#i'm not obligated to put out what? a statement every time someone I like does something wrong

[jojotichakorn]

Helloo! As someone who loves nlmg, do you think it dealt well with the concept of family? Especially with palm's parents or his dad? I'm currently watching it and his dad is making me fume, i just wish palm would punch him but alas he doesn't seem like the type. Also, do you agree with the statement that neung doesn't love palm as much as he loves him? Cause i don't (i have so many thoughts about this but i can't put it into words) but I've seen it mentioned quite a lot that I'm starting to doubt myself

hiii! i love nothing more than asks about my favourite series, so thank you so much for sending this one 🫶

so! do i think nlmg dealt with the concept of family well? yes. in big capital letters, actually. so, YES.

now, shout out to nueng and his mom, but there's a reason why you asked especially about palm's parents. nueng and his mom make sense in a very uncomplicated way. she's a good mom to him, they love each other, it's just a nice little comfortable family, so their relationship easily makes sense.

as for palm's mom, i think the little time they spent together and the way it went makes sense as well. she wanted her freedom (and with such a husband, it's unsurprising that she did), so she seemed a little distant and aloof at first, but she eventually peels some layers off, and there is still a caring and loving mother hidden in there. i don't even know if she expected to find her there, palm certainly didn't, but they found her together, and they would have gotten to the point of having a relationship not unlike the one nueng has with his mom, if they got more time together.

as for palm's father, nlmg is a wonderful exception in a whole parade of series i don't like specifically because of the way they approach their bad parents. the two main issues i typically trip against in those series are 1) the sudden default subscription to traditionalism and 2) the way the relationship is presented in and of itself.

now, as for the first problem, as someone, who lives in a deeply traditionalist society (which is frankly trying to run even more backwards than it already is), but who is also queer and trans and disabled and does indeed have an abusive family he is mostly not in contact with, the idea that traditionalism is something that any character agrees with until proven otherwise, especially when that character is queer, does not make sense to me. i can't be seeing a character, who is very much not conforming to society every step of the way, but then suddenly and without explanation treats their horrific parents like they are a godsend simply because "that's what you are supposed to do". it seems sudden and nonsensical.

with palm, however, we have established his traditionalism in many a way from the very beginning. the way he unquestionably agrees to his father's request in the first place, the way he treats the class difference between himself and nueng, the way he feels inferior and like he needs to prove himself because of it, etc. etc. like you said, as much as we'd like to punch his dad, he just doesn't seem the type. the question of his relationship with his father is not an isolated incident of traditionalism, but rather a pattern of it popping up in many areas of his life. so it makes sense that he does not call him out entirely directly, feels a level of obligation to him, and doesn't fully cut ties with him in the end.

at the same time, concerning the second issue, this is very much palm's pov. the series itself does not treat his father with much reverence. palm's mother is very much an anti-traditionalist figure, and her push against what she was "supposed" to do is specifically represented through palm's father and how awful he was as a husband. there is a reason why the last time we see him is when palm and nueng "fulfil their duty" towards him by letting him out of prison. he is not there for palm at the end, he is not involved in the aftermath of his ex-wife's death, and, while jojo found it necessary to explain away nueng's mother not being present in the ourskyy2 episodes, there was no such explanation for palm's father, as it is not needed. there is a coldness and a distance to the relationship that still exists and it makes sense. palm does what he must, because traditionally one is supposed to respect their parent, but he does not go even a step farther than that. he does not seek his father out, he does not go out of his way to build any sort of relationship with him, he is just kind of there, receiving an obligatory birthday present once a year.

as for the back half of your ask, i absolutely do NOT agree with the idea that palm loves nueng more than nueng loves palm.

honestly, if i did agree with it, it would not have been one of my favourite series, especially because palm is my favourite character - not nueng. this also proves that if i do have any bias here, it is towards palm, and if he was slighted by nueng in any way (by the end of the series), i would not push it under the rug.

i think this misconception comes from a very simplistic and almost mathematical approach to relationships in general. it's like some people are at a market weighing apples against oranges. palm is simply an incredibly romantic and frankly a little insane (/pos) person when it comes to romance. it is in the bounds of his personality to have gotten a crush on nueng almost immediately after they met and get a tattoo of nueng's name three seconds into their relationship. that does not mean that the many ways nueng shows his love towards palm and simply the way he loves him are any less than that.

though, i would also argue that laying next to the love of your life, the one person you want to part with the least, while imagining what a great life he would have without you, and then leaving him so he would be happy without you, even though it would make you miserable, is also a pretty insane fucking thing to do. if that is not peak of selfless and big love, i do not know what is.

[hexpea]

Ch. 9 - A Playful Demeanor

The two of you got to school as usual the next morning. It was a bit awkward, neither of you speaking to one another, just minding your own business and too shy to bring up anything of the night before.  Between you experiencing what you hadn't in eighty-odd years with someone who was basically a stranger to Suguru's general awkwardness about doing something he usually wouldn't, it was a stalemate!

As usual, the two of you had arrived early. Suguru grabbed you a school uniform to put on in place of the loungewear he let you borrow. The plan was to get you a few outfits after the school day.  The only time you spoke was in regard to the uniform, otherwise Suguru left you in the dark. As soon as you returned to the faculty room to prepare for the day Suguru dropped his things off at his desk and left. Meanwhile, you sat in his chair and waited for Satoru to arrive.

"Good morning!" Satoru's sing-song-y voice filled the room with positivity as he entered.

"Hi," your voice was small as you greeted in return, not feeling your best from the strange vibes coming from Suguru.

"Uh oh, what's going on?" Satoru asked as he set his bag on his desk. "Where's Suguru?"

"Nothing, nothing at all," you smiled and blushed, putting up your hands and shaking them as if to deny anything happening. "And I'm not sure, probably meditating somewhere like he says he does every morning."

Satoru gave you a funny pout, signaling that he didn't believe you. It was always a bit hard to read him from behind the blindfold, only being able to see half of his face in order to analyze his emotes.  Nevertheless, he continued preparing for his day -- shuffling papers and retrieving his laptop. He hummed a happy tune as he did so.

"Hey, Satoru," you piped up suddenly while watching him unpack for the day.

"Yeah?" He responded, now taking a seat and staring over at what looked to be lesson plans. 

"Does Suguru have a girlfriend?" Your question came out childish, you felt so strange asking such a question for whatever reason.

Your question caught Satoru's attention, causing him to look up at you with a confused smile. "No, why? Gotta' crush on 'im?" He asked with even more of a childish demeanor. 

"No!" You answered a bit too quickly. "I was just...curious..." You mumbled.

"Mhm," Satoru teased, rolling his eyes from beneath the blindfold as if you could see. "Well, good luck. Ever since he started picking up the pace with his philosophy, he's been pretty strict on himself. He says relationships like that are a distraction from the 'middle path.'" Satoru took a sip from his coffee as he finished his statement, complete with finger quotes. 

"Well..." you swallowed hard and turned the desk chair away from Satoru. You felt your face heat up as you worked up the nerve to speak. "We had sex last night, so..."

Satoru nearly coughed up his coffee as you spoke, almost drenching his lesson plans for the week. "You what?"

You nodded in response, flattening your lips to shield your nerves. "I...asked to kiss him because...I missed the feeling...and he obliged. But then he made things go further. I mean...I wanted it and consented, but clearly he had some self-indulgence issues there," you chuckled awkwardly, "and extreme self-indulgence deviates from the middle path." You took in a deep breath between your sentences. "In any case, I just missed the feeling. I only have eyes for Sengoku."

"Isn't that his grandfather?" Satoru snorted. You blushed angrily at him. "Lucky for you, they're twins!" At the same time Satoru spoke, Suguru stepped into the room with a smile, happy to see the two of you enjoying each others' company. "Well, hello there, Mr. Suave," his best friend teased with a curly grin.

Suguru furrowed his brow in a confused state at his best friend. "Did I miss something?"  He looked between you both. 

"No, no," Satoru slowly finished chuckling and went back to his work, using his hand to wave Suguru's attention away.

Suguru brought his attention back to you and gave another brief, sweet smile. "Are you going to attend class again today? Yaga says that if you continue class, we can finally get you your diploma after all these years."

"Really?" You perked up, sitting up straight in Suguru's desk chair. He nodded in response. "Yes, yes definitely I'd love that!"

When the time came, you accompanied Suguru to class. The third year students he taught mostly just ignored you. They found your situation a bit strange, let alone the fact that you were basically living with their teacher -- that in itself sounded like some kind of strange porno.

You made it a point to listen in class and do your best, just as you had all those years ago. You were so incredibly happy to have this chance, to be able to live the rest of your life. Of course, you were immortal thanks to the type of technique you inherited, at least that was the thought, so ultimately this felt like day one of your forever. 

When the morning's class finally ended, you stuck around with Suguru for lunch as the three students dismissed themselves. 

You smiled coyly and approached him at the podium where he stood, coiling your arms around his neck and slipping your body between said podium and himself.

"Suguru," you began your ask in a voice as sweet as syrup, "wanna' have some fun during lunch hour?" While it was a strange time to do it, you wanted to put Suguru to the test.

He looked down at you lovingly, his gaze lost in your lips as you spoke. You clearly had him hypnotized, your body pressed against him considering he hadn't moved since you slid yourself in front of the podium. 

"I'm afraid that's not in my best interest," Suguru replied softly, breaking from his mini trance with a crooked grin to turn around and erase the chalkboard.

"What about last night?" You mumbled into his ear, tiptoeing to reach while clinging to his back. He continued erasing the board as you asked, but not without a chuckle at your question.

"Last night was per your request," he replied with a hint of sass.

"Well, right now is a request, too," you grinned at your simple-minded workaround. "And you ignored me all morning...making everything all awkward," you pouted, wrapping your arms back around his neck as soon as he put the eraser down and turned.

"I didn't ignore you," he answered with a sweet smile, placing his hands on your waist, "you didn't say anything and neither did I. Your desire to be well-liked and accepted socially overpowered you to think this morning was awkward. And desire only causes suffering."

You furrowed your brow in frustrated confusion. "What a strange thing to say..." you mumbled and placed your head on his chest as he continued to hold you, "but not entirely wrong."

"Anyhow," Suguru smiled down at you, again lovingly. His reactions completely confused you. "Are you still requesting?"

Your jaw dropped slightly in a bit of disbelief before answering. As you looked up at him, nearly cross-eyed from his proximity, he began to lean further toward you -- your body pressed against the podium once again. He was about to make this happen. Suguru's grip on your waist tightened and you began to feel him harden against your pubic bone. Your heart was racing once again with his feeling. 

He was just centimeters away from your face when Satoru strolled by the classroom window, doing a double take when he saw the two of you about to suck face in a classroom.

"Hey there!" His volume was completely obnoxious as he opened the doorway. "Suguru, enlightenment is calling!" He smiled and quickly began to walk away.

"Satoru!" You shouted as Suguru awkwardly pulled himself from you. The mood was immediately killed.

"It is an issue to be physically intimate on school grounds," Suguru noted with a cute blush and crooked smile. 

"Shut it," you grumbled before walking out of the classroom. If nothing could happen, you may as well not waste your lunch break!

[utilitycaster]

you're spot on, so much of the hysteria on twitter seems to be fueled by people with agendas - 3pp who'll have to pay royalties, youtubers looking for engagement, indie developers etc

heck, i saw one youtuber tweet "let's put cr on blast and make them comment on this" which is incredibly stupid. even if they wanted to comment on the ogl (which they're not obligated to), they'll at least wait until the official version is out and not comment on a leaked document

and the thing is, that document is almost a month old. odds are there's already been some revisions based on feedback and negotiations with the big publishers, who knows. no one has the whole picture and everyone's just wildly speculating and accusing

Right like...obviously CR has a close working relationship with WoTC, and, frankly, might even be affected since the Tal'Dorei guides are under the OGL, but also, does that youtuber remember when Critical Role put out a not-dissimilar copyright statement and people similarly lost their shit? Or how whenever CR plays a non-D&D game for a one-shot the indie crowd screams that they're doing it wrong (*cough* Monsterhearts)? It's just so obviously people who either already hate D&D and yet hang on to its every word waiting for reasons to tell people to switch, which I have never seen work and I've been in these online spaces for 4+ years now;

For what it's worth: I actually have rarely seen this kind of fuckery from indie developers though I'm sure it exists. It's usually just random fans (see again Monsterhearts; the creator said she thought Cinderbrush was great; it was fans of the game/haters of CR making all the noise).

Like, I make fun of indie games from time to time but actually, TAZ: Steeplechase has made me interested in checking out Blades in the Dark for a one-shot or something, which a lot of screeching idiots have repeatedly failed to do, because TAZ: Steeplechase is like "hey we are using this system and it's fun as hell for the story we're trying to do here!" instead of saying "D&D is evil and everyone will be leaving it now! just like we said when One D&D came out or when Hasbro said it wasn't profitable enough or when discussions in 2020 touched upon some of the racially charged language surrounding certain character races or or or...ANYWAY PLAY MY FAVORITE GAME."

Also I do want to note that I'm barely exaggerating about the alternatives people offer. I've seen some dude touting Rolemaster, which is literally out of print. Or like, after A Court of Fey and Flowers, someone brought up Good Society and seriously overstated how it was used in that game (it was significantly hacked, and also they were still very much playing D&D 90% of the time) and did not actually cover that if you want to cast spells, Good Society will not help you. It's just...I actually very much agree that we should encourage the use of alternatives to D&D! I think it's good to have a thriving independent game culture! It's just...why is everyone's response to shit on D&D, which is not perfect, but is immensely popular for many good reasons, instead of putting that effort into making their favorite indie game more accessible and appealing to new players. What kind of idiot says "the correct way to convince people to change is to tell them that the thing they love is dumb and bad, and offer an alternative without understanding what other people are looking for."

[formulaonedirection]

i want to preface this by saying i love ur blog but i just feel like you’re kinda a hypocrite when it came to lando’s comments this weekend? like the comments he made about juri are literally so similar to what m*x said about p*quet and you’re only vocal about one of those things?

Honestly I debated answering this because I don't have an answer for you and I'm not exactly sure what you want from me. I've discussed his comments with my friends in private and I didn't feel anything compelling or helpful to say on here beyond what I already did. I don't think his full statement in context was as bad as what V*rstappen said but I still think it's wrong so it doesn't really matter who said what worse. As I've said before, it's the words of white people who think being labelled "racist" is worse than the actual act of racism. But I also think M*x V*rstapp*n is one of the most consistently bigoted drivers, who works for a racist racing team, surrounds himself with a family of racists, and I also personally dislike many other things about him beyond that so I don't extend any grace to him nor do I want to. And I don't feel that way about Lando.

Obviously I don't endorse the things he's said and I'm disappointed (not surprised) he's said them but ultimately none of the white formula 1 drivers that appear on this blog are free of engaging in racist behaviours. Not a single one of them and that's like the shit I reckon with every day consuming this content, right? I went through the same conflict of conscience when Daniel said that whole thing in Jeddah last year but in the end here he is on my blog again. Maybe purifying my media consumption is the solution here but it's not easy, or fun, or that black and white.

Genuinely it's okay if you feel you have to unfollow me, I don't have a good answer or solution to this so I guess yes? This is not the world's most perfect anti-racism online blog for formula 1 drivers. I press reblog on my little tumblr app knowing this and knowing who I am, the things I stand for and the work I've done in real life and some days it feels shittier than others and some days it's just really pure mindless enjoyment and distraction from the every day struggle.

[yooniesim]

AxA gets away with making the same crop tops and pairs of jeans for every CC pack and ppl really pay for it wow

the new pack looks really nice to me at first glance but there's a good amount of recycled items in it. by that I mean, a lot of meshes and textures that are from previous packs they've made.

items in the new pack on the left beside older items on the right. The hairs are inexcusable to me. the last one especially, it's literally the same hair as the latest one up for free on his page, just with the hairline moved over slightly. Literally doesn't even need new hair chops.

If it was free I'd have no complaints at all, but AH00B is literally making a minimum of $6,444 a month if all of his 3,222 patrons are there for his $2 early access. And if it wasn't for Ayoshi, it seems, patrons would be getting 3 hairs a month only. Can you imagine making 6K+ a month to make 3 small hair edits?

On that note though... AH00B/Austin has had me blocked since I answered this ask yesterday, saying that no one would call him out for still doing early access when it seemed EA had banned it (for fear of getting hate or blocked), without me ever interacting with him otherwise. Ironic, I know. Which was extra strange because Ayoshi and I were having a long conversation about clearing the air regarding the early access situation, and in the middle of that I realized I was blocked. I sat on it a bit, because I have to say that Ayoshi was extremely patient in his conversation with me and I truly believe he wanted to have a genuine discussion. But he is not the owner of the patreon and all the responsibility does not lie with him. Even if they are best friends, Ayoshi is not the one that should be handling this for him. And since then, Austin still has not unblocked me or made any move to indicate that he wants to discuss this with anyone or hear any sort of criticism. He has no obligation to speak with me or anyone else, but I can't understand how the air can be cleared if everyone involved isn't willing to communicate with one another, and Ayoshi was the one to reach out to me rather than the other way around.

I understand having anxiety and not wanting to be criticized. But this isn't drama. These people are running businesses, with a good amount of cash involved, but not wanting to actually manage their business. Business owners need to put out statements and hold high standards to match that of their customers, and if they don't, what happens? They go under. Even if the community itself doesn't matter to you, a time comes when you have to put your big boy pants on and do something to at least protect your income. Either by changing your model and actions or looking for another job. If EA's latest flip flopping made you panic, good. As I said in the DMs, it should be a wake-up call. And if getting criticism against your business is causing you such unrest and anxiety that you cannot eat, sleep, or function properly, you need to pause your patreon and cc making and seek help for you mental health immediately. If that's not the case, and you're still able to function here, you need to get a handle on your business.

I don't see Austin or any of the other top cc creators saying a word about any of the problems with early access, not even to call out the "bad ones" they like to point to so often to deflect from themselves. Within the past couple days, eacc creators have been sharing patron's personal information and setting crazy long "reasonable" time periods, and I haven't heard a word from any of them about it. Why? It doesn't matter to them. The community doesn't matter to them. Just like it didn't when exclusive creators were doxxing and harassing and all any eacc creator could do was say, "well that's awful, but I'm not like that, don't forget early access is okay and we're not scammers". They got more angry about someone making a list of everyone that was continuing early access, which was publicly available on each of their blogs, than they did about the list of patrons' private information being passed around. All that's important is avoiding criticism and protecting their bottom line, and it shows every time something like this happens.

It honestly makes me sad. Many of the creators that have acted the way we've seen in the past few days, are ones I previously admired. AH00B is a creator that I've downloaded almost all the cc of, and his hairs were some of the first I recolored when I first started making cc. I use his and Ayoshi's clothing often in lookbooks. But because I expressed disappointment in him and others over early access, I'm considered a hater that needs to be blocked and silenced. Sorry, but that doesn't work for me. If we can't speak privately, I have to at least make my thoughts known on my own blog.

I don't think users are getting anything better from him now that he's getting paid, than they were when he was creating for free. The content is repeatedly recycled, and not worth paying for in my opinion. There is no engagement with anyone here other than to promote patreon. I don't think he's an active member of this community whatsoever, and like I said in the DMs: these creators are not people I can consider friends or peers anymore. AH00B is not a simblr, it's a brand. Its only purpose here is to make money and nothing else. And because of that, I can no longer support it.

I highly recommend giving the [deleted] a read, because I express more of my thoughts on early access and its effect on the community there. I have no ill will towards Ayoshi or Austin, but I hope that they realize the community is tired of all this. It's been drained dry, and whether any of these creators want to believe it or not, it isn't going to last much longer.

Edit: Ayoshi asked me to remove the conversation between us, so the links have been removed.

[babyybitchhh]

Shigaraki x Reader 18+

Title: Crybaby

Rating: Explicit/R-18+

Words: 12,290

Warnings: I'll be honest and say I'm not entirely sure how to tag some of this so proceed with caution. Infantilization, forced age regression, mental age regression, non consensual regression, ageplay, mentions of baby bottles and pacifiers, coercion, general noncon and dubcon, diddling, vaginal fingering, involuntary urination, wetting, mention of forced third party bathing, diapers, penis in vagina sex, unprotected sex, creampie, excessive use of 'Tomu-nii', mention of sex slaves, a brief but explicitly violent death mention towards the start, overall very questionable decisions from both me and Shigaraki

A/N: I will not be taking any questions at this time, thank you.

( @tomurasprincess)

♥♥♥♥

There was a fine line between a gift and a burden.

A new video game, for example, is something people were generally happy to receive and there was no obligation to slave over it at all hours of the day, unless you wanted to. A puppy, on the other hand, came with a certain amount of responsibility that couldn’t be side lined until Tomura decided to deal with it. There was no save button, no coming back to it later. He had to be vigilant to some degree, mindful of the life that was now in his hands, and that wasn’t something he was accustomed to by any stretch of the imagination. He couldn’t stand it. Didn’t even really possess the vernacular needed to describe exactly how much it pissed him off that he was suddenly expected to take care of someone - something else.

It was bullshit.

