#i seriously need to exercise some self-restraint when it comes to these two

[kokuryuu-writes]

Do you have any zentan headcanons?? I’d love to hear them!

Aww, you bet I do! 

I’m sorry for taking such a long time. But oh dear, are you ready for this anon?

Sleep:

Zenitsu doesn’t say it out loud but he loves Tanjirou’s gentle sound. It makes him feel safe, tells him everything will be okay, and he instinctively reaches for Tanjirou whenever he’s distressed.  

(When they’re sleeping, he naturally gravitates to Tanjirou and ended up laying in Tanjirou’s futon with his head resting on the latter’s chest, each thump of the heartbeat soothes every bit of tension he has even when asleep.)

The first time it happens Tanjirou is surprised but he doesn’t mind it much since his late brothers used to sleep in his futon.

Tanjirou must admit he rather likes it honestly, Zenitsu’s hair smells so pleasant. The sweetness of the scent reminds Tanjirou of peaches he used to get as a payment for the charcoal he sold to a kind old lady in some occasion. Needless to say, he can’t help but bury his nose in his golden locks as he breathes in and closes his eyes.

(Zenitsu never really notices he sleeps in Tanjirou’s futon since Tanjirou is an early riser and always wakes up first before him, though he is bewildered. Why did my futon move to the middle?! I-is there a g-GHOST?! DON’T TELL ME IT’S THAT MONSTER HAG—)

Tanjirou is so accustomed to Zenitsu sleeping in his arms futon that he doesn’t sleep well when Zenitsu is away.

For the first time in his life, Tanjirou wakes up grumpy that day, his grumpiness even lasts for a whole day, despite he himself not knowing why. People can sense something is a little… off with him, when asked, he only sighs and shrugs with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

Paying close attention to each other/Food (?) :

Zenitsu listens to Tanjirou attentively, even when he doesn’t look like it.

Sometimes, Tanjirou talks about his siblings and his parents as he braids Nezuko’s hair and thinks nothing much about it, but Zenitsu is genuinely interested in hearing more about them, even offering his comments such as, Hanako and Shigeru sound so adorable, Oh! Rokuta liked unagi? Me too! etc.

It’s gotten until the point that Zenitsu goes, I bet Takeo scolded them or And? Shigeru and Hanako followed you, right? Zenitsu then proceeds to guess things about them correctly; Tanjirou feels as if Zenitsu has known his siblings as much as he does.

One time Tanjirou mentions that tara no me is his favorite food. Some day when Inosuke tries to steal his tara no me tempura, Zenitsu vehemently does his best to stop him. (“That’s his favorite food, you inconsiderate pig!” Zenitsu says as he slaps Inosuke’s hand away. “Here have mine instead.”)

Tanjirou is genuinely touched. He knows he only said it off-handedly and didn’t expect anyone to remember it. From then on, Tanjirou promises himself to pay more attention to what Zenitsu says and do.

(He notices Zenitsu’s eyes lit up whenever he’s munching on dango, wagashi, daifuku, or any sweets, really—Tanjirou often insists on dropping by a confectionery shop after their missions together.) It’s a date.

((He also notices Zenitsu’s faraway gaze when seeing parents holding their child’s hand—Tanjirou stays a little closer and treats him more gently on those times.))

Jealousy:

Zenitsu talks to Nezuko often, it’s pretty much old news really, and Tanjirou is glad that Nezuko has a friend to talk to other than himself, who is her own brother. Though he wonders why his chest feels tight as they smile, Nezuko clutching the flowers that Zenitsu picked and nodding enthusiastically when Zenitsu tells her something with a tender gaze and soft expression Tanjirou rarely sees.

(In actuality, Zenitsu is talking about Tanjirou and how lucky Nezuko is for having such a kind brother. “He’s too kind, always cheering for me,” he smiles, a hand clasps to his chest as his eyes fall shut. “Me, you know? And he‘s often patient with me, and gentle. Although sometimes he’ll snap too, he never gives up on me.”)

Because of his kindness and willingness to help others, Tanjirou is popular among the demon hunters. There’s nobody who doesn’t know him. People greet and often seek him out, trying to squeeze their time to talk to him. At those times, Zenitsu’s mouth and body go auto-pilot and asks, “Who are they, Tanjirou?” while clinging to him and/or sticks close to him.

He’s just looking out for his friend, he’s curious about Tanjirou’s other friends too, okay?! He’s not jealous. Maybe envies Tanjirou a little. But jealous? Absolutely not. He is 100% jealous.

Nightmares:

They both have their fair share of nightmares.

When he’s young, Tanjirou didn’t get many of them but it becomes so frequent ever since his family died and one of his sisters remains because she’s turned into a demon. Rather than dream it’s a memory, a painful one. A memory about that night in which the scent of blood was strangling him, in which he dug graves for his family with his own hands and buried them in their front yard.

He often jolts awake from the nightmares, breathing heavily and tears staining his face and pillow. Quivering as he’s aware of the cold sweat all over him and soaking his yukata regardless of the warmth of the futon, and Zenitsu whose hands grasps him so tightly in his embrace. Being an anchor that grounds him.

Zenitsu is always awake whenever it happens. In a soft voice that makes Tanjirou’s swallow back his cry, he asks Tanjirou if he would like to talk about it and assure him it’s okay if he doesn’t.

Sometimes, through trembling voice, he tells Zenitsu every little detail about how gruesome and painful it is to watch the lives of his whole family draining before his very eyes. Other times Tanjirou can’t even manage to nod or shake his head, let alone answer him. At those time, Tanjirou holds Zenitsu tight and pushes himself to focus on the song Zenitsu is humming while his hand draws a comforting pattern on Tanjirou’s sweat-soaked yukata.

Zenitsu, despite being typically so loud, wakes up from a nightmare quietly. There’s a benefit to his keen sense of hearing and his general wakefulness when asleep, he supposed. During the time he lived with Shihan, he’s trained himself to suppress his cry at night, not wishing to bother the old man who has kindly paid his debt and took him in. It isn’t a big deal compared to what Tanjirou has; mostly vague voices of people who had left him and call him things he already tells himself when he wails and cowers. Something he hears often when he’s alone.

At times, all he needs is to stay close to Tanjirou’s heartbeat, let the steady thumps of his heart drown out the voices and lull him back to sleep.

Other times, when even Tanjirou’s sound can’t quell the voices, he slips out of Tanjirou’s arms and the futon to sit on the veranda, letting the buzz of the crickets fills his ears.

But in those other times, Tanjirou always manages to find his way to him. Draping his checkered haori over their shoulders, he sits next to Zenitsu and grasps his hand in his calloused one. Each time he asks if he wants to tell him about his nightmares Zenitsu would always answer with, “It’s nothing, Tanjirou,” he smiles sheepishly. “Sorry for waking you up, you don’t need to worry about me.”

Honestly, it stings that he can’t help what keeps plaguing Zenitsu. And that Zenitsu shuts him out. But Tanjirou can only offer comfort and trusts that he’ll come to him on his own pace. 

When Zenitsu finally does, he can feel the anger crackling like embers in his chest, to those who abandoned him, to those who badmouth Zenitsu, to the demons swarming in Zenitsu’s head. Something that Tanjirou cannot cut down with his nichirin blade.

Though, Tanjirou resorts to whispering him assurance and gives him the affection he deserves, pressing kisses to his forehead, down his temple, his nose, cheeks, and the corner of his mouth.

Other fluffy things that reduce me into a weeping mess:

Tanjirou’s flirting method is actually sincere compliments that make him sound very smooth. He says you look beautiful to Zenitsu as easy as he breathes, he says Zenitsu is kind and strong on many, many occasions and does it as effortless as he smiles.

Zenitsu is very, very weak. He says this often. But one that he considers as his number one weakness is when Tanjirou threads his hair with his hand, his rough fingertips brushing against his ear and thumb on his earlobe. Zenitsu cannot even manage a shriek for his voice is stuck in his head as Tanjirou gazes at him with so much warmth that makes him feel like his face is going to implode from how red it is.

He almost passes out each time this happens. (Curse, Tanjirou! Curse him for being a smooth bastard despite his naivety!)

Cold seasons like autumn and winter are the seasons Zenitsu liked the least, he sniffles while whining to Tanjirou, shivering as he hugs his own body. Sighing, Tanjirou unravels the blue scarf around his neck and wraps it around Zenitsu’s.

It’s… it’s just a scarf—his scarf, but blue looks so pretty on Zenitsu. As he thanks Tanjirou with his little grin, the breeze rustles the yellow ginko tree overhead and Zenitsu’s hair, and Tanjirou is left breathless.

Tanjirou can’t really lie, rather he’s really terrible at it. When he thinks Zenitsu is being gross or he’s being obnoxious, he tells him so with the intention that Zenitsu should stop whatever he is doing, and the clarity and steadiness of his heartbeat express the trueness of his words. But what confuses Zenitsu to no end is how he said it with a fond look??? Which nullifies the effect? And confuses Zenitsu to no end??

[morifinwes]

wangxian fic rec list!

aka in which i read fics, write some recs down for aamna and share them!! they're all wangxian fics and uhh @yibobibo i hope you'll like them!!

modern

wolf devours playboy bunny by @greenteafiend (5K, werewolf!lwj, getting together, idk if anyone needs to know that but there's nudity just not uhh explicit)

Lan Zhan has wanted Wei Ying as long as he has known him, and the worst part is that he thinks Wei Ying could want him back.

Too bad he could never in good conscience let himself go there—Wei Ying has a debilitating fear of all things canine, and once a month, Lan Zhan is the exact, precise thing that Wei Ying’s nightmares are made of.

Aka, Lan Zhan is a werewolf.

between the lines by @jywait (19K gaming au!!!, i'm always down for a good gaming au, lwj is the best aksks he's such a good boy)

☆yilingpatriarch☆: pls...give me some face, help me fight these monsters...I'm gonna die

Bluetooth: no.

"You have died." The screen said, and Wei Wuxian threw his hands up in frustration.

resonant frequencies by chinxe (15K, college au, fake dating au, tw mention of cheating but it's brief and no one was cheated on i promise)

In which Wei Wuxian decides that the best way to deal with being in love with Lan Wangji is to pretend to date him for three weeks.

It goes about as well as can be expected.

drift compatible by windoworwhatever (5K, poetry, fluff, drunkji, getting together, college au)

"It was just a fact of life. The sky was blue, university stipends for graduate students working in TA positions barely covered rent, bisexuals cuffed their jeans, Lan Wangji had a massive crush on Wei Wuxian, and spent his time pining and writing research papers about gay subtexts in ancient poetry."

OR

Lan Wangji is in love with Wei Wuxian, and everybody knows, except Wei Wuxian.

the bunny next door by detailsinthefabric (43K, this is mostly fluff and very light angst, and they were neighbors!!!, rabbits!!, aka wangxian's bunny children, this is... so cute i just have to rec it)

Lan Wangji did not know what he was doing. He did not know what he was going to say. He was frozen in place, puzzling over the situation. Maybe he had made the man uncomfortable, which is why he wanted to leave? But his tone had still been so friendly—maybe…

“Would…” he paused, swallowed, forced the last words to come out of his suddenly parched mouth, “would you let me pet him?”

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

Lan Wangji, who doesn't know how to socialize and whose icy demeanor scares everyone away, lets down all his defenses when he meets the bunny next door...oh, and also its owner, Wei Wuxian.

leading tone by silencemostofall (32K, everyone is a music student? or something like that akskk, curse fic, tw panic attacks, tw child abuse, small scene of drunkji, wwx has low self esteem, bro this was so painful to read)

The first time you touch someone you're fated to love, you leave a mark on their skin. If they will love you in return, they'll mark you where you touched them. The deeper the color, the deeper the connection.

Wei Ying has no marks at all.

public places, private thoughts by leahelisabeth (for the love of camelot) ( 8K, cherry magic au, getting together with like... immediate upgrade to fiance status, the author is wrong i crave good wangxian cherry magic aus even tho i haven't even watched cherry magic)

Wei Wuxian had heard the story of course. It had made its rounds through his high school and followed him into his college days. He didn’t think there was any possibility it was true. Virginity was a social construct, invented by creepy old men to exercise dominance over women. The idea that a simple lack of sexual activity before the age of thirty could give one magical powers was absolutely ludicrous.

Wei Wuxian believed this until the morning of his thirtieth birthday.

AKA the Wangxian Cherry Magic AU that absolutely nobody asked for.

i'd be all right (if i could see you) by @thirtysixsavefiles (16K, this was nice, i read this at 6am but it was cute, (while writing this post i must admit i don't remember anything but 6am-me said it's good))

The younger Lan brother is something of an enigma on campus; while Lan Xichen can sometimes be seen in the company of other graduate students or conducting a seminar, Lan Wangji appears to spend all his time in class or in the library. He doesn’t drink. He doesn’t smoke. He doesn’t attend social events. He doesn’t do anything for fun, as far as Wei Wuxian can tell, and it’s driving Wei Wuxian just a little bit up the wall.

Or, Wei Wuxian convinces Lan Wangji to come to a house party, and then they're assigned to the same group project. Wei Wuxian tries his best, but he is not in possession of all the facts.

axe on leg by itszero (4K, i still don't get why wwx did that but it was nice seeing him jealous for once, jealous!wwx, lwj i love you....)

Wei Wuxian pressed his face into his pillow and screamed. He paused to take a few deep breaths, partially hindered by the pillow, and listened to the sounds of Nie Huaisang slurping his iced coffee, from his seat on Wei Wuxian's desk chair.

Having caught his breath, he resumed his screaming and did not stop at the sound of his dorm room door opening.

"What's wrong with him?" He heard his brother, Jiang Cheng, ask.

The slurping stopped. "He's an idiot."

"He's always been an idiot. Why is he bothered about it now?"

"He forced Lan Wangji to go on a date," Nie Huaisang replied, shaking the ice cubes in his drink.

"Okay and…?"

"With someone else." The slurping resumed.

Wei Wuxian, in all his glorious dumbassery, convinces his boyfriend to go on a date with someone else.

these two most powerful by @stiltonbasket (4K, amnesia, wangxian with children!!!, aksksk this was adorable, dadji!!)

When Lan Wangji went to bed last night, he was alone in a tiny guest room with nothing but the howling of the wind in the mountains and his own lonely thoughts for company.

 

But when he opened his eyes in the morning, Wei Ying was asleep beside him.

 

(In which Lan Wangji loses twenty years' worth of memories after a night-hunt gone wrong, and his life as a doting father and husband continues without a hitch somehow.)

good things come to those who wait [but i ain't in a patient phase] by @cerlunas (4K, getting together, pining lwj)

Lan Wangji can't take it anymore.

 

“I love you”, he says, and god, it feels terrifying. “I’ve been in love with you for a long time.”

“Lan Zhan…” Wei Wuxian starts, but Lan Wangji doesn’t want to hear it.

He grabs his cup and drinks everything. He doesn’t know what face Wei Wuxian is making at him right now, and it’s okay. 

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian repeats louder, but it’s too late. He is already falling asleep.

Or, even after 13 years, Lan Wangji is still in love with his best friend. Maybe it's time to open up.

wei ying, will you marry m- oh my god he swallowed the ring! by selene210 (2K, marriage proposals, crack, marriage proposals but.. they go wrong)

“A ring?”

And indeed it was. The ring Lan Wangji was going to propose to Wei Ying with. That the man had now choked on.

“You swallowed it.”

“It was in my soufflé! Why did you put a ring in my soufflé Lan Zhan- oh. oh”

of glittery valentine's cards by @soft-fics (3K, valentine's day, this was adorable aksk, a-yuan best boy!!)

Lan Zhan didn't want to know what his best friend had planned for Valentine's Day; his heart would simply not be able to handle it. When his son tells him that he made Wei Ying a Valentine's Day card, though, Lan Zhan decided to bring it over anyway.

of coffee and white tea by @soft-fics (9K, fluff, lwj doesn't like coffee, wwx buys him coffee, then they switch drinks, again and again and again, the staff ships it lmao, tbh jc shouldn't have done that like wtf)

For the fourth time this week a stranger orders him a cup of coffee. Lan Wangji wonders how exactly to tell this man to stop ordering him coffee he doesn't even like. Turns out, buying the other white tea and switching drinks is not the best way to go about it

canon setting

on the importance of restraint (or lack thereof) by nixthothou (4K, in which sizhui snaps, i love that boy, no like seriously he's the best boy)

Lan Sizhui does not usually find himself in the company of Sect Leader Jiang.

Suffice to say, Lan Sizhui's feelings toward him are conflicted.

lan wangji is wei wuxian's baby by lilycs (3K, i was craving fluff while reading this, lwj my beloved, drunk!lwj)

Lan Wangji gets drunk from barely a cup of alcohol, becoming a whiny baby and asking his husband for cuddles.

one of our own by glitteringmoonlight (8K, wei wuxian & lan sect, 5+1 things, in which they learn to love him, they're all part of the wwx protection squad lead by lwj, wangxian isn't the focus but !!! THIS)

Times change, but some people remain the same.

The Lans are nothing, if not aware of this.

For one of their own, they will stand against the world.

Or, 5 times the Lans defended Wei Wuxian, and the 1 time he was there to see it happen.

so why not crack your skull when the mind swells by @greenteafiend (13K, love curse, post cql canon, curses, getting together, fluff, so much fluff, lwj tries to talk about his emotions!, lwj pov)

Lan Wangji detects the curse trying to curl through his heart meridians like smoke. A love curse, then. It must have been cast remotely somehow to have found him in his bed in Cloud Recesses. No matter. Lan Wangji crushes it easily, enveloping it in his spiritual energy, and then squeezing. Curse averted, Lan Wangji closes his eyes and goes back to sleep. He thinks no more of it.

Two days later, Wei Wuxian arrives in Cloud Recesses.

Or, Wei Wuxian is cursed to feel terrible pain when he and Lan Wangji aren’t touching.

i started from the bottom / now i'm rich by x_los (57K, time travel, fix it, jealous lwj, crack treated serious, god this is so good tho, wwx/wrh & wwx/jgs but like as a joke and it doesn't really happen, but it has its purpose!!)

“First, you get the money. Then you get the power, respect - hos come last.”

 

Wen Qing traps Wei Wuxian in the Demon Slaughtering Cave, but Wei Wuxian isn’t interested in being the beneficiary of the Wen Remnants’ noble sacrifice. His efforts to free himself accidentally send him back to the beginning of the Sunshot Campaign. Coreless but armed with demonic cultivation, knowledge of the future and his wits, Wei Wuxian takes advantage of this opportunity to come out on top of both the war and its aftermath—before either has a chance to happen—by marrying and swiftly burying the cultivation world’s worst men.

Lan Wangji is confused, hurt, and uncomfortably aroused by Wei Wuxian’s improbably elaborate series of Sect-themed bridal negligees.

lead me on through by mrsronweasley (55K, they're in love your honor, arranged marriage but they don't know to whom, basically wwx & lwj want to practice kissing which then goes beyond kissing but not the whole way y'know, lxc the best wingman tho)

"Who do you think your betrothed is?" Wei Wuxian asks, sprawling out in front of Lan Zhan and enjoying the prim thinning of his lips at the question. He shouldn't be sprawling—they're in the library, for one, and Lan Zhan is studying, for another—but he can't help himself. Wei Wuxian is a sprawler.

"I do not believe this to be of importance," Lan Zhan responds, without turning his gaze away from his book.

"What!" Wei Wuxian sits up. "How can you say that? Of course it's important! This is the person you'll be with for the rest of your life, Lan Zhan."

[echo-of-sounds]

adhd pt.2

How Fatgum, Gang Orca, and Midnight would help and support their s/o who has ADHD. Midnight’s are a little shorter than the others. I had a hard time thinking of more headcanons for her.

Warnings: nothing incredibly explicit, but a couple of these talk about sex

Toyomitsu Taishiro

Tai is a friendly guy. He talks to everyone when you're out and about. Sometimes it's fine. Sometimes it's a lot to handle. He wants you to immediately tell him when you’re starting to feel overstimulated or anxious. Before it gets too bad, he’ll carry you to a safe space. And it doesn’t matter where you are, his sweatshirts are yours. Weight can be very grounding and with his size, they’re very heavy. He’ll hold you close and talk you through the emotions.

Any time you lash out, he might try to ease the tension by making a joke. If you’ve ever been angry, you know jokes just make it worse. He’ll give you time to gather yourself when he realizes you’re actually angry. He won’t snap back. Fighting isn’t what he wants to do. Take some time to cool down. You’ll find him waiting for you with a smile. It’s hard to get him angry and it doesn't hurt his feelings when you lash out, but you should still apologize. He would appreciate it.

Feelings overwhelmed can erupt suddenly. When you sit down at your desk and there are five notebooks, scattered pens and pencils, loose papers, and just useless junk everywhere, you feel completely engulfed under them. It’s almost like you can’t breathe. You don’t know where to start or what to do. Tai will set some time aside to help you sort through your stuff. He may not know exactly where everything goes, but he really wants to help. He hates the look on your face when you’re overwhelmed and he’ll do anything to make it go away.

