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jiminjamms · 2 years

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sex therapy :: 13. fantasy vs reality

chapter tags/warnings: misogynistic! naoya. family drama. political corruption. oh, and financial corruption too. infidelity/adultery. strong language. humiliation. classism.

word count: 3.3k

notes: in this chapter, i tried something i haven't done before in this fic, which is to offer a perspective outside of our own. through this, I hope to provide a more fulfilling experience in the overall plot and show that, despite their differences, perhaps y/n and naoya are just two sides of the same unfortunate coin. enjoy! as always, likes, comments, and reblogs are very much appreciated. xoxo

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𝗔𝗖𝗧 𝗧𝗪𝗢 • 【 house of cards 】

Naoya Zenin knew he was in deep trouble for two reasons.

First, the time in Japan was currently well past three in the morning. Second, his father—rather than his trusted secretary—dialed Naoya’s personal mobile number.

And Naobito, as the old-fashioned man he was, never phoned Naoya personally. Ever.

In fact, Naoya had not even realized his phone’s incessant buzzing until the sixth call, during which the young CEO tossed over in bed, still snug in plush covers when he finally reached for the device on the nightstand.

“Who the hell?” he grumbled to no one in particular as he sat up. When the chilled air that circulated in the suite pricked at his skin, he grabbed the nearby bath towel to cover his otherwise naked torso. He stared down, the screen’s glare blinding him momentarily and forcing him to squint past the brightness.

“Fuck,” Naoya mumbled when he finally made out his father’s name on the Caller ID. He strolled from his bedroom and out into the similarly dimmed hallway in groggy motions, all the while keeping his eyes peeled on his screen.

His thumb hovered over the green ‘Accept Call’ button, but he hesitated when he noticed his pulse pick up pace. Was he…afraid?

Remain calm, he assured himself.

There should be no reason for him to be nervous—he had been under more high-stakes situations as the Zenin Corporation’s top-dog, circumstances where billions were on the table. Compared to those scenarios, one simple call with his very own father should be like a walk in the park.

With one deep breath, Naoya finally pressed at his screen and brought his phone to his ear.

“Hel—”

“You fucking piece of shit!” Naobito Zenin spat through the line. Vicious was the venom in his voice. Although Naoya was accustomed to his father’s insults, the shouts remained so loud that he had to dial the volume down. “Care to explain where in hell you’ve been ever since disappearing during the family reunion last week?”

“I’m in Beijing,” Naoya explained, keeping his voice level so as to not lose his temper as well. “Haven’t you heard from my assistants? I’m here for the Investor Conference and will be back in the office next Monday.”

Normally, the Zenin Corporation’s Chairman would relent at that. Despite his advanced age, a businessman as experienced as Naobito would understand the importance of foreign investment into the family-led conglomerate, particularly if the cash was flowing in from the world’s second-largest economy.

This time, however, was different.

“No, you’re coming back to Tokyo now.”

It wasn’t uncommon for Naobito to simply bark orders and for Naoya to just as simply obey. The older man had raised his only son with an iron fist, exerting near-absolute control over every action.

‘It’s because you don’t have the brains to do things better,’ Naobito had once explained. While the words had stung, Naoya was completely powerless in front of the Zenin patriarch, a man that held enough influence that any wrong move would cost the young CEO far too much in return.

Noticing the sudden lump in his throat, Naoya swallowed heavily. “Why? Did something happen?”

“Are you…Are you fucking kidding me?!” The chairman roared. Internally, Naoya was grateful that he was not in the immediate presence of his father, whose glare would most certainly feel like a thousand knives grazing at his neck. “Why don’t you tell me, huh? Why don’t you tell me why your fucking pictures are on fucking Japan Times with another fucking woman?”

“What—"

Immediately, Naoya brought the phone down from his ear and placed his father on speaker. No way. His heartbeat quickened exponentially as he tapped into his search engine, where googling his name revealed a low-resolution photo at the top of the search results.

Alarmed, Naoya tapped into one such source, pinching on the screen to zoom into the picture. As was typical of tabloid journalism, the photographs were hardly anywhere near good quality—pixelated with an obscure view of the main subjects.

But Naoya immediately recognized the Off-White bomber jacket that draped over his shoulders, the Ray-Ban sunglasses and the AMI Paris baseball cap that attempted to shield his face from onlookers. Most certainly, he also recognized the similarly well-dressed woman captured next to him, frozen in the pictures where the two walked up the steps to his private Gulfstream G650ER jet.

Those fucking paparazzi stalkers always had to be on his tail, didn’t they?

The more important question, however, was...how would he explain himself?

“That’s…” Was his voice actually shaking? “That’s not me, though.”

“Well, it better fucking not,” his father snarled, “because you’d have to be crazy if you think that Daisuke would keep his now-pregnant daughter married to a cheating bastard like that. You’re lucky that these photos only came out twenty minutes ago and it’s too early in the morning for anyone important to have seen them. Have you even checked on your wife?”

Right, his wife. Naoya had nearly forgotten about you since leaving the country. “She’s doing well.”

“Good.” The older man sounded reassured by the news, and Naoya was similarly relieved by his father’s gullibility until Naobito added, “But I’d wish you’d stop lying to my face.”

At the comment, Naoya felt his eyes grow wide and nearly dropped his device. “I wasn’t—"

“Listen here.” Although Naobito’s volume had lowered considerably, his voice teetered between a warning and a growl. “I wasn’t born last night. I don’t know specifically where you are or who that new woman is or what crap you’re up to, but don’t fuck more shit up. To cover up for all the antics you had done in America, I had to pull all possible strings just so Daisuke would let his beloved daughter marry you. Do you understand how difficult that was for me?”

“Yes,” Naoya replied curtly.

That was really the last straw. Just hearing his father—for the millionth time—bring up his past, his marriage, and his apparent lack of gratitude was such an earsore, and Naoya quickly felt his panic transform into aggravation.

Truthfully, Naoya resented this. He hated how he was nothing but a pawn for the family name, hated how he was rushed to marry some random girl just to improve his public image, hated how his goddamn wife was the real trump card in the distinguished family that he—not you!—was the heir to.

Yet, at the same time, Naoya relished his power. In fact, he loved it. Oftentimes, he would tell himself that he was merely making a short-term sacrifice of his sanity for long-term security in his money and prestige.

The Zenin heir had an elaborate plan, actually, for the moment Naobito Zenin would kick the bucket. How amazing that day would be. Just fantasizing about the financial and political prowess he would inherit could leave Naoya lightheaded—the turquoise waters he would sail, the litany of riches he would indulge in, the family members that would then bow to his every demand.

However, until that fateful day came to fruition, he had to bear with the old oaf that was his paternal parent.

“It doesn’t matter that you are my only son,” Naobito continued to fume, which scattered his son’s reverie. “If you botch this marriage with Daisuke’s daughter, you won’t ever step into this household again. Besides, you should know full well how easily I can oust those who tarnish the Zenin name.”

Naoya internally scoffed. Was his father really trying to threaten him? “Yes, I under—.”

“Although, with every passing day, I am realizing that I should’ve allowed your cousin to take his rightful place in the company. At least he’s infinitely more capable than you could ever be.”

Well, this was new. Out of everything his father said today, Naoya surely found this last bit the most outrageous.

The comment was almost uncharacteristic when coming from a stringent man like the patriarch. Since when did his father ever look back on his decisions? Was Naobito Zenin seriously thinking about the nephew that he himself banished from the Zenin household, claiming that…that outcast had more brains to be in the C-Suite than his only son?

He’s got to be kidding me.

Naoya clenched his jaw, blood rushing to his brain from unadulterated anger despite his silence. Even if he wanted to argue that he had every right and competence to lead the family conglomerate, he didn’t want to threaten his position by squabbling with his father any further.

“Call these newspaper publishers and tell them to take those damned articles down. This better be done before dawn. Bribe those brats with hush money if you must. I know I can trust you with this.” Naobito then laughed sardonically. “Besides, you’d proven in your history to be an expert in that field.”

Naoya’s lips pressed into a thin, wavering line. “I will.”

“Wonderful. We will talk more later then.” For the first time during the call, his father seemed pleased. “I will see you at the office in the morning then.” And at that, the Zenin leader promptly hung up.

Arms dropping to his sides, Naoya huffed as a thousand thoughts whizzed in his mind.

“In the morning, huh?” he pondered to himself.

Normally, the trip was no tall order. The Gulfstream aircraft, at full speed, could easily take the young CEO from Beijing to Tokyo in about four hours. If Naoya pressed his pilot to go a tad faster, he could make it back in three.

Except Naoya was actually eleven thousand kilometers away from the Chinese capital, which meant that a flight home would cost him half a day at least.

He should have foreseen such a situation before he made the impulsive decision to travel from the Eastern Hemisphere to the West, from the Land of the Rising Sun to the coastline of Baja California.

Now here he was in Cabo San Lucas, Mexico. This was the perfect destination for luxurious resorts, spectacular beaches, fresh cuisine, and tropical weather. There was a reason he planned a much-needed getaway here, after all. Yet, this had to be the worst place for Naoya to be if he ever hoped to reach home anytime soon.

Sighing, he peeked past the nearby curtains. Outside, the midday sun in Cabo hung hot and high, a sharp contrast to the current darkness in Tokyo. The next thing he took in was the stunning view of the Pacific, sparkling water that stretched for miles out into the horizon. He spotted some empty Bali beds at the beach, and oh—how he longed to lay there with not a care in the world.

“Baby?”

Immediately, the soft voice from the bedroom broke Naoya’s thoughts loose, the nervousness that once ran hot in his blood giving way to a flood of serotonin.

“Sorry,” he whispered apologetically. “Did I wake you up?”

Rising from the mattress was someone who must be the goddess of beauty herself, rubbing at her dewy eyes as she rose gracefully from her slumber. With her caramel-colored hair and peachy skin, she was nothing short of a literal angel, stealing Naoya’s breath when he spotted her past the doorway.

“Are you okay?” Between sentences, she stretched her arms but remained as ethereal as ever. “I heard that old man’s voice over the speaker. He isn’t the type to call.”

As much as Naoya longed to leap into the woman’s embrace, to tell her about all his familial troubles, to release all his pent-up anguish, Naoya—knowing that his paparazzi predicament involved her as well—kept his reply vague to not worry her.

“Something had come up. I’m going to have to head home in a bit.”

“You mean right now?” she asked with an irresistible pout. “But you booked this suite for the rest of the week, Naoya. We were supposed to go sailing at Santa Maria Bay tomorrow and head to the spa on Saturday, too.”

“I know.” The sincere disappointment was evident in his voice. Naoya stepped back into the bedroom, tossing aside the towel at his waist in exchange for a fresh button-up and trousers.

“When my father tells me to deal with personal matters at home, I must do as he says,” he elaborated while tying his dress shoes. Once he finished, he walked over to his lover’s bedside and planted a gentle kiss on her forehead. “But you should stay here in Cabo and have fun for me, Mari.”

“But…” The woman—Mari—glanced up at him with the largest brown eyes. “But I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you, too.” Despite his forlorn smile, Naoya reached into the nearby nightstand’s drawer and pressed the retrieved Amex Black Card into the woman’s hands. “I’m taking the PJ but if you call my assistant later today, he’ll help you book a first-class flight back to Tokyo. Tell him to charge this card. Don’t forget to buy something nice for your daughter while my credit card’s with you.”

Mari chuckled quietly at the suggestion. “She will get suspicious, babe.”

He knew about the…let's just say, interesting dynamic that existed between her daughter and the rest of her so-called family, but he chose to feign his surprise instead. "Really?" he asked with a raised brow. “You think so?”

“Yes. Tsumiki is very close with her stepbrother and stepfather, you know.” With a pause, she then added, “Or shall I say, ex-stepbrother and stepfather.”

Gentle laughter then bubbled in the room.

That was what Naoya loved about Mari. She was honest, sensible, witty, and incredibly, incredibly charming. This was the woman whose body he could never get enough of, a woman who deserved the world—deserved his world. And to Naoya, there was nothing like a gorgeous MILF that could flatter him and make him feel like the center of her universe.

Of course, there was a selfish intent in his relationship with her as well. Amazingly naïve, she had a tendency to run her mouth, often spilling more information than necessary (such that Naoya sometimes had to worry about how much she might accidentally leak about himself). But she was well-informed about just the right people, and after his conversation with his father, Mari’s intel might just prove valuable very soon.

At the thought, the Zenin heir smiled, amber eyes crinkling at the corners. “At least treat yourself while you’re here in Mexico.”

“Aw, you are too sweet. This is why I love you.” Warmly, Mari wrapped her arms around him in a tight embrace and planted a firm kiss on his cheek. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

Truthfully, there was no need to thank him. The thousands (or even tens of thousands) that she would end up spending would barely make a dent in his fortune. Furthermore, there were also selfish reasons to make sure Mari was on his good side as well, for her to feel indebted to his kindness. However, given her plain background, Mari was easily impressed and appreciated the littlest things. Her refreshing reactions made her just too easy and amusing for Naoya to delight.

“I’ll text you,” Naoya promised as he gave Mari one last peck and trailed toward the exit.

“See you soon,” she called behind him.

Soon. In their world, there was no guarantee regarding when ‘soon’ would be. It could be tomorrow; it could be a month from now. Once they stepped back in Japan, his busy schedule, his stupid trophy wife, and the many prying eyes and ears—all hungry for upper-class gossip—always made their secret meetups difficult, as proven by the mess he was in right now.

Oh, which reminded him…

Just before he dashed out the door, Naoya scrolled through his contacts in haste. He stopped at one entry, calling the number and exhaling with relief when the other line picked up the phone within two rings. Before the recipient even had the chance to greet him, Naoya already jumped in.

“It’s me,” he said sternly. “It’s about my pictures in your newspaper.”

Denial, as you may know, is the first stage of grief.

‘Naoya Zenin is cheating on you.’

No, that couldn’t possibly be.

You don’t even remember much after Toji said that. Nothing but you rushing out of that meeting room and calling the nearest taxi home, thoughts all blurred from the influx of information. You had barely processed the full conversation in your head because news kept coming one after another, leaving you in a befuddled state.