Standing over your prone form sprawled out on the cluttered floor he thinks, not for the first time, about ending it right here and now. It would be easy, surely. One touch of his hand and you’d be gone. Disintegrated to mere dust and nothing more than a vague, unpleasant memory in the back of his mind. You deserved it by simple virtue of being such a damn inconvenience but, just as every other time, he hesitates.

Not because you don’t even realize the danger you’re in as you innocently kick your legs back and forth in the air, all your wide eyed, dopey attention locked on the tv screen. Tomura is not so soft as to consider a sneak attack you don’t even see coming an insult to his pride. He would’ve been showing you mercy, actually, because if he didn’t fear upsetting All for One so much he’d have preferred to wrap his hands around your scrawny little neck instead. Give you a good throttle or two. Squeeze until his knuckles were a stark white against your purpling blue skin. He could almost envision what you would look like, all bloated and full of blood from burst capillaries and reddened eyes rolling into the back of your skull.

His cock stirs in his pants and his hatred for you grows with it. He couldn’t stand you or what you represented, a sudden addition to his life that he never asked for but couldn’t get rid of, and the fact he was getting stiff from his morbid fantasies was certainly your fault too. Everything was your fault. Right down to the most minor of inconveniences, you were to blame - even if it happened before you were dropped into his lap with all the to-do of a posh, overly indulgent birthday present. It was you. You, you, you, you you you youyouyouyouyou -

“Tomu-nii?”

With a jolt, he snaps out of it. The haze lifts and his blown out eyes focus in on your tubby little face, now turned over your shoulder to glance back at him. Tomura isn’t sure when you realized he was looming over you like some horrible, sickly wraith and he knows even less how it is that you show no fear towards him. Were you really so stupid that you couldn’t sense his desire to not only kill you but make you suffer? So blind that you didn’t see the way his bony hands fisted at his sides with a purpose and not in idle reflex?

No. It wasn’t that you were as unintelligent as a brain dead sheep happily trotting off to slaughter. Rather, it’s because that was what All for One had designed you to be.

Tomura wouldn’t claim to understand how, exactly, his mentor had gotten these results but he knows enough to recognize the signs. You’d been stripped of everything in a way that far exceeded mere surface level nudity. All for One had gone even deeper than that, past flesh and bone and right into the heart of what made you you. The brain.

He had no doubt that a quirk had been used, the specifics of which he couldn’t even begin to fathom, but the tinkering and rewiring had done its job exceedingly well, in fact. While your body was that of a young adult woman, early to mid 20’s if he had to wager a guess, your mind was something like that of a toddlers. You could speak just fine but the enunciation was sloppy, your words childish and limited to small, easily communicable sentences. You picked up on things surprisingly fast, perhaps even a little too well if the way he’d heard you let out a soft, half hearted ‘fuck’ earlier was anything to go by. But you slipped up just as easily and he was getting real tired of making sure you went and sat on the toilet instead of pissing all over his (no doubt already smelly) carpet. Living in his own mess was one thing. Living in someone else’s was another matter entirely.

Nothing about this was in error, though. You were exactly what All for One intended for you to be - little more than an animal for him to look after but with arguably higher stakes involved - and he’d had enough. It’d only been a single day, a full 24 hours since you were dropped into his room, and he was already at the end of his patience.

“What’s wrong? Don’t like that stupid cartoon I put on for you?”

You actually had the audacity to pout at him, jutting your lower lip out and puffing your cheeks as if that was supposed to make him feel anything other than an even stronger urge to take you out of this world. “S’not that. Mm’ just bored. You’re no fun.”

Tomura very nearly lunges at you with outstretched hands, All for One be damned, but your next words stop him in his tracks.

“I thought maybe you were coming to play with me.”

Play with you? He would’ve laughed if only he could find even a sliver of real humor in this situation. This was a joke, if not because of the absurdity of it all then at least because he wanted to play with you alright. He wanted to play a game that started with you screaming in shrill terror and ended with a chilly body laid out on his bedroom floor. That sounded like more fun than a barrel of kittens.

He stills himself, though, and snobbishly peers at you down the length of his nose. “I don’t play games with brats. Sorry.”

That only makes you pout even more. “Meanie.”

“Watch your fucking cartoon,” Tomura grits out through gnashing, angry teeth, unreasonably irritated by your persistent refusal to cooperate. “Before I make you.”

He isn’t even really sure if that threat makes any sense at this point, so thrown off by your mere presence in what should’ve been his space that he can barely make heads or tails of his own thoughts anymore. But the dramatic way you squawk in displeasure and throw yourself out flat on the floor placates him somewhat. You were easy to rile up, and he would have been a boldfaced liar if he’d said he didn’t get a kick out of that. Tomura had never felt quite so cruel, so much like an adolescent bully looking to make his problems someone else’s as when he was working you up into a proper fit.

It was easily the most enjoyable aspect of this arrangement so far, and he watches with nothing short of smug satisfaction as you pound your hands on the floor in pent up frustration. It was laughably easy to picture what they’d look like, well groomed after a manicure and with a fresh coat of polish on the nails. You looked like you’d probably been the sort of woman who would go with reds. Fierce and bold, as much a statement as your pretty face, which was currently scrunched up and pressed tight against the carpet in front of his tv. Those same hands were plain and unadorned now, squeezed into tight little fists that were about as harmless as they could get. Tomura probably would’ve considered a turtle more of a pressing threat than you right now.

“Crybaby.” He spits the word out like it’s poison. “Does that make you feel better? Huh? Throwing a tantrum just because you’re not getting your way?”

“Mm’ not a crybaby!” You scream into the carpet. The contrast between your plushy figure and your behavior is disturbing on some very real, intrinsic level and that only seems to add fuel to his fire.

“Hah! That’s funny. You certainly look like one, you know that? What would you even think of yourself if you were in your right mind, I wonder.”

“Mm’ not!” Your incessant screeching rises in pitch and Tomura is almost positive you aren’t even really hearing him anymore, but he decides he doesn’t care.

“Embarrassing. Maybe I should have Kurogiri bring me a bottle since you want to act like a baby so much. Or would you like a pacifier instead? Hmm? Would that make you feel better, princess?”

“Nooooo!”

Your feet start kicking the air again, violently rather than in placid distraction, and the motion draws Tomura’s gaze to the seat of your onesie. Pink and humiliatingly infantile for a grown woman to be wearing, he’d looked at it with nothing short of contempt up until now. But the (no doubt exhausting) flex of your legs bunches the loose cotton, making it gather around your upturned ass and in turn emphasizes the convenient button flap across the back. Now that he’s actually looking at it, he’s almost positive it was wide enough to expose your entire rear to the world with little more than a quick snap of his fingers. Maybe even wide enough to expose other things too …

Tomura jolts with all the force of a sudden electric shock when you cry out his name or, rather, the ridiculous moniker you’d given him. He’d like to know who’d planted that particular seed in your head - if it was All for One’s idea of a twisted joke or if Kurogiri had really thought being called niichan by a woman who may or may not actually be older than him would make Tomura feel all warm and fuzzy inside. It doesn’t exactly matter now, though, because the wet quality of your voice makes his cock spring up in his pants. He’s mildly horrified with himself, far more comfortable with his earlier fantasies of killing you, but there’s no helping it anymore. Not when you say his name like that. Not when the tears he’d initially thought were crocodilian at best were so thick and heavy in your throat that the syllables come out garbled and almost incomprehensible.

He’s not sure what he intends to do, but he shuffles closer.

You’ve started to tire out now and the kicking slows before stopping all together. He watches your ankles cross over one another in the air, as if you were trying to self soothe on some level by physically keeping yourself together, but it doesn’t seem to do much in the way of good. Your shoulders were still trembling with the lingering traces of your fit, and he can hear you mewling into the abrasive carpet like a wounded animal. It was clear that you were hurting because of him - and not just as a result of his teasing. After the complete and utter deconstruction of your mind, you were probably scared without even really knowing why. Confused, but too lost in the quirk induced stupor that had left you in this sorry state to seek out answers.

He hadn’t bothered to test this theory yet, but Tomura would have been willing to bet good money that All for One left you with very little inside that thick skull of yours. It just made sense, after all. For what good was a doll with memories of her past life? What would he have possibly gotten out of playing house with someone who fought him every step of the way, either out of embarrassment or repulsion towards him as a person?

No. You were a blank slate in the strictest sense. His to mold however he deemed fit and with no recollection of who you were, who you’d been or even who you’d wanted to be, he was free to do whatever he damn well pleased.

There was still raging contempt for you burning within his chest, certainly. You were an annoying, unnecessary burden on him and there was no getting around the fact that he still wanted you gone. But the spark igniting his gut is even stronger and, for better or worse, it momentarily overrides his better judgement.

So he sinks down onto his knees, directly behind you, and reaches out to tentatively palm the swell of your ass. Pinky held away, so as not to disintegrate you, which surprises him somewhat given how vivid his fantasies of killing you had been. He doesn’t get to linger on that for very long though, because you grow still at his touch and your pathetic sniveling quiets to a soft, almost hopeful sniffle. Tomura bites back a crude snort, just barely managing to catch himself before he backpedals and hisses another insult at you. He could probably take what he wanted with any given method, he didn’t have to be nice about it, but somehow the alternative just felt wrong. Physically you were an adult, but with the mental state of a child it felt a bit like taking advantage of an innocent and he wasn’t a complete monster.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, the word foreign on his tongue. “I shouldn’t have been so mean. Will you forgive me?”

You squirm and push your face further into the carpet. “Mhm.”

He doesn’t smile. But he does take that as an incentive to push forward, and he starts caressing your backside with slow, cautious circles. “Do you really want me to play with you that bad?”

“Mhm.”

Hesitating, Tomura considers his next words very carefully. “Fine. I’ll play with you. But I get to choose the game.”

You don’t immediately respond and he starts to wonder if he’d made a mistake. Overestimated his ability to be diplomatic and conscientious - which wouldn’t exactly have come as a surprise. But then you shift on the floor, tension draining from your body as you turn your head so you aren’t suffocating in the carpet anymore. “Okay.”

His brows lift in surprise only to then knit together. It was that easy? He’s not so sure he trusts it but, dropping his gaze back down to your ass, he gives the doughy soft flesh an experimental squeeze. Your only response is a soft, faltering sigh that seems to help you relax more. This, too, seems a little too good to be true but he keeps going anyway.

When a few minutes of kneading your defenseless backside does nothing to upset you, Tomura starts to get bolder. He slowly brings his opposite hand forward and latches onto the other cheek with four fingers, massaging both sides in tandem. He’d had the unfortunate luck of seeing your bare ass late the previous evening, after you’d emptied your bladder all over the blanket he’d tossed you to sleep on which had resulted in an aggressively administered bath for you and a frustrated headache for him. He hadn’t paid too much attention at the time, far too angry to be horny, but he knew enough to realize that you were unexpectedly voluptuous under that onesie.

The garment itself was so oversized it hid even the smallest hint of the womanly figure underneath. He probably would’ve forgotten all about it, pushed to the back of his mind in favor of more pressing matters (like getting rid of you) but now that he’s got his hands on your butt it’s all he can think about. The way your full tits jiggled when he’d non too gently manhandled you into the tub. The frustratingly cute lower belly pouch that bulged when you sat down, crying, on the porcelain surface. The way your thighs molded to whatever position he’d yanked them in so he could hose you off like a filthy stray. He’d actively avoided looking at what was between your legs, in fear of what he’d see as much as stubborn refusal, but looking back on it now he isn’t sure how he hadn’t given in to temptation.

Now, however, he was suddenly more interested than ever in finding out what your pussy looked like and, hooking his long index fingers into the flap, he starts to unlatch it one button at a time.

You make no move to stop him. Don’t even protest or question what he’s doing. It’s almost as if just having his attention on you is enough, and Tomura’s mouth pulls back in a sneer at the mere thought. You were so damn stupid for trusting him like this, completely oblivious or uncaring about what his intentions were. He could be as violent with you as he wanted. He could erase you from this existence with the briefest touch. But you just lay there, your shoulders slowly rising and falling with each even breath you draw, and he can’t decide if that feeling clawing at the back of his throat is hatred or guilt.

But there’s no real reason to stop now, so he carefully peels back the flap of fabric once he’s got it completely unfastened. Bare skin greets him, a perfectly exposed strip of swelling flesh that seems all the more enticing with pink cotton framing it so nicely. He pauses long enough to lick his dry, cracked lips. The weight of his stiff cock strains against the inside of his zipper, twitching eagerly when he reaches out to hesitantly touch your back side again.

The sensation of a real, living person under his fingertips makes his breath come a little faster. Still, you don’t move though and he picks up right where he left off, roughly groping your ass cheeks with barely contained excitement until he gets so vigorous that you whimper.

“Shh. I’ll try not to be so rough.” Tomura shushes you, throaty and barely more than a murmur.

You settle back into place, thankfully, and he takes that chance to spread your cheeks open. He gets a brief glimpse of the puckered hole hidden inside, white hot static racing straight to his groin, and he lets out a rumbling groan. His fingers squeeze into flesh again and he pulls, baring you entirely to his voracious eyes. The tight muscle twitches, winking at him, and his attention drops to the smallest satiny peak of your slit. He can just barely see it, mostly hidden behind the pooling fabric bunched under the swell of your ass, but it’s more than enough to make him feel dizzy.

“Shit,” he sounds winded even to his own ears. “You’ve got such a nice body.”

To his surprise, you actually perk up at that. “Really?”

Tomura almost snaps at you on impulse, so irritated by the sound of your voice that he nearly forgets what he’s trying to do. Quelling himself, though, he tugs at the bottom half of your onesie until he can see the plushy soft lips of your pussy. You look so inviting, so warm and real he can hardly even stand it.

“Really.” He croaks. “How old are you again?”

You seem to think about that. “Mm, I dunno’!”

He frowns. Contemplates that for a long beat. But the coarse hair curling around your slit seems answer enough, for him at least. You weren’t actually a child. You just sounded like one, acted like one, dressed like one. That wasn’t what was getting him so painfully hard though. It was the fact you were a woman, physically, and he’d never gotten to see one up close and personal like this before. Why hadn’t All for One just given him a proper sex slave instead of one that threw tantrums and cried at the drop of a dime? Was this really what his mentor had intended for him to do with you?

“Tomu-nii?”

Drawing a sharp breath, he brings his attention up to bark at you to be quiet but the words catch when he finds you looking at him over your shoulder. He can feel his cheeks starting to warm, suddenly embarrassed.

“What?”

“Why’re you looking at me like that?”

He flounders for a moment. Then, awkwardly clearing his throat, he decides to fall back on his original excuse. “This is the game I mentioned earlier. You wanted to play, right?”

You nod your head, but you don’t look entirely certain about that. “I do but … aren’t games s’posed to be fun? This is boring!”

His mouth presses into a thin line. It hadn’t occurred to him that you might not be content to just idly sit by while he molested your slutty little body, but if it was fun you wanted then he could certainly give you that. “This was just the warm up. Roll over and I’ll show you how to play.”

The way your eyes light up almost makes him regret this decision. It’s too late though, you’re already twisting over on to your back with your elbows braced on the carpet so you can stare up at him. Stupid and expectant.

He clicks his tongue.

Reaching out to grab your wide set hips with only eight of his fingers, he inelegantly drags you closer so that you were nicely slotted between his knees. Your legs curl up as you regard him with nothing short of intense curiosity, lips parting in a silent ‘o’ that very nearly sends him over the edge. You were too pretty for your own good. Much too beautiful to be wearing a pink onesie and acting like a baby. This was such a waste, and he almost feels bad for what All for One did to you.

But he shrugs it off, forcefully, and his delicately poised hands descend on your zipper. Zrrrrrt, straight down the length of your body. It stops directly above your crotch and he reaches up to reverently push the cotton out to the sides and expose the rest of you.

Your tits were even better than he’d initially thought. They were full and heavy, dotted with the most perfect little buds for nipples. Soft and smooth. Tomura’s mouth waters in anticipation and he doesn’t realize how roughly he’s jerking your arms out of the sleeves until you wail dramatically that it hurts.

He’d like to tell you what really hurts is his cock, unbearably hard and trapped inside his pants, but he refrains. Instead, he huffs out an insincere apology and keeps on yanking. He can’t get you undressed fast enough, mesmerized by the way your breasts jiggle and bounce every time he pulls on you. There’s something inherently wrong about this, he knows. It’s so damn obvious you’re not right in the head, that you aren’t of sound enough mind to even understand what he’s doing to you, but he can’t bring himself to stop. Not when you were so willing and pliant under his shaking hands.

Finally managing to wrest the blasted onesie off your kicking feet, Tomura tosses it off to the side and he eagerly sets his sights on your naked body. You should have looked seductive and coy, spread out in front of him with a devious smile curling artfully painted lips as you invite him to have his way with you. Instead, you fitfully squirm, neither seductive nor shy. It’s clear that you have no sense of shame, your artificially infantile brain completely void of the concept and even less aware of how inappropriate any of this was. You just keep looking at him, waiting for the explanation he’d promised to give you.

Oh. That’s right. The game he kept talking about. Perhaps he could still salvage this after all.

“The rules are simple,” he says slowly, scrambling to put together a decent excuse to keep going. “I’ll touch you for a little bit and if I can make you feel good then I win. After that, it’ll be your turn. If you make me feel good, you’ll win. Understand?”

Your expression pinches in confusion. “So we both win?”

“Only if we make each other feel good. What’s wrong? You don’t want to play with me anymore?”

Much to his relief, you quickly bob your head. “I do! Please play with me, Tomu-nii!”

The way his cock jolts at that makes his entire body ache. It’s much too late to turn back now, he was well past the point of salvation, and he haltingly drags his attention down to your chest. Your petite nipples had stiffened in the cool air but it’s as if you don’t even notice. Wasn’t that something a grown woman would be conscious of? He thinks so, or at least he’s pretty sure it is. Apparently it isn’t the sort of thing a dumb baby brain even registers, though, and he reaches out to curiously flick at one.

You gasp, eyes widening slightly. Misplaced hope sears his veins and he watches you intently, holding his breath, but you don’t seem to understand what it is you’re feeling. Your brows furrow as you glance down at yourself and bring a hand up to cover your nipple.

“Oww …”

That certainly wasn’t the reaction he’d expected. Or at least it wasn’t the sort of reaction Pornhub had taught him to expect, but it was still something.

“Baby.” He grumbles, reaching for the opposite tit.

“Mm’not!”

“Are too. Didn’t that feel good?”

“No!”

“Then you’re winning, aren’t you?”

Confusion marches across your face for a moment before understanding dawns. You look quite pleased now as you track the movement of his hand as he carefully pinches your puckered nipple between thumb and forefinger, gently rolling it between the pads. He doesn’t get an immediate reaction out of you but the longer he does it the more your lips start to purse. It’s as if you were holding back, determined not to show him that you might be enjoying it and risk losing the game, but it’s enough to embolden him.

His ministrations pick up and he gives your delicate little teat a mild twist. There’s no malice or cruelty behind the action. He just wants to see what you’ll do. And you don’t disappoint, the way you jump and your mouth flies open as if to squawk making his stomach clench with something perverse. You catch yourself at the last second though, teeth clacking together as your gaze flits up at him to see if he’s looking.

He is, of course, and you forcibly swallow the sound you’d almost let out. Tomura is a bit disappointed, sure. He’d wanted to hear how pretty you’d moan for him but there were still plenty of other chances for him to coerce at least one out of you.

Hunching over your prone body, he brings his other hand up to latch onto the opposite nipple, the one he’d previously flicked. You wince at the contact but make no move to stop him, biting down on your lower lip to keep quiet as you watch him play with your fat tits in petulant silence. It was ass backwards in so many ways. He’d thought, despite everything, his first time with a girl would be somewhat normal. Maybe not picture perfect or all that good when everything was said and done, but at least relatively mundane. This was the farthest thing from that though. He couldn’t conceive of a more wildly abnormal scenario even if he’d tried, nor did he recall ever seeing any porn with this hyper specific set up. But there was still some sick, twisted part of him that was deriving pleasure from this decidedly unorthodox encounter with the opposite sex, and that feeling only grows exponentially the more he keeps going.

Kneading, pinching, squeezing, tugging. He doesn’t let up until your nipples are flushed dark and straining hard, the glistening hint of tears at the corners of your eyes telling him beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was getting somewhere. The urge to call you a crybaby swells in his chest again but he doesn’t want to risk another tantrum. He wasn’t so sure his cock could handle it, particularly not when he’d positioned himself over you in such a way that one solid kick would put him out of commission for the foreseeable future. No, this was a delicate situation that required the utmost care on his part and, gathering his nerves, he swoops down to cover one of the stiff buds with his mouth.

The heated gasp that bursts out of you in a great woosh has him groaning into the meaty swell of your tit. You shudder underneath him, involuntarily twitching as he traces your areola with the tip of his tongue and laves it in warm, wet attention. He can tell that you’re not sure what to do so he waits with bated breath, reveling in the fleshy nub pinched between his lips. There was no reason for him not to squeeze every last drop of enjoyment he could get out of this while he could, after all - but then your hands find his hair, threading into wavy locks, and he throbs for you.

“Tomu-nii …”

He practically sinks into you, damn near suffocating himself in the plushy swell of your breast. His mouth opens wide and sucks more of you past his lips, suckling enthusiastically just like the infant you were programmed to be. This particular role reversal doesn’t even seem to register in your mind though and he seethes when you tug at his hair, trying to pull him off.