Lack of restraint and risk-taking behaviors are the most concerning to him. Sure, impulsively buying a dumb stuffed animal is one thing. But buying a new gaming system and four video games is another. The costs add up quickly. Or maybe you take another shot at the bar because screw it, you only live once. Then you do that over and over. ‘Just another shot’ turns into ten more. Your safety is always his number one priority and he worries himself sick thinking you’re going to damage your finances, career, or worse, yourself.

If you didn’t catch what he said, he has no problem repeating himself. Though he worries you aren’t paying attention while you’re in public or when something important is happening. He doesn’t want you mindlessly agreeing to something that you don’t actually want to do or potentially getting hurt. Like how you fling your arms out when you’re talking and hit someone or a wall. To ease his anxiety about you, he’ll hold your hand a lot and offer to give you piggyback rides.

He has a little trouble focusing on smaller tasks as well. He would much rather be doing fun activities out in the world. So he understands your trouble. He also understands how you forget to vacuum even though you promised you would. He isn’t annoyed. He’ll remind you when you’re home to do it. 

Since Tai is such a big guy he taught himself to be gentle early on in his life, particularly when it comes to sex, therefore he isn’t worried if you have sexual hypersensitivities. He's also great at communication and loves talking. He’ll ask what positions you can’t do and where you don’t like to be touched to ensure your comfort is at its max. During sex, if your attention starts drifting, he’ll let you take over to help keep you focused.

Gang Orca

Kugo’s a clean, organized man. To him, it’s helpful knowing that everything has its place. If you leave bowls and books around or are an overall cluttered person, he’ll pick up after you. Eventually, when your clutter gets to be too much, he’ll create a routine and a to-do list. Before bed, look at the list and look around the room if there are any pillows to put back on the couch or papers to straighten out.

Having physical sensitives is something Kugo can understand. While it’s not to the point he’s overstimulated like people with ADHD have, his skin is still quite sensitive- more than your ‘average’ human skin because of his mutant-type quirk. Whatever you need for self-soothing, he can bring to you when you’re starting to feel overstimulated. Your favorite heavy quilt will be wrapped around your shoulders and he’ll light some vanilla candles.

He’s utterly unbothered by tapping, fidgeting, or restlessness. However, he’s deeply concerned when he notices blood on your lip or fingers. It’s mindless. You don’t hurt yourself on purpose. No matter how many times you explain, it won’t quell his worries. He just really hates seeing you bleed. Out in public, he’ll hold your hand to stop your picking. At home, he keeps a close eye on you and points out your unhealthy habit so you can find a fidget toy or a pen to click. He hopes if he does it enough times it’ll become a subconscious reaction for you to grab a toy to play with instead of your body.

High mood swings and anger are easy for him to take. Your quick snaps go in one ear and out the other- mainly because he knows it's not about him. While he understands the frustration comes at the flip of a switch, he strongly urges you to find ways to deal with your emotions in a healthy way. He’s willing to listen if you want to talk it out. He’s willing to go to the gym if you need to exercise it out. And (if you’re at that point in the relationship), he’s willing to have sex if you need to fuck it out. 

Kugo loves listening to your interests. He supports any and all of your studies. Are you currently into a new TV series? He’ll buy you posters and action figures for surprises on your bad days. Or is the Viking culture suddenly fascinating and you need to learn everything about it? He scoops up some obscure book from that bookstore he passes every day. Even though his presents might not be exactly what you’re looking for, his excitement and passion to support you is really cute.

Focusing on smaller tasks is incredibly difficult. You strain yourself then get frustrated then give up. Seriously, that one piece of paperwork should take ten minutes tops to complete. But it ends up taking over two hours because you just can’t sit and do it. Whenever he notices you fussing at the table, he’ll sit down with you so you can go through the paperwork together. Having someone next to you is helpful. They keep you on track and guide the way through the long passages of words and seemingly confusing questions.

He's uneasy when it comes to any sexual sensitivities. It takes him a while to be ready for sex in general, but if you’re hypersensitive, it’ll take him a hell of a lot longer. He’s so scared of hurting you, especially since his fingers are more like claws and his teeth are sharp. He tries his damnedest to be gentle because he’s always scared that he’ll overstimulate you to the point you’re crying. Your sexual relationship will start with oral and fingering, plateauing at that for a while until he convinces himself he won’t hurt you.

Kayama Nemuri

Thoughts that bubble up and instantly spout from your mouth are common. Half the time you don’t even realize you spoke. Nemuri will be a little miffed if you keep interrupting her. She doesn’t want to forget her train of thought. She knows you have difficulty controlling it but she would appreciate it if you let her finish her sentence so she can fully listen to and understand yours.

Fidgeting and squirming don’t annoy her. She’s a Hero and a teacher. She’s become desensitized to all sorts of restlessness. Though she is in the same boat as Aizawa in that, if you’re a clicker or tapper, she’ll ask if you could find something else to fidget with. But she won’t snap at you as he may. She has a serious soft spot for her partner and rarely raises her voice.

However, those times when your anger gets sparked because your lotion bottle broke or you thought you had more of your favorite chips and you lash out when she asks what’s wrong, she’ll get defensive from time to time and might snap back. It depends on how long her day was and how tired/stressed she is. Most of the time she can reel herself back, realizing you’re not angry at her. But if she had a hard day, her retort comes quickly and sharply. It’s enough to make you pause, recognizing how you reacted to her simple question. When you apologize, she will too, wanting to make up as soon as possible.

Her quirk is quite convenient for overstimulation. If you give your consent, she can emit a tiny amount of her aroma to relax you. If you need serious instant relief, she can put you to sleep. But she won’t rely on her quirk every single time. She doesn’t like completely knocking you out. Any self-soothing techniques you use, she’ll read about and work out ways she can provide you with what you need.

Nemuri will have to change her outlook on sex a little bit. She’s very dominant, loves being the active partner, and dips (more than a little) into sadism. But she’s experienced. She’s aware her kinks aren’t always liked. Before you’re ever intimate, she’ll sit down with you to set clear and defined boundaries about what you can take. If pain is something you can’t handle or just don’t want, she’s fine without it. Her love for you is more important than her kinks. 

[ddarker-dreams]

Yandere Overhaul, Dabi, and Tomura protecting their darling

Overhaul:

Chisaki Kai thinks through every move he makes, hoping for a minimal amount of errors in his line of work. This tentative approach sets him apart from most yanderes, as he thinks of almost everything when it comes to your needs. 

There is hardly ever a chance for anyone to ever physically harm you. Kai is the only person to verbally interact with you, your bodyguards being told not to speak with you. And of course, the people he has chosen to keep an eye on you have to be close with him and have his trust.

But it’s impossible to account for everything. There are situations that can’t always been foreseen, experiences that have to be dealt with in the moment. 

He doesn’t like taking you outside, he never has. There are too many elements not fully in his control, and it puts him on edge. But, if you’ve been good for a long time and have began to earn his trust, he might humor you with a few outings. They’d be in areas owned by the yakuza, to minimize any issues.

It was on a night like this. You were enjoying the fresh air, grateful for a chance to change your surroundings. Regardless of whether or not you genuinely like Kai at this point, or are only pretending, you’ve become accustomed to your... situation. 

Kai finds unusual delight in your giddy mood, used to your more sullen self. He mentally takes note of every expression you make, remembering every smile. But you couldn’t tell that he was enjoying himself, as he hides all emotion on his face.

He beats himself up for it later, but he should’ve recognized the face of the waiter who took your order. He mistook the young man’s behavior as anxiety for serving a yakuza and his lover, and didn’t think much of it at first. 

But when the waiter eventually pulls a gun to you, cursing Overhaul for ruining his life, Kai has to exercise all his self restraint. Your fearful reaction, your safety, all of it became almost choking to him. But even that is short lived, as Kai immediately figures out the best thing to do.

The waiter was threatening you, saying that he would pull the trigger; that it wasn’t a bluff. At this point, Kai’s bodyguards were just waiting for the order. But that wouldn’t be satisfactory enough for Kai, this person has insulted him on a level he wouldn’t tolerate.

“Kurata Yakumo, right?” 

The young man freezes, at the Shie Hassaikai leader remembering the name of an underling like himself. 

Kai begins to walk towards him, tentatively. He remembers almost everyone that works directly underneath him, this person included. He was let go of a month ago, he was caught stealing some money from drug dealings. 

“If I recall correctly, you have a sister in hospice, don’t you? It would be such a shame, if something were to happen to her. I hope you agree.” 

That’s all it takes, the vulnerable mention of Kurata’s sister making him shakily drop the gun. He never imagined that Overhaul’s knowledge extended this far.

At this, Kai wastes no time motioning to his guards. They subdue Kurata, who was an emotional mess. Kai ignores him, momentarily, going to press a hand against your shoulder. He was never the best at comforting, but he hoped the gesture was enough for now. You were pretty shaken up.

After safely escorting you home, Kai has a special request for the unfortunate soul who touched you. He would have several painful months ahead of him, every apology falling on deaf ears.

Dabi:

Dabi’s apartment isn’t exactly in an amazing area. He has money, it’s just simpler for him to live on the down low. He has to move around a lot as well, so he doesn’t see any point in investing towards a greater place to live. The high crime rate surrounding his apartment complex helps him blend in further.

How he keeps you there is with threats. You could, technically, escape at any time if you were smart enough. He does have locks on all the windows, burnt off the fire escape next to them as well, multiple locks on the front door, and fully proofed it of anything you could use to get out. 

But the walls are thin, and you could scream for help. It’s a thought you’ve had many times, as you can always hear the neighbors surrounding you. But Dabi thought of that as well, coldly reminding you that he’s aware of where your friends and family live. That you just need to be a good girl for him, and nothing would ever happen to them. Simple, right?

As much as he hates it, he can’t always be with you. Most nights he’s away, working. This leaves you vulnerable, as he doesn’t trust anyone to guard you other than himself.

It was a cold night, and you were wrapping yourself up in blankets; cursing your inability to sleep. Dabi’s mattress wasn’t the most comfortable one, and it held unpleasant memories for you. So you were sitting in the living room, sipping on some tea he bought you for being good recently.

There’s an odd sound at the door, it almost sounds like fiddling. You don’t think much of it, once again, as Dabi might be coming home early. But you do pick up on the way the fiddling has been going on for a while now. Dabi had a key ring for all the locks, and it normally only took a minute or two for him to come in.

Maybe... he lost them? You can’t help but feel anxious, but wonder if he’s just trying to mess with you. That wouldn’t be unlike him, unfortunately. But the more concerned part of you wonders if it’s someone trying to break in. The sound of dogs barking, yelling, and sirens was common in this area, it didn’t take much to infer a break in would be possible.

Your quirk wasn’t the best for fighting, and Dabi had cut all the phone lines months ago. Your own breathing was growing more erratic, as you hide yourself in the bathroom. To your own dismay, there are no locks on any of the rooms inside -- Dabi doesn’t want you shutting yourself in, after all. 

The duo clad in black attire and masks find you eventually, surprised at your appearance. They look at one another, almost in a way of saying “What should we do?”, their hands full of a few expensive items. You want to scream, but you’re worried of all the attention it’d attract. If any. 

“A-are you okay?”

The one to the left kneels down, inspecting your shaking state. His eyes move to your neck, littered in bruises and bites. To your swollen lips, and glassy eyes. They begin to explain that they thought it was empty this time of night, and they had no intention of killing anyone. Just grabbing some stuff and running.

Dabi’s threat still looms over you like an ominous curse. You rapidly deny anything being wrong, but neither of them believe you. The man on the right was saying they should leave, taking what they had. But the one on the left said they couldn’t just leave you here. 

“Please, I’m... I’m really okay. Just go, please.” 

“You heard ‘em. I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

That voice. Fuck. That was definitely Dabi’s, and it was coming from behind them. They didn’t even get a chance to react, and neither did you. Blue flames erupt in front of you, the sudden surge of heat filling you with familiar dread.

Tears sting your eyes, as nothing but ashes remain of the both of them -- Dabi must not have cared about what they were holding. He walks into the bathroom, hands in his pocket, eyes glancing over at your huddled up form.

“You good, dollface?” 

Tomura Shigaraki:

Tomura has a simple mindset when it comes to you. He doesn’t like anyone else being with you, seeing you, thinking about you, talking about you, breathing the same air as you. In his mind, only he had the right to these luxuries. 

But damn, were you good at begging. For months, you’ve been constantly pestering him about the midnight release of a movie. It had been something you were looking forward to before he had, well, kidnapped you. He was insistent on going to see it alone, but you kept giving him those stupid puppy eyes. How long can he say no to that?

It takes a while to completely chip away at it, but eventually, he’ll relent to you coming along. On extremely strict conditions of course. You were not to talk to anyone, or look at anyone but him. If you tried to escape, there’d be consequences. Anyone who you went to for help would be killed. He made sure you understood this.

After a few (Was that sarcasm? Were you seriously repeating his rules back sarcastically? Boy are you cheeky)... reminders of the stipulations, Kurogiri had the two of you set out on your way. He had the tickets ready ahead of time, as to minimize interaction with others.

The movie had gone fine, you were enjoying yourself, and thanking Tomura for the night out. You were both going back to an alley where Kurogiri was supposed to warp you back, but ended up being a few minutes early.

Much to your misfortune, you happened upon two figures exchanging illegal items. Tomura could care less about it, but the two of them had definitely seen you. Animosity and threats were coming from the one receiving money, since you had seen something you shouldn’t have.

Tomura was still intent on ignoring them, not wanting to talk to lowlife scum. Right when he was going to tell you to turn around, the dealer revealed a sharp object that glinted in the moonlight. A knife, and he was pointing it at you.

Tomura’s eye twitches, and a desire to scratch at his neck appears. The audacity of this person to threaten you was too much for him. He wastes zero times, lunging towards them and decaying their entire body. The person next to them, who was about to scream, is killed as well.

You barely got to blink while all this happened, Tomura moving faster than your eyes could catch. Nothing but settling dust remained, as they were removed from the world.

“So annoying...” 

Tomura huffs, his nails beginning to scratch at his neck. He looks up at you, grimacing. It’d take a while to convince him to let you out again, unfortunately. He doesn’t think much of it as he walks back over to your shocked form.

“What? Were you thinking I was going to play nice with them or something?”

His tone is almost mocking, as he sneers at your reaction. You never were a fan of violence, but surely you could understand this much, right? 

Your nice outing had been ruined, as you can’t help the image of their bodies becoming nothing but dust replaying in your head. It filled you with anxiety that Tomura couldn’t understand. If anything, it irritated him. Shouldn’t you be praising him for protecting you?

If you ever tried bothering to explain that you thought the person without a knife was a victim, not a threat, it’d fall on deaf ears. He’d get extremely angry about it if you pressed on it for too long, so it’d just be best to not mention it again.

[awhitehead17]

Whumptober 2020: Day 23 - What’s a whumpee gotta do to get some sleep around here?

Prompt: Sleep deprivation

Summary: When Tim gets hit with Poison Ivy’s new toxin, he’s forced to stay awake until an antidote is created. Normally it would be easy however since he’s already pulled two all-nighters prior to being affected, it becomes a whole lot more difficult.

Enjoy! :D 

“Okay, so, don’t be mad, but something’s happened.”

It takes all of Bruce’s self-restraint to not let the sigh slip past his lips upon hearing his eldest son’s words. He knew the night had been going too smooth to be true, nothing has happened up until Dick called him through the comms.

“B? You still there?” Dick’s concerned voice travels into his ear.

“Yes, Nightwing, I’m still here.” Bruce answers evenly, waiting for his son to get to the point.

Nothing good ever follows the words ‘something’s happened’. 

“In simple terms, Red Robin’s been hit by Ivy’s new toxin. He’s fine, except not if you know what I mean.”

Unfortunately Bruce does know what he means. Tim is fine physically and not injured however he has a poisonous toxin running through his veins.

“Red’s on his way back in the Batmobile with Robin, not the smartest move I know but Robin was there when Red got hit.”

Bruce finally gives in and lets out that sigh. He wish he could have been out in the field helping to find Poison Ivy, however he’s stuck in the cave behind the computer because of a damaged hip he acquired 3 nights ago, he was in no shape to go out and fight villains.

Ivy has recently conjured up a new toxin one of which takes affects when the body is asleep. When the body is relaxed the toxin begins to shut down the organs, eventually killing the affected in their sleep.

This new toxin appeared two nights ago and has been a headache since. Bruce has had to split the family up into two, one half going out on patrol to find Ivy herself and the other half is mixed between working on an antidote (since it’s new they have not yet got one) and working out what Ivy’s other motives are as there’s reason to believe this toxin is simply a distraction for something bigger.

The fact Tim has now been hit with the toxin brings a new urgency to creating an antidote.

Bruce is disrupted from his thoughts when a familiar engine could be heard echoing throughout the cave. He waits patiently and observes as the batmobile pulls to a stop and two doors open up. The bickering could instantly be heard and Bruce takes a deep breath in order to help prepare himself to be deal with his two youngest.

His sons immediately head over to him at the computer and stand a couple feet away. Damian was scowling, he had his hood up and arms crossed over his chest. Tim had his cowl down and Bruce could see the way his eyes were dilated and how sweat was coating his skin.

“Father,” Damian demands his attention after a moment, “Drake has once again proven that he is incompetent in the field.”

Next to him Tim grits his teeth and Bruce could see how the boy was holding himself back from making the retort he desperately wants to.

“Damian, you’re finished for the night, go get changed and head for bed.”

“But father-”

Bruce’s glare stops his youngest from voicing the rest of his protest. Once Damian is heading for the changing rooms, he turns to Tim. “Tim, I want you to go to the medical bay, let Alfred take a blood sample and then get yourself washed and changed. Once you’re done, we’ll talk.”

Tim wordlessly nods and heads for the medical bay where Alfred was waiting for him. While he waits for Tim to sort himself out he turns his attention back onto his other family members still out in the field. He updates them with the situation and gets reports back in return. By the time he was all caught up Tim had retuned to the computer.

“How are you feeling?”

Tim sighs and runs a hand through his damp hair. “I’m fine, I don’t feel like I’ve been poisoned or anything. Nothing is hurt, well maybe except my pride. It was a stupid mistake and I messed up.”

Bruce leans forward as much as he can in the chair and pins Tim with a firm look. “You do understand the seriousness of this situation don’t you Tim? You may not feel anything right now but under no circumstances, as much as I hate to say it, you cannot go to sleep. We’ll be having a conversation on your performance once we know you’re safe and toxin free.”

Tim rolls his eyes in that typical defiant fashion that teenagers seem to have. “I know Bruce, I’m not stupid. I can help create the antidote. Also, I’m pretty experienced of working without sleep, I’ll be fine.”

“That's great except you’ve already pulled nearly two all-nighters prior to tonight.” A new voice joins their conversation. The two of them look over to see Dick walking towards them, glaring at Tim as he does so.

Upon hearing this Bruce rubs his forehead. So it’s going to be much harder to keep Tim awake than he thought because his son was already sleep deprived as it was. Keeping him awake for another 24 hours or so was going to be difficult.

Tim glares at his brother. “I’ve handled worse. I’ll be fine.” With that he storms off and heads towards the stairs in order to go up to the manor.

Bruce shares a look with Dick. “We’ll rotate people to keep an eye on him at all times. He can’t be allowed to sleep until we can clear the toxin from his body. It’s nearly done now anyway, another day then it should be complete, hopefully.”

Dick nods slowly. “Yeah, like I said he’s already running on fumes so it’s not going to be long until he crashes for good. If you and Alfred focus on the antidote then the rest of us will keep Tim awake. Please finish it soon.”

------

The day that follows is interesting for everyone. Much to his annoyance Tim was being watched like a hawk, anytime he even closes his eyes for more than two seconds someone was there either calling his name or physically shaking him.

This of course leads Tim to being snappy with anyone who was around him at the time, his tiredness was quickly coming through and it was clear he wanted to rest but could not do so.

Dick watches as Tim floats about the manor, going between the kitchen, library, bathroom and his bedroom. They’ve banned him from any form of training, saying that the exercise will tire him out quicker. In result Tim is working on WE reports and case files to fill up the time while the antidote gets made.

Dick joins Tim in the library and silently works on his own files while keeping an eye on his brother. It doesn’t go unnoticed on how Tim sometimes pauses as if he’s forgotten what he’s writing, or the way he stares at the page for a good five minutes before carrying on with the task.

Dick was getting worried because the sleep deprivation was clearly getting to Tim now and it’s only a matter of time before he crashes.

The two of them work in companionable silence until Tim groans and stands up to stretch. He looks over at Dick, “I’m going to get some food, want anything?”

Dick shakes his head. “No thanks.” He watches as Tim nods and begins to head for the door. He’s glad he had been watching Tim because after a couple steps Tim swayed on his feet and without even thinking about it, Dick jumps out of his seat and lunges for his brother. He reaches Tim just in time to catch him before he hits the ground.

Dick lowers them both to the ground and checks Tim over. “Tim, you okay? What’s wrong?”

Tim blinks at him owlishly for a moment and frowns, “I uh, I don’t… God the room just spun like crazy then and I lost my balance I guess.”

