Let me know if you wanna be added to the tag list!

[jenovahh]

The Honey Pot - Ch. 6 - Little Lady

“You disgust me.”

Your own words ring throughout your head, playing over and over like a bad record.

Your hands still feel warm from the heat you felt of your hands around his neck.

What’s worse is they are shaking; trembling so violently that you realize it’s not just your hands shaking, but your entire body. You clutch yourself tight as you huddle upon your bed, chin tucked to your chest as you try to pull yourself together.

Projection was a funny thing, you muse darkly, thinking of how much you hated how you even attempted to squeeze the life from his lungs. To try and kill a man prone on the floor and defenseless…

The one you were disgusted with was yourself.

When it came down to it, you could not kill.

He said it himself; you had the skill. You had the power, the strength. But when it came to actually getting the deed done, to follow through on such a terrible threat--

You fell short.

Thinking now about those cold looks you’ve seen in his eyes, you see now that Zenos truly was serious about having no qualms of killing those who failed him. When you had held back on him that day in the gym, there would’ve been no beat down and demoting you to being some lackey.

He would’ve killed you.

The thought is harrowing as much as it is infuriating, to see how little he values the life of others. It makes you wonder how he could’ve grown up to be so callous; you knew rich people saw the masses as nothing but metaphorical ants, but to actually be so heartless to follow through on killing someone…

A light knock jolts you from your downward spiral, your eyes darting to the door. Before you can even get your mouth open to ask who stands on the other side it slides open, Zenos standing before you.

He’s changed out of his workout clothes. He wears pants that look too casual to be slacks, yet too expensive to be jeans, paired with a simple printed t-shirt. Paired with his long hair now unbound, he almost looks like he could pass for a band member and not the son of a CEO. “Have you finished sulking?” He asks, his one visible eyebrow arched.

Glaring at him, you can’t help but snarl. “I’m not sulking, you bastard.”

“You keep calling me outside of my name and yet expect differently of me. What is it I always hear those commoners say...do unto others, or something of the like?” He ponders dramatically, bracing his form against the doorframe. He looks completely at ease, as if he wasn’t daring you to kill him but half a bell ago. “Granted what you call me doesn’t matter. Address me however you like.” He grins deviously, eyes smug.

You try to find it in yourself to get angrier, but you’re too mentally exhausted from earlier to deal with his obvious baiting. “Well then, Garlean scum, why don’t you fuck off and leave me to my sulking as you call it?” You bite out, giving him no room to guess exactly how you’re feeling.

“Believe me, little savage, I’ve plenty other things that require my attention, but you are perhaps the biggest investment I’ve made for the foreseeable future.” He chuckles lowly, and you can hear his chest rumble with the baritone of his voice. “You’ve been so busy wallowing in your self-pity that you’ve missed lunch entirely.”

Your eyebrows perk up at that, glancing at the alarm clock on the nearby nightstand. Sure enough, it is well past noon. Fighting to keep the upper hand, you turn back to resume your glare at him. “I’d rather starve.”

“And I’d rather you not. While tedious, I’m not above throwing you over my shoulder or dragging you down the hall like the beast you are.” His tone is teasing, but you can hear the underlying threat. “As I said, you are an investment. You’ve not studied anatomy, so it’s safe to deduce you know nothing of proper nutrition. You will receive proper nourishment...understood?”

There’s an almost crushing weight to his stare, one that even you struggle to stand against. Pursing your lips together, you finally look elsewhere. “If you put me on a diet, then I really will kill you.” You huff, eyebrows furrowed together.

“Excellent. Now get up, so that we may go to the kitchens.” He stands back to his full height, crossing his arms over his chest. He watches lazily as you climb out of the bed, tugging on the slippers one foot at a time.

“Taking me there yourself? Isn’t that grunt work?” You sass, coming to stand before him at the door. Backing away, he begins to stride down the hallway but you don’t miss the smirk on his face.

“Doing something so menial would usually be beneath me...but I have my own curiosity to sate.” He admits, long legs carrying him quickly through the halls. You try to keep step without looking too silly, though if anything is laughable, it’s how he towers over the majority of his employees. They all immediately shuffle to the sides as he strolls down the middle of the hall, almost pressing against the walls in some cases.

“Curiosity?” You echo, arching an eyebrow at him as he turns a corner and through a door. If he didn’t stop talking about you as if you were some kind of animal…

Looking up, you’ve already arrived at your destination, hearing the sound of shuffling feet, mild chatter, metal hitting metal. The kitchen is as big as anything else in the house, housing an equally large staff to match. The head chef circles around as best he can due his bulk as a Roegadyn.

“Lyngsath.” Zenos speaks, his voice naturally carrying over the din of soups bubbling and idle chatter. The entire room seems to freeze for a moment as they acknowledge his presence. A chorus of “good afternoon” is muttered before everyone hurriedly returns to their work. The chef bows respectfully before carefully working his way towards the two of you.

“A pleasure to see you this fine day, Lord Zenos. How can I be of assistance?” Lyngsath greets, carefully removing an oven mitt. Though he speaks proper Eorzean like most employees on the estate, he cannot hide the La Noscean accent he carries.

“I see that your staff is currently in the process of preparing dinner, but I require lunch to be made for this new employee.” Zenos drones, his eyes drifting down to you. Lyngsath finally looks at you as well, giving you a quick once over. “She is my bodyguard.”

The Roegadyn’s eyebrows shoot up at that, a burly hand coming to scratch at his beard. “You? Needin’ a bodyguard?” he says in disbelief, so shocked that he slips into his accent in full, eyes taking a closer look at you.

“Indeed.” Zenos smirks, having not looked away from you. “As such, you are to make sure she gets the proper nutrition she needs to maintain her proper bulk and energy.” The orders are clearly for Lyngsath, but he has not looked away from you once. You hold back a growl as you realize he is threatening Lyngsath’s life should you fail to eat.

“Bastard.” You mouth, to which Zenos’ smirk only grows wider.

“She won’t be eating with the family, however I trust I can leave it to you to make sure she shows up to eat. Am I understood?” Zenos asks, finally turning back to face Lyngsath. The Roegadyn in question gives a fierce nod, eyes glancing back to you. “Of course, Lord Zenos.” He responds.

“I will have her height and weight and other such things sent to your inbox. For now, if anything remains from lunch, serve it to her.” Seemingly finished here, Zenos begins to head for the door. “Oh, and savage…”

You don’t bother facing him to acknowledge his insult.

He chuckles lowly behind you. “I expect you to behave when not under my supervision. Enjoy what free time you have left, won’t you?” The sound of the door opening and his retreating footsteps let you know he’s gone, your body relaxing immediately. With him gone, you take glance at where he once was, making a face at nothing but air before turning back to face the kitchen.

Everyone is staring at you.

“H-Hello?” You mumble shyly, which seems to spur everyone back into action.

Lyngsath clears his throat before extending his hand. “Though you already know my name now, I think I should properly introduce myself. The name’s Lyngsath, head chef for the Galvus household.” His grip is firm as you shake it, his hand encompassing yours entirely. “Forgive my bumbling earlier; I find it quite hard to believe that Lord Zenos would require any kind of protection, Miss…”

“Honey.” You supply, giving one last firm squeeze before pulling your hand away. “I also don’t know why he needs me around, but a job’s a job, eh?” You smile, and you can see him visibly relax.

“Certainly true, little lady. Let’s get ya fed, eh?” He chortles, meandering his way back through the kitchen. You follow him as he makes his way over to a nearby industrial refrigerator, opening its doors and peeking inside. “We usually don’t keep much in terms of leftovers; everything for the family is cooked fresh, everyday. Even the staff that stay nearby the grounds don’t get access to the family’s kitchen; the young master must hold you in high esteem.”

You release an unladylike snort at that. “I suppose you could call it that. He just thinks--” You cut yourself off for a moment, remembering Ardbert’s words. “...that I am skilled enough to protect him.” You finish as smoothly as possible, watching as he pulls a tin pan out of the fridge. Uncovering the lid, you can see some sort of pan-seared fish inside, and by the Twelve does it look delicious.

“Lucky for you, its not been coolin’ off for long, so give me a moment to warm it up for ya.” Balancing the pan in one hand, he crosses to grab a skillet and sets it on top of the stove. “Go on and find a seat Miss; I’ll have this warmed up for ya soon enough.”

Nodding, you look around and notice a door on the far wall. Pushing past the busy staff, you slip through and find yourself in an elegant dining room. A lengthy table made of what must be carved mahogany sits in the middle, covered in fine porcelain plates and what must be actual silverware. High backed chairs circle the table which is clearly set for tonight’s dinner, and the visage is so pretty you feel like you’ve stepped into a movie.

Circling the table, you eye each plate, staring unashamed at the intricate hand painted designs, admiring the craftsmanship. A candelabra sits in the middle, clearly for show but no less impressive with its beautiful wrought iron. You wonder if guests are allowed to eat in here, or if this dining room is solely for family use. The silverware is so immaculate you have no trouble spotting your own reflection, your hand reaching out before you can stop yourself.