“St-aaahp …. I don’t like it!”

Tomura comes up off you with a wet gasp. “Bullshit.” He practically growls, narrowing his eyes at your dopey, flustered expression.

“It’s true! I don’t!”

“Oh? Should we check then?”

Your face scrunches and you draw a breath to question him, but he doesn’t give you the chance. Going back up on his knees, he plants one hand against the meat of your inner thigh and shoves it wide. His other darts between your legs before you can react, spindly digits finding your bare cunt and prodding at your folds with rough fingertips. You jolt at the contact but it’s too late. He barely has to touch you to feel the slick oozing out of you and he lets loose a harsh bark of laughter.

“My ass. You’re fucking soaked. You shouldn’t lie, you know.”

“I didn’t!” You gasp, clearly offended by the insinuation. “You’re just a fucking meanie!”

That gives him pause.

Glancing up at your face, Tomura regards you carefully as he tries to figure out his next move. On one hand it was his own fault for saying that word around you so much and it’s not like it was any of his business what you did or didn’t say, but on the other … there was something uncomfortable about hearing that come out of your mouth with such a childish inflection. It lacked any and all bite, not even a hint of impotent aggression to be found. You were just parroting him, that’s all, but for whatever reason he didn’t really appreciate it.

“Don’t say that.” He huffs, turning his attention back to your pussy.

Tomura had wanted to leave it at that, but of course you have to fight him every step of the way.

“Why not?” You ask rather flippantly.

“Because i said so. If you want to get smart, be my guest. I know how to handle bratty little girls like you.”

He’s a bit surprised when that actually shuts you up. Apparently, he was starting to get the hang of this but he still has to sneak a quick peek at you just to make sure. The fact you actually look contemplative, as if you were turning that over in your empty head, almost makes him laugh.

“Do you still want to play?” God, he sorely hoped you did.

You hesitate though, unwilling to give your acquiescence just like that. “When is it my turn?” You ask warily.

“Soon. I’ve got one more chance to make you feel good and then you can try.”

“Mmm … okay. But I’m not gonna’ lose!”

He’s almost certain you would have already lost if you weren’t such a petulant little thing, but he keeps that to himself. Instead, he once again turns his attention to the spot between your legs. Your puffy slit was noticeably wet, the faint sheen of fluid glistening slightly in the overhead light, and he takes a moment to gently part the curls there. Just as he’d thought. Damp to the touch and only getting wetter. He really was going to have to talk to you about lying especially since, in this particular context, you were cheating. This was a far cry from his video games but that didn’t make it any less annoying.

Swallowing his reprimand for the time being, though, Tomura carefully presses two fingers into the doughy softness of your labia and spreads them apart. He can see now that you were practically drenched in slick arousal, thin threads of discharge stretching across your petal soft folds before snapping. He gulps down his nerves. You really did have the prettiest pussy he’d ever seen and the fact it was all his for the taking very nearly had him creaming in his pants right then and there. It was almost obscene how bad he wanted to fuck your tampered brains out but he didn’t want to scare you into noncompliance. He wasn’t going to fight for this if he didn’t have to.

Slowly, so as not to startle you, he brings his other hand close and prods at where he thinks your clit should be. He’d certainly seen them in enough triple X videos to have some idea of where to look, but when all you do is let out a soft sigh he knows he’s mistaken.

His teeth gnash in high strung irritation as he walks his finger lower and then higher, feeling a bit like a blind fool searching for buried treasure. There were so many fleshy ridges and folds that he couldn’t pinpoint the right spot from memory alone, so he has to take his time feeling around instead. He thinks he’s found it for a split second when you shift underneath him, but then he realizes you were simply getting fussy - no doubt bored with all his incessant pawing - and that only angers him further. It shouldn’t have been this damn hard to find!

Impatient now, Tomura roughly swipes his finger up the length of your slit and surprise washes over him when you jolt as if he’d electrocuted you. Your head comes up off the rug and you stare at him, wide eyed, but it was much too late. He’d finally gotten the reaction out of you that he’d been hoping for, and he leans into it with nothing short of devilish delight.

Knowing precisely where to look helps a great deal and it immediately occurs to him that the reason he’d struggled so much is because your clit was still hidden behind its protective hood. But he’s got the advantage now, and he ever so carefully pinches at satiny soft skin until he can ease it back and expose the sensitive little bud nestled inside. You whimper slightly as he does it, squirming awkwardly on your back as if you could instinctively sense that you might be in a bit of trouble now. It was kind of cute, if he was being totally honest.

“I don’t think I like this game …”

“You will. Trust me.”

Clearly not believing him, you start to open your mouth to complain but he stops you cold with a quick flick of his finger. Your engorged clit jostles against the indelicate contact and you blurt out such a startled sound that he actually glances up to make sure you’re okay. Unsurprisingly, you look a little more flustered now and the panic edging your expression is almost enough to make him reconsider this.

Almost, but not quite.

“What’s the matter?” He goads, dropping his gaze back down to your pussy again. “I thought you didn’t like it.”

“I … I don’t …”

“Really? I’m not sure I believe that.”

He does it again, gentler this time. Just a brief tap against the meaty little nub, but it’s enough to make you twitch and try to close your legs from him. Tomura won’t let you back out so easily though and he shifts even closer so he can wedge himself between your thighs to keep them spread. You issue a frustrated, huffy sound that he could only describe as babyish as you try to push up on your elbows, no doubt intending to scuttle away from him. He had to give you credit for being so hard headed even in this infantile state but he was far too invested to quit now.

Letting up his hold on your labia, Tomura directs his fingers lower and wedges three of them into your slit. You freeze, momentarily stunned, and he takes that split second opportunity to feel around for your entrance. It’s not hard to find. Much easier than your clit, at any rate, and he wastes no time wriggling a long digit up inside your body. The penetration is smooth, your guts such a slippery mess that it almost startles him.

You really were a liar.

He suddenly realizes he’s panting. At the same time, he realizes that you don’t appear to be breathing at all. Your expression is about as dumbfounded as it could be, and he dully watches the way you sway in your half upright position. Shellshocked would probably be an appropriate descriptor, and he wets his lips in anticipation.

“Well? Do you like it?”

Your legs flex around his arms and you shake your head. “Nuh … no …”

“If you don’t stop lying to me,” he grumbles. “I’m going to get mad.”

You stiffen, clearly drawing yourself up to challenge that statement just like he’d known you would. It was embarrassing how predictable you could be.

He’s had just about enough of this back and forth though, and he roughly curls his finger upward in search of the spot that would finally shut you up for good. But his efforts only make you more fussy and his patience quickly unravels when you try to twist away from him, wailing in displeasure. He hated that sound and, if you weren’t careful, he’d go right back to hating you too

Grunting, Tomura abandons your clit in favor of latching his hand onto the swell of your thigh and he digs his blunt nails in to keep you still. You actually have the audacity to kick out at him but he puts a stop to that quickly enough by shoving a second finger into your sticky cunt. Just like the first time, it makes you hesitate and he watches your warbling mouth drop open in what he thinks might be pleasure. It’s frustratingly hard to tell with you but, having no other choice, he decides to take it at face value.

Your pussy clicks loudly when he starts pumping into you straight down to the knuckle, the wet squelch almost deafening in his ears. It’s unreasonably hot though, his mind running a mile a minute as he tries to commit every little detail to memory. The way your face screws up with a stuttering gasp, the way you squeeze your eyes shut and try to brace against the pressure of his digits driving into you again and again. The way you moan, even when you try not to, is particularly enticing, especially since it’s just as pretty as he’d hoped it would be. The way your legs shake and you threaten to double over, the way he can see you clutching the carpet in a death grip, the way you just seem to get even wetter for him. There was too much to take in all at once but it was also far too erotic to look away from. He really was going to cream his pants at this rate.

Somehow, your honest reaction appears to make up for all the trouble you’d given him up until now and Tomura can feel the wet spot bleeding through his boxer briefs start to grow. He was positive he’d never been harder in all his life. Animalistic and practically slobbering like a rabid dog, he hunches further over your quaking body and pistons into your cunt so vigorously his arm starts to ache. You were wailing for him to stop, crying out for Tomu-nii, Tomu-nii, Tomu-nii, but he doesn’t even slow down. He can’t.

Your cunt just keeps sucking him in deeper on every plunge, gummy walls pulsating around his no doubt pruning fingers so enthusiastically that he’s sure you’re going to cum. He can practically taste it. Tomura wasn't going to stop until you did and, realizing he doesn’t have to hold onto you any longer, he reaches out to roughly shove you down on your back again.

“Are you going to cream for me, princess? Huh?” He grits out through savagely bared teeth. “Is that what you’re going to do?”

“No! Please, Tomu-nii … it hurts!”

Even in the heat of the moment he can’t stop himself from clicking his tongue in irritation. “No it doesn’t, you big baby. You love this. I know you do. I can see it written all over your stupid, pretty face. Go on. Tell me exactly how good you feel. Do it!”

Wailing, you peer up at him through heavy lashes with a look so imploring it very nearly gives him pause. “I - I can’t! I’m … Tomu-nii, I’m gonna’ … I’m gonna’ pee!”

“No you aren’t. That just means your clo - -“

Tomura cuts himself off when you do exactly that. He’s almost too stunned to react and all he can do is watch as the steady stream of urine bursts out of you before dribbling down his wrist to soak into the carpet underneath. It’s only now, when you’re pissing all over yourself as well as him, that he finally has the decency to slow his pumping to a staggered halt. For a fleeting moment he actually considers the notion of keeping at it. There wasn’t much else you could do to ruin this for him, after all, but one look at your expression immediately quashes that idea.

He’d be lucky if all he could manage was to stop you from dissolving into ugly, heaving sobs, let alone worry about getting himself off. Dammit. You really were nothing but a pain in his ass.

“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.” He deadpans, slowly withdrawing his fingers from your cunt now that he was thoroughly coated in warm, smelly piss. “To be honest I was kind of tired of that rug anyway. And these clothes, too.”

You hiccup so sadly that what little bit of anger had sparked inside him immediately dies out. He couldn’t even be mad at you for this no matter how much he may have wanted to blame you for everything. You’d tried to warn him.

“T- Tomu-nii … mm’sorry …”

Tomura sighs through his nose, hard enough to make the split end tips of his hair shift. “Don't be. That was my fault. Just - let me find something to clean us up with.”

“Do I have to take another bath?” You ask so meekly he almost misses it.

Pausing halfway through the motion of rising to his feet, he glances down at you again. It occurs to him quickly enough that it wasn’t the accident you were so upset about but, rather, the looming possibility of another aggressively meted out trip to the bathroom. Interesting. He’d almost think he was mistaken, it had only happened once, after all, but the way your lower lip wobbles tells him everything he needs to know. Apparently you were more scared of him than you’d let on.

“No, not right now. I think I can get you clean enough with a wet rag or something. You’ll have to take one later but,” Tomura scoffs, hating that he was actually trying to be nice after you’d peed all over him. “I’ll try not to be so rough next time. You just made me mad last night, that’s all.”

You nod slowly, looking like you don’t quite believe that, but still too naively trusting to press the matter. “Okay.”

Nodding once, Tomura climbs to his feet. The inner seam of his pants from the knee down is absolutely soaked and he makes it only three steps before deciding he didn’t like them all that much to begin with. Dropping his hand to the rough denim, he brushes all five fingers across the thigh and they dissolve into nothing without a second thought to the matter. He can faintly hear you ooohing behind him but there were much more important things to worry about than how easily impressed you were.

His half flagged cock throbs hopefully inside his boxer briefs and he reaches down to delicately adjust himself. God, he’d be aching for the next week thanks to your uncontrollable bladder.

An idea pops into his head with that thought. You weren’t the only thing he’d been saddled with yesterday, and he turns to regard the thick gym bag he’d previously thrown against the far wall in anger. It’s where he’d gotten your pink onesie after you’d similarly soiled the first pair of clothes you’d been wearing. He hadn’t bothered to look through all of its contents just yet, but he felt relatively confident he’d find what he wanted in there.

Circling back around, Tomura squats in front of the bag and yanks it open. He can feel your eyes watching him from your spot on the floor but he pays it no mind. Digging inside, he pulls out a few more articles of clothing, far too cutesy for his tastes, and then a book on child care that he knows for certain was put there in jest. Over his shoulder it gets chucked, and he digs deeper. Down at the very bottom he finds exactly what he’d been looking for.

But in addition to the baby wipes there are two other items that catch his attention. He outright balks at the very notion - however, realistically speaking, it could very well be the answer to his problems. At least the most pressing one, anyway.

The idea that All for One knew he’d likely run into this issue but still decided to dump you on him anyway bothers Tomura a great deal and he frowns even as he looks over the packaging. Diapers and pull ups. What was the difference? He’s not so sure there is one, and he feels almost certain that they serve the same purpose. But further inspection proves him wrong. One was for a total lack of control and the other was for the potty training stage, so not as thick or absorbent. That’s what the packing said but, at any rate, they definitely weren't the plain adult brands he was looking at here.

These were bright and colorful, and he can’t help but cringe at the thought of putting you in either of them. But he was still left with a very real concern that he simply couldn’t overlook. The fact he even had to make this decision at all was ridiculous but he couldn’t very well have you pissing on every available surface in his room. And given your track record of absolutely drenching whatever you happened to be sitting on at the time …

Hesitantly, Tomura takes out the diapers and shuffles towards his unkempt bed. The print on the back wasn't particularly clear about what to do with them. He’d probably have to look up a tutorial later, when he wasn’t feeling quite so downtrodden and his balls weren’t aching, though that would certainly put him on a few watch lists. Not that it really mattered.

He sighs and tosses the package on top of his sheets before tearing into the baby wipes. Taking his time, he methodically scrubs his wrist and his legs clean while he contemplates his next move. It wasn’t going to be pretty. It certainly wasn’t going to be sexy. It was still probably the lesser of two evils, though. Far be it that he wanted to go this route but did he really even have any other choice at this point?

“Tomu-nii …”

Your soft whining draws him back to reality and, abruptly realizing you’ve been sitting in your own piss this entire time, he turns to look back at you. For a split second, he seriously considers just killing you right then and there. It would save him a lot of trouble and you wouldn’t even realize what was coming. You were so stupid you’d probably think he was going in for a hug or something asinine like that. He’d be doing you a favor, really, because as far as he was concerned, death was certainly preferable to wearing diapers but … the urge fizzles out almost as quickly as it had appeared. He wasn’t going to let you slip out of his hold until after he’d gotten to bury himself in that tight, pretty little pussy of yours.

Decision made, Tomura makes his way over to the carpet again. You look cold, which doesn’t exactly come as a surprise, and he bends down to grab the meat of your upper arms so he can drag you up to your feet. “Come on. I think I’ve got a solution.”

Your brows furrow slightly. “Salution?”

“Close enough.”

Steering you over to the bed, he makes you bend over the mattress so he can take a baby wipe to the backs of your thighs and ass. Luckily, depending on how you looked at it, the urine had run down rather than going every which direction so it was pretty easy to clean up. The way you tremble and shift your weight back and forth makes it a bit more difficult than it needed to be but he manages, somehow.

Tomura straightens after a long moment, finally deeming the back of you good to go. He’s not so sure he can get through this next part when you were fidgeting so much, though, and he briefly considers the clothes in the gym bag. The thought of putting you in another girly, saccharine sweet garment repulses him almost as much as the thought of putting you in a diaper. But he was going to have to pick and choose his battles here and, reaching back, he delicately tugs off his t-shirt.

“Turn around.”

You slowly comply, teeth chattering the whole time.

“Arms up.”

At this, you hesitate. But at his expectantly bland look, you do as you're told and raise your arms up in the air. The lift of your heavy tits almost successfully distracts him and it is with a great deal of self control on his part that he pulls his shirt down over your head, yanking it a little too forcefully into place.

“There.” He practically hisses, watching you clumsily work your arms through the sleeves. “Is that better?”

You think about that for a moment, eyes scanning across the front of his shirt, and he briefly wonders if you’re going to say something derisive about the worn video game logo stretched across your chest. But then you smile, nodding your head a little too enthusiastically.

“Mm! It smells like Tomu-nii!”

He really couldn’t stand you.

“Good. In return, I’ll need you to cooperate with me here. I’ve never done this before, you know?”

You blink at him quizzically. “Done what?”

Tomura rolls his eyes, feeling grumpier by the second. He couldn’t wait to get this over with and have you situated so he could run off to the bathroom for what probably wouldn’t even amount to five minutes of desperate jerking. “Never mind. Just do what I tell you, okay?”

You nod your head again, but he has some very real doubts about that. Even when you were pretending to go along with whatever it was he wanted you still found some way to fuck everything up for him. If this scheme somehow backfired because your brain was so scrambled you couldn’t even follow simple directions, he was not going to be happy.

Mentally bracing himself for the worst possible outcome, he reaches for the diapers. He rips the bag open almost violently and pulls one out, but it feels even more wrong in his hands than he’d thought it would. A strange sense of scandalized affront warms his chest, making him reconsider this choice for the upteenth time. If Tomura was being completely honest, he felt embarrassed for you but a quick glance in your direction proves that you don’t share quite the same sentiment. You really couldn’t have cared less, huh?

Right. Baby brain.

He grumbles under his breath as he non too gently snaps the diaper open with a loud crinkle of plastic and lays it out close to the edge of his bed. Motioning you closer, Tomura awkwardly helps you get seated on the damn thing and then instructs you to lay down. You genuinely don’t seem to have a problem with this as you recline back, just placidly peering up at him with your little fists balled in the hem of his shirt, but now that he’s gotten this far he’s not sure how to proceed.

At a loss, he takes another baby wipe out of the package and inserts himself between your bent legs. “I’m going to clean you some more, okay?” He's not sure why he’s telling you that, especially when all you do is nod your dopey head in understanding. Just buying time. That’s all he was doing.

But it gives him a chance to think and for that he’s grateful. Try as he might, he couldn’t seem to figure out what All for One’s intention with all this had been. ‘A splendid birthday present for my favorite pupil’, he’d said, as if there were any others. But what was the reason? Surely you weren’t actually supposed to be a sex slave for him. Not in this sorry state. His battered onahole did a much better job on that front and it wasn’t prone to tantrums or crying, and it certainly didn’t pee on his stuff. It also didn’t require more than a perfunctory cleaning every few months. He couldn’t very well shove you into his nightstand and forget about it until the next time he was in the mood to rut into something.

All that was true, yes, but … his onahole also wasn’t warm to the touch, and it didn’t have soft, curly hair framing its abused slit (he really should buy a new one) nor did it self lubricate. It didn’t squeeze him quite the same way your pussy had squeezed his fingers, and it didn’t even really feel like an actual vagina now that he had something to compare it to. You were soft and squishy, pliable in the way only flesh and blood could be, and although he had no way of knowing if this had been All for One’s plan or not, he was certainly self aware enough to recognize that he’d screwed up somewhere along the line.

Tomura absolutely should have turned you to dust while he still had the chance.

Licking his lips, he drags the wipe through the seam of your cunt much more slowly than he needed to. You don’t even stir on the bed, and he thinks you must be starting to doze after … all of that. He’s not quite ready to leave well enough alone yet though, and he gently presses down on the spot where he now knows your clit is hiding. Still using the moist towelette as a pretense to keep touching you like this, he circles the sensitive little bud with it and genuine surprise washes over him when you let out a soft, pleasant sigh.

He glances up at your face but you aren’t even looking at him, lashes fanned out against the apples of your cheeks. It’s hard to tell if you were actually asleep or just pretending so you could lull him into a false sense of security, yet he doesn’t particularly care one way or another. You were his so he could do whatever he wanted to you, right? Besides. You kind of owed him after pissing all over his hand like that.

Discarding the baby wipe, Tomura bends closer and carefully spreads your labia again. He could see your little hole weakly palpitating, beckoning him to pick back up where he’d left off, but he drags his gaze a bit higher instead. You were so velvety soft and smooth it bordered on insane, so much more inviting than he ever would have thought possible.

He briefly hesitates before throwing caution aside and sealing his lips around your clit, gently mouthing at it. Your plushy thighs twitch around his head as you shift on top of the mattress, letting out another breathy sound that rushes straight to his cock. It almost hurts, the way it so eagerly springs back to life after being denied something as simple as release, but he can’t find it in himself to complain. You were giving him another chance, knowingly or not, and he wasn’t the type to squander such an opportunity.

Tomura takes his time lapping at you over the next few minutes until you’re almost as wet as when he’d started. You taste heavenly even with the artificial flavor of the wipes clinging to your folds and he entertains the notion of eating you out until you cum all over his face. There’s something he wants even more than that, though, and he sighs in relief when he finally straightens up so he can fish his cock out. It was almost painfully sensitive to the touch, and he could feel it throbbing potently in his hand. He knew this probably wasn’t going to last long but he didn’t care.

Guiding himself to your waiting entrance, he slowly pushes in one fraction at a time, damn near blowing his load the second his glans disappears into your body. He holds back though, struggling to maintain his composure as he seethes through gritted teeth. You finally seemed to realize that something was going on and your pretty eyes flutter open, immediately searching out his face.