But perhaps you had believed Toji, given that you googled your husband’s name upon your arrival at home in the wee hours of the Tokyo morning. Adrenaline coursing through your veins, you had scrolled through the result’s ‘Images’ and ‘News’ sections, eyes rapidly scanning row after row only to see praises for Naoya and his extraordinary business skills.

Hours later, you had discovered nothing to support Toji’s preposterous supposition, and suddenly, you were riddled with guilt for ever doubting your husband’s faith in the first place.

This was why you found yourself with your face pressed against your kitchen bar’s marble countertop, the white surface colder than what you had remembered. How long have you been here? Faintly, you remember phasing in and out of sleep at your seat, as well as the memory of your housekeeper patting your shoulder earlier in the day and wondering if you were okay.

What made the situation perhaps even more ironic were the texts you received from your father in the afternoon, all links to various Harvard Medical School publications regarding what to do and not to do in your supposed first trimester of pregnancy. He was trying his best to guide you through an important time in your health, given that you didn’t have your mother long enough for her to be your advisor. Yet, with his every reminder for you to take folic acid supplements or avoid undercooked foods, your heart only broke further at the thought that your father only saw your life as a fantasy far from reality.

The aching, loveless, tortuous reality.

‘Naoya’s too preoccupied thinking about someone else when he’s with you.’

In the midst of your gloom, Toji’s words re-emerged in your thoughts. From the amusement in his tone, you wondered if he had known something back then during your appointments with him. If Naoya truly had a mistress, was that why Toji was so willing to offer his help? And why now? Did Toji finally realize that you could never be happy in your hopeless marriage and suddenly decide to take pity on your love life?

Your sad eyes flickered from the nearby glass of merlot to the penthouse’s windows, which offered a wonderous view of the orange-pink views from the sunset outside. You weren’t sure how long you were staring at the warm skies, floating between daydreams when the entrance beeped and your eyes widened at the unexpected noise.

Sitting up, you immediately whipped your head in the direction of the sound.

It was Naoya Zenin who emerged from the doorway, and you were thoroughly surprised. You only called his secretary yesterday morning about his whereabouts, but he informed you that your husband wouldn't return to Tokyo until next week.

While you didn’t expect his sudden and unannounced return, you hated to admit how your heart stuttered at how fantastic he looked, how immaculate he was in his Giorgio Armani suit, how sharp he appeared with his blonde hair combed to one side.

“Hey, I’m back,” he said with a small smile with he spotted you at the bar. When Naoya didn't start slipping his shoes off as per usual, you curiously observed him as he stood in the foyer and dangled his Ferrari keys in front of him. “So...you wanna go on a date?”

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halfagone · 1 year

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Heya Halfa!

I'm watch Hercules for the first time in a while and something about it made me think about your WonderBat dcdp fic, and gave me an idea to share with you for a fic with Diana being Danny's bio mom, could be WonderBat or not, idk, I'm still very much on a Danny/Jason kick so if it's not WonderBat that's open.

But essentially Danny was adopted by the Fenton's and maybe a checkup with Frostbite has Danny realizing there's more to his powers than being a halfa, but he doesn't know what exactly? So, I'm thinking he just tells the Fentons he wants to find his bio parents, not being out as Phantom, but Idk, and i trust your thoughts.

Basically, just Hercules as inspiration, not trying to stick to its plot, tho doing Dead on Main and Jason as Meg ajfjkshda it would be quite funny

Idk, just had to share this with you, hope it brings you some of the joy the thought brought me!!

Also have a pic of my roomie's bunny

GOSH I love Disney's Hercules! Hades is an entire mood, and I love him for it. Definitely one of my fave villains ever. But now that you mention the idea...

If we did base it off on bloodlines, where Danny is taken as a child (and like Hercules was taken from his parents in the movie), then we could always make this a Super-Wonder... Wonder-Super? Superman and Wonder Woman ship, but their relationship was very brief. This was before he and Lois had gotten together and got married. And they do canonically date sometimes, and even had a child together in at least one universe, so it wouldn't be super weird.

So basically, Danny grows up a quasi-god (quarter-god? Ugh, that's confusing-) and half-Kryptonian. Except due to his life style and exposure to ectoplasm, his Kryptonian powers don't kick in like a normal half-Kryptonians would. But he does have a measure of super hearing- which gets diagnosed as another symptom of his ADHD later. And he does have freeze-breath! Which is why people aren't super surprised if they catch some cold mist coming out of his mouth when he becomes a halfa, they're pretty sure he's just always been like that?

But for one reason or another, Danny leaves Amity Park for an extended amount of time. Oh! His family takes a vacation to a beach, somewhere nice and sunny. And then Danny gets irritated about something, or maybe there's just a fly bothering him and he glares at it from a distance only to shoot red laser eyes at it and promptly freaks the fuck out. His ectoplasm has never been red before!

He runs off to Frostbite and the Far Frozen as soon as he can, begging for the yeti to help him because there must be something wrong with him! Frostbite is awfully confused at first, and then he asks Danny if he showed any other habits or behaviors before he'd become a halfa. And so Danny explains how he could hear things most people couldn't, but he'd been diagnosed as neurodivergent, and that wasn't exactly uncommon, and then he explained how technology always worked a little funny around him even before his accident and that's why his parents never thought anything was off when their inventions were wonky around him now (he doesn't realize he has lightning manipulation from his bio!mom's side, thus accidentally zapping devices every once in a while), and a handful of other things and it all culminates into this:

Frostbite is pretty sure Danny has never been fully human.

Which would thus lead Danny onto a journey of self-discovery and self-fulfillment and oh yeah, there's a ghost Minotaur that wants to rip his head off his body and they've got a hostage to go along with them. In Danny's opinion, Red Hood makes for a very poor hostage, but he's not about to tell them that either.

I could probably go on eventually, but I adore this idea, so thank you very much for sharing it! :D <3<3<3

#halfagone replies #dpxdc #dpxdc au #hercules au #i think lol

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kitkatt0430 · 6 days

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I hate the suicide portrayal in Titanic. People act like that movie is above criticism, but it actually has many flaws.

Titanic is definitely one of those movies that is super mired in nostalgia that I do agree that it gets a bit over-romanticized in people's memories over how good it really is. I'm honestly not sure how much I even like the movie, though it's one I'll rewatch from time to time for reasons that are as much about what the movie represents for me personally - the people I've watched it with in the past - as for the plot and place it still holds in pop culture.

The movie's handling of suicide is... honestly not that bad. There are plenty of flaws in the movie - admittedly my go-to criticisms are with how that door could have easily supported Rose and Jack and Rose dropping that necklace into the ocean instead of giving one last middle finger to her former fiance by using it for a charity auction to support a food pantry or something that specifically benefits the poor. But there is definitely a lot of things about the film worth nitpicking and I can understand why it's handling of the topic of suicide will rub a lot of people the wrong way.

So from a narrative point of view, suicide as a plot device is always going to be a very controversial choice. Real life suicides are mired in mental health issues and for those who have any kind of experience with it - either having attempted suicide or known those who have or people who have lost loved ones to suicide or even just experienced suicidal ideation without actually making any attempts - there is no such thing as a universal experience. And because of this, even the most well researched depiction of suicide in fiction is going to run smack into the wall that is competing access needs.

Titanic is certainly no different. But as a narrative device, Rose's suicide attempt where she meets Jack is meant as a parallel to her choice after surviving the Titanic's destruction to metaphorically let her old self die and be reborn as someone new. The person Rose is as the start of the movie is depressed and suicidal. Her mother is forcing her into a marriage she desperately does not want and is verbally abusive towards her. Her fiance also shows shades of verbal abuse and viewing Rose not as a person but as a shiny trinket he can show off, with no more consideration given to her agency as a person than he would give an inanimate object like the Heart of the Ocean diamond. Unable to see a way out, it does make sense that Rose would be suicidal.

Historically, there have been plenty of men and women who when forced into a situation like Rose's, see no way out except through death. And Rose's situation at that point is a pretty textbook representation of people who feel trapped by their friends and family in an abusive situation that's primed to only grow worse. Not everyone would handle her situation the way she attempts to, but it's not exactly unheard of either.

So Jack saves Rose literally from suicide. And it's not uncommon for people committing suicide to change their mind like Rose does, so her realizing because of Jack that actually no she doesn't want to drown doesn't detract from the movie's depiction of the suicide attempt. Often suicide is referred to as a cry for help and it really is - in the case of Rose's fictional suicide attempt, she's essentially begging for someone to validate her feelings and give her new options. Because even though she'd rather die than let things continue as they are, she doesn't actually want to be dead.

And that's where Jack essentially saves her again. He doesn't handle everything perfectly by any means, but he shows Rose that she does have more options than she knows. The reason she is able to shed her old life - to let Rose Bukater die and start living as Rose Dawson - is because Jack helps her find strength inside herself she didn't know was there.

From a narrative perspective, it's definitely not badly done and one of the more decently handled suicide in historical fiction plots I've seen.

Rose's suicide attempt isn't the only was suicide is addressed in the movie, though. And they're all pretty decently rooted in actual history. From Rose's attempt to escape an unwanted marriage through death, to the suicides committed during the Titanic's slow sinking, to the reference of the suicides that happened when Wall Street's crash heralded the start of the Great Depression, these are all things we can find examples of in actual historical accounts of the time.

I wouldn't call the Titanic movie the best fictional accounting of the Titanic I've ever seen. If I could find my old copy of the Dear America diary set on the Titanic, I'd cheerfully pick that over the movie hands down. And if I never see a copy of the book Amanda/Miranda again it'll be too soon. Truly there are worse depictions than that movie and Amanda/Miranda is definitely one of them.

(For the curious - Amanda/Miranda on Goodreads)

But having said all of that, I really don't expect to change your mind or how you feel about the movie's use of suicide. It's something that has rubbed me the wrong way in the past too and will no doubt do so again in the future. It's just one of those topics that's never going to be handled in a way that satisfies everyone or even the same person from one viewing to the next.

#kitkatt0430 answers #cw suicide #tw suicide #titanic (1997)#had to look up Rose's original name before she took Jack's surname upon rescue #this was a movie I definitely used to have a whole list of complaints about but I've largely forgotten most of them #I haven't forgotten that it's got a lot of issues with it but it just stopped feeling worth holding on to as time went on #though given a copy of the film and something to write with I could probably give a decent plot analysis #that digs up those forgotten points well enough #I do not actually recommend reading amanda/miranda #just to be clear #but i'm not gonna stop those who want to suffer it either

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mdhwrites · 1 year

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Would the boiling rain of toh be considered a MacGuffin?

So no and this is mostly a definitional thing. I like OSP's definition of it (Overly Sarcastic Production) that a Mcguffin is an object people are after who's purpose honestly doesn't matter, just the journey it sparks matters. In this regard, Titan's Blood in Eclipse Lake is a Mcguffin.

...Which then turns into a plot device which the boiling rain could be considered. This isn't a negative label though. A LOT of story elements are plot devices. Grom as an example is also a plot device. It's something introduced to cause the plot of an story, much like how an inciting incident is used to spark the beginning of a larger plot.

Usually how good a plot device is or isn't comes down to how natural it is/how good the plot it triggers is. The boiling rain and Grom are actually both pretty good as they're both natural extensions of the setting and what you might expect to happen regardless. The fact that they both lead to good stories, with the Boiling Rain making a great problem of there being no escape and Grom's use of multiple tropes together allowing for something more interesting than a generic dance plotline being good signs of what honestly could have been for much of the show.

In contrast, we have an episode like Elsewhere Elsewhen where the plot device of the time portals are ill thought out, ill defined, don't feel natural, especially in how they require Titan's Blood to find, and worse yet are inconsistent in their own episode. Literally the one rule about them, they can't show up in the same place twice, makes absolutely no sense. Now this isn't uncommon for time travel plots because they're inherently disruptive but the plotline it introduces isn't compelling either. The old Isles is dreadfully boring, erasing much of what made the setting interesting and Philip is the cornerstone for much of why Belos is so extremely boring, even if to many he's also why he's interesting because they give him so much lore that goes nowhere.

I want to mention that a lot of characters can act temporarily as plot devices too. When done well, you get something like Something Framed actually, where we already know about Gus' status as an outcast and as running a club about humans so those two coming together for a plotline is incredibly natural. Kind of the problem that TOH runs into though with using characters as plot devices is that it's really bad at character growth because the best versions of this come from pushing against a part of a character's personality and seeing where it goes, especially when used for a lesson. A LOOOOOOT of Amphibia's writing is actually predicated on this, such as pushing Polly's tomboy nature versus Anne's mere flirtations with it for their conflict during the IOU episode in S1.

When done poorly though... You get Willow. A character who's plotlines either seem like they come out of nowhere or are rushing back to dredge up old problems again just for the sake of having something to do with them. King and Gus actually suffer similarly where it feels like we're going around in circles with them. For Willow, it's almost always about backstory for her rather than her actual character. When it is, the element at play is usually effectively introduced that episode with little of the build up that makes character exploration interesting.

A reminder: Hooty's Moving Hassle is actually the BEST use of Willow as a plot device because it's directly addressing her bullied relationship with Amity, her lack of control and her issues of self worth even now that she has power. However, this was done so extremely poorly, with the episode focusing so hard on Amity, that the fandom took literally over an entire season to realize it had resolved her issues with not being able to control her powers. That's not even a joke because there were plenty after S2A who were upset that they hadn't explored Amity and Willow's relationship OR her power struggles.

Admittedly, part of this is just because Willow is quite literally not a character in S2A with only two appearances that might as well be cameos for how in character they are.

But yeah, in short plot devices are complicated and the best plot devices are ones you don't even pause to think about, either because they feel incredibly natural or because you're having too much fun to care about the whys of what's happening.

======+++++======

I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!

I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past. I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead. If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.

And finally a Twitter you can follow too!

#the owl house criticism #toh critical #writing analysis #Plot Device

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thatndginger · 2 years

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I’m having a moment so it’s time to pull out my oldest and most beloved OC and spin him around like a top for a minute

(Have I made personalized banners for all my major ocs? yes, because I am an extremely visual person and it makes it easier to find the relevant posts when searching my blog. Also it’s fun :P)

What can I say about Dean? He’s been in my head for a third of my life now. Lots of time to develop, lots of stories to discover, lots of plot devices to shoulder. He’s an asshole and an emotional brick wall, a loner and incredibly awkward, physically disabled… and my sweet little 30-year-old baby boy.