“You are new.”

A deep voice stops your hand in its tracks.

“Little lady, I’ve prepared your lunch,” Lyngsath sings as he shoulders the door open, plate in hand. He freezes in place, eyes on the source of the voice. “Lord Varis!”

Following his gaze, you meet the cold, hard stare of Varis zos Galvus, head of Galvus industries. He is far more intimidating in person than on the television you note, seeing that he is equally tall as Zenos, if not slightly taller. His platinum blonde hair is gathered in a low ponytail that reaches down his back, ends neatly clipped. Dressed for business, his suit fits him like a glove, sharp and tailored and meant to accentuate his figure. A single eyebrow is arched in question as he quickly glances at Lyngsath.

“Lyngsath. Might you know who this...person is?” Varis begins, eyes drifting back to you. If Zenos’ gaze upon you was analytical, Varis’ was downright scrutinous. You couldn’t help but shift in unease, something about his look making you wish you were anywhere but here.

“Why yes, this is the young master’s bodyguard. He had tasked me with ensuring she had eaten properly.” Lyngsath answers, his accent almost nonexistent.

Both of Varis’ eyebrows raise at the chef’s answer, though it was so slight if you had blinked you would have missed it. “Bodyguard?” He mutters, and you swear there is a slight hint of amusement to it. Slowly, he takes measured steps in your direction. “So. Either my son has found someone with skills that rival his own…” Varis trails off, and one would think he was talking to himself if he were not speaking so clearly. “Or he has found a suitable stand in to please me.” Standing before you, much like his son, he is able to look down on you with ease. You could’ve sworn all Garleans were not so tall. “Which then, are you?”

Pursing your lips, you meet the unwavering gaze of the CEO. Your mind races malms a minute as you choose your words carefully. It stands to reason that Varis has the same intellect as his son, and you cannot afford to blow your cover. “Your son wishes he were my rival.”

Goddamnit.

Amusement mixed with surprise flashes through his golden stare, the corners of his lips twitching just slightly. “Curious…” He murmurs, a hand reaching up for your hair. You frown as you sit there and let him take a lock between his fingers, observing it for what, you did not know. “What a mouthy savage.”

You can’t fix your face fast enough, glaring at the taller man with all the fury you can muster. He remains undeterred, still not having released your hair as he continues his appraisal of you. “Tell me, savage, how did my son come across you then?”

You ignore him, for you know if you open your stupid mouth, whatever comes out will blow your cover entirely. Varis huffs a laugh at your silence, releasing the lock of hair. “I would think you smart enough to answer a question when you are asked.” His voice is low, dangerous, but you feel no fear. “Answer me, savage.” His hand moves to reach higher in your hair but you grip his hand to stop him.

You do not hide your hate as you glare up at Varis, his eyes widening slightly.

Good. At least someone in this family seemed to have some sense of self preservation.

Your next words are a hiss between your bared teeth. “You keep callin’ me savage, I’m not gonna,”

“Father.”

Your eyes dart to the opulent door on the far side of the room, where Zenos stands, door knob clutched in his hand. His expression is emotionless, but the tone of his voice betrays him.

He sounds downright murderous.

“You’ve returned.”

[itsclydebitches]

RWBY: The Horcrux Theory

Yesterday when I answered the lovely @leonhaxor‘s ask, I was surprised by the number of people who said they hadn’t heard about this theory before; people like me who are invested in the characterization of Volume Six and presumably would have come across it. I figure then that I either saw this theory on another blog and it didn’t spread in the way I assumed it would, or I thought of it myself, forgot it, and upon remembering it assumed I’d seen it elsewhere. Considering both of these things have happened to me in the past more than once (woo shit memory!), your guess is as good as mine. The important thing is the theory is here now and I’d like to take the time to lay it out in a more organized---and hopefully more persuasive*---manner.

(*As a bit of a disclaimer, I’m really just working with what I perceive as a valid interpretation of the text, not a theory in the sense that I expect Rooster Teeth to implement it in Volume Seven. If that were the case, I’d have expected our finale to paint Ruby and the rest as less heroic/justified in their actions, instead emphasizing how OOC they are, thereby setting up a situation wherein they would eventually question why their outlook and behavior has changed so drastically. But we didn’t get that. So this is less, “Sincere expectations for Volume Seven!” and more “Based on what Volume Six gives us, this is a plot twist that could work for these reasons...”)

Let’s start with the title. For anyone who may not know, a horcrux is a magical object within the Harry Potter universe that houses a piece of someone’s soul, a way of ensuring that they live on even if their body is killed. Within the plot, Voldemort (our primary antagonist) creates multiple horcruxes, one of which is carried by our heroes over a long journey. The object’s dark nature as well as its limited ability to think for itself results in a dramatic change in the group over time. They become moodier, more prone to fighting, and one character in particular, Ron, succumbs to a number of doubts and fears he’s been carrying since we met him at the start of the series. Thanks to the horcrux’s influence, he ends up acting in ways he otherwise never would have, including saying things he does not mean (“Your parents are dead. You have no family!”) and settling on courses of actions he later regrets (abandoning the group).

We can see some similarities then between the two situations, both in the Relic’s potential influence on those who carry it---to the point where, the longer they hold onto it, the more likely they are to act in ways contrary to their nature---and in the concept of a magical object being able to think for itself. Obviously Jinn is far more of a person than a sliver of a soul is, but the point is each has a certain amount of agency. As leonhaxor points out in response to my original post, there are also numerous similarities between this potential setup and the ring from Lord of the Rings. There we have another powerful, semi-sentient magical object carried by our heroes over a long journey, slowly corrupting them overtime. I think the variety of source material here is worth noting. Meaning, it doesn’t matter which comparison between stories is “best,” but rather that such comparisons are common. The Corruptible Object is an established motif in fantasy storytelling and RWBY is a web series that is highly invested in re-creating standard setups (such as fairy tales) and then attempting to subvert/complicate them. It makes a great deal of sense then that they would use a trope seen in two of the most popular fantasy series ever created, and then work to update it: the Relic is not a simplistic, pure evil thing like the ring or a horcrux is. It functions in similar ways, but---like most else in RWBY post-Volume Three---has a more complex morality attached to it. Jinn seems kindly at times, the Relic was created by the God of Light, etc. Form then, our expectations for how Rooster Teeth pulls from popular storytelling and incorporates those elements into their narrative, can be used as a potential bit of evidence.

But onto the juicier stuff.

The first thing that’s worth establishing is that all of Ozpin’s plans and choices function on multiple levels. For example, take letting Ruby into Beacon. He seems to have done this because she’s a prodigy, and because she has an excellent moral compass, and because a Silver Eyed Warrior is useful in the fight against Salem, and because Beacon is the safest place for someone belonging to a group that Salem has actively hunted in the past, and because she’s now drawn attention to herself by fighting Roman and Cinder. Phew. There’s a lot at play here. This sort of thinking is important because even if we introduce the possibility of the Relic encouraging negative emotions, it means we needn’t undermine any of the already established reasons for Ozpin’s choices in regards to its safety. Why does he put the Relic in a massive, underground vault that looks like it exists in its own pocket of reality?

Obviously to make it difficult to get at, but also, perhaps, to make sure that the Relic is as far away from humanity as possible, unable to influence them. (As a side note: creating what essentially looks like a mini-dimension removed from the real world would definitely drain someone of their remaining magic.) When Yang first enters the vault we see bits of dirt and sand floating upwards, defying gravity, much like how the snow stops when Jinn appears. The Relic appears to have an impact on its environment, perhaps one that grows stronger the longer it stays in one place. Ozpin hides it deep below the earth, in its own little pocket of reality, because otherwise having the Relic sit in one place for too long is going to cause real problems.

Why put it under a school? Both so that there’s extra protection and because these are the people most equipped to deal with the Relic’s influence. If it does still manage to produce negativity---and as a result draws more Grimm---do you want a bunch of untrained civilians dealing with that, or the people used to both managing stress and fighting monsters? Why take the Relic immediately to Atlas? Because, as said, safety works in a multitude of ways. You’ve put the Atlesian army between both Salem and any Grimm the Relic may call; you’ve put the Relic in the city that’s most prepared to deal with the consequences attached to it. All of Ozpin’s choices remain logical even if we introduce the possibility that the Relic is capable of more than just answering questions. 

But I’m actually getting ahead of myself. We’re still working under the assumption that the Relic produces negativity at all, so let’s take a moment to lay out some evidence for that.

In short, it comes down to the fact that the Relic attracts Grimm. Ozpin says straight out that he's not “entirely sure” why this is the case, but he clearly has theories, one of which has to do with the Grimm’s “origins.” AKA, the God of Darkness who we know after this episode created beings that are both physical representations of, and are attracted to, negativity. That’s their origin. 