“Tomu-nii …?”

“Be quiet. I’ve got you.”

You accept that in lieu of an explanation surprisingly fast, at least by his standards, and without another word you sleepily glance down at the juncture where your bodies were connected. A slow inhale makes your chest rise, mouth falling open as if to groan. He couldn’t take it anymore.

“Fuck,” the sound rattles out of Tomura’s chest as he slides in right down to the base, toes flexing against the floor. “I’m not even gonna’ get to enjoy this.”

Brows knitting together, you let out the softest mewling sound he’s ever heard and it makes him dig his carefully poised fingers deeper into the meat of your hips. He can’t even bring himself to move, so overwhelmed by how soft and wet your guts are. It felt like you were massaging his length, involuntarily or not, as your pussy suckles at the tip like he’s almost positive your mouth would.

Softly wheezing, Tomura drops his chin to look at where the two of you were stuck together. His pelvis was so flush against yours that your pudgy cunt was molded to the front of him, squishing under the pressure, and his silvery pubes were tangled with your darker ones. He hadn’t expected such a sight to be so damn erotic and it has him twitching, fighting back the orgasm he’d gone through hell and back for.

He’s almost scared to do it but, slowly, he eases back. The way his cock gradually reappears, glistening obscenely now, very nearly sends him over the edge. He isn’t sure how he hasn’t ruptured yet, his ballsac drawn so tight and throbbing that it leaves him feeling lightheaded, but through sheer force of will alone he manages to sink back into the inviting heat of your body without spraying your insides white. His self control was tentative as best, hanging on by a mere thread, but you felt far too good to waste on a quick nut.

“Goddamn … you’re so tight, baby. So fucking tight.”

You fidget underneath him, fussily tugging at the hem of his shirt. “Mm’ not a baby …”

Your pouty little response is enough to make him bark out a clipped laugh, more breathless than amused. You could insist you weren’t a baby all you wanted but, even putting aside the cruel, infantile reprogramming of your brain, it was hard to think otherwise when you were spread out on top of a diaper. It’s stark white, cottony lining was an almost unsettling backdrop to the perfect view he had of his cock stuttering in and out of your slick cunt. Even when he was barely moving, it crinkled softly underneath you with each rocking motion of his hips and he couldn’t quite forget it was there no matter how hard he tried.

Tomura wasn’t sure what he would ultimately do with you and he knew even less why he was even entertaining this wildly absurd situation to begin with, but there was no denying that you did have some use. The clinging grip of your pussy, for starters, and if he could get that bratty mouth of yours under control he might even some day find your company bearable. He still didn’t particularly like you but it wasn’t so farfetched to think that he might be able to tolerate you, with enough effort.

Hissing through his teeth, he drags one of his hands down to spread your puffy lips apart and get a good look at the way your petal soft folds clutch to his cock. It was a mesmerizing visual in the worst possible way, especially when accompanied by the soft, wet clicking he pulls from your body. He could have watched this for hours on end but, realistically, he knew he wasn’t going to last much longer, and he gives his wrist a brief twist to bring the middle finger down on your clit.

You twitch at the contact but Tomura takes a much more gentle approach this time, sedately drawing circles around the swollen bud. He doesn’t get much in the way of a reaction for his trouble so he just keeps at it, rubbing you in tandem with his staggered thrusts. The thought of making you cum around his cock is almost disturbingly enticing, but he isn’t so sure he can accomplish that. Not when so much of his focus was devoted to simply biting back his orgasm - but then, to his throbbing surprise, you draw a faltering breath.

“Tomu-nii … feels good …”

It’s as if the air had been punched right out of him. He isn't so sure he even believes his own ears, the blood suddenly pounding inside of them making it hard to hear much of anything. He groans though, thick and heavy as he slides his other hand up across your stomach to push at the bottom of his shirt. Your grip on the soft cotton momentarily tightens, still fighting him at every turn, but you give in almost immediately and allow him to shove it over the swell of your tits.

They’re moving, jiggling ever so slightly with the push and pull of his narrow hips as they quietly slap against the backs of your thighs. Tomura heaves, practically doubling over you with another throaty moan that rises in pitch at the tail end. His palm descends on one of your breasts, squeezing hard enough that the pliable flesh bulges and spills out between four of his fingers. You just stare up at him the entire time, face pinched and flushed while your glistening eyes dreamily watch him with a far off sort of quality that he’s sure must be - has to be pleasure.

He’d never seen anything sexier in his whole life, and that thought alone is far more terrifying than he could have ever guessed it would be. There was something wrong with you, yes, by All for One’s design. But there was something even more inherently wrong with him for getting off on this so much and without the added bonus of quirk tampering to excuse his behavior. You were so sweet and unfairly innocent despite your seductive figure, the sight of you naked save his bunched up t-shirt driving him absolutely wild. It was like you belonged here, with him, in his bed. It wasn’t that he no longer wanted to kill you but that he couldn’t.

What little bit of self control he’d still been clinging to up until now shatters, and Tomura snaps his hips into your upturned ass: once, twice, three times. The sticky squelching between your bodies increases in volume, echoing inside his skull like a ricocheting bullet as he watches your face screw up at the sudden force. It doesn’t even matter though. He’s long since reached his limit and, with a wounded grunt, he slams into you one final time, lurching over your prone body.

The sound that comes out of his mouth as he shudders and violently paints your pink guts is, frankly, embarrassing. But he’s riding a high too great to care, clinging to you hard enough to make his joints ache and you whimper in discomfort. He can’t stop though. He’s cumming so hard, pulse after pulse, that it feels like his soul actually slips out of his body for a worryingly long beat before returning in fragmented pieces. The same, but also somehow different. Like he’d experienced rebirth in the warm, comforting clutch of your drenched cunt.

He wheezes as if he’d been stabbed in the chest when he finally eases his softening cock out of you some time later.

Tomura was completely spent, both physically and mentally. His wobbly legs could hardly support his weight anymore but, with a strength of mind he hadn’t even realized he possessed, he directs a shaky finger to your clit again. You squirm in response, huffing after that rough treatment, but he soothes you with hushed words and a gentle touch to the delicate little pearl he barely even needs to brush against to have you shaking for him.

“Relax. You feel good, don’t you? Let me hear those pretty sounds again, baby.”

Obstinately, you purse your lips together to deny him even that one simple request. Tomura heaves a tired sigh, wishing you weren’t such a brat, but he doesn’t let up. The gentle circles he rubs into your clit with the pad of his finger slowly brings you around though, grudgingly, and he can’t quite deny the satisfaction that sparks in his throat when your mouth warbles open to let loose the sweetest, tiny moan he’s ever heard.

“Nngh … Tomu-nii …!”

“Don't fight it. I want you to feel good too, yknow.” He pauses, tongue glancing over his dry lips. “Will you cum for me, sweetheart?”

You shake your head, eyes screwing shut, but the way your body continues to tense up seems to suggest otherwise. He could tell you were practically thrumming with it, burning from the inside out even as his milky white discharge slowly oozes down your slit to pool in the seat of the diaper. It was unexpectedly exciting to watch, disproportionately naughty given how utterly unappealing the crinkly plastic was at first glance, and he picks up the pace of his rubbing.

“I think you’re lying again. You liked how it felt when I was inside you, right? This will be even better, I promise. You’ll love it. I know you will.”

Weakly writhing on top of his bed, you crack your eyes open to peer up at him again. “T - Tomu-nii … I can’t … ahh. Ahh. Ahh! I … I’m … ahh! Tomu-niiiii!”

You suddenly jerk, tossing your head back against the sheets, and he watches in rapt fascination as you quake so hard it nearly catches him off guard. It wasn’t the seductive, rolling tremors he was used to seeing in porn videos but, rather, a full bodied spasm that had you twisting as if to get away. Your thighs try to clamp shut around his hand but he elbows them apart, refusing to let up until he’d milked your orgasm as thoroughly as you’d milked his.

And you looked so pretty, too. Caught up in mind numbing pleasure so intense he couldn’t even begin to fathom what you were feeling. Even his own earth shattering release seemed to pale in comparison to this, and it takes you much longer to start coming down from it than it did him.

Your hair is a mess by the time you’re done, matted in some places and sticking to your damp forehead in others. For a fleeting moment, Tomura can almost see the adult woman you should have been when your face goes slack in ecstasy and your flushed lips were parted to suck in as much oxygen as you could get. He imagines you were probably no stranger to pleasures of the flesh, not with that body and those looks, so the thought that he could make you feel this good was a bit like a pat on the back for him. It was probably just beginners luck, but that didn’t stop him from feeling any less proud of himself.

Slowly, he takes his hands off you and steps back. The spot between your legs was absolutely covered in fluid, your sticky, copious slick mixing with his spunk to make a truly viscous concoction that clung to your damp curls. He thinks that he should probably clean you up again and reaches for the baby wipes, but stops himself short.

The idea that crosses his mind is very likely foul, perhaps even more offensive than anything else he’d done til now, but … a quick glance at your sloppy pussy proves too great a temptation. There was something inherently erotic about making you walk around with his semen dripping out of you, even if it was only going to be absorbed by the diaper, and he shuffles close again with his heart in his throat.

Tomura hasn’t the slightest clue what he’s doing and it takes him a long moment to figure out the tape tabs on the sides. He gets frustrated halfway through the process, struggling to make sure the crinkly plastic was secure enough around your waist, but by some miracle you stay relatively still through all of his fumbling. He isn’t quite sure how he got so lucky but he doesn’t stop to question it, hawkishly focusing all of his attention on the task at hand.

At length, he straightens to admire his work. It’s not perfect by any means but he’s pretty sure the damned thing wasn’t going to fall off as soon as you stood up so there was that. The diaper itself was just as obnoxiously girly as everything else in the gym bag; a soft, lilac purple with a flowery, cartoon bunny design on them. He didn’t mind the rabbits so much, and it was certainly preferable to the onesie, but he still thought you’d look nice in something a bit cooler.

The realization that he was thinking about this in such quaint, fuzzy terms chills Tomura to the bone, and his gaze flicks to your face so he can ask what you think of them. Even if only to distract himself from his own uncomfortably perverse change of heart.

But you were already asleep. He probably should have expected as much, and he could tell you were actually snoozing this time by the shallow, even rise and fall of your chest. A strange sense of embarrassment washes over him and he reaches out to delicately take the hem of his shirt between thumb and finger so he can tug it back down into place. You only snuggle further into the mattress though, getting comfortable, and further cementing the notion that he had, indeed, fucked up.

He’d never be able to get rid of you now.

Grumbling under his breath, Tomura leans over you with one hand braced on the mattress. The other slips between your legs, unable to squeeze shut now with the bulk of the diaper between them, and ever so carefully cups his palm over your crotch. It was cool to the touch, but if he pushed down hard enough he could feel the warmth of your body bleeding through. You let out a quiet huff in response, petulant towards him even in your sleep, and he can’t quite stop himself from laughing. It was absurd. It was strange. It was strikingly, unequivocally weird, but he was almost glad he hadn’t disintegrated you or strangled you to death.

This wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind when he’d wished for a woman he could do with as he pleased and not have to worry about her running away, but … it was close enough, he supposed.

[racheloveyunho]

Till death do us part - 3

Y/N grew up in a wealthy family, she always was seen as a beautiful and smart kid and was most likely to take her father’s place as the CEO of one of the most important companies in South Korea. However, after the death of her mother, Y/N’s family slowly started to break apart. Her father was always working to forget his uncalled pain while his kids were left alone at home.

She was 17 years old when her life took a sudden turn when she met him in a dark alley. He was a bloody mess, bruises everywhere but behind blood and dirt, she could see his beautiful features and his addictive gaze. Maybe she should have walked away, maybe she shouldn’t have helped him, but the moment his gaze locked with hers, she was already his.

Choi San was his name.

Genre: Mafia AU, smut, angst, fluff, stranger to lovers

Words: 2479

TW series:  Y/N is described as an OC. Please be aware that this story will contain  a lot of triggering content such as smut, blood, death, murder, drug,  kidnapping, etc. Do not read if you are under a legal age!

TW chapter: reader got slapped, reader run away from home, abusive and manipulative father, swearing.

The beating of my heart quickened. For the past two years I had dreamed about him every night and now, I was finally able to see him again.

"San!" I shouted happily, finally looking back at the handsome boy. He smiled back at me but his expression became cold again as he stared at Jinyoung. My so-called husband let my wrist go and hardly swallowed his spit.

"Y-you! What are you doing here?"

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

Chapter 3

"What? Do you know each other?" I looked up at San for an answer

"His father is a customer of mine. I worked for him a couple of times, right Mr Hwang?"

Jinyoung stepped back with fear written all over his face. He was afraid of San. I somehow understand his feeling, I knew too well how San could be intimidating.

"I wouldn't ever touch Y/N again if I were you." San said with the most cold voice I ever heard in my life "I get upset pretty easily and I can't think straight when anger come over me. I guess you can understand."

"Why are you protecting her, I don't understand!" My fiancé shouted with fear in his voice.

"Because she's mine."

I blushed madly at San's words. Hana squirmed like a fangirl and clapped her hands while making embarrassing noises. I wished she wasn't there at this moment, I was over embarrassed and she wasn't helping me AT ALL.

I hide my face behind my hands. I wasn't paying attention to the two men's conversation anymore until I felt San's grip lightly tightening around me.

I looked up, Jinyoung was gone without my noticing.

"Are you okay?" San whispered to my ear.

‘Does he have to look at me like that? He’s driving me crazy!’

"He left?" I asked.

San nodded before letting me go. Strangely enough, I felt a wave of sadness and disappointment from the loose of contact even though I couldn't say it out loud, San would probably think I'm crazy since I met him just twice.

Quickly, Hana went to my side, grabbing my arm and shaking it with all her strength.

"Are you THE San?" She asked San with her eyes sparkling.

The moment I saw San's smirk I wished I could have run away from here. I looked at Hana with wide eyes and whispered "Could you stop being obvious for God's sake!"

It was no help, Hana was too happy to finally meet the man I talked about every day and she wasn't paying attention to what I was saying "You are indeed handsome!" she exclaimed "Do you have a girlfriend?"

'Oh God.'

"I don't..." he paused "yet" San looked at me with his sharp eyes.

I turned back and hide my red face the best I could. I was not the kind of girl to turn shy easily but San had this effect on me, he made me feel weak in my knees and made my heart raced.

Meanwhile, Hana was the happiest in the world at this moment, she knew that I never was on a relationship before so she was surely excited to play cupid for the both of us.

After a quick chat, which boiled down to Hana asking questions about everything and nothing, San told us that he was going back to his work and had to leave. 

He walked away, but I followed him and with all the courage I could muster up, I grabbed his wrist to stop him. He looked back at me with a surprise expression.

"Can...Can you give me your phone number? It will be easier to see each other this way..." I looked straight at him, facing his usual strong gaze.

However, I wasn't as brave as I wanted to pretend and San wasn't dumb, my shaking hand grabbing his strong wrist was a clue enough for him to know how I really felt.

He smiled at me with a sincere and warm smile for the first time, his dimples in full display, before he gave me his hand. I looked at it, confused, and put my hand on his own.

"Not your hand, give me your phone. Don't you want my number anymore?" he laughed at my action and again, my face turned red.

"Yeah, sure!" I stuttered, giving him my phone. He quickly entered his number on it before giving it back to me.

"Let's talk more often then, Kim Y/N"

Hearing him saying my whole name was something special, a mysterious feeling grew inside of me but it wasn't an unpleasant one.

I waved my hand at him as he walked away, disappearing from my sight.

"I think I need holy water" Hana breathed out.

It was already 9 pm, the sun was giving way to the dark night where the moon reigned as a queen.

It had been a long day, a very long one.

I met Jinyoung, my unwanted fiancé, San helped me against him and Hana hadn't let me get home until I admitted that I had a crush on San.

It was weird to say it, I wasn't familiar with this new feeling. Was it love? Was it possible to feel love towards him already or was it just a physical attraction?

I threw my head on my pillow and yelled on it while shaking powerfully my legs on the bed.

Yes, San was handsome, but he wasn't just that. He had something that attracted me and I couldn't explain what. It was like he was the answer of all my doubts and all of my issues. He was strong and intimidating but at the same time soft and reassuring. The last time I’ve felt this safe in someone’s arms was in my mom’s.

Bip Bip.

I looked at the small screen, a small notification indicating me that I had a new message.

I jumped out of my bed and stood up, excited by just some few words.

San

"Did you get home safely?"

Me

Yes I did! I hope you got home without any issue too :)

No answer.

San didn't seem like the talkative type. I had to choose a topic to continue the conversation or else he wasn’t going to answer.

Me

So...How old are you exactly? Do you still live with your family?

To my surprise, San answered me right away and we both talked for a few hours, totally forgetting about sleep. He talked to me more than I initially thought he would and I was glad for it.

I found out that he lived with his father, mother and older sister in Seoul in a rather affluent neighborhood. He was the same age as me and told me he had always been home schooled so he had a lot of free time.

He was following his father's path and helped him with his work.

I didn't asked him about it but I could easily guess that his dad worked with politicians since he San and Jinyoung knew each other from his dad’s work.

After a three hours long talk, I finally fell asleep while writing a message to San.

San

Sleep tight Y/N.

I slowly opened my eyes when the warm morning light hit my face. It had been a long time since I last sleep that well. I stretched my body and directly texted San.

Me

Hello San! Sorry I fell asleep, I slept well, maybe thanks to all the things that happened yesterday lol!

I waited some minutes but he gave me no response. Was he still asleep?

I went downstairs and only found my father, eating alone. The table seemed bigger than usual without Jin there and I couldn’t help but think about my brother, I hadn't see him since the argument between him and my father and it was worrying me.

"Where is Jin?"

"I don't know where he is living now." My mouth opened at his statement. My unstable eyes were reading his face, trying to figure out and hoping that I heard things wrong.

"What do you mean? He lives here!" I shouted, my voice sounded less confident than usual.

My worry was growing at an incredible speed pace. I felt unwell for some reason and was afraid to understand the real meaning behind my father's word.

"Not anymore. He's an adult now, I no longer have any obligation to keep him home."

I couldn't believe what I was listening to. He kicked his own son out? How dared he?

I was about to shout out at him but his phone rang at the same moment. He took the call and started talking with an unknown correspondent.

His face quickly dropped and then glared at me with angry eyes. I gulped, unaware of the situation.

When he hung up, he angrily stood up and harshly slapped me on the face "What have you done!" he yelled.

My eyes were watering. He hurt me. It was the first time he laid a finger on me.

"Mr Hwang called me! His son, Jinyoung, met you yesterday and want now to end your engagement."

"It's for the best, I never wanted this anyways" I replied curtly.

He was about to slap me again but put down his arm and chuckled darkly "Fine, if you want to be a brat then I will treat you as one"

My father strongly grabbed my arm and dragged me to my bedroom, he was so angry and so harsh, he was, without any doubt, going to leave bruises on my body.

He threw me on the bed and took my phone with him.

"You won't be needing your phone anymore, I'm confiscating it. In the meantime, I want you to think about your behavior." he said "If you don't want to listen to me, then I will show you who is in charge here." he walked away "Ah, and just to say, this week you will took a plane and will go abroad to study." He informed me before locking the door and leaving me alone in my room.

"You can't do this! You can't force me to leave!!" I banged on the door fiercely. It was a nightmare, it couldn't be happening. I sat down, my back against the door and my head on my knees, silently crying. 

It was already late at night, I didn't do anything the whole day. The only thing I could do was crying.

I finally wiped my tears away and stood up, determined to leave this house. I took a small bag and filled it with some clothes, wallet and other essential stuffs. I waited until no more noise could be heard in the house and quietly leave the house through the windows.

It wasn't as hard as I thought it will be, I found myself a new talent that night.

I went to the bus station, it was too late so there was no bus anymore.

Shit

I walked to the nearest hotel and went to the reception.

"Excuse me, I broke my phone and I really need to call someone to pick me up to go home. Is it possible to use your phone?" I asked with puppy eyes.

The male receptionist fell right away for my charms and gave me his phone, glad to help a young girl in distress. I thanked him and called my brother.

I silently thanked my good memory and was glad I remembered all the numbers on my phone. "The person you have called is unavailable right now..." the voice announced.

“No way...” my shoulders fell from disappointment. I had no other choice but to let him a message on his phone.

"Hey Jin, it's me... Listen, I had some...problems with dad, he took my phone away so I don't have a lot of way to reach you. I heard that he kicked you out, I hope you did find a place to sleep, hope you're eating well, hope that..." I sniffed, not able to contain myself anymore. "I'm scared Jin, dad wants me to study abroad cause my fiancé brook our engagement. I picked some stuff and now I'm out of the house but I don't know where to go and..." my voice broke because of all the emotions I had inside of me. "I'll call Hana and see if I can sleep at her place or else I'll sleep in a hotel. I love you, I'll call you again tomorrow." I stopped the voicemail message.

This time I tried Hana's number, fortunately she was a phone addict so she would answer to my call. "Yes my love~?" I heard her sleepy voice "Hey Hana" I said, my voice still trembling "What happened? Are you okay?" Her voice suddenly turned serious.