It’s gonna take me a while muddling through the Shapeshifter-verse until I’m ready to tell his story. Mostly because he is going to be a bit of an antithesis to a lot of established Shapeshifter mechanics and lore. The most important of which is tied to the concept of feral shifters, and all that entails.

The main hallmark of a feral shifter is a complete lack of humanity. See, it’s somewhat common for a shifter to get ‘stuck’ in their animal form for a period of time. The animal instincts/brain takes over, and the shifter is basically indistinguishable from a true animal. This is usually caused by extremely heightened emotions or a lack of control over shifting ability (usually both). But it’s usually fairly easy to snap a shifter out of their ‘animal brain’, since their soul is still inherently human. The problems begin when a shifter has spent so long in their animal form, letting their animal side take control, that their humanity begins to slip away. The animal begins to take over permanently, and the animal is incapable of remembering what it meant to be human, what it meant to shift and how to do it. If left long enough, there will be almost nothing human left in the shifter’s soul, just the animal. By this point, it is impossible to ever return a shifter to their human form.

This is where Dean’s story becomes important. Most of Dean’s past is a mystery, even to him. What can generally be agreed upon is that sometime before his 15th birthday, he shifted for the first time and got stuck in his animal form - a coyote. For three years. Now three years is pretty long to be a coyote, and everyone’s pretty sure that the coyote was in full control for that time. By all accounts, Dean should have been fully feral by the time he was found. And yet. Here he is. He’s still pretty worse for wear by his ordeal though. No memories of his past, incredibly hazy memories of his time as a coyote, and he’s retained a great deal of animal-like behaviors even when he’s not wearing a furry face. A small amount of behavioral bleed-over isn't uncommon for shifters; but with Dean it’s hard to even begin to separate him from his animal side.

Dean’s story has always - and will always - be that of finding your ‘place’ in a world you don’t feel a part of. And subverting a lot of expectations about what things ‘should be’. Hence why his story is gonna have to be a few books into the Shapeshifter-verse. I need to firmly establish the rest of the world and commonalities of it, then set Dean loose to fuck everyone’s expectations up.

here’s an angsty Dean moodboard, for funsies ^.^

#k talks out loud #shapeshifter extended universe #dean matthews #as some of you may have guessed #i was really into supernatural when i made dean #and now that he's had the name for a decade i ain't changing it

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cripplecharacters · 2 years

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Hey! I'm writing about a partially blind character and I have a few questions.

Is it realistic for him to have taught himself to read braille? For context he has no one he can go to to teach him to use braille.

Would he even use braille in the first place?

Are the canes that blind people use called a Probing cane, or have I been taught misinformation?

Would he even use one?

With the context above of not having a support system, could he adapt to using one on his own?

Also, is it shoehorning to have him use assisstive technology: I.e. voice over on a smart phone, audio descriptions, etc.?

Hi! I will be honest and say that there is very limited information to go off of for this character in this ask, so if you could provide more details about his life and place in the story, that might help us give better answers.

However, without any additional information, I do have some questions as to why it is that he has no access to someone who could teach him these things if he is in a modern setting. Does he have access to internet? A phone? It sounds like he at least has a smart phone, which should be able to give him access to a host of information on these things. Not enough to replace a real person to teach him, but certainly enough to get himself started and even connect with someone online to teach him.

Admittedly, good, positive information about blindness and how to learn blindness skills is pretty limited on the Internet, and it is hard to find the good sources from the bad ones, but there is a host of information out there. Many blind people end up connecting with people on the Internet before finding others in real life, and the Internet would actually be my first suggestion for getting a blind person connected with community. At least a younger blind person who is comfortable with technology.

Granted, I would give them specific recommendations to look up, because like I said there are a lot of bad sources out there, but almost every major city in all 50 states of the US has a local chapter of the National Federation of the Blind, for example, which is a great resource for meeting other blind people and asking them how to do things. That resource is available on the internet. There are also things like Facebook groups that are easily findable that can be useful, too. It is not uncommon at all for blind people to connect with each other online and teach each other how to do things or help each other find resources in their state.

More modern day resources (focused on the US for now since that’s where I live and I don’t have much information about the character) include a rehabilitation agency for blind and disabled people in every state that is specifically dedicated toward getting disabled people training on these skills and access to this equipment. Also, if the character grew up blind, he may have had instruction in some of these things already, though often times blind kids with more residual vision wind up being neglected and forced to rely on nothing but large print in magnification and straining their eyes instead of being taught things like braille and cane use because of ableism and abled professionals believing that they should always use the visual method first. It is still a possibility though, and at the very least he would have had an IEP, even if he was only given access to large print. The education system would have connected him to lots of resources where he could’ve come back around to as an adult to learn those skills if he didn’t learn them growing up.

I think my biggest question is why he doesn’t have access to people to learn these skills. What purpose does it serve in the story? Are you using it as a plot device? How could you still give him access to these important life skills and still get the story you want? Is that lack of resources going to run the risk of reinforcing harmful stereotypes about blind people? There is always something a little uncomfortable about denying a disabled character access to mobility aids and means of accessibility for the purpose of serving another narrative, so I would suggest thinking about changing that if you can. There are ways of writing that lack of resources in a way that tells a powerful story about how many unfair artificial barriers blind people face to get access to those things, but that can require a lot of research and nuance that can be very hard to get right if you aren’t blind yourself.

As for the specific skills you mentioned though, let me try and address each one individually:

Braille

[plain text: Braille]

Braille is probably the hardest skill to learn on this list in a way that is at all useful without a proper teacher. It is not entirely impossible though. At the very least, if he does in fact have access to the Internet, he could be either learning with somebody online, learning with someone in person that he met online, or at the very least using a little booklet of current braille symbols that he bought online. You can find things like that for around $10 depending on where you look. This one is my favorite for keeping in my bag. There are also plenty of articles and YouTube videos that give overviews of how Braille works, even though it won’t likely make enough sense until he can actually touch it.

It would be difficult and challenging and probably slow to learn this way without a teacher, but there are people who do it. And to further assist that effort, there are programs like the free slate and stylus program at the NFB that gives away free braille writing tools, which he could also utilize to learn. But again, it would be difficult without a teacher or at least an online friend. He may only be easily able to teach himself the alphabet and a small chunk of symbols, and he will probably struggle to figure out the right reading positions for his hands and struggle to read or write quickly without a teacher.

As for the other question about whether he would even use it in the first place, that definitely varies greatly person to person, but I almost always encourage writers to choose yes. Braille is an incredibly valuable skill, even in the modern age with things like screen readers and audiobooks. I have a great post about this on my own blog that I will link here. Long story short: less than 10% of all blind children in the US or given any braille instruction at all because many sighted professionals believe it is obsolete, but it’s very, very far from obsolete. It is a skill he should want to know how to use and deserves access to if at all possible.

White Cane

[plain text: White Cane]

On the topic of canes, let me first address your question about what it is called. It is, very rarely and in certain places, occasionally referred to as a probing cane, but that term is very outdated and also extremely rare and not at all in modern use by anyone except perhaps a strange fringe organization or two. I’ve never met a blind person who does refer to their own cane as a probing cane.

The more appropriate term to use would be a white cane, or just a cane for casual conversation. White cane is slightly more formal and is helpful when trying to distinguish between the canes that we as blind people use versus the canes that a physically disabled person might use for physical support, and many people will conversationally just call it a cane with people who know them or already know about blindness. You may also see it referred to as a long white cane, which is pretty interchangeable with just white cane. It’s also on the slightly more formal side mostly used for writing or public information purposes.

Next, on the topic of whether he would even use one, this again varies greatly by person. Unfortunately, there is also a pretty intense deficit of blind people getting taught cane skills largely due to institutional ableism in the blindness field, and also due to internalized ableism with a lot of blind people being really self-conscious to use one or feeling like it is a statement of how disabled they are if they do.

Again though, it is a topic where I almost always encourage writers to choose yes. Not only do we desperately need more representation of blind characters with canes, but writing a blind character who chooses not to use one or is not interested in learning also requires a whole lot of nuance that can be hard to do if you yourself are not blind and do not have all of the complicated messy lived experiences to understand how many factors go into that choice. I would suggest that yes, your character should use one, both because it is a powerful tool of empowerment and independence and because it is great representation that may even help more people feel braver about the idea of using themselves in real life after reading your story. It sounds like you currently know pretty little about a lot of the experiences of living as a blind person, so I think it is much safer to go with yes, especially since you are not blind yourself.

To answer your question about if it is feasible for him to learn how to use it on his own though, the answer is… Sort of??

This is again an area where there is very little information online that is actually good and reliable, but that’s not to say it’s not out there. Plus, using a cane without any proper training is definitely quite a bit easier than trying to learn braille without a teacher. If he does not have access to someone online or an in person community that can teach him, his technique will probably be rather poor, but he should at least be able to figure out the basics of making sure the cane is far enough out in front of himself to detect obstacles with enough time to move around them, and that he needs to move it from side to side in a wide enough arc to cover both shoulders.

Being graceful and genuinely really good at using a cane does require a lot of training, and it’s even more helpful if you can be taught by a blind person, but the basic skills for fundamental safety are relatively intuitive enough that he could figure it out on his own or by reading articles. A really great free resource that gives a step-by-step primer is called The Care and Feeding of the Long White Cane.

Tip: there are also things like the free white cane program if he would have a hard time affording one.

Assistive Technology

[plain text: Assistive Technology]

Finally, to answer your last question about whether it is shoehorning to have him use things like audio description and voiceover on an iPhone, for these things specifically, I would say absolutely not. In general I would never say that having a disabled character use assistive technology is shoehorning, because as long as you are capable of writing in general, you should be able to work it in just like you would any other important or incidental life object or tool. In fact, seeing disabled characters in media using assistive technology without making a huge production out of it is one of my favorite things in the world. I would highly recommend doing this.

It also helps that the two things you mentioned specifically, audio description and voiceover on the iPhone, are pretty easy to access and learn how to use. Audio description in particular doesn’t really require learning how to use it at all, just knowing how to turn it on initially on a platform like Netflix. Learning how to use a screen reader can be more complicated, but VoiceOver on the iPhone in particular is definitely one of the easier ones that is more intuitive, and it even gives you a helpful introductory guide in the settings app. Is an excellent way to incorporate subtle elements of accessibility into your characters life that he would totally have access to even if he doesn’t have teachers or other blind friends around to teach him. I am giving this one an enthusiastic yes.

I hope these answers were helpful even though I don’t have that much information to go on. I tried to operate within a generic modern setting, but if you have clarifications, you are welcome to reach out, either on here or on my own blindness blog.

— Mod Lane

#mod Lane #blindness #Braille #white canes #mobility aids #screen readers #audio description #assistive technology #neon-mooni #blind #writing blind characters #blind characters #writing disabled characters #disabled characters

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lacheri · 3 years

Text

11:29 PM, 4/20

pairing: stoner!Eren and fem bodied reader

content: smoking/drugs, dumbification, finger fucking, penetration, porn without plot, minors DNI

summary: eren's been trying to fuck you for years now, and he's got a different angle to play at this time. all it takes are a few pretty words and free weed.

wc: 3.5k

notes: happy 4/20 lmfao i wrote this in two hours and i'm posting this unedited and half asleep

‘Rolling up, you sliding through?’

Your phone illuminated brightly against your face as you held your phone above you, your bed’s soft comforter brought up to your chin. You bit your lip, contemplating Eren’s invitation. Your eyes glanced to the clock in the corner of your phone screen, blinking a couple of times. ‘11:29 PM’ it read back.

‘Pleaaaase, 4/20 is almost over ):’ Eren had resorted to double texting, and you sighed, his battle easily won. You tried to believe it was fought hard, but you knew perfectly well that you were wrapped around Eren’s pretty little finger. He called, you answered. Simple as that.

‘I want a blunt all to myself for this Jaeger. I’m literally in bed right now’ you typed back quickly, clicking the off button on the side of your device, begrudgingly throwing your blanket off your body as the heat escaped. You gazed down at your attire, sweatshirt and sleep shorts bundled up to your form, and you sighed once again. Eren was going to have to accept you like this, because there was absolutely no way in Hell that you could fathom throwing on real clothes this late at night.

‘What’re you wearing? Send pics’

‘Eren I’m LITERALLY!!! On my way to your house right now’. This boy was going to be the death of you, or at least whatever brain cells you had left.

Fuzzy pink slides adorned on your feet, hair thrown up in the messiest ‘neat’ bun you could manage, you pocketed your keys and wallet. You grabbed your bookbag in the corner of your room full of paraphernalia, knowing well by now that Eren was too lazy to buy bongs or bowls, and made your way out of your home, locking the front door on your way out. You hit the unlock button on your car, throwing the bag in the passenger seat and set out for your late night journey.

It wasn’t uncommon for your best friend to hit you up so late, in fact it was Eren’s peak hours for hanging out. He never genuinely inconvenienced you, just an annoyance because every single time you got that invite text or call, your head would have just hit the pillow beneath you, sleep on the horizon. Traffic was the best at this time too, you would reason on the way there, virtually no cars on the road, turning your usual twenty minute ride into a ten minute one.

When you rolled up Eren’s driveway, you could see the dark red lights of his bedroom through the upstairs window on the front of the house. You picked your phone out of your pocket, texting a quick ‘I’m here’. You grabbed your bag, slinging it over your shoulder and climbed out of your car. By the time you made it to his front door, Eren was swinging it open, a goofy smile on his face.

“Just us tonight?” you asked, referring to the lack of cars in the driveway as you glided through the entryway.

“Yeah, feeling greedy. We haven’t hung out just us in awhile,” Eren smirked, leaning back and letting his eyes travel down your spine as you slid by him. He reached and pulled the door closed, locking it quickly and following quickly behind you.