“That's the sleep deprivation, it’s really hitting you now. You just need to stay awake a little longer bud. Bruce is nearly done with the antidote.” God he hopes he is. Without any other words, Dick picks Tim up and takes him to the couch, putting him down gently.

Tim slumps into the cushions behind him and Dick feels terrible because he looks so wiped out and awful. He wants his brother to be healthy again. When Tim’s eyes close, Dick reaches out and roughly pats his cheeks. “Hey, none of that, not yet Tim okay.”

Tim noncommittedly hums as he pulls himself into an upright position and leans over his work again. Dick studies him for a moment before deciding to return to his own workstation. As he settles into the seat he sends Tim a look. “I’ll text Jay and see if he can bring in some food for us, perhaps a drink as well.”

When Tim doesn’t respond Dick shrugs it off and sends Jason the message. After that he cracks back on with his own work.

Time goes by and Dick soon realises he hadn’t checked on Tim for a while. He looks over to where the teenager was sat only to feel his heart stop inside of his chest. For a second time, Dick is lunging across the room to get to his brother, who was lying down on the couch with his face pressed into the cushions.

With one hand Dick reaches out to check for a pulse and with the other he scrambles to get his phone out of his pocket. Thankfully there’s still a steady beat underneath two of his fingers but he has no idea how long Tim had fallen asleep for. This was Dick’s fault, he should have been paying closer attention to his brother.

“Dick?” A voice calls for him through his phones speaker.

Dick frantically shouts into the phone while desperately trying to shake Tim awake. “Bruce please tell me you have the antidote ready! Tim’s fallen asleep and I have no idea how long he’s been like it!”

“Yes, it’s just been finished, we’re prepping a needle now. Where are you?”

“We’re in the library. Bruce hurry!”  

“Alfred is on his way. There are precautions however because it hasn’t been tested-”

“Fuck the precautions Bruce! Tim is dying we need to save him!”

Bruce continues to speak on the phone but Dick wasn’t listening. He was too focused on his sleeping brother, worrying about how his body is going to shut down if he doesn’t wake up. Tim wasn’t waking up no matter what Dick tries.

“Master Dick, please allow me.” Dick looks up and is relieved to find Alfred approaching them. Dick shuffles to the side to make room for the butler and watches with an intense stare as Alfred takes Tim’s arm and injects him with the antidote. As soon as it’s administered Dick is asking questions.

“How long until it takes affect? Will it work? What if it doesn’t Alfred?”

A gentle hand on his arm stops him from rambling. “Master Dick, unfortunately all we can do is wait and see. Master Bruce is still in the lab triple checking it over but an estimation will be a few hours or so, especially considering how exhausted the lad is.”

Dick nods his head and takes a few deep breaths, willing himself to calm down and trust Alfred’s words.

The next few hours were awful. Dick could feel all of the anxiety, the anticipation and worry storming inside of him as he paces around the library waiting for Tim to wake up. In that time, Bruce had now joined them in the room along with Alfred and even Jason.

A small gasp soon gets his attention and Dick abruptly stops walking to stare at the couch where Tim was lying. Sparks of hope travel through him as he watches Tim stir and joy explodes in him when Tim’s eyes open up. Before anyone else could react, Dick was moving, making his way to the couch and pulling Tim into a fierce hug.

“God I was so worried! Never do that to me again baby bird.”

Tim’s only response is to loosely hug Dick back while he tries to wrap his head around what happened. Dick ignores it all, loving the feeling of having his brother back and mostly out of danger, they can deal with everything else soon enough.

[yuh-kat]

Apathy

This is original writing by me. Do not repost it anywhere or claim it as your own, or legal action will be taken. <3

- Katsumi

“You’re capable of so much, why would you resort to this?” a shrill voice whined at Luella, gesturing towards her plagiarized history paper.

She groaned in response, burying her head in her hands, her unruly brown hair tickling her nose. She would have rather been anywhere but there. She looked up at the guidance counselor, realizing the question hadn’t been rhetorical.

“I got bored,” she grumbled. The counselor gave an exasperated sigh and turned back towards her laptop, scanning over the essay.

“You didn’t even try. This is straight from wikipedia,” she sighed disappointedly.

“I clicked on the first website that came up when I googled the topic,” Luella said, shrugging.

“Is something going on at home?” the counselor said, swiveling her chair around towards Luella.

Luella’s face began to twist, and the guidance counselor turned around to grab some tissues, preparing for the onslaught of tears she believed was coming. Not one tear fell from Luella’s copper eyes. Instead, a smile crept its way onto her face, eventually evolving into sinister giggles. The counselor ignored Luella, and continued.

“Are you a danger to yourself or anyone else?” the counselor asked dryly, clicking her pen.

“Do you actually know how to do your job or do you just recite some random questions you found on Web MD?” Luella snickered, placing her hands behind her head. 

Although she was very irritated by Luella’s snarky response, the counselor again exercised self restraint and ignored her, trying her best to keep her composure.

“Have you ever been diagnosed with a mental illness?” the counselor continued, twirling strands of her limp blonde hair around her long, pale finger.

“Does being American count?” Luella responded, picking at her nails. The guidance counselor let out a frustrated sigh, scratching at her blonde locks.

“Luella, seriously, what seems to be the problem?” the guidance counselor started, “Your behavior has been nothing short of deplorable this year.”

These words seemed to vex Luella, and she let out a sarcastic chuckle, almost like she couldn’t believe what had just been said. She brought one of her fingers to the underside of the counselor’s chin, tilting her head up so that they were making direct eye contact. The counselor swiped at Luella’s hand, but she didn’t move an inch.

“What seems to be the problem?” Luella repeated. “Hmm, let me give that some thought,” she said, removing her finger from the counselor’s chin. 

Luella got up out of her chair, pacing back and forth, feigning deep thought. When she was done, she sat back down and turned to face the flustered counselor.

“You, for one. The naive belief you have that your four half-assed years of studying psychology in college prepared you for this job. The dumb, optimistic way you view the world. Even the way your hair falls flatly around your face pisses me off. We’re expected to come to you with our issues, but just from the look you’re giving me right now, I can tell that you have no idea what you’re doing here. You can’t handle anybody’s trauma. You should quit now, marry rich, and have four fat ugly babies with your mildly abusive husband. Maybe then you’d have a fragment of an idea of how to approach this job,” Luella says, her eyes boring into the counselor’s.

The counselor was silent for a second, taken aback by Luella’s words. The anger was visible in her eyes, yet her lips formed a tight and strained smile. Luella smiled back at her. “I’m not sure what more I can do to help you,” the counselor said, tapping her fingers against her knee.

“Good thing I didn’t want your help in the first place,” Luella replied, grabbing her backpack from the floor and tossing it over her shoulder.

“Before you leave, you should know that your parents will be notified about your actions and you will most likely serve at least a two week suspension,” the counselor said, facing away from Luella. Luella smiled. “All that means is two weeks less of me seeing you and every other loser in this shithole,” she said, yawning loudly and stretching her arms. 

“Have a nice evening, Luella,” the counselor said unfeelingly, scrolling through her phone. Luella rolled her eyes at the counselor’s fake politeness.

Luella walked out of the guidance counselor’s office coolly, the conversation she just had already a distant memory. Her sweatpants hung low around her thin waist, gently rubbing against her dirty white sneakers. Her curly hair fell at her shoulders, slightly uneven in places where she had impulsively trimmed it the week before. Her beautiful bronze skin was the only colorful thing about her. She walked down the empty hallway towards the school building’s exit, wearing a dead expression on her face. 

When she reached the door, she observed the sun beginning to set. The sun’s bright rays hit her, and she stared directly into them, almost challenging the sun to try and blind her. She descended the school steps and began walking home. As she was about to round a corner, she heard a voice call out breathlessly to her. “Ella!” 

She turned around, and a smile threatened to appear at the corners of her mouth when she saw Kylen running after her. He wore a big, stupid grin that caused a slight blush to creep up on Luella’s cheeks. His shaggy brown hair bounced as he ran, his footsteps almost matching Luella’s accelerating heartbeat. When he finally reached her, he encased her in an all consuming hug.

“Get off me, idiot,” she said, her voice muffled by his shoulder. He laughed and pulled away from her.

“Why are you at school so late?” he asked, cocking his head.

“I left a book in my locker,” Luella said, the lie smoothly leaving her lips.

“Oh, well can I walk you home?” he asked.

“You’d do it even if I asked you not to,” she replied, pushing him playfully.

“This is true,” he replied, pushing her back. A giggle left her mouth, and her face heated up at his touch. “Haven’t heard you laugh in awhile. I missed it,” he said. Immediately, her dead expression returned, but butterflies were swarming her stomach, the heat in her cheeks increasing with each second she spent near him.

They walked for awhile in silence, Kylen appreciating the beauty of the sunset and Luella appreciating Kylen’s presence. The trees blew in the late-autumn wind, and Kylen stared in awe at the changing colors of the leaves. He picked up a reddish leaf and held it to Luella’s face. She stared at him, a confused look crossing her face.

“The color matches your eyes,” he said, placing the leaf in her hand.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” she replied, turning away slightly to hide the smile she knew she couldn’t suppress.

The silence returned, and they continued their walk, but Kylen seemed jittery. Luella tried her best to ignore him until he began fidgeting with his bracelet, at which point she decided to speak up. “What is it?” she said gruffly, putting her hands in the pockets of her sweatshirt. He sighed, and looked at her. “I need to tell you something,” he said. She knew what was coming. She’d been waiting so long to hear these words.

“I-,” he started. 

“I do too,” she said, cutting him off. He gave her a look of bewilderment, and looked down when he finally caught on to what was happening. “What do you look so confused for?” she said, awaiting his confession.

“Luella, I-” he began.

“You never call me that,” she said, dread starting to set in.

“I just wanted to tell you that I’m dating Lorelei. She’s the blonde girl in our physics cla-”

“I know who she is,” Luella snapped.

“Ella, please don’t be upset. I didn’t know you felt this wa-”

“Does it change anything?” she asked, her voice breaking a little.

“Ella-” “Does it?!” she screamed.

“No,” he said softly, looking at the ground.

“I’ll walk home on my own,” Luella hissed.

“It’s dangerous! Haven’t you heard about the murders? You’re my best friend and I-”

“Go home,” Luella whispered.

“Luella, please-”

“Kylen, go home,” Luella spat. He looked at her apologetically, taking her hands in his. She flinched at his touch, pulling her fingers out of his hands. “Don’t touch me,” she said, storming away from him.

“I love you, Ella,” he said. She stopped dead in her tracks, whipping her head around.

“How?” she asked, her voice low.

“You’re my best frien-”

“Goodbye, Kylen,” she said, turning back around and continuing towards her house.

“Ella, please, it’s dangerous,” he retorted, worry present in his voice.

She ignored his words and raced as fast as she could away from him. When she turned a corner and could no longer see him, she stopped running and put her hands on her knees, her head hanging towards the ground. Her breath escaped her in shallow, ragged pants. She willed the tears to come, but they never did. The only emotion she could feel was white-hot anger, the desire to beat something until it bled. She punched the telephone pole in front of her, and blood trickled slowly down her knuckles.

“FUCK!” she screamed at nobody, clutching her bloody fist. When the pain subsided, the desire to hurt returned.

She kicked and punched at the telephone pole, wishing it were Kylen. Her feet and fists stung, but nothing compared to the pain of Kylen’s rejection. What did Lorelai have that she didn’t? Why wasn’t she good enough for him? The memory of her conversation with the guidance counselor returned, and the intensity of her blows to the pole increased as she remembered the counselor’s failed attempt at helping her. Blood ran down her arms, staining her sweatshirt, but she took no notice.

She continued on walking as if nothing had happened, concealing her bloody hands in her sweatshirt. When she arrived at her house, two cars sat in the driveway, and she realized with dread that her father had come home early from work. She unlocked the door, and swung it open. Her parents sat at the kitchen table, their eyes shooting up to meet her eyes as she walked into the house.

“What?” she said nonchalantly, tossing her backpack onto the floor and plopping herself into the chair across from them. “What?! What!?” her father said in disbelief, rising from his chair. “Ledger, sit down,” Luella’s mother whispered to him, trying to calm him down.

“Your school called to let us know that you plagiarized your history paper. Is this true?” her mother asked her softly.

“Yup,” Luella said.

“Why would you do that?” her mother asked, disappointment visible on her face. “It was a boring topic,” Luella shrugged. Her father was seething, and her mother rubbed his shoulder to calm him again.

“That’s not how you were raised,” her mother said, slightly annoyed by Luella’s tone.

“Sometimes shit doesn’t work out,” Luella responded, spreading her legs and leaning back in her chair.

“WATCH YOUR MOUTH!” her father bellowed, enraged by her filthy mouth.

Luella laughed, throwing her head back, further provoking her father. He pushed his wife off of him and ran over to Luella, pushing her off of her chair and slamming her to the ground. Her mother yelped in shock, afraid for her daughter.

“DISRESPECT IS NOT TOLERATED HERE. IF YOU WANT TO CONTINUE ACTING LIKE THIS, YOU CAN LEAVE!” he shouted in her ear, spitting on her face. She grinned. “Then get off of me,” she wheezed.

“What did you say?” he said, narrowing his eyes at her.

“I’ll go,” she choked out.

“No!” her mother screamed from the other side of the room, too petrified to step in.

Luella’s father released her from his grip, and she rolled onto her side, coughing as she tried to catch her breath. Her father walked towards his office.

“You’re no daughter of mine,” he said. Her mother’s eyes darted back and forth, panic setting in.

“He doesn’t mean that, he’s just upset,” she said, whispering so that he wouldn’t hear her.

Luella scoffed. “Yeah, okay,” she said, taking her hands out of her sweatshirt to put her hair up.

Her mother’s eyed widened. “What happened to your hands?” she asked, her voice almost a whimper.

“I got in a fight.”

“With who?”

“A telephone pole.”

Luella went upstairs to take one last look at her room, the hot pink walls contrasting the blackness stirring inside of her soul. She left without grabbing any necessities. She didn’t say goodbye to her mother. She walked out of the door, and never looked back.

Luella went on walking for some time before she came upon a park. Memories of her playing there with Kylen surfaced, but her anger had been completely exhausted. All that remained was apathy. She sat in the swing, kicking her legs to swing herself higher and higher upwards. When she reached the highest she could possibly go, she jumped off of the swing, landing with a thump on the woodchips. She was about to mount the merry-go-round when the hiking path caught her eye. Memories of jogging with her parents on humid summers flooded her mind, but she ignored them, walking onto the path.

The sun had completely set, but Luella remained, walking through the forest. The temperature began to drop rapidly, but Luella did not notice. Her mind was completely blank. She just continued on walking. After a few minutes of walking, she impulsively pulled out her phone and saw missed calls from her mother and from Kylen. She ignored these almost instinctively, and instead began scrolling through the rest of her notifications. A headline flashed at her.

Murder strikes again. Victim is 17 yr. old Ekaterina Petrov.

She turned off her phone and continued walking further into the forest. After a few hours of walking, she grew tired. She laid down in a pile of red leaves, remembering the one Kylen had given her just hours earlier. Sleep tempted her tired body, and she gave in. Luella did not dream. She did not think. She only slept.

Her phone emitted a loud, siren-like noise, causing her to wake up violently. The leaves rustled as she moved to grab her phone. The notification sat in front of her.

Murderer identified: David Hanley, 51. Last seen on Hemlock Hiking Trail.

The very trail she sat on. Luella laughed loudly, cackling like a hyena.

“What are the fucking odds?” she whispered to herself, remembering Kylen’s warning.

She slowly got up, yawning and stretching upwards, the moonlight hitting her. She continued on walking through the forest, the leaves crunching under her feet. She examined the dried blood on her fists and remembered how it got there, chuckling. As she was walking, she could almost swear she heard footsteps behind her, but she ignored it, not caring enough to investigate. She kept on, but when she felt someone step on the back of her shoe, she turned around.

He had her pinned to a tree before she could even so much as think. His knife was at her throat. 

“Any last words?” he asked, foul breath filling Luella’s nostrils. She smiled at him.

“I think they’ve found you, David,” she said, howling sinisterly. He pushed the knife against her harder.

“I said, any last words, bitch?” he repeated, and her laughter only increased in volume.

“Hide my body where they’ll never find me. That’s all,” she said calmly. He looked at her like she was crazy. He pressed the knife even harder against her throat.

“You serious?” he said, his voice raspy. She rolled her eyes at his hesitance.

He had unintentionally loosened his grip when he decided she wasn’t a threat. She grabbed the hilt of the knife and reversed it, swiping wildly at him, ultimately slicing his throat. The blood spurted everywhere, coating her face and clothes. When the blood stopped spraying, she wiped her mouth.

“There isn’t room for weaklings in this forest,” she said.

She turned around, knife in hand, and began walking to Kylen’s house.

[tsarisfanfiction]

Wax and Feathers

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rated: Gen Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Family Characters: Scott, Gordon, Virgil, John, Tracy family

Sometimes limits need to be broken. But a limit is there for a reason, and breaking them has consequences. Episode tag for 3.20 "Icarus"

It was fact that everything had a limit. No matter who, or what, there came a point when they just couldn't push any further. This was even true for International Rescue.

Scott liked to pretend it wasn't. Acknowledging limits felt like giving up, but when Thunderbird Two went underwater, or into space, and barely survived the experiences, or Five's immensely strong structure cracked under too much gravity, those limits almost took the lives of his brothers. So, as much as he hated them, he couldn't quite ignore the fact that limits existed.

Thunderbird One was the fastest aircraft in existence. The idea that speed could ever be an issue for her was ludicrous. Her full capability was rarely exercised, unnecessary in all but the direst conditions and, as John was fond of saying, everything Brains designed had a huge safety margin. Even her limit wasn't really her limit; Scott had never tried to push her more out of respect for his father's impressive record than anything else. He didn't want to know if he could beat it. Not without his Dad watching, anyway.

Something was wrong. Experienced pilot, more or less one with his Thunderbird from so many flight hours together, Scott knew the moment he engaged the VTOL to leave the air show and head for home that Thunderbird One wasn't going to make it back without considerable skill and a healthy dose of luck. The noise of her engines was just off kilter to usual, a change that he could feel more than hear it was so subtle.

Subtle, but there. The controls weren't one with him. For the first time in a long time, Scott actually had to dedicate conscious thought to them, counting carefully the beats before the next shift to account for the airspeed. Ever his Thunderbird, One worked as closely with him as she could, responding to his touches, but it was impossible to fall into her usual rhythm.

"Scott?"

He ignored the hologram of his brother appearing in his line of vision, focusing on the readouts flickering up instead and not even daring to spare the time to swipe the floating image away.

"Scott!"

Mach 1.3 seemed to be the sweet spot, Thunderbird One purring along almost as though nothing was wrong, but it was tough to keep her at exactly that speed without autopilot – and with something seriously wrong somewhere in her engines, Scott refused to trust autopilot.

"Thunderbird One, respond!"

John barked in that tone that meant answer me or I'll take control of your Thunderbird. Anyone else taking control of One right now would be disaster. Scott responded.

"What?"

Short, curt. Uncharacteristically so, even for him at his most stressed.

"Thunderbird One's flight pattern is erratic. Are you okay?" His brother sounded worried. Scott didn't have the concentration to spare on reassuring him.

"Fine."

"You don't sound fine."

Scott ignored him as Thunderbird One shuddered. Whatever was wrong in her engine wasn't fixing itself, and instead seemed to be worsening steadily. He was still several hundred miles from base.

Gritting his teeth, he slowed to sub-sonic flight. At least now if she crashed, he had a chance of walking away from it.

"Scott what's going on?" Virgil's hologram appeared beside John's. Gordon quickly flickered into life to complete the trio of concerned looks. "Why have you dropped speed? Did something happen?"

"We're ahead of you, slow poke," Gordon chimed in. "Feel like doing the dishes for once?"

"Gordon!" Virgil snapped. "Scott, speed up or I'm turning around."

He opened his mouth to protest, instinct rebelling at the notion of his brothers coming back to help him, before common sense prevailed. Thunderbird One was deteriorating too quickly. Either he landed her now, while he was over land, or he would get an unwelcome swim somewhere in the Pacific Ocean.

Thunderbird One had hit her limit. She wouldn't make it back.

"John," he said. "Somewhere remote I can land. Now."

"Scott?" Virgil asked, but John's F.A.B cut across him. Scott gritted his teeth as Thunderbird One juddered again, more fiercely this time. Alarms began to wail, belatedly telling him something was wrong with his 'bird.

"Scott, what's going on?" Virgil demanded.

John was still silent, hopefully calculating somewhere he could land with minimal damage and audience.

"I don't know," he lied. "Some sort of engine trouble."

He knew exactly what had happened. Thunderbird One's operating limit was Mach 19. Her top speed was Mach 20. In pursuing Icarus, he'd pushed her past Mach 21.

His brothers thought he'd stuck to Mach 19, closed in using Kayo's flight path, and not sped up past that until he'd hooked Icarus, at which point he was being effectively towed so the only strain was on the tow cable.