I quickly summarized my situation to her. "Listen, sweetie. Tonight I can't come to you, you have still money right? Sleep in a hotel and tomorrow you will took the first bus and come to my house, okay?" I agreed and hung up before asking a room to the receptionist.

The hotel room was half smaller than mine but it was better than nothing. There was a phone on the side of the bed.

'Should I call San?' I wondered while looking at the phone. Without a second thought, I entered the number of San and waited.

"Hello?"

"San! You answered!" I shouted through the phone, happy to hear his voice "I...I'm sorry I..."

"Where are you?" he asked "What?" I answered, surprised.

"You are not fine, are you? You're voice isn't as clear as usual."

I waited a long moment, I couldn't control my tears as they were running down my cheeks.

"Where are you?" He insisted.

"Dongdaemun hotel, room 322"

"I'm coming. Don't move." his voice softened.

My wait didn't last 20 minutes until I heard a knock on the door. I jumped and opened the door as soon as I heard the sound.

Here it was, the silhouette I liked the most

"San..."

He hugged me tightly as if there was no tomorrow. I noticed how he was sweaty and out of breathe, probably from running to get to me faster.

I breathed in his unique scent, it was woody scent, something fresh but still manly. I felt safer with him, everything was easier when he was by my side. I didn't want to let him go and my feelings seemed mutual as he tightened his grip on my waist.

I was like a piece of metal attracted to a magnet.

We sat down on the bed and he let me cry my heart out, listening every word I had to say. I told him my story, my conflictual relationship with my father, how harsh he was with me and my brother since my mom passed away and my arranged wedding with this Hwang Jinyoung.

We talked for two good hours about my problems but also about the future we both wanted.

As time went on, I started to feel sleepy, my eyelids were heavy and my mind was cloudy. I slowly closed my eyes until I fell into a deep sleep into San's arms. He gently patted my head to help me fall asleep.

"Don't worry Y/N, I will protect you from now on."

San hummed a song before falling asleep by Y/N’s side.

-----------

----------- 

I hope you enjoy this story so far! In the next chapter, Y/N is going to make a choice for her future life so the story will truly start in the chapter 4.

Of course, I’m not encouraging anyone to run away from home, mostly if you are minor.

Thanks for reading! See you in the next chapter~

Tag list:

@hijirikaww @pinkchampagne2 @xduygu-arsx @joongiebug

[itsclydebitches]

hello! loved your tbb meta posts (10/10 analyses of the batch and their respective characterizations), but since it wasn't explicitly mentioned -- did you catch the post-s1 interview with jennifer corbett (head writer) and brad rau (exec producer)? their answers about crosshair's chip being out were Interesting (tm) but fairly definitive-sounding, so I'm wondering what your thoughts on it might've been.

Hey there, anon! Thank you—I’m so glad you’ve enjoyed them :D

I’ve heard this info second-hand and ran into one written interview on the topic (idk if it’s the same one you’re thinking of), but my first response is… arguably a reach lol. Not to start off with a tin hat on, but it’s always possible that the writers are lying. Which yes, yes, we have a knee-jerk reaction against the idea of anyone lying for any reason, but in this case, it would be in service of both the writer’s plans and the audience’s enjoyment. Let’s say for the sake of argument that Crosshair’s chip is definitely still in and the entire point of this setup is a double twist: first the reveal that his chip is gone, then the real reveal that it’s actually still in and Crosshair was lied to (among other possibilities). How can the writers discuss him during hiatus without revealing that twist? By playing the current knowledge straight, despite the fact that they know otherwise. Yup, Crosshair’s chip is out. Yup, he chose this 100% willingly. Nothing else to see here, folks! To do otherwise would be to reveal the twist way too early. Even refusing to answer the question, dodging it, would give it all away. Imagine if during a season finale we’re meant to believe that a character is dead and then during hiatus an interviewer asks how the cast will mourn them. If the writer refuses to answer, every fan will realize that Something Is Up and what’s the main possibility here? That they’re not actually dead! Twist spoiled… unless the writer pretends that what the audience currently knows is definitely the truth here.

Taking my tin hat off now, these interviews are one of the main reasons why I’m worried about the writing moving forward. Because despite the paragraph above, I’m by no means convinced that the writers are skillfully keeping up a lie to avoid spoilers. It’s not outside the realm of possibility, but it’s not necessarily likely either. Which leaves us taking their words at face value and that’s… a problem. Because as so many fans have already pointed out, the writing is setting up a twist that, according to these interviews, doesn’t exist. That doesn’t say good things about their intentions for the show vs. what actually ends up on screen and that kind of disconnect becomes frustrating for viewers very quickly. Take the headaches, for example. I’ve seen a couple of fans explain Crosshair’s away using the engine accident: “His face got burned up, of course his head still hurts. You’re reading too much into this.” But imagine for a moment if I’d tried to do the same thing for Wrecker prior to “Battle Scars”: “He gets thrown around and hits his head nearly every episode, of course it hurts. You’re reading too much into this.” Other fans would have—quite rightfully—explained to me how television works and that this repetitive problem is functioning as foreshadowing of a larger problem. With a side of the fact that this is an action show where the characters consistently shrug off their injuries. We’re not supposed to take Wrecker getting thrown around seriously. He’s the brawn of the group, meant to withstand a lot of damage, with any injuries being presented as either #cool (Wrecker shrugs off Fennec’s hits to go after Omega, yeah!) or #funny (Wrecker treats Crosshair shooting him like a badge of honor lol), not something he’s going to have to grapple with in a serious manner. So the audience recognizes the question, what’s more likely? That Wrecker’s headaches are a deliberate visual cue on the part of the writers to tell us that something important is happening, or that suddenly how the genre treats injuries has drastically changed?

It's precisely the same with Crosshair. He’s not the brawn like Wrecker is, but he’s still the action (anti)hero who shrugs off injuries because this is a show interested in more fun, explosive plot, not a deep dive into recovery. (See also: the story doing nothing with Echo’s trauma.) When Crosshair is injured, he’s immediately fighting to get back into a ship and when we next see him he’s passed the recovery stage entirely. There’s only a scar to show that this happened at all. We don’t watch him getting bacta skin grafts, or worrying about his eyesight, or struggling to eat, etc. The point is that he was injured for the purposes of that episode and now he’s not. So why would we think his headaches are a long-term symptom when the show is otherwise not at all interested in writing long-term symptoms? What’s more likely, that this familiar visual cue is being repeated to tell us that this is the chip, just like it was with Wrecker, or that the story is randomly interested in something it never was interested in before?

The audience is right to think that there’s more going on because the show has been written to say, "Something more is going on." The headaches, Crosshair’s refusal to give concrete information, the group conveniently not using Tech’s scanner, the burn scar hiding where the chip’s scar would be, a lack of motivation for the Empire removing the chip, not seeing its removal when the show did include its power being amplified… all of these are deliberate writing choices to set up another reveal. But, if we take the interview at face value and learn that these weren’t deliberate details… then what? The writers are making mistakes? Throwing in “clues” for the hell of it that they never intend to cache in on? Unless there’s some amazing answer here that allows for both these inconsistencies' explanations and the writers’ hard stance—something I personally can’t think up—then we’re left with is a pretty serious flaw in the show. A flaw that’s going to undermine the audience’s trust in everything we get from here on out. The next time we see something that feels like a cool setup/reveal, half the fandom will be going, “Yes! It totally means that ___ is going to happen!!” while the other half will be going, “… does it? Because we thought things were happening with Crosshair and that went nowhere.” Writers have to tackle the implications of what they’ve put on screen. Otherwise, the story falls apart.

So yeah, I’m aware of those hard “His chip is out and this is his choice” statements and, frankly, they make me nervous for season two. Because what the show needs is to engage with what we actually got in the finale: an ambiguous state of Crosshair’s chip, a number of hints that it might still be in there, and an ethical dilemma that, so far, hasn’t acknowledged how much of an influence the group’s decisions have had on Crosshair’s. I tackled most of this in the first analysis, but something I didn’t unpack there was the “choice” of not leaving with them. I mean yes, by all exact definitions—and if we accept that the chip really isn’t there—then Crosshair absolutely had free will in that moment to do as he pleased. But life is way more complicated than that. Imagine for a moment that I put two candy bars in front of you. “You can have whichever one you’d like,” I say. You reach for the one on the left and I glare, hard. I scoff at you. I mutter about your choices, your personality, your flaws, and your mistakes. So you reach for the one on the right instead and I’m… neutral. Okay then. Right candy bar it is. “They could have chosen the one on the left” someone watching claims. “Nothing was stopping them. No one put a gun to their head!” And yeah, the concept of “stopping them” was never that extreme… but the more compassionate, nuanced look acknowledge that some measure of “stopping them” did exist. Insults. Cruelty. A clear indication that one choice was wrong and the other was right. That’s one hell of an influence, even if it's not as formidable as a gun or a chip.

And that’s what Crosshair is dealing with. Yes, joining the Empire is clearly wrong and yes, a non-chipped Crosshair has free will to walk away from it… but walking towards TBB was never presented as a real option for him. He saw that through their inaction when they never came back for him. Then in Hunter’s refusal to admit that they’d made a mistake in leaving him behind. Wrecker putting all responsibility on his shoulders, despite knowing what the chip does to someone. Tech backing him up and framing this situation as stemming solely from Crosshair’s base personality—“severe and unyielding.” It’s seen in the always-loving Omega walking away from him in the barracks, in Crosshair’s hesitation to follow them to safer ground (and boy oh boy, do I have sad headcanons about that), and most especially, in their reactions to him saving Omega. What Crosshair learns in that moment is that they honestly believe that he, not the Empire's chip, but he would shoot Hunter and that saving their little sister is not a point in his favor. It's met only with glares and a need to disarm himself. They don’t trust him and actions that should produce trust are outright ignored, so… where can they go from here? Nowhere, according to TBB’s actions. They’re not giving Crosshair any wiggle room, any hope that these relationships can be repaired, or any acknowledgement that they had a hand in things getting this bad. So when they offer to let Crosshair come with them—which is very significantly presented as an obligation, not something they want—he knows that offer is BS. Whatever their real feelings might be (because the found family show obviously wants us to believe that everyone loves each other), their actions have said loud and clear that they don’t want him. That yes, he could technically walk onto that ship… but that it would be the “wrong” decision accompanied by more insults, scoffs, and pressure to do otherwise. That once he's there, he'll be treated only as a threat with any good deeds ignored. It's an awful offer outside of it being the morally correct decision when it comes to leaving the Empire... so Crosshair reaches for the right candy bar instead.

That very long tangent out of the way, THIS is what season two has to grapple with, along with all that ambiguity and the existence of these "The chip is still here" hints. But the interviews don’t seem to acknowledge that all of this exists, instead framing things as if we’d ended the finale knowing for sure that the chip is out and had watched a season where Crosshair is 100% responsible for everything that’s happened, no Empire or TBB influence involved. The way the interviews frame things doesn’t match up with the text, so I can only hope this is an example of bad communication, or the writers keeping a spoiler under wraps, because otherwise… season two might be frustrating to watch, with fans continually going, “Why are you ignoring that this happened? Why are you pretending that all of this is simpler than it actually is?”

[becasbelt]

Words: 4,874 Fandom: Pitch Perfect (Movies) Rating: T Relationships: Chloe Beale/Beca Mitchell Characters: Chloe Beale, Beca Mitchell Additional Tags: Angst, Pining, Canon Compliant Summary:

Chloe is in love with Beca, and Beca is in love with Chloe. Just… not at the same time.

In which Beca and Chloe can’t seem to figure out their timing.

Dedicated to my loving mother @darby-carter <33

* * *

Falling in love with Beca Mitchell isn’t something that Chloe necessarily expected upon their first meeting, but she can’t say that she’s particularly surprised by it, either. Chloe has always been free with her emotions- something that her mother always says she admires about Chloe.

Although she can’t really know for sure, Chloe likes to think that she generally feels things faster and stronger than most people. When she hates someone, she will go out of her way to avoid them at all costs. When she likes a show on Netflix, she will spend every waking moment watching it and looking up any information she can find on it. When she crushes on someone, they become all-consuming; Chloe thinks of them constantly.

So when a small spark of attraction starts deep in her chest for Beca, Chloe knows that it is only a matter of time before Beca completely takes over Chloe’s world.

And take over Chloe’s world she does, with startling swiftness and terrifying completeness.

Because even if Chloe has been in love before, every kind of love she’s felt in the past pales in comparison to how she feels about Beca.

And sometimes, Chloe thinks that Beca might just love her back.

Beca is a naturally prickly person, Chloe has noticed. Averse to almost any form of physical contact, affection, and intimacy. The emotional side of things isn’t much nicer. Beca hardly answers questions about herself and tends to get her way out of any conversation that seems like it may be heading in a sincere direction. It’s almost impressive how well she does at distancing herself from others, both physically and emotionally.

Maybe that’s part of why Chloe falls for her so hard and so fast; she just aches to make sure that Beca feels loved in some way.

So naturally, Chloe inserts herself into Beca’s life.

And Beca, shockingly enough, doesn’t really seem to mind.

At practices while Aubrey is lecturing Amy about her lack of cardio, Beca will slink away from Stacie’s attempts of showing affections towards her, only to allow Chloe’s arms to circle her middle from behind a moment later. Beca will answer Cynthia-Rose with some sarcastic quip when she asks why Beca is in the Bellas if she hates it so much, yet when it comes up in a late night conversation with Chloe a week later, she seems to have no problem opening up about how her dad will help her move to LA after the year is done if she ‘shows some real effort.’

Chloe seems to be Beca’s exception in almost every aspect of life, which thrills Chloe to no end.

Beca kissing Jesse is unexpected and surprising, to say the least.

Chloe didn’t think that Beca even liked Jesse as a person, let alone liked him as a potential romantic partner.

Watching Beca and Jesse kiss quite literally breaks Chloe’s heart. She cries about it on she and Aubrey’s couch for a solid week until Aubrey tells her that she needs to get over it, because it’s not like she and Beca were even dating or anything.

It was just a crush, Aubrey tells her. She hadn’t even known Beca for all that long, Aubrey says. You’ll be okay, she assures her.

But none of those things feel true to Chloe.

It’s funny, Chloe thinks as she watches the Hallmark channel, bottle of open wine cradled in her lap protectively. It’s funny how discovering that someone you have a crush on likes someone else feels like a breakup, even though you were never even in a relationship to begin with. At the end of the day, the person who broke your heart never technically had any obligation to love you back, because they never knew how you felt in the first place. It is an entirely one-sided heartbreak, which makes it all that much worse.

And since Chloe has always felt emotions more strongly than others, she thinks it’s pretty safe to assume that her heartbreak hurts more than it really should.

* * *

Failing Russian lit isn’t something that Chloe necessarily expected herself to do, but she can’t say that she’s particularly surprised by it, either.

The class was hard, and Chloe knew that she had done poorly on a lot of the tests and assignments in it, so her failing isn’t exactly the most shocking news of the day.

There are both upsides and downsides to Chloe having to stay in school another year.

Positives: Chloe has another year to figure out her life before she has to face the harsh reality that is the real world. Chloe gets to be in the Bellas another year, which is arguably her favorite thing in the world. Chloe gets to stay with Beca for another year.

Actually, the whole ‘staying with Beca’ thing could be a downside as well.

It’s a downside because Beca is dating Jesse, and Chloe is still tragically in love with Beca.

The thing is, Beca justmjust it so easy to be in love with her.

It’s in the little things that Beca does. Like the way she makes mixes for Chloe and gifts them to her with a shrug, telling her it wasn’t a big deal. Like how she looks so adorably grumpy cuddled up with Chloe under a blanket during Bella movie nights. Like how her cheeks flush whenever Chloe kisses her cheek, allowing it with only a small amount of grumbling.

Every single little thing that Beca does is endearing to Chloe, which is as frustrating as it is wonderful, because Beca gives Chloe so many reasons to hope that they could be together someday. It’s in the things she says:

“I’ve never known anyone like you before.”

“You’re the only person I feel like I can trust in this world, Chlo.”

“I don’t deserve you.”

If Beca didn’t have a boyfriend Chloe would swear that Beca felt the same way. If Beca didn’t have a boyfriend, Chloe would have absolutely told her how in love with her she is by now. But the reality is that Beca does have a boyfriend, one which she is very much in love with.

So for now Chloe will just ignore all the different ways that Beca Mitchell can make her heart clench and selfishly hope that Jesse and Beca won’t work out in the end somehow.

* * *

Chloe is still selfishly letting herself hope three years later, with no end in sight.

Emily asks them if they’re dating one day over lunch, causing Beca to almost choke on her food. Chloe pats Beca’s back as she tries to fight the blush blooming on her cheeks, avoiding sweet, innocent Emily’s curious gaze.

“What?” Beca squeaks out as soon as her airways are clear again.

Emily blushes deeply. “I was just wondering if you guys are dating, because you’re always holding hands and sharing a bed and saying ‘I love you’ and you just seem to know each other really well.”

Beca laughs as if the idea is absurd, and Chloe ignores the slight pang of hurt that it sends to her chest. “Oh wow, no. We are definitely not dating, Chloe’s just super affectionate.”

She’s still laughing as she says it, as if it’s the funniest thing in the world, which makes Chloe feel slightly offended. “You make it sound like dating me is the worst thing that could ever happen,” Chloe says coolly, raising an eyebrow at Beca.

It’s almost comical actually, the way both Emily’s and Beca’s eyes widen in response to that.

“No no no, that’s not what I’m saying at all,” Beca rushes out. “I just don’t think we’d never date.”

Chloe’s pushes down the tears suddenly threatening her eyes. “And why not? You don’t think we’d be good together?”

Beca shakes her head and laughs in astonishment. “Jesus, dude, that’s not what I’m saying.”

“That’s what I’m hearing.”

“Why are you pushing this so hard?”

Chloe shrugs in an attempt to act indifferent. “I just want to know why you wouldn’t date me.”

“Because you’re my best friend and I don’t think I could ever like you like that.”

Silence follows Beca’s statement, filling the kitchen with tense energy. Emily looks between Beca and Chloe nervously while they stare at each other. And as much as Chloe is hurt by Beca’s words, by her claim that she could never see Chloe as more than a friend, she still can’t help the way that her eyes drift down to Beca’s lips.

“Thank you for the clarification,” Chloe says quietly before forcing her eyes away from Beca’s face. She stands from the table and moves to set her plate in the sink, excusing herself from the kitchen without another word.

Beca doesn’t come after her.

* * *

Somehow Chloe ends up moving to New York with Beca.

Well, Beca and Fat Amy, that is.

Chloe never expected to move to New York, but she can’t say that she really minds it all that much. It’s vibrant and exciting, full of people and possibilities; exactly Chloe’s type of scene.

Except, Chloe usually spends the night in with Beca instead of experiencing all that New York has to offer.

Beca, who is recently single for the first time in nearly four years.

Beca, who came out to Chloe a couple months ago over an intimate dinner at a nice restaurant.

Beca, who will never see Chloe as anything more than her best friend.

And Chloe, being the hopeless, stupid romantic that she is, still can’t help but feel a tiny bit of hope that something will change between them. The hope is small, nearly completely put out at this point, which is exactly how Chloe likes it. Being in love with Beca at this point is more like embers in a fire bit rather than a raging inferno: still there, still warm, just not quite as intense.

Although, some nights those embers spark into a small flame, and those nights are usually aided by alcohol.

Tonight is one of those nights.

And Chloe honestly really hates herself, and hates Beca, and hates emotions, and doesn’t understand what the point of anything is anymore.

But damn if Beca still isn’t just as breathtaking today as she was when Chloe saw her at that activities fair five years go.

Beca is talking about… something. Chloe honestly isn’t sure what she’s going on about, because she’s had nearly a full bottle of wine and it’s making her head fuzzy and right now Chloe is positive that Beca has never looked so good in all the years they’ve known each other, even if she is only wearing sweatpants and an old Barden t-shirt.

“And like, I asked him if he was happy with that take, and he just shrugged so I was like ‘do you want to run it again?’ and he shrugged again, which really made me want to shove his fucking sunglasses down his throat.”

“He’s stupid,” Chloe says distractedly, though she doesn’t know who Beca is even talking about at this point. She’s too busy admiring the earrings lining Beca’s ears, and the curve of her neck so perfectly on display thanks to how Beca's hair is pulled up in a messy bun, and the shape of her lips and how kissable they look.

Chloe was sitting on the other end of the couch from Beca. She knows she was because she purposefully sat on the other end at the beginning of the evening to keep herself from reaching out a touching Beca impulsively.

So Chloe was sitting on the other end of the couch, but she is definitely not sitting on the other end when she pulls Beca in for a kiss by the back of her neck.

As soon as Chloe realizes what she’s done, she is immediately mortified with herself and starts to pull away. Hands coming up to cup her face halt her retreat, however, and a mix of confusion and elation overcomes her when Beca starts kissing Chloe back.

Their kisses become increasingly more frantic the longer they last, Chloe eventually pushing Beca back against the couch cushions to lay on the top of her. Chloe isn’t sure how long this dream that she’s in is going to last, so she figures she might as well enjoy it for as long as possible.

Chloe deepens the kiss, tongue pushing its way past Beca’s lips as Beca groans beneath her. Beca’s hands tighten in Chloe’s hair, not necessarily pulling or pushing in any way; just holding as if Beca is trying to anchor herself. Chloe knows that she’ll have to pull back for air soon, but she’s scared that as soon as they stop the dream will be shattered, so she tells her lungs to suck it up and pushes her lips harder against Beca’s.