You spent most of your nights here, knowing the pathway to Eren’s room. You jogged up the stairs, oblivious to Eren’s eyes trained in on your bouncing ass in your loose fitted shorts. His bedroom door was wide open, and you navigated over clothes thrown haphazardly on his floor to his unmade bed. You bounced as you sat down, hitting the mattress with your full weight and unzipping your bag, picking out your favorite bowl. Eren lifted the corner of his mouth, clearly amused at how at home you had made yourself.

“Comfy?” he asked, a teasing tone to his voice as he joined you on the bed, rolling tray and jar of bud in hand.

“Mhm,” you hummed, eyeing Eren’s hands as they set quickly to work. His grinder sat on the bed behind him, and after picking out a few clusters of green from the jar, he reached behind him and popped the top off, going through the motions of getting prepped for the smoke session. “What’d you do today?”

Eren shot you a dumb founded look, “It’s 4/20, what do you think I’ve been doing all day?”

You rolled your eyes, throwing your hands up in surrender, “Just making a joke, asshole.”

He chuckled, extending his hand out so you could pass him your bowl, packing it not long after. Eren looked around his mattress for a lighter, eyebrows drawn together as he couldn’t find one. You smirked then, extending the black lighter you had packed in your bag, and Eren smiled gratefully. He flicked the lighter once it was in his possession, pointer finger resting over the choke as he placed the pipe to his lips, inhaling deeply as the fresh green turned to ash. He lifted his long finger off the choke hole, removing the pipe as he held the smoke in for a few seconds, eyes instantly glazing as he exhaled.

Eren was one of those smokers that the second he had a hit of weed, it was written all over his face that he was high, even if he wasn’t. When Eren picked up the habit in highschool, his parents knew instantly what the boy had been doing during his “study sessions” with his friends. Now that he was an adult and moved out of his childhood home, Eren was pretty free in his indulgences, no longer carrying around eye drops to try and help him appear as innocent as possible.

After his second hit, Eren passed you back your bowl and lighter, coughing lightly as he exhaled, “What about you? What’d you do today?”

“Not much, spent all day watching documentaries and smoking my vape,” you laughed lightly, positioning the pipe to your own lips.

Eren’s eyes drank in the sight of your pretty plump lips as they wrapped around the tip of the pipe, fingers copying his as you bent your finger over the choke. The lighter ignited after a single flick, warm colored flames illuminating your face. It was like Eren was watching you in slow motion, but it was always like that with you, even when he wasn’t high. He could see the fire in your eyes as they focused downwards to your actions, and Eren felt his mouth go dry. You pulled the bowl away, making eye contact with him as the smoke exited your lips, licking your face as it traveled towards the ceiling on your exhale.

The two of you made small talk as you passed the bowl back and forth, Eren making a face once the bud was dead. He packed another bowl, repeating the rotation until that one was dead. The two of you thoroughly fried, he put the pipe on his bedside table and leaned his back against the wall by his bed. You mirrored him, resting your head on his broad shoulder as the two of you enjoyed each other’s company.

“We should make edibles this weekend,” you suggested, fingers playing with the drawstring of your hoodie. “Maybe invite the group over and get zooted and play a game or something.”

“Zooted?” Eren snorted. “I haven’t heard that word in years, grandma.”

You shot Eren a glare, which he began to laugh at, “I’m hip, okay? Zooted is making a comeback.”

“Stop trying to fit in with the youth, Myrtle,” he teased, wrapping his arm around your waist to tuck you into his side. “Man, if I was only 50 years older.”

You lightly elbowed his side, “You wish you could bag 70 year old me. I’m a fucking catch.”

“I wish I could bag you period,” Eren confessed, probably for the hundredth time of you knowing him. “How come you’ve never let me take you out?��

“Because, you’d just fuck and dump me and then I wouldn’t have a plug anymore,” you pouted, purposefully snuggling in closer.

“Is that what you really think?” he asked seriously, positioning his neck to the side so he could look down at you.

You looked up, centimeters apart from his face, “That’s what you did with all the other girls.”

“But you’re my best friend,” Eren frowned, taking his hand and pushing your hair behind your ear. “I wouldn't do that to you.”

“Don’t know if I wanna’ really find that out,” you smiled sadly.

“C’mon, let me prove it to you,” Eren licked his lips. “Fuck me, right now, and I’ll take you out tomorrow.”

You felt a pulse in your pussy suddenly, gulping spit down as you broke the eye contact, “I don’t know ‘Ren. We’ve been friends since highschool, what if it makes things weird?”

“You can’t look me in the eyes right now and tell me that you’ve never thought about it, about us,” his voice was a hare above a whisper. “Because I think about it all the time. ‘Is why I hit you up all the time, I like you stupid, I always have.”

This confession was so different from all the other ones. Eren was practically begging to let him in between your legs on a weekly basis, ever since you had met him. Never once had he been this honest though, so genuine sounding about his feelings. He had a point as well, you thought about being with him all the time. You were always at his house or going out somewhere together, you spent all your free time with him, of course you would have feelings for Eren.

“If,” you started, your eyes blinking rapidly as you returned your gaze to his red ones. “I say yes, and things are weird after, we’re going to pretend like this never happened and we go back to being friends.”

“Deal.”

Eren’s lips crashed into your’s, any and all hesitation rolling off your body as you eagerly returned his kiss. His other arm circled you, bringing you in somehow even closer to him as your hands grabbed both of his cheeks, feeling the flex of his jaw as you smashed your lips together. Eren’s hand traveled under the hem of your sweatshirt to the small of your back, guiding you to sit in his lap. Legs on either side of his hips, your tongues slipped through the both of your lips, meeting in the middle.

Maybe it was the high, maybe it was Eren, but the throbbing in your cunt only expanded as Eren smoothed his hands all over the middle of your torso. They traveled up to the swell of your breasts, free from a bra, cupping both tits in his large hands. His thumbs slid and teased your nipples, hardening instantly under his touch. You arched your back, pushing your chest into his palms even more, your hips flicking as he tweaked your nipples between his fingers.

You both moaned into each other’s mouths at the roll of your hips, feeling Eren’s dick harden fast underneath your clothed center. Eren had been wearing a pair of thin grey sweatpants, leaving not much to the imagination while he was in this state. You felt his lips scrape against your bottom lip, pulling it into his mouth and sucking gently. He released it, a string of saliva linking to the two of you together.

“I’ve been imagining this for forever,” Eren’s eyes were glazed and deep red when you met his gaze. “I just never thought this would happen.”

“I’ve been wanting you too,” you admitted, your dirty little secret exposed.

He smirked at your confession, hands still toying with your breasts. Silencing you once more with his passionate kiss, he moved his hands downwards and to your back until he met the waistband of your shorts. He easily slid under the hem, gripping your ass in his palms, kneading and spreading you apart. You felt your pussy flutter, the indirect contact sending you into a deep pit of arousal, your senses heightened greatly.

It was like Eren could read your mind, and his fingers traveled to your spread cunt over his lap, running a finger over your slit over your panties. You whined, pressing your hips down to achieve a greater pressure from his hand, in turn allowing your wetness to seep through the cotton of your panties. Eren chuckled against your lips, reading your body language loud and clear. He pushed the fabric aside, allowing his knuckles to brush directly into your folds. You moaned into his mouth as he spread your arousal around your vulva. When his thumb bumped against your clit, you felt your patience snap entirely.

“‘Ren, need your fingers, now,” you panted, eyes half lidded as his kiss traveled to the underside of your jaw.

“You got it, baby girl,” he hummed into your skin. There was no resistance as he pushed his middle finger into your opening. “Fuck, you’re fucking soaked. This all for me?”

You couldn’t find your voice, nodding and whining out as he pumped his single digit into your pussy. His touch was slow, deliberate, trying to memorize every single ridge and flutter of your walls as you pulsed around him. Eren’s mouth was dry, dick hard and throbbing, completely lost in the feeling of you sucking his finger in deeper. He couldn’t comprehend the fact that his cock would be replacing his fingers soon, finally fucking you like he had imagined for years now.

His middle finger dared to pull out, and you let out a desperate whine, thinking that was his plan. You gasped in relief and pleasure as his ring finger pushed past your entrance, clenching tightly on his fingers. Eren found solace in this, perceiving your flutters as permission to go finger fuck you at an ungodly pace. He positioned his wrist as a more comfortable angle, and his fingers pumped inside of you at the speed of light.

Your eyebrows came together, mouth hanging open as you squeaked and whined, Eren’s other hand finding purchase on your jaw. He squeezed your cheeks together lightly, forcing your lips to pout as he maintained direct eye contact with you. His own lips hung open, and you could see your reflection in his blown out pupils. It only enticed you more, you looked heavenly. Eren couldn’t have worded it before himself if you had verbalized this, whole heartedly agreeing with you.

“You’re so tight,” Eren groaned out, his hand leaving your chin and slipping two fingers in between your lips. “Suck, baby.”

You did as you were told, Eren’s fingers slowing to fuck up into roughly, hitting your sweet spot over and over. Your tongue circled around his knuckles, lips vibrating on his fingers as your moans were silenced. Eren was thoroughly enjoying himself, seeing you completely under his control like this. You were putty in the palm of his hands, literally.

He slid his fingers out of your cunt so suddenly, feeling the gush of your arousal against your inner thighs as his hand left your shorts. His other hand fell out of your mouth, moving back to your jaw as you felt the wetness of your spit spread across your face. Eren brought the hand he was fucking you with to his own mouth, and you were practically drooling at the sight of him sucking your pussy juices off of his fingers.

“Delicious,” he cooed after he pulled them from his lips. “Just like I always imagined.”

You took this as your opportunity to remove some of your clothing. You tugged your hoodie over your head, tossing it on the floor. Eren followed suit, removing his own white t-shirt and reattaching his lips to yours. You tasted hints of yourself, not at all repulsed, in fact the exact opposite. You tasted sweet, tart but sweet.

You pushed yourself away from Eren, scooting off his lap in order to tear off your shorts and panties. Eren mirrored you, almost ripping his pants and boxers off as he slid them past his thighs and ankles to the floor. He remained in his seated position, eyes swirling and fingers twitching at his sides as he watched your crawl back to him. You placed a sloppy kiss to his lips before turning your body around, placing your feet on the mattress on either side of his lap. Sat in a full crouch now, you grabbed Eren’s cock, pumping him a few times with both of your hands in a screw motion. He moaned from behind you, his own hands gripping your ass cheeks to support your frame.

You guided Eren to your hovering pussy, teasing your clit, soaking him in your dripping heat. He cursed underneath you, his right hand moving to your hip as you lowered yourself on his length. Eren groaned loudly as the feelings of satisfaction and relief flowed through his body, his own heightened senses taking over. You moved to rest on your knees when you felt Eren bottom out inside of you, a string of moans and whimpers leaving your lips. You arched your back and Eren leaned back more, eyes stationed on your beautiful round ass.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he ran a hand up to the back of your head, untangling your messy bun so your hair fell free down your back. “C’mon baby, bounce on my dick.”

You lifted your hips, slamming down to his pelvis urgently. It was so overwhelming, the feeling of his cock filling you to the brim making your brain empty. Your eyes screwed shut, mouth hanging open dumbly as drool coated the swell of your lips. You bounced again, and Eren yanked your hair back as he watched your pussy stretch around him, close to snapping and drilling into you as he saw the creamy ring form around his base. You were a moaning mess, unable to think clearly as your body took over. Pushing all your weight into your knees and palms resting on Eren’s thighs, you fastened your pace, ass bouncing every time Eren’s fat tip brushed up against your cervix.

You felt the sharp sting on your cheek and heard the resounding slap of his hand on your right cheek, tears springing to your eyes, “Fuck, Eren, you feel so good.”

Taking your hips into his strong hands, Eren was finally at his brink as he thrusted hard up into. You yelped, letting yourself go limp as he slammed into your cunt at a dangerous pace. He was in full control now, fucking you into a stupor.

Your hand left it’s home of his thigh, traveling to your aching center to rub your clit. Eren’s position was perfect, rubbing the underside of his shaft against your g-spot. When you opened your eyes, you could see his toes curling, legs flexing and twitching. He wasn’t going to last long, your pussy putting him under a spell. You circled your clit with your pointer and middle fingers, throat raw from all the noises escaping you. All you felt was Eren, all you could hear was Eren, he was filling your entire being up, replacing any and all thoughts they may have lingered in your brain.

“Gonna’ cum,” you whined, fingers moving even faster.

“I’m so fucking close, fucking cum baby,” Eren growled, thrusts desperate and becoming irregular.

You stilled above him, a breathless scream heaving from your throat as you gushed around him. Your pussy clenched so tight, and Eren couldn’t hold back. Because as empty as your brain was, Eren was in the exact same state as he shot his thick load into you, filling your tight cunt up with his cum. You milked his cock, walls convulsing in your mind blowing orgasm. Black spots appeared in your vision when you realized you had forgotten to breathe, you took a deep gasp of air.

You were a panting, sweaty mess hovering over him. Eren was in awe, watching beads of his white seed leak out of your center. He’d worry about the consequences when his brain could comprehend what had just happened, but for now, the deep primal urge of filling you up was sedated. Eren didn’t think he could’ve imagined fucking you for the first time any better than this. And when you finally lifted your hips to release him, he felt a wave of sadness, your beautiful pussy no longer surrounding him.

“Did you, oh my God, Eren,” you lifted your hand in front of you, seeing the creamy white of his cum smeared on your fingers. “You came inside of me?”

“Sorry, baby,” he caught his breath as you turned your head over your shoulder to glare at him. “I’ll buy you Plan B in the morning, promise.”

“I’m on the pill, but still,” you huffed, letting the anger leave you as you realized Eren would take responsibility. “You didn’t know that.”

Eren laughed without humor, “Oh well, at least I know for next time. Now c’mere, wanna’ hold you while I roll a blunt.”

#eren jaeger #eren smut #eren x reader #attack on titan #eren fanfiction #stoner eren #tw: weed #eren yaeger #attack on titan fanfiction #shingeki no kyoujin eren #shingeki no kyojin

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comicaurora · 3 years

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hey Red, i wanted to stop by to say thank you. a while ago I watched superpowered and evil side and I was reminded that Inu-yasha exists. and just now I finally finished watching it.

and when I listened to the podcast of that episode (i think), you mentioned being obsessed with it at some point. and my question was, can you put into words why you liked it so much?

again, thanks! I'd forgotten how much I enjoyed it.

Hhhh good question. The short answer is I don't get to choose the hyperfixation. The longer answer is it was a character-driven ensemble cast monster-of-the-week story with a lot of tropes I liked, including in no particular order

I am an Asshole and I Hate Everyone and Suck now excuse me while I go out of my way to do something very kind and helpful (this happens about once an episode)

I am a Cold-Hearted Monster to whom Humans Are Nothing More Than Ants and I have forged an entire identity around the superiority of my Pure Demon Blood and this is my human Rin she likes naps and never shutting up

hello this is our friend, he acts like he's mean but actually he's incredibly loyal and selfless, aw look he overheard us complimenting him and now he's threatening us

more broadly it is truly hilarious to me how everyone in the group genuinely just don't buy inuyasha's "I'm a big scary jerk" act and are nothing but friendly and chipper while he's trying to brood. peak dynamic.

the villain tricked you and/or held your loved ones hostage to make you fight us? man I hate that guy. what? no I'm not mad at you just because you "stabbed" me "several times" now get in the friend group already

we're in love with each other, we KNOW we're in love with each other, literally everyone knows, we're just both incapable of expressing it outside of life-threatening danger (applies to every canon couple in the show)

flexible tone! sometimes things are really chill and goofy and somethings things get Dark As Shit! applies more strongly in the manga, lots of stuff got toned down for the anime

some dang clever plot devices to justify a lot of variance in the overall power level and threat level. This bit verged on being tedious (naraku must always be juuuuuust too strong/well-hidden to stop) but worked very well in a lot of smaller ways - weapons break or get new powers that are hard to figure out or are temperamental in general, characters have more trouble fighting when they're injured or depowered, environmental hazards affect different characters, etc. This contributes to the flexible tone thing, since a threat that'd be a joke in normal circumstances might be a big problem with one little situational change.

on that note, characters getting injured is a lasting plot point? surprisingly uncommon for fighting anime where there'll either be magic healing or single wrapup scenes of characters swathed in anime bandages. slowing things down to let characters heal gives more time for characterization and keeps the pacing balanced.

monster of the week format plus biiiiiig rotating supporting cast that can just Show Up Sometimes contributes to a formula that allows for a lot of unique episodic adventures

there's a couple episodes early on where scary demon shit shows up in the modern world! that's awesome! I wish more of those plots happened!

#asks

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cyokie · 4 years

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Jack Vessalius as a Symbol for Depression

Ever since I first read PandoraHearts, I have interpreted Jack Vessalius as at least a partial symbolic representation of depression, especially in his relationship with Oz.

(Skip to “keep reading” to go straight to the analysis; this beginning portion is little more than a disclaimer.)

Jack is a complex, fascinating character, and it is precisely due to this that I believe any number of interpretations regarding him contain merit. Whether you view Jack as an abuser, a manifestation of mental illness, or an extraordinarily-written character that does not require a figurative understanding to be interesting, I think this is valid.

I am saying this first and foremost because I want to be clear: this is not a persuasive essay. I am not trying to change anybody’s minds about liking or disliking Jack Vessalius, nor am I trying to devalue any other interpretations of this extremely nuanced character. Some points may be a bit vague and connections disjointed, though I attempted to minimize this. Any discussion of mental illness and abuse is based on either my personal experiences or those of people I know. I do not intend to offend anybody.

This post is simply the product of years of disorganized yet in-depth thoughts about this concept. I hope some of you will be interested.

Major spoilers for the entire manga below the cut. Manga panels are from the Fallen Syndicate fan translation. This...is going to get very long.

Emotional Abuse

Jack exists within Oz’s mind. When these two interact, it almost always occurs within Oz’s head, providing every conversation with an inherently emotional and symbolic element.

Jack initially appears to Oz as an unknown but crucial figure. Whether he is trustworthy or even harmful remains to be seen, but his input is necessary. He is the only insight Oz has into his lost memories; he knows something Oz does not. Oz is suffering an identity crisis, realizing he has endured something he does not completely understand, something that could potentially change his entire life once he does understand it. And yet, this mysterious voice within his head understands it.

This desperation makes it almost irrelevant whether Jack is credible, whether his advice is well-intentioned. Normally a rather cynical and distrusting young man, Oz follows Jack from the beginning despite wanting answers. He does indeed receive answers, but they are perhaps not quite what he bargained for, in more ways than one.

Once Jack’s true nature is revealed, the extent to which he has used Oz’s memories and emotions against him becomes apparent. Jack does present Oz with new insights into his experiences, but he only ever provides Oz with enough information to convince him to act a certain way. He never willingly gives a fair, all-encompassing portrayal of an event from Oz’s past. He manipulates Oz’s perceptions of his memories to fit a particular emotional narrative, one that is inevitably perplexing and demeaning to Oz.

This bears a resemblance to the way depression warps how we view past events. When we look back at our experiences, we don’t see the entire picture--though we are convinced that we may. We see a skewed version of an incident that actually occurred. Perhaps this incident proves little to nothing about ourselves in reality, but viewed through the lens of depression, everything about it seems to scream that we are useless. And it is nearly impossible to try and perceive these events any differently, because when depression overtakes our minds, this perspective appears to be the only one through which it is possible to examine any of our pasts.

By the time Jack’s intentions have been exposed, he is also explicitly emotionally abusive towards Oz. It is easy to recognize Jack’s statements as not only psychologically damaging, but disturbingly similar to what we hear in our own heads when suffering depression. Think about these assertions without the very literal plot elements that support them: Jack declares Oz less than human, insists that nobody loves him, and claims that he has no future because the only thing he’s good for is hurting those around him. He convinces Oz that he is useless, hopeless, and worthless.

Jack drills these ideas into Oz’s head when he is at his most vulnerable. This is when Oz breaks down and becomes convinced that all of Jack’s statements are true. He is not who he thought he was; he never has been, and so his life is meaningless.

This is arguably when Oz reaches his all-time emotional low. While it was already addressed that he had been struggling intensely with his mental health and was probably suicidal, up to this point, he always retained some level of self-preservation (however slight). Now, he silently accepts that the world would be better off without him and offers no physical or emotional resistance to his own execution. Jack’s words worm their way into his heart and corrupt his self-image to the point where his only reaction to Oswald’s sword swinging towards him is a blank, unflinching stare.

Trauma Response

It’s not uncommon for Jack to manifest during catastrophic moments--that is, whenever a situation triggers (or comes close to triggering) overwhelming memories of Oz’s trauma. When Oz is losing control over his emotional and physical faculties, Jack often encourages him to make the trigger disappear using the quickest and easiest method available. Unsurprisingly, this method generally takes advantage of Oz’s extraordinary powers. In other words, the “tactic” Jack advises Oz to use is simply mindless destruction.

In the second half of the manga, Oz is at his least emotionally stable. It is not a coincidence that this is also the point during which Jack gains the ability to completely hijack Oz’s body. This development allows Jack to commit impulsive acts of aggression through Oz, while Oz himself retains little to no control.

Jack overwhelms Oz with unnecessary flashbacks to traumatic events and makes an excess of harmful connections between past and present circumstances. Oz’s panicked, distressed responses to this are tools he uses to further coax Oz into acting in a self-destructive manner. These tendencies may not only connect Jack to the concept of depression, but the concept of post-traumatic stress disorder as well.

Identity Crisis

Although Jack is introduced extremely early in the manga, one of the story’s main mysteries is the exact nature of his connection to Oz. This relationship shifts several times, especially with regards to who is “in control” and who is the true “owner” of the physical body.

Once it becomes public knowledge that Jack is “within” Oz, the identity of the former overcomes the identity of the latter in the eyes of the general populace. Figures who never before gave Oz a second glance begin to pay incredibly close attention to him; many directly address him through his connection to Jack rather than as a separate entity.

Oz is deeply troubled by the way others ignore him in favor of an aspect of his identity that he feels does not truly represent him--an aspect of his identity that is at least partially out of his control. However, he is also relatively resigned to being judged in this manner. He lacks knowledge of how to change this circumstance because even he does not truly understand the extent to which he and Jack are connected.

It is true that at this point in the story, Jack is practically worshipped. His destructive actions and devastatingly selfish nature have not yet been exposed. Because of this, Oz as Jack’s “vessel” is typically viewed through a positive lens. Still, this situation reflects how people with depression are sometimes reduced to nothing more than a mental illness by their peers. Because others do not understand (and mental illness is stigmatized), they start to see us as “different” in some indefinable but undeniable way, and our existence becomes that particular part of ourselves in their eyes.

As time passes, the line between Jack and Oz becomes more and more blurred. Questions are raised about whether they are the same person or, on the contrary, whether they are similar at all. At what is arguably the climax of the manga, Jack declares that Oz’s body is, was, and will always be his possession; he claims that in reality, there is no “Oz,” only “Jack.”

This thought haunts Oz intensely and sends him into a rapid downward spiral. Like the sentiments expressed near the end of the “emotional abuse” section of this analysis, the idea that Oz’s body belongs to Jack is backed up by rigid, literal plot elements. However, if we view this emotional catastrophe using a symbolic perspective, it is a representation of yet another common struggle endured by those with depression.

We come to ask ourselves who we really are. Was there truly a time when we weren’t “like this?” Could we truly escape this misery in the future? Who would we be if we were to stop feeling this way? Do we even exist without depression? Does Oz even exist without Jack?

Visual Symbolism

It is a classic literary device to represent hope through light and despair through darkness. The manga is rife with this exact type of symbolism, utilizing it to describe how the Abyss has changed throughout time, Break’s dwindling eyesight, and the oscillating emotional states of various characters.

As I stated previously, Jack and Oz interact almost exclusively within the latter’s mind. The landscape drawn in the background of these conversations initially possesses a watery, clear appearance. However, as it becomes increasingly clear that Jack’s presence is deeply damaging to Oz’s psyche, this same landscape becomes overwhelmingly tainted by dark, ink-like shadows.

Closer examination reveals that this “pollution” originates directly from Jack--and it reaches its peak once Jack’s intentions have been fully disclosed. Not only is Oz’s mind visibly corrupted by darkness, but Jack himself appears as an almost inhuman figure composed of these shadows.

There is another level of visual symbolism as well--namely, the fact that Jack becomes increasingly physically aggressive and disrespectful towards Oz. In the first half of the manga, he primarily speaks to Oz from a distance, occasionally reaching out a hand in his direction. This is clearly not so in the second half of the manga, at which point Oz begins to defy his influence and it becomes vital that he subjugate him as quickly as possible.

By this time, Jack is almost always seen either restraining or caressing Oz. Even in the latter situation, when his touches are lingering and vaguely affectionate, they are possessive and constraining. In other words, though they appear different on the surface, both actions are ultimately methods of forcing Oz’s submission. It can be said that this represents his desire to gain complete control over all aspects of Oz’s being, as well as his total lack of respect for Oz’s physical and emotional autonomy.

It can be argued that both of these aspects of symbolism reach their pinnacle even before this point. Oz realizes his own worth when Oscar says he loves him and reveals that his greatest desire is for him to be happy. When Oz is at last able to grasp that he is loved and there is hope within his life, Jack immediately reaches out to grab him. And in one of the manga’s subtlest but most poignant moments, his hand crumbles to dust upon touching Oz.

What follows is an extremely impactful display of Oz’s character development. He recalls Jack’s previous statements declaring his achievements worthless, denouncing the love he received from others as fake, and degrading his worth. Then he furiously rejects all of them, thrusting out a hand to push Jack away from him and consuming Jack in an explosion of light.

The conclusion to be drawn from this is that Jack essentially lives off Oz’s misery. When Oz understands and is able to accept that he is not worthless, Jack is suddenly rendered utterly powerless.

The manga culminates in a scene that coincides with this symbolism. This late into the story, Oz has succeeded in transcending Jack’s influence almost entirely, but Jack is not quite ready to let go. Though they stand together within a void, glimmers of light linger around Oz--despite everything, his life has come to be surrounded by hope and love.

As Oz floats towards the path of light above, Jack reaches out and takes hold of his wrist. But his grip is feeble and hesitant, representing how little control he truly holds over Oz at this point. Perhaps attempting to provoke guilt or regret, Jack asks Oz if he is certain that he is prepared to move on without him, but Oz has grown too much to succumb to this manipulation.

Without delay, Oz replies that there is no reason for him to stay, and Jack finally releases him. He escapes into the light--into a world full of people who care about him, into a life where he is happy to be alive.

#PandoraHearts #Pandora Hearts #Jack Vessalius #character analysis #Oz Vessalius #analysis #Cyokie's thoughts

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cowboisadness · 4 years

Text

Found You {Arthur Morgan x F!reader}

Summery: She was there for Arthur through everything, being more than good friends but less than partners. They support eachother through the good and bad times, it’s not love tho, no, it’s not love at all.

Rating: M. Basically porn with plot. More plot than i planned i really got carried away with this. SMUT IS HERE! 18+ ONLY!!

—–

Chapter 4 - Together

The next few days were nothing short of torture. Arthur never spoke another word to me, huffing whenever I would say something to him or just walking away from me completely. Everyone else in camp soon noticed something serious had happened between us. Their comforting words and questions on what happened went unanswered and dismissed. I hoped time would help, that I would get a chance to explain myself and apologise for my foolishness and downright stupidity. But as the days passed, the frayed ends of the rope had no chance of being reconnected, no matter how hard I tried and how hard I cried. So I flung myself into as many jobs as I could get. As a distraction.

Robbing homesteads. Stagecoaches that turned into shootouts more often than not. Gambling with fellers that were too drunk to notice me stealing their wears from right under their noses and gone before they realised anything was amiss. Fighting in hidden alleyways with meagre men that thought they could take on a woman with nothing to lose. Just to feel something, another kind of pain that would lessen with time.

It wasn’t until I was sat at the edge of the camp, cleaning my revolver while looking out over the overlook, stars raining bright above. Bottle of whiskey by my side that Hosea came over and sat beside me. Silent at first. Taking in the view.

“You going to explain whats going on?”

“Nothings going on, Hosea.” I shrugged, running the oiled cloth over the same spot mindlessly. “Arthur won’t tell me. I though out of the two of you, you would.” he kept his eyes ahead, not bothering to look at me. I sighed, my shoulders dropping in defeat. I might as well tell him, not like he would be able to change my mind.

“I’m an idiot. I spoke to Mary. Told her to leave Arthur alone and to stop contacting him.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know anymore...Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“You love him.” I could see his grin out of the corner of my eye, albeit a sad on.

“Not you too, Hosea.”

“You two were very close. Closer than you think I realise. I’m not a dumb old man you know”

I didnt reply to that. No point to, my mind was made up now. Instead, I holstered my gun and stood, picking up the bottle as I did. Turning to Hosea to finally look at him.

“I’m leaving, Hosea. Only for a few weeks or a few months. I don’t know.”

“You really think leaving will help?” “Maybe. It might help him if I’m not here. I’ll send money and write to you and Dutch. I’ve already packed.” After a few more words and questions on my plans when I’m out there on my own, we hugged and I said my goodbyes to him, Dutch and a few others. Promising the girls I will see them again, even though I was doubtful. I willed no tears to spill when I gathered my things, leaving my tent bare and hollow. Mounting my horse I left camp without looking back, letting the wind guide me in whatever direction it wanted me to go.

---

Roughly 4 months had passed since leaving. Currently holed up in a now-abandoned cabin in the depths of Grizzlies East by O’Creagh’s run, hiding from the law after robbing the fence in Van Horne. Id wrote letters and sent money to nearby stations as promised. Keeping updated with the gangs coming and goings. The last time I heard from those who would write back, mainly Hosea and Mary-Beth, was when they were held up in a place called Shady Belle. I haven’t heard anything from them since. That was a month ago. I had thought of going there, finding them. But I couldn’t bare having to leave again after realising they had been getting on fine and had left me to my own devices. Coming to the conclusion that I was not returning and that I had abandoned them all. Which was far from the truth. I still cared, which I’m sure was evident from whatever leftover money I had been sending to them. Only, it wasn’t getting picked up from the stations anymore, along with my many letters. I was travelling back to the cabin after an evening hunting for supper and hopeful breakfast. The blanket of trees now behind me, opening up the wondrous starry night, pulling my jacket closed as the cold breeze this time of year began to sting any uncovered skin. I looked around before dismounting, taking my kill of two rabbits stowed on the side of my ever faithful horse and made my way inside. Looking around once more to make sure I hadn’t been followed. Just to be safe. As I began to skin and gut the meat, the warm glow from the lantern lighting my every movement in the otherwise dark cabin, I heard motion outside. Bears and wolves were not uncommon around these parts. I had to shoot my way out of a wolf pack not a week ago, coming away with nothing but a bruise on my hip from being bucked off the horse in her desperate attempt to flee. Nevertheless, I placed down the knife and picked up my rifle propped up against the door. Looking out the window to the right of the door. Seeing nothing and hearing nothing else. I went to the door, preparing my rifle then placing my ear to the door. It was silence for a few moments, then movement again, making its way up the steps. It didn’t sound like an animal. With a hand on the handle and rifle ready to be used, I swung the door open. The rifle now aimed at the unwelcomed guest.

It took a moment for my eyes to adjust in the darkness, but it didnt take long to recognise who it was.

“Arthur?” It was barely a whisper. A question of disbelief. I blinked a few times, surely my eyes were playing tricks on me.

After a few breaths, he finally spoke “I’ve found you.” We just stood there, I released a breath I didnt even know I was holding. How did he find me? Why would he? Months of keeping myself away from people the best I could and staying hidden for long periods of time I was beginning to feel content with being a lone wolf. Not thinking that lone wolves are weakened beings after too long. Often driven out when deemed useless or a weakness to the pack, or leaving to find their own family. Not alone forever, wolves would struggle and go insane.

But he, of all people, found me. The only question now is why. And that was the only thing I could say as I lowered the gun.

“Why?”

He told me everything that happened. The downfall, the betrayal, the heartbreak. Those that we lost. Everyone gone in one way or another. Sean, Kieran, Lenny, Hosea, Molly, Miss Grimshaw. Dead. Saint Denis bank, Guarma, Micah working with the Pinkertons. In the end, Micah had turned Dutch against almost everyone, whispering little worms into his ear until they grew and grew to leave no room for anything else.

Dutch turning his back on Him and John. Leaving John to bleed out and leaving Arthur on that mountain. Where he thought would be his final resting place. But once the sun was up, high in the sky, he found the energy to live. To heal. To find me.

And that’s what he did the last few weeks until he heard whispers of someone fitting my description that caused a bit of hell in Van Horn. He knew he was close.

“But...why did you want to find me?” I asked. Both of us sat around the small table below the window, two empty whiskey glasses before us.

He took in a deep breath, his perfect blue eyes meeting my bloodshot and watery ones. “I wanted to the moment I was told you left,” He leaned over, taking my hands in his.

“I’ve had a lot of time to think these last few months. Especially in the last few weeks. What you did before you left, I understand now why.”

“But I hurt you.” letting a sob escape, my body starting to tremble and I’m sure he could feel it in my hands.

“It did hurt. But losing you hurt even more,” He said, nothing more than a whisper, his eyes never leaving mine and his hold on my hands not faltering as he continued. “I remember what you said to me that night years ago. ‘Bout not knowing how much I mean to you. Well - I - I do. Because I feel the same. Always have. it just took me a while to realise it I guess.”

I couldn’t stop the tears. The damn had busted open. Within seconds he was on me, his arms enveloping me, my hands coming to purchase on his shirt. Neither of us wanted to let go, out of fear the other would disappear into the air like dust in the morning rays. We held each other for what felt like an eternity, my tears slowing and the shaking subsiding. I lifted my head from where it was perched on his chest to look at him, our eyes locked once more. No words were spoken but I could see it in the depths of those pools, the forgiveness and longing. And I was sure my eyes mirrored the same. His hand came up to cradle my face and I instinctively leaned into him, my breathing hitching despite the calmness that washed over me. Then I looked into his eyes again, only to be met with a look I had not seen in many years. I opened my mouth to speak but before I could he surged forward, his lips on mine. It was delicate, more fragile than any other kiss we had shared. It wasn’t long until that fragility turned into desperation, my hands at the nape of his neck, his on my waist. My mind was running a million miles a minute, all thoughts of him and this moment. Feeling like we were young lovers again. His hands roamed my sides as I gripped his hair, keeping each other glued to one another. My body began to burn up, feelings I had repressed for months pushing their way to the surface, refusing to be drowned. We broke apart and he pulled me to stand, his lips now on my neck, trailing wet kisses from below my ear to the hollow of my neck, causing me to moan. He looked at me then, desperation and pleading etched upon his face before I kissed him again. Kissing the scar on his chin that was easily visible within the stubble, his jaw, down to his neck and then his chest. Pushing off his jacket and suspenders with it. My fingers returned to the front of his shirt, undoing the buttons slowly as he pushed me back into the direction of the bed. My legs soon coming into contact with the edge. His hands now making a start on my blouse, pulling it from the confines of my pants and lifting it over my head. My hands roaming his chest and snaking down to his abdomen, stroking the hair there, causing him to tense at my touch. He always was a fine man, built from hard work that I couldn't help but adore. His arms wrapping around to my back to undo the corsets lacing, completely surrounding me and all I could smell was him. Horse, rain, sweat and something that was just so undoubtedly him. Undoing his gun belt was muscle memory, hitting the floor with a thud, my corset following, now both bare from the waist up. We couldn’t wait any longer, our lips on each other once again as we worked on unbuttoning our pants. He leaned me down to lay on the bed, my legs hanging over the sides as he wasted no time to pull off the rest of my clothing. Laying there propped up on my elbows I watched as he raked his eyes over every curve, scar and freckle on my body. Kneeling between my legs he drew kisses from my knee up my thigh, getting oh so close to where I wanted him to be. He looked up at me once more, giving a shuddering breath before his mouth landed between my legs, soft but purposeful strokes easily pulling moans from me. He didn’t let up, devouring me like a man starved as he paid close attention to my little bundle of nerves. My body shaking again but for a whole different reason. It had been too long and I knew I wasn’t going to last if he kept going for a minute longer. My hands fisting the bedsheets I tried to speak but it was useless, squirming from the sensations. Lifting my legs to rest on his shoulders feeling him moan against me, the vibration causing bolts of electricity to fire through my whole body and land at my core. I could feel my orgasm rapidly approaching and my hand flew down to card through his hair, holding him there. My body convulsed as I tipped off the edge, my head rolling back as the blinding pleasure washed over me, moaning his name into the air. Arthur was above kissing me within seconds, tasting myself on his tongue and lips. Catching my breath he pushed me further up the bed until my head hit the plush pillows. Removing his pants and then situating himself between my legs. I could feel him pressed up against my thigh, hot and swollen and begging for attention. And oh how my body craved to give him what he needed. His eyes met mine, hooded and filled with lust. Silently asking for permission. I nodded, placing a kiss on his forehead and placing my hands on his shoulders. Electrifying jolts surged through my core as he strokes himself along my slit tenderly. His skin burning to my touch and looking downright drunk. Completely intoxicated. He sinks into me slowly. My body soon getting accustomed to the memory of him as he bottoms out, his hips meeting my thighs. My breath hitches as he bites back a moan. Both of us taking a moment just to bask in the feeling of one another like this again. It all felt the same but so different. He kissed the scar on my collar bone that he only got to see before when it was fresh. We had been through so much over the years we would need to learn about each other again. But one thing remained the same; my body yeard for him. He pulled out before setting a languid pace, lifting one of my legs to wrap around his waist, allowing him to go deeper, his pace quickening and lifting my hips to meet him, Chasing our pleasure. One hand in my hair, tangled up with my locks as his other hand firmly grasped my hip. The look on his face was evidence that he was holding back, needing to completely lose himself in me. And I felt the same. “Arthur...Please.” I purred, not needing to say anymore. His pace quickened with a grunt, one that was a borderline growl. My moans and the sounds of skin on skin filling the air and our ears as he kept hitting that sweet spot. My nails forming crescents on his shoulders. Pulling him down to crush my lips against his, our teeth clicking and tongues dancing together. Pulling back suddenly with swollen lips as the pressure began to build, my whole body trembling more and more as I got higher and higher. Moaning out his name as his rhythm began to falter. Nuzzling into my neck and mumbling ‘oh, fuck,’ in that gravelly but wanton voice. His hand on my hip made its way between my legs, rubbing in quick circles. I couldn’t hold back. That coil within me growing tighter and tighter before snapping. My back arching as the shockwaves rocked through me. Slowing his pace slightly to ride me through it before picking up his pace again, chasing his pleasure with a few more pumps of his hips and he stilled. His hand like a vice on my thigh as he spent himself inside me with a drawn-out moan. It took us a few moments to get our breath back. Pulling himself from me causing me to whimper from the empty feeling and sensitivity. He moved to lay beside me and pulled me to lay with my head on his shoulder. Neither of us willing to clean ourselves up just yet. My skin now acknowledging the cold air around us. The thin sheen of sweat cooling me. Nothing was said for a while as he held me close until he broke the silence to place a kiss to the top of my head then lifting my chin for my face to meet his. “I love you,” he said. My eyes getting blurry from the confession I never thought I would hear. But looking at him I knew it was true. His eyes shone with adoration. I smiled weakly before kissing him once. Looking back into his eyes and with no hesitation, I said out loud what id only heard myself mutter in my dreams. “I love you too."

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan smut #smut #rdr2 #arthur morgan x fem #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader

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the-ghost-king · 3 years

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Hi, I've been trying to explain to my friend why I think of Nico as autistic, but I'm not good with words and I don't know how to explain what I think. I've seen that you also support the autistic Nico hc and buoyantsaturn said you might be able to help, so if you could explain your thoughts on this matter it would be great. Or mention some autism-coded scenes in the books. It's perfectly alright if you can't though <3

Yeah sure I don't have any specific page numbers but I can describe some of the scenes, other things are more general throughout the books. This is definitely just rambling and worded poorly but I hope the "points" are there if you're interested in formulating this better.

I'd also like to say we don't have confirmation that Nico has autism, and we don't have confirmation that he has adhd either. In adhd and autism there can be a lot of overlap and some people even have both, so there's definitely an aspect of personal interpretation that plays into things. We do know he's said to have ptsd though and therefore is canonically neurodivergent.

I think that his obsession with mythomagic definitely seems to be a special interest, and during his introduction in ttc we see him info dump and also have a lack of understanding towards social norms as well. In this scene as well as a couple of others we can also see he has some difficulty understanding volume control, usually Nico struggling with volume control is him speaking too quiet but there's examples in the book of him being very loud as well. In the same category we see Nico dominating conversations or remaining incredibly quiet through the series with little variation in between.

We see Nico also carrying his mythomagic cards around as well as the figurines with a sense of attachment that most people probably wouldn't have to such objects. I think it's important to note the use of mythomagic cards as a narrative device for him leaving childhood behind, as well as the bases figurine being a reminder of Bianca. After this point and in the later series we see Nico info dump and be rather happy to discuss mythomagic in detail to Frank, I can't remember the exact book of this but it's the scene where Nico mentions he has the African God's expansion pack and Frank gets excited back.

I think that there's something to be said about how people in the series are always misunderstanding Nico's motives and interpreting him to be standoffish or similar. While there are definitely some situational reasons and plot reasons as to why this happens, I personally I think it also has to do with him perhaps speaking in a monotone voice. People tend to interpret this as standoffish or rude when it's just how he might talk, my extra "evidence" as to why he appears (to me) to perhaps be speaking in monotone is there seems to be *some* level of understanding among fanon that he might sound like a textbook or perhaps recite things from textbooks and that's not necessarily an uncommon experience for autistic people who don't produce tone.

In alignment with the above, we see it mentioned repeatedly in almost every interaction with Nico following ttc and I would say most noteably Jason talks about it in house of Hades, that Nico doesn't produce any sort of readable facial expression or he doesn't do so often. He is constantly just considered "very hard to read" by almost everyone who interacts with him, and while this could be some sort of defense response it could very well be autism too.

For some other smaller things I've always seen his jacket as perhaps some sort of "weight stim" or something similar, and while that and his ring stim could also be adhd or just some comfort during difficult times I can't definitely say it's more just "how I like to see it" than anything.

I'd like to point out in connection to this Nico's seemingly lack of acknowledgment towards his body or how much he is hurting? This is how some people experience autism as well they don't really respond in any way to pain (which is an important note perhaps that he doesn't respond to pain much beyond "I passed out" in a neutral tone when conversations about Nico and physical disability are happening).

There's definitely other things I'm not remembering but I think the most important thing for me was just sort of "I like this idea it makes me happy and it doesn't hurt anyone". I can understand you wanting to have a friendly chat about it, especially if your friend is being a bit ignorant but at the end of the day you can always just agree to disagree as well! There's no "confirmation" of Nico being neurodivergent in connection to adhd or autism, lots of implication but no confirmation so it does leave it up to the reader some!

#asks #the-ashes-of-the-cosmos

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lostinanothersmemories · 3 years

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Got any quinn x darlin headcanons (I may or may not be obsessed with this pairing but sam x darlin forever)

im assuming you want smut but if not i'll make another for them 18+ also dub-con/intoxication led decisions I don't like Quinn but I love him as a plot device

Quinn and Darling were harsh lovers, no one left the bed without bruises or bite marks. They both needed to be felt to be real and the edge of pain gave it to them.

Their like first time was an after another shitty day for Darling and a lot of drinks later.

Boundaries broke away in the interest of someone actually wanting Darling. Vampires don't need permission to enter a home, Darling got really hit with this information when Quinn started breaking into their place. It terrified them the first time waking up to him on top of them immediately going to hit him but only getting their wrists pinned above them in response. As well as a taunting "Oh come now pup you know you can't get out of my hold."

Quinn loves to hunt though which has cause many close calls, being lifted up against the side of a building hoping the shadows cover them while they try to muffle their own moans wasn't uncommon for their nights.

He did love to catch them off guard manhandling pulling pushing and molding them where he wanted. He'd feed from them of course however he always insisted the shifter blood just tastes borderline rotten. That of course he would bite them because he loves them but it just doesn't sate him or taste as good. It was just why he needed to feed on other people as well, why they had to ignore the scent of others on him.

Favorite position probably doggy-style if you will forgive the pun he loves to grab their hips and just have entire control. But he loves to bend and twist them trying to see just how deep he can get.

Their frustration was his biggest motivator, them coming back from a job where of course they did something wrong because causing finger shaped bruises on someone who was just a bit too drunk is excessive. They just get back home wanting to collapse but instead as the door shuts they find their back immediately pushed into it. "You really should pay more attention pup, not everyone would be so nice despite your mistake."

"It's a good thing it's just you fangs, no danger." But that smirk he has screams differently he assures them he can be plenty dangerous already pushing a hand up their shirt to pinch and pull making their back arch to ease the sting. Slipping their pants down to their ankles before using the makeshift restraint of their leg movement to easily fireman carry them to their bed. Squirming only slightly sated by swatting at their ass. When they get to bed and Darling keeps pulling him in directions he comments how they are far too free for his liking. Leaving them only free enough to whine and squirm, stretching them out enough to be safe and pushing deep without warning so their breath is knocked out of their lungs. Yet still waiting until they are begging for more until he even slightly moves

#oh god uhhhhh yeah here ya go?#...darlin #...quinn #nsft

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mschillinvillin · 4 years

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The Department of Love is overwhelmed with work in the weeks leading up to Valentine’s day. Head Cupid Sesshoumaru is struggling to finish his paperwork, but when his underlings fail to find a match for a difficult client, he is forced to step in and resolve the matter personally. A V-day Oneshot.

(Also available on my Dokuga, Fanfiction(dot)net, and A03 under the name ChillinVillin)

The mountain of paperwork on Sesshoumaru’s desk grew steadily, despite the long hours he’d been putting in at the office. He was a workaholic year-round – love was not just a Valentine’s affair after all – but February was always a veritable shit storm, and this year he hadn’t even had a chance to go home to sleep.

He was bent over a file for a widower when a soft knock sounded at his door and his youngest team member popped her head in.

Rin was still new to the Department and there had been an uproar when he promoted her onto his exclusive team. Her youthful demeanor and easy smile made her a target for those jaded by the industry, but she was an excellent matchmaker. Her unending reserve of energy and positive attitude served her well, and she let any hate directed at her roll off. As she should have. She was superior.

She was humming lightly when she stepped into his office, the fairy wand she used as her matchmaking device scattering love dust on his pristine carpet. It was not uncommon for her to bring him lunch, so he was startled when she plopped herself into the chair across from him and placed a manilla folder on the empty corner of his desk.

He couldn’t see her over his stack of paperwork, but he didn’t have to look up to know she was displeased. She worried at the edge of a manila folder and her humming cut off abruptly.

“What ails you?” He asked without looking up from his work.

“As you know, Valentine’s day is approaching quickly.”

He made a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat and gestured to the paper mountain.

“There’s this one woman. Kagome Higurashi. She’s a class A case so she both desires and deserves a proper match,” she flipped the folder open to reveal the fresh face of a smiling young woman. She was pretty enough, he thought, glancing at the photo without looking too closely. She was young enough to be planting the seeds for a future with a first partner, and pretty enough to get one. An easy mark for someone as competent as Rin.

“And there is no one suitable?” he surmised.

“It’s not that! I’ve spent the last week trying to get her together with her childhood friend! He’s already in love with her, so half the equation was solved. He’s kind and attentive and he’s studying medicine, so he’s smart and cares about people. He’s perfect for her, but every time I tried to set them up, she brushed my magic aside like it was nothing and found an excuse to take off!”

“We cannot manufacture attraction,” Sesshoumaru huffed, returning to the file before him. This was basic stuff. “You tried to open her eyes and she declined. Move on to the next best match.” And leave me in peace, he thought, biting his tongue. It wouldn’t do to upset her during their busiest time of the year.

“I did!” She wailed. “I found her someone else. This guy was his opposite. He was fun! Flirty and easy to commit to. He would have given her everything she needed to feel fulfilled as a girlfriend!”

“She ignored him as well?”

“Not only was she not interested; she set him up on a date with her best friend and now they’re going steady!”

He frowned. It was almost unheard of for Rin to strike out twice. He put it down to the overwhelming work of her first season on his team. Perhaps she simply hadn’t learned yet what to do when she hit a snag. He would put someone more seasoned on the case.

“Very well. Move on to your next assignment and send Jaken in.”

He closed the manila folder and returned to his work, not acknowledging the short man who came in for it. He couldn’t see Jaken’s eyes over the top of the desk, but the two heads on his staff, their lips pursed like they waiting for a kiss, danced towards him, and then a small hand felt around on his desk before sliding the file off the edge. Jaken made a lot of noise as he came and went, but Sesshoumaru tuned him out, sighing gratefully when the door clicked closed and he was left in peace.

Considering the problem dealt with, he gave his full attention to the case in front of him.

“I’m so sorry sir! Please forgive me!”

The piercing shriek of his subordinate made his head pound. He hadn’t even gone home to shower, and his stomach cramped from cheap vending machine food. The first thing he noticed when he peeled his eyes away from his work was that the staff of two heads looked… wrong.

The heads had twisted apart, the centre cracked like they’d tried to get away from each other. Their kissing faces had devolved into delirious smiles. Jaken clambered up to stand on the chair across from his, waving a folder around. Sesshoumaru cut off his groveling.

“This is not the time for mistakes, Jaken.”

“Please forgive me! I was only trying to do as I was asked, but the task proved to be impossible!”

Sesshoumaru was certain that he hadn’t given anything beyond his subordinate’s abilities. That was why he spent his days (and this time of year his nights) pouring over paperwork.

“It’s that Higurashi woman to blame!” Jaken griped. “I found her a man who was rugged and handsome. He was completely appropriate while presenting enough of a challenge for her to get a sense of satisfaction out of winning his heart. Just as she started to warm up to him, she found out that she was a dead ringer for his ex and got upset.”

“A rookie mistake.”

“Forgive me, but often the second match is better than the first anyway. They appreciate the next match so much more once they’ve had a taste of disappointment.”

It was an old school thought, reminiscent of Sesshoumaru’s father’s ideology from his days running the department. It never would’ve worked for Rin’s childish, bubbling love type, but Jaken’s staff was uniquely designed for two romances in quick succession. The second and more powerful head could not work until after the first had been activated.

“That was not the case?” Sesshoumaru prompted.

“I found her someone similar, but who would be unwaveringly honest in his high opinion of her and who had no prior serious attachments, but she wound up foisting him off on another girl!”

“And your staff?”

“The staff got confused. Since she wasn’t reactive to the first or second match, both heads tried to blast him and he wound up doubly smitten with the new girl. This is a mess.”

Sesshoumaru grunted. This had never happened in the centuries since Jaken had joined the department.

“You cannot work without it, and I need you on the ground. Leave the case and see if Totosai in tech can fix it for you. If it will take more than a few hours, then request assistance from another department to cover your time off. And send Ah and Un in.”

Jaken ran off, leaving the slightly worn folder behind.

A pair of twins slid in several minutes later. Sesshoumaru gestured to the folder without looking up and they whisked it away, disappearing. Ah and Un were a bit of a mystery, but they always got results.

He cursed when they swooped in the next morning and dropped the folder on his desk. They didn’t say anything, and he dismissed them with a wave. The pile had shrunk, but not enough. Valentine’s was only two days away and he had to finish before then.

“Well, well, well,” the soft purr came from the edge of the room. He shot up and glared at the woman who stood in his doorway. His mother smirked at him in all of her finery. She’d long been trying to convince him to join her as a member of the Winter Solstice Department, and 48 hours out from Valentine’s day, when his patience was thinnest, was a bad time for her to try her usual antics.

“What do you want?” He asked, turning his focus back to his desk.

“Poor dear,” she said. Her voice dripped with false sympathy. “Is your little holiday getting the best of you?”

“You know that this is not a good time.”

“Of course. I’ve only come because a request was put in for assistance and I thought I’d offer mine to you, personally.”

He groaned. Of course she’d snatch up the chance to insert herself into his business. He didn’t have time to put another request in, so he handed her the folder. The edges were bent and there was a coffee ring on it. She poured herself a cup of coffee, emptying the pot of his last dregs of caffeine, and sat across from him.

“Word’s been getting out about the difficulties you’ve been having. Is it true she damaged your righthand man’s Toke of Affection?”

“It is true.”

She flicked through the file, a devious smirk on her face. “Are you certain that she’s interested in men dear? I know that on a long winter night, I often prefer the company of-“

“This is not about your preferences,” he said sharply. Her grin widened. “And it is not about lust. We’re in the business of romance. If you cannot deliver, then leave and send someone who can. Besides, she wouldn’t be in the pile were she not available and desiring a romantic entanglement, and her orientation is clearly marked.”

“Very well. This one shall be kind enough to help you.”

She swept from the room, a cold wind billowing in her wake. He counted the folders piled on his desk. Determination set his jaw. He finished his last coffee and got back to it.

She swung back in in the evening, bristling. “Unbelievable! What a thankless operation this is!” His desk had been completely taken over, so she threw the file on top of the cold coffee pot. “I thought that perhaps she would enjoy a little variety, so I sent her a man known to be a little on the imaginative side. He had a woman with him who was gorgeous and also interested. I thought that the more the merrier was a good call, but she ran off so quickly I didn’t even see her go!”

He grunted, and when she realized that he wasn’t paying attention, she flew from his office, plotting.

Sesshoumaru finished his papers with a full twelve hours to spare and finally stood from his desk. His bones popped as he stretched, and he wondered idly how long he had been in the chair. He flicked the lights off and grabbed his coat, intent on having a nice bath and a glass of wine to celebrate his victory. Another year had gone by without a hitch.

He always put in an appearance to the Department’s party for his employees. They worked for him, so once he was clean and rested, he returned to the lobby. As always, they had gone all out. The room was swathed in pinks and red, glittering hearts twirled high above the floor that had been cloaked in a plush red carpet. A live band sung romantics ballads and a hearty spread of festive foods were laid out on a banquet table.

He greeted each employee cordially while it sunk in that his work was done. He’d even have a long weekend. Rin ran up and twirled around him. Her wand trailed sparkles behind her.

“Another year is done!” She cried. He accepted a mini cupcake from her and a glass of champagne. He’d earned it and she said as much. “I admit, I am curious who Mr. Jaken found for Kagome Higurashi. She was so tough to crack that the not knowing is driving me crazy!”

Frowning, Sesshoumaru excused himself and brushed past her to find his second hand. Jaken was chatting with a tall, busty woman from the Halloween department. They were an incongruent pair, but it was widely speculated that the appropriate members of the Love Department were excellent lovers, and they all needed to let off steam after weeks of hard labour.

“Sir,” Jaken greeted! He was a little tipsy and didn’t notice his date eye Sesshoumaru up and down with a wicked smirk. “Meet Haru!”

“Yura!” The woman corrected. In one hand she held a black skull. The other she reached towards him. His mouth twitched and Jaken rambled on as if the exchange hadn’t happened.

“Well done! But what did you ever do about that woman who wrecked my beloved staff?”

Sesshoumaru spun on his heel, scanning the crown until his eyes fell on Ah and Un. They nodded to him when he approached their corner.

“What happened to the Higurashi case?” He demanded.

They looked at each other and shrugged.

Rin, Jaken, Ah, and Un had all struck out with her, leaving him to fumble for who he’d assigned her to. He tried to recall what he’d done with her case when it hit him.

Mother.

He hadn’t really been paying attention when she came in, but surely she’d failed too. He raced to the elevator, barely restraining himself while it climbed to his office, and flicked the lights on. The return of the cold fluorescence made his head throb, but he paid it no heed as he searched his deck for the file. It was pristine, as he had left it, without the Higurashi file in sight. He got down on his hands and knees and peered under it, but other than some of Rin’s glitter that the custodians had missed and a couple of dust bunnies, it was empty too. Snarling, he got up and looked around, finally noticing that it had slid behind the coffee maker.

A job failed. A heart left to grow cold on his day. He would not accept it.