At their comparative speeds, the sudden strain from a craft going Mach 19 latching onto a craft reaching Mach 22 would have torn both ships apart. A difference of Mach 3 was no small feat. In order to keep both intact – and consequently both pilots alive – Thunderbird One had had to attempt to match speed. It hadn't gone perfectly, still enough of a difference that the ships had threatened to tear apart, but he'd caught her and slowed Icarus down at least for a while.

"Sending co-ordinates now," John told him, and Scott glanced up at the new destination as they flashed up, making the adjustments to his course. Dimly, he could hear the lower roar of Two's engines over the sound of One's struggling and despite himself relaxed slightly. The sound of a Thunderbird really was the sweetest thing to hear when in trouble.

It was not his best landing, not by a long shot. He tried to set her down gently, feather-light as usual, but the various small shifts in the engine power required to land a supersonic jet proved to be the final straw for his poor, damaged 'bird. With a concerning snap from somewhere behind him, the engines cut out entirely just before the landing struts engaged and she ploughed, nose-first, into the dirt.

"Scott!" a chorus of brothers' voices sounded, and he groaned, straightening up and bringing a hand to his head. No whiplash, hopefully no concussion either he self-diagnosed as he pushed the restraints up and rolled his shoulders. There was sure to be some bruising from that, but nothing worse.

"Thunderbird One, respond!" John snapped as One shuddered in the familiar way that meant her sister was landing right next to her.

"Scott!" Gordon's voice sounded through the comms in stereo with a faint noise from outside One.

"I'm okay," he told them both, fumbling for the emergency override and opening the cockpit. Gordon leapt in before he could get out, pushing him back into his seat.

"We're gonna be the judges of that," his younger brother told him. "Seriously, what the hell happened?" Scott suffered through the brief medical exam, lengthened by the arrival of Virgil who promptly took over from Gordon and did it all again. It spoke volumes of how worried they were that Gordon didn't protest that he'd done it already.

"She couldn't quite hold long enough," Scott admitted. "Something in her engine's broken." He tried to stand, itching to go and see the damage for himself, but his brothers stopped him.

"I'll check the damage," Virgil said, stepping back. "You and that concussion of yours are staying right there until I get back."

"What concussion?" Scott demanded, then flinched as Gordon's gloved hand brushed against the back of his head.

"That one," his blond brother told him. "Why didn't you put your helmet on?"

"Wasn't time," he defended himself. Gordon raised an eyebrow.

"If I could get mine on with a volcano landing on top of me, you could have got yours on when you knew there was a problem." Scott flinched, mind flickering back to the nightmarish sight of the crumpled Thunderbird Four and her limp aquanaut as Penelope pulled him out of the wreckage.

There went any chance of sleep tonight.

He was saved from having to reply by Virgil's reappearance. The dark-haired Tracy looked grim.

"She's not flying anywhere," he declared bluntly. "Her main engine core's completely burnt out. Two'll have to carry her back." Scott had feared as such.

"But Two's already got a full load," Gordon pointed out. "She can't carry One and Four at the same time."

"I'll just have to drop Four off then come back," Virgil sighed. "Gordon, wait here with Scott. Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid. I won't be long."

"F.A.B."

Scott bristled at the implication he might try and get her airborne again. He wanted her home in one piece, and he knew the only way that would happen was by the grace of Virgil and Two now.

The behemoth in question lifted away from the ground slowly, only to engage her thrusters to full as soon as she was fully in the air and disappear off in the blink of an eye. It was easy to forget that although she was sluggish compared to One, Two was still an incredibly fast craft. And Virgil wasn't hanging around.

He went to stand up again, and growled at Gordon as his younger brother put a restraining hand on his shoulder.

"You've got a concussion, Scott," the aquanaut reminded him.

"So you've said," he retorted. "But concussion or not, I'm getting out of this chair and seeing the damage for myself so get out of the way."

Gordon did not get out of the way. But he did, after a moment, remove the hand from his shoulder and offer it instead. Scott tried to deny that he appreciated the help as the interior of his beloved ship swam slightly before his eyes.

"You'll be riding back in Two anyway," the blond menace shrugged. Scott ignored him as he stumbled his way down through the fuselage to the main engine. The internal access panel was still open from Virgil's investigation, and immediately he could see why Virgil hadn't been gone long.

Burnt out was a rather understated way to describe the charred lump of metal that had once housed the engine core, and his engineer brother hadn't even bothered to mention the relay. It was sheered clean in half – clearly the snap he'd heard as his 'bird had fallen the last few metres from the sky. No doubt her other engines were in a similar condition.

Virgil was right. There was no way Thunderbird One would be able to get back in the air under her own power.

"Brains is going to kill me," he groaned, pressing a hand to his face.

"Join the club, bro," Gordon chimed in, before giving off a low whistle. "Woah, how the hell did that even happen?" Scott shrugged, unwilling to admit that Thunderbird One had gone too fast.

"Scott," John buzzed in from his comms channel. "I just reviewed Thunderbird One's flight telemetry. What were you doing at Mach 21.7?"

"Catching a plane," he said, overriding Gordon's yelp of "Mach what?

"No wonder her engines are fried!" the aquanaut continued. "Thunderbird One's top speed is Mach 19. Nine. Teen."

"Technically that's her operating limit," Scott corrected. "Her top speed is Mach 20."

"Mach twenty one, Scott. Twenty one is higher than twenty. My point still stands."

"Point seven," John corrected Gordon. "He reached Mach twenty one point seven."

"That's even worse!" Gordon cried dramatically, hands in his hair. "What even possessed you to do that?"

"We had to catch the Icarus," Scott reminded him, even though his gut churned as he remembered that despite pushing Thunderbird One into this state, he'd still failed. The success story had been the combination of Two and Three. Wrecking his Thunderbird with nothing to even show for it gnawed at his mind unpleasantly.

He heard Gordon sigh and a hand returned to his shoulder.

"Come on, let's go outside."

He didn't move, staring into the depths of his 'bird and the carnage of her engines. She was going to be grounded for weeks with that much damage while Brains repaired her.

But Brains was working on the T-Drive engine.

He sank down to the floor, one hand blindly reaching out to trace the cool metal of her hull as he did so.

Brains would have to stop working on the T-Drive to repair her. They didn't have time for petty delays yet he'd gone and wrecked his Thunderbird without even a success story to excuse the damage and subsequently put a huge dent in their too tight time frame.

Unless he told Brains to leave her, keep Thunderbird One crippled until the Zero-X was complete and Dad was home. But International Rescue needed her.

The Zero-X or Thunderbird One.

Unbidden, bile built up in his throat, catching him off guard as he retched.

"Geez, Scott." Gordon's voice was softer now, and his hands were gentle even as they hauled him to his feet. "That concussion's not happy with you, is it? Let's get you outside." Drained, too burdened by the realisation that he would have to choose between two equally important craft to have any fight left, Scott let himself be led out of his 'bird's cargo bay door.

Gordon guided him to her nose cone, splattered with dirt and streaks of silver cutting through the red where the impact had damaged it, and coaxed him into sitting on the ground with his back leaning against his downed Thunderbird.

"Stay there," he said before disappearing back inside One. Scott watched him go, looking down the long silver fuselage of the plane to the blue stripe around her engines. From the outside, there was no sign of the wreckage. A slightly scratched nose cone and the lack of her landing gear out were the only signs that she hadn't simply landed there.

"Here." Gordon reappeared seconds after vanishing, holding something that glinted in the sun in his hands. "You're trembling," his younger brother explained as the foil blanket wrapped around him. "Nothing to be done about the concussion, though." He sat down next to him, slinging an arm around Scott's shoulders lightly. "She'll be okay. Brains'll fix her up, better than new."

"Brains is working on the T-Drive engine," Scott reminded him. "He doesn't have time to fix her."

"Then we'll fix her," Gordon said matter-of-factly. "You, me, Virgil, Alan. Well, mainly Virgil. Just like we fixed Two up after her little swimming adventures."

Thunderbird Two's damage had been nowhere near as severe as this.

"It'll be okay, Scott," his brother continued. The arm around his shoulders tightened slightly. "We'll save him."

That was his line, to be recited to younger brothers whenever they needed it. Not for them to recite back to him.

It was comforting to hear.

"Yeah," he said as the roar of Two's engines came into earshot, the green behemoth appearing as quickly as she'd vanished. "We will."

"Budge over," Virgil ordered, their comms crackling back to life in unison and with no ceremony. "I'm going to land on top of her and I don't feel like explaining to Grandma why two of my brothers are fried worse than her cooking."

"I'd pay to see you tell her her cooking is bad to her face," Gordon retorted, but he was already on his feet and pulling Scott up with him. Together they backed up, Scott knowing exactly how far was safe and reluctant to get any further from Thunderbird One than required. Gordon pulled him back a little more.

"You couldn't afford it," Virgil scoffed as he positioned his 'bird over her sister. Without a module, she looked flimsier than usual, even though Scott knew she could lift greater weight without one. "Why is Scott in a foil blanket?"

"You said to make sure he didn't do anything stupid," Gordon chirped, a huge grin on his face. "So I make sure he couldn't."

"Resourceful," Virgil commented approvingly. Scott scowled, even though he knew Gordon was lying – or at least, partially lying. He wouldn't put it past his prankster brother to have had multiple reasons for bringing out the blanket. Two's landing struts deployed to their full extent and Scott watched with rigid shoulders as they came down either side of his 'bird, the rear pair barely missing her extended wings.

Thunderbird Two wasn't strictly designed to land on her fully-extended struts, but Virgil made it look easy as she settled daintily over her sister. The grapples fired down and Gordon ran over to secure them. Contained in foil, Scott could do nothing but watch as his younger brothers secured the two craft together. It looked terrifyingly flimsy, four relatively thin cables trailing down from the walls of Thunderbird Two's module bay the only links, but Scott knew that it would hold. Brains put safety first, and in a gift of forethought and paranoia had installed specific places on Thunderbird One's hull for just such an eventuality. She was far better secured to her sister than any other craft could ever be.

Once all three brothers were satisfied, Scott unable to resist joining Gordon if only to instruct ("I know, Scott!"), Thunderbird Two's platform lowered. Mild concussion or not, Scott refused to be treated as a rescuee and won the argument over whether or not he could grapple up to the platform by himself. That didn't stop Virgil from manhandling him into the nearest seat – usually Alan's, directly behind the pilot – while Gordon slid triumphantly into the co-pilot's seat, which was technically Scott's right as commander, but his brothers were clearly having none of it.

"You sit back and call Tracy Island," Virgil told him when he tried to resist. "Kayo's having kittens about what could have brought One down under her watch and Alan's not much better. Now shut up and let me get your 'bird home in one piece."

Scott scowled, fighting his way out of the foil blanket before tapping his comm unit. Beneath him, Two's powerful VTOLs roared into life, straining for a moment before they began to gain altitude.

"Scott!" Alan's voice burst out of his communicator, the small hologram appearing above his wrist. "Are you okay? What happened? Did you crash? Virgil didn't say much."

"I'm fine, Alan," he cut in, silencing his youngest brother's babble. "One's engines gave out, that's all."

"What happened, Scott Tracy." Kayo flickered into view, pushing Alan aside as she scowled at him, eyes sparking dangerously. "Thunderbird One performed just fine during the air show, and no-one unauthorised got near her at any point."

Scott gritted his teeth for a moment before letting out a sigh. His head throbbed and his shoulders ached – reminders that no matter how lucky he'd been, it had still been a crash landing.

"It's nothing to worry about," he told her, conscious that Virgil was listening in from the seat in front of him. Gordon was tapping his own flight controls, already aware of the cause thanks to John earlier and hopefully on standby to prevent any erratic flying from Virgil. Kayo opened her mouth, clearly about to protest that it was clearly something to worry about if it could take a Thunderbird out of the sky straight after a public event. "Catching the Icarus just put too much strain on the engines."

"Mach 19 should not have strained Thunderbird One's engines like that," Kayo disagreed. Scott winced, and her hologram's eyes narrowed. "Scott?"

"Mach 21.7," Gordon interrupted, and Scott shot him a glare as Thunderbird Two dipped slightly. His brother had firm hold of Two's flight controls, which was fortunate as Virgil whipped around to stare at Scott incredulously.

"Excuse me?" Kayo asked, taken aback. "Thunderbird One's operational limit is Mach 19. Even taking into consideration Brains' safety limits, she can't exceed Mach 20."

Control of the conversation was slipping away – if he'd ever had it – and Scott wanted it back.

"Well she did," he snapped.

"And murdered her own engines in the process," Virgil retorted, regaining flight control from Gordon. "Good job."

"But you're okay, right?" Alan piped up again, shoving Kayo back out of view. Blue eyes, washed out slightly in hologram form, looked up at him in concern, and Scott softened.

"I'm okay, little brother."

Alan's worried look gave way to one of relief, and Scott was content to sit back and let him talk, revisiting his part of the rescue – the successful bit, his brain muttered mutinously – and all the fun he had at the show when they weren't saving Professor Kwark. Virgil kept sending him disapproving looks over his shoulder, which he studiously ignored.

"Tracy Island, this is Thunderbird Two." Virgil cut through Alan's retelling of how he swept up Professor Kwark from the remains of the Icarus for the fifth time. "On final approach now. Alan, Kayo, get ready."

"F.A.B."

Scott's communicator blinked out.

He looked out of the window to see their home looming in the distance, growing by the moment. Two's palm trees were folded back already, a blob of green sitting on the runway. Gordon made a strangled noise of protest.

"Did you just dump Four?" he demanded of Virgil, who raised an eyebrow at him.

"Two can't enter or leave her hanger without a module," he reminded him. "That's where her wheels are."

"Point," Gordon conceded with a shrug.

"Now go get ready to unhook One," Virgil ordered, and with a cheeky salute Gordon headed to the rear of the cockpit. "Scott, you are not leaving that seat until Two is back in her hanger."

"She's my 'bird," Scott retorted, standing up. Gordon pushed him back down and before he knew it the foil blanket had been wrapped back around him and the safety belt fastened over the top of it. "Gordon!"

"Concussions don't go away that fast, bro. Don't worry, I'll take care of your 'bird." Scott groaned and let his head fall back, wincing as the headrest made contact with the source of his headache.

"Good thinking with that blanket," Virgil told Gordon. "We should use it more often."

"You should not," Scott snapped, but went ignored as Virgil turned his attention back to their approach and Gordon got ready to rappel out of the hatch.

Two pods trailed out of Two's hangar, set up as landing gear cradles. Scott watched them vanish underneath Two's bulk and a moment later Virgil opened the hatch for Gordon to disappear out of.

The operation began. Scott listened as his three brothers and Kayo co-ordinated the two pods and Thunderbird Two to get One nestled safely on the landing gear and had to bite his lip to prevent himself cutting in. Unable to even see the holographic display Virgil was referencing clearly, he was stuck waiting, and dwelling.

Scott did not do waiting or dwelling well. Never had done, and now so much was weighing down on him at once, it was even worse. Gordon's words had helped, but they couldn't clear all of the worries away. He'd been useless – worse than useless, now an actual detriment to International Rescue – in trying to save Professor Kwark, and now he was useless in even getting his crippled Thunderbird home.

What was he even doing?

Two's engines increased their thrust, pushing the behemoth back into the sky. Below, the two pods carefully manoeuvred back into the hanger, carrying Thunderbird One.

"Still with us, Scott?" Virgil asked as he brought his 'bird down over module four, finally bringing Gordon's beloved sub into the hangar.

"Yeah," Scott grunted, watching as Thunderbird Two finally came to a halt. "I'm fine."

"No you're not," Virgil corrected him, flicking through post-flight checks rapidly. "Your Thunderbird fell out of the sky and you have a concussion. You're not fine, Scott, and none of us expect you to be."

"I'm fine," he snapped.

Virgil sighed heavily and stood up, smoothly stepping around his chair to stand in front of him.

"Come on, big brother," he huffed, releasing the safety belt. "Let's get you in the house."

They were all waiting for him when the platform lowered, Virgil's arm firmly around his shoulders and keeping the foil blanket in place despite his efforts to dislodge it. Alan barely waited for him to step off of it before tackling him into a hug, while Gordon sauntered over at a more leisurely pace to slip his arm around his shoulders from the opposite side to Virgil. Kayo's arms remained firmly crossed but her eyes were soft, and even John was there, standing next to Brains and looking as though he'd come Earthside in a hurry. Grandma wrapped her arms around as many of them as she could reach.

"What-" he started, wondering what had prompted the sudden family gathering in Two's hangar.

"Don't you scare us like that, young man," Grandma overrode him briskly, squeezing tighter before letting them go. "Now, let's get you upstairs."

"I-I'll get started o-on the repairs," Brains excused himself, and Scott's mouth fell open.

"What?" he demanded. "But the T-Drive-"

"Dad wouldn't want us to prioritise him over International Rescue," John overrode him quietly. "Thunderbird One takes priority. You know this, Scott."

He grit his teeth, wishing he could refute what his brother was saying, but John had the annoying habit of always being right.

"EOS and I will continue calculations for the T-Drive," John continued. "This isn't a setback, Scott."

"It shouldn't have happened at all," Scott spat. "It didn't even help."

"Stop talking nonsense," Grandma scolded, hands on her hips as steely eyes glared up at him. "You might not have saved her by yourself, but that isn't Thunderbird One's role. Thunderbird One brings hope, and you, young man, brought the Professor hope that she would be saved. Don't you forget it."

She reached out and rested a hand on his cheek, breaking into a smile.

"Besides, your father would be delighted that you broke his record."

[heyifinallyhaveablog]

Amarendra/Devasena- Finish your damn food!

Okay so, @ruminationsofaraven and I were having a chat about how we were reporting on a certain kind of special duty. (Classfied information, sorry!), and Yours Sincerely got around to fidgeting in her ask box lying in abeyance. And I found this ask from @carminavulcana lying around for a prompt that I had writtten, ages ago.

Warning: Not edited/proofread/self-reviewed. :D

Ankur, here you go, Bae! Sorry this took so long! <3

---

Dinnertable conversations:

Relationship: AmarSena

Characters: Amarendra Baahubali, Bhallaladeva, Devasena, and Little Mahendra.

Setting: Modern AU

----

Devasena stopped dead in her tracks by the refrigerator, as Amar blankly cast nervous glances at her and their five-year-old.

“Where. Did. You. Hear. That. From?!” came the question Amar dreaded.

Mahendra was perhaps the only one to retain his normalcy in this silent chaos. After all, for him, asking the meaning of a particular word during dinnertime was casual dining table banter.

After all, Bhalla Papa used the word at least five times in a sentence, right?

“Mahendra,”- Amar intervened, making a brave attempt at some kind of damage control -which, by the way, had actually gone beyond human control.

-“Why don’t you finish your dinner and go to bed, Darling?” he volunteered, sounding utterly, unduly cheesy even to himself.

-“But-” the child interjected, - “The ice-cr-”

-“FINISH YOUR DAMN FOOD AND GO TO BED! NOW!” Devasena screamed, making the dining hall tremble in fear.

“Okay.” both Father and Son complied as they promptly left their seats, one in obedience, another as a means to escape the (in?)famous spousal wrath.

“Not you, husband,” she deadpanned.

“I’m talking to the child.”

---

Devasena was still seething in anger, and a hint of something that said,-

-“I TOLD YOU!” she hissed at her husband, “I TOLD YOU TO NOT LET-”

“His tongue might have slipped.” Amar gulped.

“SLIPPED?!” she thundered, “HE was with a five-year-old!”

“Look Deva,”- Amar dared to speak again, - “Bhalla is a very casual person. Moreover, he didn’t mean to-”

-“Teach his nephew what ‘Fuck’ meant?” Devasena acrimoniously completed for him. 

Precisely, Amar thought, but knew better.

“When does he return?” the angered mother inquired.

“He is probably heading home as we speak.” Amar looked at the watch as its hands stopped at ten-thirty at night, which conventionally was bedtime for Mahendra, television time for his parents, and literally the beginning of the evening for the convict who was unknowingly awaiting a trial.

---

“And?!” Bhalla eyed his sister-in-law with a nonchalant incredulity.

Amar, for his part, just remained the mute spectator that he had intended to be.

Let the monsters kill each other, his mind involuntarily spun the line out of nowhere in Game of Thrones.

“You used the f-word in front of your nephew!” Devasena relentlessly rallied on.

“Chill!” Bhalla calmly interjected, “It is just part of his training.” 

The proud smile of his face, was reflected in Devasena’s ignited eyes, which had hellfire burning ablaze in them.

“TRAINING?!” Devasena mouthed, splattering a gob of spittle. Amar, for his own safety hid his laughter.

But Bhalla didn’t.

“Seriously, Deva,’- he managed to speak amid peals of laughter, - “Do you really think the little devil shall stay pure in his teens?!”

Nostrils flaring, eyes blazing, and hair flying, Amar swore his wife was a Goddess of Destruction, and yet, she was still fumbling to come up with a proper retort.

“Smart child there,” Bhalla continued, “Very smart, and witty. Unlike his dumbass dad, of course.”

Amar was simply jolted out of his trance with a start.

“Dumbass?!” he croaked.

“Yeah, like,”- Bhalla shrugged like it was the most obviously known fact in the entire universe, - “for all your straight A-s and everything,” he continued, “you were the dumbass.”

“The quintessential good-boy trope, man,” Bhalla kept speaking, “You were just too good to be my brother.”

Amar didn’t say much. Well, there wasn’t really much to say here. Bhalla was the Badass Brother, he was the Dumbass Brother, as Bhalla put it in no unclear words.

“But that boy of ours, man!” he spoke proudly, “I’m so proud of our little Mahendra!”

Sweet Mother of God!, even Amar swelled in pride. Bhalla complimenting their child was a plus. The man had scant respect for worldly beings, relatives even less, but he doted on his nephew and spoilt him silly with regular weekend outings and rides. The two even had plans for adventure trips when Mahendra grew up, and frankly, Amar couldn’t help but marvel at the manner in which his child had his otherwise snarky Uncle wrapped around his little finger.

But then, Bhalla, was well- Bhalla, for crying out loud. There were few things known to mankind that were controllable when he was in his element, which was, pretty much, always.

“Moreover,” Bhalla was still speaking audaciously, “I’m quite certain that he’ll learn the ways of the wayward world sans my tutelage.”

“You,”- Devasena opened her mouth

-“Must exercise some restraint when it comes to language. Only when you are with him.” Amar spoke.

Bhalla listened. Apparently, calm was far better than anger. 

“He is five, Bhalla,”- Amar spoke,

-“And smart enough to pick up a cuss word?” Bhalla smiled slyly.

Amar rolled his eyes. Plainly, winning a match against this guy was a tough task. But then, he was handed the responsibility of handling this hellhole of infantile adults, angry wives, and over inquisitive children.

“Look, man,” he spoke again, quietening his wife with a gesture, “He’ll learn when he does. You don’t need to give him an induction session on cuss words, this early in life.”

It was Bhalla’s turn to roll his eyes.

“Okay, Brother,” he spoke sarcastically, “I would censor my telephone conversations with my incompetent, teammates, so as not to defile my little ball of sunshine.”

“Thank You!” Amar heaved a sigh of relief.

“But then,” Bhalla began once again, as Devasena looked up, “Don’t accuse me of anything when you find ‘Playboy’ magazines stashed underneath his clothes, ten years later.”

Bhalla winked before he made his way to the stairs up to his room.

“He is a bad influence, you know.” Devasena mumbled to her husband.

“Needs training, nevertheless,” Amar smiled, “But he isn’t really half-bad.”

[84reedsy]

A Prefect Union - SevLily fic

Author: @84reedsy

Major Characters: Lily Evans (pre Potter), Severus Snape Minor Characters: The Marauders

Word Count: 3893

Warnings: Smut

Tags: @lunap999

Description: Lily Evans, a prefect in her 7th year at Hogwarts, is at her wits end with James Potter's incessant bullying.She calls upon her childhood friend, Severus - Slytherin's prefect, to work out her frustrations.

Special Thanks: Thanks to the AMAZING @lunap999 for the INCREDIBLE #SevLily fanArt, isn’t it fantastic?? If you don’t follow her, you need to!

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Lily Evans was quite sure she was angry enough that her auburn hair may actually turn into a fiery flame. She’d not but two days prior asked James to employ a little more common sense and compassion for his fellow students. He was after all a 7th year; he was supposed to be a model of discipline and maturity. All in all he was supposed to be a glimpse of what traits he would carry into manhood, they were officially now of age in the wizarding community. 

But, low and behold, as she entered the dining hall of Hogwarts that morning she was rather dismayed to see a gathering of students between the tables assigned to the Gryffindor and Slytherin houses. Why the two houses weren’t assigned to opposite sides of the dining hall was beyond her logic; Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw would be a generous buffer. Not all scuffles would stop, but they’d be more limited in occurrence. She envied their quiet pleasantness on their side of the room. 

She recognized James’ scruffy mess of sandy brown hair even though he faced away from her, flanked none to her surprise by Sirius and Remus. Peter bounced around the edge of the group as if he were a desperate mascot.  It was no wonder none of them had been named prefect. She’d hoped that possibly at least Remus might be nominated for the honour, but he lost out to Frank Longbottom. If Remus had earned the distinction, there might have been a small possibility that James and Sirius would have walked a slightly straighter line through their last year. But that was not proving to be the case. 

Laughter peeled out from the Gryffindors as the Slytherin’s around them looked uneasy and cross. Lily pursed her lips and headed towards them with purpose. 

“Oh, Sniverus,” James spoke so condescendingly, you’d have thought he’d forgotten Severus was in fact a prefect in his own house, “When are you ever going to learn how to feed yourself,” Lily noticed that James’ wand was out and moving. He knew better, yet here he was bullying  again. Pulling her wand from the band of her skirt she flicked it, a force of air separating the small but raucous crowd. She could see now that Severus was restrained, his hands and ankles bound by a wispy, vapor and a bowl of porridge hovered near his face. 

“Maybe he needs his muggle-loving mummy to come and feed him,” Sirius chortled from James’ side. 

James’ wand seemed to be controlling the spoon that scooped the lumpy concoction towards Severus’ face. When he sealed his lips, the spoon either splattered it on his face or robes, making a horrid mess. She was sure smoke was pouring from her flared nostrils as she stomped her way to the hoard. James had gone too far, these schoolyard bully tactics ended today.

“JAMES POTTER,” Lilly barked, her cross presence did not seem to deter him as he looked at her with that crooked, handsome smile he so often used to try and win her over; his wand did not stop moving much to her clear annoyance, “You’ll stop that this instance and,” She made her seriousness unmistakable, “apologize.”

His wand stopped moving mid-air as he looked at his girlfriend, gulping as he risked being emasculated in front of his friends and a good portion of the school. 

“Apologize?! To this sniveling lump of -” He started to protest. He looked as if he’d rather rip is tongue from his mouth than utter any sort of apology.

“What? What is he James, hmm? A fellow student? A prefect? Someone sitting minding his own business like he always does just before you strut in here with your fellow band of misfits just looking for trouble, hmm? I know you all too well, James Potter, I know the brand of you and your friends.” Her voice carried well over the large stone walled hall. Other conversations had ceased, the only talk was whispers about the spectacle they were currently watching. 

“You have cost our house 100 points,” She could see the indignance drain from their faces as some of the Gryffindor house turned their annoyance towards James’ and his band of marauders, “Now...unbind him,” She enunciated taking a step towards James, “and apologize or there will be far worse consequences,” 

She knew she was surprising her house mates. Normally her person was not quite so resolute. She was more commonly rather amiable and friendly, but her boyfriend had pushed her too far. Knowing that she and Severus had been friends since she was a girl confused by her powers only made James jealous. His strategy of coping was not endearing in the slightest. 

After a brief staredown, he acquiesced, mumbling as he stowed his wand away in his open robes. 

Severus Snape looked up at Lily through the veil of his black mane, only long enough for a moment of silent thanks. He rubbed his wrist from the cruel tightness James had conjured of the restraints, not knowing where to start though in cleaning himself up. He stood and walked out of the dining hall at a brisk pace, his head hung low. He’d so hoped that being a prefect this year would change his plight with other students. It had instead installed a larger target on his back that others couldn’t seem to resist. 

“Some might call you a traitor, taking points from your own house,” Lizzie Hatchley sneered at her while barely managing to not sit directly in Sirius’ lap.

“And some would call harassment and assault unbecoming of those in the Gryffindor house,” She looked at James and his friends, then back to Lizzie, “Just as unbecoming as being an easy shag,” The girls shocked and offended expression didn’t surprise or further distract her.

“I still expect you to apologize,” She turned towards James, ignoring the stared daggers from Lizzie. 

“Apologize, seriously? It was only a joke, you’re blowing this entirely out of proportion, Lily,” He stood with his hands on his hips, trying to minimize her authority. She was sure she’d never been more angry with him than in this moment. 

“Owlery,” She almost spat the words in his face, “You and your merry band of marauders can spend the weekend scrubbing the walls of the owlery until the are sparkling and free of any and all bird shit,” 

“W h a t?” James was surprised as his exasperated reply would suggest. There was a rise of all four retorting to her punishment, but she was unphased by their displeasure.

“We could go for an entire month of weekends,” She spoke louder over all of them, her voice echoing in the rafters, “Go ahead, tell McGonagall, I’m sure she’ll sympathize with a bunch of ingrates that were assaulting another house’s prefect,”

“I can’t believe you’re taking his side over your own boyfriend’s,” James pouted, plopping down at the table now, scowling.

“Funny, I’m not sure I have a boyfriend any longer,” She was shocked by the level of snideness in her own tone, but she tilted her head back in confident defiance before spinning on her heel and walking from the dining hall with her head held high. 

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Severus watched from behind the doors as Lily exercised her appointed power of James Potter. He was relieved that she hadn’t been so smitten with James that she’d turned a blinder eye to his treatment of others. Particularly him. 

As she walked his way, he scrambled to ascend the stairs, trying to look natural when he heard her call his name. He turned, trying to look his sullen self as she marched up the stairs towards him. It wasn’t unheard of that he would garner extra attention from her for a few days after a run in with her brute of a boyfriend. The more affected he seemed, the longer she would give him her company. 

“Sev, please wait,” She hurried up the stairs, breathless as she reached him. His robes were still caked with drying porridge, he’d managed to clear his face and hair of it, though a bath may have done him well still, “I’m sorry about him, he’s just…” She looked at her childhood friend, his face ready to scoff at her newest excuse for James’ behavior. Her shoulders slumped as she knew she had none to offer, at least none that were sincere. 

“A spoiled git? An arsehole? Pick one Lily, any insult, they’ll all fit him,” He continued up the stairs and as predicted, she tailed him soon after, “I still for the life of me can’t understand what you see in that prick,” 

“Severus, I’ve told you before...I can’t explain it,” She walked quickly to keep up with the strides his long legs afforded him. 

“Sure he doesn’t dose you with some silly love potion?” he walked down side hallways, place where there wouldn’t be as many people if any, hoping to avoid any stares at his current state. 

“It’s not any potion, I should hope that you’ve taught me better than that.” She was adept in her potion studies but only with the help of his tutoring, “Where in Merlin’s name are we even going?” 

“I’m going to change and clean myself up so that it doesn’t look like I decided to wear breakfast,” he snapped, “I’d rather not be a spectacle for the entire school to mock more than they already do, so we’re going the long way to the prefects washroom.” He drawled on almost rolling his eyes. 

“Don’t be petulant with me, Sevey,” She pinched the back of his arm before stopping in front of an oddly blank wall, “What about in here?”

They both started as the wall changed, morphing and turning until and ornate wooden door stood before them. 

“The Room of Requirement!” Lily squealed clapping her hands, “I was beginning to wonder if it was just a myth,” She grabbed hold of Snape’s robe and pulled him towards it, “I bet everything you’d need is inside.” 

Just as she pulled on the door latch, they heard voices echoing down the halls. Severus recognized James’ tone straight away. 

“Aw Snivelly, you’re not off with my girl now are ya? Or did you need her to come dry your tears, Snapey?” His mob chuckled and laughed. 

“Oh! He is a right sour git, isn’t he,” Lily yanked the door open and, rather forcefully, pushed Snape inside, “Let him wonder where I am for the time being, serves him right.” She slammed the door behind them, it had to have barely closed and disappeared before the boys turned the corner. 

A bathroom appointed for royalty awaited them, a long table stood between them and a large bathtub already brimming with steaming water. There was a set of clean clothes and school robes folded neatly on it, the Slytherin patch face up. 

“I’m to take a bath? That seems,” He quieted like he did when nervous, though to most he seemed pensive in his pauses, “ odd,” 

“Here, if you don’t want to I can,” She held up her wand, “scourgify,” 

His hair tousled in the air, the soils lifting away and falling to the floor. 

“I was a little worried that spell might scrub the hair from my head.” He checked in the mirror to see his long, black locks still in place, neat and now clean. 

“I wouldn’t scrub you bald, Severus,” She scowled towards the door as they heard the murmur of the other’s voices, “I’ve just absolutely had it with him...I wish there was something I could do to get back at him.”

Severus had been waiting for such an opening, he took it quickly not giving himself a chance to contemplate further. He pressed his lips to her soft pink mouth. She stayed still from surprise, but quickly pulled back. 

“Severus!” She gasped, looking at him wild-eyed as if he’d lost his senses, “What are you playing at??”

“You said you wanted to get back at him...I can think of a few ways...” He brushed her hair back behind her shoulder, “ ...we can achieve that.” He saw a thousand thoughts flicker in her eyes as if she were fretting every possible outcome. He knew it was her nature to overthink, over plan, over analyze. But suddenly her eyes were clear as if her thoughts sat still for a moment. 

“This would definitely get to him…” But she didn’t kiss him back, instead her fingers undid his stained robes. She pushed the billowy cloth from him, his lanky form in front of her. He was glad she’d forgone robes for her skirt and sweater uniform. The skirt would be less to contend with. 

“Definitely,” His voice was slow and he broke up the word as if it were its own sentence. 

Lily initiated the next kiss, deeper this time. She loved James, but her mind had conjured up a fanciful tryst or two between her and Snape. 

“This is just a one time thing, Severus,” She made sure to state this, “I’m not breaking up with him or anything…” She watched for hurt to flash in his eyes, but saw none, "and … just so you know I don't normally do this...I don't fancy a shag with just anyone,"

"I never thought such a thing about you, Lily. I know what kind of girl you are." He eased her anxiety a bit. 

Snape knew she was destined to marry that spoiled twat, Potter. It was obvious from year one that he didn’t stand a chance at a lifetime of being at her side. He’d made his peace with that. But having a moment in time with James Potter’s girlfriend, defiling her, fucking her behind his enemies back seemed to be plenty of incentive to continue. That and he couldn’t deny that as she’d grown into a woman she’d only become more and more attractive. 

Fucking James Potter’s girlfriend, that could be the highlight of his year.

“And I understand,” He barely had the word out before her tongue was pressing between his lips, her body against his. Her hands groped him, squeezing around his crotch as his began reacting quickly to her touch. 

His hands were no more innocent, squeezing her buttocks, her breasts. He noted that if he placed his leg between hers, she grinded against his thigh. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have though he’d slipped her a lust potion. Perhaps he wasn’t the only one to have imagined such an encounter. 

Though he was lean, he picked her up easily and set her on the table next to the pile of his clothes. She seemed surprised by his strength as he plopped her on the table top. She made quick work of her sweater, quickly unbuttoning the blouse as well. Though he was perfectly motivated, he did have reservations concerning his own confidence. Instead of undressing, he knelt in front of her, rubbing the fabric of her knickers with his long, slender fingers. 

“Severus, your clothes,” She mentioned, tossing hers to the side, but quickly her head fell back as his mouth replaced his fingers. He pulled her knickers away from her slit, his tongue parting her lips, “Sssseverus….” She hissed as her body tremored. She widened her legs immediately, her hand pushing his head deeper into her sex. She was not shy to seek out pleasure, her hips moving to fuck his eager tongue. If she didn’t know better, she’d have sworn he had a serpent’s tongue. 

“Fuck...FUCK...Sevey...make me cum, love…” She begged, grinding against his face as his mouth become a devouring demon, nipping and biting at her clit. Part of him hoped the room wasn’t sound proof as he plunged two fingers into her now soaking cunt, fucking her tight hole as her thighs clamped around his ears. She writhed as she came, gasping 

“Bloody hell...where...where did you learn that…” She gasped for air as he stood, leaning back on her hands to steady herself. He saw her now for the first time topless, her tits perky, her nipples puffed and waiting. He didn’t answer her, instead slipping his still soaking wet fingers in her mouth and making her lick her own juices from them. 

“That cunt tells me exactly what it wants,” He stepped between her thighs, now untucking his shirt from his pants, “I choose to listen to it,” he unfastened the side of her skirt, unfolding it from her, pointing his wand at her drenched knickers. The seams unraveled and he easily slipped them from her, her pussy glistened with wetness, “It’s telling me it needs much more than to be fucked by a couple of fingers,” 

He shed his shirt, not as insecure as before. She sat up to kiss him as his fingers fumbled quickly at his belt, his pants. 

“Calm, yourself, Sevey,” She crooned, her hair already somewhat mussed. Sun glittered through the window panes just enough to highlight her perfectly, “you’re right...it definitely...wants...more,” She seduced him with her husky words, her hands sliding down his torso and into his open trousers. The girth in her hands surprised her as she gripped it. He gasped, his eyes showing the first signs of raw emotion. She stroked him, “Severus ...you never told me how gifted of a wizard you are,”

“That’s no charm, Lily...James may have to...engorgio...himself. But that is not necessary for me,” He stepped closer, his trousers finally falling and pooled on the floor. He pressed her back, his palm flat between her tits as he lay her flat on the table, “In fact, it very well may be too,” He slid his tip from her clit to her cunt, thrusting in suddenly as she shrieked loudly, “...big,” 

He hovered over her as he thrust again. Heavy, powerful thrusts that scooted the table across the stone floor even though it didn’t seem to move from its place. He waited between each buck of his hips, watching her pained expression as pleasure tortured her until bliss fell across her features as the weight of his thickness filled her womb completely. 

He could hear her wetness as his cock dove into her confining heat, it made him mad with lust himself to feel, hear, smell the level of arousal she produced for him. He suckled her breast while kneading the other in a rough harmony with his paced thrusts. Without warning, he straightened himself, tossing her legs over his shoulders. He grabbed her hips tightly and plunged his manhood quicker and quicker inside of her quivering pussy. 

She felt robbed of sound now, a pressure building in her loins that seemed to radiate throughout her entire being. Her fingers gripped the edge of the table until her knuckles were white. Her tits bounced in a violent sway as his eyes focused on his shaft, shining with her slick cum as he watched an orgasm grip her lovely form. 

She was perfection even nude. Not a part of her was even remotely out of place. He felt like punishing her for it, fucking her so completely that she’d never feel fully clean again. He slowed only to let her catch her breath as she gasped on the table, sweat dampening the edges of her fiery mane as it splayed across the wood. 

He let her legs wrap around his hips as he pushed into her deeper, grinding the coarseness of his dark bush against her throbbing clit, demanding another release from her as she tried desperately to fuck him back even as she was pinned against the table. 

“Harder, Severus,” She gasped, “Bugger me harder…” he felt the need to pick her up from the table, his shaft never leaving her aching pussy as he walked around the table. His cock did dislodge from her for a moment as he sat her down. Bending her over the edge of the surface, he kicked her legs open wider as he again invaded her sex with a devestating prowess. He watched the way her backside jiggled each time it smacked against his pelvis, he bit the tip of his tongue to keep from calling out too audible as her pussy coated his cock in a fresh wave of wetness. His bollocks ached as he clenched his muscles, desperate to last longer as he dug his fingers into her shoulders. 

“Severus…” She whimpered out, “Sop...stop stop...please,” She begged for a reprieve. He halted, removing himself from her slowly as he grew concerned that his size may be indeed too large. She instead patted the table top, “My turn to do some work…” 

She climbed atop him, the table perfectly wide enough for her to kneel on either side of his hips, sinking herself on to him as she fucked him. 

“Lily,” He whispered, his hands sliding up her form as she fluidly rode him, “You are exquisite,” he held her tits tightly in his grasp as she fucked him harder, his hips moving to match her pace and force. Lily enthusiastically pleasured herself at his euphoric expense. 

“Sevey, I’m going to cum again...be a naughty boy and cum with me…” She ran her hand down the front of her body, quickly flicking her fingers across her swollen clit. He let go of the release he’d been stalling and it churned into a bubbling swell quickly. 

“Lily...Lily...I’m cumming…” He gripped her hips, his voice raspy with a gasping energy.

“Oh yes...yes, Sevey! I feel you, love,” She sank on him as deep as possible as she pressed her clit into his pelvis, grinding with a shattering, final release. 

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Dressing was slightly awkward as the two friends now knew the other far more intimately than either had ever thought. She could still hear James’ voice in the hallway, slipping on her mended knickers as her womb, protected by a blocking charm, was still full of Snape’s cum. 

"That was incredible, Sev…" she fixed her hair in the mirror, watching his reflection buttoning his clean shirt. She had to grin as he smirked a rare smile.

"I agree," he pulled on his clean robes, "Before you say anything else...I know you love that Potter, but if you ever feel the need to get back at him again...you know where to find me," her blushing cheeks told him he very well may have other opportunities.

He knew he couldn't have her as his own, but there was a part of him that was pleased he could fulfill a desire of her's that James Potter could not. Maybe that could be enough for Severus Snape.

She left out of a side door that had appeared, letting her exit without detection. He left through the main door though, the marauders staring him down. James called them back when they began to approach Snape. He could hold his head high without looking over his shoulder for once. He found himself amused that later James may be licking Snape's cum out of his girlfriend's pussy.

James Potter a cuckold, now there's something Snape never thought he'd say. 

[askmyboys]

Dean and Jason

Names: Dean Williamson and Jason Bishop | Genders: Male | Ages: Dean is 32 and Jason is 34 | Heights: Dean is 5'0" and Jason is 7'5" | Species/Race: Humans | Eye Colors: Dean's eye color is Forest Green (both their eye colors are going to be for their meanings mostly), and Jason has heterochromia- his left eye is Steel Gray, his right eye is Shadow Black. | Hair Colors: Dean's is Ginger (his hairstyle is a messy undercut), and Jason's hair color is black (and his hairstyle is an extreme spiky quiff) | Appearances: Dean l o v e s hoodies, he has a full collection of hoodies and its about all he wears tbh, his main hoodie is one that has the words "Fuck Off" written on the front and "Fuck You" on the back of it, he wears some ripped blue jeans to go along with it- most of his pants are ripped and the non-hoodie clothing is also ripped mostly (thats not the reason he mainly wears hoodies tho, their just more comfy ya know?), he also wears combat boots as well (oh and as a bonus he also loves tank tops- he just wears hoodies more), whenever he DOES wear his tank tops however- he usually has white bandages wrapped around his wrists and down his arms a bit (you know- like how some of those wrestlers wear sometimes), he's not SUPER muscular but you can tell he works out for sure, he also has a lot of scars on him- nothing TOO prominent- it just looks like he got into a lotta fights mostly (and of course, he has a circle beard that matches his hair color) Jason usually wears tank tops mostly, his jeans either have chains hanging down them or their ripped jeans, and of course combat boots as well- sometimes if he REALLY feels like it, he'll put on a... "fancier" outfit, those outfits are usually leather jackets with spikes on them, black fingerless driving gloves (ya know those ones that expose the fingers for one obvs but also they kinda reveal the knuckles too), the pants stay the same in both his main and secondary outfits tbh, he has a full beard, and oh BOY does this man look strong- he looks like he can easily lift a thousand pounds (not that GROSS OVERLY muscle-y look either btw just wanna make that v clear but he just looks- Idk- is beefy the right term to use? Lmao- you can tell I dont know shit bout exercise or any terms), he also has a TON of scars on him even on his face, he's covered almost head to toe in scars- big boy's been through a lot. | Personalities: Dean is a rough rowdy boy who won't take shit from anyone even IF he knows they could easily kick his ass, absolutely against authority- don't tell him what to do and stay out of his way while he's doing it or else he'll mess you up! He LOVES to fight tbh in general so sometimes he'll go picking a fight for just no reason if he's bored enough that is, he l o v e s to cause trouble and honestly hearing people scream in frustration at what he did or caused is always funny, he likes to pull "pranks" on people as well to frustrate them further, honestly you might as well consider him a masochist at this point because he seems to enjoy pain well enough, absolutely without a d o u b t LOVES mindless carnage, p much a bad boy? like jfc- this dude needs to seriously chill out, he's not a fair fighter either so you better believe he'll use weapons if he gets the chance. (tl;dr: Rough rowdy boy, will not take shit from anyone even if he knows they could beat him up, "Fuck authority and fuck your rules I do what I want bitches", loves a good brawl for sure- he is DTF 24/7 (Down to Fight lmao I couldnt resist), has some v e r y prominent masochistic and hell even SADISTIC tendencies at this point, loves to prank people and watch them grow more frustrated, loves frustrating people in general tbh, needs to chill but he won't, an absolute dirty fighter and he WILL use weapons against someone if he can, mindless carnage is his J A M, he does have a soft side however, but uh, his "Soft side" is only for ONE person and one person only h e h) Jason is.... pretty opposite of Dean, he doesn't start fights for the hell of it but uh he definitely won't take shit from nobody if they even dare mess with him or especially Dean, people don't usually mess with him anyways tbh- their too terrified bc he's s o tall and beefy looking that it intimidates people- not to mention the look he usually has on his face- he scowls a lot which just adds to the intimidation factor, he's pretty quiet most of the time (wow completely opposite of Dean in that regard, Dean is a LOUD BOI), he might look all intimidating and scary but honestly, that's because.... He absolutely is, he WILL snap your neck like a twig if you mess with him or god forbid Dean, he only has a soft side for o n e man, and it should be obvious by now lmao, a loner type mostly, you can usually find him in the back because its dark and quiet, now I won't say he doesn't have sadistic urges sometimes bc he absolutely does- he just has good self restraint ...most of the time anyways... he's not really a masochist but honestly he must have a HIGH pain tolerance because he BARELY reacts when someone punches or even cuts him. (tl;dr: Opposite of Dean in MANY ways, he doesn't start fights for the hell of it, but can and will defend himself if the situation calls for it, will not take no one's shit for sure, VERY intimidating- even one look usually sends people running, scowls like- a LOT- like Dean: "Don't you like, e v e r smile?" *cut to Jason smiling but its v e r y unsettling and disturbing looking* " Holy fuck... Nevermind...", usually hangs out in the background somewhere- where its quiet n dark p much, loner type BUT the only person he really likes hanging out with is Dean despite how annoying the little punk can be sometimes, definitely has some sadistic urges but his self restraint can be a great deal of help when those urges come around, not a masochist at all he just has a HIGH pain tolerance and doesn't even flinch at anything hardly, hell most of the time the most he'd do is s t a g g e r a bit if ya hit him with a weapon that is or run into him) | Side Facts: I will say, Dean and Jason DO fight each other a lot, arguments and even physical stuff BUT- lemme make it clear, they'd never hurt each other TOO badly, they just love to rough each other up a bit sometimes, its fun to them and they never have any hard feelings against each other about it- bc they do both love to fight, I mean- that dont mean they don't get salty if one beats the other in a fight, they do know self control and restraint when fighting each other however- they'd n e v e r ACTUALLY cause serious damage, they just a couple o' rowdy boys who are super fucking gay for each other. Yep. you heard me, the truth is out- Dean has a crush on Jason, and Jason has a crush on Dean- BUT... They don't actually know it, like sure- they know one another won't seriously hurt each other which both of them respect each other for that, but Jason doesn't know Dean has a crush on him, and Dean doesn't know Jason has a crush on him especially, I mean hell- Jason looks like he barely has any emotion and the only time he does is when he CAN cause some mindless carnage or destruction- most of the time he just looks pissed off. Truth be told, this is the only time they've ever r e a l l y been afraid tho... like, Dean's scared to tell Jason his feelings bc what if Jason rejects him or for some reason gets really pissed and p much leaves him there all alone, he just has a lot of fear and anxiety over this kinda thing, and Jason... he doesn't think Dean will feel the same and just make fun of him for that like "lmao your g a y? Gross dude" (listen, let's get one thing straight, first of all- their not, second of all- Dean IS an asshole BUT he's not THAT kinda asshole lmao) so Jason's got some fears of this too their just significantly different than Dean's- so if ANYONE of them tells each other bout the feelings, it'll probs be Dean firsthand- Jason's just gonna keep quiet of that in fear Dean'll make fun of him for this kinda feeling, especially towards h i m- its essentially just two dudes who's super gay for each other but terrified to tell each other about the other's feelings n shit. In Dean's spare time he usually chills out well, anywhere he really wants too (he can honestly be super chill, like MORE SO than usual when Jason's around and he knows it), but he'll usually kick back and relax and listen to some music on his phone- his favorite genre is heavy metal, punk rock, or just anything rock in general mostly- he better be glad he has headphones bc Jason would probably become v e r y irritated hearing that loud music all the time, or if music doesn't appeal to Dean at the moment- he'll watch some videos instead- he doesn't do m u c h in his spare time aside from those and well, most of the times he'll work out with Jason- which even tho Dean can be loud most of the time, Jason seems to, well from Dean's perspective- he "tolerates" his presence p much. In Jason's spare time he usually just hangs out in "the back" he likes the darker areas and the much more quiet areas, usually whenever he's got spare time he works out a L O T- along with Dean, who again, this is from Jason's perspective now- Jason actually loves having Dean around to work out with, its nice in a way... Aside from work outs, he'll sometimes read some books, listen to some music of his own, orrr watch videos on his phone as well, there is ONE thing he does aside from that though... He loves to find and collect certain items that he k n o w s he could make weapons out of, at first, Dean didn't understand why the fuck Jason was collecting all this junk but he didn't dare question it, but after a long while... Jason had came out from his little area and he gave Dean a few weapons, ranging from a baseball bat to a knife- which, Dean- he actually genuinely smiled- not that shit eating grin that's usually plastered on his face but a genuine smile came from this boy, he... he absolutely loved those weapons- he treats them fondly too even to this day.

[drunklander]

Drunj!Der Yells About Outlander

Thoughts on Ep. 412

Only one more week until Droughtlander, y’all! To start with the positive, I fucking love the Murgsali parts of this episode. Seriously, I know I sound like a broken record but saving Murtagh was literally the best choice this show has made. I would watch the shit out of a spin-off of just that trio’s adventures. Germain can come too.

I still can’t muster a single fuck, flying- or otherwise, to give about Roger. So basically this episode was pretty much like every other episode. I loved some shit, hated some shit, and overall came away with the lingering question of why I still spend so much time on a show that’s barely recognizable as the one I used to fucking love.

At least Dry January is still going strong. Quite proud of myself about that, tbh...

Roger: *runs the gauntlet* Marie Kondo: Does this spark joy? Me: Absofuckinglutely.

Guys I fucking love the Murtagh and Fergus relationship. I love it so fucking much. I cannot wait to see where that goes next season, especially since they’re all headed to live on the Ridge now.

And since this episode isn’t focused on LJG being in love with Jamie, I’m so here for him in this episode. I swear this show gives me whiplash with its characters. Like it’s not a “people are complicated” sort of thing. It’s a “crappy trope that needs to go away” or a “they just did something out of character, wtf” sort of thing.

I get Jamie not wanting Bree to murder Bonnet. I totally understand him not wanting her to have to live with taking a life. But I’m not fully on board with the whole “you need to forgive” stuff. Both here and in the book. Holding hate in your heart will eat away at you and prevent you from moving forward, sure. But you can put things behind you without forgiving the people who wronged you. What Bonnet did to Bree was fucking awful. He’s completely unrepentant. If Bree wants to forgive him, fine. It happened to her, so it’s her call and no one else’s how she should proceed. For me personally, I don’t think he’s worthy of forgiveness. I wouldn’t forgive him if it were me. I’ve thankfully never been in that exact situation, but I’ve been through my own shit and honestly, I’ve chosen not to forgive some people, because that’s asking me to not only endure what they did but also do the emotional work of forgiving them when they’re not sorry. That’s asking a bit too much, imo. Just put them aside and move on, it comes with its own sort of acceptance and peace. Each to their own, I guess.

“This man cannot be good. He was sold by his own people.” I mean, where’s the lie, haha. Yeah he was sold for the wrong reasons, and it’s never ok to SELL SOMEONE INTO SLAVERY (FFS!), but yes, Roger’s a twatwaffle.

“You have learned nothing.” The Mohawk elder speaks the truth, tbh.

Kaheroton telling Roger that he should not smile upon Johiehon had me like yaaas. Sure, Roger’s starved for human kindness or whatever, but like he’s also a chronic inappropriate interact-er with women/crush haver. Like he literally becomes a minster because people think he’s having an affair with one of the Ridge widows. He gets himself hanged because he kisses his great-great-etc.-grandmother. He’s creepily into Claire. I am so here for him being called out for being a fuckboi, haha.

This show is two for two in failing to make me care about rando fallen priests.

Marsali seeing right through Fergus’ attempt at blaming Germain and seeing exactly what he’s up and being like fuck yes, let’s do this thing is my fucking favorite.

I LOVE MARSALI A LOT OK. I AM FUCKING RIDE OR DIE FOR THAT WOMAN.

Y’all have I mentioned how much I fucking love Fersali? Because I fucking love Fersali. They remind me of what Claire and Jamie used to be. *pours one out for the couple that was*

Question though, are we assuming that Fergus knows all about Wentworth because they told him about it after he was raped for Jamie’s story in season two? Getting rull tired of being expected to fill in a bunch of shit that should be shown...

But man, I am so fucking pumped for them to move to the Ridge. I hope it means we get much more of them next season.

I know I’m biased because I have a lot of Opinions about organized religion but basically all this stuff with the priest has me just rolling my eyes. Like cool for him that he like believes in stuff, but also like, do what makes you happy, bruh? You only have one life? *exercises what little self-restraint I have to not go off on a ramble that ties this whole plot line into how being raised Catholic really fucked me up*.

I literalol’ed every time they show Roger trying to fucking Shawshank his way out of the fucking Idiot Hut. Like bro. This thing is made of leaves and branches. Just fucking snap the string or whatever is holding the branches in place and shift them enough to make a hole to squeeze out of.

The Idiot Hut is aptly named.

So in this episode, handfasting means they’re married again. I cannot even with how frustrating it is that this show can’t make up its mind about what it means.

This whole speech of Roger’s about how he’s an idiot is like yeah, no shit, Sherlock. You’re a fucking douchecanoe.

By the end of it, it comes off like he’s the guy from You. Like yeah, you didn’t deserve to be sold into slavery, but buddy. You’re not the victim in your relationship with Bree here. You might not be a serial killer, but your inner Joe Goldberg is showing...

“Like an idiot, I pursued her through time and space, determined to prove to myself and the universe that I did love this woman, just like all those great love stories written by all those great idiots.” Red flag number one, you wanted to prove to yourself and the universe that you loved Bree, but not prove it to Bree? The one person you’d think you’d want to make things right with?

"I pursued her and chased her and finally tracked her down and convinced her to marry me.” Holy fucking stalker, Batman. This comes off as the opposite of romantic. Get yourself a restraining order, Bree!

“We said angry words to each other.” That’s a funny way to say “I was a complete fuckwad to her,” Rog.

“I intended to go home, but then I changed my mind and went back, like an idiot.” Sorry not sorry, but if I were ever with a guy who thought choosing to be with me made him an idiot, I’d fucking run for the hills.

The writers clearly think this is supposed to be like endearing us to Roger and his love of Brianna but really it’s just making him seem like a fucking toxic stalker who’s convinced he’s a Nice Guy™. Roger just keeps channeling his inner Frank. He wants his personal ideal of a relationship with Brianna, with no thought to what she herself wants. He’s fucking repulsive, just like Frank was (even pre-stones). So naturally the show wants us to root for him. *wishes it were February so I could have a drink*

Uh, buddy? Do you know Johiehon wants to leave with the priest? Or are you just being you and assuming/not caring what the woman feels/wants for herself?

Fun fact, we’re still with these idiots in their Idiot Hut and I still can’t muster a single fuck to give about either of them.

Don’t @ me that I’m a dummy because I’m missing the deep and meaningful and yada yada whatever bullshit that they’re doing with these scenes. I know what they’re trying to do. It’s not working for me. At all. Sorry not fucking sorry.

#TeamBadFan5Eva

If we forget about the blackmail and rape threat and creepy being in love with her dad, I’m 10000% more invested in Bree and LJG’s fake engagement than I am in Bree and Roger. But jfc, that’s a lot to be asked to forget.

I’m still not really here for the Bree side of the prison stuff, but the Fergus and squad rescuing Murtagh part is excellent.

I really wish they would have put a definitive end to Bonnet in this episode. Ed Speelers does a great job with him, but he’s honestly not an interesting enough character to merit sticking around as long as he does in the books. Like if we have even more condensed seasons five and six, why the fuck can’t we just be done with him now?

FUCK YEAH FERGUS AND HIS REGULATOR SQUAD!

I hated Bree visiting Bonnet in the book and I really hate it here too. Like yes, if this is what Bree wants and she thinks it will help her, then great. She gets to decide what she wants to do. But this whole comforting your rapist thing just reeks of a fucking woman doing fucktons of emotional labor for the sake of the person who caused her so much fucking trauma. Literally the only part of this scene that remotely works for me is when she gets angry and tells him that he will be forgotten. Like, he’s a sociopath and he gives no shits about you or what he did to you. Why are you trying to make him feel better? I know it’s supposed to be for her, but that’s not how it plays to me...

Le sigh.

I fucking love the scene with Lord John and Fergus. Fucking love it.

(I’m guessing we’re supposed to assume that Fergus and Lord John met in Jamaica at the party in a bit we didn’t see? I think it might have been mentioned at some point, but I can’t remember specifics...)

Murtagh and Lord John fighting over who’s going to take Bree and then agreeing on what’s best for her? Here. For. It.

Y’all, I just want a whole show about this exact squad. Jamie and Claire are so meh now that it’s tough to be invested in them anymore. Roger’s still the fucking worst. But this squad. This squad is my fucking JAM.

But for real, why did we not get a scene where Bree meets Fergus and Marsali. Because this prison break is literally the first time we’ve seen them together and we don’t even know if they’ve met before. You’re killing me show.

Since Murgsali is moving to the Ridge, we’d better get a bunch of Bree and Jem with Marsali and Germain and Fergus next year.

This whole monologue of Roger’s as he’s deciding what to do is supposed to be like showing that he cares for people more than himself (despite his whole creepy spiel in the Idiot Hut) or some shit but like he’s just again ignoring what someone told him to do because that’s his MO. He’s like constantly playing the martyr card when no one even wants him around. Fuck off, Roger.

This priest and his girlfriend honestly don’t merit the amount of screen time they got. Like cool that Roger puts him out of his misery or whatever, but also this is the second to last episode so why the fuck are we spending it on two randos we don’t care about? Because it’s Outlander. So of course this is how we’re spending it.

Johiehon throwing herself into the fire is supposed to be like romantic and shit or reminiscent of Claire offering to die with Jamie at Culloden or whatever, but it really doesn’t work for me. Because honestly, she deserves better. The priest could have chosen to be with her but he picked his faith instead. So why should she die for a man who made her his second choice.

Also like, Kaheroton crying also comes off as creepy because like, dude she just wasn’t into you. Him being upset that Johiehon died doesn’t play like him being sad that a woman from his village killed herself, it comes across like the guy who was “friendzoned” (don’t get me started on that concept...) being sad the woman he was fixated on is gone so he doesn’t have a chance (he never had a chance) with her anymore.

But hey, remember how awesome Murgsali is? Murgsali is the fucking best.

MURGSALI 5EVA!!!

[pass-the-bechdel]

Crazy Ex-Girlfriend season one full review

How many episodes pass the Bechdel test?

100% (eighteen of eighteen)

What is the average percentage per episode of female characters with names and lines?

44.4%

How many episodes have a cast that is at least 40% female?

Eleven, over half the season. Six of those are over 50%, and two of those are over 60%.

How many episodes have a cast that is less than 20% female?

Zero, unsurprisingly.

How many female characters (with names and lines) are there?

Thirty-seven. Ten who appeared in more than one episode, four who appeared in at least half the episodes, and two who appeared in every episode.

How many male characters (with names and lines) are there?

Forty-four. Twenty who appeared in more than one episode, four who appeared in at least half the episodes, and two who appeared in every episode.

Positive Content Status:

Mostly good, if a bit wonky; there were a lot of acknowledgments of real issues (particularly women’s issues), but sometimes it felt more like they were just shout-outs for the brownie points rather than genuine efforts to explore something meaningful. There were also a few problems with characters/relationships that the show never called out as wrong and therefore seemingly endorsed as normal, which makes it feel less self-aware than it appears to be at times (more on that under the cut). Altogether though, it’s never egregiously upsetting, and there is one subplot (ironically, one which has nothing to do with women) which was a true unexpected joy to behold (average rating of 3.05).

General Season Quality:

Fluctuates. It has a tone problem which can be confusing as it is unclear how information is intended to be interpreted, and the discomfort can seriously damage the comedy. When it is good though, it’s very fun, sometimes touching, and weirdly addictive. 

MORE INFO (and potential spoilers) under the cut:

I noted when I reviewed the very first episode that this is Not My Usual Flavour in terms of plot conceit, and if it weren’t for all the recommendations/requests I got to include the show on this blog, there’s about a 1% chance I would ever have watched this for my own amusement (that 1% comes from a very charming gifset of a scene which I presume is from the latest season; I’ll tell you what it was when we get there). One season in, I can say this much: I’m not mad y’all got me on to this. It’s weird and different, but it’s not painful (except, often, when Greg is around - we started on such good terms in the premiere but at this point I honestly loathe him). Against my better judgment and typical inclination, I am interested to see where it all ends up, working with the idea that as much as the driving force of the series from the outside appears to be romance, internally it’s really about these messy characters figuring themselves out and and changing their strange little mundane lives for the better. The first step on the road to improvement is self-awareness, on which subject...

...the main barrier I encountered in really getting into this show and relaxing to enjoy it is the issue of narrative trust, which is all about believing that the story is going to unravel and analyse its own content in a thorough, intelligent, and valuable way. Narrative trust is essential regardless of context; the same as you need it in order to sell the viewer on extravagant bizarro world-building for an intergalactic sci-fi story, you also need it in order to convince them that it’s worth exploring the comparatively small-fry and banal character motivations in a prescription rom-com. As a part of its initial conceit, Crazy Ex-Girlfriend promises to deconstruct its own deliberately-inflammatory title (it makes this promise at the beginning of every episode, in its annoying opening title sequence); Rebecca’s mental state and the journey it takes her on is the core of the narrative, and we are being asked to trust that the show will follow through on the unraveling and analysing of that content. For the most part, it does follow through, but it also intermittently falls short in two key arenas which lead to the damaged narrative trust: tonal consistency, and secondary character reinforcement.