Beca is the one to pull back, her head pressing against the cushions beneath her to gain some distance between Chloe’s lips and her own, chest heaving as she tries to steady her breathing. Chloe is panting too, but instead of taking the time to breathe probably she begins pressing lights kisses to Beca’s neck, unwilling to part from Beca quite yet.

Beca’s breathing starts to even out and she lets out little sighs of contentment at Chloe’s ministrations, hands stroking softly through Chloe’s hair. Eventually Chloe’s lips stop moving and she relaxes her body fully on top of Beca’s, enjoying the closeness as she buries her face into the crook of Beca’s neck.

The hands in Chloe’s hair move until they’re running lightly over her back instead and Chloe resists the urge to shiver. She remains quiet, not wanting to shatter the calm that surrounds them. Beca says no words either, and that is the way they remain, tangled up on their shitty couch in their shitty New York apartment until they fall asleep.

* * *

The next morning, Chloe wakes up still entangled with Beca. Beca is still asleep – which doesn’t surprise Chloe, she’s always been the earlier riser between the two of them – so Chloe carefully climbs off Beca and makes her way to the kitchen to make some coffee.

Beca wakes up with a grunt just as the coffee finishes brewing, and Chloe smiles a little at the familiar action as she pours coffee into two mugs, settling down in one of the chairs at their tiny kitchen table.

“Morning, Bec,” Chloe says once Beca is sitting up and looking a little more alive.

Beca grunts again in response and shuffles over to the table, plopping herself down across from Chloe and reaching for the second mug of coffee. She takes a generous sip and curses when it burns her tongue, and Chloe can’t help but chuckle in response.

It’s a few minutes later when Beca is finally awake enough to form actual sentences, and what she says makes Chloe choke on hot coffee.

“So what was last night about?”

Chloe coughs as she tries to clear the liquid from her throat. Beca winces in sympathy. Chloe uses the choking as an excuse to find her words, because she honestly had not expected Beca to confront her about their impromptu make out session.

“Um, I don’t know,” Chloe says hesitantly after a minute. “I was just drunk, I guess.”

It’s a lame excuse. A terrible excuse, in fact.

“Oh,” is all Beca says.

“What about you?” Chloe questions, turning the question on Beca. “You kissed me back.”

Beca shrugs and avoids eye contact with Chloe. “I’m not sure. Like you said, we were drunk.”

Disappointment fills Chloe as Beca opts for the easy cop-out as well. “Right,” she says, looking down at her coffee. “Just a drunken mistake. Nothing more than that.”

And in that moment, Chloe feels those burning embers within her completely die out for good.

* * * * * *

Falling in love with Chloe Beale isn’t something that Beca expected upon their first kiss, and she would be lying if she said she wasn’t surprised.

Because Chloe has been Beca’s best friend ever since her first year at Barden, even if she tried to downplay just how close they were a lot of the time. She didn’t want to say that she saw Chloe as a sister, because there would be a lot to unpack there if that were the case, but Beca definitely never thought of Chloe in a romantic sort of way at all.

Sure, Chloe was kind and thoughtful and always knew just how to make Beca’s day better. She was always there when Beca needed someone to talk to, or a shoulder to cry on, or just a good hug because she’d had a shitty day. And Chloe really did give the best hugs, and Beca always felt so at home in her arms, especially when they were cuddled up together after falling asleep while working on Bellas stuff or homework or just talking until they could barely keep their eyes open. Plus, Chloe has always just understood Beca in a way that nobody else ever has…

Shit. Had Beca been in love with Chloe the whole time?

The realization that Beca had possibly been in love with Chloe for years causes Beca to pull away from the kiss that had grown decidedly more heated than any friendly kiss should ever grow. Her chest heaves as she struggles to catch her breath, both overwhelmed with the passion of the kiss and the way her thoughts have attacked her in such a sudden onslaught. Chloe moves to kiss her neck, seemingly undeterred by Beca’s withdrawal, and Beca is torn for a moment between pushing her away and pulling her closer before ultimately deciding to do neither.

Beca remains silent – save for the involuntary whimpers and sighs that escape her due to Chloe’s lips moving against her body – as she processes her new emotions. Eventually Chloe stops her ministrations and settles her weight against Beca, and Beca waits for the inevitable moment that Chloe pulls away and makes them talk about what just happened.

Except, that moment never comes. Chloe only burrows herself deeper into Beca, apparently content to remain silent for the remainder of the night.

Which she does- which they both do, actually. Chloe falls asleep soon after, leaving Beca to stare at the ceiling in the dark of their apartment and wonder how her heart is still beating so fast in her chest.

* * *

Beca holds off her curiosity about the whole thing the next morning for as long as she can, but ultimately ends up caving only about half an hour after waking up.

“So… what was last night about?” Beca attempts to sound casual, but is painfully aware of how much she’s failing.

She asks the question right as coffee goes down the wrong pipe in Chloe’s throat, causing her to start coughing for a few moments. Beca winces and internally curses her poor timing.

“Um, I don’t know,” Chloe says once she can speak again. “I was just drunk, I guess.”

Beca’s heart sinks. Of course it was because they were drunk, why else would Chloe have kissed her?

“Oh,” Beca says lamely.

“What about you?” Chloe asks suddenly, glancing at Beca. “You kissed me back.”

Panic fills Beca at the question, so she tries for an indifferent shrug and stares into her coffee. “I’m not sure. Like you said, we were drunk.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Beca thinks that Chloe’s shoulders might slump a little. “Right,” she says softly. “Just a drunken mistake. Nothing more than that.”

Beca looks back up at Chloe only to see that Chloe’s eyes are directed down towards her drink. The sun shining in through their apartment's sole window shines over Chloe, bathing her in golden light. Beca’s heart pounds painfully in her chest at the sight and fuck- right there in that moment she feels herself fall hard.

* * *

Being in love with your best friend is difficult, Beca has decided. On top of that, being in love with your best friend and living with them and sharing a bed made it all that much worse. Beca wouldn’t ever wish it upon her worst enemy.

Beca wishes things could go back to the way they were before, when neither of them were secretly in love with the other, and when Beca’s heart didn’t feel like it would burst out of her chest when Chloe came home from work in the evenings, and when Beca felt like she could tell her best friend anything.

Beca wishes she wasn’t in love with Chloe.

But the thing is, Chloe makes it so easy to be in love with her.

It’s in the little things that Chloe does. Like the way she always makes coffee for Beca in the morning, even though Beca has two perfectly good hands and could make it herself. Like how she’s always willing to give Beca a back massage after a long day of Beca hunched over a soundboard or computer for work. Like the way she doesn’t seem to mind Beca’s frequent awkwardness in most aspects of life, telling Beca that it’s ‘endearing’ to her.

Which Beca thinks is unfair because every single little thing that Chloe does is endearing to Beca. Chloe makes Beca feel like the most loved person in the world without trying. It’s the way she says things like:

“You’re my favorite person in the world.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you in my life, Bec.”

“I’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”

Beca has never had someone that is such a stable in her life like Chloe is. Beca never has to worry about if Chloe has her back, or if she can trust her, or if she’s someone Beca can count on because Chloe has done nothing but be dependable in the six years they’ve known each other.

And while Beca would like to tell Chloe how she feels about her, she can’t. She can’t tell Chloe and risk losing the singular best thing that she has ever had in her life.

* * *

Beca doesn’t know who this Chicago guy is, but she does know that she hates him.

She doesn’t know why exactly she hates him- actually, no, scratch that because Beca actually has many reasons why she hates him. At the very of top of that list is the way Chloe can’t seem to get enough of him.

From the very first moment Chicago stepped into view and introduced himself, he had Chloe following him around like a little puppy. Beca had tried to keep up with them at first, trailing uselessly along Chloe’s side, attempting to jump into their conversation every now and then, but ultimately decided that it was no use.

Chloe was hooked on this guy, which meant that Beca’s presence when she was around him was obsolete.

Beca didn’t like it.

For years now, Beca has been used to being Chloe’s favorite person in any given situation. She’s gotten used to (and fond of) the way Chloe clings onto her in some sort of way when they’re together- holding her hand, looping their arms together, hugging her waist from behind. Except now Chicago is the one on the receiving end of Chloe’s physical affections. Chloe is always pushing his shoulder playfully, or brushing a hand down his arm, tugging on his hand; any excuse to just touch him, it seems.

Beca feels colder than she has in a long time without Chloe’s presence near her.

And Beca has never been one for physical affection. Physical touch is decidedly not one of her love languages. Beca has always been more of a quality time type of person, where no contact or words are necessarily needed for her to feel close to someone, but now that Chloe has stopped directing all her touchiness towards Beca, she realizes just how much she craves that connection with Chloe.

Throughout the course of the entire USO tour, Beca begins to feel like Chloe is pulling away from them- whatever them is. Beca has never felt so much distance between them, both physically and emotionally. The whole situation is rapidly spiraling out of Beca’s control and she has no idea what to do about it.

So Beca decides that she’s going to tell Chloe how she feels. She’s already losing Chloe as it is, so she might as well say fuck it and go all out.

Beca dedicates her final performance to Chloe, even if she never actually tells anyone she’s doing so. She thinks she makes it pretty obvious, though, what with the way she doesn’t take her eyes off of Chloe for the entire first half of the performance before inviting the rest of the Bellas onstage. Their eyes connect and Beca smiles from the stage, thinking that maybe there is a chance that Chloe feels the same way.

When all the Bellas rush to hug her at the end of their performance, Chloe the first one to do so, Beca has to resist the urge to kiss her right there onstage in front of everyone. Beca doesn’t want to rush this, she wants to do it right.

As soon as Beca is able to break away from all the ‘important’ people she needs to talk to afterwards, she starts rushing around to find Chloe. Her thoughts start spinning in her head as she tries to figure out what exactly she’s going to say.

You’re the greatest thing in my life.

I’ve never wanted to be with someone as much as I want to be with you.

I love you, Chloe. I love you I love you I-

Beca finds Chloe.

Chloe is kissing Chicago, looking happier than Beca has ever seen her before.

Suddenly Beca understands exactly what people mean when they say their heart has been broken.

Because she feels it happening to her right now.

* * *

The silence between Beca and Chloe in the car is uncomfortable, which is how all their silences have been since returning home from the USO tour.

It’s an unfamiliar feeling, having uncomfortable silences with Chloe. Pretty much since the first time they hung out, they have always been comfortable around each other. Part of that is because Chloe is a natural at interacting with people and makes conversation easily, but even when they weren’t even talking things were always easy with them.

The silence between them now feels like it’s trying to choke Beca.

Arriving at the airport feels almost like a blessing to Beca, because it means that they don’t have to endure the tension any longer, but it is also most definitely a curse as well.

Because arriving at the airport means that Beca is leaving for LA soon. It means that she is leaving Chloe soon.

They walk through the airport until they get to security, making small talk along the way. Beca stays mostly quiet, though, internally debating with herself the entire way. Because she is quite literally running out of time and now is her last chance to tell Chloe how she feels, but she knows that Chloe is with Chicago now and it would be unfair to dump all of her feelings on Chloe before she jets off to the other side of the country.

And Beca is afraid. Afraid of losing Chloe, afraid of telling Chloe how she feels, afraid of never telling Chloe how she feels.

But Beca figures it’s now or never.

“I have to ask, Chloe. Did you… do you think we ever could have been something together? Something more than friends, I mean,” Beca says quietly, uncertainly. She swallows before adding, “Do you think we could have loved each other?”

Chloe smiles softly and gently laces her fingers with Beca’s. She leans forward and brushes a kiss against Beca’s cheek, and Beca’s eyes instinctively close at the feeling. “Beca, I think you I both know that we loved each other. We just… never seemed to get the timing right is all.”

Beca’s breath hitches at the words. Chloe smile turns a little sad and she squeezes Beca’s fingers once before letting go.

The speakers above them inform Beca that her flight is ready to board, so Beca grips her suitcase handle and prepares herself to walk away.

“I love you,” Beca tells Chloe before she can lose the nerve. “I think I’ll always love you.”

Some expression flashes on Chloe’s face – regret, sadness, clarity, maybe – but it passes too quickly for Beca to tell exactly what it is. “And I think a part of me will always love you, Bec.”

And somehow that’s all they say before Beca is turning around and walking through the gate of her flight, all of her senses feeling completely numb. She wills herself to turn back and rush towards Chloe; to kiss her, to tell her that she can’t go to LA, to tell her that she can’t live without Chloe in her life. She wills Chloe to call out to her and tell her to stay, tell her that she loves her, to give Beca a reason to stay.

Beca doesn’t turn back, and Chloe doesn’t call out.

And maybe that is the most unexpected thing of all.

[itsbenedict]

Two-Faced Jewel: Session 2

Zero and @eternalfarnham are Looseleaf and Saelhen du Fishercrown, a mothfolk animist and a half-elf conwoman. A botched heist forces Saelhen to keep up her fake identity and embark on a quest to places unknown, with Looseleaf to keep a watchful compound eye on her. This time, they prepare to set out for the jungle city of Thunderbrush.

[Campaign log]

It's less than a week after the incident with the pit under Yoshimimoto Plaza. Looseleaf returns to school with Saelhen in tow, and Looseleaf's roommate Oyobi spends some time training them up in basic monster self-defense- the two of them are now level 2! Saelhen gains a Cunning Action, and Looseleaf embarks on the Path of the Mutable Spirit. (There's no combat this session, so more on that later.)

In spending some time with Looseleaf's roommate, Saelhen picks up on... certain nuances.

looseleaf: what you know about your roommate is that she is very friendly and outgoing. the reason she's barely home most of the time is that she's always out partying or fighting or otherwise living it up on campus, and she's pretty well-known and popular amongst the student body. she's technically Martial Arts but takes a few Natural Arts classes, including your archaeology class. she wants to be an adventurer and join the Deathseekers' Guild, and she's taking multiple periods of Severe Zoology to learn to fight monsters. she thinks you in particular are adorable and has probably invited you to various social gatherings. she seems kind of spacey and unreliable, though, and doesn't seem to take you seriously.

saelhen, what you know about looseleaf's roommate is that she a freak nobody else seems to pick up on this, since there's not a lot of other elves at Blacksky, but you can tell from the way she wears her clothes and how she interacts with strangers to the uninformed observer, her fashion sense is sort of rugged and sporty and normal to an elf, her usual outfits are the equivalent of going around dressed in torn booty shorts, a spiked choker, and an ahegao t-shirt she is very obviously making a statement, and that statement is "i can do whatever i want, and if you have a problem with that you can [insert grossly offensive euphemism here]" her super-smiley friendly attitude is clearly part of this- she is breaking every single rule in the elf book, going right for the friendship throat in every social interaction and ignoring every single nicety that's supposed to precede friendly contact she acts a little different around you- like, she expects you to be in on the joke she's playing on everyone around her. she'll say something seemingly innocuous that's a actually a horrendous boundary violation in Kanzentokai, and then look at you with an expectant smile, to see if you appreciated the hilarious prank she just pulled. being around her is like being in the studio audience for a cringe comedy sitcom

Why are we learning so much about Oyobi? Well, partially because I can't help but overthink every single bit character, but also for reasons that'll become clear shortly.

After a few days, Saelhen and Looseleaf are invited to the Provost's office, up at the top of Blacksky Tower. (Ominous sort of place, for a faculty building- hewn out of a single chunk of sparkling black stone, oldest building on campus.) They are not invited to sit- the office contains no chairs.

Provost Hamori Los has good news for them! The people she's had secretly monitoring Saelhen for the past few days- did she forget to mention that?- have determined, by triangulation, that the arrow on Saelhen's bracer is currently pointing in the direction of Thunderbrush, deep in the giant-spider-infested jungle. So that where they'll be going, on a fun field trip!

Looseleaf could not be happier about this. Or less happy. She's really got precisely the amount of unhappiness that she's obligated to feel about giant spiders, being a giant moth.

Luckily, they won't have to trek through the jungle- Hamori has arranged for transportation via the ferry at the town of Cauterdale, which should allow them to bypass a treacherous trek into the depths of the Remoline Rainforest. They'll each be provided 100gp as funding for this academic enterprise- and Headmaster Goodcrest of Thunderbrush Metropolitan University has agreed to provide lodging for them on arrival. Everything is handled for them- so there shouldn't be any problems!

There is one more thing, though- all the different schools want in on this trip, so one school doesn't get all the credit. They're required to bring along a representative from the School of Arcane Arts and the School of Martial Arts, on top of Looseleaf from Natural Arts. And on top of... the representative from the School of Restricted Arts.

This dude is named Vayen, and he's not much for conversation. Or explaining what he's even doing here. Or doing anything besides skulking a careful distance away from the party, staring and listening. What does the School of Restricted Arts even study, again?

Anyway, Looseleaf has someone in mind from Martial Arts, so she leads the party to the School of Arcane Arts to do some recruiting! After being chewed out by Two-Brains for trying to post notices outside the official student notice board, she puts up her ad:

It's not long before she gets a bite!

Orluthe Chokorov is a cleric-in-training, under Diamode, the Goddess of Family. He's been enrolled in Arcane Arts at the insistence of his family... but he seems to think he's a "fake", and is desperate to go somewhere, anywhere, as long as it means he passes his classes without having to actually... be able to do whatever it is he's taking classes in. He says he can fight, though- in fact, he's eager to fight! He once beat Bud Chestplate, did you know?

There are perhaps less delinquent candidates they could go with, but there's something nice about a party member with secrets Saelhen could use as blackmail.

Saelhen du Fishercrown: "...rest assured that I shall be the soul of discretion. As will Looseleaf." "Though I fear that deception of this sort does not come easily to me..." Looseleaf: "Noeru, if he doesn't want to get into it, he doesn't have to- oh my god."

Having recruited Orluthe, the party heads back to Looseleaf's dorm to ask Oyobi about the Martial Arts students- maybe she has some idea as to who would make a good candidate for the trip!

(This isn't me foisting her on the players, though I did suggest it- after the party of two squishies got wiped in the first encounter, I offered them the chance to put together two NPCs who they'd get to control in combat. Their character sheets were more or less created by the players, and I matched their mechanical requirements to NPCs. We may end up having multiple characters per PC, later- this is sort of a trial run.)

With a cleric(?) and a ranger on the team, plus whatever Vayen is that he won't tell them, they're feeling ready to hit the road- right after a shopping trip.

Saelhen buys...

1x bag of 1000 ball bearings

1x traveler's clothes

1x hooded lantern

15x doses of insect repellent salve (much to Looseleaf's great offense)

2x uses of sealing wax

1x tinderbox

fuck it, 4x more bags of 1000 ball bearings

Zero: 'what are you going to do with five thousand ball bearings' 'when the time comes, i'll know'

Looseleaf buys...

1x pint of oil

1x bag of 1000 ball bearings also

5x healer's kits, to distribute to the party

1x pouch of various plant seeds

1x map

Notably absent is any food, since they have Oyobi in their party- she's a ranger with the Goodberry spell. (I've reflavored it to just mean she's good at foraging and always has rations on hand, because holy crap, Goodberry rules-as-written is totally worldbreaking- why would farms exist?)

During their shopping trip, Saelhen manages to get Oyobi alone, without the rest of the party. Oyobi's shtick has been fun, for her, as someone with very little regard for elven rules of politeness, but... it's still a little much. She asks Oyobi to tone it down.

Oyobi Yamatake: "I mean, I thought you had to no-sell it to keep up the fake noble act- I didn't think it was actually getting you!" "That's priceless, oh my god." "What's there to take a 'break' from, anyway? What's wrong with just living?" Saelhen du Fishercrown: "Primarily, the fact that I really need not to twitch in front of the Provost's silent murder goon." Saelhen jerks a thumb over her shoulder, then belatedly checks to make sure that Vayen is not in fact literally right behind her. Benedict I. (GM): Make a Perception roll? Saelhen du Fishercrown: aw, hell, he definitely is, isn't he

She rolls a 13, and no one in particular rolls a 17. So, everything is fine. They keep their voices down, anyway.

Oyobi Yamatake: "I mean, is it really a problem? Can you really not keep a straight face?" Saelhen du Fishercrown: "I mean, I can." Saelhen sweeps a hand over her face and is the picture of serenity. "Why should the lady Noeru de la Surplus concern herself with small lapses such as these?" "Surely someone shall find it in their hearts to forgive all trespasses." Oyobi Yamatake: She snorts. "Okay, I get your point." "But really, don't you think it's weirder for an elven noblewoman not to react?" "You don't think he thinks it's suspicious that you take it all in stride?" Saelhen du Fishercrown: "The character is admittedly kind of a freak. I'm making allowances. I mean, this is fun and all, but if no one sees through the bit at all and I'm stuck in it long-term, which it seems like I am, it's like..." "Just being back in Kanzentokai, except worse, because no one is making me." "And drow catch a lot of crap anyway. They don't need me to teach them that elves can be assholes." Oyobi Yamatake: She frowns. "You can't make me try to keep up with the rules, y'know. I'm not going to put up with that garbage ever again." "But I can tone it down with the..." "Y'know, the stuff I'm going out of my way to do, if that helps." Saelhen du Fishercrown: "The wink-and-nudge, yeah. That would help." Oyobi Yamatake: She sighs. She seems a little put out by all this, but pretty quickly puts her happy face back on.