The simplest explanation here is that the Relic is somehow producing the thing we already know the Grimm are attracted to: negativity of any sort. Rather than introducing another, convoluted bit of lore---Grimm are attracted to negativity AND now any objects explicitly created by the gods---it would make sense to streamline things. The Grimm are still attracted to the same things they’ve always been attracted to, it’s just now we have an object that actively produces that. It would explain why Ozpin describes the attraction as “faint, but undeniable.” After all, there’s plenty of negativity in the world. Nearby Grimm might get distracted by something bigger and nastier, but you’re more likely to become a target if you’re in the presence of something that eats away at your ability to remain optimistic and generate kindness. This explanation would also function well thematically, both for the trope reasons discussed above, and due to the nature of djinns and genies. I’ve laid out elsewhere how Jinn herself is rather manipulative, subtly encouraging cruelty towards Ozpin as well as reckless behavior in Ruby. Jinn is the lamp, so if that’s her characterization, why not extend that a little further? As an entity she actively does what the lamp passively does: encourage fear, mistrust, and anger towards others. 

What’s immediately notable to me then is how negative moods seem to follow the Relic around, literally coming and going as the Relic does. One of the happiest moments in Volume Six is when everyone gets on the train and the girls are settling into their room. It’s just like old times with arguments about video games, Qrow coming in to tease his nieces, Weiss getting playfully annoyed at Ruby, etc. Sure, we also deal with some of Blake’s lingering doubts in regards to Yang, but it’s an incredibly optimistic conversation. Everyone is supporting one another here, everyone is smiling... and notably Ozpin, carrying the Relic, is absent. It doesn’t register as odd to us because Oscar and Ozpin have been removed from most group gatherings that don’t relate immediately to the war, most obviously when Oscar doesn’t join the re-united groups for their celebratory dinner in Haven. His absence makes sense, but it also happens to coincide with one of the last truly happy scenes we get this Volume (the other being the reunion with Jaune’s sister). If we buy into this idea that the Relic can impact people over time, Ozpin’s absence might also help explain why things don’t start going south until the train. As established, he keeps his distance within the Haven house. Except for explaining the Relic’s function---which lasts for only a minute or so, wherein the conversation presumably ends and Ozpin leaves the group to their chit-chat, taking the Relic with him---and other logistical details in regards to their journey, Ozpin and Oscar might have kept to themselves, thereby limiting the rest of the group’s exposure to the Relic.

From then on though the group is forced to keep close quarters with Ozpin and the morale very quickly takes a nosedive. Whoever is holding the Relic and whoever else is in its immediate vicinity demonstrates an incredibly short fuse, starting with Oscar getting into a fight with Dudley and Dudley getting mad enough to shove him in the middle of a fight.

We then see the group’s knee-jerk fury over Ozpin’s new bit of information while back on the train, Yang antagonizing him in the snow, all the way through to the group drawing their weapons on Qrow, an ally and uncle, for merely saying, “Hey.” As myself and others immediately pointed out when the episode aired, that is not a normal response for these girls, especially when Qrow isn’t even the one they’re mad at. What’s difficult in analyzing a theory like this is that we have to acknowledge that all of these emotions are still real. The Relic is just taking them to an extreme that results in unexpected and inappropriate behavior. The Relic isn’t producing these feelings of anger and hurt and confusion---fans are right to establish that it’s natural for the girls to be upset here---but it does seem to be escalating things at an unnatural rate. Which is why I chose the horcrux as a comparison. Just like Ron under normal circumstances, outside of the necklace’s influence, would never say or do these things, neither would the group outside of the Relic’s influence. They’d all feel the same things, they’d just a) be experiencing the normal amount of those emotions and b) be better able to manage their response to them.Things like drawing their weapons, punching Oscar, slamming him up against walls, abject pessimism, rejecting adults, deciding to steal an airship, insisting on fighting Cordovin, or letting out a furious, “He was watching us?” when you learn Ozpin just saved your teammates’ lives are all pretty unexpected explosions among a group that’s normally more diverse, more level-headed, and more compassionate. Volume Six is absolutely stuffed with examples of extreme behavior, actions and knee-jerk reactions that don’t fit the crime and don’t fit established characterization. We can chalk it up to terrible writing, or we can theorize that maybe, just maybe, something is encouraging them to act in this manner.

With these explanations in mind, consider how Ozpin reacts to Ruby merely touching the Relic. It’s quick, but when he finds out she has it his response is wide-eyed fear and an immediate, “Please hand it over.”

Based on what we already know, this makes no sense to me. Why would Ozpin be fearful? Ruby quite literally can’t do anything with the lamp until she has Jinn’s name---his secrets are safe. Even if they weren’t, or even if his trauma is convincing him here that Ruby might somehow divine that there are questions left and find a way to use one of them against him, I can’t believe that Ozpin would deal with that situation in this particular way. Meaning, the guy has a pretty level head and he’s good at putting people at ease. How do you get your Relic back without drawing attention to the fact that it’s still usable? By expressing relief that Ruby found it. Oh good. It’s safe. Wonderful, I’ll just casually take it back now. Yet Ozpin is incapable of doing any of that here. He sees Ruby holding it and is blurting out an instinctual request: “Please give it back.” It implies that his only concern is to get it out of her hands as quickly as possible, which in turn suggests that merely holding it has some sort of consequence attached. This isn’t a problem (questions) that he can take the time to carefully coax a solution to, this is a problem (her holding it) that needs to be solved now. Right this instant. Please drop the magical object that encourages depression and fury in people nearby. That’s my burden to (literally) carry.

He even reminds them then that it’s a “powerful item” (again, what power is at play if Ruby can’t summon Jinn?) and that it’s “[his] burden to bear.” Blake picks up on that implication and asks for us, “Why does it matter who carries it?” but Ozpin isn’t inclined to answer. He simply begs them to listen to him and then Oscar takes control, revealing Jinn’s name. But the question still stands. Why does it matter who carries it, provided that no one else has the word needed to access the Relic’s one, established power? Ozpin’s behavior here suggests that there’s more he’s worried about than just his (well founded) fear that they’ll somehow ask a question.

In my recap of “Uncovered” I theorized that there was a consequence to using the Relic given Ozpin’s non-violent desperation to get it out of Ruby’s hands. If you’re concerned only with keeping your own secrets... just take the damn thing. Ozpin might be in Oscar’s body now, but he’s still incredibly powerful. He could snatch the Relic out of Ruby’s hands easy-peasy, but only if he’s unconcerned with her mental and physical health. If, on the other hand, you’re likewise concerned with keeping her from using it because it would harm her in some way, you’re not going to exacerbate that problem by putting her in even more, potential danger. Instead you beg. You plead. You try to reason. You charge with an open palm, looking like you want only to knock the Relic out of her hands.

That assumed consequence could be a sort of double-dose of whatever negativity the Relic is already producing; an emotional whammy thanks to the increased interaction: someone near the relic won’t be as impacted as someone holding the relic, who in turn won’t be as impacted as someone who actually uses it. While re-watching some scenes for this meta, it struck me that twice now we’ve seen characters collapse immediately after that close interaction:

Granted yes, both Yang and Ozma are reacting to already terrible news: Yang that Raven has officially abandoned her and Ozma that he presumably can’t beat Salem. Visually though it’s an intriguing detail. Those who touch/use the relic tend to buckle under its weight. It literally and figuratively generates the sort of emotion that causes people to collapse in despair. So why don’t we see any more of this? Why isn’t Ozpin falling over in Haven and Ruby on the rest of their journey? Potentially because of either their Silver Eyes or what Silver Eyes represent. We know that Ozpin’s magic is what created children with Silver Eyes in the first place, so it could be that his original magic---Light’s magic---helps to act as a buffer against the Relic’s influence. Ozpin and Ruby are both able to interact with it more easily than others because of that buffer. That is, up until Ruby has been carrying/sleeping with it for days on end and is now mistrustful of Ozpin and throwing herself into canons; up until Ozpin has been carrying/sleeping with it for days on end and is now much more snappish towards his students than normal. Or, a related theory, it’s just their innate natures that do the trick, no literal magic involved. Ruby is the “simple soul” of our story and Ozpin the one who believes simple souls hold the key to success. They’re both already optimists at their core and therefore it takes longer to eat away at those beliefs. Unlike someone like Yang or Qrow who is already grappling with anger and pessimism. They fall right under the Relic’s influence.

All of this would, put plainly, explain a whole slew of issues in Volume Six. Why are our characters so OOC? Because magic is seriously putting them off their game and turning them into people they wouldn’t normally be inclined to become. Why wasn’t there an overt downside to using Jinn like many fans expected (given the mythology attached to her)? There was, we just haven’t  acknowledged it yet. Why did everyone have a near identical reaction to the Relic’s information, despite being different people with different experiences and worldviews? Because magic created a blanket uniformity of anger, despair, and eventual superiority. What was up with that side quest to the farm that didn’t lead anywhere plot-wise? It’s thematic work, even more-so than the already established “Oh, our characters have doubts about their mission and here are Grimm that literally make them apathetic!” Those moments may also function as a pseudo red herring. No one is theorizing about “things that magically change your mood” because we already got that this volume. Whole episodes worth. It was those Grimm and then the group set them on fire, freeing themselves... except what if there was more than one magical thing influencing them right from the start? It’s the sort of thematic detail you might include to help establish a plot twist. 