When I was five episodes in, I discussed this show with a friend who had watched for a while (he wasn’t sure how far in he got, in the end) before eventually giving up; at that point, I wasn’t sure what to say about the show or even if I considered myself to be enjoying it, and my friend agreed that the problem I was having was the same problem that made him quit the show: tonal confusion. Part of that is about being unsure at times whether you’re being invited to laugh at Rebecca, or just at the situation; at times the show seems to make light of extremely serious emotional issues, and at others it is very sympathetic to Rebecca’s struggles; sometimes disturbing behaviour is not framed by the narrative as being worth calling out, and then sometimes, the chastisement Rebecca receives feels undeserved, over-the-top, or unfair to the wider context of her mental state. The inclusion of musical numbers can occasionally contribute to the tonal inconsistency in a big way, as some of the more shoe-horned in pieces come out of nowhere, do not revolve around topics of vital importance to the episode, or the style of the music itself can be un-ironically incongruous with the mood of the scene (and sometimes it’s just...a bad time to interrupt with a song). Basically, tonal inconsistency can nullify standard narrative conventions and the expectations we are trained to associate with them, because we can’t predict intention; is this cliche meaningful, or incidental? Are they going to acknowledge it at all, and if they don’t, is it deliberate, or an oversight? Are they going to subvert it, or play it straight? A consistent tone means that we can trust the narrative to handle content in a specific way, and in turn we can decide if that’s something we want to return for episode after episode, or not. This is also something that can significantly impact the perception of the show’s approach to social issues, as the spotty follow-up on acknowledged challenges for women can give the impression of paying lip service rather than actually delving in to the problem; you just don’t know if this is gonna be an episode that could be bothered to analyse its own content, or if it’s gonna brush it off; and if it does brush it off, is it because the creators don’t believe that issue is really important, or is exploring it just inconvenient to the story they’re telling right now? You just can’t trust the answer to be the same twice in a row, and consequently, the reaction to a new plot thread or subject is more likely to be apprehension at not knowing where this is headed, instead of engaged interest in going along for the ride to find out.

A big contributor to tonal inconsistency (and a victim of the same, in a feedback-loop kind of way) is secondary character reinforcement, by which I mean, the reinforcement of themes or behavioural standards for the protagonist as reflected by secondary characters. Paula is the character who most fully exemplifies this, as she encourages Rebecca’s worst impulses (including getting angry with her or ignoring her wishes when Rebecca tries to exercise self-restraint or break unhealthy patterns), she commits various criminal acts (some with Rebecca, but also some without Rebecca’s knowledge), and she invades the privacy of almost every character involved in the situation and even takes steps to manufacture their behaviour without their knowledge. Paula’s obsession with Rebecca’s love-life is often more terrifying and troublesome than Rebecca’s obsession with Josh, and while the show at times acknowledges that Paula is being outrageous, it pretty consistently fails to actually call out that behaviour or brand it as Bad News on the same level as anything Rebecca does - Paula’s behaviour is mostly put forward as overzealous but, eh, normal enough. The show holds Rebecca to a completely different standard of behaviour, and narratively punishes her for overstepping those bounds even as the character next to her leaps straight past the same barrier without a word. And Paula isn’t the only one - Greg is the other big sinner in terms of unchallenged poor behaviour, and his smug self-righteousness and tendency to be packaged as some kind of down-on-his-luck ‘complicated intellectual’ (as if that earns him special allowances for being a total prat) is what makes me so much more infuriated by his character (also, it’s a sexist double-standard to allow Greg more moral leeway for his ‘issues’, most of which are just self-generated prideful whinings). And then there are issues like Rebecca’s mother being let off the hook for intense life-long emotional abuse because she said she was just doing it to toughen Rebecca up, as if that makes severe psychological damage acceptable, or Valencia’s abusively controlling attitude with Josh, which I spent the entire season waiting to have explicitly denounced only to end up with her dumping him for not delivering the marriage proposal she had decided she deserved (something which the show kinda approached as reasonable, as if Josh ‘owed’ Valencia marriage after they’d been together for so long). When the show calls out some behaviour but is curiously mute on others, and when some characters are held to different standards to the rest, consistency takes a hit, and narrative trust runs a little short. If you’re left frustrated by hypocritical or contradictory attitudes and you can’t tell if some things are going uncontested for a reason or just out of ignorance, that’s not a good state to be in when you’re trying to also enjoy something. And in the context of this blog, the lack of narrative trust often led me to dismiss progressive-sounding lines or moments because I had no faith in the idea that the show meant what it said or was gonna follow through with relevant action.

As is often the case with complaints, the above probably sounds like a more dire flaw than it is in practice (I say probably; depends if they fix the issue or not, because if it persists across the series it could be crippling). The good news is, there was still plenty to like in season one, some good character development and emotional exploration that I hope is bolstered in the long-term as the show continues, and there was that one thing which really genuinely surprised and impressed me, which was Darryl’s bisexual coming-out. I figured the show would give us a token gay (and I’d picked White Josh as the one long before he was revealed to be so), but I did not expect that to be paired with the revelations of a second queer character, let alone that the journey of that character’s sexuality would be so low-key and wonderful. Darryl wades through some ugly internalised homophobia in order to make peace with himself, but that conflict doesn’t create drama; it creates hesitance. White Josh accepts no shit and protects himself from being hurt by Darryl’s discovery process, but he is also unfailingly understanding, highlighting the issues with Darryl’s thinking without getting personally offended or losing his temper, giving Darryl the tools to mend his problems on his own terms without ever revoking his support in the meantime. Because the subplot is so undramatic, it’s easy to overlook just how healthy it is, and it is able to dig in to a variety of real troubles that people may often encounter in actual life, but without painting those troubles as all-encompassing soul-destroying growing pains inevitably associated with coming out and/or living as a queer person in our society. We really need more of that in the world, more acknowledgment of the nuance that goes beyond garden-variety open bigotry, and especially more queer stories that are complicated without being depressing. The tact and attention to detail in Darryl and White Josh’s story is the single thing, above all others, which gives me hope for the future of Crazy Ex-Girlfriend. It may yet earn my trust.

[narniasummerexchange]

Modern Romanticism

for @little-narnian-notes

Word count: 2423

Summary: Modern!au. You meet Susan at university and your emotions snowball.

The university is beautiful. A roving campus steeped in centuries of history and knowledge. A gorgeous lawn you can imagine yourself studying on in the warmer months and a name and plaque for everything.

Downside? The fact you think you’ve made a grave mistake with your classes for the semester. You can just feel the thousands of dollars gurgling down the drain in the pursuit of intellectual enlightenment. Still, you plough on in the hopes that the next set of classes is better now you know what you don’t want.

You stifle a yawn and frown at yourself. You’ve held off from coffee for this long, but it’s getting to crunch time and there’s no more room for being strong and exercising self-restraint. You need caffeine.

Standing in line at the little cafe down the road, you rub at your eyes as you examine the menu. It’s a fairly average place - cream walls with old mass-produced paintings and stiff wooden chairs with rocky tables that you wouldn’t dream of resting your drink on. The usual or drink of the day, you ponder.

“One medium latte, regular sugar please.”

The voice in front of you sounds nice enough, gently pulling you from your early morning daze. Shifting in your worn jeans, your eyes follow the figure to their bag. The satchel is familiar, with its gold lion badge against warm brown leather. It sits a few rows in front of you in your Wednesday morning and Friday afternoon Intro to Poetics lectures. Someone clears their throat and you leap forward sluggishly to place your own order, coughing out a general apology. You stand aside once you’re done, eyes wandering till they fall on the customer in front of you.

The young woman is devastatingly pretty. Quiet, attentive eyes that seem to fragment light. Feathery lashes that tickle the fainest of freckles, surely earned from summers gone by. A glow to her cheeks and a striking lip colour flawlessly streaked on. If you had some kind of artistic talent, you might have gone on about her for longer. Her order is called and she drops the barista a whisper of a smile with her thanks, leaving you with your inadequate thoughts.

You find out through plenty of coincidence and eavesdropping - a rather bad habit of yours - that her name is Susan. An old school name, but you don’t question it. In fact, it suits her. Sophisticated and timeless.

It’s silly. You’ve never even had a proper conversation with her, why is she suddenly so interesting to you? Now you know she exists, as much as you try to stop yourself, you start seeing her everywhere.

Susan is very keep to herself, despite the many people she knows and enjoys. A spectre that weaves the quad pillars between classes. Long, whispering hair and a glide to her step. It contradicts all of the tidbits that you’ve picked up about her.

Most mornings you see her in the cafe, sometimes with a latte - usually those days entail vibrant makeup, maybe to distract from the long nights - other times with a green tea. You still haven’t introduced yourself during lectures, which you’re fine with - at moment, you’re existing educationally.

When you finally speak, your thoughts by now have gotten away from you and you’ve put this poor girl on a pedestal of beauty and curiosity. The lecturer for poetry - a kind woman who wears flowing tops in kaleidoscope floral, just the type of person you expect to teach such a class - asks for a group brainstorm on romanticism in the 18th century. Your partner in crime, Jonathon is away with the flu, leaving you high and dry on the buddy front. Susan is looking around, till her eyes land on you. She makes a little gesture at you and you nod, pulling your stuff together to move to her.

“Hi, I’m Susan.” She says brightly, holding out her hand.

You utter your own name, firmly gripping your hand. She looks at you, with a glitter to her eyes and a twitch to her pink lips.

“We get coffee around the same time, don’t we?” She drops your usual order.

“That’s about right. I’m surprised you recognised me, seeing as I’m always behind you.”

Both of you laugh at your attempt for humour then get down to it, knowing there’s only a limited amount of time.

Conversation flows easily with her and it’s not a struggle to remember what was said just ten minutes ago when her mind races eloquently and jump starts your own. Between your interpretations of what it all means, to how it’s seen today, ideas bounce back and forth constantly like the ebb and flow of the waves. It’s a little painful when time is called. Still, she smiles at you, the edges of her mouth curling.

You grab her phone number at the end of class, as she assures you that she’ll find you on messenger later. It feels like some sort of victory really.

She messages you the next day, asking if you were up for a party on the Friday. Spontaneous and filled with emojis. Much more like the nuggets of facts you;d heard. You decline though, stating you had too much to catch up on that weekend. Maybe next time, she replies. But, honestly, you’ve never been one for the night life of university. Of the house parties and pub crawls till your eyes fall out and you fall over. You get pictures on her snapchat story of that weekend, her make up sharp and figure flattered in the same kind of red that swirls in her glass. This was more common of her.

Anyway, there’s always still the cafe in the morning. Now you smile when you make eye contact and make brief small talk while you wait. Names pop up here and there, mixed with if only’s and back when’s and you wonder if the people who she’s made these memories with are very far away. You walk in time with one another back to campus and she babbles about what happened on the weekend and about how she wishes her roommate would tone it down on the punk rock for a moment so she can think - or at least share the speaker. She asks you about your days and feelings and that need to look at her blooms again. To take in every single part of her, because there is just so much there to admire.

Nowadays, you meet up to proofread work before handing it in or just to study in general. You excel in Shakespeare and the Elizabethan language - begrudgingly - and she seems to have the hang of everything else. Sitting in the cafe is your new favourite thing, especially in the mornings when the sun isn’t too strong as it filters down the street and into the big glass window the both of you have claimed as your own.

Susan looks at you, warmth rounding her cheeks and pen poised above paper. Her burgundy sweater devours her adoringly but you know from the cut of the fabric that it probably wasn’t hers to start with. “Has anyone told you that you’re quite the romantic?”

You splutter, her lovely aesthetic stationary feeling too pretty for your tactless grip. “P-Pardon me?”

She laughs. It’s not bell-like, but full and soft, like cotton sheets and a cat’s purr. She taps her pen to the spiral-bound notebook pinned under her wrist. You’ve managed to stuff a pie of paper under a table leg so it doesn’t rock and you’re careful not to be the one to kick it.

“Your way with words. It’s long and flowery. But not in a bad way! You just sound like a lovesick teenager about everything. Even coffee if I’m reading this right. There’s a pause and she smiles, turning it from a sharp beam to a glow. "It’s cute.”

Your face feels red and you can’t look her in the eye as you croak out a broken thank you.

It’s just getting to autumn and she’s suddenly gone very quiet. It’s mothers day and you’re both situated in the cafe, comparing notes again on what you suspect to be your own lecturer’s work. Her make up is a bit more subdued and her long hair is tied up off her face in fluffy, slept in waves. She reminds you of your first meeting, the colours de-saturated. She hasn’t done a very good job of hiding her weariness, from the way her nimble fingers tick slowly to the dullness in her eyes.

You clear your throat shyly. “Su, are you okay? You’re awfully quiet.”

She stares at you for a long moment before sighing. “Yeah. Sort of.”

“How come you aren’t at home, though? Didn’t you say that you lived close by?”

If your parents weren’t overseas for their anniversary, you would have made the long trip back home to cook breakfast and dry cupcakes along with binge-watch that murder mystery series you mum adores so much. She nods and shrugs, pulling her hands away from her tea into her lap.

“My parents aren’t very well at the moment. None of my family is. Just before the start of the semester, there was an accident - the train that derailed down by the south tunnel?” You nod for her. “We were all coming back from holiday. I missed the train in favour of one last night at the festival- James was really cute - but the rest of them - my parents, my three siblings, a cousin and a few family friends - went ahead on time. They were all in the front carriage. So at the moment, it’s just me. Everyone else is in hospital. Seriously injured or in a coma.”

You can’t resist the urge to reach out your hand to grip her arm. It jerks her eyes up to make contact with yours.

“How horrible! Su, I’m so sorry. I’m here for you, you know that right?”

She gives a melancholy curl to her lips and nods, twisting her arm to squeeze back. “I know, thank you.”

You make it your mission afterwards to watch over her. Insist on her messaging you when she got home from a night out, even though she was making all her friends do the same to her. Offering a cookie or two in your lectures - warm and just slightly soft in the middle with gooey choc chips, her favourite. Popping up with notions to go out and explore the town. She had been so kind to you before, you felt the need to return the favour.

This is when things went down hill.

You thought you had her on your mind before, not it was borderline obsessive. Not just her well-being, but just her. Did she like what you wrote? Did she know it might have been about her? Susan’s rapid existence had snowballed violently into a full-blown crush. You try your best not to stare at her too much, pressing crescents into your palms to quell the urge to hug her out on the university’s front lawn. She talked more about her family now that her burden was off her chest. How Edmund would read poetry with her, no matter how little patience he had for it. That Peter would we livid she was wearing on of his favourite sweaters out so quickly. Eustace would be prodding Lucy’s innocent buttons, with his best friend Jill holding no loyalties except to women. She hugs you when you part now, her rosy, floral scent surrounding you in a pleasant haze and her silky hair brushing elegantly against your cheek. Oh, if you had a truly creative cell in your body, you would have written great stories of her by now.

Together you sit in her living room, on a well-loved but slightly bowed sofa, some tv series you wanted to binge on playing softly on the screen. Legs innocently tangled and in your most comfy pyjamas, while she whines just a little for the bag of snakes on your other side. She’s devoured the chocolate pretzels you brought around, knowing she would enjoy them. Your insides are coiled tight and your heart thudding out of your chest warmly. You kick the bag aside and turn to face her, still almost shoulder to shoulder. You can’t not say something. Now with how soft she looks and the comfort and perfect familiarity seeping into your bloodstream.

“Let’s go out sometime.”

She blinks at you, argument cut short. “W-What?”

“We should go out sometime. Just us. Like on…on a…a date.”

The tension spikes and thickens like whipping cream. She stares at you, beautiful glowing eyes flashing with the screen. The blanket smells like her, floral but not too strong with a hint of something else underneath. Her freckles stand out under the artificial light and you wonder for half a breath what you must look like to her.

“I really like you, Su.” You take a breath and a moment to gather your thoughts. You don’t want to sound like rom-com, even if you both like them. “You’ve become really important to me since we met and I’d like to try this with you. Know I can make you happy, especially now and be there for you. Hope you feel something. So, can we?”

You lay your hands out on the blanket between you with bated breath, so much so you might turn blue, but you wouldn’t mind. There is a pensive moment where her eyes examine you before she bridges the gap to twine her cool fingers with yours. Her cheeks bloom red and you grin at her, so bright that you can’t see through your lashes.

“I - of course. You’ve been with me in a way most of my other friends haven’t. I’ve - I’ve thought about you a lot. So, yeah. Let’s give this a go.”

The sigh that passes your lips is heavy and your face floods back with colour. Her next action leaves your breath caught in your throat again as one hand slide up your arm to cup a cheek. Eyes bore into you and her narrow nose is a breath away from yours.

“Can I…kiss you?” She murmurs. “It’s all I’ve been thinking about since we sat down, really.”

You laugh breathlessly. “If you want.”

When her lips press against yours, all your thoughts finally settle so it’s just…Susan.

[berezina]

THE FOLLOWING DAY, SATURDAY, JANUARY 12th, I also didn't tweet, and my iCal reminds me why. I had an invite to a glammish Manhattan party. Cocktails at 7pm before guests moved on to dinner. That's the kind of true but implausible detail you cut from a novel.

Not that I'd been invited, exactly. I'd scored a plus-one from the college friend I've called 'Sarah.' For those new around here, Sarah is a type-A daylight creature of the tech-finance woods. Which isn't my main problem with her, though it makes small-talking around our periodic hostilities hard. She's short, blonde, and works out enough to be fit without becoming slender, a frustration she'll only reference in passing because direct conversation about it would make her feel like the wrong sort of woman. She lives on the Williamsburg waterfront in one of those glassy towers that are easy to despise until you're inside a high-floor apartment. The East River Ferry cuts its engine and glides into the dock below… a glass-muted helicopter beats by at eye-level between you and the Midtown skyline. In her apartment I question my life choices, decide it's too late, then think, Is it, though?

It was true that not having Sarah in my life was unthinkable, and also that we were overdue for a breakup. Our friendship endured because a break would be awkward for the mutual friends we both actually liked. She'd done the same math, I was sure. For girls we're both good at math.

The other thing keeping us together I doubt she noticed: her epic drive to avenge her sub-Alice status in college by proving that I was sub-Sarah, now. Which I was on her scale, and sometimes on mine. When I remember that I'm a vocational wreck I want to be Sarah and can imagine doing her job. At a party of strangers, never mind: no Sarah. The plus-one was another demonstration.

So I couldn't tweet that day, obviously. Too busy in the long mirror negging my mild Sarah-friendly dress and shoes and hair, working up the courage to piss Sarah off by putting on a slut show. I did this while preparing answers for Sarah's colleagues, who think it's only polite to ask someone like me, 'What do you do?'

'FBI.'

'FBI in training.'

'Influencer.'

'Like…nothing? I'm just rich.'

*Russian accent* 'I am model.'

(I did the Russian with Sarah in earshot once and she bombed in with 'Alice is an amazing writer,' which flattered me until I realized she just didn't want anyone to think she had a dunce loser friend.)

I remember thinking—maybe it was that day or the next, on the other side of the party—that the root trouble with us is we'd each scripted ourselves into a different buddy comedy. Mine was absurdist in not-good way: two women, neither of whom understand a word the other says, pretending they do so the other won't think she's off the up and up.

Sarah's, like most buddy comedies, had a moral. I'm the amusing flighty spontaneous looks-obsessed one, whose job is to teach my sober hard-working friend to take it easy, bae, have a drink, worry not about her boss's true opinion…because other minds or truth at all are never knowable. (In her movie I'm a philosopher, too.)

In return, Sarah schools me in the happiness that comes from hard work and adult restraint.

Of Sarah's four examples of my looks obsession, three were hookups, not boyfriends, but fine, there was truth to it. The untruthful part, which she must have recognized, was her pretense that our hook-up styles reflect deliberate choices only, not in any way different (however temporary) meat-market values. Sarah, as she'll tell you, is 'buttony' cute. But that's a risky play when you're five-foot-one with a firm thickness everywhere that, sorry, you do kind of deserve for listening to doctors and your Westchester mom, and exercising an hour each day like she does, while ignoring my advice to stop eating like her.

The party was not my worst. As a reward for dressing with cowardly 'taste,' I harvested a bushel of corporate male regard, including the older-male regard I sometimes crave because Daddy blah blah. Wise Sarah would have told me the good news: the harvest meant I could be choosy. I could go on a proper date with the most promising one. But I don't know: the dialectic of desire I inherited was busted, waiting for a spare part that never arrived. When most men at a party or on a scene don't pay court I become indignant and drive off the noble exceptions. Where I'm popular I become less choosy, likelier to run off somewhere to disinhibit with the room's most persistent Regarder. Sarah loves to replay the times my unchoosiness persisted even after the Regarder had showed his hand as a player, mild psycho, or (not defending it) married.

That night Sarah kept me under surveillance. If I wasn't willing to start with a proper date, I would need to submit any potential hookup to the Sarah Test: is this a dude I could remotely imagine dating sometime in the near future, when we were done with our sad business? The answers in this case were nooooooo. Also, the leading contestants were friends, which is gross, somehow. I was pretty sure I said no.

The next morning I woke hungover, confused by a strange bed, and thought, Uh oh. But it was too comfortable to be a man's. I found Sarah in her apartment's kitchen district, in sports spandex. She'd finished in her building's gym, or the micro gym she belonged to as well because it had the better whatever and her employer paid half. One of her little hands dawdled on the island's marble top, enjoying some downtime, while she thumb-scrolled her phone with the other. She made a gesture of 'finishing up' before the needling arrived.

'She wakes! She rises!'

Something like that. I'm not going to pretend I remember exact words in this scene. The point is that my habit of sleeping late fit with my caricature from her movie.

'I smell Venture Capital coffee,' I said.

She poured me a mug's worth, and it was fucken amazing until she ruined it with, 'Did we like the bed?'

'Your sheets are intense.'

'Pillow-wise?'

'I'm not just saying this. You run like the best boutique hotel.' Which was true.

'I'm putting the customer first,' she said.

'It's true.'

It was Sarah's turn to rejoin but she put on a transitional smile instead. 'Remember when you said that to me?'

Yeah, yeah. As I explained at the time, which was college, I was being self-deprecating, not condescending to her business aspirations. 'I could never be good at business' was set up. 'To me, the customer's always wrong.' Pow!

Her memory had done light renovations, updating the quip from a play on the classically servile 'customer's always right' to the equally servile but more Obama-era proactive, 'putting the customer first.' When I pointed out her mistake she said, 'I can't believe you remember that.'

Classic: suggesting I was obsessed with an ancient incident I never would have recalled if she hadn't two seconds ago brought it up.

A cease-fire held as we walked our coffees over to her living room district. We shared the instinct to grab winter sun from her wall of noise-cancelling glass. Even in communion, I thought, we were so different. Her she was caffeinated and high on exercise, her spandex with the sour damp smell of achievement. She took the sun, checking it off her daily list of things to do in January, for Vitamin D. I was dry-mouthed and skullachey in undies and a v-neck, scrounging sun for the same reason I overflirt. I need handfuls of anti-depressant.

We weren't done.

Sarah reminded me that (in college) I'd been defensive at first, accusing her of paranoia before retreating to like, 'I totally get how you'd hear it as condescending, but honestly…'

My college apology had expired. Was I aware that my old tone of condescension persisted? Toward her and, yes, others? She brought a lightly embellished example from the party I couldn't believe she'd overheard. It was with one of the Regarders and she was misunderstanding ironic banter. We'd had that conversation before, too. Anything I say in an old-movie-star voice, as a rule, I told her, is not serious. But no one hears anything. I re-apologized.

'I'm not saying be a different person inside,' Sarah said, in her wise-one conclusion-voice. 'It would be too weird if you weren't arrogant. Seriously, you'd be unrecognizable. [laugh laugh laugh] But you're getting too old to like, radiate arrogance.'

'While living in Queens, you mean.'

'I mean anywhere.'

'Arrogance is not a great look for a nobody is what you're saying.'

'No for anyone.'

Yeah, right.

Having lost my will to exist outside Sarah's judgments, I spent the rest of that Sunday with her and her parents. They showed up at her place exactly at noon, which led me to picture them inside their car in a parking garage, killing time listening to WNYC. Her mother, Jill, greeted me with began sincerely warm on its way to suspiciously long. Sniffing for alcohol? Infusing me with 'support.' Jill used to act testy and competitive toward me in sympathy with her daughter but since the post-college status-reversal I was a poor thing having a rough time and what a pity to throw such a promising life away, a fate pretty much sealed and we could stop discussing now that she's age almost-26. Sarah's kindly, invisible father came over with WNYC still in his ears like the perfume of another woman and told us to sit, sit, while his wife took over the kitchen, to poison us with bagels and cake.

'I will need an update,' Jill warned me, as if she had any intention of giving me time to prepare. 'What's the grad school story?'

'I'mmmm still deciding. Pretty sure I'll apply.'

'Great!' She pointed a cake knife at me. 'But do it this time. Really do it. Yeah?'

'That's always the idea, except—'

'Great.'

It was at a rent-the-back-room dinner she'd treated Sarah and ten of her friends to during our college-graduation week, that I'd told Jill my grad school plans. She'd said, 'Don't waste your time in the Ivory Tower. It's much ado about nothing.' Now I was a good fit.

When Jill wasn't looking, I yanked a strip of lox out from between the overfull bagel buttocks, and ate it like a piece of sashimi. I thought about stuffing the toxic bread product into my bag like after I stayed overnight at their Chappaqua place but decided it would be more fun to feed Jill's condescending concern by leaving them my carb refuse right there on the island. This way she could whisper to Sarah when I stepped into the bathroom, 'Is she eating? She doesn't look great,' and Sarah would tell me the next day, 'My mom asked if you were eating and I told her it was none of her business. But just between us, I hope you're eating.'

~Alice from Queens [source]

[casualarsonist]

Wolfenstein II, and the importance of tone.

B.J. Blaskowicz's pregnant lover, Anya, tears her burning shirt from her body as her grenades explode under the feet of the advancing Nazis. She straddles B.J's prone body and brandishes two machine guns aloft as blood showers her naked skin, and I roar with laughter. My girlfriend asks me what the f**k is happening. Hitler pisses into a bucket and vomits on the floor. B.J. rants against bourgeois pacifism in a drunken rage and passes out. And as the sword bites into his flesh, and his head falls into a pyre, only to be collected by a machine and reattached to a synthetic body, I rejoice at the moments wherein Wolfenstein 2: The New Colossus has the balls to embrace the absolute madness of its setting and take everything up to 11. 

But something doesn't feel quite right. Its predecessor - The New Order - subverted and exceeded the expectations of everyone that awaited it; I don't think anyone could have imagined what Machine Games would do with the franchise rights of the world's first FPS. As a pitch, the idea of taking the inherently daft premise of a man fighting Nazi-zombie robots in a retro-futuristic 1960's and grounding it all in a real emotional place with characters that understand and communicate the gravity of their situation to one another and to the audience alike...well, it's mental. And yet it worked. It worked really, really well. The action was intense and bombastic, but when it was over and the game asked us to understand what was motivating these people to do what they were doing, the drama felt earned, and every enemy you defeated felt like a cathartic victory rather than an exercise in psychopathy. When a friendly character died, it hurt because you cared, and because the death felt like a genuine loss amongst all the well-written personalities. The New Order was dark and visceral and at times terrifying, but always a joy to play, and in the end, no matter which turn the story took, you were invested. 

So why does The New Colossus feel like such a mistake?

To be fair to the game, as I've already said, there were moments that I was literally rolling in my seat with laughter, and it is certainly at its best when it says 'fuck it' to the concept of restraint and goes mental. It is, at times, incredibly fun, and funny. The aforementioned scene in which an insane, addled, syphilitic Hitler pisses in a bucket whilst auditioning actors for a terrible, terrible film he has written is one of the best in the entire game, not just because it makes an absolute mockery of the long-feared icon of human evil, but also because it is rendered and animated so well that looking into his eyes is genuinely chilling for how lifelike it all appears. But moments like these are few and far between, and it's regrettably rare that, buried amongst long, long cutscenes that have nothing important to say, one feels like they are genuinely being surprised and entertained. 

I suppose it's all about on which end of the crazy scale you heap your content - balance is good, as is committing to one style and tone on either side, but to be indecisive, or to miscalculate and mistime and portion your moments improperly so as to leave your audience confused as to your intention can be fatal, and in the case of Wolfenstein 2, it very nearly is. Whereas The New Order balanced the silliness in its gunplay with sincerity and moments of genuine tenderness in its story, The New Colossus couples inappropriate moodiness and melodrama with the violent actions of its characters, and leaves them looking like hypocrites. After tearing through a gauntlet of soldiers leaving little but a hallway littered with bloody chunks of flesh, B.J. chooses to wax poetic about the loss of a friend's life and the loss of all her experiences with it, in turn completely ignoring the dozens of lives and thousands of experiences he just erased. The moment is timed so perfectly and the recitation of the lines so genuine that the juxtaposition almost feels intentional, as if the game wants you to scoff at his lack of self-awareness, and it might have been a nice subversive moment if this game’s immediate predecessor hadn’t pinned all its integrity on the fact that its characters and narrative were supposed to be relatable. Instead, B.J. comes off psychotic, annoying, and unlikeable, and the writers seem less like they’re in on the joke and more like they just don't know what their doing. 

Which is rather baffling, given that it's the exact same creative team behind the The New Order - the same two writers that created a masterpiece of action storytelling, and somehow married an impossibly absurd premise with a genuine, heartfelt narrative. They created a terrifying villain, complex and likeable sidekicks, and together with the ambitious and intense soundtrack crafted a world that lived and breathed despite exploring all manner of ridiculous scenarios (moonbase FTW). The New Colossus is this, but less well made. It repeats a lot of the same beats of its predecessor, and so they all feel forced, unearned, and inferior. It's as if the setting of Nazi-occupied America wasn't fertile-enough ground for the creative directors, so they needed to borrow directly from their previous game. They delve into B.J's childhood and fill his backstory with caricatures that overstate the point they're there to make, and yet at the same time expect us to invest in a depressing world that is directly at odds with the light-hearted insanity of the rest of the story, and I think moments like this come from a desire to leave the tone of their previous game behind in favour of something a bit more fun, while still feeling like they need to bridge the gap with some kind of drama. Unfortunately, they fail to find the balance, and the attempts at seriousness reek of try-hard melodrama and smash against the humour like two cars travelling opposite directions down a one-lane road.

I could be mistaken of course; perhaps I’m just too thick to ‘get it’ and they were trying to ironically deconstruct their own work, but the drama is so heavy, and heavy-handed, that I just can’t believe that this is the case, which is such a shame because there are all the makings of an amazing game under the hood - fantastic components have been assembled together in a confused and chaotic manner, leaving the follow-up to one of the greatest shooters ever made (and one of the most unexpected underdog releases) feeling like a victim of its own success. And this is exemplified in no better place that at in the ending of the game, which is in almost every way the antithesis of that of The New Order. 

A recap: in The New Order you must fight a super-robot implanted with the brain of one of your former comrades. After defeating it and ending the suffering of your friend, you’re attacked by the main villain - General Deathshead - as you fight amongst an increasingly unstable network of gas pipes and crumbling concrete. When you finish the desperate battle and kill Deathshead from within a conflagration of fire and flames, a short, poignant cutscene activates in which the game implies the end of one of the most important parts of the franchise. It’s a perfect example of why the game did best as a whole, offering the traditional trope of a boss fight with a new coat of paint, and then ending with a no-nonsense but impactful piece of genuine drama. 

So how does The New Colossus conduct itself? Well not only does it unravel the risk of the previous game’s ending within the first few seconds, but it ends by making the player’s last interaction with its Big Bad a single button-press that then triggers a five-minute-long cutscene in which the characters stand around and spout cliche ideological platitudes about America rising up. Then B.J. stares at the corpse of his enemy like a fucking nutcase, before getting down on his knees next to the wrecked carcass and proposing to his girlfriend, which would be funny if this wasn’t the same character we were supposed to be rallying behind and is now clearly insane. It’s anti-climactic, tonally unbalanced, and boring, and worse than all this is that it commits the cardinal sin of second acts in that it ends unsatisfyingly whilst promising a third installment that will be much more interesting. 

Fuck off. 

This could all have been avoided if the creative rudder of the production had steered it directly into the eye of the storm - the setting, its violence, and its cast of characters are all ripe for parody, so why the hell did they feel like they had to spend so much time exploring B.J’s tragic upbringing in which his racist, wife-beating dad makes him kill his own dog? What purpose does that serve in a story that opens with a wheelchair-bound protagonist machine-gunning Nazis in the face? It’s just madness. And in my opinion it ultimately undid a lot of the good will that The New Order worked so hard at creating. Even if the incoming third game commits completely to its craziness, we’re still stuck with this strange Frankenstein’s monster, and the fact that from about the half way mark I was just waiting for it to end is, for me, a nail in the coffin. It’s just...it’s such a shame. The New Colossus is a smooth, beautiful shooter, and also an trainwreck of mismatched tones, confused pacing, regurgitated story beats, and an unsatisfying ending. It tries to vary its gameplay and somehow ends up feeling more of a generic shooter than it’s predecessor - a game that actually set out to reboot the world’s first FPS. It has moments of absolute brilliance that it just fails to perpetuate because it doesn’t let them gather momentum, which leaves it feeling starkly weak specifically in the areas that The New Order excelled, and that makes it a much larger kick in the nuts to me than it ought to otherwise be.

Of course, if you’re not a whiny little baby like me, or are like a friend of mine who’d never played a Wolfenstein game in his life before this one, you might just enjoy it for what it is - a gorgeous, ambitious, and gratuitous FPS set in a strange and fun alternate history, but if you asked me to recommend it as a sequel to it’s fantastic predecessor, I just can’t do it. 

6.5/10

P.S. I think I’m going to remove the qualification titles of my ratings from this point onwards. I’m not 100% certain that I’m going to get rid of them forever, but between my poor attempts at thinking of ‘names’ for half-marked titles and the fact that I’m tied to classifying a 7/10 game as ‘good’ even though my subjective impression of the game might not agree with that, means that the more complex my feelings about a certain title, the harder it is to put a specific label on it. Wolfenstein II is a good example of this conundrum. I don’t think it’s objectively good at a lot of what it’s trying to do, and yet I don’t think it’s objectively ‘just okay’ across the board.   With this in mind, if you refer to my review scoring system you’ll get a better idea of what each ranking means, beyond what a single word can convey. You’ll see that Wolfenstein II gets a 6.5 because I think it is largely unsuccessful in the pursuit of its intentions regarding its narrative and tone for the reasons I’ve detailed above, and yet I can’t at all say that it offers a poor return-on-investment for the average gamer. Hell, you might think it’s an excellent game and disagree with me entirely - this is just my opinion, after all - but given that I will obviously weigh certain aspects of a work’s design more heavily than other aspects, I still think this is the best way to understand what each score means for me (and thus for you), and why I might have come any given conclusion.

[bxebxee]

Stacks

Note: I’m not a carat(tm) just yet, but happy belated to Jeonghan. He looks so Regal sometimes! I’m taking baby steps into the seventeen fandom, but this is vaguely inspired by The Prince and Me (2004) - kind of. Also, surprise @versigny because you deserve some really nice things for giving me “dolly” even if I took it completely out of context. 

Pairing: Jeonghan x Reader Genre: college!au  Warnings: rushed confessions Word Count: 1281 Rating: G, for Go Easy On Me Please? (PG-15)

*

“Thanks for saving me a seat, baby,” Jeonghan tells you with a wink, using his best indoor voice. That particular stress on the word “baby” isn't lost on you because Jeonghan is an odd man who thrives upon the misunderstanding of the masses. He's told you in the past how much he enjoys the moment of reveal when people find out that no, you're not his live-in girlfriend of two years, pregnant with his child. You're, disappointingly, just a friend - albeit a friend with whom he enjoys quasi-dating laden with a heavy dose of sexual tension that sometimes manifests itself in the form of his mouth over your unmentionables.

*

The music library is the quietest place to study on campus, and come finals season, nearly every chair is taken. The last vestiges of scholastic respect are found in the L-shaped room of this library because everyone is dying to pass and too caught up in their own procrastination to sabotage anyone else.

“Is this seat taken?” You hear a voice whisper from above your hunched form. An imposing figure hovers over the adjacent chair you’ve reserved by carefully draping your coat over the backrest. Obviously it’s taken, you think before reigning in your tongue and replacing any potential words with a nod. Your mouth curves into a perfunctory smile. “Yeah.” He asked a yes or no question, and you answered it. There. And before you have to get into any awkward debates about public property rights with a stranger looking to fight your claim, you're saved by the reservation holder himself brushing past the waiting student and sitting down in his seat. Jeonghan always did have impeccable timing.

“Thanks for saving me a seat, baby,” Jeonghan tells you with a wink, using his best indoor voice. That particular stress on the word “baby” isn't lost on you because Jeonghan is an odd man who thrives upon the misunderstanding of the masses. He's told you in the past how much he enjoys the moment of reveal when people find out that no, you're not his live-in girlfriend of two years, pregnant with his child. You're, disappointingly, just a friend - albeit a friend with whom he enjoys quasi-dating laden with a heavy dose of sexual tension that sometimes manifests itself in the form of his mouth over your unmentionables. 

“Tch.” The sound of annoyance is understandable considering first-come-first-serve is also general etiquette of the library.

Jeonghan looks over at the disgruntled student who's still standing there like he expects the new occupant to magically disappear if he stared long enough. The slightest hint of a catty, apologetic grin sneaks its way onto Jeonghan’s face with a clear message: fuck off loser. Possession is nine-tenths of the law, after all. Eye contact is the coup de grace.

“Next time just piss on the chair leg,” he whispers into your ear as the stranger leaves in search of another empty seat. You bite your lip to stifle a loud guffaw into a more manageable volume; it would have otherwise pissed off everyone else around you. The laugh only comes out because Jeonghan’s suggestion is made in half-seriousness.

You shoot Jeonghan a reproachful look once your facial muscles are relaxed because he needs to study more than you do. 

“No more talking for the next four hours,” you whisper back, your voice slipping into a lower, huskier tone. And coupled with the fact that your lips are less than a centimeter away from his ear, the whole thing comes out kind of unintentionally sexy. “Don't,” you warn at his mouth just about to open, and pull away to safety in the form of your textbook.

Jeonghan texts you his response instead while your phone is set to silent.

[Yoon Jeongpal, 13:02] Oh baby.

[Yoon Jeongpal, 13:02] I'm hard lol xD

You are itching to respond with a nice “shut up” or “fuck you” but instead you opt for ignoring him, which is more effective anyway - less satisfying, but super effective to the nth degree. And Jeonghan pouts; you see it from the corner of your eyes as you pretend to pore over the textbook in front of you, pink highlighter drawing transparent lines over words you don’t absorb. 

He opens his books after a beat, and the two of you spend the next hour and a half reviewing notes independently in stressful yet companionable silence. Although your willpower is shit, you give yourself a mental pat on the back for looking at your friend's facial profile only three times. But invariably, neither one of you has the attention span nor fortitude to exercise restraint and actually study for the four hours.

“Are we still doing this,” he grumbles, his hand creeping over to your own and tugging the pen out of your grip. You blink, trying to muster self-control to tell him off.

Jeonghan draws a line up your middle finger with the capped, confiscated pen. And with a deliberate wink, he lets go, and the pen goes rolling off the edge of the table. You know what's coming, and you're still not prepared for his warm palm to caress the skin of your calves and thighs as he makes a show of retrieving your pen.

“Here's your pen. Can we go?” he begs. 

“Yes.” It’s so very hard to deny him anything. 

You follow Jeonghan out of the music library and up the stairs to access the stacks. It's cliché as hell, but it works for a reason. He keeps his hands off you until you reach the darkest, dustiest corner of the stacks where the call numbers are all out of order. There's never anyone in the glorified, temperature-modulated storage room so it's perfect for old-fashioned public displays of indecency. 

From the moment you set you bag down on a spare table alongside his rucksack filled with books he’s never read, Jeonghan uses his arms to cage you in against the uncomfortable metal shelving. You are clothed, and not even slightly aroused. But for some unfathomable reason, your friend is taking long, controlled breaths while staring at you with obvious desire. 

“What’s got you all worked up?” And you are genuinely curious because there’s nothing you can think of at this moment that would have keyed him up this much. 

Jeonghan says nothing and just stares for a few moments, tucking in a stray curl behind your ear. You remember belatedly that this is day-three hair for you, and he’s probably just felt all that grease coat his fingers. If it grosses him out, he gives no indication he minds at all. 

“You just look exceptionally beautiful today,” he finally says. 

Your mouth drops open. “Jeonghan, I haven’t showered in days-” 

“Baby,” he cuts you off with a sweet peck to your forehead. 

You swallow down the heat pooling around your face at the term of weird-dearment. “We’re not out in public, mister. You don’t have to call me that.” 

“Okay... Dolly,” Jeonghan smirks, expression shifting away from nice and into the realms of Hell Demon. Oh. That’s a new one. 

His eyes are trained on yours, and you get the feeling he’s about to say something incredibly important. All those years of friendship give him away, and you’re not at all surprised to hear him say, “We should date for real. What do you say?” 

Jeonghan’s smile is indicative of the confidence that comes from knowing the answer before you give it to him. This is dangerous territory, and were it anyone else but him, you’d give them an earful about making assumptions. 

“Why not,” is your answer. 

He bends down just a smidge to slant his lips over yours because it’s customary to kiss one’s girlfriend after making it Official. 

“Starting from today,” he laughs in between a kiss, “It’s-”

“Don’t finish that sentence.” You kiss him in an attempt to persuade him to focus more on the upcoming library sex rather than recreating a stupid scene from every romantic movie and drama out there. 

“Starting from today, it’s day one,” he rushes out. 

It’s corny, and dumb, and completely in the realm of cheese, but you hiccup at his words anyway. At Jeonghan’s laughter you strip off your shirt, shutting him up in a decisive power move. 

“Polka dots,” he murmurs, eyeing your bra with an appreciative blush.