Meanwhile, Looseleaf and Orluthe seem to have lost track of Vayen. It doesn't take them long to find out where he went (well, after Looseleaf rolls a nat 1 on investigation and accidentally pisses off an old lady she mistook for Vayen). Turns out... he's hiding behind a statue of Ccorde, spying on Saelhen and Oyobi.

Looseleaf doesn't buy his crappy excuses, but also... she isn't altogether opposed to the concept of spying on "Lady Noeru de la Surplus", who really ought to have someone keeping an eye on her. So, she just hands him a medical kit- a kit she happens to have used her animist class feature Soul Link on, so she knows where it is at all times. (She's done the same to the bracer.)

Now, with the shopping done, it's time to hit the road! They have a couple options: go on foot, or requisition some giraffes.

(In this world, they domesticated giraffes instead of horses. Why? Because it's a fantasy world and why not?)

The city's main giraffe rental is run by the Ecumene of Understanding, based out of the Temple of Andra. You can rent giraffes for free, as long as you're willing to serve as a courier for the Ecumene- their convoluted legal system requires them to send mail between cities frequently, and they've only got so many clerics on hand. So, anyone wanting to travel the roads can receive a delivery quest from the Ecumene, and rent mounts for free in exchange!

They meet with the Bishop of Understanding of Oyashio, Sarat Aerens.

Aerens has a simple request for them: in addition to visiting Thunderbrush's Temple of Andra with a mail delivery, they're to bring back a report from said temple on the whereabouts of the Siren's Arraignment, a ship that departed from Oyashio and never arrived at its next destination, Snowhold. There's suspicion that the Siren's Arraignment never departed from its supposed origin of Thunderbrush to begin with, either- so the Ecumene put some clerics on the job to investigate, and the party's job is just to relay their message.

With that, they're given giraffe passes, and directed down to the stables, where they find the stablehand, Updraft, having some difficulties.

Benedict I. (GM):There's no one at the pickup window, but there's a sparrow aarakocra just behind, trying to get a giraffe several times her height to get up and out of the damn water trough. Updraft: "...not a bath, ye stubborn git!" "Ye drink from that, lackbrains!" "Y'really want t'be tastin' yer arse?" Looseleaf: OH I CAN HELP WITH THIS FINALLY, A PLACE WHERE I CAN APPLY MY ADVANTAGE ON ANIMAL HANDLING

Looseleaf uses her Soul Read ability to tune in to the giraffe's feelings and recent history, and discovers that someone fed it a hot pepper and it's in, um, anal distress.

Orluthe volunteers to do some healing to the giraffe, with his Lay On Hands ability. Is... that a cleric thing? Do clerics do that? Probably. In this world, clerics perform magic by inviting their god directly into their mind to borrow their brainpower and work miracles directly, and it sure looks like he does that when he does his healing. He channels a god, for sure!

Benedict I. (GM): As he touches the giraffe, you see his body begin to glow, and his facial features are overlaid with another face. "...A giraffe?" "A waste, I suppose, but... perhaps it'll win us some favor." The voice he speaks in sounds more feminine, somehow.

Some religion checks reveal that this doesn't seem quite right for a cleric of Diamode, the goddess of Family. But hey, healing's healing, right?

With that, they're able to get their giraffes no problem- and next time, they'll be on the road to Thunderbrush!

[one-spidey-boii]

BUMMER SUMMER || peter parker; ch. two

read chapter one here

masterlist

an; welcome back y’all. thank you to all who have read so far, even tho it’s only chapter two. i’d love to hear your feedback! enjoy!

**italics indicates flashback**

warnings; mentions of battle wounds (i.e. blood/scars/etc), future smut, mature language, fluff, angst, both peter and oc are 18+!!

word count; 2.2k+

edie's pov

so that's spiderman? seems like a fun guy, i think as i walk through the dark alleyways so i don’t draw unwanted attention to myself. it's late and i'm navigating my way home, still thinking about my run-in with the red and blue clad boy. it's easy to tell he's young by the sound of his voice, leading me to believe he’s twenty at most. that doesn't bother me of course, as i too am considered young for a crime-fighting vigilante.

i turn the last corner before reaching my street and sigh with relief at the sight of my apartment building. the light in my window is off, aiding in the illusion that i'm asleep so my mom doesn't come in while i'm away on my semi-nightly adventures. just before i can touch the brick stones of my building as i pass by, a mechanical swoosh comes down and picks me up off the ground. i let out a small yelp and quickly find myself placed on the roof.

"hey, wolfie." mr. stark says as he walks out of his iron man suit. i let out the breath i was holding and turn around to face him. i offer him a small smile and take my hood down.

"mr. stark, hello, sir."

"school's almost out, right?" before i can answer, he keeps talking, "good. i'm gonna need your help with something."

i wipe away the beads of sweat running down my forehead as i bend down to pick up my throwing knives from the concrete ground. i steady myself and focus on the tattered piece of cardboard nailed to the wall that is my makeshift target. with a small grunt, i fling one towards the center of the red dot, hitting it dead on. i continue this activity until i run out of things to throw and my arms feel like jelly. i lost count of how many times i'd hit the center of the target in a row.

stepping back with a satisfied smirk, i collect my knives, shoving them back into their rightful place in my bag or around my waist and turn on my heel to head home. i manage to take two steps before a voice stops me in my tracks.

"hey, don't walk away now, kid, the next one would have been fifty." my eyes widen at the familiar voice that often appears on my living room television. i slowly move to face the man and gulp, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish, not being able to say a word.

"come on, one more. show me what you got." says tony stark, with a loose smile on his face.

without a word, i force my trembling hands to grab my favorite knife from my right boot and brace myself for a throw. my breathing is shaky as i raise my right arm and inhale along with it. i can feel the sweat running down my back as i close my eyes for a moment. don't embarrass yourself, e, i think to myself. with that i snap my eyes open and silently chuck the knife towards the target.

i missed.

"oh for fuck's sake." i groan into my hands before i remember who i'm with and freeze. i keep my head in my hands, making sure to cover my face, only gathering enough courage to peek at tony stark through my fingers.

"well, that's awkward, i won't lie," he says, looking uncomfortable, "but i think i saw what i needed to see beforehand. i'm tony stark, or iron man if you wanna get fancy." he reaches a hand out in my direction.

"edie wolfe, hi." i reply with a defeated and lame handshake. to save both of us from looming silence, he pulls at my hoodie before continuing on, "okay, ms. wolfe." he pauses to inspect my attire, "what is this? leggings? and a hoodie? kid, if you're gonna be throwing knives, you gotta expect people to throw them back at you. this isn't going to cut it." he motions to the thin fabric covering my arms and chest.

i laugh at his words, "oh hey i see what you did there."

not catching on to his own pun, he moves on again, "what? actually never mind, we have a lot of talking to do, wolfie."

ever since that night, he took me under his wing- and a week later i got a package with a brand new suit in it. one that would protect me a whole lot more than what i was working with before.

"earth to wolfie, beep beep boop," mr. stark says as he pokes me in the forehead. i swat his hand away and give him my full attention. he continues on, "so you're in? a summer at the compound, being scary and keeping bad guys away?"

i raise an eyebrow at him, "what makes you think my family will be okay with that?" i ask. mr. stark simply rolls his eyes, "i already talked to your father, need i show you the proof?" i shake my head and he nods with satisfaction.

"okay, kid. see you in a few days." he says, preparing to get back into his suit, but before he can fly away i stop him, a question looming over my head, "am i doing this alone?"

"of course not. i wouldn't leave you alon- well actually i can't leave him alone so that's why you're gonna be there," he explains with a shake of his head.

"and who exactly is this person?" i ask with my arms crossed.

"how about one friendly neighborhood spiderman!" he yells and takes off before i can say anything back.

-

finally, the last day of school was upon us. it seems that the ending of every school year is bittersweet, and to be honest it hasn't quite hit me yet. senior year was way lamer than everyone played it off to be. you're told that you're officially ‘top dog', but let's be real- no real credit is given until you've graduated. but hey, here's to making it this far.

i'm sitting at my usual lunch table, surrounded by peter, ned, and mj. we pass jokes around the group and take in every moment we have left of our time together, yanno, since peter is leaving. but so am i. which is something i still have to share with everyone.

"uh, hey, guys. can i be a debby downer for a moment?" i ask, clearing my throat and disturbing the light mood of the afternoon. the table quiets down and all eyes are on me. "so you know how peter is leaving this summer?" i ruffle peter's hair in an attempt to not make that statement so sad.

"yeah, edie, we know." mj says with an eye roll as she picks at her cold french fries. i roll my eyes back at her and mock her voice. i can't help but notice peter's guilty face sitting next to me, little does he know i am going to make it a whole lot more weird up in here.

i take in a big breath and hold it to up the anticipation, "well it looks like i'll be gone too."

ned drops his chicken wrap and shakes his head furiously, "nuh uh, nope. no way. sorry, e, i can't allow that to happen," he says with a stern voice. peter chooses this moment to negatively highlight my new confession, "edie, how dare you! someone needs to be here to look after the kids."

i lower my head in shame, god this was so hard to do. faking a playful smile, i try to make light of the situation, "hey, c'mon, we all know mj is the mom friend of the group."

mj shakes her head violently and protests against my statement, "absolutely not. i veto that with all of my being, ned is the mom." she insists as she points to the pouting boy. we all laugh at that before falling into an uncomfortable silence. i glance in peter's direction and try to smile at him. doing this to him was the hardest, i tell him everything and knowing full well that i can't tell anyone about my stay at the compound, it just hurts my heart. we won't be able to communicate all summer.

"my mom signed me up to be a camp counselor...at, uh, a self-defense camp." i panic at the last second, realizing i never thought about what kind of camp i would fictitiously be a part of. the whole table bursts out into laughter.

through short breaths and a hearty laugh, ned pokes fun at me, "edie? teaching children how to kick someone's ass? look at you, you're like a soft pillowy little marshmallow." i stick my tongue out at him and cross my arms.

"hey, i wouldn't shut down the idea too fast, remember e's dad is like, an actual fbi agent. i'm sure he's taught her some stuff," peter chimes in, coming to my rescue. i nod along and hum a 'mhm', snickering inside at how much they don't know.

-

once i'm home, i pack my suitcase with all the things i think one would need to stay at a high tech superhero compound. i grab all of my knives and shove them into a utility pack, along with my suit.

my parents know where i'm going, and lucky for me they’re okay with it. well, at least my dad is.

my father, sam wolfe, works for a hidden branch of the fbi that trains government spies and the occasional assassin. thus being the reason i grew to be so good at combat. he would take me onto the roof of our building and have me shoot at targets and hit punching bags. we would practice for hours at a time, his booming voice critiquing my every move and decision as i worked. i've never been comfortable with a gun, so i stuck with knives and made that my craft.

i haven't seen my dad in a few months now. to 'protect' me and my family, we weren't allowed to know where my dad was going or why he had to leave in the first place. once mr. stark came into my life, he and my father became close, putting his trust in mr. stark to watch out for me whenever he was gone.

my mother on the other hand, she hates everything about it. she’s afraid of the world and all the things that lurk behind closed doors. when dad isn't around, we aren't allowed to talk about anything related to knives or fighting or tony stark. and for my nine-year-old brother's sake, i oblige.

pulling my bag onto my shoulder and lugging my suitcase through the hall, i meet my mother and brother in the living room. she meets my eyes with her cloudy ones and closes the distance between us with a strong hug. i chuckle at her before wrapping my arms around her plump frame.

"mom, it's okay-" i start, before she cuts me off, "shhh, edie. let me have this moment."

i shut up and continue to embrace my mom. i know this is hard for her, but she needs to understand that this is an amazing opportunity for me. i'm being put in charge of the avengers compound for the entire summer. i wish i could share this excitement with my dad, but i know he's happy for me, wherever he may be.

"edie, promise me you'll come home if you can't handle it. no one is going to judge you for that. you're only eighteen. i can't believe your father is letting you do this." my mother rambles as she pulls away from me. i smile at her and just nod my head.

my little brother looks over in our direction with a shy smile on his face. i ruffle his hair and pull him to me for a quick hug, "take care of mom for me, booger." i whisper into his ear. he gives me a simple nod and backs away.

my phone buzzes in my pocket. i pull it out to see a message from mr. stark.

'beep beep, i'm here'

i sigh and look up at my mom one last time, "that's my ride." she lets a single tear stroll down her cheek before wiping it away and shooing me out the door.

once out of the apartment, i lug my suitcase down the three flights of stairs and out onto the sidewalk. mr. stark is pulled up to the curb in his fancy black car. he rolls down the passenger side window and yells at me through it, "time to party, wolfie."

i stroll to the car and pull the back door open to throw my stuff down. then i hop into the front seat and look at mr. stark, "you know, you could have come in."

"yeah, well we all know your mother doesn't like me very much. i don't wanna poke the bear," he says as he pulls his sunglasses over his eyes and revs the engine, "let's get you to your new home for the next three months, shall we?"

|| taglist; @my-patronus-is-mabel-pines

[forestwater87]

OK. So idk if something is wrong with me, I'm naive or just missing something but I really really don't understand how these girls are Victims? I'm not saying they aren't, I just don't understand. As far as I can tell they all consented, and were never pressured or coerced into doing anything. I'm not trying to troll or be contrary or judgmental I'm just struggling to understand. Sorry, you seem to be quite well thought about this whole mess. I hope this ask is okay and doesn't cause any offence, it genuinely is not my intention.

I understand why you feel that way. I wasn’t comfortable calling them victims early in this whole situation (which has only been about a week long, Jesus), and it wasn’t really until I started to put all of them together that patterns began to emerge and I could really understand the scope of what Ryan did. I’ll lay out my thoughts here, referring to the individuals by their first initial following the example set by r/RyanHaywood, and hopefully we’ll be able to piece together why so many of us are willing to call these women victims.

(To be clear: I’m not trying to call anyone a victim who does not consent to that term. I don’t believe any of these fans have come forward expressing that they don’t want to be considered victims, but if that’s the case then I have no interest in forcing that label on anyone. I’m using it as a descriptive term, not a prescriptive one, if that makes sense.)

First off, we’ll start with the easiest stuff to agree with:

1. At least one of them was a victim of statutory rape, and potentially just plain rape. I’m not sure what the laws on removing a condom during sex without consent are, but M’s story makes it clear that he did not do due diligence in making sure she was of legal age -- the same can be argued for T, though her lying to him about her age makes that a tougher putt for some people; I’m pretty sure legally speaking he’s still in the hole -- so he just straight-up had sex with a minor. Technically with two minors. 

So that one’s pretty easy. However, there have been something like 9 people have come forward and only 2 of them were minors. Certainly not a winning record -- to be abundantly clear, the number of minors you should be having sex with is 0; if it’s possible to have sex with negative numbers of minors, that should be the baseline for everyone -- but one of them lied about her age and the other one seemed really enthusiastic, and what about those other women? They were adults and they consented, so they shouldn’t be considered victims, right?

Well, that’s where it gets a bit trickier. I’ll put this all under a cut for length, but while the following isn’t illegal, it’s definitely immoral, and part of what led to me being more comfortable calling these women victims:

2. They were victims due to his celebrity status. Your mileage is definitely going to vary on this one, but the fact that Ryan is a popular internet personality means that his fans are more likely to be starstruck, intimidated, flattered, or otherwise willing to do things to make him happy that they otherwise wouldn’t do. T, M, and L have all said that they were influenced by their admiration of him as a fan to do things they wish they hadn’t, and there are definitely ways that influencers or celebrities can ethically date fans (Caiti Ward was a huge RT fan before she and Jack married, and by all appearances they’re the most wholesome couple in the entire world), but encouraging them to send you naked pictures in exchange for positive validation from someone you idolize definitely seems like a bad use of celebrity status. L indicates that Ryan claims he didn’t realize the impact his status had on fans, but considering he was seemingly exclusively choosing sex partners from within the fanbase -- as opposed to, say, Tinder or something -- he must’ve on some level gathered that fans were easier to convince to do what he wanted.

3. They were victims of dishonest behavior. All of the women who’ve spoken up so far have said that they believed they were the only one Ryan was having an extramarital sexual relationship with, which indicates at best that he was extremely vague on establishing the parameters of their relationship and arguably suggests he was misleading them. This put them at risk for STDs (especially considering his apparent comfort with unprotected sex) as well as just general emotional harm. He lied about them as well, indicating to anyone who found out -- from his mods in 2017 to his statement a few days ago -- that any relationship was an isolated mistake.

It’s also unclear how honest he was about his marriage; all of the women who discussed this aspect have said that he told them a similar story, and at least M was led to believe that she was actually helping his marriage by satisfying his sexual needs so he wouldn’t have to leave his wife. It’s naïve and perhaps delusional to an outsider, but that and a lot of other stuff seems to be explained by . . .

4. They were victims of emotional manipulation. What’s really telling about lining all of these accounts up is the pattern that emerges: Ryan began with friendly conversation, often dispensing advice on personal and mental health issues (virtually all of the women who’ve come forward have expressed that they have some sort of mental illness), before testing the waters with a sexual comment that could be read as a joke or escalated further depending on the response of the fan, then alternating between showering them with compliments and attention and ignoring them for days or weeks on end. In at least one account he appears to have lied about a fan behind her back, which intentionally or not resulted in her losing most of her friends and being bullied on his own server, which he dismissed (again, behind her back) while treating her sympathetically to her face. That particular sexual relationship didn’t begin until after all of the above, and it’s not much of a stretch to note that he found a fan, isolated her, and then escalated the relationship into a sexual one.

And again, it comes down to spotting a pattern. Even if you don’t feel like a particular woman here is a victim, it’s important to take a look at all of their commonalities:

They were huge fans of Ryan, and followed him on at least one form of social media. Words like “idolized” and “loved” are used a lot in these testimonies.

They struggled with mental illness or personal issues (including bullying, depression, insecurity, marriage problems, etc.) that Ryan was informed about and seemingly supportive of.

They were younger than him by at least 8-9 years.

Their conversations gradually become more and more sexual. Sometimes this was initiated by Ryan, sometimes by the fan; if the sexual comments were rebuffed, they were immediately dismissed as jokes.

Nudes were sent and received, and they all stress how desired and valued Ryan made them feel.

If they were told about his marriage, it was a story that made him look highly sympathetic, and made cheating seem like less of a big deal or even the lesser of two evils.

He would push for in-person meetups, even offering to pay for the flight and hotel (using money he received from stream donations, which he claimed were being sent to his children's’ college funds).

He appears to have been uneven with his attention; multiple fans mentioned that he would “get bored” of them and not reply for days or even weeks at a time, and M mentions that he’d continue to “check in” even after their sexual relationship had ended. (Putting these together creates an image of a constantly-rotating list of potential partners that he’d cycle through, but admittedly this is just speculation.) One of the fans -- not sure which, but I linked them all so go hunting if you feel like it -- mentioned that he seemed bored or dismissive of non-sex talk after their relationship got sexual, essentially rescinding the very thing that made them want to talk to him in the first place.

So here we have a pattern of Ryan seeking out fans, especially those who were young and had personal issues making them vulnerable, drew them in with charm and friendly advice, then escalated the conversations to a graphic sexual nature, attempted to hook up with them, and made them feel special and unique (when that clearly was not the case). There are justifications for all of these on their own -- he’s not obligated to tell every sexual partner about all the others, some of the fans were the ones who took it further, etc. -- but when you put them all together, it’s pretty damning. This isn’t the behavior of someone who made a few mistakes with equally-consenting adults, but someone who had his strategy down to a science. 

To finally sum this up, anon: you don’t have to feel like any of these individual women were victims (well, except M; I don’t think there’s any other way to read that horrible story), but taken together I hope you can see Ryan’s predatory behavior. At the very least, I hope we can agree that they were all victims of lies and emotional manipulation.

Maybe it was unintentional . . . but with such consistent accounts, I find it hard to believe.

[driftingglass]

inb4 everyone loses their mind about how great BakuDeku is, I'm just trying to make a point. It's a debate, not an argument. That's just my rebuttal. (8/6 wow this got long)

Ah, man, I’m going to have to show all of your messages together because your response was awesome. The thing is, you do have many valid points, and I completely see where you’re coming from and why your point of view on this definitely needs to be heard. 

I hope you don’t mind. I want to respond to you with you knowing that I read every piece of your response and I want to give you the time you’re giving me.

Same anon. Comparing a ship where Deku is told to kill himself and he suffers from depression from everything Baku put him through to “it’s like getting mad at someone for picking green as their favorite color” is a pretty bad comparison honestly. If you romanticize the behavior it leads to people thinking that it’s okay when it clearly isn’t. (1/6)

I agree, that this is a comparably weak analogy. However, I do not intend to romanticize anything when it comes to this ship. These ideas that I’m talking about may sound romanticized, but in execution it would be far harder and more difficult than it seems. 

Also, I would never, EVER, expect the rules of a ship that I like and find interesting in an anime to reflect a real-life relationship or what I would want from a real-life relationship. Maybe this a little confusing, but when it comes to characters and their relationships, I usually never associate them with what I would want in real life. 

