#i am too tired to color the second page FORGIVE ME

[fukirvana]

shadow is just like me fr

HAPPY VALENTINES DAY I OFFER YOU GAY HEDGEHOGS

[thefallofophanims]

HYDRANGEA AND JASMINE

By the time I blink, I'm back in my room. The sound of the ceremony slowly fades from my mind. The quiet of the Monastery is comforting, similar to the feel of a freshly washed cloth wrapped around my shoulders.

My fingertips caress the mouse nestled in the palm of my left hand. Its white and grey coat is always clean. It's so small, a mouse, and yet so intelligent. It can explore every nook and cranny. Surely it has seen more than I have, perhaps places I can't even imagine.

I jump when a hand knocks on my door. "Come in", I say mechanically. The door creaks open, and Anouk bursts into the room. A relieved sigh from me greets her arrival. "What? Don't tell me you got scared, glasses-head?" she says, barely mocking me.

"I wasn't scared of you. I was afraid of the noise, I wasn't expecting it." I reply as she approaches me. "Sorry." Her forehead sticks to mine, and her hands grasp my cheeks. We both close our eyes and stay like that, for a few seconds. It's our way of greeting each other.

Anouk steps back and sits down next to me. "Is there a reason for your visit?" I ask.

"Whiskers, of course. How could I forget her?" she replies, bending over the mouse in my hands, which raises its snout curiously.

"I see. You show more affection and care for a little mouse than you do for your best and most faithful friend-" "Shhh."

She giggles and pulls something out of her pocket. "I figured she'd enjoy my communion better than I do," she explains, proudly. I look at her, dumbfounded. "You didn't swallow your communion?"

"Of course I haven't. Don't look at me with those eyes Lysander, you know I never eat it."

"I suppose not."

There's an awkward silence between us as she hands her offering to Whiskers, who starts nibbling on it with interest. I feel a little guilty, pointing out our differences of Faith like this. Anouk would be in enough trouble if The Silk knew she didn't have any. She's the one who finally breaks that silence.

"I lied, I didn't come just for Whiskers. You arrived late earlier, which is very unusual, and I observed you. You were trembling, and you refused to watch The Angels."

"I never watch The Choir of Angels."

"You were particularly evasive today." Her face moves closer to mine, so that I can't escape her brown eyes. "I'm worried," she insists.

"There's nothing to worry about."

"Lying to me is pointless, Lys. I know you better than you know your Library."

"It's nothing important. I'll be better soon."

"Listen to me. You've got to face facts, and you've got to know-"

"I already know too much," I say abruptly, turning my body away so I don't have to hold her gaze any longer. Whiskers escapes me, and runs off to hide between two books in the corner of the room. Anouk sighs, then takes my hand. I don't stop her.

"Forgive me, Lys. I didn't come here to argue." I nod, gesturing to her that it's nothing. I can already feel the words escaping me. I'm no longer able to speak, to formulate sentences. I lie down on my bed and turn my back to her, letting her know I'm tired. She understands. She does not mind, she is used to it.

"The hydrangeas finished growing today. Their color is magnificent. Would you like to pick some with me? For your desk." I shake my head. Her fingers gently caress my hair. It feels nice.

"I understand. In that case, get some rest, okay? I'll bring you some when I finish working."

Oh, that's right. Anouk has to work, too. Comforted, I nod again and make a faint sound to express my gratitude. She gets up and walks away. "See you later, Lys," she murmurs as she closes the door.

Alone at last, I hold myself as I close my eyes.

☆

The next day, I'm at my desk, faithful to my task. The ink curves, dances, forms the letters and words along the pages. How lucky I am, to be a descendant of the illuminating monks.

I feel a presence behind me. Semione looks at my work. "Very refined," they comment. "You're gaining in precision. Your style reminds me of my own when I was your age."

"Thank you," I reply. I wonder if I should mention yesterday. I search for my words. "I'm sorry about yesterday,...arriving late at Mass. I wasn't myself," I finally articulate.

"I noticed. Confessor was furious and demanded you to be punished."

My whole body freezes, my breath stops. That single word echoes in my skull painfully. Punished. Punished. Punished. I am going to be punished. Confessor.

"I refused. I defended you and pointed out that you were a model pupil," continues Semione. "You are allowed to make a mistake now and then. We are still human beings. The Choir of Angels remain humans, too, After all. The Entirety of the Silk is. Besides, we were not celebrating anything special, other than Sunday."

"And his answer?"

"He said he'd think about it. I think I managed to convince him, though."

They think. I stand up, ready to leave the room, until my mentor's arms wrap around my shoulders. They embrace me. Their scent is that of jasmine; bringing back childhood memories to my mind. "Don't worry, Lysander. You are safe." I nod, and they separate from me. I can breathe again.

"..." "Anything else?" They ask. "I think I was visited by an Angel," I explain.

Semione frowns. "And did it say anything to you?"

"No." "Let me know if there's any change in the situation, okay? Maybe it was just a Celestial or another divine being coming to reassure you. You have been tormented lately, after all. If not, I'm more qualified to read omens than you are."

"Alright."

After that, they settled down beside me and we wrote and copied together, paying no attention to the sun's course.

[popopretty]

The Day I Picked Up Dazai - Side A (5)

Links to Parts: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Final

This is the translation from page 52 to page 62 of Side A of the Dazai novel which was given out as free bonus for those who come to the cinema to watch the BEAST live action movie in Japan.

Please carefully read the notes below before progressing.

- This post contains spoilers. If you plan to read the novel later yourself and think this would ruin your expectation, please stop here.

· I tried to keep the translation as accurate as possible, but as I don’t speak English or Japanese as my native language, I may make some mistakes or use weird words etc. This translation might not be final. I may come back and fix it later if I find any mistakes.

· This is a moviegoers-only benefit, so please be extra careful when discussing it about on Twitter. Use a #spoilers tag on your tweets or your fanarts. You can share the links to this post but don’t take many screenshots.

· Don’t retranslate it. [UPDATE MAY 9, 2023] You can retranslate it but please keep in mind that my translation is not perfect and some meanings will be lost through re-translation. If you are not sure about the meaning at any part, please let me know! Don’t repost this translation anywhere else out of Tumblr.

· DON’T GO TO THE AUTHORS’ OR OFFICIAL TWITTERS TO COMMENT ABOUT THE CONTENTS OF IT.

I’m sorry if that’s too much but honestly all I want is for everyone to have a good experience, for those who wants to read the novels to be able to read the novels, and for those who don’t want to be spoiled, to be safe from it as much as possible.

If you have read and are okay with all the above, please continue to move forward and enjoy the novel. Have a good day!

...

A series of pictures float in and out of my mind.

A coffee shop. A blue rain leaving water droplets on the glass of the store. A novel with only the first and the middle volume.

Regret. Blood patterns on the wall.

“There is no mercy in this world.”

That is the voice of the younger me.

That’s right. No-one can forgive themselves. I will not forgive myself either.

Last volume of the novel.

“Writing novels is writing people.”

The man with the mustache. There is a ring of truth in his voice. Or perhaps I just want to believe that.

To answer that question, I have set my foot on a long track.

One day in a room with a view of the ocean, I will walk to my desk and…

When I wake up, I can’t tell where I am right away.

There is a wall in front of me. A bare concrete wall. A dark and damp wall, with black marks of water dripping, staining the color of the material. I can see nothing else. Even if I turn my head around, all I can see is that wall. I cannot turn my body.

I am being tied to a chair.

“Before we start, let me tell you this.” There is a voice behind my back. I have heard this voice before. “I don’t like violence.”

I remember whose voice that is. That is the older cop who came to my house.

“I don’t like it when people use violence. I don’t like to use it either. So just think about this as business.”

Sound of something cutting through the wind.

An intense pain gouges into my back the very next moment. My skin tears off, my bones crack.

Something hard has struck my back. A baton, a gun grip, or probably a blackjack.

The attacker is still out of my sight. There is only pain that shoots through my nerves and pierces into my brain.

“It works, right?” the guy starts speaking. His voice is soft, as if he is lecturing a kid. “I went easy on you. I know very well how much pain one can tolerate, and at what point it will become unbearable. I have wielded this for decades.”

“There are still things you don’t know.” I say.

The man’s voice goes silent for a second, then he speaks in a hard voice. “What?”

“You don’t know how to torture.” I say. “If you are going to hurt your victim, you have to ask questions first. What’s the point of hurting them before you ask? You’re just tiring both of us out.”

I can sense a snort of laughter.

Following that is another blow, this time close to my neck. A flash bounces through my entire body. Starting from my neck, the pain feels as if every single nerve in my body is being pulled out. This one is stronger than the last.

“You are right, young man. This is not a textbook interrogation.” says the voice behind my back. “But there are times when everything should be done according to the textbook, and there are times when it should not. I know that much. This is just a preparation for you to open your mouth more smoothly later. So, rest assured.”

“Good to know.” I say, keeping my eyes on the wall. “So let’s get back to the main point… If it’s about those counterfeit notes, I know absolutely nothing.”

The notes that Dazai was carrying. The source of all this. The huge bomb that Dazai, the messenger of calamity, has brought in.

It is not a surprise that such perfect notes can get intelligent agencies of other countries involved.

However, the guy’s reaction after that betrays all of my expectations.

“… counterfeit notes?”

That voice with a question mark attached to it floats unreliably and fluffily in the air, before it unravels and disappears.

My instinct tells me that it is a voice of perplexity.

“You don’t know about the fake money?” I ask. “Isn’t that what you are after, the counterfeit money and Dazai?” “That friend of yours is called Dazai? Who is he?”

I am going to say Port Mafia, but I shallow the words back in my throat. I should not tell them about Dazai’s identity if the money is not what they are after.

“There seems to be some misunderstandings here. I should clear that up first. We are here for you.”

“What?”

“Where’s the painting?”

The guy asks in a hard, commanding tone. I quietly think about what he means, then I answer.

“What do you mean by “painting”?”

“You know what it is.”

His voice is assertive and solemn, the voice of someone pushing another off a cliff.

“You guys stole a painting from a house you visited on business a long time ago. We are looking for it.”

“I have not a single idea what you are talking about.” I say. “Are you sure you are not mistaking me for someone else?”

Before I can finish my sentence, another blow comes down. This time on my shoulder. I can feel my veins breaking. Every part of my body from my neck down to my fingertips become numb.

“I’m not. We don’t make mistakes like that.” The guy’s voice is preserving, as if he is suppressing the emotions with his will power. “You were a member of that organization. Those cold-blooded guys who take money and kill in return. I don’t know what kind of thing you did in there, but I guess you were probably just a treasurer or a liaison. Because you are only a postman with no presence now. However, that organization itself was a big shot. You can even call it a legend. Before it suddenly disbanded and vanished seven years ago, it was a synonym of “fear” in “that” side of the world. We searched for the organization and somehow ended up finding only you. The other members have completely disappeared, as if they never existed in the first place.”

“I don’t want to talk about that organization.” I say.

“You will, young man. You will soon, whether you want to or not.”

I can hear the plonk of the club behind my back as he plays with it in his hands. “That painting is worth 500 million yen. One billion if you are lucky. If you need it, we can even give you a share. You won’t be able to handle it anyway.”

“You are making a mistake.” I say quietly. “It’s true that I know about said organization. I was a member of it for a while. But I don’t know about that painting. Not a little bit.”

“If you don’t know anything about it, is it possible that other members have hidden the painting?”

“Very likely so.”

The man sighs. His voice after that sounds five years older. “It’s always like this. We walk around like hungry stray dogs, following the scent of food and sticking our noses to the ground. And when we think we have finally got there, the food has long been trucked off to another place. We again, twitch our noses and chase after the smell of the truck through the dry wilderness. Again and again.”

“I am sorry for that.” I say.

In fact, it is half true when I say that. After all, they have kidnapped Dazai, just because he happens to be with me. Dazai is not a person you should treat like an add-on for your mail-order stuff. Not in any sense. He is a Port Mafioso, and as I imagine, a very important one at that. It is too late to do anything, now that they have already kidnapped him. Even if they wash him clean, mend his clothes, and return him sparkling new respectfully with their heads low, Port Mafia will not forgive that. They will use an electric excavator to level flat the back of the heads of those who are kneeling on the ground begging for forgiveness.

Therefore, the doom for these kidnappers is already decided. The question now is whether Dazai and I will be doomed too.

I cannot talk about Port Mafia. That is no good. If they know that Dazai is a Port Mafioso, these guys will literally shrivel up. They will curse their own stupidity and try to cover it up with yet another stupidity. In other words, they will bury the two of us under deep concrete, and use the little time they have before being found out to escape to the other side of the world. There is no other way.

That is why I have to keep Dazai as my “mysterious friend”.

“Now that you have all the information you need to tell the story.” The man speaks in a chilly voice, “All you have to do is to chirp beautifully. If you need a little help there, I don’t mind giving it my best to assist.”

He sounds somewhat happy. I can hear him slamming the club into his own hand. At this rate, I will be the one who has his bones crushed. (TN: There is a play of words here. The cop is using the expression 粉骨砕身, to say that he will try his best, but the kanji translated directly to “crushed bones and smashed flesh”, so Oda is using the same wording to talk about his own situation right now.)

“What if I don’t talk?” I ask.

“You will regret it. Like a criminal who just receives a warrant, wishing that he would have sung honestly when he was asked to come voluntarily earlier.”

He is about to say something else, but his radio rings before he can.

“What’s up?” he picks up the radio. I cannot hear what they are saying, but I can sense the urgency in his tone. “Got it. I’ll be right there. Handcuff them.”

He hangs up, his footsteps getting farther away. After walking a few steps, the man says from a distance. “I will give you some time to think about it. No one is coming to help you. This is an evacuation bunker built during the old war. It’s time to make a choice. You can become rich, or become a corpse for the rats to feast on. I hope you make the right decision for everyone to be happy.”

***

Dazai returns to the cell when I have just finished checking the shape of the fingernails on my two cuffed hands for the fiftieth time.

“Hey, it’s been a while.” Dazai says with an indistinct smile that is not at the very least different from before he was kidnapped.

I look at Dazai and ask, “You were not tortured?”

“Torture? Ah! So that was torture?” Dazai says, somewhat cheerful. “I was tied up and surrounded by two guys. But they left before doing anything. They were dragged away by their friends. I just told them something useful, and they started crying and hitting each other, saying they didn’t want to die.”

“I see. What did you tell them?”

“I can tell you… But do you really want to know?” Dazai smiles like a sea monster from the underworld.

I give it a little thought and say, “I will pass.”

It is a temporary cell used to keep the prisoners in the war. Originally, it must have been a simple nap room inside the bunker to protect yourself from air strikes and such. The room is about the size of a hotel room, with only a rusty bed frame fixed to the end. The entrance door has been replaced by an iron door with fresh welding marks, and there is a thick chain used for boat anchoring and a huge lock hanging from the doorknob. A number of black power lines are wrapped around the hooks lining up on the wall, leading to the murky cage lamp at the back of the room. That is the only light source. There is no air conditioning, so the air in the room is unclean.

“What do you think they are?” I ask.

“A criminal organization.” Dazai speaks nonchalantly, jingling his own handcuffs.

“But they are different from big settings like Port Mafia. Just a small group that will vanish with just a blow. However, its origin is a little interesting. Have you ever heard about an organization called “48”?”

I shake my head after giving it some thoughts, “No.”

“This is actually my first time meeting them too. They are harder to spot than any other criminal organization. It is almost impossible. Even if a great purge is to happen and this Yokohama turns into a clean paradise, they will still survive and continue to commit crimes. It is because they are an organization made up entirely of former cops.”

I narrow my eyes.

“Officers from local stations, special forces members who were dishonorably discharged. Corrupted cops released from prison after their arrests. Police of external affairs who are on the list of distrusted agents. This is a small but robust labyrinth organization built by police personnel who, for various reasons, have fallen from the tower of public servants through utilizing the skills, connections, and knowledge from their former jobs. There are a lot of theories about the name “48” but the most popular one is that it’s because the police have to refer a case to the public prosecutor within forty eight hours of arrest.

“That means the cops who came to our house were fake, but they used to be real cops too?” I say while recalling my memory. “But how do you know?”

“You couldn’t tell? Their gestures somehow revealed their past history, and every word they say is mixed with the terms used when they were still in the police.”

I track my memory.

Now that he mentions it, the guy who tortured me said this before he left, “You will regret it. Like a criminal who just receives a warrant, wishing that he would have sung honestly when he was asked to come voluntarily earlier.” He used a police shorthand to refer to “voluntary accompaniment”, and “sing” is a term used by the police for “confess”. I guess they just use the words that they are familiar with when talking to their friends.

“What they are good at is blackmailing people using the connections from their former jobs, diverting seized goods to sell on black market, and leaking inside information about the police. They are the fallen ex-heroes. Although the scale of their activities is small, many of them have received real trainings, thus are formidable. There are many criminal organizations in Yokohama, but this “48” is hated by both the police and other organizations.”

“You sure know a lot.”

“Not really. Unfortunately, I don’t know what they are up to.” Dazai says as he leans against the wall. “They said they were looking for a painting. Do you have any idea?”

I look at Dazai, then I say. “No.”

Dazai looks at me. Those eyes are like the bottomless see at night. Dark, cruel, quiet, endlessly sucking people in and never letting go.

Those eyes are looking at every corner of my expression. I feel like my each and every single cell is being observed.

I wonder how long we stay silent like that. Suddenly, Dazai opens his mouth and speaks in a serious tone.

“You do have a hint, don’t you?”

I let my gaze wander through the air, then look at a scenery of the past that is not here. I want a cigarette so bad. “Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because it doesn’t matter.” I say, sitting down next to Dazai. “No matter what those guys say, that painting is no longer in anyone’s hand. It is in a place that it will never be moved from. That painting is not going anywhere, at least not during my lifetime.”

“Why?”

“Because I decided so.”

Dazai tries to say something, but he stops. Then he lets his gaze wander somewhere else, as if he is looking for an answer.

“Got it”, Dazai says, looking forward. “Then let’s end this conversation here and talk about what we are going to do next.”

I find it strange that Dazai retreated so meekly. If he can make me spill out the whereabout of the painting, Dazai can get out of here without a scratch. But Dazai’s eyes are quiet, inside them is a gentle indifference of someone who has already made up his mind. I cannot tell the reason though.

“So, what are we doing next?”

“Jailbreak.” I assert. “I have no reason to stay in this kind of place anymore.”

“That is a good idea.” Dazai says, holding up his two hands. “But how?”

We are both handcuffed. These handcuffs are not toys or replicas, they are the real things used by the cops. On top of it, there is a lock on the entrance too. I saw the guy who brought Dazai here just now locking the door. There is no mistaking it.

“I have something that can get us out of here.” I say. “But there is also one thing that I can’t do anything about. Reason.”

“Reason?”

”You don’t want to escape, do you?”

Dazai looks at me with a puzzled look on his face. Then he says, “Are you going to help me?”

“I thought I would, but you have no reasons to do so. No reasons to accompany me and get out of here.”

Dazai looks around. “You are right. I can still kill myself if I stay here. So never mind me. Just escape by yourse��”

“I will take you with me even if I have to put a rope on your neck.”

Dazai looks at me, surprised.

“You… Are you actually a pushy guy?”

“When it comes to things that I have decided to do.” I say, focusing my attention on the signs outside. There seems to be no one on the other side of the door.

“What makes you do this?”

“I don’t like these guys.”

I say decisively. Dazai makes a surprised face again. “48? Why? Because they used to be cops? Or because they are aiming for the painting?

“Things like that.” I answer briefly, ending the conversation. “Dazai, if I ask, will you come with me?”

“Well, I wonder. I’m not that kind of nice guy who listen to others’ requests that easily. Everyone has a hard time getting me to do anything. What can you offer?”

I have to admit, those words are out of my expectation.

“You think that I can give you what you want?”

“I don’t know.” Dazai smiles as if he has given up. “I really don’t know. I have never met anyone like you before. That’s why I’m asking you.”

I start thinking.

I have a hint of what Dazai is looking for. But I don’t have it on hand to give it to him.

However…

_The only thing I want now, is death._

_Why do we have to die?_

“Dazai”, I say. “As soon as we get out of here, let’s go to “that place”. Right away. It’s not that far away.”

Dazai’s eyes are wide open. “You say “that place”? That you-are-a-fool-if-you-don’t-go-before-you-die place?”

“Yes.”

Dazai blinks and looks at me. I look straight back into his eyes.

I am not sure why but it reminds me of something from a long time ago. From when I was a boy.

“Dazai… You are right. There is no good or bad in wanting to die. Because there seems to be many important things in this world, but in reality, there is nothing that important. Life and death don’t even matter at all. The place we are going to is probably not going to live up to your expectations. Maybe you will find only rocks, scraps of paper, and things of such value there.”

Dazai stares blankly at me, as if he cannot believe what is happening in front of his eyes.

I look at the palm of my hand. I touch it with my finger, feeling the sensation. I touch a few more places, as a mean to buy time, until I finally say the last words.

“But what if it is different?”

Silence.

I have never tried to get this close to anyone’s heart before. I don’t feel like I did it well. But strangely enough, I do not regret it that much. Even if I don’t say it here and now, I will probably say it to Dazai somewhere sometime in the future. I feel that.

Dazai does not say anything. He just sighs, and looks into a distance with his arms crossed behind his head, as if he is considering. The chain clanks. “I too, have been caught by a person who says pretty foolish things.” Then he turns to the side to hide his expression and glances at me sideways. “Secret place, right…? If you have asked that much, it’s not like I can’t go with you.”

I lift my eyebrows, “You are not being honest.”

“It’s not that! It’s not that I’m not honest or anything! It’s not like I… expect that much!”

I scratch my head. “Then let’s do it this way. If you die here, I will build a tomb for you. And your tombstone will read, “Here lies Dazai, the man who never beats Oda Sakunosuke at poker.”

Dazai looks at me dumbfounded. Then he opens his mouth wide and says. “Th.. that’s not good! Alright! It cannot be helped then. Let’s break out of this prison.”

Dazai stands up, holds up his hand and snaps his fingers.

The handcuffs, which are supposed to be tightly fastened, fall off smoothly like a magic trick.

“You took them off from the beginning, didn’t you?”

“A little bit, with the metal wire I found over there.”

“Will that work on the door lock too?”

“Of course.” Dazai says as if it is nothing. Then he suddenly realizes something and turns to me. “No way… when you said you had something that can get us out of here, you were talking about me with this?”

I shrug, “After nursing you for a few days, the chains that bound your legs to the bed was stealthily unlocked. It seems like they have been stacked up to deceive me though.”

“What? I have been found out? How boring.” Dazai pouts.

Dazai takes my handcuffs, sticks the tiny wire inside the keyhole and starts turning it. Immediately, there is a dry metallic sound as the internal mechanism disengages. The handcuffs drop to my feet.

“How long has it been, I wonder? To have somewhere I want to go.” Dazai smiles as he rubs his wrists. “I have a feeling that even if there is nothing at that place, it will be fine as it is. Come on, let’s get out of here quickly and get some good fresh air.”

….

[not-me-simping-for-blasty]

Train Cars and Sun Spots - Kaminari Denki

—/—

You think he’s beautiful.

A disarming, reckless sort of beautiful as he barrels into the train, jumping headfirst through the doors just seconds from closing. He erupts into a flurry of fidgeting as he skids to a stop, one hand patting down his wild blonde hair and the other dusting off his sweats. It’s like he can’t sit still. Like he’s got an itch in his skin that’s shifting his weight around, balancing on one foot and then the other- rinse and repeat as he grabs onto the handrail above his head for stability.

Another second passes and then he’s pulling a plastic water bottle from his bag, twisting it open and crinkling the plastic. It seems to you that that he’s trying to make as much noise possible, but then you notice his headphones. They’re black and yellow, undeniably playing at full blast in his ears. You then decide it’s much more likely that he just can’t hear himself- that he somehow doesn’t realize how much of a scene he’s making in the otherwise quiet train car.

You find it a little refreshing, him seemingly appearing out of nowhere. You’d been riding this train for weeks now, to and from school, and you’d seen the same people day after day. The same old businessmen and their same old brief-cases and their same old silence. Not him though- never him and his noise. You were sure you’d remember hearing someone as loud as him.

Still, you try not to stare.

Although, you suppose, it wouldn’t really matter. He probably wouldn’t be able to pick you out of all the other people staring. It’s like he’s got the entire train car arrested and staggered; all eyes stuck on the strange boy who was moving far too much for a 7:00AM commute.

Shifting in your seat, you balanced your book higher in your hands. You hoped that by just barely skimming your eyes over the top, hiding inconspicuously behind the pages, you could look and not be noticed.

You were wrong.

When you glance over at him, he’s already looking at you. He’s got eyes like molten gold, and when he smiles they crinkle closed into happy little slits. That smile is easy and unrelenting when he pushes away from the handrail, hands shoved into his pockets as he nears.

“Hey there!”

His words are friendly, but god, if his voice isn’t loud. You wince, beginning to think that you’d severely underestimated the volume of his music. You’re sure now that it absolutely must be bursting his eardrums.

“Oh-“ He looks sheepish. Then he’s yanking the headphones from his ears, and dropping into the seat next to you. “Too loud, right? Sorry! Didn’t realize.”

You’re stunned.

At first, it seemed unbelievable that this conversation could’ve arised from just a single glance; but then you look a little closer, at his shifting eyebrows and his grin that’s colored shades of flirtatious and it’s a little more believeable. You realize quickly that’s all it ever would’ve taken with him- A single look.

“I’m Kaminari.” He announces confidently, your silence not deterring him in the slightest. “Kaminari Denki.”

“Oh. Okay. Um, hi?”

“Hi!” He greets again, and then he’s pulling that same water bottle from his back. It’s crinkling and half-empty and he’s extending it to you. “Want some?”

It’s in the way his eyebrows wiggle, the mischeivous glint in his eyes- you can see his intentions plastered across his face. The water bottle’s just a front for an indirect kiss. Quite literally the oldest trick in the book.

You want to roll your eyes, but then you look at him again. At his bright eyes and long lashes and shaggy hair falling softly over his forehead. He’s the sort of pretty that gives a lot of second chances- you were no exception to that rule.

“No thanks.” You laugh, easily dazzled by his sunshine smile. You raise a palm to push the bottle away. “Keep it to yourself, yeah?”

“Aww, but you’re too cute not to share with!”

The line rolls off his tongue smooth and easy, and you’re sure now- Kaminari’s a flirt. A shameless, brazen one dripping honey between his words as he fluffs his hair. It’s all a little too natural, a little too practiced. It takes only seconds, and you know definitively that you’re far from the first girl he’s offered his water to.

He’s still cute though, if only in a fleeting way, so you decide to humor him. It’s not like you’ve got anything more pressing to attend to.

“Mhm. And just how often do you use that line, huh?” You ask, rolling your eyes playfully.

“I-“ He starts, but then he’s slouching into the seat laughing. “Yeah, maybe not my best work. Meant it though.”

“I’m sure you did.”

“No, really! I did!”

You look at him again.

Kaminari’s straightened himself, eyes earnest and smile kind as he gazes back. He’s fiddling with the strings on his sweatshirt, idly twirling them between his fingers. It’s a human gesture. Unrehearsed and unpracticed and seemingly only for your eyes. You begin to wonder if that’s his real tactic- coming on strong just to melt into warm, sun-soaked softness.

“Alright. I believe you. Maybe.” You say. “But you’re on thin ice, Kaminari.”

“I’ll take it!” He fist-bumps the air. “See normally, I’d be totally crashing and burning by now!”

“So you are admitting I’m not the first girl you’ve tried that on?”

“What I- Okay. Yes? Maybe?” He laughs nervously, hand once again twirling his sweatshirt strings. “In my defense, I’m not the smartest guy, alright?”

“Nor the quietest either.”

“What?”

He’s got his head turned, cocked to the side as he blinks slowly at you. You think he looks like a confused puppy.

“You practically screamed at me when you said hi.” You tell him easily, letting an amused smile crawl across your lips. “Kinda thought I was being yelled at for a second.”

“Oh. Yeah, sorry! Really! I didn’t mean to do that.”

“It’s okay. Can I give you just a little advice, though?”

“Sure?”

“Don’t scream at the next girl and then immeadiately offer her something to drink. That’s generally pretty suspicious.”

You watch the light leave Kaminari’s eyes and then he folds in his seat. He snaps at the waist, dropping his face into his palms and letting out a theatric groan.

“God, I messed this up.” He whines, peeking at you through his fingers. “Messed up real bad, didn’t I?”

“A little,” You laugh. “But it’s alright.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. You’re good.”

He smiles then, so relieved and happy and just downright giddy that it nearly blinds you. It’s the kind of smile that makes you think he swallowed the sun; like rays of light were bursting through the tiny gaps in his teeth.

“So, what’s your name then?” He asks.

“L/n Y/n.”

“Y/n. Hmm, I like it.” He sighs happily. “Pretty.”

“That’s my first name.”

“I know.” He grins, all pearly whites and crows feet. You think he’s got a dangerous smile- one that lets him get away with anything. “Figured we’re close enough for that, right?”

“I’ve known you for two minutes.”

“Hey, 2 minutes, 2 hours, 2 years- who’s counting?”

“Me.”

“Okay, well good then.” He snickers. “Because I’m like, really bad at math- Wait. Shit. Should I have told you that?”

“Probably not.”

“Man, I am bad at this.” He whines. His knees knock into yours when he throws himself back into his seat. “It’s not my fault, alright? Usually I never get this this far with girls like you.”

“Girls like me?”

“Mhm. Cute ones.”

“Oh my god.” You roll your eyes, only so forgiving. “Really laying it on thick, huh?”

“For sure. My stop’s next so I gotta make sure you actually like me at some point in the next few minutes.”

Something evil slithers into your mind, and you’re smirking when you turn toward him. There’s just an inkling, a tiny little theory in your head, and you want to test it.

“Who said I didn’t already like you?”

Kaminari jumps, his cheeks reddening by the second. There’s nothing cool or composed about him and your theory is confirmed.

Kaminari is a dork. A massive, massive, dork desperately pretending to be a cool guy.

“I- what? You like me?” He asks excitedly, voice rising higher. “Seriously? Like, actually?”

“Sure.” You giggle. “You seem pretty harmless, all things considered.”

“That’s- is that a compliment?” He asks playfully, squinting his eyes at you. “Because harmless wasn’t exactly what I was going for.”

“Oh, so you were trying to creep me out?”

“No!” He shakes his head, cheeks slightly flushing as he laughs.

You giggle too, unable to help yourself. Kaminari really is cute, a lot more so when he’s not recycling tired lines.

“You’re mean.” He smiles something small and pleased. “I like it.”

Suddenly the train car jolts, brakes squeaking and squealing as it skids to a stop. You rock forward with the force, and Kaminari knocks his shoulders into yours. When you look at his face, he’s got that mischevious glint back in his eyes, as he bites down on his lip. A second passes and then he touches his shoulders into yours again.

“Really sorry.” He smirks. “Bumpy ride, you know?”

You roll your eyes again, but you are actually feeling a bit charmed. He’s got a sneaky way of buttering people up, you realize- of somehow weaponizing his own embarrassment.

“But I actually do have to go.” He stands, and then he’s pressing his hands together and winking. “I’ll see you here same time tomorrow, right?”

“I don’t know, are you gonna yell at me again?”

“Absolutely! Gottta yell at all the pretty girls, you know?”

“Stop.” You laugh, blushing. You nod towards the doors. “I’ll be here, but go. Door’s gonna close, you dork.”

Kaminari nods and then he’s shoving his headphones back in, still crinkling that water between his fingers. There’s nothing quiet about him as he leaves and you come to think that maybe that’s how he really gets you- it’s not with lines or indirect kisses or grace, it’s with air that seems uncomfortably vacant when he leaves. It’s with the vaccuum he leaves behind.

You watch the doors close after him, but he’s stops on the platform, shooting you a thumbs up through the window. There’s a goofy grin plastered across his face, wide and sunny and brillant. It’s the kind of smile that leaves you wondering if Kaminari knows just how brightly he shines.

When the train kicks into motion again, you’re smiling too, rubbing your eyes as you blink away the sun spots he left behind.

//—//

jus a lil somethin for denki,, as a ~treat~,,, may or may not turn this into a tiny lil series we’ll see :))))

[chrisevansgoodgirl]

if you’re going crazy, just grab me and take me

summary: after the worst year with this fucking family, Ransom proposes on ❄️ chrstmas eve  ❄️ it obviously doesn’t go over as well as his emotionally-stunted ass thought it would.

warnings: every god damn word in this thing is a problem. rough smut. choking, anal, hair-pulling, biting, this shit makes the first chapter seem light, i’ll just say that. a lot of fighting. verbal and physical. there’s some fluff but don’t let ransom trick you like he’s obviously tricked me.

word count: this shit is almost 25,000 fucking words 😂😂😂. i dead ass kept being like why the fuck am I taking so long to post this? Then I saw the word count and I 😳🤭🤗😂 someone pls tell me i did not just devote 25,000 words to exposing myself as a weak ass hoe for Ransom. pls tell me this is a fever dream. i can’t.

pairing: ransom drysdale x reader

a/n: holy fuck, am i a disaster. i apologize, i kept falling asleep and wow, i’m just confused about my entire process for writing this bc it was abnormal af.

part one: x part two: x (however, you don’t really need to read them to understand this mess? pretty sure.)

Christmas Eve:

It somehow felt that the entire hellscape that you were currently living in had simultaneously transpired yesterday but also years ago. That was the common feeling one was left with in times of so much exposure to Thrombeys. It was a whirlwind, but there were the good moments, and then the really bad moments, but then the kind of fun moments… It was a rollercoaster, honestly. One you had incorrectly believed you could cope with.

Meg and Joni had called you in a panic from the ski lodge they’d gone to in Canada. There was talk of stopping all flights, how were they going to get home? And lord, what about their home? Were they really supposed to stay there? Since being cut off, Joni had made some career moves that were smart, but she still had to scale back. They were in a much smaller place than before, one that was only temporary—Joni claimed as much about one million times while signing the papers for it.

Jacob had been the next to call, a hysterical Donna could be heard in the background. They had also been moving into another home because of financial issues. You weren’t sure what the ploy was with having Jacob call. Out of everyone in the family, he was the one you spoke to the least, maybe in competition with his irritating mother. Perhaps that had been the angle, were you really going to leave them isolated with their possibly murderous son in such a small house in an unknown neighborhood?

The answer was no. You weren’t going to leave out any Thrombeys. The Drysdales, on the other hand… You had made your terms quite clear. So, with the news of a quarantine sweeping across the country, these overprivileged people flocked to the house they had once called their own. But it was your house now, and that meant it was well within your right to exclude Linda and Richard.

The night you had told Ransom about it was…quite a night.

March: the arrival,

Your grand idea was to deliver the news quickly, over a drink when he was in the best mood he could be. You casually told him that Joni and Meg would be arriving first, then Walt, Donna, and Jacob.

He stared for a long time before simply stating, “I will not let them in the house.”

You rolled your eyes. “Ransom—”

He leaned forward, slamming his glass down on the table between you. “It’s not happening.”

You arched an eyebrow. Was he trying to be intimidating? Oh, you would be just terrified if you were an elderly author or poor nurse tasked with caring for the mentioned author. Seeing as you were his girlfriend, he was out of luck on that.

“I will lock the doors,” he declared, standing to place his hands on his hips. “Not one of those assholes is getting in here. You understand me?”

Instead of answering, you grabbed your drink and returned to the magazine in your lap. That was probably Ransom’s greatest source of irritation, when you decided you were done with the dramatics and ignored him.

He scoffed. “The fact that you think this is happening… It just goes to show—you call me a narcissist, but clearly, you are the narcissist! It takes one to know one!”

It takes one to know one? “Are you five?”

He crossed his arms over his chest.

With a soft sigh, you turned the page. It was silent for several seconds and you weren’t sure if he was trying to build up to something or if he just had nothing else left to try. Whatever it was, you told yourself you were ready for it. How many years was it now? You couldn’t be surprised anymore.

“Are you only with me for sex?”

And you stood corrected. Narrowing your eyes, you looked up at him. “I’m sorry?”

“You clearly don’t care about my feelings—”

“Ransom, seriously, shut up. This is happening, okay? Your family is scared right now, you could try being human. This was their home for a time, of course, they want to be somewhere they feel comfort—”

“No, I’m putting my foot down.”

You rolled your eyes again. “You don’t have a foot to put down. This is my house, too.”

“Too,” he repeated firmly. “Too!”

“Ransom,” you snapped, getting to your feet and throwing the magazine on the table. “Stop acting like a child. They will be here tomorrow. I’m going to bed and if you wanted to join me, that would be great.”

He sat back down, a clear indication that that was not happening.

Things with Ransom, since the last argument, hadn’t been as tense as you thought they would be. Majorly, nothing really changed. Well, sex changed. You guys just weren’t doing that, which was major, because of the rate at which it had been occurring. But other than that, nothing changed. He wasn’t ignoring you, he wasn’t not touching you, there was very simple no sex. At all. But was that something you were okay with? Hell no. It was getting old and you were getting fucking tired of it.

“Fine, if you don’t, just know that I am keeping track.”

“Track?” he narrowed his eyes. “Of what?”

“How many nights I’ve slept without you and how many nights you’ve gone without fucking me.”

“After your last indiscretion, did you really expect anything else? Which you still haven’t apologized for, by the way.”

“Apologize?” you scoffed. “For keeping a fucking vibrator? What do you want me to say, Ransom? Sorry that I have yet to give you total control over my body?”

“That is exactly what I want to hear.”

Without another word, you simply rolled your eyes at him and stormed off to the room you had once upon a time shared with your boyfriend. Not that he officially moved out. In fact, he was still sleeping in there and kept his shit in there. But he was not falling asleep with you nor was he was present when you woke up.

You had no idea what he was doing in there and you were trying to be human, unlike Ransom. Everyone deserved privacy. Besides, he’d made you your sunroom and it afforded him a lot of forgiveness. It was this tiny extension of the house that had huge windows and was just small enough to fit your yoga mat, a couch, and about a billion plants. You read there a lot, you also escaped Ransom a few times. You could understand his desire for an office. But as frequently as he was using it? That was scary.

Admittedly, it was difficult to stay mad at him when you walked through the house that you’d almost now completely rebuilt together. The only exclusion being the office. It had been one of those Harlan rooms that you’d never actually been in prior because you were not family. Weeks ago, you watched Ransom remove everything, add new things, but you still hadn’t been inside. He didn’t so much tell you that it was his own personal room, but it was very clear in how he locked the door. Like, all the time.

You had already been prepping for bed, knowing that the discussion was going to be exhausting. You threw yourself straight into bed, not overly optimistic about the possibility that you were going to fall asleep.

Maybe it was the argument, the mention, the acknowledgment that you guys weren’t having sex. Did he even care? It didn’t seem like it. That caused concern for you. You’d always thought that you would be much older when the two of you would be having no sex. You wondered if things were changing, if your relationship was changing.

Officially, it was hopeless. You were not going to fall asleep. You were just about to get back up when you heard him walking up the stairs, you froze, held your breath, hoped that maybe he wanted to end this. Instead, he walked by the room and to the end of the hall, where said office was.

Fine, fuck him. You just had to get up and moving, there was no shortage of shit you had to prepare. Jacob, though terrible, was family, and a teenage boy. You were going to set him up in a smaller room on the bottom floor. Harlan usually had live-in staff stay in that room if they ever fell on hard times. You figured he would enjoy the privacy. Walt might even enjoy not sleeping in the same room as the next Ted Bundy.

Meg’s room was the most used since she stopped by on weekends sometimes when Ransom was gone for the day or stayed out late. They always met in the kitchen when morning came to argue and give you a headache, however.

She probably needed towels in the bathroom. She might even end up wanting different sheets. Jacob would need more sheets. Was there a color you should give him in the case that the little psycho killed someone, if you wanted to prevent stains? Joni’s room had been cleared out except for major furniture so you wanted to get that set before the morning. You had intended to set all of this up at some horribly early hour, but you were too annoyed to try sleeping. What better time than now?

Did you even have food? You would probably need to go to the store in the morning. You would make a careful list and ensure that no one would need to leave the house again because you were not going to let one of these rich idiots get you sick. Food, sheets because as you were walking through the linen closet, you discovered that you didn’t have really any sets of sheets. Then, you would need laundry detergent, fabric softener. Not all the rooms had pillows—

“What the hell are you doing?”

Ransom found you madly scribbling on a notepad in the center of Joni’s room. You didn’t bother to look at him when you answered, “Making a shopping list.”

“May I ask what for?”

“We have no sheets or pillows or food…or really anything, Ransom. Are we fucking vampires?”

He sighed as he made his way to you. “Okay, it’s time for bed.”

“Go away if you’re not going to be helpful.”

“No, get up now.” But he was met with nothing but silence. Instead of trying another round of verbal communication, he effortlessly grabbed your arms and picked you up.

“Ransom!”

He abruptly took your face in his hands. “They’re lucky they even get to be here. You’re not doing a single thing for these people.”

“Stop, okay? This is our house, we have to have these things—”

“No, you stop. Stop trying to do anything for them because no matter what, they’re going to complain.”

You glared. “Are you trying to help? Just go back to your stupid office and leave me be.”

He arched an eyebrow at you. “It is time for bed. I’m taking you to the room—”

“I’m just going to sneak out as soon as you leave for your office, so don’t waste my time or yours—”

He abruptly threw you up over his shoulder.

“Ransom!” you shrieked in absolute panic, he had never done this. Dragged you kicking and screaming? Yes. Literally pulled you along the floor by your legs? Yes. This? No, not once.

He was quick to get to the room, worried about how exactly you would react, what you were willing to do to make him drop you. He tossed you down on the mattress.

“You’re such an ass! I have to—”

He silenced you by pulling off his T-shirt.

So, he interrupted you because he wanted to have sex? After he had been withholding it? You feigned an unbothered expression. “Ransom, fuck off.”

He scowled. “Why did I have to find you? Why did life bring you to me? Personally, the meaningless fucking was fine for me, a lot less trouble.”

You scoffed. “Do you think I like being with you?! You’re the worst person I’ve ever fucking met, possibly the worst person on this fucking planet!”

He rolled his eyes. “Get on your knees.”

“You are not serious.”

“I am.”

“No, you’re seriously fucking insane, but you’re not serious in that you actually think that’s going to happen!”

“Get. On. Your. Knees. You can do it on your own or I can do it for you.”

You weighed your options. You wanted to have sex with your boyfriend, you wanted to be close to him. However, if he left you after you sucked him off, you might end up killing him. But what could you do? Ransom was apparently in a mood.

Whatever theatrics that were going to occur tonight were already planned, you realized. If he was going to walk away, he was going to walk away. No amount of arguing or any other behavioral tactics were going to change that. You would hit him, you were sure of that, but at least you could get back to making your home presentable.

You reached back for a pillow and gave him a challenging look. He arched an eyebrow at you as you slowly jumped off the bed, laid your pillow at his feet and got to your knees.

“The fuck is this? You suddenly a princess?”

“I’ve always been a princess,” you declared. “One day, a wonderful man or woman, who’s going to give me an even bigger house, is going to know it.”

He glared. “What the fuck is your problem? Do I need to start paying you to keep your mouth shut?”

You snorted. “You have money?”

And that was, apparently, a line crossed for Ransom. Furiously, without another word, he yanked his pants open and shoved them down with his boxers.

Instead of staring at his cock in front of your face, you looked up at him.

He sighed. “Y/N, suck my cock.”

You shrugged. “Why?”

He took himself in one hand and grabbed your hair in the other. He brought your mouth to the head of his cock and waited patiently. You did nothing, simply kept your gaze on him. Rolling his eyes, he pulled at your hair.

You attempted to keep your lips clamped but he continued yanking until you opened your mouth to cry out. Then, without hesitation, he shoved his cock down your throat. You gagged instantly, hands snapping up to shove at his thighs. He wouldn’t budge, he kept you there no matter how hard you tried to push him away—which, admittedly, since you were so wet, wasn’t very hard—or how many times you gagged.

His free hand touched your cheek. “You’re fucking beautiful like this.”

He could fuck off—as soon as he was done coming, you would walk away. You didn’t even want to be fucked by him anymore. But sadly, you had missed the taste of him, the feel of his skin on your tongue.

When he finally pulled you off his cock, you gasped for air. Then, once again, he was thrusting back in. You were choking on him, eyes watering, throat burning, drooling, sniffling, hands begging to be let up again with how hard they gripped his thighs.

But Ransom only let you off when he wanted. The second time, he allowed you to try to catch your breath. Your head was spinning since you were not quite getting oxygen back fast enough. You were blinking away those tiny black spots appearing behind your eyes. He used one hand to wipe away the tears on your cheeks and whatever was falling down your chin.

Then he was bringing you down once more. Holding you in place, he began fucking your mouth slowly, gently, two words that normally did not apply to Ransom. He took his time, he wanted you aching and craving him, and you really fucking were. You thought you wouldn’t feel a thing if he walked away after thing, but now, you knew you were going to set that office on fire if he tried it.

As he neared his end, he grew noisier. You liked that about Ransom, he didn’t hold back due to some insane fragile masculinity thing—no, that was often displayed in less conventional ways. He liked fucking you and he liked letting you know.

He picked up speed eventually, paying no mind to the sounds of you choking every time he thrust in a tad too hard. You didn’t even care, you knew you would be soaking wet, if you just reached down and felt…

He yanked you down when he was coming, buried deep in your throat, reveling in the feel of your throat moving around him, trying not to choke, trying to breathe. “Don’t make a mess, baby, swallow everything I’m giving you.”

You tried, really, you were not just playing your usual game of disobedience. But he really was choking you, so when you tried to swallow, things did not go according to plan. You gagged, nothing was swallowed. A mess you did create. On him, the floor, yourself, the pillow.

Ransom pulled you off and then grabbed your arm to haul you up. His hand still in your hair, he forced you to look up at him, bending your neck back almost uncomfortably. You were still struggling with lack of oxygen and just about fell into him completely, clearly being bratty was not on your mind.

He waited patiently, as if he wanted an explanation. No, you did not intend to do the opposite of what he had told you, but you weren’t about to let him know that. “Baby,” he cooed. His hand slid up from your arm to your neck where some of his cum was sliding down toward your chest. “What was what?”

“Out of practice, I guess. It’s been months since you’ve touched me.” Okay, it had just barely been two months yesterday, but if he could be dramatic, you were allowed as well.

He arched an eyebrow. “Considering you only need to say one word to me, I don’t think you really want it that bad.”

“You’re right, I don’t.”

His expression fell. He had hoped you would desperately blurt out an apology, clearly. Without another word, he shoved you onto the bed.

You stared up at him, face composed. “Don’t you have an office to be in?”

“You seem very jealous of that office, baby.”

“Why would I be? I finally get to be away from you.”

He leaned forward and grabbed your shorts and panties. The way he ripped them off you was damn near violent. You both wanted something rough tonight. “Then why is your pussy wet?”

You shrugged. “Couldn’t be for you. I can’t remember the last time you made me come.”

He leaned over, slowly crawling his way up your body.

Without prompt, you reached between your bodies and pulled your shirt over your head, arching a little more than necessary.

He took your forearms and pinned them to the bed. “Tell me how bad you need me.”

You shook your head. “I don’t.”

“I’m not joking.”

“I’m not joking,” you countered. “I. Don’t. Need. You.”

He took your jaw in one hand, forcing you to meet his stare. “Y/N, seriously.”

He really wasn’t joking, but again, neither were you. “Ransom, if you walk out before you fuck me, I will leave you. Do you understand me? I’ll fucking disappear, and you will never ever see me again.”

He smirked. “I understand.”

“I need you,” you breathed, free arm sliding around his shoulder, clinging tight. “I really fucking need you. I need you inside me. You know it’s been too long.”

Smiling like he just won the lottery, he rolled onto his side a little, turning your hips with him. “Yes,” he agreed. “Too long, baby, I’m sorry.”

You knew he wasn’t. You felt his tip at your entrance and you held your breath. He was a dick, yes, but you had been absolutely starving for his touch, his attention.

He pressed inside and it stung almost as bad as it had the first time. You turned your head away, hand pressed to your mouth to keep quiet. You hadn’t noticed your eyes were filled with tears until he touched your cheek and you blinked in surprise. You weren’t sure what you were crying about, the pain or the relief of finally feeling him.

You kept yourself turned from him, hoping he would just drop it. Of course, he wouldn’t. Of course, the one time you were willing to give Ransom a pass to be a complete ass, he wouldn’t want to take it.

“Sorry, baby girl,” he cooed. He had stopped, letting you adjust to him. However, Ransom didn’t have an ounce of patience and you knew his restraint was slipping. “I’m sorry, I’ll make it better.”

You also knew he wasn’t sorry. You squeezed your eyes shut until he was buried inside you. Feeling so full was something you had missed but feeling wanted was what you had been longing for. He could say the words, he could give you lingering looks when you were wearing a dress or a tight top, but it wasn’t the same. It didn’t convince you like when he just grabbed you and used you to satisfy every sick desire he had.

He grabbed your face and forced you to turn back but your eyes were shut. Instead of trying to get you to look at him, he kissed you. His lips moved over yours until you were finally curling into him, his arm wrapped around your back and pinned you against him.

Intimate, close, slow, but so fucking hard, that was how he made you come the first time. There were no words, just grabbing each other, gasping into the kiss, biting one another’s lips, tongue and teeth, scratching nails, pulling hair. He watched your face as you were coming down, hips still snapping up, fingers brushing along your cheeks.

He rolled onto his back and brought you with him. You hissed at the ache of this new angle, using your knees to pull off just a little. He took your hands and set them to the headboard. The way he stared up at you, like he was worshiping every inch of you, it made your skin burn.

“Ride me,” he ordered.

Hands gripping the bed, your hips began to roll. Ransom stared the whole time, where his cock was disappearing inside you, your moving breasts, your gorgeous, soft body. He used one hand to pinch your nipples alternatively and the opposite hand to focus solely on your clit.

You were breathless, shaking, chasing after that climbing high. You let the headboard go in favor of grabbing his hands, dragging them up to circle around your neck. As he began to apply pressure, you continued bouncing on his cock, unashamedly screaming now that he was stifling the noise.

Watching your eyes fill with tears, hearing those strangled sounds tear from your throat, it was enough to get him there as soon as your cunt started to tighten. He was coming with you, squeezing your neck tighter, so tight you tried to pull his hands off you.

But it was futile, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. He threw you down, rolling over so he was on top of you. You wrapped your legs around him, spreading your thighs and taking him in deeper.

He set one hand to the mattress to hold himself up but kept his other hand on your neck. He leaned over, forehead pressing to yours, breathing hotly against your skin. “Say it again.”

“Say what?” you choked out.

“You know.”

You always knew. He had only asked you for this one other time since you’d said it that first night. You stopped caring that he was probably never going to say it back. “I love you.”

His hips finally stilled. You weren’t sure what his response was going to be, but you knew what it wasn’t going to be. Yes, you’d stopped caring, but were you okay with it? You weren’t entirely convinced. But what were you going to do? Leave Ransom? That seemed highly unlikely.

So, you decided to speak before he could. “Even though you’re a fucking loser.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “And I guess you’re hot enough to keep around even if that mouth annoys the hell out of me.”

That, you suspected, was as close as he was going to get to ever stating his feelings for you. “Are you going to let me get back to my list?”

He rolled his eyes. “No. Not done yet.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Really? You lasted, like, three minutes—”

He gave you a sharp look. “Must be my age, I guess I’ll need a minute before I can go again. But you, baby girl,” he grabbed one of your hands and brought your fingers up to his lips.

You watched closely as he kissed every knuckle before he brought your hand down and pressed your first two fingers to your clit. You shuddered. “Ransom, wait—”

“Since you like getting yourself off so much, you’re going to—”

You sighed. “Ransom, please—”

“And I’m going to watch until I’m ready to fuck you again.”

You pouted up at him. “You said it was time for bed.”

“I changed my mind.” He pulled your legs from around him and sat back to watch you. He pulled one thigh further from the other and gave you an expectant look. “I wasn’t asking, baby.”

For what felt like the first time in years, you were woken up by your boyfriend with his hand between your legs. You were laying on his chest, he was kissing the top of your head, tracing patterns along your spine and just barely teasing your clit.

All he needed to know was that you were awake and then had you pinned underneath him before you could say a word. Last night was nice but now the sun was shining through the blinds and you could see all of him. The freckles on his skin, the fine lines around his mouth because he does actually smile even if he doesn’t want anyone to know. And all his muscles—ugh.

“Good morning,” he said softly.

You smiled. “I have to get up and start getting ready.”

“No, baby. The only thing you need to do is open your legs so your boyfriend can fuck you like you deserve to be fucked.”

“Oh, deserve?” you scoffed. “I always deserve to be fucked. What changed your mind?”

He shrugged his shoulder. “Does it matter?”

Few things did when it really came down to your relationship with Ransom. It was all one huge give-and-take and neither of you shied away from taking advantage of that lack of communication.

He kept you there for nearly half an hour, insisting that you give him just one more finish, but he’d done that nearly four times. The reason you were able to escape was that there was someone at the door. As Ransom when to see who it was, you ran for the shower.

You were surprised when he joined you. One of your favorite things in your entire relationship was taking showers with Ransom, but it rarely happened. Whether that be because you were always on a time limit when you were getting ready or because he woke up later than you.

He wrapped his arms around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder.

“I miss taking showers with you, you’re warm.”

He turned to kiss your cheek. “You going shopping?” he muttered against your skin.

“Yeah, we don’t have anything either. We’re out of your favorite cookies, you know.”

He hummed. “Okay, just be safe. Wear a mask and try not to touch anything you don’t have to. Put everything in the back of your car, I put hand sanitizer in there so use it before you touch anything inside.”

You scoffed as you looked back, eyebrow arching. “You sound scared.”

He shrugged. “Well, you know… I just don’t want you to get sick.”

You smiled a little.

“Because I don’t want to have to take care of you.”

“Ugh, Ransom!” You brought your hand up to flick his forehead, but he caught your wrist and used the opposite hand to turn you around.

His arm slid across the small of your back and he picked you up to walk you to the shower wall. He pinned you against it completely, the shower head was almost directly over the two of you. Instead of attempting to watch him, you closed your eyes and pulled him into a kiss by his hair. He angled his hips up and easily thrust inside you.

Your mouth dropped and you gasped, he used that as his chance to bite down on your lip. You were sore between your legs, but the ache was a reminder that Ransom had put aside his pettiness because he had wanted you so badly. You brought your leg up to hook around his hip and used that as your leverage as you began to roll your hips.

He shuddered and bit harder on your lip still trapped between his teeth. He only let it go so he could turn down and press his mouth to your shoulder. “Slow baby, fuck me slow.”

You did as he directed. You slid off his cock and then slid back down, using all the restraint you could muster because you couldn’t wait until his broke. You couldn’t wait for him to grab you and take charge.

His hand slid between the two of you and he began pressing down on your clit, just slightly.

“I could kill you, Ransom,” you blurted out. “You better not ever go so long without touching me again.”

He nodded. “I promise, I will not.”

If you had a question about his tone, it died when his hands finally grasped your hips. “Tell me what you want.”

“Hard,” you pleaded. “So hard, please. I want to feel you all day, I want it to hurt until you’re inside me again.”

And goodness, did he make it hurt. He fucked you until you could no longer stand, until you weren’t able to coherently tell him that you weren’t sure you would ever be able to on your own again.

He had to set you on the floor of the tub when he knew it was time to get out. You weren’t sure why, and if you had been in a better mindset, you would have remembered the importance of always asking Ransom questions about his actions. However, all you could do was stay still, a little dizzy, vibrating pleasantly all over.

It somehow felt like hours but only seconds that he left you alone. When he was standing you back up, you still didn’t have the good sense to ask what the hell he was doing, but you absolutely melted when he pulled you from the shower and wrapped you up in a warm towel. A towel that had clearly just come out of the dryer—this man, that he could be so perfect and just chose not to be, deserved to be in jail. Yeah, the murder thing was a strike against him, you guessed, but this? Unforgivable.

When you got back home, there were several cars that you had never seen. Somehow, despite not getting an inheritance, the Thrombeys still knew how to make money. Which just made the whole Harlan thing even more annoying. Why all the dramatics? Rich people didn’t get poor the same way poor people got poorer. It was merely a showing of greed.

But you could not dwell on things like that, otherwise, this whole thing was going to go bad much quicker than you had suspected. You also couldn’t be the one that made it go bad. You weren’t an actual Thrombey or a Drysdale—and never would be since you fell in love with the least committal one of them all. You, despite extending your home and kindness, needed to be a lot more behaved than Ransom.

As you were bringing in the groceries, you glanced at the cars. There were five in total and you shuddered to think Jacob was driving. He was about that age, of course, but still, yikes. Meg and Joni probably showed up separately, which meant Donna and Walt did as well. Okay, weird, but you long ago stopped trying to guess why these people did what they did.

You wrestled with the front door for a moment and the noise of it brought in Joni and Meg. The older woman was completely decked out in crystals, unsurprisingly, you had just read an about how crystal shops were doing particularly well at this time.

“Hey, guys,” you greeted.

“Thank you so much for letting us stay here,” Meg immediately responded, taking some of the bags from your hands.

Joni followed her daughter’s lead. “Yes, honey, let us help you.”

Okay, suspicious. These people rarely did a thing that would constitute as the simplest of work—save for Meg, of course. “Thanks, but Ransom really should be helping me.” You gently pressed the door back with your leg, not shutting it completely but trying to keep the cold at bay. “Ransom!”

“He’s in the kitchen,” Joni informed.

“Great, we can head that way.”

On the walk there, you found Donna and Walt were in what was now one of many family rooms. They greeted you a tad overenthusiastically—regardless, you couldn’t stop, you’d just deal with it later.

“You didn’t need to go shopping for us,” Donna said.

“Oh, it’s fine,” you assured. “We needed a few things, I thought I’d get it done all at once so you guys wouldn’t need to worry about it.”

As if given a cue, they all began to thank you again. Again, you would need to deal with this when your arms were less full and there weren’t about a million bags in the back of your car.

You led the way to the kitchen, Meg and Joni on your tail. “Was the trip over here easy enough?”

“So weird,” Joni claimed. “People are literally going insane. I went to my usual crystal shop before I got here…”

Typical. She proceeded to tell you about how she had an “altercation” with a woman for a tiger’s eye finished into the shape of her animal spirit guide—which you were forgetting at the moment, a swan or something.

You stopped trying to recall those past conversations in case she quizzed you about what your animal was—she had stressed the importance of finding it and you promised you would the next time you saw her—when you saw Richard and Linda sitting at your kitchen table. Ransom was at the counter, a glass of whiskey in hand.

You merely glanced at them before turning to him. There were no words at all for the rage you felt at that moment. Joni had stopped speaking and was working to get the bags she’d taken from you onto a flat surface so she could grab the rest.

“Y/N!” Richard greeted. “Thank you so much for letting us stay here.”

You lifted your eyebrows at Ransom.

“She obviously didn’t know, Richard,” Linda pointed out. “Because she’s been trying to steal my son away since the day that she met him.”

You turned to her. “Are you—?”

“No, no, no,” Joni interjected. “She didn’t mean that!” She set the last of the bags down and touched your shoulder. “She’s joking!” She turned to Linda. “You’re joking, right?”

“Of course,” Linda claimed, unconvincingly with a smirk that you had come to recognize as smug. Not that you’d seen it much on her, but her son, on the other hand…

Speaking of Ransom, he looked beyond exhausted. Only, he wasn’t, he was just trying to convey that because it was clear that he didn’t intend to have this discussion with you. It never was a discussion, because, for some reason, he made all the excuses in the world for his mother and would obviously choose her over you.

Suddenly, in your mind, things all fell into place. Richard and Linda probably got here after all the others, the rest had been set to get there around noon. He’d kept you in bed to stop you from getting home before them because then you could keep them out of the house, you could have caused a huge scene. Now? It was clear that you were outvoted, the rest of the family probably would have thought of you as unreasonable if you kicked them out now.

Fine, it was all fine. You weren’t going to argue about this, not then. It would give Linda joy to see you have a complete meltdown. Ransom had already humiliated you enough by doing this completely behind your back, you weren’t going to give her anything else.

You turned to the counter to grab his keys. “Well, then you get to go back to the store.” You threw the keys at his chest, probably harder than you should have, and turned to head back out to your car.

It was silent until you exited the room, then Linda felt the need to voice her opinion no one asked for. “I’m just saying, I wouldn’t marry her. She’s shopping for essential items the day company was planned to arrive?”

You turned right back around but Meg was there to usher you back outside. She knew you needed a moment of fresh air and a moment away from Linda. Meg was a rather sympathetic person, she understood completely where you were coming from. In her mind, you were right and Ransom was so wrong for what he did, and Linda was wrong as well. But she also told you, this was how this family went. Linda was at the top now that Harlan was gone. If you sincerely wanted to be with Ransom—and she was confused about that—you would have to suck it up.

That much you agreed with, to an extent. It was clear that you were never going to be able to fix these people completely, but you were trying to create boundaries. Linda could not hit your boyfriend, her son. But how was she going to learn that if Ransom didn’t give a damn? She wasn’t.

You were suddenly wishing you’d accepted the invitation from your parents to stay with them until this all settled down. You had been too scared, however, because of the distance that seemed to be growing with Ransom. Now, you just felt like an idiot.

He lied to you. He did this behind your back, and he used intimacy to distract you from his plans, and that was absolutely disgusting. You couldn’t get over that. You felt used, by the one person you’re supposed to be able to trust more than anyone else in the world.

“Meg, can we have a minute?”

You turned away as soon as you heard Ransom off to your side. If you had a minute with him, you would probably murder him.

“Um,” she started, shifting awkwardly.

“It’s fine,” you assured. “Can you start putting away the groceries, please?”

“Yes, I will do that,” she eagerly confirmed. Meg liked to feel helpful, she often felt guilty about her privilege and wanted to be anything but another typical Thrombey. It was refreshing given all the other extreme personalities you would have to be living with for a while.

“I bought enough sheets for every single bed in the house for the next ten years,” you informed. “Those are fine. We’ll just need more food, probably—”

Ransom reached out for your arm, but you jerked away from him.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Hey—”

You finally turned to him. “I am not talking about this. You lied to me, you did this behind my back—”

“She’s my mom—”

“And I’m your girlfriend!” you hissed back. “And I am so fucking tired of this and you. Last night, you had sex with me to distract me so you could fucking sneak your parents in here. Who does that?!”

“That’s not why I had sex with you—”

“Really?” you demanded. No, you wouldn’t be having this talk, it wasn’t happening. Turning away, you sighed, “It doesn’t matter. I’m done talking to you about this, I’m serious. Do whatever the fuck you want, Ransom. That’s what you always do anyway. I’m done caring.”

“Look, we can’t be fighting with these people here—”

“You should have thought about that before you lied to me.”

“I didn’t lie—”

“I’m having a really hard time right now not running you over with my car,” you asserted, “So I’m going to go back inside. I just need you to go to the store for me, okay? Please, can you do one thing, literally, Ransom, just one thing to help me feel, like, 10% less stressed about all of this?”

“Okay. Yeah, I’ll go to the store.”

“Great.” You started to pull out more bags from the car.

“Can we talk about this later?”

“I don’t know yet.” Hell no, but you weren’t going to tell him that. With full arms, you stormed around him and back into the house.

Later, when he got home, he discovered that you had moved out of the bedroom. Yes, you had moved your shit to another room, locked it, and acted as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

April: the parents’ bedroom,

It was six in the morning, you had just failed at finishing your yoga routine due to your pounding headache. You’d thought a smoothie would make you feel much better, but see, that was with the condition that everyone else was still asleep.

Not the case.

Joni and Richard were currently in the middle of a debate about anti-maskers. Joni, surprisingly, given all her healing crystals shit, thought anti-maskers were idiots. Richard, on the other hand, believed this was a free country and people should have the right to choose anything and everything because “that’s America”.

You had a blender full of ingredients and when you finally got to turn it on, it was comparable to an orgasm. If only because you and Ransom were back to a no-touching arrangement. You could barely stand to look at him.

They seemed unbothered by the blender, their argument only getting louder. You went to the cabinet to grab some pills, anything that would make your head feel better. Could anything with these people? You weren’t overly optimistic about that prospect.

You took your place back at the blender, leaning down to fall into the pain of that instead of the politics conversation. They did this often. Last week, it was whether people should vote this November. Prior, it had been traveling bans, canceled events, whether unemployment should be giving people as much as they are. Linda and Walt interjected sometimes, even Meg because she couldn’t remain silent on a few occasions, but you, Ransom, and Jacob all but steered clear of it.

You felt a hand on your shoulder and stood up straight. You didn’t want anyone knowing you weren’t feeling well. Richard and Walt always acted like you were dying, Joni would start with her crystals and lectures about the importance of meditating.

Thankfully, it was just Ransom. He had been out, he was wearing a scarf, a heavy jacket, and his pale cheeks were flushed red. He nodded out of the room and you followed because silence seemed too tempting.

“What is it, Ransom?”

He narrowed his eyes. “I need a reason to speak to you?”

Your eyes fell shut and you pressed your fingers to your temples. He wasn’t being serious right now, was he? He wanted to have a conversation right now? You felt on the verge of death.

He touched your shoulder again. “Are you okay?”

“Just a headache. Not a big deal.”

“Not trying to be an ass—”

You opened your eyes. “But you’re so good at it.”

“I told you this was a bad idea.”

“Ransom,” you sighed, shrugging his hand off.

He caught you before you could turn away. “Hey.”

“Ransom, please, I don’t want to talk about this.”

“I don’t want to talk much either.”

You narrowed your eyes.

He shrugged. “You know I know how to make you feel better when you have a headache.”

You hummed. “Sex? Why? Are you trying to distract me again? Were you hoping I wouldn’t notice your inability to wake up at a reasonable hour for me, but how willing you seem to wake up at 5 in the morning to have coffee with your mommy?”

“I wasn’t asleep,” he insisted. “And she heard me come downstairs.”

“Yes, great cover. So convincing.”

“I do not wake up to have coffee with her every morning. I haven’t been sleeping well.”

You lifted your eyebrows. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

He glared. “It’s because I hate sleeping without you.”

“You made me sleep without you—!”

“That was not what you think!”

You narrowed your eyes. “It wasn’t a temper tantrum over the vibrator?”

“No, okay, stop. We’re not going back, okay? No talk about the past, we need to talk about now. You’re the one that made me promise that I wouldn’t withhold sex—”

“I’m not withholding sex, Ransom, I just have no desire to be around you.”

He rolled his eyes. “Doubt that.”

“If you’re having issues sleeping, maybe you should ask your mommy to read you a bedtime story and—”

He pressed his hand over your mouth and started dragging you across the room.

Immediately, you started screaming at him. What the fuck? And you continued to do this until you realized he was leading you to Richard and Linda’s room. Eww, if you didn’t want to talk to him, you certainly didn’t want to talk to her.

But despite your struggling, he forced you into the room and slammed the door before you could escape.

“What the hell?” you demanded.

“This fight is over.”

“No, it’s not!”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m being ridiculous because I care about you? I’m done, I can’t do this anymore. My parents want me to stay with them and I think I should—”

His eyes widened at you. “This is your god damn house—”

“You clearly don’t think so! I had one condition, just one fucking condition. I wanted her to apologize for trying to physically assault you and somehow that makes me the villain in this situation?”

“That’s not what I’m saying—”

“You went behind my back, Ransom.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

Wow, was that an actual apology? It didn’t matter. One apology a month later was too small. “Look, it’s too late, okay? I’m exhausted and I just want to go home—”

“This is your fucking home!”

“No, it’s your mother’s fucking home and it always will be if you let her do whatever the fuck she wants!”

“She apologized!”

“Oh, please,” you scoffed.

He reached into his pants and yanked out his phone. Easily, he found one of the last texts that they had exchanged and turned it to you.

Don’t tell your psycho, fragile girlfriend but I am sorry. I shouldn’t have acted the way that I did. I understand that it was out of line, it will not happen again. Can we come over? You know I don’t want to be alone with your father.

It took three seconds to go from partially angry to very, absolutely, completely outraged. You smacked the phone out of his hand and it clattered to the hardwood floor. “I’m going to fucking kill you, Ransom!”

He threw his arms up. “For what?!”

“Why didn’t you fucking tell me this earlier?!”

“She would have known that I told you.”

“And?!”

“And,” he began, “I…don’t really know what I thought would happen.”

You shoved at his chest and he didn’t even have the energy to step back simply to make you feel better. He didn’t move an inch because you shoving him was like a cat trying to push a lion. “You are such a fucking mommy’s boy! I’m done with this whole thing, I’m done with you!”

“No, you’re not!”

“Yes, I am! You can’t make me stay here, you can’t make me—”

“You love me!”

Your eyes widened. He made you tell him you loved him, never said it back, and now he was using it against you? “You are dead! Do you understand me?! I’m going to run you over with your fucking Beemer! Then I’m going to get a new boyfriend and I’m going to let him fuck me in that stupid fucking car!”

He grabbed a handful of your hair and your hands flew back to scratch at his forearm. He shoved you back onto the bed and made the mistake of rolling over to attempt to get away from him. He grabbed both of your wrists and managed to get them into one of his hands, then yanked down your yoga pants.

“You are tearing them, you ass!”

And then he smacked your bare skin hard enough that it echoed, loud enough that you were sure anyone in the kitchen could have heard it. Your entire body burned with humiliation, but you loved the pain. How had you survived so long without him doing this?

“Shut the fuck up,” he ordered.

“Are you seriously trying to fuck me in your parents’ room?” you snapped.

“No, I am going to fuck you in my parents’ room,” he corrected. “What? You’re not into this anymore? This wouldn’t be the first time.”

“They sleep here,” you reminded. “This is weird given your obsession with her.”

“I changed the sheets this morning.”

“Are you fucking serious? You’re her maid now?”

He smacked you again and you pressed your face down to muffle your scream. “No, I just always knew that I was going to fuck you here today.”

You waited until the pain subsided before you turned your face, Ransom was still working the yoga pants down, a task that seemed impossible with only one hand. “Where were you today?”

“I had a meeting.”

“With whom?”

“None of your business.”

“Yes, it is my business, you fucking dick! If you’re not going to let me go home—”

He spanked you again, harder now, it seemed like an angry action, not just a retaliating one. “You are home, this is your fucking home and if you suggest otherwise again, I fucking swear—”

“What?” you demanded. “You’re going to tattle to your mommy?”

“I should fucking strangle you,” he growled, and before you could say anything, his hand was at your pussy. He scoffed. “You are seriously this wet? You have so many fucking issues.”

“One issue,” you argued. “You.” But that was a lie and he was more than right. You could hear him moving his pants out of his way and you were nearly shaking with the need to feel him.

Abruptly, he shoved his cock inside you and you both moaned as you adjusted around him. It was loud, obscenely loud, there was no question about what you two were doing, and you honestly didn’t care anymore. Had he gotten bigger? No, that wasn’t possible. You were pretty sure it wasn’t.

You felt him moving to tear off his coat. “Don’t you dare throw that coat on this floor, Ransom.”

But he did and he did it so eagerly, like he wanted to irritate you. The floors were hardwood, Linda had her dogs in the home, and their fur got everywhere on Ransom’s clothes. He hated you, you hated it because he just threw things away—didn’t even donate them because he’s such a beast.

Next, you felt his scarf around your wrists and started struggling.

“What the fuck are you doing?!”

“Shut up,” he snarled.  “You’re lucky I’m not fucking gagging you.”

As his hips began rocking just slightly, he grabbed your jaw and turned your head back. His lips found yours immediately and while you two were sharing a sloppy, unskilled kiss, he began driving his hips into you as hard as he knew you needed him to.

His skin was slapping against yours noisily, the bed was creaking, moving on those extra hard thrusts. He spread your legs out as wide as he could and held them there, fingers digging painfully into your skin.

Things became very clear to Ransom at that moment. You were underneath him, completely at his mercy since you were bound now. You were pouting, pretending that you didn’t like this, and he wanted to fuck that disobedience out of you. He sat back up, holding your hips as he kept steadily moving in and out of you. “I’m going to fuck your ass.”

You blinked once, twice. “What?”

He never pulled out, but he did lean over and start yanking on the drawers of one of the bedside tables.

“What are you doing?” No, he wasn’t going to actually…fuck you there. He’d never done it, he’d never even asked about it even though you brought it up a few times. He’d located your plugs that one time, he knew you were into it. But nothing. Why now?

“I know he has to have something,” he insisted.

“I don’t want to think about your parents like that.”

“Oh, no, just think of my dad like that,” he joked.

You shook your head. “Eww.”

“Oh, eww?” he checked. “Since when? You realize you can never talk about fucking him again, right? Looks like you’re going to have to provoke me in other ways now.”

“I didn’t mean ‘eww’ like that,” you claimed, “I meant ‘eww’ that your mom isn’t fucking him, and I definitely should be, because he totally deserves it for being such a great husband and father, but sadly, I’m here with you instead.”

“You’re such a fucking brat and—got it.” Ransom rarely moved fast, preferring to act like the cocky ass that he was, making it clear that he had all the time in the world to do whatever the hell he wanted. Because you were never going to say no. But now, he was acting like he was in a race.

Your body tensed up as soon as you felt the sharp cold against your skin. Ransom took his fingers and spread the gel over your skin, you gasped when you felt one of his fingers teasing your hole.

He did this a few more times, just making sure that you were properly prepped before his first finger dipped inside you. He set his free hand to your back when you tensed. “Relax,” he ordered. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you assured. You’d done this in the past, liked it, but it had been a long time since.

He started pumping his finger in and out and you began to squirm. You were trying to stay still and quiet, trying to hide how good he was making you feel, but he knew. When you pressed your hips back, he added his second finger and you winced.

His fingers already had you feeling so full. That was what you loved most about being with Ransom, you felt almost incomplete whenever he wasn’t in you. Your body was made to take his, to mold to him completely.

“Here’s how this is gonna go, baby,” he began. “You’re going to start sleeping in our bedroom again. Because I am the only man on this planet who can touch you like this and you’re going to stop being such a brat and taking that for granted.”

You scoffed. You were taking him for granted? Of course, every day you didn’t wake up on your knees for him was probably ‘taking him for granted’.

“Yes?”

You nodded, cheek pressed to the mattress. You didn’t care about winning anymore, you needed to be fucked. You lifted your head to look back at him. “Yeah.”

He pushed his third finger as slowly as he could.

You kept your attention on him, watching as his fingers disappeared inside your ass. As he moved his fingers back and forth, he started to tilt his hips. You were hyperaware of everything, you knew where his cock and fingers were, the wall between your two entrances was thin enough that you could feel it all.

He always thought of you as an insatiable, greedy little thing but even he was surprised when you said you wanted more. You wanted his cock, not his fingers, and he figured you were ready for it because you were soaking his length and the sheets.

As he positioned himself over you again, he pulled his cock out of your pussy and you whimpered. He brought his cock up and spread the fingers inside your asshole to open you up for him. You had never experienced Ransom gentler than when he pressed just the tip of his cock into you. You observed in awe, mouth dropped, panting, desperate, soaking. You knew when you were going to feel him, but you were not prepared at all. His cock was bigger than any plug you had used and you were aching.

He groaned when his fingers were out and all that he could feel was you squeezing the hell out of him. “Fuck. Think you can get on your knees for me?”

You nodded but made no moves to do so. He did instead, lifting your hips, and then grabbing your upper arms to keep you there. You pressed your hips down, swallowing more of his cock, whining and moaning at the painful stretch of him.

“Fuck yourself,” he told you.

You were shuddering, body screaming at the uncomfortable angles you were moving. You pushed your hips up until you felt the head of his cock and settled back down until it felt like it was too much, over and over until he knew that your muscles weren’t capable of continuing.

“Almost there,” he promised, lips at your ear. “Almost taking all of my cock, baby.” He let his hands slide down a little, toward your elbows for leverage, and then he started thrusting. He was careful not to go too deep, listening to the sounds you made because words were not your strong point when he was inside you.

You leaned over a bit, unable to hold yourself up completely. You were hovering over the pillows, his hold on you tight enough that you weren’t worried about falling forward. You were practically choking on a scream when one of his hands moved around you to your clit, immediately feeling lightheaded.

You folded over more and Ransom released your arm to grab your hair. Since you weren’t strong enough to hold yourself up completely, he was yanking on the roots of your hair. Your thighs were quivering because you were using them as your only source of balance, and all of that distracted from the painful stretch of his cock driving into you more and more each time.

Your pleasure was slowly climbing. By the time you were coming, your pussy was dripping onto the sheets, you were sweating, shuddering, gasping for air that you couldn’t seem to get enough of.

And he was only halfway inside you. He shoved two fingers into your cunt and used his grip on your hair to shove your face down on the mattress. All his weight pressed down on you until you were flat on the bed, trapping his arm between you and the mattress.

He left you with some space to work, you rode out your high by fucking yourself on his cock and fingers. You were drowning in the sensations, overwhelmingly full of a man that you knew would eventually drive you crazy.

When your body fell limp, he released your hair and grabbed your hip, guiding you to another devastating orgasm. “You still doing okay, baby?”

For a moment, you could only respond with a moan. His thumb brushed over your clit and you gasped. “Daddy, please, please, please—!”

“You think you deserve it, baby?”

“Please make me come,” you begged.

He waited until you were finishing around his fingers and finally, shoved his cock in completely.

You buried your face in the bed, screaming, sobbing, crying his name. He brought his hand from your hip to your hair, petting and shushing you, and that was all you ever needed from Ransom.

He gave you only seconds before his hips were rolling, his fingers pumping in and out of you, thumb rubbing your clit. He paid no mind to you, he simply used your body, no matter how much you were shuddering and shaking from the aftershocks of your orgasm.

It was almost immediate that he pulled out after he finished and climbed off the bed to pull you with him. Your legs were shaking, but he held you tight to keep you up. He turned your back to him so he could watch his cum drip out of your ass.

When he turned you back to him, he gathered his cum from the inside of your thighs and ran his hand across your mouth. Fucked out, covered in him, you never looked more beautiful.

“This is your home,” he told you. “If you say it isn’t again, you won’t be able to walk for a very long time. Understood?”

You shrugged. “I’m not sure I’m convinced yet.”

Ransom tossed you onto the bed like you weighed nothing and went to the door just to lock it. Was it weird that you thought you might get something out of Linda pounding on the door while her son was absolutely pounding you?

May: the anniversary,

It was Linda and Richard’s anniversary and that meant that everyone living in the house had to celebrate because the Thrombeys were starting to face withdrawals from not receiving enough attention from others.

Joni and Walt had decided to cook dinner that night and it surprisingly did not end in disaster. There were some presents, the family was trying their hand at online shopping and as the days ticked by, more and more packages were showing up every day.

The night was ending with a game of charades, something you and Ransom elected not to take part in beyond watching. The first team was Meg, Walt, and Richard. The second team was Joni, Linda, and Donna, and Jacob was the referee. They needed one, every single game because they were oddly competitive and whenever things got too aggressive, they were given a card, from green to red. Red meant disqualification, you’d only seen it happen twice in all these years, but it was great when it did happen.

You couldn’t help but watch Richard and Linda. They’d been married for so long now, so you didn’t understand why Richard had had his affair when he did. She wasn’t overly young, she had no money, it just didn’t make much sense to you.

You were on Ransom’s lap in the chair in the corner of the room. He had been drinking all night, so you chose not to. You guys were a better team when you were coordinating like that. He was always weird about his parents, you figured that was why he’d been off all day.

“Do you think you could ever forgive someone if they cheated on you?” he asked.

You turned to him, eyebrow arched. “I would murder you.”

He scoffed. “Come on, be serious.”

“I am being serious, Ransom.”

“If I were going to cheat on you, I would have already done it. I meant in a general sense.”

“I don’t think you love someone if you cheat on them,” you reasoned. “So, would I forgive? Maybe, I guess, whatever that even means. But would I stay? Hell no.”

“Right?”

“You talking about your parents?”

“It’s so weird, isn’t it? I mean, not really. Men are men and don’t they all eventually cheat?”

“You are playing with fire having this conversation with me.”

He scoffed. “I just don’t get it, why would she stay?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “It seems like you all have your, like, comfortable environments. You don’t really want to leave them…at least she gave him that killer black eye.”

“Yeah,” he recalled with a small smile. “But…I don’t know, I don’t completely blame him, either.”

“Ransom,” you warned.

“No, I’m not saying it’s my mom’s fault, but…she doesn’t exactly love him either. Maybe he thought she used to.”

“Maybe she did.”

“Yeah, maybe…I don’t know, if you’re blackmailing someone essentially—”

“She’s not blackmailing him.”

“He has no money,” he insisted. “He’s terrified. She holds it over him constantly.”

“Ransom, right now, choose. Me or money?”

He turned to you. “No hesitation, I would choose you.”

You were almost surprised to hear that, you thought…you had always thought you were Ransom’s second love, honestly.

“What? Were you expecting something else?”

“I don’t know.” You didn’t want to make him think you thought so low of him. It was a pretty vile accusation.

“You do, that’s fine…because I do believe that if we didn’t have money, it would tear us apart.”

“No, it wouldn’t,” you argued.

He arched an eyebrow at you. “You love your diamonds and this house. And I like spoiling the hell out of you… I know those are simple things, but to have to work for things? We couldn’t make it.”

“Well, he obviously wasn’t that scared, or he wouldn’t have cheated. That was my point. You’re acting like money is the most important thing, if it was, he wouldn’t have risked it.”

“True. I don’t know if I would be able to deal with it.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and laid your cheek against his. “Ransom, baby, you’re jealous of inanimate objects and you once fucked me every day for a week and didn’t let me come because you thought I was talking to my ex.”