He pulled his blade down from the display on the wall behind his desk. He hadn’t used it since he trained Rin. It pulsed faintly in his hand, the familiar energy stirring awake. He strapped it on, grabbed the folder, and raced down the back stairwell to grab a taxi.

He would find Kagome Higurashi and ensure that she had a partner by midnight.

Her file was thin. He knew that her family was small, but important to her. She was raised to take over her family’s shrine and that’s what she did. She was a romantic, but she rarely dated. She was outspoken, but kind to a fault. Overall, she was a perfectly good candidate for a love match.

His underlings had left notes, all of them detailing what had worked to catch her attention and what had failed along with a list of the names that hadn’t worked. Someone had written ‘this job sucks!’ across the top of the sheet, which he recognized as his mother’s handwriting. Hn, childish.

The cab pulled to a stop in front of a bar. It was uncharacteristically cold for February, and snow crunched beneath the wheels. There was nothing in the file to help him, so he tucked it away and went in to watch her. He would have to glean the details about her for himself and find her an acceptable partner. All in the next, he checked his watch and hissed, five hours.

It didn’t take him long to find her. She was bouncing around the people on the dance floor, dancing and chatting over the rock band that was playing near the front. She nursed her drink and seemed perfectly in her element, and he found himself relaxing as he watched her from a barstool. He had his own drink, which he’d purchased just to fit in. He could unsheathe his blade and disappear from view, but that was always a poor choice in such crowded venues.

Kagome Higurashi seemed happy and as he watched her, he began to wonder if perhaps his mother had been right. Maybe she really didn’t want anyone. She flitted from person to person, lingering just long enough to have a laugh before scooting along to the next acquaintance. Even from a distance, he could tell that she was charming. She also seemed to interact with anyone and everyone without judgement. Kindness radiated from her. Why had his underlings had a hard time? She was an easy mark.

A couple bounced up to the bar, and he learned quickly that their names were Miroku and Sango, and that Kagome had set them up, and as they chatted he found out that a number of the people his team had tried to set her up with were also there. She was happy for all the couples, gushing over their outfits, valentine’s gifts. It turned out that she had presented chocolate to all of them, so she was receptive to the holiday.

It bothered him that the system could have made a mistake. It had never happened in his time, nor had he heard of such a thing happening in his father’s.

A confident man approached her, his long hair pulled back into a braid, and he offered her his hand to dance. She smiled at him, and the blade thrummed with the potential for a new match, but just as he reached for the hilt, her eyes shot up to his and everything stopped. She blushed at having been caught staring and looked away, and the bubble burst.

Heart pounding, he paid for his drink and went to the dirty bathroom at the end of the long hall.

Perhaps he needed to be more direct, seek her out and ask what she looked for in a partner.

He marched back to the dance floor only to find that she was gone.

Perhaps she was only in the restroom, he reasoned, but as his watch ticked, he stiffened. 3 hours remaining and he’d lost his target.

He burst out the front door into the chilly night and looked around wildly. He froze. There she was, still in her short party dress, leaning against the wall. He expected her to be smoking, but her arms were wrapped around her chest. He noticed that the long sleeves of her red dress were translucent and couldn’t stop himself from addressing her in clipped tones.

“Where is your coat?”

She snorted, an action that startled him. People did not address him so casually. If he was miffed, it passed with her watery smile. She’s been crying.

He slid his coat from his shoulders and held it out to her. “It was too hot in there,” he explained casually. The cold was uncomfortable, but it reminded him of his childhood home.

“It was supposed to be warm today,” she murmured, shaking her head, but a frigid wind blew through the street and she shuddered. Just as it occurred to him that a strange man approaching a lonely woman after dark could be construed as creepy, she reluctantly accepted his coat. Her fingers brushed his and he pulled away at the contact. She tried to push his coat back. “Don’t give it to me if you’re cold.”

“I grew up in much colder climates than this,” he admitted, and slid it over her shoulders, taking care not to touch her. A small smile graced her features and she turned into the collar and sniffed delicately. Warmth bloomed in his chest.

“I always find these gatherings to be oddly stifling,” he volunteered. She relaxed a little further. Perhaps she was the same. They should’ve found her someone more introverted.

“Yeah. I mean, I love my friends and I glad they’re all happy and in love, but it just kind of reminds me that I’m alone, you know? That I’m the exception. I guess I’m oversharing, sorry.”

So her case was not a mistake. Relief flooded him. He couldn’t point out to her that she’d had lots of opportunity over the last few weeks to kindle a romance, so instead he said. “That sounds difficult. Did it not occur to you to find a valentine of your own?”

She crossed her arms and caught his gaze with hers, and he found himself locked in a staring contest with her. “So where’s your Valentine Mr. Love Expert?”

“I do not have time for one.”

She snorted, again. “See! It’s easy to expect people to just find love! It’s not like you can just buy it at the grocery store. You have to find someone you like, who likes you, who you’re attracted to, who will make your life better, and then you have to work and share experiences and find common ground and give it time to grow. And sometimes it doesn’t work out, even after all of that!”

She breathed heavily after her outburst. She was as passionate about love as he was, but she had looked beyond the first flutterings of new love. “Perhaps I could help you find someone.”

She eyed him suspiciously, then broke into a wide grin. “I have a great idea! Come with me!”

She reached out and gripped his hand. He should have recoiled. This was unprofessional. But her skin was cold that he wrapped it in his own and allowed her to tug him along.

They walked in comfortable silence, before he asked.

“Kagome, where are we going?”

She stopped and gazed at him from under her lashes. “How did you know my name?”

“I overheard one of your friends say it.”

She resumed their pace with a triumphant smile. “I knew you were watching me! Why didn’t you say hi?”

He squeezed her hand. “Is this not acceptable contact?” He teased, though he knew the answer was ‘no’. “And my name, though you have not asked for it, is Sesshoumaru.” She repeated his name softly, rolling the syllables around in her mouth like a fine wine.

“Aha!” They stopped at the mouth of a busy night market. It had also been decorated for Valentine’s day. He was well acquainted with this sort of place as a matchmaking specter, but he found himself in new territory as they strolled the market hand in hand, sampling foods and playing games. She covertly pointed at a woman. “What about her?”

“What are we doing here?”

This was the perfect place for matchmaking, but every man who might have looked at her appreciatively noticed him and scurried along.

“I’m going to be your wingman!” She announced boldly. “Don’t look so shocked! I’m great at it! Just ask my friends. I found them all the perfect Valentine’s dates!” She had no way of knowing that his team had done most of the legwork.

The irony dawned on him that by putting himself into her path as a matchmaker, she had taken up the mantle of trying to find a mate for him. The thought made him chuckle, and then he cracked, laughing so hard that his shoulders shook. He used his free hand to cover his mouth while she gazed up at him. She swatted him playfully. “Don’t be a jerk! I’ll find you someone.” She regarded him for a long moment, then cast her eyes around. “What about her?” She leaned into him and spoke under her breath as they approached a young woman, drawing him in so that his lips brushed her hair.

“Why don’t we look for you instead.”

“I’m not going to play if you’re not. Listen! You’ll be head over heels by the end of the night!” She turned her face up to his, so that their lips almost brushed. He pulled back and dropped her hand, letting the cold sink in. There were rules, even if they felt inconsequential right now. He’d come here for a reason, and he would follow through.

“Very well. Why her?”

The woman was perhaps a little older than Kagome. She was bent over a book beneath a bright streetlight. Her short hair had fallen into her face and she brushed it back behind a small ear. He supposed that she was cute.

“You seem like you need someone who can soften you up a bit. She’s bookish, so she’s probably smart and introverted like you seem to be, but she’s still out here participating in the world.”

“She isn’t my type,” he said. “But I’m sure if she’s very good this year then Cupid will bring her a date next year.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works. Besides, I was good, so why isn’t he helping me?”

He barely stifled his groan. He is trying.

He pointed out three men to her. All seemed kind, handsome, and decent. And each time she shot him down and pointed out a woman for him in return. It made him want to rip his hair out. The temperature continued to drop and without meaning to he drew her closer to him until she was fit comfortably against his side. Their wingman game was interrupted when a young man with light hair and puppy-dog eyes called Kagome’s name. He had a girl with him who glared daggers at Kagome.

“Hey Kagome! So you uh- found yourself a Valentine, huh?”

She blushed and broke apart from Sesshoumaru. “Hojo! Sesshoumaru’s just a friend.”

“Uh-huh,” the men eyed each other up, and something sparked in Sesshoumaru’s mind. This was the childhood friend Rin had tried to set her up with. No wonder why it hadn’t worked. He looked as interesting a bowl of fibre-friendly cereal. Sesshoumaru would be having a chat with Rin when work was back in session.

“Are we going?” The other girl pouted at Hojo, so he bid them a good night and followed her away.

Kagome tucked herself back into his side. “I’m glad he found someone.”

“It will not last.”

“Sesshoumaru! You don’t even know him.”

“I know that he was not good enough for you, yet he still longs for what he cannot have.”

“It isn’t like that,” she murmured. “Hojo is wonderful. He just isn’t right for me. I need someone more... exciting.” She laughed. “Though I’ve had some pretty overwhelming men come onto me in the last month and that’s not right either.”

“You require balance.”

“I want things to be natural.”

He nodded and pulled her along. She had chilled again while they were apart, so he led her out of the market and into a 24-hour café that was teeming with couples. He brought her a hot chocolate and joined her at a bistro table tucked away in a quiet corner.

She moaned when she took her first sip of hot chocolate, and the thrill that went through him at the sound was completely unprofessional.

“Kagome?” He recognized the man who greeted her as one from the party.

“Inuyasha, hey! I saw that you got back together with your ex, congrats!”

Another from the file and he liked this one even less than the last. “Thanks. You were right. I was being stupid. Sorry.”

She shook her head and grinned. “Just don’t screw it up this time, OK?”

“Yeah. I’m glad you found a date too.” A woman who looked remarkably like Kagome approached them. Her straight hair was pulled back and she fixed Kagome with a small smile that struck Sesshoumaru as triumphant. Kagome stiffened slightly and he reached under the table to grip her hand. She relaxed and squeezed his hand back.

Inuyasha lingered a moment too long, until his girlfriend laced their fingers together and pulled him away.

Kagome leaned across the table towards him and spoke in a low voice. “Thanks for not telling them you weren’t my date.”

It hadn’t even occurred to him to correct them. “Another ex?” he asked.

She shrugged. “We didn’t go out for very long. Inuyasha is great in a lot of ways, but he has some growing up to do. Besides, it wasn’t me he wanted.”

Perhaps she needed someone who was more mature, he reasoned. Someone who would not get caught up in a schoolboy crush or use her to rebound from a previous failure. Regardless, he’d be talking to Jaken about making such an incongruent pair.

“You deserve someone who sees you.”

Their eyes met and she smiled sweetly at him. “Thanks.”

She took their empty mugs to the counter and chatted with the barista, who laughed uproariously at whatever she said. Sesshoumaru looked above them at a decorative wall clock and cursed. Only an hour left to find this delightful woman her Valentine’s romance, and he’d been enjoying himself instead of working! He wracked his brain for somewhere with intelligent, mature, fun, attractive people, where he could find a single man for her, and his head was spinning when she approached him and tugged on his sleeve.

“Sesshoumaru? What’s wrong?”

“I just realized I didn’t finish something at work, and it was very important.”

“Do you have to go?”

He grasped her hand and pulled her outside. Snow had begun to fall while they were inside, and the crystals floated to the earth, getting caught in her hair like diamonds.

“No, it’s too late to go back to the office.”

“If we can’t do anything about it then we might as well find you someone hot! Maybe the problem is that we’re looking for love when we should just be helping you work off your tension.”

Was she actually insinuating that he needed to get laid? The thought perturbed him so much that his lip curled up into a sneer. “I’m not a dog. I’m not looking for a quick fuck.”

She flushed at his bad language and dropped his hand, which felt empty without hers. “That’s not what I meant! Ok. It is what I meant. I’m sorry to have offended you. I just thought that maybe – you said you’ve been working hard and you’re clearly exhausted- and.”

“Kagome,” he hummed. “I’m not angry with you, but I’m not looking for that, or anything else.”

After tonight he would go home to his apartment, which was blissfully quiet, and enjoy time to himself. He didn’t need or want company. But he found himself wondering, since failure was imminent, why he hadn’t left her to get some much-needed rest.

He meant to calm her and was shocked when she stiffened in his arms. “Oh my God you’re married aren’t you? And this isn’t a date, definitely not, because I’m your wingman, but we’ve been holding hands and hanging out like a couple and you have a wife at home?”

A middle aged man walking by whistled at her loud exclamation and shook his head at Sesshoumaru. He had to bite his tongue.

He waited until she was panting, her breath fogging the air between them, and then stepped back. “Do you think I would behave like this if I had a separate romantic entanglement?”

He added ‘jumps to conclusions’ on his mental list of her traits.

“No wife?”

“None.”

“Girlfriend?”

“Nonexistent.”

“We have been acting like a couple though.”

He considered their night and sighed. Being forced to acknowledge it meant that it had to end.

“Yes. I’m sorry.”

She stepped closer to him, so that he could feel the heat radiating off her. Her lips brushing his neck when she whispered. “Why are you sorry?”

“I meant to find love for you, and now it is too late.”

“You can’t just find love silly. Remember what I said?”

Attraction. Comfort. Balance. Shared experiences. Was that not all things that they had? He marked off his mental checklist one by one.

Her hands fisted into the front of his shirt as his found its way to the nape of her neck. His thumb settled on her pulse point and he could feel her heartbeat go wild under his touch. Gently, as if she might break, he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers, almost toppling over when she launched herself at him. She wrapped both arms around his neck and pulled him into her, opening her mouth to deepen the kiss. He complied, running his tongue across the roof of her mouth and feeling her melt into him. When they broke apart, he found her flushed and breathless.

“Does this mean I’ve failed as a wingman or that I’ve excelled at it?”

He thought of his upcoming holiday review and pulled her back to him. “I will let you know.”

The clock struck midnight, and technically Kagome Higurashi had found her Valentine.

#sesskag #sesskagfic #fanfiction

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