As said at the start though, I don’t actually believe very strongly that we’ll see this revelation in Volume Seven. There’s too much else that, if I were setting up such a reveal, I would have changed with this information in mind. But I think it’s still a possibility given what we’ve seen and it’s absolutely something I would accept moving forward. I would much rather be able to say, “Ah. Everyone went OOC because of this conflict with the Relic you were setting up. Far from perfect execution, but you still pulled it off.” Rather than what we currently have, which is, “Team RWBY is turning into a bunch of violent, arrogant, and cruel people entirely of their own volition. This is what ‘heroism’ now looks like in the RWBY-verse.” Magical influences, to my mind, are the preferred explanation here.

[dotdotdottie]

Use Your Anger || Dot & Josephine

Dot definitely doesn’t get into a fight and Josie definitely doesn’t break it up in this. That totally didn’t happen

@saintjosaphime

Of all the bars in town, Dell’s Tavern was usually the most tame. But considering the other options were a seedy punk bar, karaoke, and a choice between dives and dumps, there wasn’t much competition. Perhaps the Artesian, but that wasn’t a ‘decompress after work while looking for a companion to take home’ place. Dell’s was. Or, it could be. Which was why Josephine had made it a regular stop on Wednesday nights. Why Wednesday? Because people were tired on Wednesdays. On Wednesday, people realized there were still two days left in their miserable work weeks, and people were tired and prone to...letting things slip that normally wouldn’t. So every Wednesday, for quite some time, Josephine had been coming to Dell’s. The bartenders had turned over time and time again, over the years, but now there was another new one. Josephine had noticed her more so than any of the others because of that burrowing anger that seemed to rest inside of her. It wasn’t hidden, like most other peoples’ anger. And time and time again, when Josephine returned, she was there. Dot, was her name. A cute name. Josephine had parsed out a few things about her over time-- mostly that she was younger, going to school, and bartended to pay her way. And that her anger wasn’t just on show for Josephine. It was front and center, more than once.

Today, Josephine was sitting at the bar, with her gin and tonic, when two guys in the back started roughing each other. Loud, husky voices. Chairs scooting. Josephine’s eyes lit up a bit, and she honed in on Dot. What would the girl do, she wondered.

Lots of things were hard in life and generally, Dot didn’t consider work to be something difficult. She enjoyed bartending, lots of people to meet and talk to, lots of boys to potentially hunt too. It worked out well, but Wednesdays were always a hard day for her. It was her longest school day and then she came to work. Of course, she was tired, who wasn’t after days like her’s. Her irritability was especially strong lately because it had been so long since she had had a heart. She’d have to hunt sooner rather than later, the longer she waited, the messier she’d become and she liked White Crest. It had plenty of people to pick off and she didn’t want to be run out of another town just yet. 

Of course, when the fight started up, her coworker was fucking useless. She glared at the two men as she slammed down the bottle she had been holding. Stalking over to them, she ground out,“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” When the two men didn’t respond, her face got a bit red and she shoved one in the chest. “Fucking fight outside you imbeciles.”

Oh, now this was interesting. Josephine sipped her drink idly, swirling the ice cubes around as she watched Dot stalk over to the two man babies probably having an argument about which IPA was better. Josephine shifted in her chair so that she could watch the interaction without being too obvious, keeping an eye on the young girl as she got in between the two, shoving one. Probably not the best way to react, shoulda threatened to stop serving them first, but sometimes lessons needed to be learned and not taught. It was only when one look to be about to shove Dot back, did Josephine move, ditching her drink quickly. Not quick enough. She wasn’t even halfway across the bar when the full fight finally broke out. And while she wished to pause and take in the anger filling the bar around her, there were more important things to get to right now.

When Dot got shoved back, she lost any self-control she had. “You fucking asshole, you’re gonna regret doing that!” Was she tempted to follow him home later and eat his heart while he slept? Yes. Would she do it? There was a very high chance. She swung at him, her fist connecting pretty solidly. The other man shoved her out of the way, saying shit about hitting a girl and her anger spiked even further. “I can take care of myself!” She yelled at them both, not caring in the slightest that they were causing a scene.

Oh dear. When Josephine had come here tonight, breaking up a brawl was not what she’d had in mind. But life was full of surprises, and 64 years on Earth had prepared Josephine for quite a few of them. One of them men tried to remove Dot from the scene, which, of course, only furthered her anger, and Josephine hurried her step. “Alright, let’s calm dow--” she started, stepping in, when a fist came out of nowhere and cracked across her jaw. Okay. Okay. Now she was mad. Eyes glowering, she turned back to face the three. The mood in the entire bar shifted. “Okay,” she said calmly, perhaps too calmly, “I’m going to pretend that didn’t happen.” Clicked her jaw, wiping the trickle of blood on her lip. “And in exchange,” she turned a sharp gaze onto the two towering men, “you’re going to pay this nice lady and leave.”

Being a female bartender came with a lot of perks, but there were plenty of men who tried to defend Dot when she didn’t want to be. However, a pretty lady defending her? She would always take that. Whoever she was, she held a lot of power. Dot could feel it about her and she liked it. The two men hurried to pull out their wallets and shove money at Dot before shuffling out the door. She whipped around to face the intimidating lady with a huge grin,“How did you do that? That was amazing.”

“And you,” Josephine said, whirling on Dot, “need to learn how to control that anger of yours.” She gave her a stern look. Everyone in the bar had gone back to pretending they hadn’t noticed anything, hiding behind their glasses and forks. “I did that, because I have control,” she said smoothly, brushing the front of her shirt where the fist had swiped, as if it were dirty. “Anger is not to be trifled with, but it must be mastered. Otherwise we might slip up. Right?” A knowing look at Dot. 

Dot’s eyebrow furrowed. She thought she had handled the situation perfectly well considering. “I didn’t do that bad,” She replied, unable to keep the tiniest bit of a pout off her face. She considered the woman in front of her, she definitely seemed like she had a lot of control, but wasn’t that overrated? “How do you master being angry? I just am and it’s fun that way.” Her frown deepened as she realized the other woman was right. “Well, sometimes slip-ups just happen,” She said, trying to defend herself a bit.

“You let a full fight break out in the bar,” Josephine said simply, “at best, you could have lost your job. At worst…” she glanced around, then pulled the girl aside, ushering to follow her to a move secluded part of the bar. “Anger is fuel. Anger makes you stronger, it drives you, yes,” she said simply, “but you are full of anger that can be dangerous, to yourself. Slip-ups are what get people killed. And I’d hate to see that happen to someone like you.” She relaxed a little bit, trying not to be too tense. She still wasn’t 100% sure what this girl was, but it was something warm and...familiar. It kind of reminded her of her younger sister. “You’ve got so much potential,” she said absentmindedly.

“My coworker wasn’t helping,” Dot tried lamely. She didn’t like being scolded. “The owners like me, so I probably wouldn’t lose my job.” She did need this job though. Her family wasn’t sending her money anymore like they had at the beginning of her exile. “How do you know I’m so angry?” She asked, her voice a softer tone than she usually used. There was something about this lady that demanded to be listened to. It was intense, but Dot enjoyed it in a way. “You’re talking like you know me.”

“Because I do know you,” Josephine said, with a bit less fervor in her voice. She empathized with Dot, she found. With her anger at the world. Now, if Josephine could help her mold that anger, and direct it properly, then wasn’t that her obligation to? If she was the only one that could help her, didn’t it become her responsibility? “In a sense. I was….I used to know someone like you. Angry at the world, scorned by someone...they thought they could trust,” she said slowly, the memory of her sister trickling in like a bad movie playing behind her eyes. “Someone...not entirely human.” Her voice more low and hushed as she said it, unsure if Dot truly knew what she was. “I can feel it,” she said, a little more encouraging, “and it’s okay. I’m not either.”

Dot hadn’t had a person talk to her in a long time. Like they actually cared what happened to her. It was strange, but not completely unpleasant. She guessed she had missed it in a way. “How could you tell all that from me?” Dot knew she wore her emotions on her sleeve, but not many people were this confident enough to just simply call her out on it. Her lips opened a bit in surprise and then a brilliant grin bloomed across her face. “What are you?” She asked in a hurried whisper. “I’m a siren,” She told her, hoping that she would be one too. She missed being around other sirens, she missed the community they had.

“Let’s just say, your anger is quite palpable,” Josephine answered. “I’ve been watching you for a while. I could tell from the moment I saw you, you were something special.” The grin that spread on Dot’s face made Josephine’s heart fall a little. She was right, Dot was a siren, and the look on her face made her believe Dot was hopeful for something Josephine couldn’t quite give her. “I am something different,” she said quietly, “and rare, but powerful. I’m something that...has the power to help you.” She wasn’t sure the girl would even know if she told her, but for the interest of trust, she figured she owed her that much. “Erinyes. Do you know of those?”

“You can feel it?” Dot considered this information, empathic then. She was a bit proud of the fact that her anger was so intense people could feel it. Emotions were powerful. “You’ve been one of my regulars for a while. You been watching me the whole time?” Her grin slid off her face as she realized that she was still the lone siren in this town. It was fine, she had survived on her own this long, but she had just hoped that she’d be able to find family again. She shook her head,“I’ve never heard of those before. What do you do?”

“Yes, I can feel it. I’m...drawn to it, you could say,” Josephine answered, noting the smile falling off Dot’s face as soon as the realization set it. “I wish I could be what you want me to be, but I do know there are other sirens in this town. I have been watching you the whole time. You’re the most interesting thing about this place.” She gave a reassuring smile. “I help those who have been wrong seek retribution for their betrayer’s actions. I have magic beyond even your wildest imagination. The furies are two races of divine beings that have been chosen to punish those who wish to take advantage of others.”

Dot hadn’t ever heard of Erinyes (Erinyeses? Erini?), but she listened intently. Being drawn to anger seems super cool, she wondered what the gnarliest shit that this lady had seen. “There are others?” She asked, her excitement clear in her voice. Maybe it was different for other sirens who didn’t have a colony growing up, but Dot had waves of longing even though she was glad had freedom now. “Any betrayal?” She asked, her eyes wide thinking of how she could punish her family for leaving her on her own. “This insanely cool! What the fuck you’re so cool!”

Josephine gave a grin at that. She could feel the anger Dot had towards her family now as well. It was clear as day. Whatever had happened, Dot had been cast aside by the people who were supposed to love and care for her no matter what. Josephine knew the feeling all too well. It burned inside of her. “There are. I don’t know them personally, but I know they’re here. Have you been down to the Siren’s Serenade yet?” she asked, raising a brow. “Mostly any. I specialized in familiar betrayal. We have our own duties, this is mine. I watch over children and young adults.”

Dot pulled a face the mention of ‘Siren’s Serenade’, she had just thought the club was one of those bars that used the name without any meaning behind it. She had avoided the place based on the name alone, finding the whole thing irritating. “No. Isn’t one of those annoying bars that just uses the whole ‘White Crest is a weird place’ branding?” She got using that type of branding but she hated when Siren was connected to it. “So I fall under your category. In a few ways. Is that what made me so interesting to you?”

Josephine rolled her shoulders in a shrug. “Sort of. It might seem like a normal bar, but I promise it’s more than it seems. Irony is truly funny, sometimes,” she said, giving a little grin. “You were interesting to me because of a multitude of things, that being one, yes. But it was ultimately your...potential that I sensed that drew me to you.” She dug around in her purse a moment before pulling out a little card. It was her CPS Agency card and she held it out to Dot. “I think I could really help you. So if you think you want to learn, give me a call sometime.”

“I avoided the damn thing for no reason then,” Dot grumbled. She could have been trying to find sirens there all along if they just hadn’t named it something that pissed her off. Can’t people name bars normal things. She hummed as she took the card. She already knew she wanted to know as much as she could from this lady. At the very least, maybe she’d learn how to command a room as well as her one day. “I think it’ll take you up on it. I wanna learn. Plus you seem like a cool person to have around. I just can’t learn here. Since I’m working and all.”

“Don’t worry, it’s still there,” Josephine joked quietly. She gave a little shake of her head. “No, not here. But I’d like to see how you...do you thing at some point. It can help me understand how to best help you.” Now that Dot had taken the card, the deal was pretty much sealed. Josephine had her hook, line, and sinker, and she was going to make sure she could mold Dot as much as possible. It was unfortunate the girl couldn’t become like her, however. That would have been the ultimate win, but this could be a start. A trial run. She smiled. “Well, until then, wanna pour me another drink? I promise I leave a nice tip.”

[7-wonders]

Inside Out

Summary: After one too many instances of Duncan being the token stuck-up rich guy, you’re ready to show him how the rest of America lives by taking him through a day in your life.

Word Count: 6746

A/N: Oofta, this is long. Sorry about that. Hope you guys enjoy; feedback is always appreciated, my inbox is always open, and I’d love it if you would reblog this. Thanks!

The first time that it happened while you were out with Duncan, you were willing to excuse it. He had been grappling with a stock market dip that threatened to send the Shepherd Foundation into a financial crisis, so him not bothering to look up from his phone to place an order, as well as not tipping the barista, was something that you had quickly forgiven. A smile towards the overworked employee and a folded ten dropped into the tip jar is sure to make their day better, something that you know from experience. Besides, there’s no way that Duncan would be the type of person to not tip; the man has more money than he knows what to do with. Even with that reassurement in your mind, your smile still falters when he takes the coffee from the barista without even bothering to thank him.

The second time that it happened, you were talking yourself through a list of errands that needed to be ran on your day off, trying to figure out the most logical plan of action for what you needed to accomplish. When you had shook your head before angrily muttering that you “can’t fucking afford taking the car to get the oil changed” and deciding to change your own oil, Duncan had scoffed.

“That’s a joke, right?” He had laughed, looking up at you over the thin frame of the glasses he wore for working at his computer.

“Uh, no? I’ve been putting off getting my oil changed for months now, and since I still don’t have the extra money to go and get it changed I just need to change it myself before my engine stops working.” You were sure that the look of confusion on your face was almost comical, but you had never met anyone who was baffled at the idea of a car’s oil being changed.

“Don’t people do that for you?”

“Yeah, but that costs a lot more money than just going to the auto store and buying the oil so I can change it myself. I’ve done it before; it’s not difficult, just tedious.”

Duncan mulled the words you spoke, the idea of goods being exchanged for services such as auto mechanics obviously not having crossed his mind before. He didn’t bring it up again, but you could see the disdain in his expression at the thought of you having to do something as low-brow as changing your own oil. The next day, you “found” a hundred dollar bill tucked in the pocket of your jacket, as if Duncan thought you were stupid enough to believe that you had just missed the money in your pocket before (you didn’t give it back though; although you had already changed the oil yourself the night before, the money was still more than enough to buy you groceries for two weeks and still have some left over).

The more time that you spent with Duncan, the more that you saw the less undesirable aspects of his personality that you had purposely turned a blind eye too when you first got into a relationship with the man. That’s not to say that you’re this perfect human who never makes a mistake; quite the opposite, in fact. You’re clumsy, opinionated, and prone to engaging in heated debates about topics that you’re passionate about with random strangers.

The one thing that you’re not? Entitled.

Duncan Shepherd, you’ve realized after three months of dating, is one of the most entitled people that you’ve ever met. It shouldn’t be too shocking that the heir of a multi-million dollar political foundation and one of the most influential lobbyists in Washington expects everything to be handed to him on a silver platter, but you had been wooed by his intelligence and wit far quicker than you could see how he treated those who he thought to be “beneath” him. The little one-off insults, which he probably thought nothing more of once the words left his mouth, were a daily occurence now, although you’re sure that’s because you’re looking for them now.

After a bicyclist blocked the lane because a police car was in the bike lane: “Maybe if they could afford to get a ride somewhere, they wouldn’t have to worry about getting killed on their commute.”

When the waiter at a fancy restaurant apologized for the delay in seating: “Do you people even know who I am? Who my family is?”

Upon seeing a food drive donation center in the lobby of his building: “Again? Didn’t they just do one a month ago?”

After you gave money and food to the nice homeless lady who sits outside of your building: “You know that she’s probably conning you? That’s their game, most of them go to their house after this and laugh at people like you, with your heart on your sleeve and always willing to blindly give.”

The negativity got tiring, if you were being honest. It’s entirely possible that he is right when he tells you that you see the world through rose-tinted glasses, but is it such a bad thing to see the positives in people? To understand their struggles and want to brighten up their day or help them in any way that you can? You really don’t think that it is.

The breaking point comes when Duncan comes over to your apartment after work. You’ve just barely finished putting the perishable foods that you bought at the grocery store away, yelling for Duncan to let himself in so you don’t have to set everything down. You don’t even have to look at him to know that his nose is crinkling as he takes in your small apartment. Small in Duncan’s world, at least. For you, it’s the perfect size and you love how cozy it is. Stopping yourself from rolling your eyes, you turn and kiss him on the cheek when he wraps his arms around you.

“How was your day off?” He mutters into your ear. Finals are finally over, which means that you’ve been able to enjoy a rare day off before your work schedule kicks in.

“Busy. I still have to fold the laundry that I finished this morning, I cleaned the place for almost an hour, and I just got back from grocery shopping.”

“Do you need help putting the rest of your groceries away?” You’re mildly shocked that he’s willing to do any sort of chore, but nod nonetheless.

It’s silent for a minute while you both go to work at removing items from the bags and placing them on the counter. When you finish with your bags, you turn to see Duncan holding a package in his hand.

“What’s this?”

“Uh, coffee?”

“No, it’s not.” You furrow your brows, snatching the bag from him and turning it to make sure that you did, in fact, buy your favorite brand of coffee.

“Yes it is. Same brand I’ve been buying for a year now.”

“But...it’s already ground?” He looks just as confused as you feel right now.

“What other form would it come in?”

“Everybody I know grinds their coffee beans at home.”

“I don’t really have time for that, and plus this is way cheaper than buying actual coffee beans.”

“I’ll have to buy you a coffee grinder.” Duncan muses, pivoting towards the corner where your coffee maker sits. “And maybe a new coffee machine, too? Seriously, (Y/N), did you get this at the Salvation Army? What if--”

Your vision goes red as he starts to nitpick at your personal assets, rage blocking your ears from hearing what else he’s saying. It’s infuriating, to have this man that you deeply care for, and who knows that you’re from two very different upbringings, go through your items and decide what is up to his standard.

“--are you even listening?” Duncan asks, suddenly looking at you now. Breathing deeply, you place a hand on the counter before looking up at him.

“You know, you’re extremely entitled.” His eyes widen, and he looks almost offended by your statement. Good, you think bitterly.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“I’m not entitled, (Y/N).”

“You, Duncan Shepherd, are arguably the most entitled motherfucker I’ve ever met.” You raise a hand in warning when he starts to open his mouth, letting him know that you’re not finished. “You think you can come in here, look through all of my things, and tell me what I should do better? I’m so sorry that not all of us have the money or means to buy a fucking state-of-the-art coffee grinder.”

“Is this about money?” Duncan says after a long moment. “Because I’ve told you before, I will gladly pay for anything you desire.”

“No, it’s not about the money! Jesus, Duncan, I’m not a charity case.” You throw your hands up. “You think that everyone who isn’t in your tax bracket is below you, and it’s disgusting to watch.”

“Name one example.” He scoffs, leaning against the fridge and glancing at his watch like this is a waste of his time.

“Literally whenever we go out. When have you ever tipped someone?”

“I expect a high degree of service. They shouldn’t automatically expect a tip, they should have to work for it--”

“And when have you ever done a fucking honest day’s work in your life?” You cut him off.

“What are you even talking about?” Duncan asks in disbelief. “I work every single day for countless hours.”

“Yeah, at your family’s foundation.” You bite back, pushing yourself off of the counter and facing mere inches away from him. “The only job you’ve ever had is one in a comfy office that’s had your name inscribed on the door since the day you were born.”

“That’s not the only--”

“Oh, right, I’m forgetting your illustrious college internship with the Senate Majority Leader. Silly me! I forget, Dunc, did your mom stop seeing him four or five years ago?” Duncan grips your wrist in his large hand, yanking you against his chest.

“I suggest you take a few deep breaths before you say something that you’ll really regret.” He warns lowly, visibly seething when you laugh.

“‘Regret?’ I don’t regret anything about this! Do you know when I first got a job? It was right after I turned sixteen. My parents made it clear to me that I needed to work for what I wanted in life, and that it was time for me to start making my own money. I worked two jobs until I was nineteen, and the only reason I cut back to one is so that I could do a work-study and take some of the money off of my student loans.

“And please don’t mistake this as bitterness, because it’s not. I fully believe that money, if taken for granted, poisons people from the inside out. Rich people like you don’t understand anything about living a normal life. I can’t just hire somebody to go get groceries for me, or do my laundry, or drive me around, or buy my fucking stupid-ass goat shoes when there’s a limited-edition release and I can’t be bothered to stand among everyone else.” You shake your head in disdain, tears pricking at your eyes. “Your wealth has poisoned you, Duncan. You can complain about struggling all you want, but your only struggle is that you would be absolutely lost if you weren’t able to throw your money at all of your problems to make them go away.”

The air in the apartment is heavy, feeling much the same way as it does after a summer storm has swept through the area and washed away the heat of a Washington July day, only leaving behind the humidity and steam from the evaporating rain. Your chest heaves, a weight off of your shoulders now that the words that have been building up inside you are finally out in the open. Duncan stares at you, lips parted as he tries to form some sort of comeback to what you just said. You laugh lowly, wiping your eyes on your sleeve and gazing out the window to avoid looking at him.

“You should go,” you say quietly, “it’s almost time for dinner, and I wouldn’t want to soil your refined palate with the three-day old spaghetti I’ll be eating.”

You’re expecting him to leave, to storm out the door and not speak to you until you physically can’t handle the silent treatment any longer. That’s why, the more time that passes without any sign of movement, the more rage that starts to course through your body.

“Why are you still here?” You finally confront, spinning around to face Duncan. His eyes meet yours, the blue shade darkened by the tears he’s been holding back.

“I don’t care how mad you are, (Y/N), but I’m not just leaving after an unresolved fight.” Duncan’s calm demeanor only infuriates you more, and you huff loudly as you roll your eyes.

“Fine, whatever, go ahead and stay! But don’t expect me to say anything to you.” He wants to say something else, but instead he sighs and nods.

“Duly noted.”

It’s easy to ignore Duncan at first. He sits patiently at your counter, almost as if he expects you to apologize to him (for what, you’re not sure). If he’s going to annoy you with his presence, you decide, you’re going to annoy him as much as possible. The music on your bluetooth speaker is turned up as far as it can possibly go without you getting noise complaints from your neighbors, and you’re sure to play the rock music that Duncan absolutely hates. It’s kind of fun to purposefully ignore him, and the giant glass of wine you have with your leftover spaghetti makes you snicker everytime you furiously avoid eye contact with him. The only time you do make eye contact with him is when you go to bed, staring at the man sitting on your couch while you shut the door to your bedroom.

Unfortunately, Duncan’s a master of deciphering when, where, and how to pick his battles. An hour into tossing and turning in your bed, right when you’re starting to get lonely enough to consider opening up the door and begrudgingly asking him to move off of the couch, Duncan sneaks into your room and slides into bed next to you. You sigh when his arms wrap around you, but your body relaxes against his anyways.

“You were right.” Duncan breaks the silence with a sentence that you’ve never heard come out of his mouth.

“Seriously?” You’re shocked and tired, which doesn’t make your sentences the most coherent.

“I don’t understand what it’s like, and I do tend to use my wealth to my advantage and to belittle others. I just didn’t realize I was doing it to you, too.”

“Why is it any different when you do that stuff to me?”

“Because I care about you.”

“See, that’s another thing you don’t get, Dunc. Basic human decency towards everyone, even strangers, goes a long way. You should strive to treat everybody nicely, as opposed to just those you care about. Money can only get you so much, in terms of connections and friendships.” You mutter, breathing steadily so that you don’t launch into another tirade against him.

Duncan stays quiet, mulling over his next words carefully. He’s thinking for so long, in fact, that the steady feeling of his chest rising and falling almost lulls you to sleep. When he speaks, you don’t fully comprehend what he’s saying. Duncan has to shake you slightly to get your attention, making you whine before you turn over to pitifully glare at him.

“I was almost asleep.” You grumble, a yawn slipping out of your mouth.

“You can sleep after this,” he promises quickly. “(Y/N), I want to understand what you go through. Your life is incredibly different from mine, and at the risk of sounding conceited, I want to experience what it’s like to live ‘normally’ for a day.”

“You know that means you can’t use your black card? Or call your driver, or utilize any of your assistants, or--”

“Yes, I understand. I’m completely ready to do things for myself.” You cock an eyebrow at him, but nod nonetheless.

“Okay then.” Wanting to tease him more is quickly nullified by the fluttering of your eyelids as they forcefully drag shut, desperate for you to sleep.

Something’s off when you wake up, but you’re not sure what it is at first. Rolling your head to the side, the first thing that you notice is that your bed is empty of the man who laid there mere hours ago. The second thing you notice, and the thing that has you immediately awake and jumping out of bed, is loud cursing and the smell of something burning. Your mind is racing with all of the possible worst-case scenarios that could have led to the current predicament--faulty wiring, a charger exploding, somebody breaking into your apartment and lighting the curtains on fire (that last one is definitely a little far-fetched, but your anxiety doesn’t really care)--while you round the corner and slide into the living room.

Your fears are extinguished, but your confusion is only increased. Duncan curses between his teeth while he throws a smoking pan into your sink, flipping the water on to help quell the burning. Your nose crinkles at the scent of charred food, and you open the windows to help clear out the smell.

“What the hell did you do?” Duncan’s eyes are wide when he turns to face you, expression mirroring that of a child who just got caught with his hands full of forbidden treats.

“I thought I would try to cook breakfast, but that didn’t really go to plan.”

“Ya think?” You tease, examining the stove to see where he went wrong. “For starters, the burner’s up way too high; that barely gives you enough time to cook your food before it’s starting to char. What were you trying to make?”

“Bacon?” Duncan says sheepishly, cheeks a bright pink as he rests his chin on your shoulder. “And then it started popping and sizzling, and the grease--”

You can’t help the sympathetic smile that pops onto your face as he holds a hand in your eyesight. Sure enough, he’s got his own battle wounds from the hot grease landing on his skin. It’s minor, but grease blisters are still a pain in the ass to deal with.

“Aw, Dunc.” You coo, kissing his hand where the blister sits. Duncan hisses slightly through his teeth at the sudden coolness of your lips against his irritated skin, but he doesn’t move his hand until after you pull away with a wink. “Have you never made breakfast before?”

“No. We always had kitchen staff when I was growing up, and I don’t even eat breakfast until I get to the office now and I can make one of the interns grab me something.” He admits, averting his gaze when he mentions growing up with a kitchen staff.

“At least you wooed me with your pasta-making abilities before you attempted to make breakfast.” You reassure him, kissing him quickly. It’s easy to see that he’s genuinely trying to stick to the challenge that he imposed upon himself last night, and you don’t want to dampen his spirits before the day’s even begun. “I think I have some cereal in the cabinet, if you’re hungry? That’s one food that you can’t burn.”

You notice with delight that Duncan already started the coffee, and you eagerly fill your favorite mug up with some. Stirring some creamer in, you readily take a sip in the hopes that it will wake you up. Although it does wake you up, it’s not from the caffeine being consumed. Instead, the bitter, burnt taste has you coughing in disgust, dumping the coffee out and filling your mug up with water to wash the taste out of your mouth. Glancing over at the table, Duncan smiles awkwardly at you, a mouth full of cereal.

“Sorry.”

Breakfast was rougher than you had thought it would be, so you decide the next ‘task’ for Duncan will be something much easier: laundry. Duncan had blanched when you told him to cancel his laundry service for this week, but he wasn’t going to back down when it came to showing you that he was more than capable of doing things for himself.

“You have this nice laundry room that you don’t even use?” Glancing around the spacious laundry room, that’s arguably the size of your bedroom, you’re shocked.

“No, it’s just easier to get it sent out.”

“It may be more convenient, but it’s also a lot more expensive than doing your own laundry.”

You sit on top of the dryer, waiting for Duncan to return with his laundry basket. You’re still mildly befuddled that you didn’t know this laundry room was a part of Duncan’s penthouse apartment, but it’s a very large place, and it’s very easy to get distracted when your sexy boyfriend makes it his mission to fuck you on every available surface of the capacious apartment. You were even nice enough to bring your own laundry detergent and dryer sheets; it wasn’t necessary to ask if he had the supplies to do his own laundry when you already knew the answer.

Finally he returns, pushing the sleeves of his black cashmere sweater up to his elbows after he sets the basket down. You’re momentarily distracted at the ripple of his muscles before looking away in the hopes that he didn’t notice, but the smirk that paints his face makes it obvious that he’s noticed. He always does. Holding out a large hand towards you, he effortlessly helps you off of the dryer.

“So where do we start?”

“Where do you start?” You correct, snickering at the panicked expression on his face.

“Excuse me?”

“Laundry really isn’t that difficult, Duncan. Surely you did your laundry in college?” The guilty look on his face makes you groan loudly. “Really, Dunc?”

“Look, everybody I knew in college had their laundry sent out--”

“All senators’ sons and the heirs of influential families?” You barely pause, knowing what he’s going to say. “Look, I’ll help you with the first load, but after that you’re on your own.”

“Thank you.” He says brightly, kissing your forehead before dumping all of his clothes into the washer.

“Uh, babe?”

“Yeah?”

“Aren’t you gonna separate those?” He turns around, face a mixture of confusion and embarrassment.

“Like, one load for shirts and one load for pants?” You bite your lip to stifle a laugh, shaking your head slightly.

“Not...exactly. More like one load for all your lights and one load for all your darks.”

“Why?”

“So that way, the colors don’t bleed and turn your clothes different colors. Here,” grabbing the first item you see that isn’t black, you turn and hold up his light blue dress sock, “what pile would this go in?”

“The...da--lights?” He guesses, grinning when you nod.

“Yeah, exactly! It’s not as difficult as you think it will be; the lighter colors and whites go in one load, and then your darks go in another. Considering the majority of your wardrobe is black, I wouldn’t be too worried.”

“I think I’ve got it?” Duncan says hesitantly.

“You sure about that?”

“Yes. I want to do this myself, I want to prove to you than I can do this.” He’s so eager that it makes your heart twist painfully, but you nod and caress his cheek.

“Alright. Just yell for me if you need me, okay?” He nods, playfully slapping your ass as you turn to leave.

The experience of Duncan doing his laundry seems to go much easier than making breakfast, and eventually the sound of the machines doing their job and Duncan humming has you dozing on his couch. You’re barely propped up on your hand, only keeping yourself awake by your head dropping and startling you back awake momentarily. You’re half-tempted to just say ‘fuck it’ and take a nap, since it really does seem like Duncan’s got the hang of this laundry thing. Of course, the second you actually do let your head drop back against the cushions, Duncan’s loud “shit!” has you jolting up off of the couch.

“What happened, did you set the laundry room on fire?” You’re having visions of Duncan managing to set anything and everything on fire; maybe his family had an actual reason for never teaching him how to do things for himself, maybe it’s because he’s a walking matchstick.

“No, worse.” He says sadly. You hustle into the laundry room, stopping in the doorway when you see the dejected look on his face.

“Oh no.” You try to look as sympathetic as possible, but it’s hard when Duncan’s sadly holding up a baby pink button down shirt.

“I could have sworn I separated all of the whites, but I guess this was stuck to something?”

“Dunc, what do you even own that’s red?”

“My red Gucci blazer that I got a month ago.” He groans.

“Baby, it’s okay.” You soothe, taking the shirt from him and rubbing soothing circles on his back.

“This has happened to you before?” He asks brightly, pleased that you’ve also experienced the same thing.

“Well, no…but I have friends who have had this happen to them!” Duncan sighs, clenching his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose tightly. “Hey, it’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. I can’t even manage to do the laundry right.” Slipping past him, you glance inside the washer to look at the other clothes.

“Look, that shirt’s the only casualty! I’d say that you did pretty good.”

“Really?” He doesn’t believe you, but you’re determined to get rid of that heartbroken look on his face.

“Yes. Drying’s the easy part, we just hang up all your shirts and dress slacks to dry, and then we can use the dryer for everything else.”

You start sorting through the washed clothes, throwing the ones that need to be hung up on top of the dryer. Duncan goes to work at hanging those up on hangers, while you set the dryer to the needed settings. Looking at the man in front of you after you’ve finished, you’re struck by this moment of sudden domesticity. You’ve never really seen Duncan do chores before, and the quiet, comforting silence of working together to finish laundry is odd. Nice, but definitely odd.

“So? Ready to call it a day?” You ask once Duncan’s finished.

“No. I told you I was going to make it through a whole day, and I’m not backing out now.” It’s only noon, and at the rate things are going you’re a little worried that living life in the ‘middle class’ is going to absolutely wreck him by the end of the day.

“You sure?”

“Yes, absolutely. What’s next in a normal day for you?”

“Hmm, what sounds scarier to you: going to the grocery store or washing a car?”

“Neither of those are scary, (Y/N).” You roll your eyes.

“Yes, I know that, but which one strikes the fear of God into your soul at the mere thought?” Duncan’s entirely unamused, but plays along anyways.

“I guess washing a car?”

“Alright then, we’ll wash the car before we go to get groceries.” Duncan just barely bites back a whine, resolving to stay strong like he’s intended.

“Why is washing the car a big deal? We’re just going through the automatic one, right?” Duncan asks once you’re both safely in your beloved car and driving towards your destination.

“We could go through the automatic one,” you chuckle, “but considering I don’t get paid until next week and we’re making this as realistic as possible, I’m going to pay the four dollars for the manual wash and we can wash it ourselves.”

“You’ve washed your own car before?” Duncan’s legitimately aghast at this admission, the mere idea of such an act of labor incomprehensible.

“Why is this more surprising to you than when you learned I could change my own oil?”

“Huh...I don’t know, actually. Maybe the knowledge that I have to help out with this particular task?”

You pull into the empty car wash stall, pulling four dollars from your center console and handing it to Duncan.

“Here, go put that in the machine for me, please?” You smile widely, pecking his lips when he takes the money from you and opens the door.

Hopping out of the car, you grab the rubber floor mats and prop them up against the wall before meandering over to Duncan, who’s carefully reading the instructions on the machine.

“Ready? Once you put the cash in, the timer starts.” You grab the spray wand from its docking station.

Duncan feeds the bills into the machine, which beeps at him to let him know that the time has started. He tentatively takes the spray wand from you, and you press the ‘wash’ button on the machine.

“Just make sure to not stand too close to the car, or else the water pressure could damage the paint.” You remind him. Experimentally pressing the trigger, Duncan jumps at the sudden spray of water that douses your car.

“Am I doing it wrong?” He looks to you to make sure he hasn’t screwed this up.

“No, you’re fine! Keep going.” You encourage him.

It takes him a little bit to get the hang of it, but soon he’s spraying the car like he’s done this a million times before.

“What next?” He asks, watching while you press the ‘soap’ button.

“Now it’s the soap. Just do the same thing that you just did.” Duncan’s face lights up at the stream of bubbles appearing on the end of the wand, quickly maneuvering it so that it gets on the car. “That’s good,” you call once the timer beeps for the final two minutes, “now grab the brush.”

“And scrub the car?”

“Exactly!” Duncan’s hesitant at first, and you can tell that he’s worried about scraping your car.

While Duncan works on scrubbing your car, you turn the wand back to the rinse setting and clean off your floor mats. Your quiet hums abruptly turn to a loud squeal when something cold and wet touches your hair, jumping as it drips down your back. Whipping around, you playfully gasp at the sight of Duncan with soapy hands.

“That wasn’t in your job description.”

“Neither is this.” Your grin morphs to a look of shock when Duncan swipes his hand across your nose, leaving a trail of bubbles on your face. Duncan laughs loudly when the foreign object makes you sneeze, wiping his hands on the rag he grabbed.

“Oh, you think that’s funny?” You ask, lunging over to grab a handful of the bubbles.

Duncan grabs at your hand in an attempt to stop you, but you’re just quick enough to lightly slap his face and paint his cheek with the suds. He growls playfully, and you laugh while you try to pull away from his grip. He wraps his strong arms around your torso, easily lifting you up in the air while you shriek. The furious kicking of your legs does nothing to stop him, and he blows one last scoop of bubbles in your face.

The battle comes to an end when Duncan lowers you back to your feet, hands still resting on your ass. He smiles down at you, wiping the remaining bubbles off of your face with a gentle touch. Once he’s certain that your face is clean, he kisses you deeply. You have to stand on your tiptoes to even comfortably reach him, his firm grip on your ass helping slightly to keep you level with him. The shrill beeping of the timer sends you both jumping apart, glancing at the angry red LED screen as it reads 00:00.

“I think I have another dollar in my car.” You mumble, fingers intertwining with his.

“No need, I have one.” Sure enough, Duncan produces a dollar from his back pocket, feeding it to the machine without taking his eyes off of you.

The car is washed without any more incidents, and you and Duncan are on your way to the grocery store.

“Wait, why aren’t we stopping at Whole Foods?” Duncan’s euphoria at finally accomplishing a task today is quickly replaced with confusion as you pass by the chic building with its iconic green lettering.

“I already told you that I don’t get paid until next week, and even if I did get paid today, Whole Foods is the sort of place I only shop at when I get my tax refund.”

“So, where are we going?” You wish you had your phone camera out so that you could capture the look of absolute horror on Duncan’s face when you tell him.

“Walmart.”

There’s a reason you’ve been saving grocery shopping for the final activity of the day. Although these other tasks have been challenging for Duncan, you feel like this one will be the most eye opening. He’s never had to budget for food like you have to every week, deciding which staples are more important depending on what’s the lowest price. He doesn’t get the struggle of only having thirty bucks to buy enough groceries to last you two weeks, and he’s certainly never had to buy the generic brand of anything. This isn’t so that he can pity you; instead, it’s so that he can truly see what the people he treats like garbage have to go through. The baristas who depend on tips to buy their food, the homeless woman who can get fresh fruits for her kids with the money that you give her, even the canned goods that you buy from here so that you can donate to the food drive in his building.

Duncan holds onto you tightly as you enter the supermarket, eyes darting around as he takes in this uncharted territory. For you, this place is all-too-familiar, but Duncan’s experiencing a Walmart for the first time.

“Why are there so many screaming kids here?” He whispers in your ear.

“Just a hallmark of any Walmart, I guess.” You pull your grocery list up on your phone, mentally plotting out what aisles you’ll hit first. “Okay, I need eggs, juice, rice, pasta, breakfast foods, almond milk, bread, and peanut butter. Maybe some fruit and vegetables, too?”

“‘Maybe?’ Are the ones you like not in season?” You turn red, picking at your fingernail to avoid looking at him.

“No, sometimes they’re too expensive and I can’t afford to buy them.” You mutter quickly. For some reason, you didn’t think that the issue of money would be brought up while you were buying groceries; willful ignorance, on your part.

“Oh.” Duncan says, as though he hadn’t quite realized that sometimes people have to forego certain things in order to make ends meet. Maybe he didn’t realize that until now, you muse; it’s not as if his childhood nannies did the Shepherd family grocery shopping here.

“Let’s just go.” You try to change the subject, swinging the cart around to go down the aisles.

“Does that happen a lot?” Duncan asks as you begin to walk down the first aisle.

“Does what happen a lot?”

“You not being able to buy groceries?”

“Oh, it’s not that I can’t buy any groceries, but I like to have some leftover money in case of emergencies and so that I have some to give to Marta.”

“Marta?” Duncan asks.

“The ‘homeless’ woman that sits outside my building, the one you’re convinced is conning me? She sits there on Tuesdays and Thursdays, while she works odd jobs the other days of the week until she gets a call back for a job interview. Her kids are in school during the day, and they don’t know that they’re on the verge of homelessness. I try to give Marta at least ten bucks a week, that way she can make it to the Dollar Store and get some food for her and the kids.”

“Really?” His voice comes out quietly, and you have to lean closer to hear.

“Of course. There’s good, honest people like Marta who have just fallen on some hard times, and I want to be able to help those people in any way I can. Being charitable isn’t a negative trait.” Duncan’s silent, mulling over what you’ve just told him.

“But you still have to limit yourself to do that?” He finally questions.

“No, it’s just that I have to sometimes skip a couple of items so that I can buy the essentials.”

“What are the essentials?”

“Stuff that I can make multiple meals out of. Bread is a big one,” you grab a loaf of bread from the shelf and toss it into the cart, “I can make sandwiches, french toast, garlic bread, and I can make breadcrumbs to top almost anything.”

“And rice and pasta?”

“Again, I can make almost anything using that as a staple. Chicken fried rice, casseroles, any type of crockpot meal. With the variety of noodles that there are, I could make a different meal every day of the week using just one box. You start with your staple foods, the foods that you know are the most important, and then you go from there.”

Duncan listens intently as you explain the intricacies of grocery shopping on a budget, hand resting on top of yours as he pushes the cart along with you. He watches while you look at the shelves, barely checking to look at the prices before throwing the generic brand of pasta into your cart.

“Why’d you pick that one?”

“Because it’s cheaper.” You explain simply, as if this is the easiest thing in the world to understand.

“But why is it cheaper compared to the other ones?”

“The other ones have name brands on them. Stores will often increase their profits by producing their own generic lines of products that they sell cheaper than everything else.”

“Hey, I’ll be right back.” He says suddenly, turning on his heel and walking out of the aisle. You’re a little confused, but brush it off as a phone call from one of his employees that he has to take before continuing on your way.

Duncan doesn’t come back for another ten minutes, and by then you’re nearly done with your shopping. You shouldn’t be getting worried over him, considering he’s a grown man, but the sheer size and dizzying labyrinth of shelves that make up a Walmart would disorient even the most skilled store-prowler. Right when you’re starting to mentally debate about whether or not you need to call him, his deep voice gets your attention. You snap your eyes up to see him carrying a blue shopping basket, loaded to the brim with food items.

“Think this will be enough for Marta and her kids?” You stare at him, lips parted as you try to think of something, anything, to say.

“You--you got all this for them?” Duncan nods, his full bottom lip pulled between his teeth as his eyes seek yours.

“Yeah, I thought it’d be a nice thing to do.” You laugh in disbelief, nodding slightly.

“It’s definitely a nice thing to do. But...why?”

“If there’s one thing that today’s taught me, it’s that I really am an ‘entitled motherfucker.’” He references the words that you had thrown at him in anger yesterday. “I don’t want to be like that anymore, not when there’s people like you going without certain things just so that they can make someone else’s day a little better.”

You can’t think of any proper response to that, so you just lean up and kiss him.

“You, Duncan Shepherd, can be extremely sweet when you want to be.”

“You make me want to be ‘sweet.’” He mutters against your lips. “Oh! Look what I got for you!”

“Duncan!” Your face lights up when he pulls out a couple of cartons of fruit, making him grin widely. “You have most certainly redeemed yourself.”

“Enough for you to make some of that chicken fried rice you were talking about earlier?” He asks hopefully.

“I think that’s a fair trade.”

Tag List: @khaleesimel @sammythankyou @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26@langdonslove @heda-mikaelson @readsalot73 @jimmlangdon @sebastianshoe@let-me-try-mom @trimbooohgodplsnoooo @pastel-cloudz @nana15774@queencocoakimmie @lichellaw @ultragibbycentralworld @grim-adventures58@dolceandchalamet @dandycandy75 @alexcornerthethird @everything-is-awesomesauce @ccodyfern @wroteclassicaly @langdonsdemon @trelaney @rocketgirl2410 @starwlkers @hexqueensupreme @divinelangdon