“It depends how it started, that’s all I’m saying. People aren’t perfect, you know.”

“I am,” you declared.

He scoffed. “You let me fuck you while you were dating that ex.”

“You coerced me,” you argued. “I was innocently in my own room and you just showed up—”

“So, you’re saying I seduced you?”

You rolled your eyes. “Can we go to bed? I don’t think there are going to be any fistfights tonight.”

“I’m sorry, baby, I know you were looking forward to that.”

“A bit,” you admitted.

“I’ll tell you about the time my mom tackled Joni at my high school graduation.”

You gasped. “I love when you tell me stories.”

Ultimately, things had gone back to normal with you and Ransom. He was sleeping with you more nights than not, he was in his office much less, things seemed to be in a much better place.

June: the affair,

Until June rolled around.

Then all his office shit started up again, the late nights, the insane number of hours. You tried to be understanding, but then he was abandoning you at family dinners and there was the time some moron rear-ended you and you had to call Walt because Joni and Meg weren’t picking up their phones because it was five in the morning, and Ransom wasn’t either because Ransom wasn’t a reliable boyfriend.

He had been apologetic, and you were just relieved that it had been an overall easy situation, so you didn’t hold it against him. Not until you had to borrow his phone to call yours because you had once again misplaced it. You were, once upon a time, a very organized, together person. Then the Thrombeys moved into your home.

You saw dating apps. Dating apps! On his fucking phone. You had no idea how to react, so you just didn’t. You made the mistake of letting everything grow, everything just pile on top of one another until you were at your breaking point.

Linda liked to poke at you and normally, she couldn’t. Because normally, Ransom was around. Because Ransom knew how his mother was and he knew how you were, and he just didn’t want anyone to end up dead.

That changed one morning when you were making pancakes and she came in for her early morning coffee. She asked where Ransom was and that was really the start of it because she did know. She found it hilarious that Ransom had his own office and never let anyone else in. She hated that she wasn’t allowed in but was placated that you weren’t either.

But you told her where he was anyway because you were attempting to be civil. She pointed out how much time he was spending in his office and you pretended it was common, she then asserted that that was how Richard was behaving during his affair.

And honestly, why hadn’t you thought of it before? He had to be having an affair, you always heard him typing in his office. He was clearly on some website, probably some BDSM chatroom, and you were going to fucking kill him.

It all made sense now, last month when he’d asked you if you would forgive cheating. That was just Ransom being Ransom, he was trying to guess your reaction if you ever found out. Well, you hadn’t been exaggerating, you would kill him.

You stormed up to the office and started pounding on the door. The rest of the family was going to hear you, but they were smart enough to know they better just mind their own business in their rooms.

“Ransom!” you yelled after minutes of no answer. Again, you were met with silence and that was when your irritation became fury. “Ransom, I will kick this fucking door down! You know these doors are old and weak and I can do it!”

Long story short, the doors were stronger than you thought, and you could not do it. The low point of your life was probably having to crawl to Meg’s room and ask her to call their super-expensive home doctor because you had done something terrible to your foot.

Ransom showed up three hours later after you had been all wrapped up and the family was fawning over you. You were being forced to sit on the couch and they would not stop asking you if they could get things for you. You were already wearing three different crystals, Walt had made you hot chocolate, and Jacob was checking his horror movie collection for your favorites.

“What the hell happened?” Ransom demanded.

You glared at him. “Where were you?”

“I was out for a walk.”

“And you didn’t take your phone?” Richard pressed. “We were calling you non-stop.”

“I left it up in my office,” he informed, moving to your side. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“She tried to kick down your office door,” Linda answered.

Ransom gave you an incredulous look. “I’m sorry?”

“You should be,” you retorted. You never argued in front of the family because you and Ransom were a team. Yes, you fought, but you never wanted to give the family insight on the cracks in your relationship because you knew they would exploit them.

“Enough,” Meg cut in. “No arguing, Dr. Fields told her to take it easy.”

“You had to call the doctor?” he questioned. “What did you do?”

“Fracture,” Linda informed, “Not that big of a deal. Please, continue arguing.”

Everyone else glared at her while you and Ransom glared at one another. It was then that Jacob reappeared with one of the Saw movies. Typically.

August: the book,

You had taken to sleeping in Meg’s room with her because Ransom was a demon, but he wouldn’t try to enter her room. Ever. So, you comfortably stashed yourself away there every night and stayed there most mornings until noon. She didn’t mind. You’d gotten her a tv in there, so you watched Netflix a lot.

You had yet to confront Ransom with your accusations because you were scared. This family was obscene, being part of it was insane, every single person here was terrible in their own right. But you liked talking to Meg, you liked gardening with Joni, you liked reading the newspaper with Walt in the mornings and talking about the crime section. Even Jacob wasn’t the worst company, he liked to watch Dateline with you.

Ransom was convinced that you were just mad at him because you fractured your toes and couldn’t do yoga for a while. You were fine with him believing that because then you would have to have the conversation.

It was an odd situation to be in. You were sure he hadn’t physically done anything, but you weren’t sure if that should make you feel better or worse. He was connecting with someone and after your conversation, it was clear that he also believed you couldn’t cheat on someone you love. Given that he’d never said he loved you, you were rightfully concerned.

Did he ever love you?

Did you just spend almost 7 years with someone who was never going to feel that way about you? Did you throw away all those opportunities with someone else? Did you stupidly choose Ransom over your family?

Did you let this happen?

You had said you couldn’t forgive it, but now you understood why Linda did. If you love someone, you just don’t want to lose them. You hope that they don’t betray you, but what about when they do? It’s not easy to just leave.

You still loved Ransom, you always would. You didn’t want to lose any of the relationships you formed with the family, but it was different with Ransom. You didn’t want to, obviously, but you also couldn’t. You couldn’t imagine a life without him, you couldn’t imagine moving on, you couldn’t imagine being with someone else.

What did that mean?

You weren’t sure about the long-term answer, but short-term, it meant that you were going to pretend. He wasn’t cheating, he didn’t have dating apps on his phone, he didn’t even have an office as far as you were concerned.

Nothing. Everything was perfect.

Until Jacob’s birthday. You weren’t aware of it before, but unsurprisingly, he was a fucking Leo. You made a mental note to investigate the astrology of certain serial killers Jacob reminded you of, but you would do that with Meg later.

You were helping Walt and Joni cook this time. Apparently, they were the only Thrombeys that knew how to cook and were pleased to have another addition to the small team. It wasn’t a particularly difficult meal, lasagna with garlic bread, but it was Jacob’s favorite.

The plans had been made the week prior, Ransom was going to do one thing for you. Just one, you asked for so little. He would pick up the cake at noon and hide it in the second kitchen. Hide because Jacob wasn’t aware this was happening. He didn’t like to be the center of attention and if he knew this was happening before it was actually happening, he would do anything he could to stop it.

But come 2 PM, three hours after the cake was set to be picked up, you received a call from the bakery. You had let them know that your boyfriend was going to pick it up and you left his name with them and everything, all Ransom needed to do was show up.

The woman on the phone informed you that that didn’t happen, and they were about to close because of pandemic hours. You promised you would be in before she needed to shut the doors and since you were comfortable with your window of time, this was done. Over. First, you were going to yell at Ransom.

You quietly made your way to his office and listened with your ear pressed to the door. You didn’t make a sound until you heard him typing, then you started banging on the door with both hands.

It was seconds later that he answered the door, a confused look on his face over your apparent urgency. He looked like he’d pulled an all-nighter and smelled like a lot of alcohol. “What?”

“What the fuck, Ransom?”

“What? What do you need?”

You tried to open the door, but he held it in place.

“What the hell are you doing?”

You were getting into that office because you were going to find out what he was doing, he was not going to continue to lie to you. You kicked his shin and when his leg buckled, you shoved your way in.

“Hey!” He hurriedly shut the door behind you. He did not want anyone else getting in.

It looked like a normal office. There was a full bookshelf of titles that you couldn’t read because your anger was blurring your vision, there was a desk, a laptop, chairs, a bar cart, not a thing out of the ordinary. What the fuck was he doing in here all day?

There was only one logical answer. You finally turned to him, hands on your hips. “Who is she, Ransom?”

“What?”

“I know you’ve been cheating on me and I’m not going to play this game with you! I just want to know who the fuck she is!”

“Are you out of your mind?!”

“Yes, I’m out of my fucking mind! I’ve been living with your psychotic family since March, dealing with their shit on top of yours, and you are now cheating on me! Please explain to me how anyone else wouldn’t also be out of their mind!”

“I’m not cheating on you!”

“Really?! Then what the fuck are you always doing up here?”

He paused at that.

The camel’s back broke. This was officially over. You turned around and rushed to his computer. He only took a second before he realized what you were doing and followed you there.

“I swear to everything above, if you are in some pathetic chatroom—”

He leaned over you just as you reached for the laptop and slammed it shut. “I’m not cheating on you!”

“Then let me see your fucking laptop!” You didn’t care that he had his hands planted on it, you still grabbed the opposite ends and tried to pull it out from under him. It wasn’t a logical plan since he was much stronger than you, but you weren’t necessarily operating on logic.

“You are crazy,” he asserted.

You moved your hands to the top edge of the laptop and threw your entire body back into Ransom. More than anything, it probably shocked him into moving back. Had you known that it was going to work, you probably would have been better about keeping your footing. Since that wasn’t the case, you both ended up on the floor and for a split second, the laptop was only in your hands.

You dove forward, just inches from the door.

Ransom rushed after you, grabbing your leg to pull you back down.

You knew he was going to get you under him, you wrapped your arms tight around the laptop and started screaming. Joni or Richard might feel inclined to call the police if they thought the two of you were honestly fighting.

Ransom slammed his hand down on your mouth as he crawled over you, knees pressed to your hips to keep you pinned there. “What the hell is wrong with you!?”

You didn’t say a word and you didn’t let your hold on the laptop waver for even a second.

“If I move my hand, you better not scream again,” he warned.

Obviously, you were going to. As soon you could, you yelled, “Call the police, he’s going to kill—!”

Ransom covered your mouth again, eyes wide at you. “You have lost it!”

It was then that you realized you needed to do something. He had the upper hand, and he was going to get the laptop away from you if you did nothing. You started swiping at him with both elbows and knees, never catching anything, but making him nervous enough to back off a little.

Fuck it, he was done trying to be reasonable with you. He moved his hand again, but only to start fighting with you over the laptop again.

“Let it go!” you shrieked.

“You let it go!” he countered. “It’s mine!”

“Not anymore, cheater!”

“I’m not fucking cheating on you!”

“If you have some online BDSM girlfriend, I’m going to fucking kill you!”

“What? What the hell goes through your mind!?”

“You’re constantly in here and you won’t let me in, and you never tell me what you’re doing, you never tell anyone else either—”

“Because I hate my family,” he reminded.

“And clearly, you hate me!”

“I don’t hate you, you’re being childish.”

“Tell me her name, Ransom, or so help me—”

“I’m not cheating!”

“I saw the dating apps on your god damn phone!”

“I am not cheating!”

“Then what are you doing?!”

“I’m writing a book!” he hissed.

You froze. He was what?

He kept his voice quiet, “That’s where I was a couple months ago, the meeting that I told you was none of your business. I only had a few chapters, but I got a deal out of it—”

“Get off me.”

He blinked in surprise and then hurried to do so, helping you up, no longer interested in stealing away the laptop.

You held onto it because you weren’t yet sure if you were going to use it to cause severe bodily harm to him. He was writing a book and didn’t tell you? You didn’t know he was interested in writing at all. You didn’t know he could sit down and write more than one entire sentence. He was always moving around, throwing himself into mindless activities.

A book?

You were hurt. Getting a book deal was major and he didn’t tell you he was trying for it, but then he didn’t even tell you that he’d gotten it. He had this huge thing in his life that he kept separate from you and that hurt your feelings.

“That’s was the apps were,” he explained. “I was doing research. Honestly, I’ll let you see the profiles, they’re not even pictures of me. I haven’t spoken to anyone either, it’s just very basic—”

You held the laptop out to him.

He slowly took it back from you, preparing for any other extreme reaction you might have. What he wasn’t expecting was complete silence, he figured you must have been confused by this. It was rather sudden, even for him. “You going to say something?”

You debated for a long while. You wanted to ask why he was pushing you away. You wanted to ask if it was because he didn’t think you were supportive, if he just didn’t want you to know, then you wanted to know why that was. What had you ever done that made him think he couldn’t tell you about this?

“I have to go get Jacob’s cake.”

“Shit!” He ran his hand down his face. “I completely forgot—”

“Don’t worry about it.” Then you were rushing out, ignoring the curious looks from the family on the way.

October: Ransom’s birthday,

It had been seven weeks since you found out about the book and seven weeks since you last had an actual conversation with Ransom. That was your doing purely, and he made the attempts, but you ignored them.

Linda was thrilled. This was different than when you and Ransom were fighting, because fighting indicated that you had the desire to win, he had the desire to win, but then that meant a resolution would follow. If you were ignoring him, what did you want? She hoped it was the end of the road for the two of you.

You weren’t sure. About anything. But you just had to go day by day and listen to yourself. Up to now, you weren’t sure what you wanted to do. As time went on and you were left to wallow in your hurt feelings, you were wondering if maybe this was the end.

Seven years and he didn’t tell you he was writing a book? That was insane, that was inexcusable. You didn’t get to have any part of your life not completely exposed to Ransom and you were okay with that. Obviously, he didn’t feel the same.

Seven years, a nearly dead modeling career, no skills, no aim in life. You had no idea how you would start all over. You had no idea how you would live your life without being Ransom’s girlfriend. It was practically a title, like the queen, and you loved it. You loved him.

But he didn’t tell you about the book! How could you get over that? Well, you could talk to him, but you were not going to do that. You just weren’t ready because you would want to know why and all the answers that were playing out in your mind were not going to make you feel better.

It didn’t matter, or more correctly, it couldn’t matter. Ransom’s birthday was coming up and Linda was trying to fight you on everything.

It was October, the worst of the pandemic was over, wasn’t it? No, you didn’t think so and anyone with two solid IQ points wouldn’t either. She wanted some family over, some of his friends—Megan, you had heard her mention to Richard. You didn’t want a single person in your house, no one outside of the family.

She suggested going to a restaurant then, but you knew Ransom hated when they threw him parties like that.

She wanted him to have a red velvet cake and you knew that Ransom hated red velvet. He preferred lemon, but he told you that you were never allowed to get him a lemon cake because he would eat it all. He was fine with chocolate, didn’t hate it, didn’t love it.

If you weren’t going out, then she wanted catering from his favorite restaurant, and a minimum of 30 people over, the house was big enough for it. It wasn’t even his favorite restaurant, the one she wouldn’t stop talking about, you knew for a fact Ransom did not like 30 people, and the house was not big enough for it.

On top of all of that, she kept asking you what you were going to get him. She just didn’t want to get the same thing. Why would that happen? Why would she get him the same thing as you? You had no idea, but she insisted on knowing. Problem was, you didn’t have an answer to give her. You had no idea what you were going to get Ransom.

Three days before his birthday, Ransom found you on the floor of the kitchen with an icepack pressed to your forehead. It was three in the morning, you had most of the lights off, only your phone and laptop providing light. Even in the dim kitchen, he could tell that you had been crying, eyes puffy and red, tear tracks down your cheeks.

He had been in his office, more writing. He’d only come down for a glass of water, sure that no one else would be awake at such an odd hour. This was the first time in a long time that he had seen you alone, and this naked. Usually, you were surrounded by the family, Joni being the greatest culprit. And since you still weren’t sleeping in the bedroom, he hadn’t seen you in your tiny shorts and bralettes.

He sat down at your side, setting his hand on your thigh. “Hey, is everything okay?”

You tossed the icepack onto the floor. “I never got stress headaches before your family moved in.”

“Yeah, I noticed that.”

It was silent for several moments after that, you were thinking about how you wanted to approach this topic. It was clear now, in your mind, why he hadn’t told you about the book. “I never listen to you.”

He turned to you, eyebrows pulled together. “What?”

You were already crying again, tears rolling down your face. You had felt terrible these past few weeks and you were finally beginning to understand why. “I don’t listen, I’m a terrible listener.”

“No,” he protested. “You’re not a terrible listener—”

“I have no idea what to get you for your birthday. I never know, I never get you a good present.”

“Yes, you do,” he argued. “And you don’t need to get me anything—”

“Of course, I do!” you blurted out. Was he insane? This was his birthday, you couldn’t not get him something for his birthday. “This is why you didn’t tell me about the book, right?”

His eyebrows shot up. “What?”

“Because I don’t listen,” you explained. “Why would you tell me about it if I wasn’t even going to listen, right?”

“Baby,” he sighed, “That’s not why I didn’t tell you. I wasn’t trying to keep it from you, honestly—”

“You didn’t tell me you were writing, you didn’t tell me you were trying to get published, and then you didn’t tell me about the book deal.”

“I know…I was going to.”

“But?” you prompted. “How could you not tell me about any of it?”

“I was worried.”

“Why?”

“Because of fucking Harlan. He’s the world’s best mystery author, for whatever fucking reason. I was worried that you wouldn’t think I should do this. I was worried about how it would look. I don’t want to follow in my grandfather’s footsteps like the rest of my pathetic family.”

“So, were you just never going to say anything about it?”

“Well…maybe. There’s something else… I wasn’t sure I was going to use my name, so it was completely possible that I could keep you from ever finding out about them. And if you ever got suspicious, maybe publish a few of the others under my real name.”

“Others? What are you talking about?”

“So…my book deal is for, at the very least, three books. In a series. If they do well, I can do others, with the possibility of keeping this series going…whenever I feel inspired to do so.”

“Okay…what’s the series about?”

“A woman.”

You narrowed your eyes.

“A very mean woman,” he clarified. “She’s a black widow, you know, marries rich men, murders them, takes the money…and I’ve sort of been using your name.”

Your eyebrows slowly rose. “You’ve been writing about me?”

“No,” he immediately protested, then sighed. “Okay, a little, but she’s beautiful. I mention that a lot, I promise.”

Yes, you were relieved. But was he completely off the hook? You slapped his shoulder. “Are you serious?”

“Hey,” he held his hand to the skin that you had just smacked. “Ow, maybe don’t hit me just days away from my birthday if you didn’t get me anything.”

“God, Ransom, I was really hurt.”

“I’m sorry about that. Really, I know I rarely ever apologize and sometimes, I don’t mean it, but I mean it now.”

“Well, can I read some of it?”

He smirked. “I don’t know, baby girl, you haven’t been behaving lately. You tried to break into my office, hurt yourself, and then did break into my office to steal my laptop. You thought I was cheating on you.”

“I saw dating apps, Ransom.”

“After we talked about my parents—”

“You lock yourself in your office for, like, 20 hours at a time—”

“And some BDSM chatroom? Because you’re normal in bed?”

You rolled your eyes. “Look, I’m sorry for accusing you of cheating, but you should have told me about the book. Which you apologized for, so it just cancels out. Let’s do what we usually do and just pretend it never happened.”

“You told Joni to call the cops,” he reminded.

You shrugged. “I miss Wagner, he probably would have been over here immediately.”

He snorted. “Okay, we both made mistakes, but you’re right.”

With his agreement to move on, you climbed onto his lap and wrapped your arms around his neck. “Please?”

“I’m not completely convinced yet,” he teased.

Rolling your eyes, you kissed him. “Now?”

“You’re getting closer.”

You scoffed and kissed him again, reaching into his sweatpants to pull out his cock. It didn’t take long to get him hard and as soon as you did, you used your other hand to pull your shorts aside. You broke away from the kiss to watch his face as you slowly slid down his length.

His hands gripped your hips and he nodded. “Yeah, you can have whatever you want.”

You smiled. “Perfect, let’s get it now.”

He snorted. “Wow, now you’re a fucking comedian?”

“Well, you’re an author,” you retorted.

He nodded once. “You have a point. I vaguely remember what I wrote, want me to tell you?”

You nodded. You wanted to hear it in his voice, you were going to demand that he read it to you anyway.

“Her first husband was a writer,” he informed.

You lifted your eyebrows. Was that supposed to be clever?

“He often wrote poetry about how devastatingly beautiful he found her.”

You rolled your eyes a little, turning down to stare at his chest. He was wearing a shirt, but you could still see the muscles through the white material. “How did she kill him?”

“Scared him to death, she is very scary.”

You bit your cheek to prevent a smile.

“His fault, though. He was never healthy, did a few drugs he shouldn’t have. Drank too much, never ate right. He had a weak heart anyway.”

You hummed.

He wrapped his arm around your back and rolled you over onto the floor underneath him. He pulled your thighs apart before placing both hands on the floor for balance. Slowly, he pulled out and drove back in hard.

You gasped his name, arms winding tightly around his torso.

“He loves her skin,” he asserted.

You nodded encouragingly, you wanted him to tell you everything. “Mhm.”

“Loves how soft she is, especially her thighs, and he loves how she bruises.” He was steadily rocking his hips, speaking just loud enough that you could hear him over the wet noises of his cock sliding in and out of your body, but quiet enough that you were sure no one else would hear.

You reminded yourself you were downstairs, on the kitchen floor, it was important to remain quiet. Ransom’s family had caught you in a lot of low moments over the years, but this would take the cake. You turned your head, burying your face in the bend of his neck.

“He loves her neck, how perfectly it fits in his hands. He loves her lips, how they look wrapped around him, or when she’s smiling—”

“You wrote that?” you breathed.

“This isn’t some school-book-report shit like what Harlan was publishing.”

“Those weren’t children’s books,” you felt inclined to point out.

“Well, mine have sex.”

You snorted. “You’re going to write about other men fucking me?”

“A woman here and there,” he explained. “That’s why they have to die such horrible deaths.”

You laughed briefly, pressing your mouth to his shoulder when you worried you would moan.

“He loves her legs, how tightly they wrap around him.” As he spoke, he lifted your legs one at a time, pressing them to the sides of his body as a cue to hook your ankles together. “He loves her arms, how easily he can pin them above her head.” Again, he did just that and you were forced to lay flat on the floor, clamping your mouth shut to stifle the noises spilling out.

After managing to get both wrists in one hand, he placed his opposite forearm off to your side and set all his weight there. You could feel it in the way he got heavier against your hips, trapping you between him and the floor, controlling every aspect of how he was going to make you come.

He stared down at your face for a moment, watching you struggle to keep your composure as he was fucking into you harder now. He leaned down and your eyes fell shut, he kissed over both eyelids and said, “He loves her eyes, even when she’s looking up at him, demanding something, a new diamond necklace, a car, but won’t actually say the words because she’s so fucking spoiled.”

You smirked and he felt it, and his hips snapped up harshly to get it to stop. It only worked for a moment. You were smug, Ransom was pouring his heart out to you and confessed that he liked that you were spoiled? You would never let him live this down.

“He loves her cheeks,” he started kissing across your face and you couldn’t help but smile, “Especially when she’s doing that.” He stopped to pay special attention to your nose, “And he loves her nose, even though she hates it. And he loves when she pouts,” he lowered his mouth to give you several chaste pecks, until you were pouting because he wouldn’t just kiss you.

With a scoff, he finally let you kiss him back. It didn’t last long before he was on the move again, pressing his lips to your chin and proclaiming the fictional character’s love of that, then your jaw, your clavicle, and once he tore your bralette out of the way, your breasts.

As he continued to move down, he was sliding his cock out by the inch and you were trying to stop him from getting too far, you were desperately pulling at him with your legs, but Ransom was much stronger than you.

“He loves her stomach,” he muttered into your skin as he descended and finally, his cock slipped out. Because of that, he had to let your wrists go but you knew better than to try to move them.

“Ransom, please—”

“And he loves her hips.” As he pulled down your shorts, he kissed the skin he exposed, almost frantically alternating between left and right. Once the shorts were down, he spread your thighs and looked up at you. “And he fucking loves her pussy.”

You let out a strangled, high-pitched sound as he dove down and wrapped his lips around your clit. He stared at you the entire time as he sucked for a few seconds, then flicked his tongue back and forth, only to repeat the pattern until you were crying and squirming, staying in the position he had placed you in.

When he knew you were close, he pulled back. He only set small kisses to your aching center, hands moving up and down your hips, your stomach, your thighs. “He loves how sweet it tastes, he loves how fucking tight it is, how it feels like his cock was made to be inside it—”

“Ransom, please,” you blurted out. Your arms were stinging with the desire to reach down for him, but you knew that would change the path of this entire night. You just needed to be fucked. Simply. Intimately. None of the elaborate shit you both usually tried.

In seconds, he had made his way over you and was inside you again. You wrapped yourself around him, arms and legs, and held onto him tight enough that you were sure he wouldn’t be able to get away again.

“He loves every fucking inch of her,” he stated. “Because she’s his, she belongs to him and she’s never going to belong to anyone else.”

You scoffed. “But she kills him?”

“Well, she’s a complex woman.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m not complex.”

He arched an eyebrow.

“I just want you and this house, and I want all of this shit to be over so we can get rid of your family.”

He kissed you shortly. “That makes two of us, baby.”

There was a difference between loving something about someone and truly being in love with someone. You’d always loved things about Ransom, but it took you about a solid year to confidently admit that you were in love with him. He could say that he loved everything about you, but that was not him finally saying it.

“Does she love him?” you wondered.

He shrugged a shoulder. “He thinks so.”

“Does he love her?” This wasn’t asking for too much. Ransom could hide behind this fictional creation of his and say yes, and you would never ask again. You just wanted to hear it once, that wasn’t unfair.

He considered his answer for a long time, breaking eye contact to look down at where his fingers were hovering over your shoulder. He began to trace shapes there, still contemplating. “Sometimes…she thinks so.”

“But does he?” you pressed.

Again, more silence. He was trying to gauge what he could get away with. He always knew this was going to wear on you eventually, but he never thought it was going to be during one of the times he was inside you. How could you not feel how he felt about you? “I think—”

“Are you fucking serious!?”

You immediately knew whose voice that was—Linda. Shutting your eyes, you let your head rest back on the floor. The headache you had been crying over earlier was returning.

“RICHARD!” She turned out of the kitchen and began storming back to her room. “Richard, wake up! You need to talk to your son! Is there no place in this house anymore that is sacred?!”

Ransom sighed deeply and you looked up at him. “Well, do you want to make you come first before we go upstairs?”

You shrugged. “Okay. Hurry up, we don’t have to be quiet anymore.”

November: thanksgiving,

Ransom was on his best behavior, you theorized that was because he didn’t want you to again ask him for more of that insane basic human emotion. Whatever, you could not dwell. There were people dying in this world, and you wanted to waste time crying over your boyfriend who gave you everything you wanted, but just wouldn’t say a certain word to you?

Well, the answer was yes, but it was Thanksgiving and the Thrombeys had about a million and one weird-ass family traditions. That meant you were short on time to be pouting.

It was a freezing, perfect day. It had snowed all night and the house looked like something straight out of a Hallmark movie. Yes, this was going to be a complicated day with a lot of personalities that were butting heads because everyone had been together for way too long, but you were feeling festive. You wanted to make the best of the day and you planned to force the rest of the family to follow your lead.

The start of the traditions was donating money. You were the one who brought it up as soon as Richard tried to skip down the list. It always started with donating. Harlan would write checks for half a million dollars and let every member choose where they wanted to donate, the past three years you were included in that. Harlan always liked you, probably more than he liked some of his actual family.

“I’m just not sure,” Donna was saying, “We haven’t made much money this year.”

“Are you kidding?” Meg demanded. “Your husband’s publishing company is still seeing sale increases.”

“Because of the death of the author,” Linda pointed out. “Meaning, we should be a lot more frugal. The money will not be coming in the same way that it was.”

“This is not up for debate,” you snapped. “Everyone pick a god damn charity. Harlan insisted on this every single year, and we are going to continue it. Unless you all would like to provoke his ghost to come murder us. He died in this house after all!”

“It’s money,” Ransom pointed out. “We have more than enough, some people don’t have any.”

Linda rolled her eyes. “My son is just trying to get you to have sex with him.”

You glared.

“Mother,” Ransom sighed. “This isn’t a discussion. Just pick your damn charity.”

“Donna, it’s fine,” Walt promised. “Meg’s right, we’ve had a great year. And Y/N is right, Dad always wanted us to do this. I will start with my usual charity, Homes for Our Troops.”

“Fantastic.” You took the check as soon as he handed it over. “Donna?”

“American Cancer Society, of course.” She held it out for you and then looked to Jacob. “I think this year—”

“I have a charity picked,” Jacob informed.

Everyone fell silent. Likely, everyone’s immediate suspicion was Trump’s request for donations since he was still insisting the election was fraudulent. However, no one said anything because no one wanted to be the first victim of Jacob’s impending murder spree.

“Can’t I pick my own?” he pressed.

“Yes,” you answered. “You can, because everyone can pick their own charity.”

“Yeah,” Walt echoed. “Of course.”

He wrote the name down and slid the check across the table to you.

Ransom’s hand tightened on your thigh, a reminder not to let anyone antagonize you this holiday.

“Canines for Disabled Kids,” you read. “Jacob, that’s really great…I didn’t even know that was a charity.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, well, I like the idea that they can have dogs as friends and don’t have to make human friends. Humans are so stupid.” Then he returned all his attention to his phone.

“And we’re back,” Richard muttered.

Donna’s head snapped in his direction.

“Okay,” you interjected. “Joni?”

She chose a foundation interested in ending childhood obesity, received a snide comment from Meg about how even her acts of kindness were vain, and you intervened before it became bigger than that. Meg chose an organization that works to stop childhood prostitution, Linda went for homeless youth, and Richard selected Make-A-Wish Foundation. Walt felt the need to sarcastically commend him for his originality.

“Enough,” you said before Richard could respond. “My dearest Ransom, what have you chosen?”

He smiled at you. “Animal Legal Defense Fund. Their tagline is: all our clients are innocent.”

You nodded. “They are. All animals are innocent.”

Linda rolled her eyes. “Can we move on?”

“Okay, mine is—”

“I can’t believe you don’t have a problem that she’s basically brainwashing our son,” Linda interrupted, turning to Richard.

“Linda, please,” Richard sighed.

“My charity,” you spoke loudly, gaining their attention once more, “Is Planned Parenthood.”

“Are you out of your mind?” she demanded. “You want to donate your money to abortions?”

You glared. “That’s not all Planned Parenthood does, but…yes, I do. Babies suck, if a woman doesn’t want to have it, she doesn’t have to.”

Joni nodded. “I agree, completely. I’ve been learning in my group about how we are only placed on this earth to offer up our vibrations to one another. Our obligations do not exceed that. We don’t have to be anything! Not a mother, not a wife—”

“Oh, shut up!” Linda barked.

“Mother, calm down,” Ransom dismissed. “I don’t believe for a second any of you have not either had an abortion or been an accessory to one in the past.”

“I would never!” she gasped, pointing a finger at him. “And you better not ever let her!”

“Yeah, don’t worry about that happening. I’ve been thinking about eliminating that possibility, surgically—”

Linda’s mouth dropped.

This was, of course, untrue. Ransom would, first, never sacrifice any part of himself for that reason. Second, the matter had not been discussed yet. You guys weren’t even thinking about marriage, so of course, children weren’t being brought up. But that morning, Ransom woke up in the mood for chaos, and maybe you sort of did, too.

“I wanted a second child,” she told Richard, “You said to stop after Ransom because he was “perfect”.”

“I did say that,” he muttered to himself, a look of pure regret on his face.

You smiled at Ransom. “You are perfect.”

He kissed you, gaining disapproving noises from most of the table.

“I will never be a grandmother!” Linda yelled, burying her hands in her hair and resting her shoulders on the table.

You glanced at Ransom.

He nodded toward the kitchen. “Now that that’s done, let’s start cooking.”

Joni and Meg were currently searching the entire house for the Christmas decorations. They always ended up getting put in the strangest places and since you and Ransom had moved in and not known where they were, you moved basically everything. It was possible that you were going to have to make do with the decorations you and Ransom had been using for the past five years at his house.

You had, however, purchased a lot of lights because the Thrombeys loved their blue lights. Tacky, you wanted the yellow lights and made sure to buy enough that even a single blue light needed to be on that house. Ransom was excitedly awaiting his mother’s reaction to that.

Every year, Richard and Walt would put lights on the house while the dinner was cooking. Ransom should have helped but no one actually thought Ransom would lift a finger, so no one wasted their breath. He was only helping you cook because, as mentioned, he was pretending to be a good boyfriend.

But he was a monster, a true monster that was currently squashing even more of your dreams. “The answer isn’t just no, it’s fuck no.”

You glared. “I wasn’t asking for permission.”

“You asked if it was a good idea.”

“I think it is.”

“Then why did you ask me at all?”

“Because I thought you would be nice for a second, just a second, Ransom. I’m not asking for a lot.”

“We are not getting Jacob a dog.”

“Why not?”

“Because I hate dogs.”

“Well, I hate you,” you hissed.

He rolled his eyes. “Enough of the dramatics. This day is tiring enough already—”

“We’ll get him a small one, it doesn’t need to be those huge horses your mother calls dogs. A chihuahua, maybe. A Pomeranian, a dachshund—”

“Absolutely not, we already have Joni here, I don’t want some yappy animal—”

“Ransom!” you whined. “If we get him a dog, he might not become a serial killer.”

“He already is a serial killer, love, these are just the early years when he’s finding himself. The answer is still no.”

“Ugh, fine, can you just make the pie crusts, please?”

“How many?”

“Three.”

“Three? For what?”

“Pumpkin, apple, pecan, Ransom. The same things your family has served every single year I’ve been here, and presumably, all the ones before that.”

“Ugh.” He stood at the counter reading the recipe, muttering his disapproval, up until he saw the ingredients on the counter. “What is all of this?”

“Um, you know that recipe in your hand? The final product doesn’t just appear.”

“No, what is all of this…gluten-free flour, oat flour? Where’s the normal flour?”

“That is normal flour, Ransom.”

“No,” he argued. “No, it’s not.”

“It’s normal to some people,” you countered. “And this year, it’s normal to us. Joni went out and bought the groceries. If you wanted something, you could have done it yourself.”

“You wouldn’t let me leave the house! You kept saying I was going to get sick and die.”

“You could have ordered them!”

“You can’t be serious. On top of this dreadful year, you’re trying to make us eat healthy food on Thanksgiving?”

“Ransom, make the pie crusts!”

It was silent for several minutes, probably because you were using the mixer to make the pumpkin filling. As soon as it was off, Ransom was acting like you’d asked him to perform surgery.

“What does toss mean?”

“What?”

“It says to toss the ingredients.”

“Um, like, stir, I guess.”

“You guess or you know?”

“Just fucking stir, Ransom. I make pies all the time.”

He huffed. “No, oh, no. No, this is telling me to touch things with my hands, that’s disgusting and I’m not doing that.”

You turned back, eyes wide. “Ransom!”

“I’m not touching butter with my hands!”

“What is wrong with you!? It’s cooking, you have to use your hands to cook!”

“I don’t like touching butter!”

“How would you know? You’ve never cooked a day in your life!”

“I’m not touching it,” he claimed.

You took a slow breath in and released it while counting to ten. “Then switch with me and make the apple pie filling.”

“Great.” He walked to your counter as you walked to his. “What is this? What’s in this bowl?”

“The pumpkin pie filling. Cover it and put it in the refrigerator. That’s where the apples are.”

His next question came after he pulled out the bag of apples. “These?”

You turned back, blinking. “Yes, Ransom, those are apples.”

“I have to cut them?”

“And peel them.”

“That’s going to take forever.”

“Ransom, I’m about to smack you.”

“This is a lot!” he pointed out. “Why are we the only people cooking?”

“We’re not, not anymore,” you decided. “Get out, you can go help your father and Walt with the Christmas lights.”

“And you’re going to cook alone?”

“I basically already am.” You turned around to walk to the sink to wash your hands. Unlike Ransom, you weren’t making one pie crust at a time, and you would only need to do this once. When you turned around, you knew Ransom was behind you, but you had no idea what he was doing.

You only saw how close he was when you felt something wet and cold against the side of your face. Whatever it was, he dragged it all the way to the opposite cheek. You smelled and tasted the frosting that you had made for the sugar cookies.

He peeled the frosted star-shaped cookie off your skin and ate one of the corners. “Your blood-sugar seemed low, I thought I’d help.”

You tore the cookie out of his hand and shoved it directly in his face.

He scattered back, eyes wide in shock—as if he expected anything less? “What is wrong with you?!”

You grabbed the retractable faucet from the sink and turned the water on.

“Do not!”

It was a warning you ignored. Within seconds, he was slipping along the kitchen floor, rushing back to you to get the faucet out of your hands. As soon as he had it, he turned it on you, and you screamed like a cat about to be thrown in a bathtub.

“Stop it!” you ordered. “You are ruining Thanksgiving!”

“You’re ruining it!”

You elbowed him hard enough that he dropped the faucet, then kicked your heels off to run to the counter with the cookies and frosting.

“Don’t you dare!” He rushed after you and wrestled the cookie out of your hand, ultimately crushing it into crumbs that scattered all over the counter and the floor.

You shoved your opposite hand into one of the bowls of frosting, whipping around to place your hand on his face.

“What the fuck?!” But he leaned down, clearly uninterested in an answer, and pressed his face into your hair.

“My hair?!” you shrieked. “I’m going to kill you!”

There were several sets of steps that you both heard, but neither of you wanted to let the other get the upper hand. When the family finally found you, you had slipped, ended up on your ass, and Ransom was holding you down, claiming that you caused too many problems when you were on your feet.

“What the hell is going on?!” Joni questioned.

“Ransom, get off of her!” Meg pushed her way between the two of you, pulling you onto your feet. “Oh, my god, what is going on? Are you okay?”

Well, you were both soaking wet, layered in frosting, furiously trying to get another cookie to throw at the other. Were you okay? Only physically. Mentally, you weren’t sure either one of you was ever on solid ground there.

“Enough!” Linda yelled. “What is this insanity!? We need to be eating in less than an hour and as per usual, you two can’t go five minutes without fighting! That’s it, everyone get out of this kitchen! This is why I cook, this is why I do everything! I’m the only one that can!”

She turned away to open the door to usher everyone out and you took your chance to get some type of retaliation that you had been longing for since before the damn stay-at-home order.

You were able to reach for a cookie before either Meg or Ransom could stop you, and no one had ever dreamed your target would be Linda, so for a detrimental moment, their reactions were nonexistent. Essentially, everyone could only stare in pure horror as they realized the cookie was darting straight for the back of Linda’s head. Which, in your defense, wasn’t your exact intention. You thought her back, not her head…but well, there was a reason you weren’t a professional athlete.

Gasps filled the room as soon as the cookie contacted Linda’s head, then again when it fell to the floor. Linda slowly turned, eyes wide, jaw set, shoulders tense—that must be where Ransom got it.

“This is my house,” you reminded. “You do not get to order me out of my kitchen!”

She looked at Ransom, silently urging him to make his alliance known right then. Before he had to say anything, yelling sounded from outside the house. Walt and Richard had yet to finish the one job they had, everyone figured that was the cause of the disturbance.

Quickly, you all made your way out to the front of the house. Richard had his leg wrapped up in a mess of lights and was hanging from the edge of the house. The same vines of lights were also wound around Walt, who was hanging onto the house for dear life.

“Oh, my god!” Donna yelled. “Oh, my god!”

“Are you serious?” Linda demanded. “There is a pandemic! You guys seriously want to end up in the god damn hospital during a pandemic?”

Joni sighed in utter frustration. “Walt, just hang on. We’ll get Richard down—”

“Oh, my god!” Donna continued, despite the lack of panic coming from literally every other single person present. Even Walt seemed less alarmed than her. She started running to Richard and on any other day, it would have been an effortless plan of action. On this day, that Massachusetts had just seen a hell of a lot of snow, when the pavement was dangerously icy, she fell.

Meg screamed. “Oh, my god, I’m calling Dr. Fields!”

“He’s a doctor!” Joni pointed out. “A physical doctor—he won’t know how to deal with this sheer stupidity unless someone broke a bone!”

Donna, now over her initial shock, was attempting to get up.

“Donna, I think you’re hurt,” Meg said. “Just stay—”

Jacob was cautiously moving closer to her, directing her to stay put when Walt had finally lost his battle with the house. His hands slipped off and he went sliding down the edge of the roof. Richard hit the floor first, eliciting more screams from Meg and Donna, and then Walt followed onto several snow-covered bushes, and everyone lost their minds.

“I’m calling Dr. Fields! I am fucking calling Dr. Fields right now!” Meg repeated, shaking so much she could hardly get the phone out of her pocket, let alone find which one she had placed it in.

Joni began making her way through the snow to check if Richard was okay.”

“Oh, my god!” Donna was still repeating.

“Mom, just stay down,” Jacob said.

“Jesus,” Ransom snapped. “How hard is it to put these god damn lights on this god damn house?” He was following Joni, confident in the theory that his father was simply being dramatic. Walt, on the other hand, might have needed medical attention.

Meg watched her feet as she was walking back inside. “Dr. Fields, we have a serious emergency right now. I think everyone’s dying!”

Ransom and Joni were helping Richard sit up when he turned back to you. “Hey, get inside, you’re wet and going to get sick.”

He had a point, so without argument, you turned to do so. You felt the boniest of hands on your shoulders before you were shoved down face-first into the snow.

That was when Joni started screaming. “Oh, my god, call the police! She’s going to kill her. Meg, call the police!”

Meg ran out of the house and saw what was happening and once again, started to panic. “Dr. Fields, you need to get here immediately!”

Before you even fully processed what had happened, Linda was on top of you turning you onto your back.

“You stole my house!” she screeched.

“Linda!” Richard scolded.

You saw her hands go for your throat—later, everyone would claim she was probably doing something else, she obviously wasn’t going to choke you. You did the only thing you could think to do, you grabbed a handful of snow and shoved it in her face.

She toppled over and you made your way on top of her. You weren’t going to hit your boyfriend’s mother, but you did proceed to throw snow in her face until Ransom had gotten you off her.

The grand total of injuries was seven. Yet, the total of injuries that had occurred directly in the incident was five. Donna had a bruised tailbone, Richard had a broken leg, Walt had a sprained wrist, your knee was cut up fairly terribly since you fell on it when Linda pushed you, and Linda had stitches on her cheek because the first time you threw snow at her, there was a huge block of ice that you weren’t aware of. After Richard pointed out that you hadn’t started the altercation, she punched him, and he now had a swollen eye. After Ransom had gotten you inside, Meg, in her state of panic, hadn’t seen the door was shut and walked straight into it, and her nose was broken.

You weren’t sure how this family had managed more disaster with nearly 300 fewer people, but there you were. Ransom had forced you into the shower to get all the frosting out of your hair and to hopefully prevent the cold he suspected you were going to catch given the tiny outfit you were parading around in outside.

He lured you out of the shower with a mug of hot chocolate. Every space heater in the house was gathered in your bedroom and as soon as you were in his reach, Ransom wrapped you up in at least three heavy blankets.

When he sat you down on the bed, he pulled your leg out so he could tend to your knee. You felt like a child with him sat next to you with a first aid kit, too-delicately prodding at your irritated, aching skin. He was babying you.

You didn’t feel guilty for what you had done to Linda, but you did hate that Ransom was in the middle. “I’m s—”

He held his hand up to you. “Don’t.”

“But—”

He turned up to you. “Babe, she attacked you.”

“I…threw a cookie at her.”

He snorted. “Yeah, that was a little crazy.”

“I am sorry,” you huffed. “We said we weren’t going to let them bother us today.”

“You finally told her this was your house. I’ve wanted that since we first moved in. I know what we said, but all in all, I think we gained more than we lost.”

“What did we gain, Ransom?”

“Well, she knows you’re scrappy so she might think twice before pushing you again.”

You rolled your eyes. “Anything else?”

“Everyone is going to be preoccupied taking care of each other, Joni doting on Meg, my mom basically doing everything for my dad, Walt and Donna being overly protective of one another…”

“So, we can have sex in the kitchen and there’s a higher chance we won’t get caught?”

“That was exactly what I was thinking.”

You shrugged. “If we got Jacob a dog—”

“You know what?” he cut in. “Get out of these blankets, I haven’t spanked you in a long time even though you’ve deserved it about five times over by now.”

He made a show of attempting to get you out of the blankets even though you both knew he wouldn’t do it. You laughed the entire time until Ransom laid himself out on top of you, uncaring about how heavy he was.

“Is everyone okay?”

“They’ll live.”

“Well, I know Meg will—she’s going to get a nose job.”

He snorted, rolling his eyes. “You are just going to have to live vicariously through her.”

“We kinda ruined Thanksgiving dinner.”

“I did not,” he argued. “The turkey is almost done, the pies are in the other oven, also almost done—”

“All three?”

He nodded. “Yep. Jacob, believe it or not, was happy to peel and cut the apples.”

You rolled your eyes. “I swear, Ransom.”

“As soon as everyone stops acting like they’re dying, we’ll be able to sit down…well, Donna might not be able to sit down.”

You laughed. “Your family is insane.”

“And clearly, you fit right in.”

“Clearly,” you muttered. Unfortunately.

Christmas Eve:

Sometimes, you wished that you had listened to him when he said this wasn’t happening. Because then you wouldn’t have needed to worry about so many god damn people! It would just be you and Ransom in absolute seclusion, but no. No, you would never have it so easy during this fucking holiday.

How difficult was it to pick up the presents that you had ordered? You picked them out, you organized it all, you had only asked Ransom to drive to a single location and obtain them for you. Why hadn’t he? Because he was sleeping at 2 in the afternoon.

What did you have for Jacob? Not a damn thing. You had no presents for the teenage delinquent you were terrified of. You weren’t family, he was going to store you away in the basement and torture you until he got bored. Ransom probably wouldn’t even realize you had been missing until Jacob placed your body parts all over the house. And three of Meg’s presents were also missing, you knew Linda was going to make another comment.

You would hit her with more ice. After you strangled her son, of course, who was currently hot helping in any way at all.

“Ransom, put your fucking drink down and hand me the tape!”

“Are your fucking hands broken?!”

“I’m holding the box!”

He slammed his drink down on the bedside table and angrily stormed his way to where you were surrounded by boxes, wrapping paper, and a million other things he wasn’t even aware you’d spent money on. This was too much for his family and he was just waiting for you to realize that they were nowhere near worth the effort you constantly put in.

Ransom picked up the tape, tore a piece off, and placed it between where your fingers were resting on the box.

“Thank you so much,” you responded, pure sarcasm.

And god damn, he had had enough of your fucking tone. “You are driving me insane!”

“I’m driving you insane?! Your family has been ruing my whole fucking life since March!”

“I didn’t want them here!”

“Well, I’m a human with actual empathy for others, so I logically knew that that was not an option!”

“You were going to leave my mother out of your precious sanctuary!”

“Because she’s abusive!” You shoved your hands into your hair and shook your head. “I’m done, absolutely done. I can’t have this conversation with you again. Your mother sucks, why is this news to you? I’m so sorry for trying to hold her accountable for her actions. Oh, but of course, every time someone tries to make any of you face the consequences for your actions, you act like it’s a hate crime!”

He glared. “I hate you.”

“I hate you!” you seethed.

“I can’t fucking believe I actually want to do this!” he turned away, scrubbing one of his hands down his face. “You make me so fucking crazy.”

“Do what?” you demanded. “What the hell are you talking about now? What god-awful thing have you decided to do?”

He made his way to the bed, tearing open the drawer to the bedside table on his side. He was muttering quickly under his breath and even if his speech hadn’t been so hurried, it was quiet enough that you had no chance of hearing anything.

It was silent for several moments before he turned back to you and threw something on the bed. He gestured to it then crossed his arms over his chest.

Since your bed was a mess of dark blankets, you weren’t sure what you were supposed to be seeing. You stood, carefully stepping your way out of the present-wrapping station you had created and neared the bed. You stopped dead in your tracks when you saw a tiny black box against the mattress.

You looked back at him, eyes wide, pleading. No…no, that was not happening. He wasn’t actually…

“Marry me.”

“What?!”

He actually seemed surprised by your reaction. He leaned over, snatched the box off the bed, and stomped back to you. “Marry me.”

“You’ve lost it,” you accused. “You’re actually literally insane. You need to be committed!”

“Yes, it’s insane that I want to marry you but for some fucking reason, I do!”

“Oh, my god, Ransom!” You slapped the box out of his hands and that was just too much for him. “I’m not fucking marrying you, you’ve never even told me you love me!”

He hurriedly picked up the box, tossed it back onto the bed, and then grabbed you by your arms. “You’re seriously fucking bringing that up now?”

“What does that even mean?! Yes, I’m bringing it up now. You marry someone when you’re in love with them and since you haven’t said it after seven years, I understandably doubt your feelings for me.”

“You are such a fucking brat.”

“You’re a brat!” you yelled, more exasperated than you’d ever felt. “You’re such a fucking entitled brat! There’s no other way to describe you. You just think I’m going to say yes and give you everything you want when you can’t even say you love me!”

“This is absolutely fucking ridiculous.”

“Just fucking say it, Ransom! If you love me, just say it!”

“You will not bully me into saying something that I don’t even deem as important.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Love is a word! Okay? It means nothing. My parents fucking say they love each other, then my dad fucked someone else. Neal and Joni said they loved each other every god damn second that they could but guess what. He still died. And don’t even get me started on Walt and Donna, their “love” created the next great serial killer of this wonderful fucking country!”

You were speechless, Ransom never talked to you like this. He never brought up the fucked-up aspects of his family that had consequently fucked him up as well.

He finally let you go when he realized you weren’t going to say anything, turning to walk away. You startled when he banged his hand against the wall. “God damn it!”

“Why do you make me say it to you then?” you demanded.

“I don’t know!” he admitted.

Again, you were both silent. You were thinking of the best way to respond, and you certainly couldn’t come up with that, but you knew what you wanted to say. “I’m not marrying you.”

He laughed.

It was a terrifying sound that gave you chills. He was going to kill you, you were 90% sure. As soon as he started walking toward you, you turned away to run to the bathroom, but Ransom had always known that would be your plan.

He effortlessly caught you and dragged you back to the bed. He shoved you down, pinned your arms to the mattress to stop you from hitting him, and slid his hips between your legs to make it impossible to kick him. “You’re going to marry me.”

“You’re going to force me to marry you?”

“I’ll drag you to the fucking courthouse if I have to.”

“The courthouse?!”

“I want to give you a wedding, the obscenely priced, overly dramatic show that I know you want. But if you won’t say yes, you leave me no other option.”

You rolled your eyes. “Then I guess that’s what you’ll have to do because my answer is no.”

Luckily for him, your outfit was not overly complex. He knew you weren’t wearing anything under your skirt because his hand was between your legs for most of dinner that night. You didn’t let him make you come because you were throwing a temper tantrum over the situation with the presents, but he was evidently not deterred.

After he moved your wrists together and kept you held there, he used his free hand to get his pants out of the way. In seconds, he was fully inside you and was offering you no time to adjust.

You realized why when you felt his hands moving over your head. Turning up that way, you saw him fumbling with the box. He was going to put the ring on your finger, and you had the sinking suspicion you might not be able to part with it if you saw it. But no, this was not happening.

You managed to get one of your hands free and yanked on his hair.

He kissed you because he had nothing left to do but bite your lip. Hard. He didn’t even falter when you cried out.

He was the idiot who let you keep your shoes on and you were limited on where you could get your heel. You did yoga, but you weren’t some contortionist. You had one option, and that was stabbing your heel into the side of his ass, and it was completely his own fault.

Finally, he pulled away and was forced to let you on top, which was the only advantage you needed. You smacked the box off the bed. However, now that he wasn’t overly concerned with holding you to the bed, he could pull your hair until you relented and fell back onto the bed.

He rolled over several times until you were both on the very edge, managing to kick your heels off in the process. He never stopped driving his hips into you, knowing that the only advantage he had was how weak you always got for his cock.

You could hear him reaching around blindly on the floor but with each brush of his skin against your clit, you got less scared about the idea that he would get the ring on you. You knew you didn’t want it. You knew you didn’t want to marry him and there was no way in hell you would willingly say yes, but fuck, you wanted to come.

You touched the side of his face and he finally looked back at you.

“Say yes.”

“Fuck you.” You pulled him down, your lips meeting his. There was blood in the kiss and your lip was throbbing, but you couldn’t care. Not when he was fucking you this violently, this angrily. He’d never fucked you like this before. You were no stranger to Ransom being a cruel lover, but there had never been so much pure wrath.

He had located the box, you could tell when his fingernails stopped clicking against the hardwood floor. You were panicking, not fully thinking through your plans, you just knew you needed to be able to reach the box. You threw all your weight at him and he was barely balanced as it was.

Despite his anger, he still had more of a mind than you—probably because he wanted something out of this, he needed to be mindful to get his way. He basically let you throw him on the floor because he worried about the results if he managed to fall on you.

Instead of retaliating any further, you grabbed his hand and brought it down to your center. He needed no further prompt than that, his thumb began to circle your clit as his other hand grabbed your hip and moved you along the length of his cock.

Where was the box? On his chest, he set this there because he was the cockiest fucking asshole in the world. He saw you eyeing it and smirked. “Go ahead, baby, take it, but you know I’ll fucking stop.”

That was unimaginable. Both hands reached for the one he had on your hip. You continued rolling your hips like it was the last time you were ever going to get to, dragging his hand up to your mouth.

“I swear if you fucking bite me,” he warned.

No, you weren’t going to do that. Yet. You choked yourself on his fingers, stifling all the pathetic sounds that were spilling out from you. Ransom simply enjoyed the show, enjoyed you fucking yourself on his cock, enjoyed you staring at him with those smoky, delicate eyes as you sucked on his fingers.

He stopped touching your clit once he felt you coming. He used that hand to hold you up on your knees and thrust his hips into you punishingly. You were dizzy, disastrously satiated and overstimulated. He finished with a shaking moan, a tell that he was trying to be quiet.

It wasn’t late, the family was undoubtedly aware of what was going on.

He turned down, staring at the place you were still connected. Ransom waited until his cum was spilling out of you and then yanked you back down to take his entire length. If there was anything that Ransom did love in this world it was filling you with his cum and watching it slowly pour out.

You only allowed him to do this several times before you finally bit down on his fingers. His hand lifted from your hip and tore your hair back hard enough that you opened your mouth to yell at him. When he could pull his fingers from your mouth, he wrapped that hand around your neck and pulled you flat down, your chest to his, the ring box trapped between you and him, digging painfully into your ribs.

He slammed you into the wall and you brought your legs up to hook around his waist. “Sorry, daddy, I didn’t mean to bite you.”

“After I get this ring on you, I’m gonna make you call your parents and tell them we’re engaged. And I’m gonna fuck you and make you call me daddy, just to remind your father how much of a daddy’s girl you used to be.”

“Why call when you could Facetime?”

“Then I’m gonna have you choking on my cock, baby, all they need to see is the ring on your finger.” The hand in your hair wedged its way between you and him and he located your clit once more.

It was too much but you knew Ransom wasn’t going to care. Begging him to stop would just provide him enjoyment and that was the last thing you wanted him to have. He kept his other hand around your neck because he knew you would say something that would annoy the fuck out of him if he let you.

When you were coming, his hips were moving once more and his hand abandoned your clit to move the box. You felt it sliding along your skin until it was gone and then you realized he wasn’t holding your neck anymore. He had your left hand held clutched in his and you felt the cold band he was sliding onto your finger.

You couldn’t do much, you had lost and you knew it. But you could leave a few more marks on him, so you latched your free hand onto his shoulder and dragged your nails down his back, and you bit down on his shoulder harder than you probably should have. He was a fucking animal, it seemed like he didn’t care at all. He just wanted to get the ring on you, and once he had, he grabbed your face and shoved you back.

You knew he was trying to get you to look at the ring, but you refused. Your eyes were slammed shut and nothing was going to change that.

He walked you to the bathroom, pulling out to bend you over the counter because he knew you would instinctually lift both hands up to the edge. Once you had, he shoved his cock back inside you and grabbed your jaw to angle your face in the direction of your left hand. “Look at it.”

“Fuck. You!” you growled.

He smacked your ass and even though you shrieked like he was murdering you, you did not open your eyes. He repeated this several times until his own hand was stinging almost unbearably. New plan.

He used his feet to kick your legs apart further and you felt a sharp, sudden slap against your cunt. Your eyes snapped open and a scream tore from your throat. He almost felt bad until he saw your attention on the ring. Was he an ass? Yes. But had he won? Also, yes.

That fucking asshole. His hand dropped to rub over your aching pussy, cock still moving at a painfully fast pace. Ransom was fucking furious and the only way he could take it out on you was by fucking you this way.

You couldn’t say you had any complaints about it. Tomorrow, when you were pretending you couldn’t stand to look at him, you would be bruised and sore everywhere that he had touched you. You would be wet all day thinking about how it happened.

The fucking ring. A huge cushion-cut diamond set in a halo on top of a diamond-encrusted band. It wasn’t simple, it sounded like it, but there was something so beautiful about it. Fuck, you wouldn’t let this ring go unless you were dead. Because he was right. You liked money and diamonds and you were materialistic, and this was from Ransom and you loved everything he gave you. And at the end of it all, even though you were saying no to him, he shoved that ring onto your finger because you were his and that was never going to change.

“Say yes.”

“No.”

“Fine.” He reached for your hand but stopped when he saw you make a fist.

“Try to take this ring from me and I will fucking kill you, Ransom.”

He scoffed. “Great, I’m gonna get my phone to Facetime your parents.”

You rolled your eyes. “Fuck you.”

“Not yet,” he pointed out. “First, I need to fuck your mouth, but then—”

From outside, the dogs started to bark.

You let your head fall onto the counter and groaned. “I fucking swear, every fucking time we’re fucking—”

He pulled out and rushed from the bathroom.

“Hey!” you called out. “What the hell?”

“Shit, shit, shit,” he muttered to himself as he searched for where he’d thrown his pants. When had he even gotten them off?

“Ransom?”

“Wait there,” he directed and then he dashed out of the room.

“Excuse you!” It wasn’t like you had much of an option, your legs weren’t working yet, and you were sweating and gross, and bruised and your lip was swollen and clearly bitten.

After several moments, he hadn’t come back. What the hell was he up to? You winced and hummed, made any noise that made you feel slightly better, as you tiptoed around the room looking for something to put on. You settled on one of his shirts and slowly, pathetically made your way downstairs. “Ransom?”

No response.

“Hello, anyone?” If someone else was around, you could force them to look for your boyfriend instead of having to do so yourself. But it seemed that you were out of luck on that.

The dogs were still barking like crazy, but why was no one else reacting? And why did Ransom care? He never paid attention to the dogs. You followed the sound of their barking, they had moved from the backyard to the side of the house. Which was odd because they never went there.

The garage? Your suspicions were confirmed when you heard Linda complaining about something, being constantly interrupted by Joni, Walt, and Ransom. Okay, again, unusual. He tended to ignore his mother, not argue with her.

His eyes widened when he saw you in the doorway. “No, no, this has to stop. I need everyone out of this room.”

“What the hell is going on?” you questioned.

“We don’t want to alarm you,” Donna began, “But—”

“Pretty sure he has drugs,” Meg claimed. “Like, hardcore drugs. Heroin, probably.”

Your eyes widened at him.

He glared. “I don’t have drugs, don’t be ridiculous.”

You gasped, pointing in the direction of the dogs still barking outside. “Those are German Shepherds, they’re drug dogs!”

Meg gasped, nodding at you with wide eyes. “I’m calling the cops.”

“Knock it off,” Linda scolded. “Ransom, show us what you’re hiding right now, or we’ll tear this room apart.”

He rolled his eyes, storming over to the corner of the room where a sheet was laid over something. “Fine, merry fucking Christmas.” He yanked it off one of the old kennels Linda used for her dogs when they were being trained.

There was a long list of things you were suspecting to see. Three sleeping puppies? No, they were nowhere on the list. And then you realized that was why he hadn’t gone to pick up Jacob’s present.

“You got me more puppies?” Linda inquired.

You, along with most of the room, glared at her.

“No,” Ransom snapped. “One is for Jacob and one’s for Meg.”

Both Jacob and Meg excitedly ran to the cage, startling the puppies awake. Much to Ransom’s dismay, the baby talk began without a second thought and the puppies were whining and making those small noises that always irritated him.

One for Jacob. One for Jacob. Then…the third. Oh, god.

He turned to you with a sigh.

“Yes,” you said, “Yes, yes, a million times yes!” You ran across the room, ignoring all your aching limbs and threw yourself into his arms. “And I’ll stop being so mean to you, and if you want to do this at the courthouse, I won’t even be upset because you’re so good to me and I’m awful to you. I’m sorry!”

“It’s okay,” he assured.

“No,” you protested. “It’s a million times not okay! I’m so sorry.” You pulled back to touch his face. “I’m really, really sorry. But I’m going to be the best wife in the world—”

“What?” Joni cut in.

That was the only thing in the world that could have drawn attention away from the puppies.

“Wife?” Linda repeated.

You checked with Ransom and he nodded. He had been looking forward to this. All you had to do was hold out your hand and Joni and Meg were excitedly shrieking. There hadn’t been a wedding in the family in so long.

“Wow,” Walt said. “Ransom? Engaged, showing commitment? This is the strangest year I’ve ever lived.”

Ransom rolled his eyes.

Before another word could be said, Linda collapsed onto the floor. Richard and Walt were the only ones who felt alarmed at the situation, while everyone else moved in closer to see the puppies.

“Which one is ours?” you wondered.

“Yours,” he corrected. “And the blonde one. She was the least yappy I could find on such short notice.”

Your eyebrows pulled together. “Where did you go?”

“The pound, obviously.”

“I fucking love you,” you blurted out, grabbing his face to pull him down into a kiss.

Once again, the room echoed with disgusted sounds.

“Which one’s mine?” Meg wondered.

“I couldn’t care less,” he admitted.

“I’m gonna name mine Hugh,” Jacob announced.

Ransom gave you an expectant look.

“I love you?” you tried.

“Gonna need a lot more than that.” He picked you up and because you knew Ransom wasn’t going to accept any kind of attitude from you for a very long time, you hooked your legs and arms around him and willingly went.

“I’ll take care of your dog until you guys are done being gross!” Meg promised.

chris tags:

@onetwo3000​ @chris-evans-indian-fanfic​ @donutloverxo​ @kleohoneyao3​ @cevans-fics​

ransom tags:

@la-cey​

[bakingandbooks3]

Wick and Flame

Ahhh my beautiful people! I’ve written again:) This time it was a bit more angsty- Nesta confronts Rhys. I was planning on posting weeks ago but recently had to get surgery. Here it is, I hope y’all love it!

TW: Mentions of Sexual Assault and violence...

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that, Rhysand.”

“It’s High Lord, to you.”

“I never once asked to serve you. I could call you many things but the most prevalent to me is my sister’s assaulter.”

A silence swept over the room.

Feyre had planned a lovely evening for the Inner Circle to regroup after the successful invasion of the Autumn Court- Eris’s coronation. It was safe to say Nesta wasn’t enjoying herself in the slightest, and was enjoying herself significantly less when Rhysand started making innuendos about Nesta’s past and worthlessness.

She was here for her sister and was trying to be more involved for her sake. But, she missed the quiet of the mountains, and Emerie, and the children she read to. And Cassian.

Everything went to hell after Rhysand asked if she convinced Eris by coaxing him into bed. Nesta launched back with how he’s no better of a man than Eris is.

Rhys growled, “That wasn’t what that was-”

“Oh really? Just because you two are happy now you think that erases the things you did to her? The things you-”

“You know nothing Nesta-”

“I know more than you think,” Nesta fumed. “I could tell from the way she talked about it, Under the Mountain, that something had happened to her. And just as I suspected you did it. But, why should I be shocked in the first place? You sexualized my teenage sister the very second you saw her. She was nineteen, Rhysand. Would you deign to tell us about that sick infatuation of yours?”

From across the table, Nesta could see the shadows bloom over the singer and the seer look down at her plate with wide eyes, Morrigan gripping her glass tighter and saw Cassian flicking between both sides. Would he pick her or them? It didn’t matter though, because who she cared about confronting was gritting his teeth and holding the jewel ordained knife like a weapon.

Would he use it on her?

“Say it. You touched her, you touched her. You took my drunk little sister and touched her in front of everyone! Do you know how I know this? Do you know how I had to figure this out? I read it in her body language for months, and then last week when I had to go on a mission for you, when Cassian and I had to risk ourselves for you, when you used him and me as bait for you, I found out from Eris.”

Mor flinched, the name a slap. Oh, maybe Nesta had made a mistake.

“Mor… I apologize for being brash… It wasn’t kind of me. I’d like to continue speaking but if you’re uncomfortable you can leave.”

She shifted, “Anything he says is valuable… I- I think I should say.”

Nesta’s heart broke a bit, she wasn’t quite fond of Mor yet, and her obscene relationship with Cassian did not please Nesta, but she was trying. Nesta was trying.

“And what did that snake tell you, dear sister-in-law? What did he say to poison you further?” The High Lord was shaking now, his wife shell-shocked beside him.

“That snake told me you made her drink till she was sick on your boots, and he told me the things you did to her. All of it. And I refuse to speak any more of it because it is not my story to tell, but just know I have no intention of forgiving you for this any time soon.”

The air seemed a bit thicker, the food colder, and the people gathered around the table duller. Of course, she ruined it.

She always does.

The silence dragged on until the violet-eyed man said the irreversible words, “ And why would I care about the forgiveness of an alcoholic whore?

The impenetrable line had been crossed.

Nesta let the tears well in her eyes as she hiked up her skirt, maintaining as much modesty as one could, and ripped the dagger out of her garter and stabbed it into the high-lords mahogany table.

Everyone at the table jolted. Seven sets of eyes widened at the sight and Elain visibly shuttered.

“You don’t know the slightest thing about me, Rhys.”

The man before her was trying to keep his composure but was lacking. His poor table.

“I was nineteen the first time a man did something similar to me.” Once Nesta saw she had their attention she continued, “When we were little, shortly after Mother died, the three of us were thrown into a life we never asked for. I, being the oldest, was automatically deemed to be the “new” mother, but Cauldron forbid ten-year-old me was slightly lost on the ways to be a mother. I was never the best sister or the most present, you of all people don’t let me forget, Rhys. I tried, I wasn’t great and I wasn’t the most helpful, but I tried. I would steal Feyre’s extra money to get iron bracelets to fend ourselves against people like you, I would take money to repair the ax I used to cut wood, I would spend some on buying cheap daggers to arm myself when I had to experience the ways of the world on my own.”

“And what did you have to experience, Nesta? Abandoning your sister? Making her hunt for you? Doing-”

“I never asked Feyre to do anything!” Nesta raised her voice for the first time. “I never once asked her to go, in fact, I told her not to. I am… grateful for what she did. But that should’ve been our father- no child should have to provide for them self. So, your absolute blessing of a wife never took the daggers I got, never wore the bracelets, and she trekked on. I never took them because in actuality they were hers to use. I felt like she needed more protection than I did.”

Nesta was trembling now, she had never quivered once in front of these people but she needed to- she needed to tell them.

“I went to find a suitor, a man to marry so that there was one less mouth to feed and one less body to take up the bed. I found Thomas, a poor man who I despised but he was willing to wed. His father beat his mother and I knew I was bound for that eventually, but I thought I could take it. After months of courting, he asked for my hand and I said yes. I wasn’t happy, but in the worst of ways, I thought I was helping my sisters by leaving them.

“When Feyre was taken… I had a lot of time to think. And when I wasn’t thinking about her I was thinking about how miserable this life of mine would be. It dawned on me one night that this wasn’t what I deserved. I went to his sham of a house and asked to go our separate ways.”

The room was spinning, Nesta sat down. She breathed and took note of everything she could, the color of her dress, the untouched plate, the napkins.

“It was night, my hair was down and I was just in my nightgown. I remember being cold and tired, I had spent the entire day trying to find a hole in the wall so maybe… It doesn’t matter anymore. Just as quick as I told him no… he had my hair in his hands and had me pushed on a bed. 

She paused to breathe a racking breath. “I never cut my hair short because my mother would tell me how beautiful it was, I’m starting to think I should’ve.”

Nesta whispered the last words. Calm down. As her eyes fluttered around the room she kept going, no one stopped her.

“Do you know how easy satin rips? Too easy, but it was cheap and all we could afford… In twenty-eight seconds I had everything ripped from me. My pride, my clothes, the very little that was left of me…”

It was so hard to breathe, so hard.

“I took the candle from his bedside table and burnt it into his back to give me a second to get him off of me. I wasn’t nearly strong enough but I was able to hit him over the head with the candle-holder.”

Nesta stopped. She said enough. You said more than enough. She breathed, one, two.

She gripped the handle of the weapon before her and removed it, strapping it back to her thigh. “This dagger in your beautiful table is what I keep attached to me, I sleep in it even. because the things I left unsaid are worse than you can possibly imagine, and I hope to never endure them again.”

“High-Lord of the Night Court, I do not owe you a thing. I do not owe you my time, breath, or story. Your cousin and wife have had experiences similar to mine, one of them your personal doing. You will not call me a whore. You don’t know the half of my life. You know nothing more than a page in my book and I won’t allow you to write me as your villain.

“Unlike my sister, I didn’t fall in love with the man who wronged me. I’m just tainted by the scars he left behind. If she is happy I will not speak of my disgust for you, but just know I have every damned reason to despise you.”

Nesta pushed her chair away from the table and regained the queen-like frost of hers.

“I’m leaving. Feyre, thank you for the lovely dinner, I’m sorry I ruined it.”

She turned to Rhys.

“As for you, I’ll have you know this whore has better places to be than here. At least the men I gamble with in bars don’t assault women.”

And with her crown of clear flames, Nesta walked away.

taglist: @perseusannabeth @nahthanks @sayosdreams 

[mizunetzu]

hey mark uhhh suck my dick that’s the request

no HAHAHA but I’m sure Iida will do it innnn *drum roll*

——————

Iida x reader - Iida Tenya’s Imaginary Boyfriend (pt.2)

⚠️warnings - none

Pronouns - male, he/him

Part one can be found here! 

The true ending can be found here! (Pt.3)

——————

“Alright,” Kaitekina flipped open her sketchbook, setting it back down on the easel. “Who’s going to describe something to me?”

Everyone gestured at Iida.

“I apologize once more,” Iida scrunched up his fists in his lap. “I do not wish to-“

“C’mon, Iida!” Uraraka grasped onto the sleeve of Iida’s school blazer. “You’ve been sulking for a month about this ‘(L/n)-kun’ guy! You need some sort of comfort! Or better yet-closure!”

“I am completely fine! In fact, I see him every night, and that is enough for me! Now, I do not wish to be here, and I have nothing to describe!”

Everyone fell silent. Uraraka voice was barely above a whisper. “Every night..?”

Iida sat back down, bowing slightly in apology for yelling. He said nothing. Todoroki looked down, before looking at Iida.

“If you do this one thing, we’ll let you go and we’ll never speak about it again. Just this once and we’ll leave it at that.”

Iida thought for a moment. He absentmindedly picked at the metal frame of his watch with his thumb and forefinger. Just this once couldn’t hurt. How accurate can a drawing be?

“Fine.” Iida visibly relaxed. “Just this once.”

———

“So, are you describing a boy or a girl today?”

Kaitekina’s voice was smooth like butter. Her eyes, once a chocolate brown, delved pink, bright and demanding. It was probably a side effect to her quirk activating.

Iida’s lips turned up into the faintest of smiles. A sheepish one. “I’m describing my boyfriend...”

Uraraka and Midoryia choked back a shocked gasp, while Todoroki simply raised his eyebrows. Nonetheless, they gawked at Iida like he was crazy.

Kaitekina cooed. “D’aww...how long have you two been dating?”

“Almost 5 months now.” Iida seemed more calm than before. You could almost say he was happy finally talking about his baggage. He rubbed his thumb across the glass of his watch discreetly. Kaitekina looked away from her sketch to eye the dull red watch contained under Iida’s blazer.

“What’s that red thing you keep touching under your jacket? Is that a watch?”

Iida sat quiet for a moment, before pulling up his sleeve and raising his arm. There revealed a dirty, cheap red watch, cloudy but functional. He tugged at the strap, watching as it unraveled and tumbled down onto his lap.

“It was something my boyfriend wore everyday. He wore it everyday since the start of the school year. He said he’d always cherish it, so I’m...cherishing it for him.”

“This isn’t the original one he owned though, that one...disappeared. I bought this one to keep with me where ever I go.”

The woman hummed, taking note of something on a sticky note stuck to the edge of her easel. It was most likely details to add or emphasize in the portrait.

“Can you tell me like-the shape of his face?”

“Angelic.”

Iida didn’t say anything else after that. Kaitekina waited for him to go on.

“Oh-forgive me. Round face, and his hair was a (h/c)-ish shade. It was always kept rather short/long.”

“You keep saying ‘was’. Is he no longer with us?”

Iida narrowed his eyes. Uraraka, Midoryia, and Todoroki eagerly awaited his answer, not-so-subtly staring him down. “It’s...it’s difficult to explain. But in simpler terms, he isn’t here with me anymore. Or he never was. I cannot seem to tell anymore.”

Those last parts came out as a whisper. More like he was saying it to himself, rather than to the sketch artist infront of him.

“I’m...sorry.” Kaitekina stopped drawing for a second to offer her condolences. Iida shrugged.

“...I am too.”

“Um-can you describe his eyes for me?”

“It was a bright (e/c)-color.” Iida limply held up his arm, before letting it drop back down on his lap. “They were always kind of squinted, like he was always so carefree. It was one of the things I never understood about him. Beautiful, (e/c) eyes that would stare up at me like I was the world.”

She made a noise of acknowledgement, grabbing (h/c) and (e/c) pastels scattered across her desk. Scribbling down details with her hazey glowing eyes scanning the paper, she looked up again at Iida. “What about his smile-what did it look like when he was smiling?”

“I believe it was his default expression. His lips were on the thinner/thicker side, though he kept telling me he wanted them to be a bit thicker/thinner. And-they were always chapped. I always told him to put on chapstick.” Iida chuckled.

“If you had to choose one thing-and I know it’s hard, but what would you say you miss the most about him?”

Iida fell silent. He stared down at his fingers, halting temporarily. He opened his mouth numerous times to speak, but each time, no words came out.

“His ability to make me smile.”

He said nothing else. Kaitekina inhaled to speak, but let her mouth fall closed, focusing on her drawing once more.

“Can you tell me about him while I finish up?”

Iida nodded. Midoryia, Todoroki, and Uraraka turned towards him, waiting patiently. This was what they were waiting for.

Iida pushed his glasses up with his forefinger. “His name was (L/n)-kun. He went to our school, and actually sat next to me in class-but apparently no one...seemed to remember him. It’s like he disappeared. That, or my delusions delved to the point where I hallucinated a whole five-month relationship with a boy I see every night in my dreams. It’s made me look forward to going to bed. It’s the only thing I want to do these days.”

Iida thought for a moment, before continuing. “He was good friends with these 3 next to me. But they don’t seem to remember him either.”

“It’s alright, though. I’ve grown used to it. I’ll see him again tonight and I can live on with these memories alone.”

A heavy silence filled the small studio. Midoryia contemplated setting a hand on Iidas shoulder, but as he was about to, Kaitekina clasped her hands together.

“So, I believe I’m done. I hope I was able to capture at least a small part of this person you had such an amazing relationship with.” She picked up her sketchbook, walking around her desk towards the 4 kids seated on the couch. “Are you ready to see it?”

Part of Iida didn’t want to look at it. All of his logical beliefs told him people were giving this woman and her quirk too much credit. Besides, how could she possibly know what mountain of complexity (Y/n) held, and capture it into an unworthy piece of fine-tooth paper?

He nodded anyways. She flipped her book around, holding up the displayed page in the sunlight streaming through the window.

“This is what you described to me.”

There stood a charcoal sketch of a beautiful boy, smiling so gently and earnestly. His hand was resting again set his neck and shoulder, a dull red watch strapped tightly to his wrist. There were features Iida swore he never mentioned, like the crease near his left eye, or the dimple that lay just under his cheekbone.

What captured his attention most, was his eyes. It was only pastel, but it shone and demanded attention, even if his eyes were in his usual half-lidded stance. Bright, (e/c), gemstone eyes that Iida fell in love with. Honestly, he could gaze at this picture forever.

This was him. This was his (Y/n).

Uraraka gasped. “Ahhhh! Wow! It looks really good! Ne, is this accura...Iida? You alright..?” Midoryia and Todoroki tore their eyes off the illustration to check out what Uraraka was talking about.

Iida was staring, eyes slightly wide, at the drawing. He couldn’t take his eyes off of it; he didn’t want to. The drawing was more accurate than he’d like to admit. It was as if he was staring at (Y/n) himself.

He didn’t know tears were steaming down his face, until he felt small drops of water pelt down onto his lap. He removed his glasses shakily and wiped his eyes, doing his best not to take his eyes off the sketchbook.

“It’s-“ Iida’s voice cracked along with the seam of his heart. “It’s very accurate, you should be proud of the business you own, Miss.”

———

The stagnant air followed the UA students out of the building. Iida was stiffly walking straight ahead, doing his best not to look at the paper of (Y/n) folded in his pocket.

“Ne, Iida,” Iida hadn’t realized he was walking so far ahead until Uraraka had to jog up to him, followed by Midoryia and Todoroki. He hummed in acknowledgment.

“Do you feel better?”

There were two answers to this question. Yes and slowly but surely, yes. He was feeling better in the sense that he no longer had the urge to cry into his bedsheets, holding the piece of sketchbook paper firmly to his chest. He lost his dignity, and he found it again.

He was also feeling better in the sense that he finally got some sort of closure. Maybe this person isn’t real. And it’s ok. He has some sort of proof of his imaginary ‘friend’ that he can gaze at forever, instead of pitifully checking his wristwatch every 5 minutes, wishing it would go faster just so he wouldn’t accidentally forget how his face looked like.

It wasn’t healthy living day by day, waiting to fall asleep just so he could feel something again. A self imagined kiss on the cheek or just plain rest. He was willing to move on from that. It was time to start the ‘healing’ process. The drip finally stopped.

And he knew that if he got tired, if he was sad, or just needing some assistance, (Y/n) would be there waiting for him with open arms, welcoming him into his imaginary world again.

Though, he wasn’t sure if he really needed that right now.

He loosened the cheap red watch from his wrist, his head suddenly feeling empty and light.

“I’m feeling better. Thank you.”

——————

This is how this story really ends. Though, even I didn’t like it HAHAHA so I made a “true ending”. A sweeter ending without the bitter if u must LMAOO

[kazuharem]

“Partners in Pleasure” ↠ Lucien x MC [SMUT]

AO3 Link: here

Pairing: Lucien x Female MC (Pre-Eternal Winter Lucien if you squint)

Part II of the “Forgive and Forget” Series. This is “Forget”

Part I: here (I strongly suggest reading this first if you haven’t)

Spoiler Warnings: CONTAINS SPOILERS FROM CHAPTERS 24 AND AFTER

SPOILERS CONTAINS/MENTIONS:

◦ CH. 21, 24, and after (?) ◦ Lucien’s “Dumbstruck Date,” “Hiking Date,” and “Gloomy Date” ◦ Lucien’s phone calls “Promise” and “Origami Class” ◦ Lucien’s Rumors & Secrets “Beneath the Iceberg”

Other Warnings: Rough/oral/unprotected s&x, fingering, edging, begging, jealous!Lucien

Genre: Angst, Smut

Description: Lucien gets jealous of...Lucien and proposes an addition to their cooperation

Summary: “Did 'he' touch you like this? Your 'Lucien?'"

Word Count: 8,500

Author’s Note: This has been inspired by my frustrations with “Gloomy Date” (I am not okay). Also, I heard Taylor Swift's "Illicit Affairs" and thought it sort of fit the setting for this. (I don't actually know anymore, this game has ruined me, ok). 

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters, plots, artwork. They belong to ELEX and Paper Games. Lyrics of “This Love” and "Illicit Affairs" belong to Taylor Swift. Like always, lines taken straight from the plot have "*" in front of it. Please enjoy (and cry with me)!

⊱ ──────ஓ๑♡๑ஓ ────── ⊰

“Look at this godforsaken mess that you made me You showed me colors you know I can't see with anyone else Look at this idiotic fool that you made me You taught me a secret language I can't speak with anyone else

And you know damn well For you, I would ruin myself A million little times” 

Lucien gazed at his computer screen. After knowing that his research would come to fruition in three years, he had been throwing himself into work. Ever since the Queen had agreed to cooperate with him and get information together, Lucien had been working endlessly. Even though getting the Queen’s cooperation meant having access to a shortcut that many would absolutely kill to get their hands on, he had been hesitant about using the Queen’s genes. A part of him didn’t want her to become something of a lab rat in his research. He frowned slightly. Focus on work, he told himself sternly. Stop thinking about her. But it was useless. These past few weeks, she had been popping up unbidden in his thoughts. He would often wonder if she’s doing alright, whether she was safe or not. It was one of the reasons why Lucien hadn’t contacted her ever since they had gone hiking that day. That had been well over a month now. His fingers paused on his keyboard. He couldn’t shake off the feeling of déjà vu. Sighing, Lucien took off his glasses and pressed his fingertips to his eyelids.

A series of images appeared before his closed eyes. An elegant bar in a classy hotel suite. A small stage with a microphone. A text unanswered: *<Come to our team party in 3 days at the Petrichor. I want you to come, but I understand if you’re busy> A question asked: *“Who is most important to you and why?” A song shared between two lovers.

A groan broke the still, midnight air. These visions made no sense to Lucien. They weren’t concrete enough to be pieced together, but he guessed that it was from the other ‘him.’ That made absolutely no sense since they were in two completely different timelines. How could these memories appear in his head if the two timelines were independent of each other? Lucien shook his head and closed the graphs on his computer. He then opened the folder labeled “Memory.” It was still empty. Frowning, he typed a series of sequences and waited. An error message popped up and his head dropped into his hands with a sigh. He knew a lot of his questions would be answered if he could retrieve the lost Dream Test data. But for whatever reason, nothing he tried seemed to work.

Lucien gazed at the moonless night and his thoughts wandered back to that day she had purposefully lured him out to Ultima Bioresearch Center. He recalled the forlorn expression on her face as she stubbornly told him *she wanted to learn about the Queen’s existence, despite him telling her that the truth will bring nothing but destructive repercussions.

*“With truth always come pain and suffering. I will not run from it. Someone important to me told me this and that he would be with me along the way. I believe in him.”

His fist unknowingly curled into a tight fist. He still didn’t know why he had felt so angry hearing her speak about the important person in her life. Why should he care?

And then later, she had showed no regard for her own safety, but worried more about him being hurt.

*“My instincts led me here. Because someone once told me to trust my instincts when in danger.”

And then he remembered the way she had reached for him when he had slipped, causing both of them to tumble down the hill.

*“I couldn’t leave you injured alone.”

She’d rather both of them get hurt than Lucien getting hurt alone. Lucien’s lips curved up in a small smile, “Silly girl,” he mused aloud to the silent room, a hint of fondness creeping into his voice. He stared at his reflection off the dark computer screen, still displaying that error message. What’s gotten into him? It was like her innocent smile had taken root within his heart making him addicted and hopelessly so. The feelings stirred up the urge to protect her, to want to keep her safe.

“Fool.”

He didn’t know if the word uttered was directed to the girl or to himself.

His phone lit up, catching his attention, and he gazed at the screen. Lucien smiled unconsciously; it was like his thoughts about her had physically manifested into this text message.

*<Haven’t we agreed to cooperate? We should at least exchange information on a regular basis>

He chuckled at her aggressiveness and was about to reply when suddenly a sharp pain pierced through his chest, leaving him gasping for breath. Setting the phone down, he managed to grab a recording pen from his drawer before doubling over in pain. Responding to her would have to wait.

The next morning, Lucien invited her to a bookstore near her home. She was right. They should exchange information on a regular basis. One month had been far too long and Lucien could hardly admit to himself that he did missed her.

He hesitated and added: *<It’s okay if you’re not. I’m going to spend the whole day there anyway. You can come look for me anytime you have time>

Glancing at the clock, Lucien sipped his coffee and flipped through the pages of the book he was holding. He had no doubt that she would come.

After an hour or so, he sensed her presence and lifted his head. And there she was, throwing the world into faint colors. There was a nervous look on her face, but that steadfast determination was always present. She looked tired, but Lucien had never felt such sudden happiness at the mere sight of her. Lucien watched her approach and saw the image of him and only him reflected in her beautiful eyes. That observation filled Lucien with some sort of pride and his heart swelled. He was the only one in her eyes. As she was for him.

He smiled at her as she pulled out a chair and sat down across from him. They made small talk before a waiter brought over the food he had ordered.

*“Have something to eat first,” Lucien invited, nodding at the waffle and ice cream.

Her face tightened, *“I’m not hungry.”

Still so stubborn. Lucien wanted to laugh. Instead, he started cutting the waffle for her. *“It’s okay to be angry at me, but don’t starve yourself,” he said, handing her the cutlery. Lucien could see the hesitation in her eyes as she gazed apprehensively at him. He chuckled. *“I won’t know how to share these interesting stories with you if you keep starving yourself. Before you came, I was reading a very interesting fairytale about a…” He intentionally trailed off.

That did it. Her eyes widened in interest. *“A what?” She asked curiously despite her reservations.

Lucien smiled again and pushed the plate closer to her as an answer. Resigned, she began eating quietly as he watched her. He enjoyed watching her, seeing her eat drew up inexplicable emotions within him. How domestic. He wanted to laugh at himself. Moments where he felt entirely content were rare and they only occurred in her presence. He was never one to enjoy such simple pleasures. Silly girl, what did you do to me?

She finished and looked up at him. He smiled approvingly and was about to say something when he felt that familiar sharp pain in his chest.

No! Not now! Of all the times, why does it have to be now?

His fists clenched as he tried hard to hide the pain that was threatening to bow him over.

Her eyebrows drew together anxiously. *“Are you okay?” He should’ve known that nothing would escape her gaze.

Struggling to keep the pain down and reassure her at the same time, Lucien sucked in a shuddering breath as he gave her some stupid excuse. She didn’t need to see this. And he didn’t want her to see him like this, didn’t want her to worry about him. Lucien was also afraid that if his EVOL were to go out of control, he could hurt her. He needed to leave before that could happen. *“I’m afraid I can’t accompany you today.” He stood up to leave when she grabbed his shoulder and pushed him back into his seat. His eyes narrowed as his body trembled. *“You want me to stay?”

*“I just want to take you to the hospital,” she bit her lip, worry evident in those eyes.

*“You’re putting yourself in danger for stopping me like this,” Lucien could barely hold himself up as he grit out those words. It was getting harder and harder to breathe by the second.

Silly girl, have you no sense for your own safety?

She stared defiantly at him, *“If the danger is from you, I think I can handle it.” She reached out to grab his arm. “Don’t underestimate me. I am Queen.” Determination blazed in her eyes. It was the first time Lucien had heard her state her title with such fierceness. “I’m not going to sit here and ignore what’s happening to my partner.” Lucien staggered to his feet as sweat poured down his back. She steadied him. *“Come back with me if you don’t want to go to the hospital. You need a safe place to rest. I’ve helped you twice, so can you at least trust me once?”

Lucien wanted to chuckle at her words. She always had her guard up around him, always appeared so reserved. It was her who didn’t trust him, yet she was blatantly asking that he trust her. Very well, he would place his trust in this silly girl. He nodded slowly as he carefully gathered the books.

*“Since I’ve promised to share with you some interesting stories... I can’t go back on my word,” he answered her questioning glance and handed her some of the books. “On the way back, you can see if any of these books interest you.” She appeared indifferent, but the turmoil in her eyes proved otherwise. Lucien frowned slightly but had no time to dwell on that matter as he lurched forward, the pain becoming more and more intense.

*She allowed him to lean on her shoulders as she dragged them to her apartment. The moment she opened her apartment door, Lucien stumbled over to the couch, loosening his tie. He tried to take in breaths as he shuddered, nearly bowed over with pain. Seeing how worried the girl looked, Lucien grabbed her wrist and tried to reassure her.

*“Are you sure you’re okay?” She asked, thick concern lacing her voice.

*“…I never thought…I’d become the one who always needs protection…when I’m with you,” Lucien gasped out, still holding tightly onto her wrist. And it was true. It was she who had saved him from getting stabbed by Hades. It was she who had tumbled down a hill together with him for fear of him getting hurt. And now, it was she who had brought him back to her apartment so that he could be in a safe place.

She bit her lip anxiously, not knowing what to do or say as her hands clenched nervously.

*When Lucien felt the pain subsiding, he reached out to pat her head. “I’m alright now,” he tried to console her. Silly girl, don’t worry so much about me.

She stood up shakily and exhaled. “Let me get you some water,” she murmured.

*“Thank you,” Lucien said softly when she came back. Her forehead was still creased with worry and Lucien felt a different pang in his chest. It seemed that he always managed to put her in some kind of pain. *“I’m alright now. But you still look quite nervous.” He sat up slowly.

*“Do you…need anything? I have some painkillers,” she offered, still watching him with concern. “Or…Let me take you inside to get some rest?” She added hesitantly.

Lucien stood up slowly and she grabbed him to lead him to her bedroom. He held on tight to her.

*“Rest here. I’ll be reading outside,” she said quietly and turned to leave, but Lucien didn’t let go of her.

Much too trusting.

The feelings of wanting to protect her overwhelmed him and he tugged her hand, pulling her onto the bed.

Shocked, she gaped up at him.

*“I’m really worried about how you react in the face of danger,” Lucien spoke up, his voice was low. “You shouldn’t let your guard down in front of a new partner you just met.”

So naïve. So innocent.

She struggled to free her hands, *“Let go of me,” she glared up at him.

Ignoring her futile attempts to escape, Lucien continued, *“What makes you so sure that you can handle it?”

The girl didn’t answer and glared angrily at him.

Sudden movement near the window caught Lucien’s eyes. A flock of paper origami butterflies hanging in strands above the bed fluttered in the wind, almost as if they were taking flight. Lucien loosened his hold on the girl underneath him, letting her go. He quickly moved away from her. There was the tiniest bit of shock that passed across his gaze before it was steeled away behind stormy eyes.

*“Sorry,” Lucien muttered, his voice was solemn and tinged with regret. He had almost lost control. How did that happen? *“What happened to me was completely unexpected,” he began hesitatingly. Trying to compose himself, he continued, *“I feel that I should formally apologize to you, in all aspects… And I’m also thankful for your trust and for you taking care of me.” She wasn’t looking at him. Lucien swallowed. *“Did I…scare you?”

*“Just a little,” she replied quietly, finally turning to meet his gaze. He couldn’t read her expression. It was closed off, but within her eyes, there were swirling emotions which looked like they might break through the surface if Lucien pushed her just a bit.

*“When did I scare you? Was it when I wasn’t feeling well…or just now when I…” he trailed off.

*“When you weren’t feeling well,” she cut in. Her gaze turned sharp, *“Before today, I thought you were at least capable of taking care of yourself.” Lucien could sense disappointment in her voice.

He smiled wryly, “I see that I have let you down.”

She eyed him cautiously, but her expression still contained traces of worry. *“So, you have no intention of telling me what happened to you exactly?”

*“As a matter of fact, I never intended to hide anything from you since the beginning,” Lucien answered honestly, *“Before I handed you the key to the Black Cabin, I tried to explore its secrets. As a result, there were some effects.” He saw her brows crease and spoke up hastily, *“But don’t worry, they are gradually fading away. Their frequency and duration are both decreasing. I’m sure I’ll be fine in a few days.”

There were still worry between her brows. Lucien had an urge to press it out, but he didn’t. “This one month you’ve disappeared for…” she began slowly.

What a strange girl. She knew he was dangerous and yet she was constantly worried about him.

*“I had other matters to attend to besides dealing with the side effects,” Lucien interjected smoothly. A breeze blew in, sending the paper butterflies flying again. Lucien moved off the bed and finally turned his attention to them. *“Did you fold them?” He asked quietly, fingers brushing across the delicate creatures. “So pretty,” the words slipped out of his mouth of their own accord.

And suddenly Lucien had a vision of paper cranes hanging in strings, just like these butterflies, against a window in which gray rain beat down upon.

“Why are you being gentle to me again?”

*“A very interesting question. But, before answering you, I also want to clear something up. Each time I push you away, why do you keep coming back to me?”

A singular paper crane came into mind, with a tearstain blot mottling its wings.

*“That’s my answer. But the process of achieving this takes time and patience.”

As fast as the vision had appeared, it was gone the moment Lucien tried to grasp onto it. His eyes widened imperceptibly. Where did that come from? The voices that had whispered the words…It was no doubt his voice and hers. But Lucien did not recall those words ever leaving his mouth. And yet, just like the dream he had, he felt an intimate familiarity. Is this…could this be the missing data from the Dream Test?

Not noticing his confusion, the girl stood up and closed the window. Silently, she began untangling the strings next to him.

*“Can you teach me how to fold them when you’re free?” The question slipped out of his mouth before he could even think about it.

*Her fingers froze. “No…” her voice was hushed, shaky with unshed tears. “I don’t think you’d be interested in such meaningless stuff right now.”

Did she used to fold these with the other ‘him’?

Lucien paused, “Right now?” He asked, smiling as he reached out to help her. *“If it’s something ‘he’ likes, I’ll probably be interested too.” Lucien’s voice hardened. There was emphasis on the “he.” It didn’t take a genius to figure out who he had meant.

This was entirely ridiculous. Why was he feeling this way? There was no need for him to feel like this. After all, this was him from another time, another dimension.

She looked at him in shock, speechless.

Lucien chose his next words carefully, *“You are the Queen, so maybe you can stand on a higher dimension and see the truth that I can’t,” he smiled wryly, “So I believe that you have your reasons for every word that you say and every choice that you make.” He finished untangling the butterflies for her, but a certain one caught his eye. “Something seems to be hidden in this origami butterfly?” His fingers caressed the extra thick butterfly. “But I suppose I’ll find out when the time is right,” he said resignedly.

Lucien pulled away and reached to button his shirt before her soft voice stopped him.

*“Do you…do you like paper cranes?” She asked, staring at the butterfly that contained her note.

Lucien froze. Did she know about his vision?

Before he could reply however, that same tearstained paper crane appeared in his mind’s eye. This time with some faint writing on its wings.

*“I wish Lucien and I forever…”

*”For every forever that you wished for, I’ll be there. I promise.”

*“Paper cranes?” Lucien heard himself asking. “Yes, they also have a beautiful design,” he answered distractedly.

“*Maybe we can start with them. I’ll teach you,” her eyes met his squarely for the first time. There was the usual pain in her eyes. The pain of being forgotten by everyone. By the ‘him’ from a different time. But this time, there was something else.

Hope.

And it was beautiful.

For the first time, Lucien could see golden sunlight filtering lazily through the window. Vibrant and warm.

And somewhere, at the back of his mind, he wondered, was this how the other ‘him’ felt as well? Was he able to see these indescribable colors that lit up the world so brilliantly?

He also wondered if the other ‘him’ had let her go. The lone butterfly that had brought color into his world.

Lucien smiled when he processed her words. “Did I hear that right? So you will teach me how to fold origami?”

*“I’m sure you’ll master it soon. Maybe you can even teach me afterwards. After all, you look like a renaissance man,” she allowed herself to crack a tiny smile.

Lucien chuckled, *“Although I’m glad to have given you that impression, I probably don’t have as many areas of expertise as you think. If you’re interested, you have plenty of opportunities to slowly discover them,” he offered.

She hesitated, “As partners, maybe we can…”

*“Get to know each other more and build a stronger relationship?” Lucien finished for her. “Well, I’m glad to do so,” he smirked.

She eyed him, *“I find it hard to imagine that you’d want to learn origami seriously,” she admitted after a beat.

*“That’s why I said we should get to know each other better,” Lucien replied steadily, smiling. He finished buttoning his shirt when suddenly a thought ran across his mind.

How well did the other ‘him’ know her? Did she, perhaps…love ‘him’?

He paused, his fingers stopping on his tie and he frowned. He did not like the sharp stab of jealousy that ran through him. Love? Lucien wanted to scoff at himself. When did love exist for him? But he couldn’t deny that there was a certain yearning that pulled him to this strange girl. It wanted-he wanted to get to know her, wanted to know how she was able to spill her colors upon his monochrome world, wanted to know every little thing that made her, her. He wanted to experience the things she had done so with ‘him’.

“I have a proposition, if you don’t mind,” he was speaking before he knew it. She looked at him with clear questions written across her face. “Since you expect me to take care of myself, I would think the same expectation should apply to you. And lately, you haven’t looked well. I can only imagine that on top of dealing with everything that has happened so far, you haven’t had the time to take care of yourself. And I think that the events that has happened took quite a heavy toll on you, mentally and physically. After all, the responsibility of safeguarding precious memories is quite a task on its own. So I would like to offer a proposal, an addition to our cooperation.”

Lucien could hardly believe the words that were coming out of his mouth. They had been brought upon directly from the intense yearning.

She was watching him curiously and Lucien sighed internally. He had already started…

“Once we’ve gotten to know each other better, I’d like to offer the presence of my company to you,” Lucien continued. She tilted her head, a confused look in her eyes. He smiled at that and explained, “What I mean by that is because the ‘Lucien’ that you knew must have provided you with a lot of comfort and I’d like to do the same for you. He may have existed in a different time and dimension, but he is still me. I can’t promise that ‘he’ and I will be exactly the same, nor can I promise to do exactly what ‘he’ did. How far things go, how physical, how intimate, will be entirely up to you.”

Her eyes widened and there was a faint pink blushing her cheeks, “Wh-why?” She stammered and fidgeted nervously, eyes skipping away from his gaze.

“Since you are the Queen, you have certain powers. You’re able to access the Black Cabin, which allows you the ability to see across time and space. You have the power to see the different worlds that I can’t. Maybe by utilizing this power, you can bring some parts of the ‘Lucien’ that you know,” Lucien said thoughtfully, tapping his chin. “I’ve been having some strange dreams, as of late. Ones in which the contents are unfamiliar to me and I have no recollection of. However the characters in my dreams are very clearly ‘my’ memories. Tell me, how is it possible for me to have memories of events I don’t recall happening? These dreams and visions have occurred more frequently in your presence. I believe it to be a manifestation of your powers. As Queen, you have the power to connect timelines. So maybe, you have the power to bring ‘him’ back, the ‘Lucien’ from the time and space that you knew.” Lucien concluded.

She looked shocked with his revelations and he could see the glimmer of hope shine ever so brightly in her eyes. “What’s in it for you? What do you get out of this?” She asked hesitantly.

“Me?” Lucien’s smile widened, “Since my plan involve the Queen, I believe understanding all of the Queen’s powers and abilities is absolutely crucial. After all, I need to account for all possible outcomes. If I can witness this power, it will be very helpful indeed.” Seeing how she was still speechless, Lucien finished fastening his tie. “You’re welcome to give my proposal some thought,” he added gently. *“The story I promised you will have to wait until next time. After all, I’ve bothered you enough today.” *He headed for the door when suddenly he felt a tug at the hem of his shirt.

*“I don’t want my partner to fall for no reason,” her voice was soft, but there was a firm warning behind her words.

Lucien understood immediately. *“Okay,”

She nodded, but still not letting go of him. He tilted his head in question. “And about your proposal…” she began, cheeks coloring slightly.

“I told you that you are welcome to have some time to think-”

“I accept,” she cut him off, squaring her jaw and staring him in the eye.

Lucien stilled. “Alright,” he said after some time. *“From now on, I’ll start to think about ways to keep the promise between us. Fulfilling your wishes will always be my top priority.”

“There’s one more thing,” her grasp on his shirt tightened, “I’d like to put it into effect. Your proposal. Starting now.”

Lucien’s eyes widened with shock. There were rarely, if any, instances where he was rendered speechless. He searched her eyes to try to gauge her thoughts only to find a steadfast determination. And something else. Desperation, perhaps. His brow creased, “But my proposal only entails that once we’ve gotten to know each other better,” he said finally.

Her jaw clenched and the fire in her eyes seemed to blaze, “I think I’ve gotten a pretty good idea of what you’re like. And apparently you already seem to know every one of my thoughts. I’d consider that to be ‘we’ve gotten to know each other better,’” her voice was hard.

“Are you sure? Just to let you know, I’m not a gentle lover like your ‘Lucien,’” a wry smirk was playing about his lips.

“You weren’t-” she stopped herself and shook her head, “Gentleness is not what I need right now,” she said instead. Her face reddened at her words, but she didn’t loosen her grasp on his shirt.

“Oh?” Lucien was undoubtedly amused, “I’m not one to hold back though.”

“Good,” the word was a hiss out of her clenched teeth as she reached up to grab Lucien’s tie.

“Don’t hold back,” was all Lucien heard before she pulled.

The kiss was not gentle. Their lips crashed harshly, and their teeth knocked together as she pressed herself desperately to him. Her hands fisted his shirt and Lucien responded in kind, biting down on her lips. He drew blood and she moaned breathlessly into his mouth when the metallic taste spread around their battling tongues. She wrapped her arms around his neck, anchoring herself to him. Lucien’s hands settled on her waist to steady them. Her knees trembled against the onslaught of Lucien’s relentless tongue and Lucien picked her up effortlessly as he walked them over to her bed. She bounced slightly on the bed when he threw her down and turned to look up at him, breath catching in her throat. His eyes were dark and unfathomably cold, like twin pools of violet onyx that could swallow her if she weren’t careful. But she didn’t want to be careful. She wanted to fall, wanted to lose herself in those eyes that were so familiar yet unfamiliar at the same time. Reaching for him, her fingers impatiently fumbling at the tie he had fastened earlier, she slammed her lips against his once more.

And it was like a rubber band had snapped.

She tore at his shirt, not bothering with the buttons. Once his chest was bared to her, she broke away with a harsh gasp before raking her nails over his skin. He shuddered at her touch, breath coming out in a sharp hiss. He shed his shirt and his hand caressed the nape of her neck before tugging on her hair, exposing the smooth expanse of her neck.

“My turn,” Lucien murmured, his breath ghosting over her throat. His tongue washed over where he could feel her pulse beating erratically and he bit down. Smirking against her skin when he heard her whimper, he sucked hard on the bite. His fingers danced teasingly along the hem of her blouse before yanking it over her head. He ripped off her bra and skirt before she could even blink and began mapping out the contours of her body with his lips.

Blood pulsed through her ears, drowning out all other sounds. It felt like she was drowning. But she didn’t want a life preserver, no she didn’t need one.

Ever since she had come into this winter world, ever since discovering she had been forgotten by the world, she had felt so lost. Even after Shaw had warned her what was to come, she was still not prepared to lose the very things that had brought light into her world. She could handle Victor, could handle Kiro, and could even handle Gavin not knowing who she was. But when she had walked through the doors of the research institute to peer into the ever familiar eyes, only to be met with cool eyes that had gazed upon her with the expression of meeting a stranger, something within her had broken. He didn’t remember her. Lucien didn’t remember her.

And since then, every meeting they had together, she had tried to reclaim the broken pieces of her within him. She had held onto the hope that somewhere in this time and in this dimension, maybe, just maybe she could find whatever it was she was searching for.

Lucien, upon noticing that she looked distracted, took one of her nipples into his mouth, and bit down. She jerked in shock. “Lu-” she clapped her hands against her mouth before the name can slip out.

No. This was Ares, this was a Lucien who had never met her, never shared all those memories with her.

The man in question paused his ministrations. She watched as his eyes narrow into hungry slits, violet eyes nearly dark as the night. The expression on his face was cold and calculating.

“Hm,” there was a noise of discontent and she held her breath as he crept closer to her, lithe like a panther, and just as dangerous. She fell against her pillow as he caged her in, large hand encircling her wrists to pull her arms above her head. “I wonder,” he started conversationally, but there was an edge underlying his words, “If ‘he’ kissed you like this?” He didn’t give her time to answer, however, as he dove in and attacked her lips mercilessly. With his other hand, his fingers circled her breast, tugging, pinching. She moaned helplessly against his urgent mouth. “Tell me. Did ‘he’ touch you like this? Your ‘Lucien?’” He snarled the name. There was a sudden ripping sound before he plunged his long, tapered digits into her. She arched against him with a broken whimper. “My, my, you’re already so wet,” the man whispered silkily, as if making a mere observation, “And I’ve barely started.” There was a dark promise behind his words, and she squirmed at the thought. He smirked, letting go of her wrists while curling his fingers inside her.

Her mouth fell open with a gasp, “Oh!” His lips attached themselves to the hollow of her neck as his fingers continued to move inside her. There was a fire starting in her, blazing slow and hot deep in her belly, and it was spreading along her limbs. She clung to him, hanging on for dear life, her nails leaving red crescents in his back, when he hit that spot. “Please,” the word left her mouth in a cracked whimper.

The fire grew hot and intense and the noise in her ears crescendoed into a roar.

She was so close. Almost there. Yes. Yes. YE-

And suddenly, nothing.

All sensations stopped.

She opened her eyes to see him sitting back on his heels, serenely licking his slick fingers.

“You-” her voice was hoarse.

“Yes?” He raised a casual eyebrow as he popped his fingers into his mouth slowly.

“Wh-why did you stop?” She blushed, her voice had never sounded so needy.

Taking his fingers out with a light pop! sound, he smirked at her, “I’d like to take my time, you see,” he leaned down and whispered lowly. “It’s more fun that way,” there was that same cruel grin and he moved out of reach before she could pull him in. She scowled and heard him chuckle. The sheets rustled and there was the tell-tale clink of a belt being undone. She slowly sat up and raised her head to watch him free himself from the confines of his pants.

Her breath caught. His cock was standing proudly at attention, curving upwards towards his stomach. There was a shiny bead of white at the tip. Just how she remembered.

The minute he kicked away his pants, she leaned over and slotted her lips over his engorged, leaking tip.

“Ungh!” his hips jerked forward in surprise before he regained control of himself. She raised her eyes to look at him and when she did, she slowly took him in her mouth, little by little until he hit the back of her throat. He threw his head back with a low groan. She bobbed her head, hollowing her cheeks. Her hands came to stroke him where her mouth couldn’t reach. “Ah,” he croaked, his breathing was labored. Spurred on by this, she began to suck him with relish. She continued this for several minutes, gradually increasing her speed when he suddenly wrenched her away, pressing her down with his weight. “Enough,” he hissed as he bit down on her lip. She swallowed into their kiss, his eyes were nearly black. The look on his face was almost feral. “Shall I have a taste as well?”

Before she could respond, he had already slipped between her legs, looking up at her.

“Did ‘he’ taste you like this?” He whispered, puffs of hot air hitting her aching core. A wet tongue ran across her folds, hot and heavy. He watched with a satisfied smirk as she arched off the bed with a needy sigh, fingers digging into the sheets. Her thighs clamped around his head as he traced blazing patterns with his tongue. “So sweet,” he breathed, before delving his tongue inside her.

She could feel the familiar fire build up again, the pressure threatening to knock her over. She wanted to fall off the edge, wanted to see stars burst across her vision, wanted to lose herself.

Her pulsed quickened, her body tightened. So close. Just a little bit more…

And suddenly that wicked tongue was gone.

Her head fell back onto her pillow with a tortured groan, jaw slack. Her fingers fisted the sheets. There were actual tears of frustration in the corner of her eyes.

She heard that familiar, cruel chuckle before a long finger slid into her. She almost sighed with relief, but he didn’t move.

“Please,” she couldn’t recognize her voice, tinged with such desperation.

“Please, what?” His voice sent electrifying tingles throughout her entire body and she trembled. Squeezing her thighs together, she tried to get some form of relief. A large hand forced her legs apart before she could. “You need to be more clear with your requests,” he whispered, tongue swiping lazily across her inner thighs. “What do you want?”

“I…I want to come,” her voice was hoarse, close to tears. “Please. Let me come.”

“Hm,” there was a musing sigh, “I don’t know if I can allow that,” he moved his finger slowly out of her, chuckling when she tried to push her hips upward to meet him. “You see, this was supposed to be your punishment.”

Slack-jawed, she stared at him. This Lucien-no Ares-was indeed ruthless. “Wha-what?” She moaned breathlessly as his finger dipped inside her excruciatingly slow.

He kissed her wet folds gently and her head fell back again with a whimper. “You have invaded my dreams ever since we met,” he growled. “Not only that, but my thoughts as well. I always wondered, if a certain silly girl was staying out of trouble, if she was safe, if she was doing well,” as he spoke, he rocked his finger into her, stoking the flames within her once more.

She struggled to breathe. Between his words and his damn finger, she couldn’t even think straight.

“Don’t you think that requires some sort of punishment?” He asked and slipped another finger into her. “Making me worry about you, silly girl.” With those words, he curled his fingers and his tongue washed over her sensitive nub.

OH!

Her body was instantly ablaze.

He increased his speed as his tongue circled her nub, sending her head spinning. “Please,” she whimpered as she ground her hips against his face. “Please…”

“That does sound tempting,” his voice sent delicious vibrations throughout her, “Shall I let you come?”

She nodded vigorously, “Please,” she pleaded, feeling that ever familiar tightening sensation in her gut, like a tightly coiled spring, ready to snap any time.

“I think I prefer that you come when I’m inside of you,” he smirked and removed his finger. Her head thrashed about in pure frustration. “Patience,” he spoke softly as he came up, pinning her underneath him. “It’s more fun this way. You’ll see.”

She gasped when she could feel his cock pulsing against her entrance. “Please…”

His lips attached themselves to her neck. “What do you want, silly girl?”

“I want you!” She screeched, trying to grind her hips against him. “Take me! Please! Fuck me!”

“Did ‘he’ fuck you like this?” He growled against her ear before slamming into her without warning, finally pushing her off the precipice that he had been mercilessly teasing her on.

All of a sudden, she was flying, weightless. Mere atoms floating in the vast galaxy not tethered to anything. Sweet release filled every crevice, every inch of her. The waves of pleasure that crested and crashed upon her robbed her of any conscious thought except for Lucien, Lucien, Lucien.

She was whole again. Complete. No longer broken.

For a moment, she could believe that it was the Lucien who had woken her up on the lazy mornings in which by some stroke of rare luck, both of them were not busy. The Lucien who had smiled so tenderly at her before whispering a “Good morning, butterfly,” leaning in to kiss her and pressing her gently against the satin sheets. The Lucien who had mischievously grabbed her when she went to his office to drop off some lunch and then later, had bent her over his desk with a “Be a good girl and try not to make any noise,” ghosting over her ear. The Lucien who had slammed her into the wall with a dangerous “Tell me,” hissed angrily through clenched teeth when she was asked about the most important person in her life. The Lucien who had tortured her so ardently that very night as he grit out a “You don’t want to make me jealous again, kitten,” before thoroughly ravaging her. That the Lucien who had looked at her and held her like she was his entire world had come back. And for a singular moment, as she came back down to earth, she allowed herself to believe it. 

“Lucien-” she cried out, reality merging with the man in her dreams. 

He froze. That had been the first time since they met that she had uttered his name. He had been observing her, watching her unravel with pure pleasure, pupils blown out with bliss. Filled with great satisfaction, he had struggled hard to keep his hips still, a monumental task with him still buried deep within her. He knew she was still searching for pieces of the other ‘him’. And as she climaxed around him, her walls fluttering and clenching him (so much that it physically pained Lucien), he hoped that he was able to give her a little bit of comfort.

He hoped that she could find whatever it was she had lost. Or at the very least, he hoped that she could find a little bit of the person she missed so much within him.

There appeared to be another image of her superimposed onto the panting body in front of him. “Ares is not completely Lucien, nor is Lucien completely Ares,” her image seemed to be saying to him. “As long as you’re Lucien or the part that is ‘Lucien’ exists, I will love you. I love you, Lucien.”

A guttural groan escaped from him and the last remaining strands of his self-control, as well as his sanity, snapped. He grabbed her hips, fingers pressing down hard enough to leave bruises. His hips pulled back and slammed into her, making her shriek, her eyes rolling back from pleasure. “Say it again,” he growled, throwing her leg over his shoulder so he could go deeper. “Call my name. Tell me who is making you feel good like this. Say it. Say. My. Name.” Each word gritted out through tightly clenched teeth was accompanied by a savage snap of unforgiving hips.

“Lucien!”

“Good girl,” he panted as he reached between her legs to stroke her roughly in time with his thrusts. “Let me hear how good I make you feel.”

He was going to erase any other traces, any other thoughts of other men from her. Even if his rival was himself from another time. But at least, in this time and space, in this moment, she was his.

Her hands came to grip his shoulders, her grip vicelike as he drove without abandon into her. Coming from her mouth were breathless permutations of his name punctuated by the sweetest moans. She held on tight, nails leaving scarlet furrows in his back as his thrusts drove her closer and closer to the edge. She could feel it. Her impending destruction.

“Please, please, please,” she chanted as if offering a prayer to whatever deity that will bring about her absolute ruin. “Lucien, please.” Her leg slipped from his shoulder and she wrapped them around his waist, pushing him deeper within her.

“Come for me,” he snarled, hellbent on his mission to completely annihilate her. Obscene wet sounds of skin meeting skin filled the air.

Suddenly the coil in her stomach sprung free, fire and electricity mixing in a deadly cocktail across her skin. Every single synapse in her body was firing mini fireworks. She was blown apart into a thousand pieces, only to be put back together by the man furiously pounding into her.

Stars. She could see stars. Streaking white across her vision, blurring out everything.

There was a ragged groan and Lucien’s hands dug into her hips, spilling hot and heavy into her. He panted as he stilled. And then his eyes widened in shock.

For the world was painted in brilliant colors that he had never seen before. The gorgeous faint pink flushing her entire body. The gilded yellow of the afternoon light that spilled into the room. The soft blue of the clear sky. The verdant green of the tree standing guard just outside her window. It was like someone had put on a filter on the world, the saturation of hues he had never known about thrown into vibrant clarity. His breath caught in his throat; his eyes thoroughly dazzled. He gazed down at the utterly wrecked girl underneath him. She had made all this happen. Whatever divine power she possessed was able to bring light into his forsaken, dismal world. Or maybe it was just because it was her.

He was not going to let her go now. The only color in his world.

Trembling as her body started its descent, she opened her eyes to find everything hazy. There were tears on her cheeks. Whether it was from the mind blowing explosion or because she missed Lucien so much, she didn’t know.

But there was Lucien right in front of her, smiling down at her in that familiar, tender way. “Silly girl,” he mused fondly, thumbs brushing her wet cheeks. A hand landed on her head gently, patting her in a way that only Lucien could. “Don’t cry.”

“Lucien, don’t-don’t go!”

She heard a sigh of mild exasperation. “My little fool,” the familiar affectionate nickname pricked at her eyes and she closed them to hide the tears. “I won’t go anywhere. I’m always here.” Light kisses rained down on her eyelids, her cheeks like the delicate flutter of butterfly wings.

Something extracted itself gently from her body and she opened her eyes again to look into the familiar violet eyes. Only this time, there was no warm tenderness within them.

“Lu-Lucien?” she croaked.

“Sorry,” he murmured, a hint of regret in his voice when he noticed how she seized up after he had pulled away. He looked down at the mess of red and purple blotches blossoming across her skin. “Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head silently. “You said you weren’t gentle, and I believe I told you to not hold back,” she said finally, turning her head to look at him as he began to get dressed.

A small grin unfurled, “Indeed. Can I assume that we will be continuing our…’cooperation?’” He buttoned what he could of his ruined shirt and waited.

“Yes,” she said as calmly as she could, but her cheeks betrayed her, blushing bright. Maybe she shouldn’t have tore his shirt like that.

“Very well,” he seemed to be oblivious to her internal struggle, “I’ll look forward to our next cooperation. I do believe I have troubled you enough for today,” his gaze swept across her still naked body and he smirked. “After all, you must be tired.”

She coughed and quickly covered herself. Lucien chuckled as he threw on his black overcoat, pausing before the paper butterflies. A long finger touched one gently. “I hope you can teach me all the beautiful things,” he finally said quietly. “And all these beautiful memories that you shared with the other ‘me’…” there was a touch of sorrow in his voice. “I hope you are willing to share them with me as well.”

Her eyes widened. “You said you only cared about the Queen,” her voice trembled. “So, why…why would you be interested in past memories?”

“Yes, it’s true that I care about the Queen’s powers and potential,” Lucien nodded, finally turning to meet her eyes, “But currently, I’m far more intrigued by you.”

“Wh-why?”

“Why?” He repeated thoughtfully, “I guess you can say… I once believed the world to be rather bleak, if you will. I thought the world only consisted of black and white, and that the other colors didn’t exist. Somehow, you were able to change my mind and showed me that the world contained far more colors than I previously have believed. I am very interested in how you were able to accomplish that.”

There was a sharp intake of breath as she stared at him. She remembered a certain story Lucien had told her in what seemed like ages ago. A story about an artist and a butterfly. It couldn’t possibly be coincidence. But did she dare to hope?

Lucien smiled wryly, “But like I previously mentioned, there will be plenty of opportunities for us to get to know each other, so there’s no rush for me to find out the reason. And if one day…you find that the burden of shouldering these memories alone becomes too much to bear…” his voice became impossibly soft. There was the slightest pause of hesitation. “I hope…that we can create new memories together. And I hope that these new memories will be beautiful ones as well. *Maybe…we can start over…as long as you’re willing to. A fresh start.”

She gazed at him. This man had destroyed her in more ways than she could count. But if she had a choice, she would let him do it again. The pain of being forgotten faded into the dark recesses of her mind. If she could still love Lucien after his betrayal, maybe she could also love this new Lucien in this time as well. She was willing to believe that their love could transcend time and space. That their love was bound by fate. She wanted to believe that she didn’t imagine the flash of panic in his eyes that day at the Ultima Bioresearch Center when she had blocked a shard for him. She wanted to believe that the warmth she had felt when they had gone hiking wasn’t meaningless. She wanted to believe that the little bit of hesitation she had seen just then revealed that Lucien, this Lucien, wanted to create new memories with her. The beautiful memories that they had shared…would be precious keepsakes of the past, and nothing more. She would hold these close to her heart, but maybe…it was time for new ones to come in. After all, the man had burrowed himself so far deep in her heart that there wasn’t room for anyone else. Deep inside, she knew that *as long as the person before her was still Lucien, she was destined to be attracted to him, destined to fall for him-no matter what timeline, no matter what world. As long as there was ‘Lucien.’

“I’d like that,” she finally murmured, her voice hoarse.

She watched as he smiled, and she could believe that the faint tenderness suffusing his violet pupils was there. She could believe that she didn’t imagine the bit of relief in his next words.

*“Okay. Next time, I’ll set aside a whole day to learn origami from you.”

“Tossing, turning, struggle through the night for someone new And I could go on and on, on and on Lanterns burning, flickered in the mind only you But you were still gone, gone, gone Been losing grip, on sinking ships You showed up, just in time

This love is good This love is bad This love is a life back from the dead

This love left a permanent mark This love is glowing in the dark These hands had to let it go free And this love came back to me”

⊱ ──────ஓ๑♡๑ஓ ────── ⊰

Fanfic art drawn by: @kwella-kw​

⊱ ──────ஓ๑♡๑ஓ ────── ⊰

For more of my work: 📖

[internalsealpanic]

Hug Tutorials

summary: Constantine is stuck baby sitting. Not exactly his area of expertise. So how is he supposed handle a feral 8 year old? Help comes from an unexpected source.

A/n: I am pretty new to the Hellblazer fandom so forgive the characterization. I own nothing except Ruta (in all his bratty glory) and the plot. Maya belongs to the wonderful @birdy-bat-writes who is a wonderful human being. This thing is kind of part of a crack au me and Riya have been brain storming.  I will probably edit or rewrite this later.  Yes, I need a better title. 

warnings: awkward hugs, implied child neglect, and a lot of swearing

word count:  1,709 (This is actually really short.)

Ruta knows it hadn't started out like this.

He remembers when his mother used to try and help him read. She tried her best but the shapes on the page just made no sense to him. Not the way it did for Raffie or Mimi. 

He tries memorizing the words she said to him and parroting them back to her. It works! For awhile...  

He also remembers the walks to the park and how they'd listen to him about transparent people. 

They probably think he's too young to notice the change. 

His mom's slowly cut back on their nightly reading sessions opting for game night with his siblings. They were playing monopoly and that required a little too much reading for him to play. 

They haven't read together in months. Maybe he's the only one keeping track. 

He still tells them about the transparent people and now he tells them about the shadowy people but now they simply nod out of time with what he says. They used to be better at pretending and nodding in time with what he said. 

His dad got mad at him once when he started crying about the shadow people when they were at the market. He shook him, just a little, just enough to make him feel woozy, looking red with embarrassment. Ruta felt bad about it. He felt really horrible about  embarrassing his dad that he decided never to mention them again even when they got too close. 

The good news is he now had Count Von Bon Bon who listened and read aloud to him. He wasn't allowed inside the house because he was such a big bird but when they went outside he kept the shadow things away.  

He doesn’t need anyone else. He’ll be ok. 

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

If you asked John Constantine how on Earth he found himself in the mess, he'd likely give you a dumbfounded look, shrug, and mumble something about being too sober. 

But in all honesty, how does one find themselves watching their 8-year-old charge about to throw hands with not one but two Green Lanterns who should know better? 

Ruta stood , small and imperious, with his little arm crossed and his head thrown back after a great laugh. "I'd like to see ya do it, dumb carrot headed shit!" 

Guy, looking as red as, well, Sinestro, looks like he's about to deck the kid.  "Oh, I'm gonna,"  

John with all the good sense he's got fumbles over to the tiny terror.  "Sorry 'bout that lil' Ruta 'ere's just a bit nippy from 'avin' to wake up early. Yanno 'ow kids are,” He grabs the kid by his sweater who makes a little squawking noise not too different from his devastatingly posh familiar who would have been really helpful right now.  The kid wriggles a little, trying to claw John's hand away from the sweater.  He pauses and John thinks that maybe, just maybe, the kid had gotten some sense knocked into him.

Unfortunately for him, John Constantine is one unlucky bastard.

With the smarmiest grin plastered on his little face, Ruta slips out of the, admittedly, ill-fitting sweater. The kid basically sprinted back toward the lanterns who, by the way, still looked pissed as all hell. 

"Oh for the love of-" John is honestly going to pop a blood vessel.  He grabs the kid's arm since the kid despite his speed hadn't made it far. 

Ruta did not have the expected reaction.  He froze. Breath seizing. Body going rigid. John thought about letting go but thought better of it. 

"Ruta-" 

Ruta begins to thrash violently and make petulant noises. John rolls eyes even as the kid snarls a few colorful words. "Yer gonna hafta do bettern’ that lad if-"

CHOMP

"Sonuva! Zee, a little help would be appreciated, love,"

"Sorry John, I’ve got no clue about how Maya usually gets him to settle down,"

Well, that helped.

Justice League members gather in bewilderment as they watch Constantine let out a string of curses as he tries to pry Ruta off his arm. The kid's teeth were actually digging into his flesh.  John is pretty sure he would rather be fighting off all the demon's he's encountered over the years than be here, right now, getting his flesh torn.  

Bats and Supes enter the room. Now, John normally didn't give a rat's ass what those two thought but there was a special kind of embarrassment that comes with a tantruming child.  He now had a little more sympathy for people with kids in grocery stores. 

The next few seconds are hard to process. 

Bats discussing something about Earth's defenses with Supes wordlessly walks over to John, pats Ruta on the head,  the kid- miraculously- relinquishes his death grip on John's arm, and in a disturbingly fluid motion Bats scoops him up into his arms, settles Ruta on to his hip, walks back to his conversation as if nothing happened. 

The kid makes a brief distressed noise and a weak attempt at fighting before huffing and wrapping his wreathy little arms around Bats’ neck as Bats rubs circles on his  back. 

God, the kid looked so small all of a sudden. Had Ruta been that tiny this whole time? 

He looked a little relieved aside from his face which was red and screwed up like all his effort  was being devoted to trying not to cry. His breath is still uneven but it was settling down. He’s limp against Bats. For once, he looked like he wasn't about to turn tail and run or to tell someon to fuck off or  bite someone's face off.

Fuck, when was the last time the kid looked so relaxed?

The newer league members watch with a mix of awe and confusion while the older ones shake their head and murmur something about not seeing that in a while. 

It takes a few minutes, the entire conversation actually, for Batman to realize that all his kids are too big for him to comfortably carry like this even with his size. He panics thinking he accidentally kidnapped a young child.  It takes him a moment longer to realize who it is. 

"How the fuck did you manage that?" John finally stiffles out, awe clear in his voice.

Batman glares at John for cursing in front of the kid.

 "Wot? He’s said worse,"

"That’s cus you’re a fucking cunt," Ruta mumbles his cheek still smooshed into Bats' shoulder. Bats looks as stone faced as ever but from the frown tugging at his lips he seemed mortified but he made a grunt that sounded more nostalgic than reprimanding. Batman adjusts his hold on the kid looking like he was honestly debating on whether to keep carrying the kid around and keep working or give him back to the clearly inexperienced Constantine. He decides it was probably best to give him back to Constantine but a part of him just really wanted to keep holding the little one trembling in his arms. When was the last time he held someone this small. It kind of reminded him of when Jason was small right down to the fowl mouth. 

Ruta clearly also doesn't want to let go. Bats is sturdy and surprisingly warm.  He looked like he would cry if he let go. The kid’s knuckles were white from gripping Bats’ cowl for Christ’s sake. Sadly, Igris, his annoyingly posh familiar, shows up from who the fuck knows where. 

 "Little prince, this is no way to behave," He admonishes in an eerie vernacular that was only barely understandable due to exposure. Ruta's face grows hot from embarrassment and with a nod he extricates himself from the caped crusader's arms. 

The kid definitely looks like he's about to cry but he mutters a glum ‘Yes, Count Von Bon Bon’.  

 "Where the bloody hell have you been?" John asked. God, he needed a smoke. 

"I've been watching over Maya as the little prince had asked," John gives him a questioning look. "I got bored" The bird adds, shrugging in an oddly human manner.  

Ruta extricates himself looking sheepish but mostly tired. Kid has probably been stressed and on adrenaline for a while. The sudden feeling of safety just made him crash.  

John hesitantly wraps his arms around the kid. The kid freezes but hugs back hesitantly. John tries to lift the kid but the kid stiffens. John honestly had no idea how to hold this kid. He maneuvered his hands clumsily around the kid. Ruta made no objections but he was clearly uncomfortable. 

 "No. You have to support both of his back and legs. Sometimes you have to lean back a bit to get them to so he leave into you- yeah just like that,"  Bats instructs, sounding oddly gentle. His usual gravel absent. It kind of scared  John, to be honest, so he did his best to follow along.  

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

At some point, Maya shows up after her ‘date’ with Damian- not much of a date when there are a bunch of people watching you- and finds Bruce coaching John on how to hold a tired elementary schooler who was drooling on John's favorite beige coat. She tried her best to stifle a laugh. Thankfully, she didn't have to try too hard. 

 "EXCUSE ME????? B, since when were you a child whisperer?" Dick exclaims as dramatically as humanly possible. Damian and Tim radiated second hand embarrassment while Jason just plays it like he doesn't know his older brother. Maya guessed that if Bruce wasn't used Dick he would be cringing too. 

 "Nightwing, I've had more than 5 children. I believe I know how to handle children,"  

"Uhuh- sure, B.  Whatever you say,"

Bruce makes a neutral grunting noise. 

"Please tell me you're not adopting that one,"

"Of course no-"

"Yeah sure, B,"

"He's- He's Constantines,"

"Tt, father, you are a terrible influence,"

It is a spectacle to watch Bruce's kids team up on him. 

Maya shakes her head and laughs before heading over to John. 

“Well, bring me a biscuit and call me Christy Bats’ was right” He mutters rocking the feral child.  Ruta’s little arms wrap around him a little tighter. 

“‘Course he is, Christy. He’s Batman,” Maya drawls smiling innocently.

"Please never leave him with me again,"

"Dunno, Christy. Looks like you're doing fine,"

tag list:

@idkmanicantenglish (You said any DC content)

@birdy-bat-writes (You enabler)

[miraculouscontent]

Askplosion #12 4/4:

(I would like to state for future reference that, while I do not mind long/multi-part asks, if you’d like to engage in actual discussion with me over a non-Miraculous topic, my DMs - Tumblr Messenger - should be open; I lost pieces of three multi-part asks this time just due to Tumblr not sending the remaining part(s) so yeah, I just wanted to make that clear)

(like, this askplosion ended up being super long because of this section and that’s not really what I want to have going on since I’m supposed to be a primarily Miraculous blog; I don’t want to have to stop answering non-Miraculous related asks but I might have to if this keeps up:)

.:New non-Miraculous Asks:.

Anonymous said:

What are your experiences with some really rude anons?

It’s partly my fault when it happens. Like I’ve said before, I’m an aspie, and part of what that means is I struggle to understand situations emotionally. I can come off as insensitive or read the mood wrong which often leads to people misunderstanding my intentions or where I’m coming from.

More often than not, what I’m saying will make 100% sense to me but not the person/people reading it. I also stick a lot more firmly to my opinions than I should because people tell me I fold too easily, and I come off as more egotistical than I actually am to cover up my low self-esteem lol.

So yeah, can’t think of any experience in particular but sometimes it might be my fault? At least I suspect that it is?

Anonymous said:

“Killed by kindness” makes me think of an assassin who kills people by giving hugs and compliments to people and the occasion gift that isn’t tampered until thre target does like Conrad Birdie making women swoon into fainting by singing.

omg

yes

Anonymous said:

You're watching Yashahime right now? rip

MARINETTE TAKE 2 MOROHA DESERVES BETTER

SETSUNA HAS SO LITTLE REASON TO HANG OUT WITH THE OTHER TWO GIRLS

IF I SEE ANOTHER DEUS EX TOWA I’M GONNA KICK SOMETHING

(so yes, I’m watching Yashahime)

Anonymous said:

Since someone recommended Remarried Empress, I would like to recommend my own webcomic: Princess Love-Pon! It's about a young girl named Lia Sagamore who becomes the titular magical girl and purifies people's hearts when they're tainted by the Dark Queen! It's really cool due to its diversity, the main character is black and her best friend is Afro-Latina, the villain and her prince son are also black, and there's a Japanese girl, a black guy, and an Indian girl. Plus, loads of pink and frills!

Thank you very much, though I actually don’t take recommendations, even from close friends. The Remarried Empress anon wasn’t a recommendation; they were more pointing something out to me and then I went to confirm.

Anonymous said:

Unrelated to MLB: Which Pokémon are your favourites?

I used a “Favorite Pokemon Picker” because I prefer going by generations to pick favorites and that was the easiest way of going about it. I struggle picking super favorites so here’s what I got form each generation! (my only rule was “one Pokemon per evolution line” with an exception of the Eevee line since they’re different types, and also Alolan/Galarian forms)

(note: the blue-patterned Vivillon is my favorite and I honestly don’t like Charizard normally but the Y version actually slims him down and gives him the wings I feel he should have; it’s an improvement of the design so it gets my seal of approval, I don’t like the X version at all)

(lol I was looking through this after I was done and find it really funny how it’s like, 50% cute things and then the other 50% is just EDGY, there’s very little in-between with me I guess)

Anonymous said:

Bridgerton the Series: Yay or nay? Sorry if you haven’t seen it or it’s not your thing. I was just curious.

Never seen it, though when I brought up to someone, they didn’t recommend it to me at all ahaha.

Anonymous said:

I previously kept having this argument about The Bechdel Test with someone. She keeps insisting that the test is invalid because there's nothing wrong with talking about men and that it was created for lesbians only, and not for feminists, with the implication that being a lesbian somehow means that you dislike men or want them gone. And she also thinks the test is about NEVER talking about men, rather than merely occasionally talking about other things. I keep telling her otherwise, but...

jdfhkgdfhjgdfg “lesbians only”

now all I can imagine is “lesbians only” sections at restaurants and such

Anonymous said:

Have you ever played Akinator, with or without the Miraculous Ladybug characters? Because I played it with Ochaco from MHA and Marinette and he guessed them within a second(can your character control gravity? Is your character a protagonist?). I even played it with myself as the "character" and he guessed "your shadow" lol. How about you?

I’ve played Akinator before but I don’t specifically remember what I was searching for lol.

Anonymous said:

The cast for the newest Power Rangers series got revealed, and I hate that as soon as I saw the Pink Ranger's bio mentioned she was an internet journalist, I thought of Alya. I really hope she doesn't have the same problems as Alya in the series proper.

fhgdfkgd journalists have been ruined for us forever

Anonymous said:

Have you noticed that in many shows, especially shonen shows, people tend to hate the most "feminine" female character? Like, in Naruto it was Sakura, in Death Note it was Misa, in My Hero Academia it was Ochaco(although a lot of people like her so I'm not so sure about that last one?). The most hated character in one too many a shonen is almost always the "girliest" of the characters. They're always claimed to be useless or reliant on a man. And this is within the fandom who should know better!

It probably didn’t help with Sakura that she was decked out in pink hair; that’s an instant girl label for you (or lesbian label, depends on the person :P).

I don’t think I’ve been in enough fandoms to have such an experience but I definitely see where you’re coming from.

Anonymous said:

Rewatching Chat Blanc and Here To Help from Star vs. and hearing Adrien/Marco tell Marinette/Star that they always liked the girls from the beginning makes me so pissed. It's not that I don't ship Starco(I do! But I also like MarcoxJanna), although I don't ship the love square, but I'm so annoyed with writers finding the need to make the audience "know" that the main ship's characters "always" liked each other, as if that makes their love for each other more true, even if it's obvious they had other crushes? Like, what happened to Kagami Tsurugi? Jackie-Lynn Thomas?

News flash: Teenagers are allowed to have crushes on multiple other people before they find "the One". It doesn't mean their love for that "One" is any less valid. And if you still want to pull the "they always liked each other since they first met", at least make it actually TRUE!!! Don't have them have crushes on other people before moving on to the "official" crush and be all like "Oh, by the way, I liked you from the start," when it's dead obvious they didn't. You're doing a disservice to the romantic "false" leads.

I'm willing to forgive Star's crush on Oskar and Tom since she's not the one claiming she always liked Marco(even though she fell in love with him LONG before he fell in love with her, which is a nice turn of events), although her "love" for Oskar was merely an infatuation at most and I personally don't see why it was needed. Why don't they just say that their old crush didn't do it for them???

UGH, I remember watching that show and being so annoyed because I really liked Marco and Jackie and wanted them to be a thing but I knew that they’d pull Starco in the end because of course they would.

It also totally makes it seem as if love is the most powerful relationship there is (aros would like a word), which is so bizarre when there are so many “power of friendship” tropes. Like, a male and female lead have to get together because their relationship is the strongest.

The love square would hold so much more meaning to me without this love drama nonsense. It’s tiring.

Anonymous said:

Have you seen Yuki Yuna Is a Hero? If so, then what are your thoughts on it? I was thinking of watching it but it seems to be another "taking away the empowerment of the magical girl genre by making the girls suffer instead" type story. I read about it on TV Tropes and apparently it's a deconstruction that takes after Madoka Magica which already puts a bad taste in my mouth, but then I got to the examples and they're basically about how girls who get magical powers lose their body parts one by one and that the reason only girls can be heroes is because "young girls have always been sacrifices".

Not to mention it was written by a man and aimed towards a seinen(adult men ages 17-35) demographic, making it torture porn for adult men. Also, both the laconic page for Yuki Yuna and Madoka Magica say "Being a magical girl sucks."(though for Yuki Yuna it adds "Unless you have the power of friendship.") and to be honest that kills any desire in me to watch the show. Should I give it a chance?

Oof.

Yeah, after bringing it up to a friend of mine, it was instantly recommended of me not to watch it, so I’d say, “no.”

Anonymous said:

Let's make one thing perfectly clear. I, love, love, LOVE Sailor Moon. And I love the transformations, too. But if there's one thing I don't love, it's that their outfits all look pretty much the same but with different colors/different lengths of gloves and shoes and stuff like that, and that they all have the exact same body type save for the one fat girl who's made to look bad. I don't like Madoka Magica, but at least they all had unique/different costumes(but they still have similar bodies).

We’re not allowed diversity here. Take your different body types to a show that cares; we’re all about femininity here and how girls can be beautiful and powerful no matter wha--oh wait...

Yeah, I don’t care for the design in Sailor Moon, but that’s because skirts don’t interest me design-wise unless it’s really unique/interesting.

(note that there’s a lot of talk about tomboys, sexism, and TV tropes and such below, and then Madoka Magica after that; that’s basically the rest of this askplosion:)

Anonymous said:

I just saw the thumbnail for a video called "Why You Should Watch Princess Tutu(Yes, I Know The Name Is Stupid)". Umm, why is it stupid exactly? Because it's "girly"? What is with people thinking that in order for a girly show to be good they have to first separate the show from its girliness in order to enjoy it? It's like how men will say a show is good despite it being girly, or that since it's good it's no longer girly. Nobody does this for boy shows, because boy things are "never" stupid.

Princess = girly thing

Tutu = girly thing

girly things = bad

That’s the formula~ They should’ve called it something edgier and manly so that more people would be interested.

Anonymous said:

I'm wary of any woman or girl who says, "I'm a girl, but I'd rather read books about guys" or "I'm a female writer but I mostly write stories about male characters". I feel like those women are the "not like other girls/one of the guys" type who suffer from internalized misogyny and don't like female characters. I also feel like they're the type to not care about female representation, because in their minds, girls shouldn't care about female role models. We can enjoy males just as much! I do!

To be fair, they might also just be writing about shirtless men doing “handsome” things. ;P

But nah, I see your point. Me personally, I try to find a balance of writing both, but I do think there can be bias.

Anonymous said:

Do you think it's okay to like a ship but acknowledge that it wouldn't be safe or healthy or condonable in real life? Because I was just thinking of how a lot of people like some really "toxic" ships like Veronica/JD in Heathers, Yuno/Yukki in Future Diary, Madoka/Homura in Madoka Magica(although some people don't like it because of its toxicity/like it but don't realize it's toxic), almost any villain/hero ship, the list goes on. But they're aware of the fact that it's not a good standard for healthy relationships in real life.

An alternative I've seen is people having a crush on "dangerous" characters like JD and Yuno, or Karma from Assassination Classroom(there's not a single video on YouTube with him in it that DOESN'T have comments full of people saying they want Karma to father their children), but still being aware of the fact that the character is a) not real and b) wouldn't be a good partner if they were real(and that's assuming they even want to be with you. But sometimes there's a good reason for falling in love with a "toxic/dangerous" character.

Take Monika from Doki Doki Literature Club! She's obsessed with the player(not the player CHARACTER, the flesh and blood player themselves) to the point of killing off all the other girls and "trapping" you in a room with her where she talks endlessly about lots of things. But she's actually a lonely girl who's driven insane by the fact that nothing around her is real. She latches on to you because you're the only other person who's real and sapient and has got a mind of their own. You're literally her outlet to the outside world.

She's personally my favorite character in the game due to her actually being a more fleshed out, sympathetic(and not in the idealized "moemoe" way), and realistic take on the Yandere archetype(which, like many moe archetypes, is kinda misogynistic in nature in that it reinforces submissiveness; it's basically animes version of "woman scorned".). So it makes sense that people would sympathize with her and want her to become real, because all she's ever wanted was to be real and to talk to real people. Especially since she really did care about her friends and even returned them back to life because she saved their backup files, taking herself out of the picture.

I read a few "Monika becomes real and lives with you" fanfictions where she's really sweet and not at all crazy and cares for you a lot, and it's never felt the same as all those other "Yandere/psycho lives with you and is your girl/boyfriend" type stories precisely because those stories tend to just glorify possessive partners that kill your loved ones, drive your family members to commit suicide, and tear up your stuffed animals and dollies for the sake of it, rather than go into why they're so crazy for you, and often reinforce Stockholm Syndrome.

Plus, those "things" she talks about in the empty room? They're actually quite smart and make you think about the world for a bit. Not many "crazy" type characters actually get that. They're all about how "I'll slice your boyfriend open with an axe if you don't date me wa ha ha", and even if they're not, it's all the fandom will focus on, to the point of ignoring any and all other aspects to their character. Because that "crazy in love" aspect is the most appealing part of them. Maybe it's due to forbidden fruit/bad boy(or girl) appeal? Who knows? But I'm starting to wonder if it's still as bad if people recognize the problematic aspects of "crazy in love" characters or "dysfunctional" relationships.

Because if they recognize it's not real and don't really want it for themselves, then it's probably not much of a problem. But if they just go on wanting it to be real and never take a step back and go "wait a minute, this isn't real love; they're only together because he latches onto the first girl to show him any kindness and affection and she's a doormat who doesn't want something bad to happen if she leaves him", then that's bad.

Obviously it's not as bad as being in love with literal stalkers, killers, and rapists in real life(which is an actual thing, believe it or not, it's called hybristophilia), because fictional characters will never be real. Karma Akabane will never be real. Yuno Gasai will never be real. JD will never be real. But loving fictional characters who do those things and not realizing the problem with it may cause people to seek out real criminals, so it's best to separate fiction from reality.

I can’t help judging a little internally, but yeah, I think people can ship whatever as long as it has that “not in real life” scenario going for it. It’s ultimately fiction, so just because I don’t like it and/or think that it’s bad doesn’t mean other people can’t ship it.

Anonymous said:

I'm getting tired of all the racists on TV Tropes getting upset whenever a trope has a Japanese name. Whether it's Tsundere, Yandere, Meganekko, Genki Girl, Bokukko, or any Japanese anime name, people will complain that the trope exists beyond anime so it shouldn't have a "cute anime name", and that it should instead just be given a broader(read: English) name with the same meaning. Or that the site is too obsessed with anime. I'm just sick of people saying that anime names are bad.

The other thing is that we don’t actually have English words for certain things? I mean, the whole reason we say, “tsundere,” is because it says everything in one word. It’s easy.

(Also, people are aware the the English language isn’t some unique thing that takes no inspiration from other languages, right? It’s a mix of things, so accept that other languages exist because we literally wouldn’t have English without them.)

Anonymous said:

Have you seen the TV Tropes reviews for "My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic"? Holy crap, they are all a perfect example of the "Real Women Don't Wear Dresses" phenomenon that I have mentioned earlier and is so fucking present on this site. While some reviews praise the show for showing that "it's okay to be strong AND girly"(such as Hadles' review, which was really splendid), and that girl shows are no less good, others either insult the show by calling it "girly, saccharine, and stupid" as if "girly" is synonymous with anything bad about a show, or feel the need to distance it from its girliness in order to praise it as if a show can't be good if it's also girly.

Some people were saying things like "the show might seem girly at first, but it's actually a good, brilliant show with intricate plot twists, well-developed characters, and even some scary moments" and "the characters aren't just shallow girly-girls, they have depth!" So what, girliness is mutually exclusive to anything of value? One person even said that the Girl-Show Ghetto was the reason they couldn't get into the show or respect it. Just...wow.

And one review even said "Rarity's pretty tough for a girly girl!" Excuse me? Tough FOR a girly girl? So being a girly girl somehow automatically disqualifies you from being tough? Like "yeah, she's tough despite being a girly girl! Because girly girls aren't supposed to be tough."

It reminds me of the phrase "you're pretty for a black girl", which, while it's never been said to ME, I have heard other people complain about. It's sick and it hurts, just like this. And the few people who didn't say things like that still said that they couldn't get into the show at first because it looked "girly and vapid", before changing their minds and thinking that the show either proved their biases about girly shows wrong, no longer think it's girly since girly shows "can't" be good, or like it "despite" it's girliness.

And there were 70 reviews in all. 70 reviews full of this misogynistic "girly is bad" shit. So in conclusion nearly all the reviews on TV Tropes for My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic were along the lines of one of three things. 1) "This show is girly so I looked past it because girly shows are dumb." 2) "This show is good despite being girly/the characters are good despite being girly." and 3) "This show is not girly to me at all because it is well-written and captivating and girly shows aren't capable of such things."

Granted, some people there were able and willing to call out those who judged the show badly for being girly(or gave it the "not like other girls" treatment, but in show form), as well as people warning other potential viewers to get rid of any potential bias they may have against it due to it being girly. But there were still more people insulting its girliness as a reason they think it sucks or denying its girliness to justify their liking of it than the other way around.

I would've accepted it in the form of "If you think this show is bad because of its inherent girliness, then you are wrong!" or "This show is proof that a show being girly or aimed at girls doesn't and shouldn't take away from its value, as people seem to believe." or "A girl can be girly and be a strong female character.", but no, instead I got shit like this. It's especially insulting when TV Tropes is a site that devotes itself in part to critiquing sexist tropes found in media, only to turn right around and reinforce them.

I don’t read TV Tropes that frequently, so I fortunately missed out on all of these complete idiots who associate girly products with being bad.

(that “pretty for a black girl” comment makes me hate all aspects of “expectations of beauty” and it’s like--plz let these die)

I could maybe see an argument for criticizing a girls show for being “saccharine” if it were like, “girls’ shows written by men who clearly don’t know how to write girls are usually bad,” because then it’s not a criticism of girls’ shows exactly but rather who keeps being put in charge of writing them.

Anonymous said:

I get so annoyed when people get upset when confronted with the matter of female representation with "what's so wrong with one show having a male protagonist or mostly men and one/a few women? Why do we have to include women in everything?" These people clearly do not understand that one show doing it is one thing, but when multiple shows do it, it's an obvious problem. It's even worse when they turn around and diss shows with largely female casts for "not having enough men".

And as for people getting upset that "every show has to include women/come with a checkbox nowadays", as if it's bad to include women in your story...look around. Women make up 50% of the population. They're literally everywhere. What reason do you have to not include a substantial amount of women?

These people act like male is the default and women are a last resort. They see no problem with men dominating a cast because it's justified(despite that not reflecting real life), and yet having female characters, or, hell, a female-dominated cast(I know they also don't reflect real life, but there are still female-dominated spaces; most colleges are 2/3 female) is "unrealistic" trying to fulfill a quota, or a straw feminist agenda, as if characters can't be female for their own sake. You shouldn't have to be forced include women because their presence should be a given.

How many stories nowadays take place in the war front in Viking times or whatever? A lot of men just don't want to include female characters or see them represented(well) in media because those who are overrepresented tend to want to stay that way. They likely also have insecurities about their masculinity and are worried about female characters flooding their shows with estrogen and ruining the shows they love, because they can't relate to female characters or enjoy shows about them without negating their girliness(ie. This show seems girly, but it's actually good), since they're ashamed to associate themselves with anything feminine due to looking down on women or seeing them as bad.

Plus they want to be the center of everything so the second a show is about mostly women they get upset and claim it's "sexist against men" because it's not about them. Hence why bronies(bless their souls) are made fun of for the grave sin of enjoying a female-centric show with a female protagonist and largely female characters. Granted, there are some freaky fans, but there's still some sexism at play here.

This reminds me of a post I saw about a boy who actually looked up to female characters because you can pick a role model who doesn’t fit your gender. Crazy concept, I know. ;P

And yeah, that’s how it goes with equality. People who are best/most represented don’t want equality because they think it means less for them and they don’t want that, like a child who doesn’t want to share their cookies with everyone else.

Anonymous said:

I love TV Tropes, but if there's one problem I have with it, it's how often it associates femininity with weakness. The "Masculine Girl, Feminine Boy" trope is a good example of this, but the worst offender in my opinion is the Girly Girl With a Tomboy Streak, as most of the examples there are simply of girls who are strong-willed or fierce or can fight. Because you know, those traits are male. It's bad because there are ALREADY tropes for girly girls who can fight, Girly Bruiser and Lady of War (which TV Tropes even goes out of its way to SAY shouldn't be counted as a "Tomboy Streak" and yet does stuff like this), but it's also bad because ANY girly girl with these qualities, no matter how feminine they are otherwise, will be seen by TV Tropes as having to be at least somewhat tomboyish(read: masculine) in order to have those traits. Because regular girly girls are just weak and fragile and only want to be housewives.

It's even worse when you realize that much of these characters are created with the exact purpose of subverting the stereotype that girliness equals weak, and instead present a new and more empowering form of femininity: that femininity is strong and DOES NOT equal being a passive sex tool for men's pleasure. They're MEANT to show that being a tomboy is not the only way to be strong, and TV Tropes acknowledges that! But then they also go and claim these characters have "Tomboy Streaks" thus undermining the positive message by insinuating that you have to be tomboyish to be strong and that even girly girls have to have some level of masculinity to be deemed respectable and equal human beings, plus manipulating many impressionable folks into thinking strength and bravery is automatically tomboyish.

Worse yet, they often put a character here because "she's a big eater" or "she burps/farts a lot". Gee, I didn't know women had bodily functions? I didn't know women had digestive systems? So basically any time a girl shows that she is a human being and not a pretty, passive doll to be idealized, she is acting like a man. Because only men are fully-fledged human beings. Even outside of that, look at basically any masculinity-femininity contrast trope(Tomboy and Girly Girl, Sensitive Guy and Manly Man, Masculine Girl Feminine Boy, etc.). The "masculine" character will often be described as dominant, assertive, or outspoken, and the "feminine" character will often be called weak-willed, passive, emotional, and timid. It's fucking sickening.

The Tomboy With A Girly Streak trope is similar to its inverse in that a tomboyish girl will often be placed under this trope with their proclaimed "girly" streak being that she's tender or cries a lot or is soft spoken/a doormat. Because being girly is about not taking up too much space, not having any ambition or aspiration, and overall being a weak and shallow waste of space. For a site that claims to dismantle such sexist misconceptions, it sure does reinforce them just as much.

I almost want to stop using TV Tropes based on that and many other reasons, but it's a genuinely informative site that at least tries to avoid these stereotypes(plus it's edited by more than one person), it just doesn't do enough. For example, they made an awkward claim once that women can't fight while on their periods, and even have an Improbably Female Cast trope, as if it's abnormal that a cast could consist of mostly women and demands an explanation. To them, femininity=inferior.

And then in comes the “anti-girl tomboy” characters who basically do everything “girls don’t do;” glares at things like make-up and such, rolls eyes at the subject of “girl talk” or “romance,” drinks anything carbonated and spreads their legs wide open, etcetera.

Guys really don’t get the same version, at least not that I’m aware of? Like, at best, they don’t participate in “guy things” but that’s about it.

Having characters acknowledge it just makes everything more blatant, like if a woman comes by and the guys have to assure “DON’T WORRY, SHE’S LIKE ONE OF THE GUYS.”

It’s like a woman can only hang out and engage in “guy talk/time” (the concept of which I hate but that’s besides the point) if they can crush a beer can against their forehead.

Anonymous said:

OMG TV Tropes called Cirno the Ice Fairy from Touhou a "tomboy"? Why? Because she's boisterous and outspoken and not a "shy girly-girl" like Daiyousei! TV Tropes clearly believes that any girl or woman who is more than just a pretty face(which ALL women are, by the way), who takes up space, who has a dynamic personality and isn't just a weeping wallflower(which I'm not saying Daiyousei is) is a tomboy. Because she's acting like a man that way. Ugh, so over TV Tropes and their sexism.

And all the girls in Touhou(including Cirno) wear big frilly dresses anyway so it doesn't really make sense to see ANY of them as tomboys. But no, apparently any girl who is rowdy or tough or is active and not passive is a tomboy. You gotta be a tomboy to have attitude. You can tell they think so because they often say things like "strong, but still feminine" as if those things are opposites. They even described femininity as "weak and susceptible, vain and superficial". Like, ugh, kill me now.

I legitimately want to see a bullet point list here of what qualifies as a “tomboy.” Like, what, anyone who does one thing that isn’t “girly”?

Can we just throw out all of these terms; not even replace them, just throw them out?

(the below ask is incomplete - the first part is missing - but the asker clarified after I asked them, so clarification is below:)

Anonymous said:

Tropes is because I'm working on a story and I hope when it becomes famous that TV Tropes will write about it, but as it stands, I'm beginning to wonder that TV Tropes undermines most stories or plots to do with women one way or another. I mean, they constantly create tropes with the intent of calling out inherent biases, yet reinforce those biases themselves.

For example, they have a trope called Men Are Generic, Women Are Special, which points out the bias of male being the default, and yet on almost every other page on the wiki describing a trope, the default character will be a "he"(especially if it's a character trope), and whenever they mention "The Hero" or "The Big Bad" it's always a he unless it needs to be female(like if the heroine is in a romance story, or if the villain is a seductress). Female characters at best, can hope to be "The Heart" or "The Chick" of the group(which is often used in a demeaning way).

They even have a trope called "Improbably Female Cast" in which they point out all the instances of a story's setting having an "over-abundance" of women or girls with no men in sight, and claim that such stories have majority female characters when it is "unusual" "unlikely" or "lacks justification". Someone even suggested that the trope should be called "Where Are All The Men?" as if there's something inherently weird or wrong when a story is dominated by female characters, and like the story is in dire need of men, as if only men can be protagonists.

Even if the story has a justifiable reason for having mostly women, the fact that the writer made that choice at all is somehow deserving of mention. The mere fact that there's no "Improbably Male Cast" trope shows where the site's biases lay. They don't see anything wrong with a show being dominated by men with little to no female representation(ex. Death Note), and yet a show dominated by women(ex. MLPFIM) is somehow an anomaly and demands an explanation(even if the story does provide a reason for it, TV Tropes will still list it and presume it "improbable", as if to say "I mean, yeah, but there's no reason why you couldn't just make them mEn instead", as if writers who have mostly female characters are going out of their way to steer away from the "default" males.

In fact, they even admit that "Men Are Generic, Women Are Special" is their reason for having such a trope, but not the inverse. They even say that it's not the trope if the show revolves around a group of girlfriends with no indication of the gender ratio in the wider setting. So any time the females outnumber the males a story it's instantly labeled "improbable" because there's NO WAY any setting AT ALL could have more females than males. That's improbable! You see, this is why when women are 1/3 of the people in a given space men perceive it as "majority female" because they're uncomfortable with women having more of a presence than men.

We'll never have true equality if shows with majority female casts continue to be scrutinized under a microscope and assumed to be of inferior, lesser quality, just because there's no male characters around and it's women who are driving the plot. My problem isn't that they have a trope for majority female casts, it COULD be a testament to gender equality(ie., "there used to not be a lot of shows revolving around women, but now they're becoming increasingly common and well-known), but it's that they single out such stories as "unlikely" and thus discredit them.

And worse yet, they refuse to change the name, because they don't see a problem with it. So now every single show that doesn't have an equal number of males and females or more males than females is going to be called "improbable" by TV Tropes, because there's something(bad) to be said about shows that choose to make most of their characters women. Death Note and Naruto can slide by the radar of having loads of men, but Madoka Magica and Touhou are "improbable"? Because they have loads of women?

the clarification:

Anonymous said:

I started out complaining about how TV Tropes says that boys will watch Star Vs. The Forces of Evil only because of Marco(who's great, but it comes off like boys can only relate to boy characters) and that the show only looks girly but has a deep complex plot with scary moments(as if a show can't be dark and complex and still be girly; girly=shallow, watered down fluff), hence my complaint about TV Tropes undermining girly shows or anything "girly".

Yup, exactly like I said.

Good stuff in “girly” things is the exception. Good stuff in “manly” things is expected.

Which is funny when you consider stuff like “edgy” reboots of things. Like, Disney remakes their original movies and that usually means making them worse (like in Beauty and the Beast - god I hate that remake - where the objects are going to become complete objects when the last petal falls even though the enchantress is explicitly a good person and it comes off as super cruel and unnecessary), but that seems to just be its own breed of bad I guess.

Then there are terms like “chick flicks” and “soap operas” which are usually women-oriented and tend to be considered dumb/over-dramatic.

You know, not like MEN shows with their sexualization of women, guns and MEN things.

Anonymous said:

Remember what I said about TV Tropes being sexist? Well, they also have a trope called "Girly Run". Like, that's literally the name. Girly. Run. Thankfully the first example(which is under advertising due to the forms of media being in alphabetical order) is an aversion from the blessed Like A Girl campaign, but...just reading the page lets the casual-yet-bold-faced sexism speak for itself.

why can’t things just be like the Sims where characters can wear whatever the hell they want and have any personality without any judgment or criticism from other Sims?

(more Madoka Magica talk - and ONLY Madoka Magica talk - below because I’ve unleashed a monster apparently:)

Anonymous said:

I know you don't like Frozen but I saw a theory somewhere that Elsa's powers came from making a contract with Kyubey and her wish was to impress her sister and anyway I can't stop rolling my eyes. This isn't(just) because of my distaste for Madoka Magica compared to my love for Frozen, but if Elsa's a Puella Magi then why didn't she become a witch long ago? How did she make it to adulthood? How did she become emotionally stable? And why do her powers have to come from a negative source?

I think it might just be people looking for excuses to do their crossover fanfiction which--yeah, I’m not crazy about that.

Anonymous said:

Did you know that Cristina Vee voiced Homura Akemi in the English Dub? It's very noticeable, especially during the Cake Song, where I could've sworn she sounds exactly like Marinette. By the way, I'm still not sure what the hell was going on in that song. Could you please explain it to me(if you know)?

Nooooo don’t make me think of Homura when I think of Marinette!! fjkdgjnfdg

lol but seriously, I think the Cake Song is just meant to be one of those “weird but meant to be dEeP” things that shows do sometimes to be cool (not a criticism technically; depends on how it’s used).

I think the cake is the labyrinth and Homura saying that she’s the pumpkin makes her the odd one out since pumpkins are associated with scares and halloween, so it’s “foreshadowing” her being the witch. The things that they say they are... they’re like--ingredients for a meal, but not a cake, so the the cake is the labyrinth and they’re the things that would go inside it.

Homura and Madoka are the only ones who really get descriptions to go with them. Homura says that she’s “full of seeds” (despair?) and Madoka implies that it’ll bring sweet dreams once she’s sliced (which is either referring to the godly freedom given to magical girls before they turn into witches, or foreshadowing Madoka being “split” after Homura stops Madoka from purifying her, leading to Homura’s “sweet dream” of what it’s like when everything is “normal” after her reality twisting).

Anonymous said:

May I ask what you don't like about Kyoko's character? Is it because she was the stereotypical "jerk with a heart of gold"? Or because the writer made her flip from hating Sayaka and wanting her dead to suddenly dying for Sayaka even though she barely knows her compared to Madoka(because the writer doesn't understand how girls' relationships work)? For me it was a mixture of both(though I still don't mind KyoSaya!), but I still liked her enough, she just felt a tad stereotypical. Your thoughts?

It’s both. I just don’t like characters like her at all and the runtime of Madoka Magica can’t maintain all of these characters, “developing” them, and then killing them off. I don’t even have any time to get attached to them because they’re dead within a matter of a few episodes.

And it’s always like, “okay here’s this character’s backstory to make you feel emotionally attached--HA NOW THEY’RE DEAD. SEE??? WE TOTALLY GOT YOU.”

Like, no, you didn’t. I didn’t even have time to care about THEM, much less their actual death.

Anonymous said:

What about the girls in Madoka Magica? Do you think they're strong female characters? Now, obviously the show is not feminist, since it misses the whole point of Magical Girl, which is to empower girls and show them that girls can be powerful and feminine and can find strength in solidarity with each other by instead making them suffer and fight each other and have their power come from their emotions, which are exploited and turned against them because women can't be powerful, but still...

It’s the same way I feel about Marinette; there are some who I want to say are strong characters, but the writing is ready to just kill them off at any time and bully them for essentially having emotions.

Basically, imagine a male writer hands you a character sheet and is like, “AW YEAH CHECK OUT THIS sTrOng FEMALE CHARACTER I WROTE.”

Like, even if they were right, their ego and obnoxiousness about the whole thing, along with what they actually do to said character, makes you not want to give them any credit for it.

Anonymous said:

How do you think Puella Magi Madoka Magica would be different if they had magical boys as well(which can mean either gender-bending canon magical girls or introducing original magical boys)? Do you think the show would be better? Worse? Or would it be just about the same?

Personally I feel like having magical boys would be good and bad; good because there would be no more of the “teenage girls are hysterical” crap and it wouldn’t just be girls suffering because they can’t handle power, and bad because it would still be problematic(for stereotyping all teens as over emotional and deserving to be taken advantage of by the Incubators, and it would still be about kids suffering in a genre meant to empower girls, having some of them be boys wouldn’t help that much).

I also feel like Gen Urobuchi would still make the girls suffer more and have them be more emotionally and mentally unstable. Holy crap it feels like he read up on Aristotle’s views on women while making this show.

It would at least be more balanced I guess? Like, teenage years are a fragile time, so it would make sense for both girls and boys to be taken advantage of. I still wouldn’t like it but it would be nice to point out, “there are emotional boys as well as emotional girls.”

Anonymous said:

Literally all the problems with Treatment of Marinette, Chat's Entitlement(TM), and the sheer sexism in general(ex. all the teenage girls and even women villains being catty and bitchy, while the male villains are cool, suave, and calculating; female villains being irredeemable scum while male villains are "not as bad as they seem", etc.) could all be solved if the show just got some more female writers! You know a show isn't feminist like people claim if none of the writers are women.

That's what I love about Friendship is Magic; the show is written and directed by a woman and actually has a variety of both male and female writers! Plus, Lauren Faust explicitly identifies as a feminist and claims her works are meant to empower women and show them that there's no wrong way to be a girl. And the show reflects that! There's no "token girl" who checks all the boxes; the females have realistic flaws, diverse personalities, and let's not forget ARE THE HEROES!!! Not to mention that the cast is actually PREDOMINANTLY FEMALE. Do people have any idea how refreshing that is?!

And that's why whenever people claim that shows like Madoka Magica are feminist when it's written by men for men while also dismissing actually feminist shows written by women for women as "sexist" or "demeaning", I cringe inside. It's not just what the show looks like, it's what the people behind it say.

And Gen Urobuchi is not a feminist. At all. Just listen to the things he says about the girls, that they're terrorists who are full of hubris and destined to be alone, and that actual magical girl shows weren't his inspiration beyond the show's cosmetics, he just based it off of porn games. He only watched those shows after making Madoka Magica and admitted they were weird to him. Well, maybe they wouldn't be weird if you actually used them as inspiration! Why are you even making magical girl? So basically he admitted that all the suffering the girls go through is because it's his fetish.

I knew I wasn't imagining things when I saw all those weird shots and angles(ex. zooming in on Sayaka's thighs and breasts when she collapses to the floor, Madoka gripping the bed sheets between her legs when agitated, zooming in on Kyoko's ass when she takes her phone out of her shorts' back pocket, it's all for cheap titillation). And yet people keep saying the show is devoid of male gaze and sexism and why? Because apparently men know how to represent women better than women themselves.

you said “Madoka gripping the bed sheets between her thighs” and it gave me an immediate flashback, I hate it

I find that it’s a similar thing with gay anime/manga; I’m more likely to trust a F/F story if it’s written by a woman since they’re less likely to sexualize everything.

Anonymous said:

Homura in Puella Magi Madoka Magica: But Madoka, what's going to happen to you? You'll end up all alone here forever! You'll never be able to see your friends and family! Homura in Rebellion: Haha, screw Madoka's friends and family! Only I am worthy of Madoka's love! That girl belongs to me! MWAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!(I'm sorry for the over exaggeration, but this is how it felt for me.)

Apparently, it was better for Madoka to just have all of her memories and powers yoinked away.

Sayaka is Madoka’s right hand girl so idk why Homura has this idea that she needs to sAvE Madoka. The fact that this whole thing comes out of a misunderstanding (because Madoka doesn’t have her memories) is so irritating.

Anonymous said:

I actually love Madoka Magica, but I completely agree with you on the hysterical women thing. Why couldn’t they just have... both magical girls and magical boys? Like, just mention that magical boys are a thing? They don’t even have to change anything but that, they don’t even really have to show it, just be like “yeah there’s magical boys too but that’s not really what this story is about, it’s about our characters we have here”. I don’t know, feels like that would have at least helped stuff.

Yeah, they don’t have to bother having the magical boys around. Just to know they exist would be enough. I mean, the fact that the focus is on them would still be bothersome (they’d probably do a thing where each girl represents a different emotion that is easily manipulated/easy to control), but it’d be something.

Anonymous said:

One thing that weirds me out when people are talking about Madoka Magica is when people refer to the characters as "little girls". Like, excuse me? They are not "little girls". They are teenagers! All of them are at least 14 years old! I hate when people call them "little", it's just so condescending and infantilizing, especially when the show does enough of that to them already. After all, no one makes that mistake with the heroines of Lucky Star and Hidamari Sketch(who are also drawn by Aoki)!

I feel like it’s the equivalent of when people call women “girls,” y’know? Sort of a “treating females as younger than they really are,” which is probably what gives guys the feeling that they have control.

For a gender that claims to be so dominant, certain ones sure have to delude themselves a lot to make themselves feel better.

Anonymous said:

I was thinking about what you said about Puella Magi Madoka Magica passing the Bechdel Test, and if it counts if there's barely any men to talk about. And while I do agree that it counts, I also feel that it doesn't really matter much in shows such as Madoka. This isn't even about feminism, this is about the fact that if a show has next to no men in it at all then it's pretty much a given that they won't talk about them since it would be impractical to talk about something that doesn't exist.

So because of that, I think there should either be an alternative test which only applies to shows that have a significant or equal number of male characters and yet the ladies still pass the test(making it feel more "real" since the option to talk about men is there), or the test should be rewritten entirely so that it only applies to shows in which the cast is either equally gender-split, or has a majority male cast/significant amount of males even if the females still outnumber them.

Reminds me of how, on TV Tropes, someone suggested that there should be a "Weak" and "Strong" Bechdel Test, where "Weak" refers to the women talking about something other than men because it is literally what's relevant at the moment(such as two female police officers discussing how to catch a female killer), thus applying the Bechdel Test there seems semi-void, while "Strong" is when they could talk about men but choose not to(ie. two female students talking about their grades during lunch).

And just to clarify about the "Strong" one, when I say they could talk about men but choose not to, this isn't to imply that female characters should talk about men, or that something's wrong with them for not talking about men, just that there's nothing stopping them from doing so, but they choose to talk about something unrelated to men. I think this strategy is much better than the test we have because it makes conversations between female characters seem more real since they're discussing things other than men of their own volition, rather than the non-male-centered talk being because they have to talk about it in-universe. I say that because The Bechdel Test serves to show that women's lives don't and shouldn't revolve around men, and they can talk about other things if they want to, but if the conversation is because they have to(like the example I gave), that gives sexists the opportunity to go "Yeah, well, they're only talking about it because it's their job!"

But if the female characters talk about things other than men of their own free will(as in, when the option is still there), then it shows that women really do have their own free will to talk about their own things and that there is NO REASON to not pass the Bechdel Test in today's day and age(I keep hearing people claim the test is stupid and doesn't matter, but then it should be easy to pass). "Oh, but if they had the choice, they would talk about men." No, because men don't sit around and talk about the women in their lives all day so why should women talk about the men in their lives all day? And to the people saying these types of tests are getting in the way of their "creativity", well, now that we know that you think female representation is stupid and something you have to be forced to do, we don't have to listen to a word you say. ;)

I like the idea of adjusting the Bechdel Test for other circumstances and expanding it as such!

You could also extend it to things like sexualization, because--I mean, having two female characters who talk to each other probably doesn’t mean much if they’re half-dressed or the writer wanted to make them bisexual for “The Fanservice.”

Anonymous said:

To be honest deconstructions of Magical Girl confuse me. There are some good ones out there(such as Princess Tutu and Revolutionary Girl Utena, so I know they're not all just torture porn, my only gripe with Utena is the implication that girls who take on the feminine "Princess" role are weak), but at its heart Magical Girl has always dealt with death, gore and pain just as much as female empowerment.

It makes me feel like the people who write these stories haven't seen magical girl and think it's all just sunshine and rainbows and that just because it's "girly" it's vapid and has no substance, and since the only way to have substance apparently is to be "dark", they go "screw it with all this princessy magical shit! Let's make our show dark instead!" When in reality if they had just sat down and watched a magical girl anime, they would understand that this is not the case.

Not to mention that many of them tend to have fanservice and the idea that magical girls have to suffer, so instead of empowering young girls, they end up misrepresenting the genre and turning it into fetish fuel torture porn for adult men(Madoka Magica and Yuki Yuna are very good examples of this; the writer of Madoka says that the girls are terrorists and full of hubris and that he was inspired by porn games). It's not that you can't deconstruct the genre at all, but it's almost never done tastefully and the magical girl themes are just a cover used to explain the suffering the girls go through. :(

Another thing about magical girl deconstructions is that they often reinforce patriarchal themes, like that girls shouldn't want things for themselves and that genuinely doing something for someone while also having ulterior motives that help yourself are a BAD BAD BAD thing, no matter how ultimately harmless they are, even if they help everybody involved. They also tend to reinforce Tall Poppy Syndrome and portray the powers as harmful or a bad thing, implying that girls shouldn't have power.

Honestly, I think there can totally be even more substance in magical girl anime that doesn’t have to resort to “make it eDgY” (which I feel like is a slippery slope that can easily come off as lazy); for example, I’d really enjoy seeing something deeper to magical girl powers than something like, “oh, this magical girl happens to have the power that fits their personality,” such as a magical girl who has a power she feels she doesn’t fit but it’s a matter of perspective/seeing herself differently, or a magical girl who does have the powers that “fit” her personality - like a “fiery” girl with fire powers - and the weaknesses in her powers correlate to the weaknesses in her personality, so she has to either iron out those issues or find workarounds, as true “perfection” isn’t possible nor practical, which is something all the girls have to accept despite whatever pressure they’re under.

.I dunno, I like lore and powers revolving around metaphors. It’s fun.

Anonymous said:

About what you said in regards to "no pueri magi because it doesn't hit the shock value threshold enough", I remember this interesting comment I saw on an article called "The Problem With The Dark Magical Girl Genre"(which I would totally recommend checking out, by the way!) which said that shojo magical girl and seinen magical girl both embrace a different philosophy regarding strong female fighters. In shojo, they tend to embrace femininity as a strength and show girls that they have the power to do whatever they want and undergo dangerous professions. But in seinen, which conveniently enough is more likely to "deconstruct" the genre(ugh), rather than admiring the girls and supporting them in their endeavors, the girls are meant to be pitied(often to the point of infantilization) when bad things happen to them, with the fact that they are girls serving to make everything worse. It operates under the idea that girls are fragile, in need of protection, and shouldn't be fighting at all.

That's why deconstructions like Madoka Magica and Yuki Yuna don't sit right with me, and also why I don't consider them feminist series. People can say whatever they want about Sailor Moon and Pretty Cure, but ultimately they also had dark and dangerous themes(to the point where some kids had nightmares), but ultimately allowed the girls to rise above the hell they went through and find the strength in them to save the day. We feel bad for them when they die, not because they're moe girls, but because we were actually given the time to form a connection with them and want to see them succeed, rather than just be expected to pity them because they're cute manipulated girls. That way, when they ultimately save the day, it's all the more satisfying. Princess Tutu was a deconstruction that actually went about it in the right way, because the girls eventually found the courage to defeat their enemies in a way that made sense. Why the hell is it a "good" thing to subvert that?

No clue, but I basically agree with everything there. I mean, Madoka Magica��s entire stick is basically that all the girls are like “uwu” in terms of the style (with Madoka being the “cutest” of them all) and then being put in this dark and edgy plot+setting; it’s for both the shock value and the “contrast” of having “moe” characters be thrust into these situations to essentially die.

And the conclusion doesn’t end up being satisfying (at least to me) because the villain doesn’t have emotions so he’s just like “owo” (seriously, I wouldn’t hate on Rebellion so much if Kyubey had been given emotions rather than going crazy; Homura can basically do whatever she wants and it was SUCH A MISSED OPPORTUNITY) so it ends up being more about the journey getting there like wow look at all the sUbvErSiOnS and dEaTh we had along the way!

Because at the end of the day, it’s still like, “the girls give into their ‘hysterical emotions’ in the end basically no matter what,” even if they get saved by Madoka in the end.

Anonymous said:

Do you remember, in Madoka Magica, when Kyubey said that humans would still be living in caves if not for the Incubators? First of all, keep in mind what Incubators do. Their entire purpose on this earth is to feed off the emotions of young teenage girls as they spiral into despair as a result of their delusions of power. Like wow, let that sink in. Apparently humanity's advancement relies on the exploitation of women. We are literally the punching bags of the universe. Isn't it lovely?

No! You see--we’re so important to the world! If we weren’t emotionally exploited, the world wouldn’t be the way it is now! :D

(kill me)

Anonymous said:

I once saw a tag on tumblr that read "The only good magical girl anime is Madoka Magica because it's gay, and even it has problems." Like, ugh. Really? Has this person not watched ANY other magical girl anime? Such ignorance. So many things wrong with that statement that I can't--and WON'T--even begin to unravel here.

MADOKA MAGICA IS NOT GAY AND I’M SO TIRED OF PEOPLE CLAIMING IT IS

s T O P

I DON’T EVEN CONSIDER YURI ON ICE TO BE GAY. MADOKA MAGICA? NAH MAN.

Anonymous said:

Do the girls in Madoka Magica even have transformation phrases? You know, like how Marinette says "Tikki, spots on!" or how Sailor Moon says "Moon Prism Power! Make-up!" or how Iris in LoliRock says "Iris! Princess of Ephedia!" etc. But in Madoka Magica, there doesn't seem to be any of that. At least in Yuki Yuna they pressed a button on their phones. But how do the Puellae Magi even transform? Just goes to show you how Gen Urobuchi knows next to nothing about the genre he claims to deconstruct.

Transformation phrases are magical and cool and you can’t take that away from me.

Anonymous said:

I had a shower thought about Madoka randomly in bed last night: If a Magical Girl's Soul Gem loses control over its user when 100 metres or further away from it, that meant that when Homura got Sayaka's Soul Gem back for her, Sayaka should've regained consciousness once Homura was less than 100 metres away, even if she didn't have her Soul Gem yet. I also love to ponder why on Earth Homura would even bother retrieving Sayaka's Soul Gem if she only cares about Madoka and Madoka's well-being.

I think it’s just a complicated process of Homura trying to make sure Madoka doesn’t fall into despair herself (in a non-witch way) and is convinced to make a wish.

Anonymous said:

The more I think about it, the more I realize that Sayaka really got the worst deal out of the whole thing. While her story may seem more "mundane" compared to the others(she just wanted the token Ill Boy osananajimi to like her back), she's the only one who somehow isn't brought back when Madoka recreates the universe, loses her Soul Gem on more than one account(and on the second, she starts decomposing and her crush sees her and calls her a monster because he thinks she's pretending to be the REAL Sayaka), is supposedly the weakest Magical Girl, getting swiftly taken out by both Kyoko AND Homura(the latter of which doesn't even make sense, if her body can heal why was she taken out so quickly?), takes a long while to show up in Magia Record, and Gen somehow finds it suiting to single her out as the one who is "destined to die" every time she makes a contract. Apparently the series director wanted Sayaka to live/be brought back, but Gen refused because it just had to be edgy.

Of course, MEN are allowed to have wish fulfillment power fantasies and dream like the sky's no limit and aspire to be all they want to be, but the second WOMEN try to be the strong ones, the powerful ones, or dream of something for themselves and others, they have to learn a lesson about how unrealistic their fantasies are and how they'll never live out their dreams. Hence why Sayaka puts the blame all on herself, saying that she's not a hero and was stupid and selfish the whole time.

"token Ill Boy osananajimi“ dfhbgjhfdgdfg

It was a real shame because I liked Sayaka somewhat (not saying much but still) and she was such a predictable one to go. Like, “oh wow, an angst-y anime all about shock value? so basically the best friend is dead then with no chance of survival.”

I think I do remember being told/reading somewhere (so don’t quote me) that Sayaka is the one that’s hardest to keep alive in the games, so you have to work hard for it. It just sucks.

Anonymous said:

Yet another thing that bothers me about Puella Magi is how the show frames the young ladies as if everything is their fault even though they have no idea what they're getting into because the person who makes the deal doesn't even bother explaining shit to them and all the show's attempts at deconstructing is just taking lighthearted elements meant to empower girls and show them that they can be brave and strong as well as feminine and make them dark and morbid.

Like, I get the whole "having young girls fight is a little unrealistic" aspect, but most magical girl shows actually do touch on that! Only difference is that over time, they become stronger and better at fighting(which is only to be expected, whether you're a teenage girl or not) and become more competent along the way because the whole genre is about FEMALE EMPOWERMENT.

Not to mention how the show seems to forget that the Incubators are villains and even seems to put them in the right and the girls in the wrong, what with the claim that they rationalize with the girls they make contracts with like sentient human beings(yeah, because emotionally manipulating young girls and literally taking their souls out of their bodies and making them liches without their consent is definitely treating them like sentient human beings), and that they always follow up on their end of the deal whereas it's the girls' faults their wishes go sour because they never wish for what they truly want(I'm sorry, but I simply DO NOT buy that. Homura and Mami outright wished for what they wanted. Their wishes went sour because the plot "decided" that they should have wished in a different way; plus, you're telling me that if Sayaka had outright said she wished "for Kyousuke to love her back" that the show wouldn't just "make" him mind-controlled or have Sayaka "outgrow" her feelings by the time he falls in love with her, all the while making it out to be "her" fault he's so heartbroken because she was some kind of tease or whatever, further demonizing girls' sexualities?).

Plus they explicitly claim that every woman in history was a magical girl and that without them, humanity would still be in caves(as in, humanity wouldn't be able to progress without the oppression and exploitation of women, and women can't gain power without going insane because female power is some unhealthy, inhuman, infernal thing.). Even if we take this all as a reflection of patriarchal society(which I highly doubt it was, if anything, it reinforces it), all it does is imply that the oppression of women is the natural order of things, required even.

As for the girls themselves, they routinely beat themselves up and the show makes no effort to tell them they're wrong(up until the massive cop-out of an ending), like how Sayaka's last words before becoming a witch are literally her "admitting" that she was "stupid, so stupid" for wanting a boy to love her and be healed of his infirmity. It just seems like we're supposed to think "you know, maybe the Incubators aren't that bad!" while ignoring that the girls are being treated like the disposable trash bags of the universe. This show already does the magical girl genre dirty but treating it like everything the Incubators did was necessary and like it's all the girls' faults these things happened to them in the first place is the icing on the stale, sour cake. Nothing like a giant heap of sexism to help get you through your day. :/

I’ve noticed this a lot in Miraculous, but Madoka Magica somehow does it worse; this “one (supposed) mistake leads to all of these consequences you never saw coming.”

Like Ladybug calling Lila out. We know that Lila’s pettiness in “Chameleon” shows that it wouldn’t matter whether Ladybug yelled at her or not; the simple fact that Marinette opposes a liar led to Marinette getting expelled, even if only for a while. Then there’s “Miracle Queen” and all that garbage that came with it.

These two shows put their teenage girls through hell for having emotions and there’s no way to undo it.

Anonymous said:

Honestly, the Madoka Magica fandom is basically the magical girl equivalent of "not like other girls" type women. I can't say I'd be surprised if they didn't watch a single magical girl show other than Madoka because they're all "stupid and girly but this one is edgy and dark" just because those shows are written by women to inspire other girls and show femininity as a strength while Madoka Magica is written by men for men who want to see young girls suffer without any actual feminism.

Like, let's go through their arguments one-by-one to prove that they don't hold up. They love to say that Madoka Magica is better than other Magical Girl shows because "it's dark and edgy and shows the downsides to being a Magical Girl unlike other shows where it's all sunshine and lollipops". First of all, other Magical girl shows also got very dark. Princess Tutu and Utena are also "darker" takes on the genre, but even more lighthearted shows like Sailor Moon and Precure had scary moments.

The only difference is, with them, they still managed to critique problematic aspects of the genre and actually provided ways to improve it, while STILL managing to keep their target audience(FEMALES) in mind, without condescending to them and infantilizing them. And they still showed the girls being empowered and overcoming the darkness.

In Madoka, there's none of that, there's no actual critique of the genre because Gen didn't have the respect for it to do his research, it's aimed at men so it doesn't keep female viewers in mind by definition(which is also another reason why it can't be a deconstruction; deconstructions should be done FOR its target audience), and the girls are constantly put down and treated like Moe crybabies by the narrative even when they're not(cause, you know, teenage girls are "emotional"!). And it doesn't offer ways the genre could improve, it just takes a female-empowering genre and twists it to be this system of oppression that the genre is meant to avoid.

Magical Girls tend to have a very strong focus on girls empowering girls and all that awesome stuff, and yet when Madoka and Mami form a special bond and Madoka encourages Mami by telling her she's not alone? It makes her big-headed and overconfident and she gets devoured by Charlotte. See what happens when girls rely on each other? Madoka is Sayaka's best friend, but gets pushed aside in favor of Kyoko, who later dies for Sayaka because girls who want to help each other had better be prepared to suffer and die for their beliefs. Sayaka loses everything, which happens to include her best friend, over a guy. And the whole witch process means that any female solidarity that could be found in the show is thrown out the window since the core concept of the show is girls being forced to brutalize and kill and exploit each other.

People act like Madoka is Yuri when it's not, Gen was asked if Homura really was in love with Madoka and if Kyoko really was in love with Sayaka, and what did he do? He beat around the bush. Naoko Takeuchi and Kunihiko Ikuhara(the latter of whom also worked on Sailor Moon R; woah, what a surprise) both admitted that there was gay love in their stories, yet people act like Madoka is super progressive regarding homosexuality when it's just implied and those shows were MUCH more open! Doesn't stop people from claiming the show is "honorary yuri" and saying that the meaning of "yuri" should be broadened to include any close bonds between two female characters, whether or not it's actually romantic, AND favoring the show(and HomuMado) above actual yuri shows that are made to appeal to women. If all this were actually valid, Sailor Moon would be yuri as hell.

I hate seeing people fap over this show and act like it's so revolutionary for recycling things that the genre was ALREADY DOING, because I know full well that the ONLY reason it gets this wide acclaim is because Magical Girl shows have traditionally been written for women and this show is aimed at men. That's literally it. Because nothing a woman writes is good enough, especially when it dares to go against patriarchal constructs of femininity as weak and docile by portraying it as cool and awesome. It doesn't matter how cool and dark and diverse and inclusive and complex Sailor Moon and Precure and Princess Tutu and Utena are, they're written by/for women with the intention of empowering them so they're automatically invalid, cheap, happy-go-lucky crap where nothing bad ever happens and anything those shows try to do ought to be discredited because they don't appeal to men like they should so what's the point?

But the second a MAN comes in and intrudes on a female-dominated space by doing all of those things but with a very shallow understanding of how they ought to be executed, people are all over it because a MAN did it and now it's interesting and respectable! I have seen so many people say that they don't like Magical Girl because it's girly and shallow and stupid, but then they praise Madoka for things that the girly and "shallow" shows have already done! Men are always taking away things meant for women and distorting it to fit their patriarchal views and yet when they do it it's somehow better and anyone who complains is simply a whiny straw feminist!

The fandom does it all the time, someone complains about the show and why they don't like it and find it sexist, and the response is always "you're just not smart enough to understand it; you have no idea what you just watched". Because obviously since it's made by a man it's sooo much smarter then the traditional sappy stuff made by women. That's why it's so annoying when others praise it at the expense of other works in the genre: they know their reasons for liking it are, more often than not, rooted in sexism against female-aimed and female-empowering works, so the only way they can praise it is at the expense of said works, hence them being just like girls who claim they're "not like other girls" when there's nothing wrong with girls being feminine and in fact many of those girls may like the same things you do!

So while I'm not saying there's anything inherently WRONG with liking Madoka, I DO have a problem with people who act like it's better or more serious than other shows in the genre and simply discard them on the grounds that they're "for girls", since they obviously didn't watch them.

me when I initially watched Madoka Magica: I don’t get why this exists.

me when I learned it was written by a man: ohhh, now I get it.

I also take issue with people comparing things that are made for different demographics. Like look, I don’t care if you enjoy your angst display over here, but also maybe don’t compare it to the stuff not even made for you unless you’re willing to get into a fight over it?

It comes off wrong, like they have to trash on stuff because it wasn’t made for them, y’know?

Anonymous said:

Honestly, I am so sick of people saying that Magical Girl shows are sexist or anti-feminist, when all they do is portray girls being awesome and powerful while also being feminine at the same time, because "Well in Japan it's actually gender conformity because it's telling girls they can only be strong if they're feminine! You're just projecting your Western values onto an Eastern work!".

First of all these shows are made by women for women and often have explicit feminine messages that you literally cannot miss unless you are simply blind or trying not to see them. And they also tend to have a very strong focus on women supporting or empowering other women. Just think of Sailor Moon, which constantly gets this "criticism", and yet there's an episode where the girls explicitly protest against a villain who claims women are all shallow and useless and can't do anything without men's help. Would Naoko Takeuchi put that in the show if she weren't a feminist?

And then there's the fact that she has said that one message she wanted the female leads to convey was to value their relationships between other girls because girls are strong and don't need to waste time depending on men. There's also the fact that most Magical Girl shows tend to treat the powers as something special and awesome that's unique to women and girls, paired with the coming-of-age themes present in the show, and you get a magical equivalent of female puberty, with magic mixed in.

But no, all of that gets thrown out the window because they dare to be "feminine" while doing all of that stuff and the Japanese are forcing their girls to be girly through Magical Girl propaganda. And I just HATE when people act like anything feminine must be societally forced onto girls, rather than girls just happening to like them. In addition, stating that they are simply reinforcing gender roles by being feminine is such bullshit because the whole purpose isn't about conforming to patriarchal femininity, it's about reclaiming femininity.

Too often, femininity is associated with being weak, powerless, helpless, submissive, docile, vapid, catty, bitchy, petty, vain, stupid, the list goes on. Magical Girl saves femininity from a bad reputation. It shows femininity in a new light, as something strong and powerful and, hell, even admirable! It's about telling girls "Hey, you can be strong and powerful and smart, but you don't have to be a tomboy or act like a man to do so". Girls are always told they have to act masculine to be taken seriously because the only way to be respected is to be like a man, which is an indirect way of saying that only men deserve respect.

Magical Girl does away with all that in favor of showing the feminine as something innately powerful, and yet naysayers MISS the point and say that it's just stereotyping girls instead. To see people claim that Magical Girl forces girls to fit a feminine ideal to be respected is just disappointing. It's supposed to be a female power fantasy for young girls that shows them as the ones being powerful and empowering each other.

Take how in Sailor Moon the heroine often says something along the lines of "I won't let you take advantage of girls", which Wedding Peach went on to imitate. The purpose of the genre is for girls. To empower girls. So why on earth would they show them fitting into a "male" mould of power? Do these people think that any time women are shown acting distinct from men that they are doing something wrong?

And the hypocritical part is that nobody pisses on male-oriented anime for reinforcing a harmful narrative to boys that they have to be masculine to be valued and respected. Of course they don't! Because being "masculine" is never seen as a bad thing to be. It's assumed that masculinity is always strong and good and awesome and there's nothing wrong with boys being forced to be masculine because you're supposed to want to be masculine. You're not supposed to want to be feminine.

So of course people will shit all over Magical Girl for embracing, empowering, and reclaiming femininity, because it's not supposed to be that way! You're not supposed to be feminine and also be strong. You're supposed to deny your identity as a woman and assimilate into the boys' club because only boy things are worthwhile! And they cover it up by saying that Magical Girl forces girls to be feminine, when in actuality the WORLD forces girls to be MASCULINE. Magical Girl doesn't force girls to be feminine, It ALLOWS them to. Do you see the difference there?

Another thing I'd like to bring to the table is that the claim is racist and here's why: The claim that "Magical Girl shows are seen as feminist in the US for portraying femininity as a source of strength but not in Japan because it's telling girls they have to be feminine"...what does that mean? Japanese people can't be feminist? All Japanese people are sexists and think girls have to fit in a certain role? Do Japanese feminists HAVE to be anti-femininity? Are there literally no Japanese people who think you can be feminine AND strong(who also obviously identify as feminists?) Because it seems hella sexist to insinuate that Magical Girl shows are sexist because they're made in Japan and they don't believe you can be feminine AND strong there.

While there is some credibility to it since Japan IS, by and large, much more strict with gender roles, hasn't it ever occurred to these people that these types of shows exist to counter that belief? Not only that, but it implies that people aren't allowed to have opinions on works that aren't made in their culture, and that anyone who sees those shows as feminist are just projecting their Western beliefs onto an Eastern work. And even worse, when people say that, they don't have the same opinion of Western Magical Girl works.

Just look at LoliRock, Miraculous Ladybug, Winx, W.I.T.C.H., Star vs the Forces of Evil, and countless other European/Western Magical Girl works. Where are the people saying "They get their power from femininity and that is sexist!"? Nowhere! They're silent! Even though those are very much like Magical Girl works from Japan(although I don't think the genre originated from there), while still being original.

It's because people think that any media exported from Japan is automatically sexist and demeaning and so anything they create, no matter how empowering their intentions, gets twisted into something that's somehow toxic or unsafe for girls to watch. But when Europeans do the exact same thing nobody complains. Because Japan is not allowed to do anything empowering whatsoever; something's always wrong with it, apparently.

So that's why I have a problem with people who say those things; it's so problematic because they think they're being all open-minded and aware/respectful of other people's cultures, but all they're doing is reinforcing negative stereotypes further. It's kinda like what I said earlier(in another ask) about how people love to praise Madoka Magica for being a unique, dark, and interesting take on the genre when all it did was rehash elements of the genre that already existed, strip away the female empowerment, and gear it towards grown men, which is why people like it more. How about instead of speaking for Japanese people you let them speak for themselves?!

I would also like to add that there’s even a limit to women acting masculine because that’s still “not enough” for those kinda of men who would promote those beliefs. Women need to act more masculine to “be taken seriously” but then you have men who’ll tell them to “dress less” or whatever.

I think what it comes down to is that they want women to not be “emotionally taxing” with all those dAmN eMoTioNs of theirs (unless it’s for the sake of their angsty magical girl anime where the girls suffer for having emotions), but they also need to look pretty and be sexualized.

We can’t win.

[andyet-here-we-are]

I Would Get Into Millions of Accidents Just to See You, Chapter 2 (aka Nurse Geralt AU)

(ao3: x

Chapter 1 Tumblr Link: x )

Geralt is not someone who is an active social media user. He has never been.

Hell, he wouldn’t even use WhatsApp if he didn’t have to.

He thinks that apps like this make people so accessible, and leaves little privacy, and ironically, despite it’s called “social media” it makes people less social. He has lost count of how many times he has seen a group of friends sitting somewhere and scrolling through some apps on their phone or something instead of talking to each other.

Of course, it depends on one’s use, but from what he can tell, whenever you’re online, people tend to think that you have all the time in the world.

So no, thank you very much. He likes his privacy.

Whenever he says that “Social media is for people who don’t have nothing better and important to do,” Ciri just gives him The Look ™ and says: “Okay, boomer.”

He has no idea what the hell it’s supposed to mean, but he is sure it’s not something good.

Once Ciri had downloaded some dating app on his phone without his permission while he was sleeping his ass off after a very tiring night shift. That little match-maker of a girl.

And not only that, but also she had said: “I texted some of the users for you! The ones I thought you might like. One of them seemed nice, I like her energy. So, anyway, long story short, you have a date this weekend. You can thank me later.”

“Excuse me, you did what?!”

Needless to say, Ciri wasn’t allowed to use the internet for three days after that.

“I just want you to be happy,”  on the third day, Ciri had said out of the blue while they were reading I, Robot together —they were both into sci-fi, and reading was a great escape from thinking about all the things going on in life.

“You deserve love. Everyone does. Your whole life is nothing but me and your job, and… You deserve happiness, dad. You deserve love.”

“Come here,” Geralt had said, opening his arms wide for her to embrace him, which Ciri had applied.

“I am happy, pumpkin.”

“You could be happier… If there was someone you loved and dated—”

“Ciri, look. Love is… A beautiful thing.” he started ‘Even though it can be hurtful,’ was left unsaid.

“But love doesn’t necessarily mean the affection between a couple. It doesn’t just mean romantic love. Love can be in many forms, shapes, and different ways. Love of self, of animals, of nature, friends, family… We experience love every day when you think about it. You can find it in everything.  Even in a slice of homemade pie that Mrs. April brought us today.”

“I love pie! But dad, I doubt that if a slice of pie can tell you that you look lovely today. A cutie-pie on the other hand—”

“Ciri, have you been even listening to me?”

“…and a pie can’t run their fingers through your hair-”

Geralt sighs, “Why am I even trying?”

“Deep down you know I’m right. Dad… How about you just… give her a chance? For me? Just see how it goes?”

"Is it gonna make you happy if I do that?”

“So happy!”

“And you’re not gonna do something like that ever again.”

“Promise!”

“Not downloading stupid apps on my phone, and not trying to set me up.”

“You got it, Cap!”

Geralt had met with that woman, and they just didn’t click.

True to her word, Ciri never has done something like that again.

***

Geralt is not someone who likes social media.

But there he is, looking at the musician’s posts instead of sleeping—even though he has to get up early as always tomorrow—scrolling through the app, and feeling like a high school girl with a stupid crush.

He reads every little caption the musician had written.

Surprisingly- well, maybe not so surprisingly- his songs aren’t the only thing he posts about.

He posts about random things; sometimes it’s a pretty flower he came across this morning, sometimes it’s a kitten, a book he is currently reading, food recipes, his drawings, things like that.

His account seems like just his personality.

Filled with all the beautiful colors in the word. Filled with joy, and every little thing he shares feels so sincere. Personal.

[I tried that recipe @Brianricci has sent me and it still feels like there are fireworks in my stomach, so here’s a little drawing for you my life-saver pasta-mate.]

That one makes Geralt smile. Reminds him of that day.

***

“I have something for you, Mr. Should Have Been A Model But Became A Nurse For Some Reason. Not that I’m complaining, for the record. The only thing I have complaints about is your hospital’s awful food. So awful that it should be illegal. A sin, even. You’re sinning whenever you guys force people to eat that food. I can only imagine your staff’s weekly confessing: ‘Forgive me father for I’ve sinned.’

‘What’s wrong, immortal one? What did you do?’

‘Oh, father, even bathing myself in holy water can’t cleanse me from my sins! I made my patient eat that awful food, I had to, father! I had to! I had no choice! But I have faith that I can change that one day!’

‘Faith becomes you. Stay with it. Keep fighting the good fight with all thy might.’

God help him this man is so ridiculous.

“Why are you suddenly Anthony Hopkins from The Rite?”

“Eh, just felt like it,” Jaskier shrugs “Your jello is pretty good though, so, good deed point. And your nurses aren’t half bad either, so I heard.”

Jaskier winks at him.

The audacity of that man.

“Anyway! As I was saying, I have something for you—”

“I have something for you, too, Mr. Pankratz,” Geralt says. He has a good guess about what Jaskier has for him.

A drawing of a flower.

He had heard the staff talking about how the pretty patient in room 242 has been giving flower drawings to pretty much everyone while he was walking around.

“Why thank you, you shouldn’t have! You brought some wine for me or something? For the celebration for my third week here? You’re so kind, my good sir.”

“It’s your medicines.”

“…ever the heartbreaker. I take back everything I said. You’re the devil in disguise.”

After Geralt gives him his medicines, Jaskier pulls a scratch book under his pillow and carefully tears a page from it. He gives it to Geralt.

“I thought I was the devil in disguise?” The nurse says as he takes the drawing from him “Are you sure that you should give demons a flower draw—”

Geralt can’t finish his sentence.

Because what he is looking at certainly is not a flower drawing.

It’s a man who holds a syringe in his hand with a kind smile on his face, and the syringe is filled with cute little hearts.

It’s him.

There’s a giant cactus standing behind him for some reason Geralt finds it hard to understand why.

He has seen the other drawings, and they are nothing like this one. This one looks like Jaskier has tried his hardest to make it perfect. Put everything in it. It’s perfect and detailed as if he had drawn it while looking at Geralt. It also seems familiar for some reason.

“—in conclusion, devils are fallen angels, so…” Geralt hears Jaskier talking.

Yet he is too busy to say something as he keeps looking at the drawing in his hands.

“Ooops, did I go too far with the hearts?”

“Hm.”

“Geralt? Say something, please? Oh God, I broke my nurse. They’re sooo gonna sue me. And I don’t think I can afford a good lawyer, I’ll rot in jails, I’m too young to rot in jails, I can’t be someone’s bitch, I’m not even—”

“May I ask why is there a cactus standing behind me?”

“A comment! Phew! Finally! Well, that would be because you’re just like a cactus.”

Geralt raises an eyebrow.

“Better than being a weed, Dandelion.”

Jaskier holds his hand to his chest and gasps, feigning offense.

“Words hurt, Geralt. Words hurt.

I meant it as, like, let’s face it, you’re kinda prickly on the outside sometimes, but soft on the inside? A cactus in the desert.”

Geralt sighs.

“And now you imply that my hospital is a desert. How nice. What’s next?”

“You don’t like it?”

“It’s okay.”

It’s obviously more than okay, but teasing with the young man is fun, and everyone needs some fun in their lives once in a while.

“If you don’t appreciate my drawing just give it back,” Jaskier makes grabby hands as he pouts like a little kid that just dropped his ice cream,  “I’m pretty sure it’ll look good on my fridge anyway. No trouble for me.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

“I’m not giving this back. Too late, you should’ve thought that before you gave it to me. Can’t take it back now.”

“If you don’t say something nice about my spectacular drawing you can be sure that I’m gonna take it back from your hands even if that means putting up a fight.”

“How bold of you to think that you’re in a condition to put up a fight.”

“You’d be surprised. And if I can’t, your other nurse friends and your fellow patients can do it for me. I haven’t been handing out flower drawings for nothing all day.”

“And you say I am the devil in disguise.”

“I never said I was an angel, have I? Seriously though, you have ten seconds to pay a compliment to my drawing. Ten—”

“ ‘Okay’ was a compliment.”

“I beg to differ, since when ‘okay’ is a compliment? Say that to the Italian chef in Mamma Mia when he asks how is the pasta and see if he takes ‘okay’ as a compliment and doesn’t pour half-full pasta plate over your head, and ruin your favorite bee shirt. Also, nine.”

“That was oddly specific. Did that happen to you?”

“Eight, I have no idea what you’re talking about, I was just being hypothetical. Seven, six—”

“I bet he wouldn’t threaten me with taking my meal back if I did at least.”

“Sev— wait a second I was counting backwards, weren’t I? Where were we? Five!”

“Man, you’re really no good at math.”

“Wanna know what I’m good at? Many things, and fighting happens to be one of them. Four, ” Jaskier attempts to get up from the bed, somehow forgetting about his broken leg for a split second and swears: “Ah, cock!”

Geralt barely holds back a laugh at that one.

“Careful.”

“I can still verbally fight you.”

“You’ve been already doing that for the last five minutes.”

“…three.”

“You never give up, do you?” Geralt rolls his eyes with a smile, “It’s a good drawing. I really like it.”

Another lie.

He doesn’t just like it, he loves it.

But even saying that he likes it is enough to make Jaskier beam at him.

“You gave everyone a flower drawing,” he points out  “but I get a cactus and a drawing of myself, why is that? It must have taken some time to draw this.”

“A special drawing for a special nurse.” Not making eye contact, Jaskier says so softly that Geralt nearly misses it. “Yeah, it sure took some time to draw it, and my schedule was so full because of all the crazy hospital parties you guys keep throwing that I could hardly find the time, but eh, I managed somehow.”

“Sucks that they never invite me to that parties,” the nurse jokes back. “Seriously though, thank you. I appreciate it.”            

“I’d like to draw something for Ciri, too. But I’m saving it for later when I can meet her. You didn’t tell her that I’m here, right?”

“She doesn’t know.”

“Good! Keep it that way.”

***

Smiling at the memory, Geralt rises from his bed to take the drawing from his bedside drawer. No, of course he doesn’t look at it every day, what are you talking about?

If he hadn’t promised Jaskier that he wouldn’t let Ciri know until these two can meet in person, this drawing would be on his wall already.

Maybe next to Ciri’s painting of a white wolf.

He had considered doing so but then decided that it would be wise if he didn’t. No doubt Ciri would figure out it was Jaskier’s drawing as soon as she would see it. It was signed by him, after all. Not that Ciri couldn’t figure it out without the signature.

“What the hell, Geralt” The nurse snorts to himself and runs a hand over his face as he imagines his room filled with the drawings of his daughter, and Jaskier’s. “What are you gonna dream about next? Ciri being a flower girl at your wedding?”

Fuck.

He is totally dreaming about it now.

God, it’s crazy how much he misses him, even though he doesn’t really know him.

Ciri already is crazy about Jaskier, and Geralt looks forward to them to meet, to see how Ciri is going to react when she sees him. He feels like the two would talk non-stop, and he would just listen to them talking about God knows what.

He would have no problem with that; in fact.

“I’ll give him a call tomorrow,” he thinks.

He wants to see Jaskier again.

(Thanks for reading! Sorry for the lack of Jaskier in this chapter, but it was like:

-So, it’s time for you to meet Ciri! 

-Hah, well, I love her, but I don’t think so. Not yet. 

-But Ciri- 

-You can have me as a Flashback Guest in this chapter, nothing more. 

-But my plan wasn’t like this. 

-Too bad, I’m my own character.

Let me know what you think please. Have a good day everyone ~ 💛)

[itsbebachan]

Unfortunate Soul Chapter 4

Hello again my lovelies, I’m truly sorry for the wait. Covid has really made a mess out of the airline industry which has really affected my job. I haven’t been able to get as much time has I would have liked to write seeing as I had to get a second job to make up for not being able to fly as much. But like I have promised in the past I will finish this story. Thank you for all of those that have left comments, liked and have even subscribed to my story. You truly have no idea how happy you all have made me, it truly gives me inspiration knowing people out there like my work. So Thank You So Much, I will see you next time.

I woke to the chatter of voices. I looked around my small white wall room and realized that I was in the hospital. I could see my parents talking in soft voices about what had happened the day prior. I stayed very still, giving the illusion that I was still asleep. I need to hear their conversation; I wanted to know what it was all about. I looked around the room and saw a few files on my bedside table; I know that those must be my potential mates.

"This can't be happening, Toshi. Izuku had so many dreams that he wanted to accomplish. Katsuki took that away from him! I can't believe that Katsuki would do something like this. I should have tried harder when I spoke to Mitsuki, and maybe we could have come up with a better solution than Izuku having to go through this arranged marriage."

"Shota, having Katsuki marry Izuku would have been the ideal plan, but do you want our son to be with someone that clearly doesn't want him. He may go along with it if we force him. But in the long run, it would be very detrimental to Izku's mental and emotional health, and God only knows if that kid turns out to be a complete asshole and causes physical harm to our boy."

"But an arranged marriage, Toshi. Don't you think that's a little bit extreme? Shouldn't we at least let him find someone that would be right for him instead of choosing for him?"

"Sho, Honey. It's the best solution. We can't wait any longer. The doctor already told us that he is already at the end of this first trimester; he will start showing soon. We are running out of time; our society will not accept him otherwise."

"Dad, mom. I really don't mind seeing what will become of this arranged marriage."

At my words, they both stopped and stared at me. Confusion mirrored their faces. I continued and hoped that they wouldn't stop me in the middle of my sentence. "Look, I understand what has to happen. I truly am disappointed that I can't marry my child's father, but if he doesn't want us, then fuck him. I'm not going to raise my child with a man that hates us both. Yes, Katsuki is the love of my life, but I have to do what is best for my baby."

Following my words, my mom came to sit on the edge of my bed. "I'm so sorry, baby. I wish this were not happening to you. And if I could change it, you better believe that I would. I wish you would have come to us sooner, then maybe things could have been different."

I reached out my hand to hold his with a small smile on my face. "I know, mom, this is all my fault. You and dad are the most important people in my life, but I was so scared that you would hate me and abandon me. Can you ever forgive me for not coming to you first?"

"Zuku, my boy. You have nothing to be scared of, your mother and I will always love you. No matter what happens. We will figure things out." Dad said as he also made his way to my bed.

"Now, don't misunderstand. This situation is not what we dreamed for you and damn Katsuki. He will not get away without being made responsible. You can be sure about that; your mother already informed his parents that he would have to pay you child support, but we believe it is best if you find another mate. I'll be DAMNED if I let that son of a bitch hurt you again."

I smiled at my parents, knowing that everything they have done has been for my well-being, and I know deep down in my heart that they would always be there for me when I needed them. I sat a little bit straighter on my bed and looked at the stack of files on my nightside table, the thought of meeting a complete stranger made me nervous, but I know that there was no other way. Kacchan would never change his mind about us, and I was too scared to raise my kid alone. Reaching over, I pulled the files to my lap and grassed my fingers over the covers. In these files were the names and photos of my future husband. Having the flies so close truly made my situation feel extremely real. There was no turning back now.

"You don't have to go throw them right now, baby. Just rest for today. Will let you sleep, and we will be back later to take you home." With a kiss on my forehead, my mom started heading to the door. "Sleep, my boy. You still have plenty of time tomorrow to go through those. It's best to go into this with a clear head." My dad ruffled my hair and followed my mom out the door.

Sighing, I looked at the folders again; this was it. The moment my life would change. I wonder what my future husband would be like if he would be understanding of my situation. The thought of him not accepting my child was heartbreaking. But I knew I would do anything to protect my baby, even if it meant marrying a man that I did not love. Picking the top file and placing the other two on the nightstand, I open it to the first page. The guy in the photo was around my age, with lovely corn color hair and a babyface. His tiny blue eyes had a scene of adventure and fun. They grabbed my attention instantly, which made his smile appear like a ray of light. He looked very handsome in his white shirt and green pants uniform. He was handsome, indeed.

Name: Togata Mirio

Birthday July 15, 2516

Age: 19

Birthplace: Chiba Prefecture

Quirk: Permeation/Formally

Occupation: College Student at Tokyo U

Favorite Color: Green

Favorite Food: Ramen

Hobbies: Comedy

He enjoys making people laugh and sees life as a beautiful adventure. He works part-time at an orphanage where he is well-loved.

With a small smile, I placed his file to the side and reached for the next one. Once I opened it, it blessed me with the most captivating face I have ever seen. He had a small smile on his face, but his beautiful blue and grey had so much sadness in them. It tugged at my heartstrings and made me want to know more about him. His beautiful white and red hair was unique in its beauty; it suited him well. The red mark around his left blue eye makes him intriguing and mysterious.

Name: Todoroki Shoto

Birthday: January 11, 2513

Age: 22

Birthplace: Musutafu

Quirk: Half Cold - Half Hot

Occupation: CEO Todoroki Industry

Favorite Color: Grey

Favorite Food: Cold Soba

Hobbies: Going to the gym and visiting his mother

He loves visiting his sick mother in a lovely home that was bought by him. He is a very loving and caring child and makes sure that his mother has everything he needs.

Knowing that he took such great care of his mother frankly spoke to my soul. I would do anything in my power for my mom, and it showed me that he had a kind soul. I reached for the last file, wondering what kind of man he would be. So far, I had two beautiful candidates, the anxiety that had been building over the past few days had started to lessen. Opening the last file, I see a man that was in desperate need of sleep. He reminded me of my mom with these heavy bags under his eyes. His dark purple eyes are so intense that it brought a shiver up my spine. He looks intimidating, giving off the impression that he has lived a hard life. His long tufts of indigo hair were messy and flaring out everywhere.

Name: Hitoshi Shinso

Birthday: July 1, 2512

Age: 22

Birthplace: Santana Prefecture

Quirk: Brainwashing

Occupation: Accountant for Angelic Hormonal Watch Monitor

Favorite Cool: Burgundy

Favorite food: Gyudon

Hobbies: Going for bicycle rides and playing with his cat named Mimi

He works very long hours as an accountant, which doesn't give him much free time. He enjoys going walking his cat Mimi in the park and going camping.

After reading his file, I understand why he looks so tired. I couldn't imagine being stuck in an office all day. Closing his file, I laid my head on my pillow and closed my eyes. Reading about these men had brought a little bit of hope into my heart. Being without Kacchan was killing me, the pain of his loss still too fresh, too new. But with time, I know that I could learn to like or even love one of my new suitors. Only time would tell.

That afternoon my parents came to pick me from the hospital. The weather outside was cloudy and cold in the autumn afternoon. The drive home was silent, which gave me plenty of time to let my mind wander. My mind was still reeling from the information I had read. They all seemed like good candidates. They all have something in common with me, Togata sharing my birthday or the fact that Hitoshi's love for cats just like me. The matchmaker listened to my mother's advice when it came to finding the right mate for me. The excitement of meeting them was overwhelming. My mom could see my excitement too. He turned around in his seat and asked if I was feeling well.

"Yeah, mom. I was just thinking about my suitors." At my words, his eyes widened, a small smile appeared on his face.

"So you read over their files. Is it worth getting to know them?" He asked me with pure curiosity. My dad was listening very intently for my answer.

"Of course, it is. Did you know that one of the guys shares my birthday? His name is Togata Mirio. He is 19, only a year older than me. He's a college student, but he works part-time at an orphanage. Then there is Todoroki Shoto, his 22 and is the CEO of the Todoroki Industry if I'm not mistaken, that's one of the largest computer companies in the world. The last guy reminds me of you, mom."

"How so, baby? He asked with a smile on his face, the look of confusion evident in his eyes.

"Well, he works as an accountant for dad's company, so he doesn't get much free time. His bags under his eyes can rival yours." I say, giddy. I was covering my mouth so I wouldn't laugh.

"I do not have bags under my eyes, young man." My comment on his beauty affronted him.

"Honey, it would help your health if you would take it easy once and a while. Zuku is just looking out for you." Dad tried to help but only got a nasty look from my mom.

"Nevermind all that, tell me more about this guy. What's his name?"

"His name is Hitoshi Shinso; he is 23. He loves going outdoors and has a cat named Mimi. If I were to be stuck in an office all day, I would love the outdoors too." I finished with a smile.

"That sounds fantastic, honey. The matchmaker sure picked out some quality candidates. I'm just a little concerned that two of them are a bit older than you."

"Sho, I'm three years older than you. What's the big deal?" He looks at my mom with a smile on his face. "It's not that different from us, and one of them is a CEO. You can't get a better mate than that." He turns his gaze back to the road; my mom gives up the argument. "All right, you win. I don't know why I even bother." Turning back around on his seat.

I start laughing at their antics. After all these years, the love they felt for each other was in every word they spoke. I wish that I could feel that way too. I look outside my window and see the city passing by; my thoughts on the man I love and the hurt I fell, knowing that he will never be mine. But there was hope, hope that one of these incredible men would fill my life with happiness, and after everything I have been through these past few weeks. I was looking forward to a new beginning.

@alovelie @girl2257 @strawberry-panic @0-ddball @monkeyzz-r-ur-bff @dragon-lover-idk @iyemicomic1920 @leynly @otaku-chan-world @jawazia @im-the-villin-in-this-story @itsatomichyena @rainytears2 @nevergrowingup101 @littlelovebug98 @koyukiy @justthememes1

[lymazhu]

Lingering Effects

rating: PG

pairing: Jon/Martin cw: loss of time/disorientation, accidentally being compelled to answer a question

written for Day 6 of TMAHCWeek with the prompt accident, with a bit of confusion/delirium. 

set between 159-160

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26189176

The dull throbbing that filled his mind before the haze of sleep could even dissipate made it clear that today was not going to be one of his better days. It was hard to even force his eyes open. Beside him the bed was cold and empty. Jon must have made it as best he could without disturbing Martin, so it was only the sounds coming from the kitchen that pushed away the momentary fear that gripped him. No, he told himself. Their time at the safehouse wasn't just a foolish dream. If he walked out of the bedroom he would see Jon making breakfast. Jon would look up at him, and there would be a soft, fond expression on his face that he’d long ago abandoned hopes of seeing until the first time it actually happened. That was real; it was the mist of the Lonely that wasn’t. Not anymore.

Being under the covers was stiflingly hot, but as soon as he made a move to leave the warmth of the bed his skin erupted in goosebumps. He'd never had much problem with lower temperatures or dampness before, not with living in London for so long. Now, though, the chill crept so easily into his bones. Drowned out everything that had changed from normal and comforting to oppressive and overwhelming. It had been getting better the longer he was away from the Lonely, but his dreams the night before had been full of fog and Peter's voice casually speculating about whether Martin would work more efficiently if he had a little chat with the Archivist's assistants.

“Martin?” Jon’s voice broke the silence, shaking him out of a daze. Martin wasn’t entirely sure if the man sounded distant because he was still in the kitchen or if it was just the way his brain was processing sounds at the moment. He realized it was the former when Jon continued, getting louder as he drew closer. Too loud. “I’ve made you an omelette with some of the herbs we picked up the other day. It, ah, should be to your liking but if not I-” Jon’s voice faltered as he reached the doorway, and Martin forced himself to meet the other man’s eyes. A variety of unpleasant feelings twisted within him. He must look particularly awful if he made Jon stop short. He didn’t want to give Jon time to confirm it, so he forced himself to speak.

“Thank you. I’ll be there shortly.” Please leave me alone, Martin left unsaid. 

By the time he’d managed to make it to the table, having given up on trying to fix the rat’s nest his hair had become, the food Jon had put effort into making was barely lukewarm. It would probably have been delicious on another day. He managed about half of it between sips of over-brewed tea before he set his fork down. The sound of metal against porcelain was jarring enough to make him flinch, even though he was the one who’d done it.  Old guilt rose in him at the idea of letting good food go to waste, but the thought of trying to force down another bite made his throat feel tight.

“I’m not very hungry.” He didn’t add that he wasn’t very anything right now, but from the looks of it Jon knew. Part of him resented that, even though it wasn’t exactly something that would require superhuman knowledge to catch.

“Not feeling well today, I take it. I...wasn’t up for eating this morning either. Perhaps we caught something in the village.” Martin knew that on a better day he would have appreciated that olive branch. Would have agreed, or maybe even made some joke or another despite both of them knowing perfectly well that their relative states had nothing to do with the flu. Today, though, the reminder that Jon hadn’t even bothered to make himself food was the last thing he wanted. He’d noticed that there was no second plate in the sink, but he’d been trying not to think about it. Not to mention that the way Jon had avoided asking him a question spoke volumes. 

After Jon had cleared away the dishes and Martin had pretended not to see the way the man’s hands trembled or the slight sheen of sweat on his skin, they sat together in the main room. At first Jon had sat beside him, but his weight against Martin’s side didn’t have its usual comforting effect. It had been stifling, and every shift of the man’s body or sound of a  flipped page made Martin tense. At some point, Martin wasn’t sure how long after they’d sat down, Jon had pretended that he had left something in the kitchen and settled in the armchair upon his return. 

More of the day passed that way; from time to time Martin would register that the direction of the muddled sunlight coming through the windows had changed, but mostly his thoughts were faint and distant. Lost as soon as they’d registered, except for when some sound or another would cut through everything to send a stab of discomfort through him. He could feel Jon’s eyes on him. It wasn’t comforting. His skin prickled under the man’s stare, and he was about to ask him to stop when it happened. 

“What’s wrong, Martin?” Martin had long enough to look up, shocked, before the compulsion forced the words from his mouth. “I woke up this morning with Peter’s voice in my head and thought I was still in the Lonely because your side of the bed didn’t even look slept in. I don’t remember the last time I saw you eat and that scares me. I can see you’re in withdrawal and I still remember that woman who came to me describing what you did to her, every single sound and bright color and taste is overwhelming today and part of me is still waiting to find out this whole thing is the punchline to a particularly unfunny joke.” 

As everything poured out, he could hear Jon apologize, tell him in a panicked voice that he didn’t mean to. It didn’t remove the effect, though, and by the time he had control over himself again he didn’t particularly want to tell Jon it was okay. He didn’t say anything more at all before he stood and walked out of the room. Jon was still speaking, but there was nothing supernatural to his tone anymore so Martin wasn’t forced to listen or comprehend what he was saying. 

The next time he came back to himself, the sun was low in the sky. Long shadows and rich orange light stretched across the floor. His thoughts were still clouded and his body heavy, but he was at least able to move without feeling out of sync with his own body. There had to have been more to the day than the few scraps of memory he could pull out of the fog. Something more than food that turned his stomach and Jon compelling him. But what it was, he couldn’t recall.

 He remembered clearly the way it felt to have the answer forced out of him, but the actual words he’d said were another story. All he knew was that he’d been so tired and so angry. That he hadn’t wanted to listen to Jon’s desperate apologies. Part of him still didn’t, but he knew they needed to talk. He’d made his choice; being by Jon’s side, loving him, sometimes meant dealing with things that he shouldn’t have to. And Martin knew that Jon tried his best not to use his powers on him but he’d been getting weaker as the days went by. It was probably only a matter of time before he slipped, and it was better that it happened now rather than when they were out in town. That still didn’t make it okay, but he needed to look at things objectively. 

Jon was still in the armchair when Martin found him, staring out the window. Given the way he startled when Martin’s hand came to rest lightly on his shoulder, he hadn’t heard him approach. The look of shock on his face was quickly replaced by shame. “O-oh, Martin...I really am so-” “Jon.” It wasn’t unkind, but Martin’s tone left no room for interpretation. “I’m aware things are difficult for you, and I know that you’re trying, but- please never compel me again. I don’t remember what I said, but I’m sure I would have chosen my words better if they hadn’t been forced from me. I know I’ve been doing better the longer I’ve been out of the Lonely, but today was bad. Still is, really, but I can actually keep thoughts in my head long enough to be able to talk.” A sigh escaped Martin as he made his way to the couch, motioning for Jon to join him. His instincts pushed for him to soften his words a bit more, to reassure Jon that everything was fine, but it wasn’t. Drawing limits, having boundaries, that wasn’t something unacceptable. That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt a bit to see how cautious Jon was as he sat down, carefully avoiding sitting too close to him. 

“You’re right. I mean, o-of course you’re right. It’s been a while since I’ve had a statement, and that tends to affect my interest in regular food. Among...other things. But that doesn’t excuse my forcing an answer out of you. Nor does the fact that I didn’t do it intentionally. I am sorry, but that doesn’t mean you need to forgive me.” 

“I know.” Martin didn’t quite feel up to smiling, not yet, but he placed his hand over Jon’s. “We can talk about it more later, work out a system. Figure things out. For now let’s just...agree that it’s on hold.” He brushed a lock of loose hair from Jon’s face, tucking it behind the man’s ear.

“I love you. That hasn’t changed.” Martin added after a few moments.  The silence that fell between them this time, as Jon leaned wordlessly into his touch, had a much different quality. If he wasn’t still oversensitive to sound, Martin might have missed Jon’s eventual response, soft and buried in his jumper as it was.

[justamixofemoandpunk]

Ok so i have to publish stuff for one of my classes. and I am publishing it to tumblr dot com

Please don't be mean I'm sorry.

Poetry Portfoilio:

I Come from poem

I come from rainstorms

Softly tapping the windows,

Nourishing the ground

Rainbows are just around the corner,

And yet nobody wants it to end

Soft and comforting

I come from rainstorms

With howling winds,

Beating at the doors,

flooding ponds and

Spattering against the window

Ripping petals off flowers

Violent and merciless

I come from cool mornings,

With fuzzy sweaters and hot tea

Coffee weak to with sugar and cream

Favorite spices stirred in

Trees are turning bright colors in the distance

Rubbing sleep from your eyes

I com from cool mornings,

With harsh wind biting cheeks and noses

Painfully early

Headaches from trying to remember a forgotten dream

And burning fevers

I come from mist and fog

Warm mornings with honeysuckle perfume

Birds in the far distance chirp

Of a new day

Covered in a fluffy white sweater

I come from mist and fog

Shrouding the distance

“Danger, Danger” whispers the trees

A snake slithers unseen on the forest floor

Mystery itself is fearful

I come from power herself

Spring spots poem

flowers peeking through honeysuckle vines

with bowed heads from the weight of the world

and pink stretch marks from holding it up

they do not care, they know they are strong and beautiful

and yet tired all the same from the thankless work

more flowers appear,

this time with anger that they hold the weight of the world

they have bowed heads too, they are also tired

they do not want to clean up thanklessly after others

just like the previous generation

yet they are tired, because they do it too,

and try to explain they they do not have to be the only ones to help

the first flowers fade, wrinkling and fading

tired out, exhausted

they droop to the ground

without mourning save but from the other flowers

just as they fall

more flowers bloom in their place

not picking up the weight of the world,

they have seen the damage it does

they do not want to hurt

they try to convince the other plants and creatures to help,

telling them that the damage won’t be so great

but the others just laugh

After all, why would they pick up, why would they work when they hadn't before?

they wouldn't be hurt either way

it stings, it hurts

so when the last generation dies

there is a frost

everyone suffers

the other plants are mad at the flowers

for not picking up the weight of the world

the flowers are angry, because the other plants will not listen

only cruelly twist their words against them

so when the next flowers appear

the dying second set of flowers tell them not to pick it up

for the other plants will eventually pick up their share

the new flowers won't pick it up,

and they try to explain that everyone needs to help

but the other plants won’t listen

and the cycle repeats, it looks doomed

When will the other plants learn?

Will the flowers ever get a break?

Sonnet

Sonnet to people who won’t wear a mask

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day

For thou art hasn't even a bit of class

You look like an animal that eats hay

Say, thou art even dressed the part,( donkey)

You killed a baboon and stolen it’s face

you're a murderer and uncunning thief

your mother never gave you an embrace

but a mere peek of your face causes grief

You are steadfast to theories of fraud

you use sources from all except science

At logic you have stridently guffawed

doctors receive only your defiance

To the nearest grocery employee

I say: run! covid is a guarantee

4 word poem

444Early thunder webs porch

I woke up early this morning

Packed my bag, took a quick shower,

Stepped onto the webbed porch

Walked down to the nearest train station

The city was already bustling, but in a tired sort of way

I boarded the metro, and dozens of ghostly eyes glanced up,

Haunted by the lack of sleep, decimated by the stresses

Only one pair of them saw me, I knew.

It was myself at a young age

visiting the art museum with my mother and brother

I still remember that trip.

If only my naive self knew what would happen.

What would become of me

What will happen

These Have I Loved

Cars whizzing past my house, blaring the radio, the sharing their snippets of sound

Raindrops dripping down a window,

The smell of baking bread in the oven, and the sizzle of eggs on the stove,

A book by the crackling fire,

Inky calligraphy, a page of scribbles for warming up the ink

Shooting stars speeding by, a gasp and a hundred thousand silent wishes

The stars and the moon, shining bright,

White roses dyed with split stems

Chalk monsters on driveways

Clouds forming and shifting, butterflies flitting between the bushes

Honeysuckle flowers picked and nectar greedily sipped out

Lumps of moss gently placed in potting soil, caringly watered.

666 this is just to say

This is just to say:

I forgot to text you back

I forgot to write the email

I promise I was thinking of you

I promised I haven’t forgotten

I miss you so much

I promise I love you still

I promise I promise I promise

I am thinking of you

I care, but I can’t write the email

I promise I tried

Forgive me

stretched pantoum( I’m sorry 3 stanzas wasn’t enough)

I’m scared/

Another friend drops/

I do not know their name/

Why does nobody notice everyone is falling//

Another friend drops /

My heart beats faster/

Why does nobody notice everyone is falling/

They’re being murdered by the minute//

My heart beats faster/

Why does nobody else see the blue-grey-green murderer/

They’re being murdered by the minute /

It’s holding a bloody hatchet, //

Why does nobody else see the blue-grey-green murderer/

It’s holding their head under water,/

It’s holding a bloody hatchet/

Why do they answer it’s sick questions //

It’s holding their head underwater,/

I KNEW THAT PERSON/

Why did they answer his sick questions/

They’re gone now, never coming home, never coming home//

I KNEW THAT PERSON/

And they’re gone, gone forever/

They’re gone now, never coming home, never coming home/

They were drowned in the fountain//

And they’re gone, gone forever/

With a hatchet in the back/

They were drowned in the fountain/

They were poisoned//

With a hatchet in the back/

They sank to their knees, eyes up to heaven/

They were poisoned/

They had no choice//

5 different ways of looking at the moon

A one-eyed space cat,

Staring with unwavering attention,

Never bothering to shake the glittering dust off its coat

It keeps a silent sigil

A bitten cookie,

Rudely munched on by ants

They didn’t even notice the silver and gold leaf

In their hunger, it was just more food

The cat is growing sleepy

It has been there for millenia

Ever watching, waiting

Why does it stay? What is going to happen?

A teacup,

Left with only the bitter dregs,

Someone forgot to take the teabag out

The last drops are cold and strong

Maybe the cat drank it

A colourful stamp on paint named ”Satin night”

Spotted and not quite perfect

Maybe from a cork

Slammed so hard the paint spattered

And made stars

I remember poem

I remember sticking my hands and head out the car window as we sped down the highway at sunset, speakers resounding our favorite songs on cassette,

Walking around the city with balloons in hand- we had picked them for the other

I remember laying on the rooftop, and you showed me my star sign, and yours, and your favorite constellations and their stories,

And I remember your face when I gave you a strawberry plant that I grew just for you

I remember making our playlist, with all our favorite songs, and it was fun because you tried to add words to the titles to make them funny because

I remember “It’s Not a Fashion Statement, It’s A Deathwish, Mom” and “Bring Me to Life, Mom”

And I remember your anger when they called me that word.

I had to hold you back to keep you from hurting them.

You flat ironed my hair, and I remember dyeing yours neon green.

I remember slow dancing in our room, with lit scented candles to spotify playlists and McDonald’s ads.

I remember growing ivy on the staircase with you

I remember your smile

4 word sketch poem

Firstborn, whistle, moonlight, strings

The whistle of the first firework,

it screeches up into the dusk.

The strings it releases explode and crackle,

A chorus of gasps and Oohs and Ahs

As the firstborn child sneaks away, unnoticed.

It’s fine, that was their plan anyways.

Fireflies are twinkling, traffic is clogged and congested.

They round the corner, pacing fast but quietly, the way they learned in 5th grade.

The boots make it difficult, so they tiptoe on the narrow strip of grass that lays next to the sidewalk.

They’ve reached their destination: the pharmacy.

It's hard not to attract attention when you’re the only customer in the store.

A few minutes later, they leave, crinkly plastic bag in hand,

Nearly sprinting towards their family.

They’ve only been gone for five minutes, but

The fireworks and the fact that they’re normally quiet has kept their family from alarm.

They sneak back into the circle,

doling out candy to delighted brothers and sisters,

The parents have no idea.

[drowning-in-daiya]

K so I’m absolutely Weak for William and there’s an insane lack of written content for him and the Black Clover fandom as a whole. So I’ve decided to grace the internet with my absolute shit writing for the first time in 5 years for some crap attempts at fluff. These were originally written with an OC (who has 20 whole pages of profile wow I need to stop) but I’ve made it into a reader insert the best I could. I kept the third person pronouns though just because I’m lazy and tired sorry I personally don’t enjoy reading that myself but again laziness wins. There are most definitely typos and I apologize in advance but I hope fellow fans enjoy these entirely self-indulgent piece! If anyone can even find this rip also tumblr formatting is a pain and i was in physical pain editing this

Note: (s/e/c) stands for secondary eye color. Sorry again if it doesn’t fit how you’re reading it :(

Another note: because this was based on an oc, there are some details (not many, like two I think) that are specific to her and don’t take into account different skin tones or eye color. Again I apologize for leaving them in, but I loved the flow the sentences and couldn’t really find a way that sounded just as good to me. If I ever write more, I’ll try to be more considerate with details like this.

(William x reader)

Fluff

Word count: 1,555

Warnings: None

Shoulder Pillow

A time before either realizes their feelings; or when (y/n) falls asleep on William’s shoulder (Takes place a few months into the two turning seventeen)

“William.”

“Yes, (y/n)?” He smiles slightly but doesn’t lift his eyes from the book in his hands. He knows that tone; slightly pitchy with the end syllable drawn out. His suspicion is confirmed when she throws her head back and sighs.

“I’m bored.” Keeping her head back she slants her eyes towards his figure, taking in his relaxed form, the way one hand is lightly gripping one edge of the book while the other cradles the spine. She notices the small smile on his face when her eyes flicker up and lightly huffs. His smile grows slightly when he finally looks up to see the pout curving her lips downward.

“Do you want to do something else?” he asks. Her eyes find his again; (e/c) with bits of (s/e/c) speckled at the bottom meeting bright purple. He notes how much darker they are now in the back of his mind, deciding he would ask later if everything is alright.

She’s torn and doesn’t answer for a minute. While reading is fun and William’s presence provides a warm comfort she hasn’t felt in some time, it’s getting hard to focus and she’s getting antsy. It doesn’t help that she’s running on about two hours of sleep won after a hard battle against her insomnia and nightmares. He follows his first question with another before she can land on an answer.

“Would you like me to read to you? I can start over if you want.”

Badump.

Ignoring the swell in her chest (because honestly she can’t spare enough energy to think about what that could mean) she nods and scoots closer on the couch to look on with him as he flips to the first page. His voice is even and more soothing than usual, and within minutes she feels her eyelids drooping.

When was the last time someone read to me like this? Maybe three- no… four years ago? Ahh his voice is so nice.

Her head dips forward slightly and she jerks back, widening her eyes and staring intently at the words. William spares a quick glance but keeps reading, another smile beginning to spread across his face when he feels her breaths start to even out again. He doesn’t expect to feel the weight of her head or smell the citrus scent of her shampoo a few minutes later and cuts off midsentence. A warm blush is already darkening his cheeks under the mask, so when he looks down and sees her relaxed face smooshed against his shoulder, mouth slightly open with light snores escaping, his heart skips several beats. He stares a few seconds more, memorizing the way her lashes cast shadows across her cheeks and the steady rise and fall of her chest, before going back to reading out loud.

He’s just reached page 20 when she wakes up, just slightly refreshed but with an odd ache in her neck. It takes a few seconds for her groggy mind to take in exactly what her face is pressing against, and a few more seconds to properly react. Apologies begin to pour out in a jumbled mess; her eyes are bouncing anywhere but his face (completely missing his grin), freezing only once she catches sight of the dark spot on his shoulder. Impossibly more heat rushes through her body as she begins apologizing for not only using his shoulder as a pillow but drooling on him on top of that.  

He lets her carry on till she can find nothing else to beg forgiveness for; in the lull during which she tries to catch her breath, he places his hand on her head, ruffling her hair a bit before saying: “It’s fine. You were tired right?”

It takes a few seconds for the question to register, but she nods her head once it does and raises her eyes to his. She takes in the smile, heart skipping another beat (seriously what is wrong with me today??), relief washing through her that he’s not looking at her in disgust. They both sit like that seemingly frozen in that position for another five seconds before he takes his hand away. She can’t see it, but another blush is spreading across his cheeks at the realization that he held his hand there for too long trying to imitate her comforting habit. They continue to stare at each other awkwardly, neither knowing what to say now, until the clock in the common area rings out. 

She stands abruptly, quickly spouting off an excuse that she’ll be late for a meeting with so-and-so and that she’d better head off now.

“I can read to you again whenever you’re tired, (y/n). I didn’t mind being your pillow for the afternoon,” he calls out when the door’s halfway closed behind her. It slams shut before she can respond, not that she could have with the way her mind and heart were racing at the unusual and rather brazen comment from her fellow knight.

Ahh seriously what is this?!?

When He Knew

Seeing William without his mask for the first time; or when William realizes he likes you (Two weeks after the shoulder pillow incident) 

“He’s late.” 

“Yeah, no shit genius. He’s probably on his way right now.” The other knight throws a glare before going back to staring out the window. The foot tapping grew old five seconds after he started, but now the attitude directed towards William is giving you a new reason to dread the two-day mission. It’d be a lie if you said you weren’t worried, though. In the three years you’d known him, William was never late, instead almost always showing up a few minutes early. This realization causes you to think of the worst possibilities, ignoring the more probable answer that he had overslept or gotten wrapped up in something else. 

Dead. He’s definitely gotta be dead. Or maybe he caught something and is laying helpless in bed? Or did intruders somehow manage to sneak in and now he’s all tied up and- Taking a deep breath to calm down, you decide to give him another five minutes before heading over to check on him. A minute passes in silence and you’re pushing off the wall, mumbling incoherently something about going to fetch him. A tiny part of your brain is still somewhat rational and begs the other parts to slow down and think for a second. 

But I am thinking and I think he’s got to be dead or near death since he’s more than twenty minutes late! You reach his room in record speed and hesitate for a second. Should I at least knock? If he’s dead he won’t hear it; but even if he’s alive he may be unable to answer back. A thud sounds from the other side of the door and your brain switches to automatic. 

Eyes are already scanning for threats or a slumped body when the door slams open; instead of either, though, they catch sight of a frozen, maskless William staring back at you, half in horror, half in fright. It feels like hours tick by as you two stare at each other; You glance over every part of his face, vaguely taking in the scar that spans the top half, but more enthralled by all of the emotion you can see now. His eyes are even more enchanting fully visible (are they even brighter than before?? No no no... probably not…but maybe?); his nose that was already the cutest form of elegance you’ve ever seen fits perfectly with the rest of his face. And the hair it’s- 

It’s only five seconds of intense staring as you try to memorize the pure beauty that is bare faced William before snapping out of it and offering your excuse. “I thought you were dead and came to check on you.” Straight faced, eyes locked on his, said with total seriousness. 

He can’t tell if he wants to laugh or cry, and if he does cry if it’ll be from embarrassment or joy. There’s no change in how you’re looking at him, the tone of voice you’re speaking to him in. Brutally honest (y/n) who never fails to let others know how you feel no matter how it might hurt the other person. The girl who told him his mask was tacky and he could do better upon their second meeting. The one who almost got into a fistfight with another knight that made an offhanded remark about the same mask. (y/n)! His heart is still racing for a completely different reason now. All the pieces are linking together and he knows. The stuttering heart, breathless laughs, warm and tingly feeling throughout his body; it all makes sense because some part of him knew all along. You’re rambling speaking again, red painting your cheeks (adorable he thinks), but he doesn’t hear any of it. He’s still staring when you finally stop; one heartbeat…two heartbeats…you turn on your heel on the third and shout out another apology (this one he hears) for the intrusion, and tell him to hurry up or you’d leave him behind. His body relaxes once the door closes and he stares at the mask in his hands. He briefly wonders what kind of expression you saw on his face, why you looked so flustered (it definitely wasn’t because she’s attracted to me that’s for sure), and most importantly, how he’ll act around you now that he knows he’s in love.

[ouatimaginesnetwork]

Illusion: A Peter Pan Imagine

Hey guys it’s Hannah! I got this request from @internally---screaming on my Captain Swan page, but I wanted to post it on here for you guys as well! If I get any requests on my original page ONCE related, I will repost them on here. You can make requests here, but right now I’m only doing imagines and would includes. Right now I’m looking to get some requests on my side blog @dracomalfoyistheloml because I love the wizarding world. Writing a sequel to my Newt imagine on there, you can read about it. Anyways enjoy! 

-Hannah :)

Request: The reader has the power of illusion and Pan helps her train with it. There’s a point where he pushes her too far and she blows up at him. It all sews back together with a little fluff at the end. 

    You sat around the fire with the other lost boys, staring absentmindedly into the flames. They danced around the edge of your vision, creating blue spots around the edges of your mind. “Y/n? Are you even listening to me?” You shake out of your daze and look up at the voice that summons you. It was Peter. “Sorry Peter what did you say?” He looks at you, concern etched on his features. He gently takes a seat next to you, hesitating before resting his hand on your thigh. It sent chills to your spine. The scent of evergreens and pine wafted through your nostrils from him. It was heavenly. “What’s going on?” he says softly. You shrug and say, “I’m fine, really. Just a headache.” He presses you to say more, but you don’t. Eventually, he leaves. You watch as the lost boys slowly file away to bed around you. The flames begin to die out. Your mind wanders to the one place you didn’t want it to go. To Peter. You picture him in front of you as vivid as if he were real. The forest green eyes as bright as emeralds, his sandy colored hair that you always longed to run your fingers through. You close your eyes and finish the picture. And for a beautiful moment you let your heart wish for him. You longed for him, his presence. Blinking them open, you gasp. Right beside the dying embers was the same image of Peter you had created in your mind. “Peter?” you called out to him. He smiled. You walked towards him and reached out to grab his hand. But your hand passed right through his own. “What?” your mind begins to drift from the perfect image of him, and as your mind drew away from that the image began to falter. He wasn’t really there. You frown and sit back down, wondering how on earth you had created that image. Were you hallucinating? You squeeze your eyes shut concentrating on the image of something else. You decide to concentrate on the image of your parents. It was sad to think about, but it was the only way you could test your theory. Your parents were dead. If you were somehow able to recreate the image of them, then something else was up. Opening your eyes, tears immediately befall you as you see your parents standing before you. “Mom? Dad?” They smile back at you. Your eyes gloss over as you whisper, “You’re not real.” And as hard as it is, you force your mind away from them, and the image falters and disappears. It still didn’t make sense to you. Head in your hands, you wonder what this means. Silently, a figure comes up beside you and sits down next to you. And you don’t have to lift up your head to see who it is. The familiar scent of forest washed over you and you knew Peter was beside you. He rests his hand on your back and whispers, “Y/n, I saw what you did. It was amazing.” You finally look up at him and reply, “What do you mean?” He takes your hands and explains. “I’ve only seen it once before. But it’s a great power. The power of illusion. Of making things appear as if they’re not really there. It takes a great deal of sorcery.” You think about what he said. “What does this mean?” you breathe. Peter pulls your chin up lightly and makes you look at him. “I can train you, if you want. I’ve seen this once before, like I said, and I happen to have the power myself. I can help.” His face was so close to yours you could feel his cool breath on your face. You gulp, “Okay.” He smiles and his eyes briefly flicker to your lips. The urge to kiss him was so strong. But you couldn’t. There was absolutely no way he felt the same way about you as you did about him. So you pull away and look down. “Thank you Peter.” He looks to you, and for a brief second, you see the hurt register on his face. “We begin tomorrow,” he pats your leg and leaves. 

    The next morning you get up and throw on a raggedy green tunic. You put on a pair of leggings and a brown belt. Slipping on your combat boots you place your dagger in your belt and braid your hair back. Jogging over to the lake, you find Peter standing by the shore. “I’m here,” you call out to him. He turns around and smiles. Drinking you in he chuckles, “You know you really are a lost girl.” Your cheeks flame in response. He stands and stares at you. After a moment you say, “Umm Peter?” He shakes his head and says, “Sorry. Well, let’s begin. So, I want you to imagine someone before you, it can be anyone you want. But it’s not as simple as it was last night. If you want to create an illusion, you have to really concentrate. Make it believable. Make it believable to me. Go ahead, try.” So you close your eyes and concentrate on creating an image. You decide to create the image of another lost boy, of Felix. You squeeze your eyes shut tighter as your mind forms the picture of him. You blink them open and see Felix standing before you. Concentrating your energy on him, you hear Peter say in the background, “Very good Y/n. Now make Felix have a conversation with me.” You turn and look at the image you created. Peter says to the image, “Felix, where are the lost boys?” You say an answer in your mind, “They’re back at camp. They just finished hunting.” No sooner did you finish the response in your mind, did the fake Felix repeat the response to Peter. You jump in excitement, but your distraction makes the image disappear. You frown in disappointment. “Y/n, you can’t lose your concentration, it makes everything fall apart!” he raises his voice. You flinch at his response, but he doesn’t notice. He sighs, “The next thing we should try is disguising yourself as someone else.” You respond unsure, “Okay.” Peter says, “It’s similar to creating an image of someone, but you must reflect the image back on yourself. You must imagine yourself as them, imagine your features turning into their features. Start with someone you know very well, someone who it’s easy to picture.” “Okay. I guess I’ll picture the person I’m around the most,” you reply. He nods. So you close your eyes once more and picture Peter. You could see him clear as day, but it was hard to reflect the image back on yourself. You imagined your long h/c hair shortening to his sandy strands. Your e/c eyes morphing into his. As you continued your concentration, you felt energy draining from you and you became very tired. Your concentration wavers and you open your eyes. Peter frowns at you. The only thing different is your eyes and your hair. Your eyes were exactly the same as his, but your hair was only slightly lighter. “Y/n, why am I not looking at an image of myself?” He tries to hide it, but you can hear the disappointment in his voice. “I’m sorry Peter. Let me try again,” you tell him, anxious to prove yourself. You close your eyes and concentrate even harder than before. “It should be easy,” you thought, “You think about Peter all the time.” And that part was easy, it was the reflecting the image that was hard. You pushed with all your might to look like him. You pictured yourself as him so hard that beads of sweat form at your hairline. Working the illusion took every ounce of energy out of you. You opened your eyes again and Peter huffed, “Now you’re only wearing my clothes.” “I’m sorry,” you reply, tired. “Maybe if we just take a break. This is taking so much out of me,” you admit. Peter looks disappointed. “No you have to keep going, you can’t just sit there and do nothing.” You’re shocked at his words, he’d never spoken to you like that before. You wanted to be angry with him, but even more than that you wanted to impress him.”Okay,” you grit your teeth. Shutting your eyes tight once more, you put everything you have into the image. Sweat poured down your face and you could feel your body slowly morphing. But at the same time, you couldn’t push anymore, the energy was gone. You were empty. You opened your eyes and saw Peter’s disappointment. “You were so close come on y/n! Stop giving up!” This time he full out yelled at you. And that pushed you over the edge. “No you know what Peter you can shut up! You’ve pushed me hard enough.” Peter continues as if you hadn’t even spoke, “You’re not even trying! If you just pushed a little-” You cut him off. Anger rolled off of you as you looked at him in disbelief. You were too angry to even yell. “Not trying? Not trying?” you laughed sarcastically. He shot back, “Yeah not trying. You have so much potential you don’t even realize.” You shake your head at him, ready to leave. But before you do you look him straight in the eyes and say, “Fuck you Peter.” You turn on your heel and leave.

    The next couple days you avoided Peter completely. The anger slowly ebbed away, and turned into sadness. You knew you had feelings for Peter, and you thought he returned your feelings, but you were wrong. No one would treat someone they cared for that way. Across the fire each night, you could feel Peter’s eyes on you. They looked apologetic, but you held your ground. He looked especially sorry tonight, and you know if you didn’t get away you would forgive him. So you stand from your place at the fire and walk into the woods. Unbeknownst to you, Peter follows.

    You wander aimlessly, brushing the tree branches as you walk by them. As you continue on, you can’t hide your disappointment when you see Peter emerge from behind a tree in front of you on your path. “What do you want Peter?” you avoid looking at him. He stands silently, not responding, forcing you to look at him. You bite back your surprise, chewing on the inside of your lip as you stare into his eyes. They’re glossed over with tears, and the look he gives you nearly breaks your heart. He steps forward and goes to take your hand, but pulls back seeing the look of hurt on your face. He takes a breath, “I’m sorry y/n. I know I pushed you too hard. I know that now and I’m so sorry. I got carried away with your promise. You’re just so talented and beautiful and bright and I just wanted to help-” You cut him off. “Did you say beautiful?” He wrinkles his nose and blushes. “Yeah. Yeah I did,” he whispers. This time you do take his hands and look into his eyes. You sigh, and throw caution to the wind. “Peter I forgive you. I can tell you’re being sincere.” You watch excitement take over his features as he squeezes your hand. “Y/n thank you, thank you so much!” You both stand there for a moment, silence passing between the two of you. You don’t trust your ears. You thought you heard him wrong, but he says again, “You know you really are beautiful y/n. The most beautiful person I have ever met.” You blush. He steps closer and continues, “Every night I thank my lucky stars that you came to the island. You’re everything to me. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” He wraps his arms around your waist and you rest your head on his chest, inhaling his familiar scent. Time stops as he leans closer and whispers in your ear, “I love you y/n.” You here him gasp as he admits it, but it was too late for him to take it back. He waits in fear for your response. “I love you too Peter,” you look up at him and smile. Peter sighs with relief and smiles, “Thank God.” This time an unusual feeling surges through you, courage. So you take your courage and place your hands on Peter’s cheeks, planting a fiery kiss to his lips. A hunger fills you as you realize you’ve been waiting to do this forever. Peter immediately kisses you back, his hands splayed across your lower back. His hands run up your back and through your hair, leaving fire in their wake. You kiss him till your face turns blue, and pull away reluctantly. He grins from ear to ear, and rubs his nose against your own. “You’re amazing you are,” he tells you. You lightly chuckle, “Shut up Peter,” as you go back to kissing him.