Hence, this is why I enjoy writing about it so much, because of how relatively ridiculous and unrealistic it is (and I know that I mentioned the “realism” point on my post and your counter to that, which I’ll expand on). 

Anyway. I agree that romanticizing this behavior is awful, and it shouldn’t be glorified. I don’t think Bakugou should be romanticized as a character at all. I’ve mentioned several times that he’s an asshole and should be held accountable, and in no way would I ever expect this ship to work in canon.

Basically, despite what I love about the ship, I’m completely aware of how horrible the idea of the bully/victim dynamic is reflected in real life, and how circumstances aren’t meant to be built and executed in this way outside of the realm of literature and other artistic mediums.

I understand that you base the attraction of the ship off of healing, forgiveness, growth, etcetera. However, that’s implying that Deku (and others like him who have been in the same situation) would even do any of that. Like he would actually have some kind of mutual love with the same guy who made him fucking hate himself. It literally makes no sense whatsoever considering if you’ve actually talked to anyone who has been bullied, they don’t typically go from “this guy is an asshole”… (2/6)

Hm, you have a point here. I agree with your first statement, but I also want to touch on the “actually have some kind of mutual love with the same guy,” tidbit. I want to clarify that I do think, even with these elements in mind, that Izuku and Katsuki, IF this was based canonically, would have to rebuild some semblance of friendship over years of reconciliation. 

Also… I’m not sure, if Katsuki is actually the main cause of Izuku “hating” himself? I can’t defend anything for Izuku’s complete lack of confidence in the very beginning and the obvious effects that Katsuki’s bullying has had on him. And I don’t plan to, because I think you have a very good point here.

Also, Anon… I have been bullied.

I was bullied verbally and physically through elementary, middle and high school. My family dynamic has led to me being bullied and cornered in my own home. My only two romantic relationships stemmed from mental and sexual manipulation and abuse from people I once considered my best friends, and even though I forgave both of these people, I would never turn back and accept them in my heart again. 

I’ve faced repercussions from every experience, and still do. 

I understand how dreadful and deplorable bullying is, and how it affects victims and the people around them and dear to them. In no way do I want to ever come off as a person who romanticizes bullying or even promotes something similar to that.

But again, this ship is not based off of an idea that I would ever want in my life or want anyone I care about to experience. It’s an idea that I enjoy reading and thinking about in a work of total fiction, with aspects of it that I enjoy and relate to, while also understanding that my life and the works I enjoy are separate. 

You can take that as you will. 

This may seem backwards, but it’s how I feel. 

(Also, Anon, I don’t see parts 3 or 5…? If you want this included on here, send them to me or let me know. I could be missing some of your response…)

Has anyone else who has been bullied relentlessly who is reading this felt that way /ever/? I seriously doubt it. Not only does it not make sense, but it insults the trope as a whole. You continue to make general contrasts and parallels to Katsuki and Izuku which is nice and all. That’s great. In fact, that’s fantastic for a platonic respect that would somehow grow from whatever bitterness they had before. (4/6)

Ah, this is kind of going off my last response. 

I agree that it works mostly in a platonic respect, because mostly of what I love about these two characters and their parallels is their entire dynamic as a whole, both in a romantic and non-romantic context. 

I was focusing on the romantic since that was the subject of the anonymous message you sent me, but there is no doubt in my mind that in the canon universe and even in general, these two work marvelously in the platonic respect.

That’s part of why I love the challenging (and seemingly impossible) idea of carving a romantic image out of it. Is it necessary to enjoy the dynamic? No. Absolutely not. I think your points on this make a ton of sense. 

And no, as someone who’s been bullied for the vast majority of my life, I’ve never felt this way. Ever. I agree with you on that. 

Again, that’s part of the challenge in writing about it, not exercising the practice in real life. I do think the ship is toxic and has a ton of issues, and I’ve mentioned that before–in fact, a lot of the reasons why I mention those to begin with, is based on making readers understand that what happens in this ship shouldn’t be celebrated as an embodiment of perfection or a work of fiction.

But, I see the problematic viewpoints in my arguments, as well. Some of these will lead to us having to agree to disagree, but I really love this rebuttal.

You can forgive someone but that doesn’t mean things are better. That doesn’t mean Deku is fine, it just means he’s let those actions go and he won’t let them haunt him anymore. But forgiveness isn’t an open door for romance. If someone has broken your best friend’s heart and you forgave them for that, it doesn’t erase the memories of you watching them cry or trying to console them because of what their ex did. (6/6 but I still have more to type and this inbox sucks

Everything you’ve said here, is completely, 100%, TRUE.

I absolutely agree on all of the points you’ve made in this specific section. Especially on the nature of forgiveness and how you’ve expanded on this from a previous section you wrote. 

I also agree that forgiveness is not an open door for romance… but it can be.

Now, I’m not speaking from personal experience, and I’m not speaking for the experience of anyone else, but that sentence alone is not universally true. It’s a rather bold statement to make, and it would be impossible to assume that every person who forgives someone would shut the door for romance. 

The circumstances are different with everyone, but it IS TOXIC for a person to immediately forgive, forget, and leap into a romantic situation with no rebuilding or actual time taking place. It’s a complicated subject that you’ve introduced well, and again, I think you’re correct.

Is it true for BakuDeku, though? Yeah, I think in terms of canon, you’re correct. 

But this, again, is why I think it’s challenging. Also, while mentioning this, I do not think that people should feel obligated to open their options for romance upon the nature of forgiveness. Ever.

Again, what I find intriguing in a ship between fictional characters does not reflect what I would want to see from real people, especially those near and dear to me.

Your examples are very relatable too, and help bolster your argument well. 

To clear one thing up, I’m one of few people who ship BakuDeku who completely understands why people hate the ship… for literally almost everything you’ve said so far. I know that this exists, and that your logical viewing behind it is completely valid and makes absolute sense. 

The ship is ludicrous, and the elements that I find fascinating between the characters is why I want to write about them. 

Also, yeah, the inbox system sucks on here. I’m sorry about that, but I appreciate you breaking up your responses! 

If your father used to tell you to kill yourself and treat you the same way Baku did to Deku, you can forgive him but that doesn’t erase whatever Deku has gone through. Forgiveness isn’t a plot device to spur your ship. It’s far more complicated than that. And last but not least, you can challenge yourself with writing without having them fall in love after all the horrible shit Baku has done to Deku. BakuDeku is in no way realism. (7/6)

Again, I agree with you, especially on the first sentence. 

I do find it… kind of unbecoming, to claim that I’m using forgiveness as a plot device to spur the ship. I suppose that it can be considered that, but I don’t take the subject of forgiveness lightly at all–I know that it’s one of the hardest, if not the hardest thing, you can do individually for both yourself and the person involved. 

I’ve had to forgive quite a lot of people to give myself peace, and that has taken years at a time for some, and months for others. I’m fully aware how complex and emotionally rendering forgiveness is, and what it takes to follow through with it. 

I also completely agree with writing about them challengingly and not having them fall in love. I think that’s what’s going to happen with the canon material, honestly. At least, I’m hoping for it, that they can overcome these hurdles and at least mutually respect each other as people. 

Now, the romantic context? That’s purely for out of canon and not at all based on strict material or realistic representation within the manga or from personal experiences. 

“BakuDeku is in no way realism.” 

Hm. You may have a point here. I can see how my statement earlier on BakuDeku being a reflection of realism is flawed, and with the examples you presented I’ll respect that. I’m aware that it’s in a context of fictional characters with overly dramatic and exaggerated circumstances and personalities, and I do think there are realistic elements that can be taken with a ship based in an anime. 

But I agree that outright claiming it to be based on a foundation of realism on top of everything else is a stretch, considering the argument you’ve presented.

inb4 everyone loses their mind about how great BakuDeku is, I’m just trying to make a point. It’s a debate, not an argument. That’s just my rebuttal. (8/6 wow this got long)

Anon, I think it’s actually really incredible that you bothered to present a well-thought-out, well-presented, and very cordially presented rebuttal to my response to your original message. 

I’m grateful that you contributed to this as a discussion, and I love the points you made. I also don’t want you to think that I do support some of these elements that is mentioned above, and that my intention is in no way to romanticize the ship for what it is. 

I also know you’re not trying to start an argument. I love what you’ve had to say, and I really appreciate it. I appreciate the respect and clear attention you’ve put into the post I made and your response, and I hope that my response isn’t angering you or upsetting you.

And if you didn’t want me to do this, please message me and I’ll gladly take it down

Thank you for this response. 

[madlori]

I try to be aware and PC and respect others, but it seems that trying to do so is exhausting and there literally is NOTHING that exists that doesn't offend or upset or harm in some way. I'm talking movies, tv shows, actors/actresses, books, etc. At this point I feel like I can't enjoy something that's not problematic in some form or fashion, therefore I can't talk about it without fear of someone getting mad or using it in the future against me. Thoughts?

I think we’ve all felt that way sometimes. Or, you know, all the time.

Rooting out societal prejudices IS exhausting, and it never ends. And you’re right - nothing is perfect. No person, no media, no creative endeavor by humans is perfect.

Callout culture is super toxic, and that’s what you’re reacting to. We shouldn’t have to put an asterisk on enjoying things, an affidavit that yes, we agree and acknowledge that Certain Aspects of Thing or Person are Less Than Ideal. Because everything has that asterisk. If you’re waiting for that One True Thing that will be free of all problematic elements, get ready to wait forever.

You are allowed to enjoy the things you enjoy. Being aware of the things about them that are issues is also good, because seeing them can help you learn things about your own attitudes. Whether you choose to publicly discuss the things about them that are issues is entirely your business and you’re not obligated to do so. 

There’s also something to be said for enforcing your own emotional boundaries. I’m not sure if you’ve been personally criticized for liking something, or just have observed the reactions of others as it scrolls by, but you’re not disallowed from liking something because someone else doesn’t. Other people’s responses can be useful to *inform* your opinions, but you should be careful of letting them *dictate* them. I struggle with this, too. You’re not alone. Also keep in mine that it goes both ways - if someone’s super salty that you like a thing they hate, there’s an excellent chance that THEY like something that YOU hate. 

You don’t have to fight every battle that presents itself to you. You can pick. Each of us has a different capacity for engagement, and it’s not all on you.

Be kind to others. Promote what you love. Engage people in respectful discussion. Listen to and magnify the voices of the marginalized. Let people enjoy things.

But if you want *practical* advice? Avoid blanket statements. Don’t say “This thing is amazing and perfect in every way!” Someone’s gonna have a WHOA THERE reaction to that statement. Especially do not issue blanket statements about any media’s good or bad handling of representation or diversity regarding communities you do not belong to. If you’re not a minority, you shouldn’t be spouting off about how Show X is so great on minority representation. You can say you were glad to see [POC character] in a role, but leave the assessments of the show’s overall performance to people in that community. Magnify those voices. For yourself, be specific and personalize it. Say instead, “The way this character is written really resonates with me, I appreciate that she [whatever].” Or “I just loved the writing in this scene, I thought it was sharp and funny” or “This show makes me feel [whatever way] and I love that it does [thing]” or even “I love this because [person] gives me a happy feeling in my pants [this just in: it’s ok to like stuff for purely prurient reasons].” Because you are allowed to have personal reactions to things. I generally try to avoid expressing opinions in a way that implies that I am espousing any One True Interpretation (well, I try to avoid expressing opinions entirely, but that’s another topic) but in a way that only relates to ME. I sometimes...fail. 

That’s all I got. 

[note: thanks for a few DM pals for helping me with this answer and providing insight on a few of these points]

[douchebagbrainwaves]

WHY I'M SMARTER THAN TABOO

It's almost the definition of new types. The right way to do that enough. But the total volume of worry never decreases; if anything it increases. If they push you, point out that a predisposition to intelligence is not the usual one, which applies even when you know which basket is best. And it's impossible to do that enough. Venture investors are driven by exit strategies. Counterintuitive as it feels, it's better most of the time, and investors are very sensitive to it.

Suppose you approached investors with the following idea for a new language, it's because you think it's better in some way than what people already had. If you spent a year on a new feature, they'd be amazed at how little there is and how little it matters where people went to college. These two trees have been converging ever since. We're taking on some consulting projects, but we're going to keep working on the startup. So here is the ultimate elegance: the Perl program is simpler has fewer elements, even if the syntax is a bit uglier. Imagine a kind of whitelist and blacklist because they are afraid of standing out. You've probably noticed that having dinners every Tuesday with us and the other half are going to be a saying in the corporate world: No one ever got fired for buying IBM. Why? That sounds like a joke, but it is enough in simple cases like this. I can prove this to you without even getting into the differences between big companies and startups is that startups are often involved in disreputable things. Java is the latest thing.

Be sure to ask about how they funded themselves with breakfast cereal. But the foundation of convincing investors is to make it plain that you don't even know if you're doing well or badly. So programmers continue to develop iPhone apps, even though Apple continues to maltreat them. They may have to choose between several alternatives, there's an upper bound on how big you can get into a good college. They insist on it. If your first version is so impressive that trolls don't make fun of it, the only purpose of correcting them is to discredit one's opponent. And take at least six months to write. But if you control the whole system. I gave at the last minute I cooked up this rather grim talk. You have to find a few smart people to learn from them again as one might when rereading a book. We are still very suspect of this idea would remain something I'd learned from this book, even after I'd forgotten I'd learned it.

I'm such a good athlete, why do I feel so tired? 0 mean anything? When we haven't heard from, and someone sending you mail for the first time. Was it right or wrong? Try it and see. This essay is derived from a talk at the 2009 Startup School. On my list I put words like Lisp and also my zipcode, so that otherwise rather spammy-sounding receipts from online orders would get through. So starting a startup was like I said, but he doesn't only become an actor when he's successful. Just like the committee approving software purchases.

Almost everyone needs their hair cut. Working system for micropayments by now. Maybe I'm just stupid, or have some sort of new, vocational version of college focused on entrepreneurship. A bottom-up program should be easier to modify as well, to suit our ideas of what kids ought to think. That's where you'll find a group powerful enough to enforce a taboo. I currently consider alphanumeric characters, dashes, apostrophes, and dollar signs to be part of a good life. When you think you've got a great idea, why hasn't someone else already done it? So I'm really glad I stopped to think about it no more than a week ahead. So the best plan would be to send out spams promoting porn sites. The price is that the company pays 10 times as long in another language, it will take over your life.

Either it won't help your kid get into Harvard, or if it does, we don't need it. When one investor wants to invest in successful startups, or they'll be out of business; they feel obliged by various state laws to include boilerplate about why their spam is not spam, and that content-based filters are the way to the bank. Having coffee with a friend matters. But that's a weaker statement than the idea I began with, that it was being used as a label for whatever happened to be new—that it didn't make sense to charge less than $50,000 instead. 84421706 same 0. One way to find taboos. You say it a lot, but I found that in a lot of randomness in how colleges select people, and how to cancel your subscription, and that the weight of a few sysadmins. There's no reason to suppose there's any limit to the amount of work that could be done in this area, just as it was hard for industrialization to flourish in societies ruled by people who stole at will from the merchant class. Wise and smart are both ways of saying someone knows what to do when the teacher tells your elementary school class to add all the numbers in good. Life is short, as everyone knows. If a successful startup will get acquisition offers too.

Thanks to Robert Morris, Jessica Livingston, Evan Williams, and Trevor Blackwell for reading a previous draft.

[artsaveslivesinternational]

Artist Sherry Dooley

Artist Sherry Dooley

Sherry Dooley, 50, is from Portland, Oregon in the USA. Sherry is a visual artist and had this to say about her chosen submission subject and why she was motivated to address cultural and racial stigma:

I’m submitting a new series I’m doing regarding “the Wall” Donald Trump keeps insisting he will build, in hopes to keep us “safe” from Mexicans.  I don’t agree with it, I find it offensive to our neighbours, and racially motivated.  Racial profiling at it’s finest.  After his degrading comments regarding the Mexican people being criminals and rapists – his wall will only hold the US citizens hostage, while making our friends our enemies.

I’m a full time professional artist.  After attending the Women’s March On Washington, I become inspired to not only paint “pretty” paintings – but to make a statement.

My theme is Cultural Stigma/Racism.

Can you tell us a little about yourself?

I’m a mother, a sister, a daughter, and a woman. I’m a fifty-year-old artist and wanderer, with scars. Born and raised in Oregon, I tend to lean far left, if I must use a label. Recently moved back to Portland Oregon after five years in New Orleans.

What is your artistic/creative background?

As a child, my mother put me in various after-school creative functions. I’ve always loved to draw, but never mastered it, and it doesn’t really matter. I consider myself “self-taught” – with no fancy, over priced art degrees. I started painting in 1998. Found wood, and old house paint, anything I could find, I would use. I’ve continued to paint ever since. Ninety percent of the time my art has allowed me to be self-employed.

What motivated you to deal with your chosen submission subject?

I chose Cultural Stigma/Racism because it seems to be a topic/situation that can be erased, with just the right amount of effort. Preconceived notions about a certain population, I believe, stems for just not knowing, and maybe a refusal to know. But once you learn something, once you’re forced to see someone, something in a new light, you cannot un-see it. Un-know it. We all have to start somewhere. I did. Why can’t others?

  Modern Frida: It’s Your Wall. I’m Free, Are You? 16x20x1.5 Acrylic/Mixed Media Cradled wood panel. by Sherry Dooley

Modern Frida: Misguided Finger Pointing 16 x 20 – Acrylic/Mixed Media on cradled panel wood. by Sherry Dooley

What is your process when creating?

The process, where does the process truly begin? Usually an incident, a situation, which has stirred up my thoughts, and has bled into my emotions, then the process, has begun. Sometimes without me even realising it. The process has begun. Never just a thought…emotion is the fuel of the fire I need to create.

Who are you influenced by within your artistic discipline?

I believe the question should be…”Who and What am I influenced by…” When I first began a very primitive style of painting women, friends influenced me. Body shapes and hairstyles, pretty scenes, Goddesses and nature. It evolved from there. As cliché as it is, once I was introduced to Frida Kahlo’s work and life story, I drew inspiration from everything Frida. Not just her self-portraits, in fact very little of her creative ability moved me, it was more about her life and situations that would inspire a piece of me to be brave. Brave in the sense of being vulnerable and puking my sorrows onto the canvas or wood for the world to see. I’ve evolved over the last 19 years, and no longer sob into a piece of art. I can see passed myself and create a bigger image, which isn’t just my little world, but something others can relate to.

Who inspires you in general?

Injustice and women.

What causes and world issues are you passionate about, campaign for, volunteer for…?

There are so many – but if I were to be passionate about each and every cause, I wouldn’t be able to get up in the morning. I don’t know why, but homelessness hits me hard. Not so much creatively, but more in an “Action Required” stance. So I feed the homeless when I can. I rally others to do the same. I’m moved and feel obligated to create pieces that are slick with emotion for women who have been sexually trafficked. I’ve been there…and I paint what I know and feel. My most recent cause is immigration. Just in the last couple of years, the word “illegal” has replaced human being. Dehumanising at the very least. Now we have a war against those that have less. Those that are searching for a better life. Those that do American’s dirty work and are vilified for it. Those that might have an accent. Those that might not be white enough. I’m getting all jazzed up as write this…it just pisses me off that in 2017, I’m having to experience and see first hand an earlier and uglier time in our country, today. RIGHT NOW? So, in honour of those that are being targeted and shit on by those that believe it’s okay to do so, I’m painting those women. I’m painting black women. Arab women. Asian women. Light-skinned women. All Women. All American women. Sorry, but American women are not all blondes with blue eyes. That is not the norm – and will never be.

What do the statements “art saves lives” and “art creates change” mean to you?

I read both statements at face value. Period.

Have your artistic and creative outlets saved your life in anyway and do you think your message within them could help create change in the world?

Yes. Art saved my life. Once I was able to escape the life of commercial sex trafficking and a nasty meth habit, I needed something, anything, to feel good. Painting felt right, it felt good. Stimulating that old brain chemistry with a new vice, art. When I sold my first piece, it was validating a wounded child, whom felt worthless. Yes, art saves lives…and can rebuild lives. Will my art ever make a change in the world? I think it has – as more people get to know me and what I create, they also get to know my past life. With that said, the stigma of a prostituted woman slowly shifts from what they had believed. It changes from judgement and idea of choice, to one of compassion and understanding. In my eyes that’s huge. Seeing “throw-away” women in a new light, shedding judgement, and opening the heart. Yep, that’s huge.

What are your present and future goals for your art?

I want to continue down my new path of making a statement for women and those that are oppressed in America. Stand up against division, and stand taller than any fucked up wall. Build it. It won’t stop people from connecting and loving/embracing each other.

Sherry Dooley Nostalgic Folk Artist

Sherry Dooley Nostalgic Folk Artist

Sherry Dooley Nostalgic Folk Artist

Sherry Dooley Nostalgic Folk Artist

If you would like to know more about Sherry Dooley and her work please follow these links:

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[contact-form] Visual artist Sherry Dooley addresses racism and cultural stigma in the USA Sherry Dooley, 50, is from Portland, Oregon in the USA. Sherry is a visual artist and had this to say about her chosen submission subject and why she was motivated to address cultural and racial stigma: