#or a female character thrown under the bus because of it

[kiapet2]

For all the Sidlink fans upset about Sidon getting a fiance in TotK, I have an easy explanation/solution:

It’s a political marriage.

Sidon is royalty. He’s being crowned King. Royalty usually don’t get the privilege to marry for love, but rather need to do so in order to build political alliances and secure heirs. Mipha was able to consider proposing to Link officially because having the Champion of Hyrule as her consort would both strengthen their connections to what was the biggest political power in the area and be a great boon to Zora’s Domain in general, plus if they turned out to be biologically incompatible there was always Sidon for continuing the royal line.

Now, Sidon is the last in his line and trying to give his people a sense of stability while taking the throne amidst another huge upheaval. The kingdom of Hyrule is a shadow of what it once was, and Link himself was gone with no way of knowing if/when he’d return, as well as needing to spend his time/attention on all of Hyrule rather than the Zora specifically.

Meanwhile, Lady Yona is Zora royalty herself making her a good political match, she has qualities and skills that are well-suited to helping the people of Zora’s Domain, and she’s an old friend of Sidon’s which means they’ll probably get along pretty well. Marrying her as a political choice makes perfect sense. And Yona is a small enough character that we honestly aren’t given many indications that there’s more to their relationship than that- old friends who are marrying now to strengthen Sidon’s new reign.

That doesn’t mean Sidon is straight, or that he isn’t still in love with Link. And it doesn’t mean he can’t eventually pursue a relationship with Link, once things have settled down a bit. That sort of thing was pretty common with royalty historically (or at least for men- stupid patriarchy). In this case, Sidon and Yona could have arranged to have an open marriage, with both of them free to pursue matters of the heart outside of their political duties. Or at least, that’s how I’d write it if I was writing canon-compliant Sidlink. 

So yeah, Sidlink as a ship is definitely not sunk, even if you do stay completely with canon. It just might look a little different. And I, for one, would love to see shippers play around with this new dynamic.

[showtoonzfan]

So you are aware that a lot of the same criticisms that are frequently leveled at Viv can also be brought against Brandon Rogers right? His videos have bestiality, incest, racist sterotyping, misogyny (find me a single female character he plays that isn't a screaming harpy), and excessive swearing amongst countless other forms of tasteless humor.

And he's also one of the main writers for Helluva Boss who clearly adds a lot of his own humor to the script (the video he did with the Blitzo and Moxxie puppets really highlights this), yet no one ever blames him for how HB is written. It's always Viv that catches the blame, Viv that gets thrown under the bus.

Why is that? Why does she get held to different standards than Brandon Rogers does?

For me personally, I do mention Brandon frequently when I talk about how bad the show is. (And I won’t speak on his personal content cause I have no desire to watch it so don’t take me as a legitimate source if this stuff is true) but I will say the reason why Viv gets blamed the most is….well…she’s the creator, and in charge writing wise. She has the power over everything because it’s her show, so even if she wasn’t the one to write an episode, she’s still the one who decides what to keep in and what to take out cause it’s her story. She’s the one who goes over the scripts and decides “yes, let’s publish it like this”- and she’s the one who makes the decisions.

Not to mention that…let’s be honest, Brandon seems to be REALLY absent in the writing department, especially for season 2. Viv wrote episodes 1, 4, 6 and 7, while Adam Neylan wrote episodes 2, 3, 4, and 5, all of season 2. Throughout this entire season so far, Brandon hasn’t gotten anything but a story credit. He hasn’t written a single episode that was purely him or even collaborated with Vivzie or Adam to. The last time he had a writing part was back in episode 6 of season 1, and so far in season 2, all we’ve been getting from Brandon are mere ideas and concepts, while Viv and Neylan are responsible for the dogshit execution and writing.

Brandon handles the comedy aspect of the show, (or…at least he did in season 1) so don’t get me wrong, whenever I talked about season 1 episodes I always shitted on the humor, cause it’s really bad. Like…REALLY bad. But while Brandon isn’t a perfect writer either, people are pinning the blame on Viv and Adam recently cause they’re the ones writing season 2, not Brandon.

[queenaryastark]

Someone needs to explain to Stansas that terms have meanings and they can't just be thrown around at random to mean what they want them to. Newest example of this: Calling Arya and Lyanna pick-me girls because... they don't like them and they want Sansa and Dornish!Sansa (they erroneously refer to this OC they created as Elia Martell) to have more importance in the story.

So, what is a pick-me girl? It's a girl or woman who is desperate for male approval and validation, often at the expense of other women. They'll change themselves to fit a particular man's preference and trash other women to boost themselves up.

In short, Stansas are essentially acting like pick-me girls on a fan level by trashing other female characters to make their self-inserts look better. Meanwhile, Arya and Lyanna are never shown behaving that way. Ironically, we actually see Sansa behaving like a pick-me first when she lies to make Joffrey like her:

“I hate riding,” Sansa said fervently. “All it does is get you soiled and dusty and sore.” -- Arya 1.5, AGOT

---

Joffrey reflected a moment. “We could go riding.”

“Oh, I love riding,” Sansa said. -- Arya 1.5, AGOT

Like a true pick-me, she lies about her preferences to fit what Joff wants. Arya naturally likes horseback riding rather than it being something she does to fit with someone else's preference. If anything, it's used against her as she's bullied over it.

Also, Sansa later trashes Arya to the queen and council specifically so she can marry Joffrey:

“I’m not like Arya,” Sansa blurted. “She has the traitor’s blood, not me. I’m good, ask Septa Mordane, she’ll tell you, I only want to be Joffrey’s loyal and loving wife.” -- Sociopath Throws Family Under Bus For Boy She Likes, AGOT

"I'm not like Arya," or did she say, "I'm not like the other girls"? She does something similar in her mind to Jeyne Poole earlier in the novel by presenting herself as superior because she's not like her:

Jeyne covered her eyes whenever a man fell, like a frightened little girl, but Sansa was made of sterner stuff. A great lady knew how to behave at tournaments. Even Septa Mordane noted her composure and nodded in approval. -- Who's Who of Westeros Info Dump, AGOT

Weak girls have emotional responses to witnessing violence, but not Sansa. She's not like them lol

So, if one were to apply the concept of the pick-me girl - a woman who trashes other women to uplift themselves and changes themselves to gain male approval -- it would be Sansa. Trying to misapply that term on Arya and Lyanna only proves that the person misusing the term has no clue what it means. GRRM wrote Arya as feminist while Sansa, her foil, was created as the opposite of her, meaning she's sexist.

I swear, the misuse of pick-me has become the new "Not like the other girls" in this fandom. These terms weren't initially intended to demonize women for NOT fitting patriarchal ideals. It's the opposite. The terms are pointing out the ways the misogynistic women (ex. Sansa and Stansas) will trash other women by insulting other women who are different from them as a way of validating themselves.

[isa-ghost]

yanno i feel fuckin bad for tallulah’s admin man. she’s one of the admins that has gotten so much hate the whole year because she plays a complex and emotionally driven character that happens to be female. on top of getting hate for being the admin who collated the museum fanart because it was too ‘shippy’ or never ‘representative’ enough for someone’s fave or their lore to the point they were making spreadsheets(??????) tracking who was shown in the museum and if it was ‘lore’ or ‘group art’ (now knowing she probably wasn’t even paid for this??). to having to deal with the whole WS situation plus everyone calling her new egg model ‘ugly’ when i’m sure she had a big part in its redesign (and honestly there’s such a microaggressive aspect in people criticising the change to black hair too when we know she is mexican). and now getting thrown under the bus by an ex-admin because philza got special permission literally months ago to communicate scheduling conflicts with her and chayanne, which was always openly done through the server help ticketing system (so the conversations were transparently available for the supervisory team on the server, which isn’t comparable at all to speaking with them privately??) plus the fun little anti-Latino microaggressions sprinkled in there. and she can’t even defend herself without being forced into being public about her identity and getting all that hate laser-focused onto her like it’s just fucked man. sending her my best vibes i hope she’s doing well.

Yeah. She'll literally never be able to satisfy the people who bitch about her character so I'd just not say anything too.

On top of the fact that everyone who dislikes her and her new design are just embarrassingly wrong lmao. I could tell you rn at least one group of the fandom that's saying that shit and their opinions are dogshit in general.

[young-royals-confessions]

I might be the only one in the fandom who doesn't want wilmon endgame because I believe Simon deserves better.

Simon forgave so much stuff from Wilhelm. He seriously deserves better than a guy who will thrown him under the bus at the first adversity, who will gleefully admit he was in his room making out with his female bff but denied he was sucking off his boyfriend even if is was caught on tape and won't defend him against his snob classmates. Sure he admitted it was him in the sex tape at the end of S2.

But knowing him and his environment, he could always twist that on his benefit and leave Simon to suffer the consequences, again.

Personally, I don't think Wilhelm loves Simon as much as Simon loves him and I don't think S3 will show us a lot of chances for me to change my mind, what's with all the useless screen time given to secondary characters.

All in all I believe they will give more time to resolve subtexts storylines and they will screw Simon over. Again.

💔

[feodor-dostoevsky]

and again love to see female characters are thrown under the bus because of a gay ship

[lavellenchanted]

Since I know you have Opinions™ on this: ☕️ for Bridgerton Netflix?

Ooooh, now you're asking.

In general, I enjoy it as some light entertainment - it's a fun, frothy soap opera with lots of pretty people and dresses. I appreciate that they're more interested in the Regency Aesthetic than historical accuracy, so a lot of things that would annoy me in a more serious period drama I can just ignore to enjoy Bridgerton for what it is.

I'm not particularly bothered in principle by their decision to stay from the book plots, because as much as I like the books there is a lot about them that has not aged well in the 20+ years since they were published and just would not work in a modern TV show.

In reality, however, I think they've made some pretty terrible decisions in how they've strayed from the books and chosen to adapt things that has been more about adding drama for drama's sake rather than because the conflicts they're inventing actually serve the storytelling. Personally, I think most of the added conflict has actually made several of the characters less likeable.

The issues with Daphne and Simon have been gone over at length since S1 came out but Whistledown, for example - they wanted her to have more teeth and be a bigger threat than she is in the books, where she's really only a framing device, but the long term effect is to make Penelope much less sympathetic and even dislikeable as she's seen to betray those around her.

The Marina storyline was an absolute catastrophe from start to finish that does nothing for anyone involved. Colin looks like a fool, Penelope looks catty and vindictive, Marina's cruel if understandable and getting viewers invested in her a character is going to have terrible repercussions when it comes time to adapt To Sir Phillip with Love (assuming they intend to stick with the book endgames, although I don't really see the point of even introducing Sir Phillip if that's not the plan).

Anthony was already thrown under the bus in S1 by making him the reason why Daphne is getting any suitors instead of it being about Daphne being determined to hold out for a love match like her parents, and the storyline they chose to go with for S2 caused me to end up really disliking both Anthony and Kate, despite the fact that Anthony was my favourite Bridgerton in the books. And they dragged the drama out so long that instead of resolving the conflicts properly they had to shorehorn in some quick resolutions that weren’t earned so they could wrap everything up in a bow by the end.

I could list a whole lot more but that would be so long so let me to saying that what’s particularly frustrating is that I feel so many of these issues could be solved so easily. I could write a much longer post on how I would rewrite both seasons but just for example:

have Simon getting too caught up in the moment to remember to pull out and then freaking out about it, leaving Daphne confused and feeling betrayed

keep Daphne at the same age she is in the books, and feeling the pressure of new debs coming on the scene

if you really want Marina as a foil to Daphne, keep her as a Bridgerton cousin that Violet’s trying to help, with Penelope suspicious about her secret and then discovering it but ultimately choosing not to out her in Whistledown because that’s not what she wants to be

also don’t have her throw Eloise under the bus and destroy the only significant female friendship on the show

don’t go all the way to an Anthony/Edwina wedding! Have Edwina find out about Kate and Anthony in episode 3/4 at Aubrey Hall, and then spend the rest of the season actually building up the relationship between Anthony and Kate without the issue of Edwina between them so you can allow for softer, lighter moments between them that actually show them liking each other as people without the underlying feeling of it being emotional cheating, as well as actually giving time for Edwina and Kate’s relationship to be repaired and their reconciliation to feel earned

I’d also have Edwina knowing about the dowry situation and being torn between duty to her family and and needing to figure out what she really wants for herself rather than being humiliated in front of everyone in society

(also don’t give Eloise’s trauma over Edmund’s death to Anthony but let him keep his own)

(also also give Mary and Violet more to do, and have Violet’s breakdown be explicity pre Hyacinth’s birth with the ‘Hyacinth smiled and it saved me’ scene included so the fandom doesn’t come out of S2 vilifying her and calling her and Mary bad mothers)

Essentially I feel that in a lot of ways they flattened out the characters and defined them by one or two exaggerated traits (Eloise is the Feminist, Benedict is the Bohemian, Francesca is . . . not there) that leads to manufactured rather than organic conflict, which is a shame because for all their faults there’s a lot of rich characterisation in the books that could translate really well to the screen.

But at the same time it’s still my comfort crappy period soap opera and I will watch however many series Netflix want to give us.

[joanna-lannister]

THEY ARE RIGHT (and it goes for the GOT/ASOIAF fandom too)

https://www.magazinereverie.com/post/prestige-tv-hates-women-and-so-does-its-audience

Shiv is constantly demeaned by her brothers and underestimated by her father on account of her being a woman, so she wields her power where she can— in her marriage. Unlike the other prestige TV women, Shiv kind of plays the traditionally “male” role in her marriage to the silly, yet slimy, Tom Wambsgans. Like Don Draper and Tony Soprano, she is the one who cheats. She gaslights like them and wields a power in the home like them. However, at the end of the day, unlike Don and Tony, Shiv is not a man. Audiences don’t seem to care that her brothers are constantly pushing her out of the company, that her father patronizes her, that she’s often at the receiving end of gender-fueled insults, that it is very clear there are reasons for the way she behaves in her marriage. Even within her marriage, the fact that Tom tracks her period cycles or is very explicitly with her for her power and money don’t seem to bother viewers. Tom and Shiv are interesting together because they are a match made in Hell, two devils pricking each other with pitchforks poisoned in spite and ambition. But to a lot of people, Shiv is Satan and Tom is a helpless cherub with Mr. Darcy doe-eyes. She doesn't get to be a tortured figure like Tony, Don, or even Walter White. She’s just a bitch. Nuance is suddenly lost when the woman is bad too.

The coddling of Tom’s character by audiences brings up a recent trend within fans of this genre. The “babygirlification” or “teenage-girlification” of characters such as Kendall and Roman Roy, Tom Wambsgans, Tony Soprano, Christopher Moltisanti, Don Draper, Pete Campbell, and Jesse Pinkman, while funny, is also a signifier of the genre’s woman problem. I understand that much of this trend is rooted in irony and I too as a 21 year old woman often say “He’s just like me” when referring to the aforementioned characters. But language trends are often revealing and given the lack of leading women in this genre, I think it reveals a lot. I find it ironic that people are more than ready to use “female language” for these characters when highlighting how sympathetic they are, but don’t lend that same sympathy toward their actual female counterparts. There’s clearly an understanding that being those things— a teenage girl, a babygirl, a girl in general— is hard and can cause a lot of pain, but somehow this understanding doesn’t translate onto the women on screen who actually go through this.

OMG This is interesting! And what she says is so true, especially in that second paragraph you sent. It goes for any fandom honestly. How many male characters are glorified and baby-fied while their female counterparts are thrown under the bus? And albeit I haven't watched Succession (yet? still don't know if I'll give it a shot), I know I would be rooting for Shiv.

[outoftheirdifferences]

So I’ve got another one of these in my inbox for this girl that I intend to work on in a moment. But before I do, I just want to share again the very first one of these I did; because I was inspired by doing the Terra one yesterday to reread it earlier, and I feel like it was honestly one of my favourite pieces of writing on my old blog? So...

Send me ‘☯ + a scene from my characters canon’ and I will drabble it from my character’s POV.

“Hey, cut it out! She’s the one who wants to be a house dog, not me!”

No!

For the barest fraction of a second, Angel couldn’t believe what she was hearing. It wasn’t- it couldn’t be- Scamp had promised!

Well. Now she saw what his word was worth.

Nothing.

Just like everything else in this forsaken scrapheap.

(Again, under the cut for length!)

She heard the shocked gasps from the other dogs behind her, but Angel paid them no mind. She had attention for one being in this junkyard, and one being only.

The pup who had saved her and who she had risked her neck to save in return;the pup who she had laid her heart bare before, and who she thought had loved her; the pup who she had desperately pleaded with to see sense.

The pup she now wanted nothing more than to rip from limb to limb.

Before she had even realised what she was doing, Angel had stepped towards him. Her eyes narrowed dangerously, her maw pulled back into the thin line of a silent snarl as murder danced through her heart. His apology went unheard.

She had trusted him!

"Is that true, Angel baby?”

That voice, she couldn’t help but hear; a moment later, Buster has interposed himself between her and Scamp, forcing the Pomeranian to back up. Danger dripped from his every syllable, choking off her desire to make Scamp suffer for his betrayal and leaving Angel in no doubt at all about the fate that awaited her if she confirmed the male’s words.

It would have been so easy just to lie, as she had for so long. To say Scamp had been making things up to save face, that he was just resorting to cheap lies to take the heat off him.

But they’d all seen her reaction, she knew. She hadn’t acted with the surprise of one wrongly accused; she had reacted with the shock of betrayal. No matter what she said, Buster would suspect; and those Buster suspected rarely lasted long.

And besides, if Scamp wasn’t going to be the better person, she supposed that mantle had to fall to her. He had thrown her under the bus to save his own neck; but she refused to do the same.

Not now.

Not anymore.

“I don’t think a family’s so bad.” Slowly, she raised her head to look Buster in the eye. Whatever followed, it wasn’t going to be pretty; but she was through with the lies. In a way, it was almost a relief. Who knew what Buster would do to her before he threw her out? But it would be the end of her having to pretend to be as callous and heartless as all the rest of them, all in the name of being accepted.

“You hear that, boys? She wants to be a little house-pet!”

Evidently, jeering and taunting was the flavour of the day; for half a moment, Angel’s head turned to the other junkyard dogs. Sparky and Ruby, Francois, Mooch and Scratchy… she would never have willingly called any of them friends; but still, the six of them had been the survivors. They might not have had each others’ backs, but they had still been a loose sort of family. Would they really turn against her?

Dumb question. They were sycophants; when Buster gave the word, they all followed. Even she had, when she’d still counted herself as one of them. She’d joined them in taunting other dogs similarly. Taunting, and worse.

She deserved this.

Steeling herself, the small female returned her glare to Buster. The rottie-mix was smirking, confident that he was weeding out the unworthy in their midst, and Angel could feel her hatred of the contemptible dog churning her gut, even as the laughter and jeers of the other animals assaulted her ears.

“Ooh, she wants to be a little house-pet!”

"With ribbons! With ribbons!”

“You ain’t no junkyard dog!” That was Buster again. The thinnest veil of laughter clung to his tone, mocking her even as he spat the words with as much contempt for her as she felt for him. Angel flinched away; and then caught herself.

“That’s right, Buster, I’m not.” She sensed rather than saw the change in his expression; the stiffening of his posture, the widening of his eyes. He’d expected her to grovel, to beg and plead for her place; she’d caught him by surprise, and that fact gave Angel courage.

“Not anymore.” She took one step, then another, past Buster. Standing tall, head held high and back straight. There was none of the pain she’d expected to feel, of being torn from another family. Because the junkyard dogs had never been a family, not really. She’d wanted them to be, she’d deluded herself into thinking they could ever be the thing she yearned for so much; but in the end, the bond between them didn’t exist at all. There was no care, no loyalty. Nothing.

Being shot of them wasn’t a loss; it was freedom.

“Oh, and, uh… I’m not your girl.”

Angel wasn’t even sure why she’d dropped that parting shot; but for the first time in all the months she’d been saying it, it finally seemed to sink in. Out the corner of her eye, Angel held Buster’s narrowed eyes for half a moment longer, ignoring again the gasps and murmurs from the other dogs, before turning away.

And finding herself face to face with Scamp.

Even if leaving this wretched life behind didn’t hurt, his betrayal of her trust - only momentarily forgotten - was still a knife that had been dug into her heart and twisted hard. She’d thought- she’d been so sure that she meant something to him, just as he had to her; but no. She had just been a toy to play with and discard when it would save his neck.

No more than she had been to Buster.

No more than she had ever been to anyone.

For the first time that afternoon, for the first time since she’d abandoned her dream of finding a true home, Angel felt hot tears burn her eyes. She’d thought Scamp had been special. She’d thought he’d been different.

Her mistake.

“Maybe you do belong here!” Her voice sounded choked; she didn’t care. Scamp had shown her what he was worth; and it was nothing more than any other of the miserable dogs under Buster’s command.

He was just like the rest of them. Lying, pretending, and then sacrificing her whenever it was convenient. He wasn’t different. Maybe no dog really was.

She didn’t wait for a response; before Scamp could do more than blink stupidly at her, she had turned tail and fled. Heedless of the other dogs, calling her back; heedless of the tear trails marking her fluffy cheeks. Up the crates, down the pipe, and out of the junkyard.

Nothing waited for her out there. But even so, it was still better than spending another moment anywhere near the pup who had just crushed her heart.

[bubbly-alchemist]

Okay so, I want to be clear that FinnPoe is like in my top 10 list of Star Wars couples. They are canon in my heart and soul. I will go down with that ship.

It has come to my attention Lego: Star Wars made FinnPoe canon...but Lego: Star Wars is not canon in it of itself, it’s a self referential parody. Even though some might argue it’s canon divergent or canon adjacent, regardless. It’s still a heavily comedic focused view on Star Wars. Which is absolutely great and I’m here for it. I love the Lego games and shorts. I know it’s aimed at children, most of Star Wars is so don’t @ me please. 😅 I just found this news…

I guess I’ll count it as a win for FinnPoe shippers like myself? Albeit a little bit back handed? 🤷‍♀️ Like “We want to apologize, we didn’t make this official when we should have, and instead queer baited you, but here you go! :) ” But also at least it’s acknowledged? I don’t know. It’s like back peddling and being like “No, no we respected this all along!” 🤨 Huh…that’s odd.

Maybe I’m just too cynical at this point because deep down I’m still big mad about John and Oscar being thrown under the bus in the Sequel Trilogy. For one thing Finn should’ve been revealed as force sensitive outright, they clearly advertised the hell out of him with Anakin’s lightsaber for Force Awakens…but anyways. They then shoehorned in female love interests for them both. Not saying neither of them can still be attracted to men regardless. I’m bisexual, I know this is possible personally! I’m here for a bi Finn or bi Poe or both! Or even Pan! Sure why not! But it still felt like the heteronormative censorship like “Oh uhhh we can’t show that, that’s inappropriate and we won’t make money in homophobic countries.” Even the entire cast agreed their chemistry was top tier.

But I also know someone out there is gonna be all offended that two Lego characters that represent male Star Wars characters are in love and exposed to the children’s eyeballs. The homophobes will be out there going, “Ohhhhh noooo! The humanity! 😟 Think about the children!”

🤦‍♀️ It is not the “LGBTQ+ agenda” to show heavily graphic, sexual content to your children, relax, Karen. Two boys kissing is no different than a girl kissing a boy. Explaining how mommy and daddy love each other in an age appropriate way is no different than some other kid who has two mommies or two daddies. There’s a right and a wrong way to explain things to certain age groups. But completely separating love and sexual desire does not apply to everyone. But these are, typically, the same people that say being asexual is not real. Which…it absolutely is real. So on one hand we have, don’t talk about sex around the children which, fair I get it. But on the other hand society encourages or make fun of kids for having a “girlfriend/boyfriend” like “Oooooh Jimmy has a girlfriend.” And Jimmy is literally 5 years old.

I’ve even seen toxic masculine men be like “Can’t men just be friends anymore without them having to be f&$%ing each other.” Ah yes, because every man on screen ever f#%^s each other. Calm down.

It’s so contradictory and hypocritical.

In closing on this rant, FinnPoe, always.

🧡

[shoutogepi]

Pull of the Moon

Kirishima Eijirou

word count : 7.8k

[ ✘ (nsfw!), werewolf!au ]  

themes : masturbation, licking/biting, dom!Kiri, rough sex, dirty talk, slight choking, friends to lovers, confession

bio : Eijirou makes sure he’s far away from you for when the heat cycle strikes, but just when he thinks your friendship is safe from his monstrous hormones, there you are at his doorstep.

author’s note : so this is a fic that i wrote years ago for my kpop blog, linked in my bio. i wanted to repost it here for bnha, just bc i like the way i wrote it and i think it’s pretty fitting character-wise for Kiri! plus im a slut for werewolf fics. and also i wanted to post something while work is keeping me from writing something 100% new rn :3 pls note this is NOT plagiarized as I am the original author of the original fic.

side note : if there are any places where it says Jae, Jaebum, etc. lemme know bc it was a quick job i did converting this to a Kiri fic lol like even the title is the same oops

also available on AO3 here

   ─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

“🅂o you’re sure you have to leave for tonight, Y/N?” Kirishima inquires, tilting his head in his open palm to crane his bright gaze up toward your face.  

“Yeah, I don’t think I can get out of visiting my parents for dinner this time,” you reply, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear as you cuddle your chin into the warmth of Kirishima’s oversized scarf. The soft fabric grazes under your nose, and your eyes close blissfully as you inhale Kirishima’s strong, spicy aroma mingled with his cologne.

Kirishima watches you through slitted eyes, secretly pleased at your actions. Not that he would ever tell you, because that would be weird. He shuts his eyes tightly, telling himself in his head not to overthink it. Of course you like how he smells, he’s your friend. Friends like how each other smell… right? His body shivers as your fingers naturally slide into his thick, red hair. His face slides down as his body turns to jello, leaning completely on top of the table in complete euphoria at the feeling of your touch. If there was a price to have your hands on him for every hour of the day, he would pay it a thousand times over. His lips part as his jaw instinctively unhinges at your undivided attention like a newborn puppy, chin angling when your fingers slide down to the side of his jaw you brush just underneath it before pulling away.  

“Eiji, I really do have to go,” you murmur, fingers retreating from his form as he lets out a low whine. One of his warm eyes opens, scowling at you playfully.

“Okay,” he sighs when you push out your chair and begin to gather your things. He places some money on the table before following you out of the coffee shop. “I’m jealous, please bring me some of your mom’s noodles. You know how much I like them, and her.“

“I will Eiji. But you’re lucky you’re not coming, because all they ever do is gush about what a cute couple we’d be and it always ends up being weird,” you trail off, nodding to yourself.

Kirishima nods too but his heart jumps at you thinking of him as an intimate partner.

“By the way, thanks for the latte. And tell Mina hello for me when you see her tonight,” you laugh with a suggestive wink.

Kirishima rolls his eyes. “You know I’m only spending the night with her to help her with her… issues."

You smack his arm and scoff. “As if that’s a burden to you! At least you’re spending the night having fun. I’m just gonna be answering the million questions my parents will be asking about you the whole time and falling asleep in my bed by myself."

“It’s not my fault I’m so lovable,” he banters, a cheeky grin splicing between his lips, trying to shake the image of you alone in bed out of his imaginative mind.

“Say that to you baku-squad,” you retort, the two of you now standing in front of the cafe as you linger before your journey to the bus station.

“Hey— wait, is that my scarf?” Kirishima asks, pretending to notice just now when he really did the moment you walked in two hours ago. But you looked so cute all bundled up in his scarf that he decided not to say anything, content to see you warm and happy in his own clothing.

“Huh? Oh, yeah,” you unwrap it from your neck and Kirishima gazes at the newly-revealed skin there with longing, forgetting about the scarf. “Eiji?"

He snaps out of it. “What? Oh— the scarf.. Keep it, I was just teasing,” he mumbles as you hook the material around the back of his neck. He’s considerably tall, massive frame towering over you so much that you have to strain your arms to fling the material onto his shoulders.

“That’s okay Eiji... you look cute in it, so wear it for Mina,” you smile half-heartedly, tugging the fabric at the ends to coil around his throat snugly. “Don’t worry about me."

“I always worry about you, Y/N,” Kirishima gazes into your eyes with a passionate longing undetectable to you. Not Mina, he wants to add.

“Well, don’t, Red, I’ll be okay. I always am,” you trace his jaw slowly with a finger before your hands fall at your sides, brushing off your coat.  

Kirishima nods hesitantly, falling into a quiet, comfortable pace beside you.  

Your boots quickly become cold as the two of you trudge through the slush from leftover snow, the bitter winter breeze chilling your nose and ears. Sooner than either of you would like, you’ve reached the bus station. Kirishima shuffles from foot to foot, arguing with himself as to if he should ask you to stay and have dinner with him instead of going on the hour-long ride to your parents’.  

“Are you sure this is okay? You don’t want me to come with you? Or I can drive you. The roads aren’t that great tonight… Mina will understand. She doesn’t— We’re not dating, you know— me and her, I mean, I only… help her as a friend.. So I can cancel, and she won’t have any issues. She has lots of other guy friends,” Kirishima reasons.

“Eiji,” you chuckle, taking your duffel bag from his hand that he’d carried for the journey here, “Mina needs you.”

But I need you, Kirishima thinks as he bites his lip. “Okay… have a safe ride then. And text me when you get there.”  

“Yes, Dad,” you laugh. You slip into his arms easily, almost naturally, and press your face against his chest beneath his wool jacket.  

Kirishima’s arms encircle you immediately, instinctively pulling you to him as his chin falls atop the crown of your head. “I’ll miss you,” he breathes.

“Don’t be weird, Eiji,” you giggle, pulling away from him much too soon for his liking. “See you tomorrow.”  

Kirishima watches you walk into the bus terminal, duffel bag in your hand with his heart unknowingly tucked deep inside of it.

Kirishima paces back and forth between the couch and the dining table. His nerves are shaky and his body uncharacteristically twitchy. He’d been smelling female wolves around the city all day while he was out with you, but he managed to ward them off with icy glares and his steel-strong self-control. It also helped that you were there to distract him, seeing as when he wasn’t with you, you were the only thing on his mind. But now that he was alone— Mina had cancelled on him to spend the night with an “old friend” that had come back to town— and he was all by himself, he was feeling the full effects of the female wolf hormones he’d breathed in for the past twelve hours.

He closes his eyes as his mind wanders to the image of you wrapped up in his scarf in the cafe; the warm scent of coffee; the condensation on the windows; your light-filled eyes on him; the scent of your freshly-washed hair… He opens his eyes, tongue running over his front teeth as he feels the evident, sharp prod of his elongated cuspids as a result of his piqued interest. He groans, feeling his eyes dilate just the slightest of fractions. He sits on the floor, sliding down the wall with a frown on his plump lips.

Kirishima watches the hands of the clock tick on the wall in front of him for a moment before he shuts his eyes and smacks his head back against the drywall, a loud whine releasing from his throat. The apartment lacks of things that could possibly captivate his attention at the moment; all he can do is think about you— your pretty face, your gentle caress on his skin just hours before. There are no messages from you and his sensitive ears long to hear the chime notification that signifies your safe arrival.  

“Just friends,” he murmurs, “just friends, just friends, just friends."

He tries to breathe in deeply to relax himself, but success quickly slips through his grasp as the scent of you lingers on the scarf casually thrown over the back of the sofa. His jaw clenches as his teeth gnash, taking in your alluring aroma. He tries to think of something— anything else, but he eventually gives up, slamming his palms flat on the hardwood floor as he pushes himself up. He lunges toward the couch, throwing himself onto the open cushions as his hands immediately find the soft cotton. He brings the material to his nose, a low moan falling from his open mouth as the intense smell floods his senses.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, readjusting his hips as he feels his body reacting swiftly to the pull of your scent. He hisses lightly as he feels the blood rush to his pants, wiggling his hips around to feel the delicious friction against his hardening erection. He rubs the inside of his thigh gently with his palm, imagining your small hand instead of his on his jean-clad length. “God, this is so fucked,” he gasps, grip strengthening on himself through his jeans. Originally his plan for the evening consisted of fucking Mina senseless and imagining it was you, but seeing as she had cancelled, this was the next best option.  

Kirishima fumbles with his belt and shimmies out of his jeans, ripping his constrictive t-shirt over his head and whipping it elsewhere into the living room. He kicks the denim off from around his ankles next, one hand holding the soft fabric of the scarf close to his nose and the other trailing toward his throbbing hard-on from the bend of his knee; how he imagines your hand would do.

A feral grunt dislodges from the back of his throat as he pictures your hair falling around your perfectly cherubic face that leans down toward his own, one hand pressing his chest down against the couch cushion and the other hand on his thigh tracing the outline of his cock straining against his briefs. His hips jerk as his forefinger runs from tip to base, his thumb sliding backwards over the previous route to caress the head of his dick gently in circular swipes. He seals his lips together by sucking in the bottom one, his canines lengthened by arousal piercing the soft flesh of the lower lip so that a metal taste floods his mouth, but he only closes his eyes and continues his ministrations.

Kirishima continues to skim the pads of his fingertips over the prominent erection that pushes against his underwear in defiance, face pressed into the back of the sofa so the cushions catch his heavy moans instead of his neighbors. He halts for a moment so he can find a throw pillow to sink his fangs into, positioning the scarf above his lip and against the pillow so it presses right against his hypersensitive nose. A strangled moan tears from him, his hand immediately returning to his leaking hard-on. It dips underneath the band of his boxers before it wraps around his width, squeezing tight. His body shakes and he sucks in a breath, squirming to lay flat against the leather of the sofa. Slowly he moves his hand up to encompass the head, a heavy snarl being lost into the throw pillow. He strokes himself teasingly, thumb trailing behind to caress the aching tip. His hips push into the cushion as his body moves to a natural rhythm, thrusting them up slightly as his fist falls back down toward his abdomen. The thick precum dribbling from his tip lathers his palm so his cock slides into it easily. His eyelashes tickle his high cheekbones as his eyes shut tighter, fingertips tracing the prominent vein on the underside of his shaft.

The sofa wheezes as he shifts, impatiently pushing his briefs down in one tug to rest on his mid-thighs. He scoots off of the sofa and onto the hardwood floor, kneeling as he places his fist onto the tabletop, lining his hips delicately before sliding his length into his firm grasp. He whimpers into the pillow, now damp with his saliva, and hunches over the table, his free arm curled underneath his broad torso. The fabric of the scarf tickles his nose but he inhales deeper, hips pushing in and out of his fist quickly. He imagines you beneath him instead of the table and his fist, moaning with him as his canines sink into your neck to mark you as his and only his. His destitute wails are swallowed by the soft pillow and the scarf as he keeps thrusting steadily, imagination running so wildly he can almost feel your legs on either side of him, pushing him further inside of you.

“Oh, Y/N,” he grunts, cuspids fully lengthened and sharpened now in desire, piercing the soft fabric of the pillow almost enough so his bottom and top teeth could touch through the plush object,” Y/N, I’m gonna—“

Knock knock knock.

Kirishima’s body stills as he opens his eyes, disappointment rushing through him at the sight of the coffee table underneath him. He wants to scream, but he just shuts his eyes, taking a breath in before sliding his hard cock out of his fist and tucking the slick inconvenience back into his boxers. His breath is labored and heavy, but he manages to find his jeans and slip them on anyway. “One sec,” he says loudly, fastening the button before hesitantly wiping his hand on the side of the denim. He can’t help but sulk as he walks over and picks his shirt up from the floor, breathing deeply and hoping his canines aren’t too obvious of an indicator as to what he was just doing… not to mention the angrily-pulsing dick resting against the inside of his thigh.  

He strides toward the door, opening it ready to tell Mina he thought she’d cancel when he’s greeted with your sweet face and the scent of Italian food. His jaw almost hits the floor as he gapes at you, dick pressing longingly against his jeans at your familiar smell, but in person it radiates off of you so strong he almost lunges at you. You’re looking up at him with those bright cheerful eyes he loves, a timid smile on your lips as you swing the takeout bag back and forth behind your back in anticipation.  

“Hi, Eiji,” you smile and set the bag on the ground next to the door before you turn around and take his tense body into your arms, throwing yourself onto him.  

A gasp rips from his throat but quickly turns into a cough, body trembling at your singeing touch. His jaw quivers as he conceals his pointed teeth, angling his thigh away from you strategically. “Y-Y/N, w-what are you doing here?” He manages to ask, lips sealing immediately once the words are pushed out.   His hands remain clenched at his sides; he’s scared that if he touches you now he won’t be able to stop.  

“There was a freak accident on the highway ahead of my bus… We had to turn back. My parents don’t mind though, they said we can reschedule. Maybe you won’t need to miss my mom’s noodles this time; you can come if you want. By the way, I brought Italian!” You smile as you pick up the bag and brush past him, leaving him standing there, looking at the door with a glare.

You move around the sofa and sit on one of the leather cushions, setting the bag onto the coffee table. “Ew Eiji,” he sits next to you stiffly, eyes widening as you reach over to the table and poke a finger into the slick trail of precum that had dribbled out of his fist just moments ago. “What is this? Do you ever clean this apartment?” You giggle, unfolding the paper bag the food had come in and wiping your finger on your skirt. “Anyway, I got food from your favorite place and made sure I got the breadsticks with the extra sauce ‘cause I know you lov—“

A quiet groan escapes Kirishima’s mouth as he puts his head in his hands— your scent, your alluring body, your heart-swelling gaze, just you, being here—it’s too much for his raging hormones.  

“Ei? Are you okay?” You ask, scooting closer and pressing the back of your hand to his forehead. He’s shaking and you don’t know why, so you bring his head to rest against your collar, just above your fluttering heart. “Eiji, you’re burning up…”  

He stays pressed against you, the desperation and torture he felt earlier suddenly fleeting and gone from his body as your own erases them completely. He swallows. It feels so good, but he knows it’s wrong. This is wrong when you’re just his friend and his dick is leaking into his underwear for you as you hold him like this.

“Get out,” Kirishima murmurs, eyes set on the paper bag.  

You still, slowly pulling him. “W-What Eiji?”  

“You need to leave,” he says through his teeth, jaw set tight.  

“Eijirou.. I don’t understand— is this how you treat someone when they bring you your favorite food?” You spit, hands curling into frustrated fists.

Kirishima ignores you, knowing he can apologize tomorrow when he’s in the right mindset but you being here with him at the moment could jeopardize your entire relationship.

“I… Is it… her? Is it Mina?” You murmur, and Kirishima’s gaze turns to you sharply at the drop in your tone. His lips part to say something to soothe your confidence as he sees it shatter. “I didn’t realize— I thought—” you breathe in sharply and shake your head, shooting up from your spot and rushing around the sofa.  

Kirishima beats you to the door, palm reaching over your shoulder to slam it just as you can get it open a sliver. He grabs your biceps, spinning you around and pressing you against the door with his hand as a cushion to break your impact.

“It’s never been Mina,” he snarls, knee splitting your legs and sliding up the gap between your thighs to press against your core; your panties and his jeans the only thing separating your center from his skin.

Your eyes widen and you gasp as his hands cup your face with care, scarlet eyes searing into your own with an intensity you’d never seen before. His pupils are dilating with every second, a black coal seemingly swallowed up by the burning fire of his irises.

“It’s you, Y/N,” he murmurs, eyes shutting into a long blink, and when they open again the red you’re used to is flooded with tendrils of electric amber and yellow. “It’s always been you, and it’ll always be you.”

You gape at him as he holds you there, against his front door, professing his love to you.

“I need you Y/N, I need you so bad it fucking hurts not being able to touch you,” he growls lowly. “If you can’t love me back, you have to leave, now. I don’t want your lust, I can smell it from here,” his honeyed eyes roll back as he takes in a whiff of the wanton-perfumed air around you, mouth parting and you watch his pink tongue slide over his elongated canines, feeling a tremor between your legs. His eyes open and they set straight on yours with a certain determination. 

“I can’t wake up next to you tomorrow and have tonight be just for friends with benefits. I love only you, Y/N,” Kirishima delivers, voice never quivering,“now tell me you feel the same, or go.”

There’s a slight fragility in his gaze that begs you not to break his heart. He peers into you at such a small distance that you can see every brilliant fleck of gold in his sinful eyes, warm ginger bursting around the outer ridges of his irises that focus solely on you. The dim lighting casts stretched shadows from his long, dark lashes; his bronzed skin glowing subtly to intensify his passionate gaze.

“Kirishima,” you place a hand on his clenched but trembling jaw, tilting your face to look him in the eye better. “You’ve been hurting all this time for no reason.”  

His scarlet gaze lights with hope and happiness. “Say it then,” he whispers, words soft and nearly begging, as if he fears if his voice is too loud he’ll wake from a dream.

“Kirishima Eijirou, I love you, too. God, I have beein in love with you for so long,” you reply, and he wastes no time as his mouth descends upon yours. He presses your lips to his passionately, hands resting on your hips and rubbing the smooth skin there underneath your blouse. You gasp as they guide your hips gently in circles against his kneecap, your mouth falling open at his forward actions. He takes advantage of your open mouth and darts his tongue in, tangling it with yours in a powerful embrace.  

His steady clutch on your waist drags your body up his clothed thigh, and a soft, unabashed moan falls from your lips at the action. The taut muscle of his leg between his jeans and your panties rubs graciously against your flustered center, making your head loll back to rest against the door.  

“Don’t do that,” Kirishima groans, a hand leaving your warm hip and tilting your head forward once again to look at him directly. His fingers trail against your smooth neck, feeling the rapid pulse beneath the tender skin. His palm curls softly around the back of your neck, pressing you closer to him as his other arm hooks underneath your bottom. You squeak in surprise and cling to him, legs wrapping around his midsection and core pressing upon his rigid erection.  

You look at him with wide eyes as he throws his head back, sucking in air harshly between his clenched jaw. “Fuck, yes,” he hisses, holding you tighter and stalking over to the sofa. He places you in between the two cushions, standing in front of you and looking down, breathing laboriously before he tilts his head back again, willing for some kind of miraculous strength to get him through the night without sealing you to him forever.

“How come you get to do that and I don’t?” You frown as he looks down at you before he crouches, his face dropping just below your own to gaze up at you.  

“Because you don’t have the urge to sink your three-centimeter canines into my throat,” his upper lip curls back as he shows you the result of his attraction to you.  

You look at him with unintentionally pouted lips, batting your eyelashes as you take in his words. Isn’t that how werewolves marry or something? You think. Kirishima had explained it all once before, one night when you were both wasted at three in the morning at some bar on the outskirts of the city.  

“God, can you look unattractive for one second while I try to pull myself together?” Kirishima groans, a hand running through his disheveled hair.

“Who said I want you to pull yourself together?” You inquire, scooting toward the lip of the cushion.  

Kirishima looks at you warily with an underlying, longing hunger before you place your hands on either side of his sharp jaw and bring his lips to yours. Your eyes close immediately and his blissfully, your hands gliding down his neck to his broad chest. You grapple onto his wide shoulders, one hand burying into the hair at the base of his neck to push him into the kiss even more.  

His throat vibrates gently with an almost-inaudible growl, and you part his tender lips with a swipe of your tongue, the pink muscle coasting in and gently feeling the warm, smooth hardness of his cuspids.

Kirishima untucks your blouse in one pull, fingers nimbly undoing each button before sliding the clothing off your shoulders and tossing it away. His hands lay strategically on your ribs, fingertips brushing the underwire of your bra just barely.  

He pulls you forward into his arms, hands splaying onto your back with delight, fingers undoing the fastening between your shoulder blades with glee. You lean into him as he flings the bra in the direction of the blouse, mouth instantly latching to your breast and tongue twirling around the swollen bud. You wail, pushing him closer as his teeth bump against your nipple and his lips grow taut with a warm smirk, depraved gaze intense as ever.

You want more than ever to throw your head back onto the top of the sofa, but you know you’re forbidden to do so. Instead, you slide your body further down onto the cushions, hips brushing against Kirishima’s torso as his mouth leaves your nipples, your face coming to a stop directly in front of his. Your hands cup his angular jaw again, coaxing his lips onto yours into an ardent kiss. His long eyelashes flutter against your blushed cheeks, his coarse hair drifting softly through your digits.  

His hands land on your rolling hips, scuttling closer on his knees so his crotch feels the steady rhythm. He hums, a primitive trembling in his throat that sounds more like a soft growl. Your hands fall to the hem of his snug t-shirt, which he gladly expels into the corner toward your blouse and bra. You lean back a bit and admire his toned form. His broad chest, pectorals curving dramatically to his wide shoulders seamlessly; the v shape tapering down to the top of his jeans; the faint trail of dark hair waning below the brass button to his jeans; the way his abdominal muscles flex with each heavy breath; the salient outline against his thigh that both he and you know aches for your attention.  

You can’t help yourself. You reach between his strong thighs, fingers skimming along the bulge mockingly. Kirishima’s head rolls full circle, hand clutching your wrist tightly as he stares into you, lips parting and hot pink tongue gliding along his white, sharp teeth. “That was very naughty of you,” he murmurs, honeyed eyes darkening to a burnt orange. Trepidation ignites in your heart, but also desire floods your senses as well as your panties.  

“Eijirou,” you breathe and his lip curls back into a snarl, a loud growl releasing from his throat. His nostrils flare and he swallows harshly.  

“Say it again,” he orders, leaning into your face.

“E-Eijirou,” it comes out as a whisper, but his sensitive ears hear the slight whine to your tone, and his cock jumps at the sound against your eager fingertips. “You like it when I say your name, Eiji?”  

His tongue runs swiftly over his lip, his eyeing your chest hips hungrily. His hand reached forward on its own accord, sliding effortlessly under the soft material of your skirt to press against your warmed, wet panties. His lips curve into a devious smirk, fangs poking out slightly as his dark, copper-tainted eyes set on yours. “Mmm, and you like it when I growl for you, baby girl?”  

“God, yes Eiji,” you answer and gulp at his overwhelming intensity. He trains his gaze to the movement of your fragile throat, tongue flicking around one canine subconsciously. A deep purr of sorts emanates from him in approval, making your legs tremble and press together around his intruding forearm.  

He smiles devilishly, white teeth glinting in the dim lighting. His other hand circles round your back, pushing your tailbone so your body slides forward on the couch, to the very edge of the cushion. His fingers nudge your thong aside, immediately met with your poignant arousal. The tips of his middle and ring finger separate your folds facilely, gliding over your entrance and clit making you bite your lip to hold in an impatient moan. “Oh baby, you’re so wet for me,” he chuckles. “If only we’d figured this out sooner.”

“Eiji, fuck,” you cry when he rubs your clit gently, your jaw trembling as you sag against his arm’s firm hold and the back of the sofa. You can’t throw your head back so you lean forward, elbows falling on Kirishima’s generous shoulders, the side of your face against his soft hair as his tongue guides a pebbled nipple into his mouth, caressing it slowly and pressing it against his teeth. You whimper pathetically, his thumb replacing his fingers as they slide down and glide half-way right into your awaiting entrance.  

He hooks the two fingers and presses repeatedly, making you shove his face closer to your breasts in pleasure. He slides them deeper, knuckles lapping against your slick entrance as his tongue works diligently on your nipple. You clench around him and moan loudly at the depth his fingers achieve, the feeling of total ecstasy near. It had been a long time since a man had touched you, and it was no where near as incredible as having Kirishima’s thick fingers rubbing inside you.

“Eijirou, that feels so—” you warn but he only picks up the pace. He leans down, tongue replacing his thumb smoothly and you almost scream. He strokes your clit fervently, tongue lapping persistently up and down as his long canines brush on either side, his fingers curling and straightening at the same pace. “Fuck Eiji— I’m seriously gonna cum,” you pant, falling back against the back of the sofa.  

He looks up at you mischievously, dark eyes alight with arousal and a touch of humor. You feel his full lips in a smirk as he wraps them around your clit, tongue lavishing it faster. One hand falls to his hair, gripping it tight as the other curls against your mouth, your eyes shutting tight as your orgasm smashes against you like a wave crashing down upon you. You moan, body quivering in Kirishima’s strong grip, wiggling pointlessly against the sofa cushions.  

Kirishima doesn’t cease until you’ve returned from your high, standing up and unfastening his jeans quickly, pushing them down and kicking them off when they reach his ankles. You sit up from your slumped position, hands landing on his thighs and traveling around to rub the backs of them in anticipation. Kirishima watches you hungrily, his thick cock longing for your attention. You lean forward, almost touching where he wants you most, before you look up at him and give him your most innocent doe eyes you can muster after having his sinful session on you just moments before. You bat your lashes and he growls loudly, fists clenching at his sides.  

“Y/N,” he advises, tone a little menacing. You tilt your head and press your lips against his erection through his briefs, a low groan sounding from above you. You kiss down toward the tip and back up to the base of his shaft before you reach up and untuck him, briefs sliding to the hardwood floor. You smirk as you look at what you’ve done to him. His dick is throbbing gently as you rest it against a palm, beads of translucent-white precum adorning the tip of the red, swollen tip. You repeat your kiss trail on his bare skin, his cock twitching at the action as you feel the vein underneath contract harshly. When you reach the base your tongue pokes out, tracing up and down the prominent vein on the underside.  

Kirishima watches you with a dark, maleficent gaze, throat tightening and a growl tumbling out when you take the head into your mouth, sucking teasingly as your tongue dances around the leaking tip. “Fuck yes, baby girl. Just like that."

You retreat with a loud pop, smiling up at him and his heart flutters in his chest at the pureness of it. With an open mouth you glide your tongue along the sides of him to slicken his entire length before your lips encompass the tip and suddenly his dick is touching the back of your throat and you don’t even seem to mind. Kirishima lets out a strangled moan of shock, watching your head bob energetically up and down his hot length. He watches you in awe for a few minutes, just dazed this is really happening and he’s not waking up abruptly like when he’d dreamt this scenario so many nights before.  

He snaps out of it suddenly, aware his cock is tensing the way it does when he’s about to cum. You’d noticed, too, at the feel of the harsh, bulging vein on the under-shaft, slowing down to a halt and leaning back to catch your breath.

“Baby you did so good,” he praises, hands cupping your face and you beam at him proudly. “Now take off your skirt for me.”  

You comply eagerly, shimmying out of the cotton garment, your thong following close behind. Kirishima smugly watches the stings of your arousal snap as your panties are thrown onto the floor, fist stroking his length slowly to keep himself at bay.

“Turn,” he instructs, other hand guiding you to face away from him,” knees on the couch, now.”  

You do as told, looking back at him over your shoulder expectantly. He smiles and steps forward, and your back arches as you feel his length glide against your dripping entrance.  

“Be a good girl for me, okay? Do not let me get anywhere near your throat, got it? If I do, I’ll sink my teeth into you so fast you won’t know what’s happening. And then you’re stuck with me for life. So watch out for yourself, baby. This is your only warning,” he murmurs, lips brushing the shell of your ear before a hand lands on your hip and suddenly he’s pushing into you, a gasp tearing from your throat as he stretches you to your capacity. When his hips bump against your ass your eyes have already rolled back in delirium, your lip falling open in shock.  

He pulls out half-way before sheathing back inside slowly, a whine releasing from your mouth. His hand remains on your hip while the other grabs a fistful of your hair, trailing out again before snapping in. The tip of his cock nestles so deep in you that tears dot along your bottom lashes; the feeling is so blissful and fulfilling that your emotions skyrocket.  

“Eijirou— oh, yes,” you whimper as he repeats the action, movements still paced and measured to help you adjust to his size.

“Feel good, baby? ‘Cuz this feels amazing for me— you feel amazing on me, Y/N,” he grunts, fingers gripping the skin of your hip tighter as he angles your face so he can see it with his other hand.  

“Yes, fuck yes, you feels so good,” you commend as the pace intensifies, making a moan spill out of you. He groans from behind you, letting go of your hair and placing his hand on your other hip to keep you steady. You clutch onto the top of the sofa tightly as he pounds into you, and you gasp as a hand leaves your hip for a moment and delivers a sharp smack to your ass, making your back arch into Kirishima’s grasp. You’re babbling now, your entire body thrumming with pleasure. “Oh god—ohgodohgodohgodohgod.”

Kirishima hisses as he watches the bright pink mark on your ass cheek tremble as his hips slam against yours, bottom lip tucked under his offending cuspids. He licks his lip to keep from drooling onto you, eyes trained on your perfect figure that he’s fucking into the sofa. Pleasure courses through his body, intensified at the sound and obvious proof of your own satisfaction as he thrusts into you quickly.  

“Again,” you lament softly, and if he hadn’t been a werewolf with keen hearing he wouldn’t have heard your request over the assaulting sound of your skin slapping against his. He delivers and slaps your other cheek sharply, a lustful mix between a gasp and a moan escaping you.  

“Fuck, you’re so sexy, baby,” Kirishima admires, smirking as you turn slightly to look at him. He grabs your shoulder and pulls your torso back, slamming it against his as his other hand wraps around your throat snugly to stop his innate temptation to leave his mark there. The other hand leaves your arm and instead bands around your waist, pressing you flush against him. His hips retreat and pound into you in the new position, and you rest your head back onto his shoulder since your neck is safe from his view with his large hand covering it.

You stare into each other as he continues, and you move your hips back as he moves his in, making each thrust more powerful. His lips find yours and they mould easily, your hand coming up to caress his jaw and press his face closer to yours.

“Eiji, your cock feels so good,” you pant between his kisses and potent strokes, “God, you’re so big.”

“Mmm, I love when you talk dirty to me,” Kirishima murmurs against your mouth, a bead of sweat trickling down the side of his face.  

It’s fucked up but his tight hold on your throat is only turning you on more, making your eyes close as each thrust feels better than the last.

“Fuck, Ei,” you groan, slouching back against his toned form as the pleasure is too great.  

“Here, baby,” he says, cock slipping out of you before picking you up, walking briskly out of the common space and into a hallway, then finally into his bedroom. He shuts the door with his foot, laying you gently onto his messy bedsheets and blankets. He rolls you over onto your stomach before he climbs on top of you, hovering above you before he slips back in with ease.  

You moan and tuck your face into the sheets that smell like him, his arms bracing on either side of your head as his forearms rest next to yours, elbows bent and fists clenched. His hips swing effortlessly into yours, making a loud, crude slapping sound echo around the room. You moan almost pathetically into the sheets, turning to lay your face to the side so Kirishima can hear your noises of pleasure. He kisses your cheek sweetly before moving to your jaw and nibbling there gently, his tempo still quick and lethal. His tip, nestled deep inside, assaults your g-spot and you purr in content at the sensation, a gasp escaping you as he plunges in a little more forcefully. His hand wraps around your throat again, lifting your head up as his lips meet yours tenderly. His tongue plays with yours gently, a stark contrast to your hips. The hold on your throat is firm but also soft, and his thumb brushes along your jawline as his fingertips push into your racing pulse.

His hand leaves you and suddenly you’re on your back, Kirishima dragging your body up the bed so your head lays on the pillows. He smiles widely before he swoops in and his lips take yours again. His cock glides right back in, and you moan loudly into the kiss as the tip brushes your g-spot at a different angle than before. Your pussy quivers around him as he picks up the pace again, one arm folding under and around your waist and the other holding your chin, elbow digging into the mattress to keep himself propped up. His kisses trail from your lips to your chin and jaw, tongue sliding out and lathering your skin gently. Your eyes open as it slides down your throat, and the slight point of his canines poke against your skin. You quickly take his head in your hands, guiding his lips back to yours.  

“Baby, I’m gonna cum,” he murmurs against your lips, eyebrows scrunched in concentration, breath heavy as his exhausted hips keep up the erratic pace against yours. He whimpers as your walls constrict around him firmly.  

“I’m close, too, Eiji,” you mumble, legs folding around his waist, your arms tangling around his torso with your hands on each shoulder blade, fingernails gripping his slick skin. One of his hands is pressed into the sheets by your shoulder, propping him up, and the other is going white on your hip from his tight hold.  

“God, you feel so fucking good,” he snarls, voice low and resonating with a growl. You watch his abdomen accordion as he flexes in and out of you with apparent effort, drops of sweat gliding down his broad chest. He throws his head back and whines as your nails dig into his strong shoulder muscles, chasing his imminent ecstasy.  

Watching his body tremble and exert itself to bring you to your euphoria pushes you toward your own climax, and the feeling of his hand on your hip and the way his lip pinches between his teeth makes your eyes roll back and your body tense as you fall off the cliff, hurtling down into the thrashing waves of your orgasm. You call his name in a strangled cry, limbs clutching onto him for dear life as the pleasure shakes through you. His hips don’t stop; plunging further into you and pushing you harder under the tides of your climax. Your body shivers and you’re so out of it you don’t notice Kirishima’s thrusts becoming volatile, his arm that had once propped his torso above yours curling beneath your back to press your torso against his.  

A growl of victory splits from deep in his throat as he approaches his own high, muscles tense in anticipation for the long-awaited prize. He shudders and suddenly his cuspids are lodged deep in your throat, and it feels like he’s just been run over by an eighteen-wheeler of ecstasy. His jaw shakes as his eyes close, abdomen convulsing as he spills deep into you in long, relentless spurts. The combination of his orgasm and his marking you almost make him pass out in an exhaustive pleasure.

Just as you’d come to from your orgasm, searing pain splices through you as Kirishima’s fangs split your skin and neck tissue, your jaw opening but no sound releasing. And just as fast as the pain had arrived, it’s replaced and you’re submerged back into the tidal waves of a new climax, making you clench and flex around Kirishima’s throbbing member that pulses into you.  

His fingers clasp the skin of your hips so strongly the skin turns white, but your own nails lodge into his shoulders to grapple him to you; the both of you holding each other as if your lives depend on it. The sheets around you are twisted and damp from your sweat, but the two of you only seem to care about each other; drifting numbly and blissfully in your shared euphoria.

After a moment Kirishima’s body sags, sliding slightly to the side of yours as his muscles stop tensing and he stops physically releasing into you. His teeth still woven deep into your neck, he doesn’t dare move his face.  

As the tides form your orgasm slowly recede, your body hums in a warm satisfaction and a certain numbness. Your hands rove over Kirishima’s expansive back soothingly, and he exhales with a content but tired moan in response.  

Very timidly, Kirishima stretches his jaw to the maximum before he pulls away from your neck, leaving your head buzzing lightly. He licks the puncture wounds instantly, enzymes in his saliva helping to start the healing process while he cleans away the scarlet blood that beads there. He ghosts a kiss over your jaw before he pulls away, smiling warily as his eyes meet yours.  

The primal amber and yellow shades are gone, leaving behind the warm red you’d fallen in love with. They cast over your face in total adoration, with a hint of fear.  

He looks away as he slides out of you, his release immediately following and forming a wet puddle on his sheets. Your cheeks flush even though it isn’t your fault, but he just smiles and presses a kiss to one of them as if silencing your unnecessary embarrassment.  

Kirishima reclines next to you, pulling the blanket at the foot of the mattress up to rest on top of the two of you. He collects you into his arms, your body weak and unprotesting. His legs entwine with yours, pressing every piece of skin he can to yours. He makes sure to be careful with your neck, kissing it gently once more before settling his face next to yours. The kiss makes the skin tingle and heat, a fuzzy warmth flooding your body as you smile shyly.  

“I told you not to let me get near your neck,” Kirishima says softly as your eyes close, eyelashes brushing over his collarbone. “Do you know what this means, Y/N?” He tries again at your silence, thinking you don’t understand the severity of the situation. His fingertips run up and down your naked spine relaxingly.  

“It means you need to work on your self-control,” you murmur, giggling quietly into his chest.

“Y/N, this isn’t a joke,” he says lowly, “I don’t kno-“

You cut him off. “It isn’t a joke, I know, Eijirou. It means we’re tied together, forever— meaning we, this, us— we’re permanent. We’re wolf-married or whatever the term is now, I know. You can never love another person again, and neither can I,” your hand rests on his pectoral, a finger tracing along his nipple so you have something to look at instead of his face. “If you can’t deal with that, I’m sorry, but I can. I’m yours, Kirishima, always have been, always will be. If you don’t want that, then I’m sorry but you just sealed your fate with mine and there’s nothing I can do about that.”

“Oh,” Kirishima exhales, blinking. The only light in the room is from the window above the desk, moonlight casting the bed in a dim white light. He shuffles, pulling your body closer to his, smiling into your hair with a stupidly happy grin. “I just wanted to make sure that’s what you want. I.. uh, I feel the same,” he murmurs against the shell of your ear giddily.  

“Good,” you reply, eyes closing as you nuzzle your face closer to his warm heart.

It’s silent for a moment before Kirishima clears his throat gently. You peek one eye open, awaiting his words.

“Um… I love you, Y/N… a lot,” he says rather nervously, gulping softly as he pauses for a response.

“I love you too, Eiji,” you kiss his chest gently, sighing contently.

“And, uh, Y/N?”  

“What, Eiji?”

“I’m glad it’s you who I’m wolf-married to.”

   ─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

.

.

when he go from wolf to puppy 🥺 thank you for reading babies <3 & pls don’t be shy to let me know if you enjoyed!! 

➥ masterlist 

𝐂𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 © 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐩𝐢 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟎. 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝.

[iholli]

Look, okay... No one is gonna like this lmao but I'm going to say it.

Just because "they paved the way," does not mean "we have to forgive everything they did wrong because that's all we have."

Everyone, I mean EVERYONE, is saying this because Lumity is canon now. btw, haven't watched it yet, it's not on Disney+ and that's what I have, and I don't mind TOH spoilers. Anyway.

And Lumity isn't *just* canon-- both characters are well developed, it's pretty healthy, it's really cute, and it's right in the middle of the series-- so we get to see it develop!

But. *but.*

"Steven Universe made this possible! LOK made this possible! She-Ra made this possible! We have to accept all these as perfect because they made representation on screen possible!"

No. We don't. And if you thought, with constructive criticism, about it, you'd know that we do not, actually, have to just roll over and accept the terrible excuses for predecessors Lumity had. Okay?

I'll start with LOK. god. where do I start. I watched ATLA and LOK back to back for the first time. I guess that was a mistake because after the series I just could not put down, LOK was like a slap in the face. Uninteresting male characters there to be the love interests for Korra to go back and forth with. Even more uninteresting female side character that I would, frankly, rather have been the star. And the main character...oh god. Korra is literally the worst, most hated character troupe I have. She's already perfect, a complete overconfident jackass, and gives no shits about anyone as long as she gets to do what she wants. Sorry. Someone had to say it. It's why I can't stand Captain Marvel either. And she's the Avatar, in fact, the worst one ever. She *loses the connection to all the past Avatars,* for crying out loud. And when she's thrown in the dirt, powerless, helpless, she does... Absolutely nothing to change. Cuts her hair, I guess. Saves the world, I guess, but she's still just *so. unlikeable.* And after this constant back and forth between the two guys [I barely remember the names, but I do like Bolin] she's... Suddenly dating Asami? I mean-- there was some hints and stuff leading up to it, so I can't really say I have a problem with the ship. In fact, the ship itself is fine. But literally everything else about the trainwreck that was LOK-- not fine.

Moving on. Steven Universe. Which I have not seen, definitely do not care to. I could barely finish the first episode. To get to the point, everyone worships this show for all the representation and how awesome it is. But... What about all the issues? The racism? The abusive relationships? The racism? "But they had the wlw wedding on screen!" Okay, that's great! As far as I can tell, the ship is fine! I mean, it's a little sus that the couple spend the entire show save five minutes fused into one person, but the ship is fine. But you can't just ignore everything else that happened, considering-- again, the racism, the abusive stuff or whatever the deal is with Lapis, the literal Nazi redemption thing ["but they had a bad day" is not an excuse, sorry]... One ship in this whole mess doesn't make the rest of the series flawless. And, apparently, the wedding wasn't the scandal everyone tries to claim. Considering there's like, four seasons, a movie, and another series after that episode.

Anyway. Finally. She-Ra. We all know how this goes. Because, obviously, this is C*tradora we're talking about. Do I have to say it? We got four well made seasons of the cat being mentally and physically abusive towards the person she claims to love, her victim finally choosing to stand up for herself and be her own person, and that person then ends up with her abuser in the last shitty season. Not to mention throwing the disabled, poc characters under the bus, or ignoring literally everything else the cat did before that moment of confession. which was gross in and of itself. "But my wlw rep!" my dudes, Glimmer was right fucking there. End of story.

The point is, you can't just hero worship these shows because "they paved the way for Lumity." It's fine to say something like, well, these couples happened, so we could have something like this now. Something good. Something that wasn't forced, that didn't involve one or both characters being boring or, worse, toxic, that didn't involve the rest of the show being awful in one way or another. TOH is an all around awesome series. It deals with all kinds of issues, without being racist, or ableist, or apologetic to any number of problematic characters.

Do you really want parents to see something like LOK, where the main character solves everything with aggression, or SU, which forgives actual Nazis for no reason, or She-Ra, which pairs a victim with her abuser-- is that what you want representation to look like? Because if I saw that, and saw that this is what the LGBT+ wants to say is good...well. hopefully you can do the math.

It's fine to acknowledge where the fight started. But don't pretend like the origins were flawless. Don't just roll over and accept whatever comes your way. Be critical. Demand better. You deserve better. You deserve healthy, developed relationships, without forgiving the problematic for no reason.

Update;; so this is like well over a year old and keeps getting notes for some reason, I still hate all the above series. That's not really the point of the post. Y'all still need to recognize that these are big issue series, that there are way better things out there to point to for representation, and that's all I was going for. We deserve better. Stop accepting shit that barely passes as showing representation at all just because it was the starting point. Or at least stop holding it on such a damn pedestal.

[jimlingss]

Moirai [2]

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3

➜ Words: 6.2k

➜ Genres: 60% Fluff, 40% Angst, Isekai!AU

➜ Summary: Death is supposed to be the end. Or at least that's what you assumed when you're hit by a TRUCK. But the moment you open your eyes again, instead of being sent to the afterlife, you've become a baby. And not just any baby. You're the female villain of a video game.

You turn the corner and dart down the hall.   “My lady!”   There’s a parade of maids chasing after you, Joan included in the bunch, and a frightened guard whose metal armour clanks with each movement. You grin, swinging your wooden sword around at them with a ‘huzzah!’. Pretending you’re a champion, you twirl around the pillar with one arm. But even with your theatrics, they’re still meters away and out of reach.   “Please! Come back! You have your dance lessons!”   You stick out your tongue. “Then catch me!”   It’s been one full year since you’ve started learning swordsmanship and admittedly, it’s become one of your most favourite times of the day. It beats sitting at a desk with the old fart droning on and on about dumb things you already know or having your posture criticized over and over again during dance lessons.    You’re frankly getting tired of having information and insults shoved down your throat.    Sword lessons are the only time you can be out in the sun and do whatever you want. You can tell that you’re improving too. It’s a pain in the ass to get the guards to take you seriously, but sometimes the tips and tricks they give are pretty helpful.   It’s fun.   Especially when there are people desperately chasing you.   “P-Please!” one of the girls cries out, running out of breath.   One of the best perks about being a five-year old is having endless energy in your body. And you’ll happily take advantage of that while you still can. “Pirates never give up! Argh, matey!”   But your play time is unfortunately interrupted by a deadpanning voice—   “What are you doing?”    The familiar sharp voice sends shivers up your spine and you freeze.   Your parade halts on their heels as well, immediately dropping their heads to the ground and placing one hand over the other reverently. “Your grace.”   “What is going on here?” Your mother’s footsteps echo through the marble hall, ball gown dragged behind her as her scrutinizing eyes lay on the help, the knight and then to you.   “I’m so sorry,” Joan is quick to confess, “The lady refuses to attend her dance practices.”   And she’s quick to throw you under the bus.   If you could, you’d stick up your middle finger at her.   Your mother turns, her glare laid upon you. You brace yourself.   “This is not how the future Devereux head should act.” Her voice is above a slight murmur, yet chilling and heavy. Her narrowed eyes have dimmed as they look upon you. She doesn’t need to yell to be frightening. “The Chevalier household has their youngest daughter playing piano and they recently went to the castle to show her talent. How will you compete, Anastasia?”   “I—”   “Or will you continue to tarnish our family’s name by being a child?”   You are a child. Technically.    The woman looms over you, her demeanour imposing and the burden of the household’s name lays upon your shoulders. You can’t help but feel small. It’s no wonder Anastasia took the Prince’s kindness as love and fell for him so quickly. Moments with him were her moments of freedom.   You stay quiet, solemn, knowing it’s not worth arguing. Your eyes instead focus on a younger maid who’s silently snickering to herself and before you can make note for later, your vision blurs.   “From now on, your swordsmanship lessons will be retracted until you’ve caught up with the rest of your lessons,” she says while looking straight ahead, not sparing you a glance. “The only places you are to be permitted in for the next month is your room and the study—”   It’s unfair. A punishment that doesn’t fit the crime.   But your voice doesn’t come out of your mouth.   The world tilts on an axis. It swirls. Your head is lightweight.    And before you could figure out what’s happening, there’s a shrill cry for you — “my lady!” — and you feel yourself falling back before the universe becomes pitch black. An abyss of nothing.   //   “Why did she faint?!”   When you come to, your first thought is that you’ve died. Again.   Illness. Heart attack. Maybe from the plague.    Fuck.   It’s frightening and you feel an urge to cry, knowing that you yet again didn’t complete your goal of living a long and fruitful life. That the years spent fighting for your survival were ultimately useless. But then you hear far away voices and realize your fingers can twitch. The soft mattress underneath you registers soon after and it sinks in that you’re in your room, bedridden.   “Well….your grace…”   “On with it! I didn’t bring you here to waste my time!”   “Herrick…”   Oh right. It’s the Eve of the Solar Festival, isn’t it? A day where commoners celebrate the empire and wish for its everlasting prosperity. You remember since you’ve never gone before. Around this same time last year and the year before that, you fell ill in the exact same way — cold, chest aching, dizzy spells.    It’s odd. Usually you aren’t so weak and yet somehow, you always get better in the morning once the festival is over. You don’t remember this ever being mentioned in the original game either. Or at least Anastasia never said anything about it and she would’ve totally milked it for the Prince’s attention if she could’ve. But maybe it’s an outside detail. Something the game developers were going to include in a future DLC.   “We don’t know what’s happening to the lady, your grace,” the healer says.   Your father bellows from his stomach, “Excuse me?!”   “H-Her pulse reads well and she has no fever either. I-It’s a very unusual case.”   In your half-consciousness, you perceive the bitter silence.    “Heal her at all costs.” Your father’s footsteps fade and your mother sighs.   You wish you couldn’t hear. Otherwise, it would be easy to demonize the pair as unsympathetic, psychopathic parents who only consider their daughter a chess piece. You’re sure the only reason they’re expressing so much concern is because you are the only heir after all. They really have no future if Anastasia dies.    But it’s still hard to quell the hope that they actually care for your wellbeing.    Still, you wish you couldn’t hear their desperation. It wouldn’t have to be so conflicting. Or bittersweet. The only time they show an ounce of their affection is when you’re on your deathbed.   You muster the strength to open your eyes once everyone’s left the room.    Most likely, you’ll live through this. You still have yet to have any of the game’s encounters or even start. Anastasia was alive for most of it, enough to terrorize the main character, so you’ll live too.   Shit. When does the game start again?   The opening scene was right before the debutante ball was held for all the girls in the empire.   You count on your fingers — give or take, there’s twelve or thirteen years left….   But you remember from the wiki fan page that Anastasia became engaged to the Crown Prince when they were kids.    Oh god. If you weren’t so weak, you’d roll over and scream into your pillow.   There’s an unsettling feeling boiling in the pit of your stomach.   No matter how much effort you put forth, you don’t know how you’re going to avoid that arrangement.

Turns out, it’s unavoidable.   It begins two years later at seven years old, the D-day that you were dreading, the first domino that begins all the others.   “No! Please!” The entire household is stunned at how you’ve grabbed onto the Duke’s leg and wrapped your limbs around his appendage, practically dead weight and not allowing him to move a single step.    All your life, you’ve kept a good amount of distance between your parents — never daring to overstep your boundaries or sass them back no matter how much you wanted to. It’s more trouble than it’s worth anyway and it’s better to play on their good side.   But you’ve thrown in the towel. This is your last desperate attempt.   “I’ll be good, I promise I’ll go to all my dance lessons and all my history lessons and all my math lessons. Please, papa! Please!” You’re practically crying aloud. You wish someone would help you. “I don’t want to go to the Royal Palace!”   Edith is shaking her head while Joan is mortified at the sidelines.   Your mother’s expression is twisted in disgust while your dad is wholly aghast. Hey — it’s not like you wanted to do this either, alright?!   But your pleas fall on deaf ears. To them, it’s merely the whining of a child. A temper tantrum.   “My lady, please stop this,” Joan harshly whispers and rushes to pry your grip off of the Duke’s leg. Several others come too, maids and kitchen staff alike. Your strength is no match for theirs.   “My stomach hurts!”   Your father has no sympathy. “We’ve delayed enough times, Anastasia. If we postpone the meeting with the King again, it would be shameful to our house. Now get up.”   He’s done hearing the excuses — and while you’d usually internally call him out for being an ass, the moment you heard he wanted to take you to the palace, you did claim you have a fever.    Then you claimed diarrhea. A cough. Hid for several hours.   You’re actually surprised you managed to delay it for this long.   “There’s no choice, my lady,” Joan mutters quickly as she fixes the ribbons in your pretty hairdo. “You must go with the Duke today.”   Deep down, you know it’s true. You’ll be pulled along anyhow.    But you wish they would understand that this is a matter of life and death for you.   Your silence is a sign of raising the white flag and Joan retracts back to her place as your dad turns to leave the manor. He adjusts his hat as he’s escorted to the carriage and you’re about to trail after him, but your mother stops you.   You expect her to reprimand you, give an earful of what you should and shouldn’t do. But you’re surprised when she lowers herself down to your eye level.    She catches you off guard when she reaches out to button up your pea coat, attentive and careful in each swift movement. “This is a really important meeting, Anastasia. Do you understand?”    Her voice is soft, quiet enough that no one else aside from you can hear. You nod.   “You must be on your best behaviour. Your father, me, all the workers here, and the whole House of Devereux will be relying on you.” Wow. Way to not pressure a seven year old. “Today is the day that might change our lives for the better.”   As she finishes buttoning, her hands stroke your shoulders down your arms. The Duchess smiles gingerly, tiredly. For a moment, you feel guilty for being so selfish — for prioritizing your own survival and desires when everyone else was quite literally relying on you for their livelihood.   You find yourself swallowing hard before nodding again.    You get into the carriage without another word.    Well fuck. What now?   A part of you wishes you ran away when you had the opportunity — even though there was a good chance you would’ve been kidnapped and sold at an underground market or gone hungry or be shipped back right to your parents. Ashea, like any other place, doesn’t take kindly to wandering children.   But at least then you would’ve had more control and choice.    You know this isn’t just a fun field trip to the palace. The only reason the Duke and the King would meet like this is to seek an engagement. Your engagement with the Prince’s.    Half an hour later, you peek out the carriage windows to see the castle at the horizon.   Stone walls, seven towers, lookouts, the empire’s flag fluttering in the breeze — it’s a beautiful place with rolling green hills and beds of flowers that wind up the path. It’s a hundred times more grand than the Devereux estate and ten times the size too, stretching across for miles. But it’s also the location where all of it happens.    The beginning. The climax. The end.   “Anastasia.”   Your attention is taken when your father steps off the carriage. You take the servant's hand and hop down onto the cobblestone, following your father closely. He greets an important person or two and you lower your head to them in greeting as they complement how mannerly you are.   The two of you are led through open, lavish halls full of life-sized portraits and marble statues, and then through the garden. Even in both your lifetimes, you’ve never seen so many different kinds of flowers and vivid hues in one place.    Pansies. Orchids. Marigold.    Magenta. Lavender. Marmalade.   But you don't get to admire it for long. Not when the gazebo comes into sight.    A man with straight posture, dark hair streaked with gray to show his age and deep set eyes sits at the rounded table. Even with the absence of his crown, his status is shown through his navy cape ornate with golden swirls held together by an emerald jewel embellished with the royal crest. Wrinkles around his mouth, he has a fiercely stern expression until he cordially smiles as your father approaches.    Beside him is a spitting image, a smaller boy slumped in the white chair, visibly bored.   “Herrick! Good to see you, my old friend.”   “Your Majesty.” Your father bows and you follow suit, giving a curtsy and lowering your head. But at the same time, you can’t help peeking at the boy. His eyes meet yours and you look away.   Oh fuck.   It’s the first meeting between the Prince and Anastasia.    You’re sure for her it was impactful, nerve wracking, life changing. And it’s like that for you as well, but not so much on the positive side.   “Please, the formalities. Is this the daughter you've been speaking so highly about?”   “Yes, this is my only child, Anastasia.”   You plaster on a perfect, little smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Majesty.”   The King hums. “A very lovely child indeed. The Devereux House is blessed.”   The Duke smiles. “Thank you.”   “Please sit and make yourselves welcome.” The King gestures and the servants nearby scurry over, pulling out your chairs, pouring tea and placing plates of biscuits on their table. In a blink, they’ve finished and you can’t help but muse how much better they are than the servants back at home. The King smiles and looks at his son. “Jungkook, don’t you have anything to say?”   “Nice to meet you,” he deadpans before his doe eyes wander out to the gardens.    Jungkook is wholly disinterested in you and this entire affair — you don’t blame him. You bet any seven year old would be itching to get out of their seat. But looking at him, you can’t believe you liked him so much in the game. You even had him as your phone wallpaper for a few months.   But from the perspective of Anastasia and knowing your outcome and your impending demise, he’s not even cute as a kid.   If anything, sitting across from him stresses you the fuck out.   You weren’t supposed to even meet him. This was the exact opposite of your battle plans. And yet the engagement is going to happen whether you like it or not. The greatest irony of all is that you know he’ll end up falling in love with the main character anyway instead of you. Aka. the orphaned girl who ends up adopted by a baron.   This whole ordeal only serves to make you suffer.   The only way you could sabotage this meeting now is by slamming the teapot over Prince Jungkook’s head. And that would either get you thrown in jail for treason and executed or sent back to the Devereux estate on house arrest where your mother would kill you.   Oh god. It’s death either way.   “Are the sweets not to your liking?”   It takes a second for you to register that the King is looking at you. That he’s speaking to you.   You go wide-eyed, realizing you haven’t had a bite of the cakes, the biscuits or sipped on any tea. You’ve completely tuned out their conversation. But he’s been watching you and Jungkook from the corner of his eye, assessing your interactions closely.    Your palms go clammy as you open your mouth before closing it.    “She’s just shy,” your dad swiftly informs with a polite smile. It’s a complete lie, but one the royal monarch believes.   “Ah. We shouldn’t bore them with adult talk then.” The man turns to his son. “Jungkook, why don’t you go off and play with Anastasia here?”   “Okay,” he mumbles and slides off his chair.   You follow suit, a bit relieved that you were dismissed from the overly formal atmosphere.   The two of you go deeper into the gardens until the gazes of your father and the King’s fade from view. Jungkook is wearing a white ensemble with a cape which he dirties with the way he’s kicking rocks in his path. He seems burdened that you’re beside him.   “What do you like playing?” he asks.   You’re perplexed on how to answer. You’re not sure how you should play with an actual seven year old. Then again, you like to run away from the maids and swing your sword around on your down time. But that’s just because you like their reactions.   “Sword fighting.”   Jungkook blanches as if he just bit into a lemon. “What kind of girl plays with swords?”   Suddenly, you’re overwhelmed with an urge to kick the royal prince right in his shin.    But as the annoyance floods you, an epiphany comes along with it — if you can’t avoid Jungkook, maybe it’s time to switch strategies. Maybe you can start sowing the seeds of your future survival right here, right now. If one day, he’ll be condemning you of countless crimes and looking down at you as an evil villain, maybe you can turn his perception in the opposite direction.   Harmless. Overbearingly nice. Arrows that practically point ‘I’M NOT A THREAT WHATSOEVER!’.    You’re a genius.   You force the highest pitched giggle you can. “Really?”   Jungkook kicks another rock. “Girls have flimsy arms and trip every time you touch them.”   Ah. The ancient version of: girls have cooties and so you should stay away from them. Alright, alright. You can work with this.   “What do you like playing, Your Highness?”   “Anything that’s not with girls.”   You pause and laugh, hoping it doesn’t sound too stiff.   Jungkook suddenly lifts his head and turns to you with the swivel of his heel. You stop as well and his index finger juts right in your face. “Since I’m the prince, I’ll have mercy on you. We can play servant and king.”   “What’s servant and king?”   “I’m the king.” His thumb pokes himself and then he’s back to pointing right between your eyes again. “You’re the servant. You have to follow me and all my orders or off with your head!”   What a little shit.   How is this going to be any fun for you?!   But you draw an enormous grin on your face, left eye twitching in the process. “Sounds like fun, Your Highness!”   He strolls off. “Let’s go, dumb dumb.”   Your teeth grit and you inhale a deep breath. It hurts your pride to be insulted by a literal seven year old, but you can handle it. When it comes to life or death, you’ll easily befriend the hero.   “Fetch that stick, peasant!”   The prince points at the distance and looks at you expectedly.   Your teeth grit. But you muster a smile and dash forward.   When it comes to life or death, you’ll befriend the hero……….probably.   “Here you go, Your Highness.”   You present the stick to him with both hands and the brat smirks. A rush of air leaves his nose and then he takes the stick. You’re not sure what to expect, but your entire body freezes when he hurls it as far as his arms can go. He points between your brows a second later. “Go get it!”   Motherfucker. “Yes!”    Once Jungkook’s tired of having you fetch like a dog, you trail after him closely. The green hedges are triple your size, acting like corridors of the garden before they open up to certain areas filled with beds of flowers or a fountain. Some paths are unpaved, so you listen to the crunch of rocks underneath his shoes amidst the quiet.    When you’re not out of breath and running at his command, it finally sinks in that it’s the first time you’re with a main character of the game. For the seven years of this lifetime thus far, there was only really you. Your parents were supporting characters at best who just took the opportunity to slyly diss the main heroine a few times at royal gatherings. But other than that, you’re currently facing the backside of someone you know a lot about.   Who he will become. What his future holds. What his desires are.   You pipe up, “Prince Jungkook—”   “That’s Your Highness, peasant!”   You clench your jaw. “Your Highness…”   “What?”   You quicken your steps until you’re beside him and he turns his head. “I’ll support you forever if you want to fall in love with anyone! I don’t care about being the crown princess or the queen!”    For good measure, you flash a wink and a thumbs up.   “What?” His boyish face is twisted up in disgust. “Why would a peasant be a queen?”   You hold in your sigh. “I’m just saying. If we ever get engaged or something, it can always be annulled when we’re older. So feel free to love on, Your Highness. Make love, not war!”   Your words completely fly over Jungkook’s head.   His face reads that he has no clue what you’re talking about.   And he turns away from you. “You’re weird.”   You scoff.    You’re not sure how you can become friendly with a seven year old when you’re internally twenty years older than he is. If you had chocolate on you, you’d use that as a bargaining chip. But clearly, you only have your body, brain and the surroundings at the moment….   What do seven year old boys like?   What do they like?   As you scan your surroundings, your eye catches something in the bushes. You stop and get closer.   At the same time, Jungkook realizes you’re not following him anymore and turns around. “What are you doing, peasa—” His words are cut short by a shrill shriek of absolute terror.   Your brows furrow and you thrust your hand closer to him. “It’s a ladybug.”   The tiny red and black polka dotted bug is crawling in your hand. Jungkook screams again.   He’s stumbling back, nearly tripping onto his butt, doe eyes reflected with complete horror as if you just chopped off his mom’s head. “Get that thing away from me!” his voice cracks up and down two different octaves and realizing his weakness, you grin.   You know your plan was to seem as harmless as possible, but it’s just too much fun teasing him.   “What thing, Your Highness? Your servant is merely showing you a small forest creature.”   “No! Stop!”   He scrambles and starts running away.   You chase after him while giggling manically. “Prince Jungkook! Where are you going!”   “Get the bug away from me!”   He turns over his shoulder with eyeballs nearly falling out of their sockets, face bright red, and you take the opportunity to toss the ladybug at him. Jungkook’s shrieks echo, pitched and earsplitting.   You’re forced to stop with how hard you’re laughing and by then, he’s ran for the hills, completely gone from sight.   Oh god. You can’t believe he’s so scared.    You can’t believe you were so scared — he’s just a kid.   Your giggles taper off as you wander the gardens by yourself. It’s freeing to stroll at your own pace without a brat demanding you to fetch sticks or barking at you to do this and that. It’s a chance to finally admire the surroundings.   You’re sure the first time Anastasia saw the castle, it became her dream home. The place is similar to the aesthetic background graphics of the game and it was always described as beautiful by all the characters. And it really is that way.   But this is also the place of her demise and possibly yours.    You’re sure the only time you’ll be able to enjoy the palace and be this carefree is right now.   You’re admiring the blooming carnations, peony and roses as you turn the corner. The figure standing by the sprouting fountain doesn’t register until after a delayed moment and your eyes lift to see a woman — mysterious in her gray dress. It’s simple attire, but the fabrics are layered on top of one another, light enough that they drape down and flow to the breeze. Her brunette hair is tied into a bun and as if she feels the pressure of your eyes, her bright irises turn towards you.   You realize you’re staring and you blink several times, approaching her politely.    She pulls her charcoal shawl closer to her and smiles. The light wrinkles around her kind eyes crease. “Are you lost, child?”   You shake your head. “No. I’m just looking.”   She crouches down to match your height, gazing at you tenderly. “Where are your parents?”   “My dad’s talking to the King.” You point off in the distance as curiosity eats at you. She doesn’t look like an ordinary worker but not a visitor of the castle either. “I’m Anastasia.”   She searches your expression as if she’s endeared by you. “That’s a beautiful name.”   “Thanks! Who’re you?”   She’s soft-spoken, voice above a quiet murmur, “My name is Erena Robane.”   You frown. The name rings a bell. “Lady Robane?”   “No.” Her laugh tinkles. “I’m no lady.”    Before you can press your mind any further and pick apart your brain at why her name sounds so familiar, she reaches into the small pouch she was carrying and hands you a wrapped piece of candy. “Would you like one?”   Your eyes light up at the pink square. “Yes, please!”    You know better, as an internal twenty seven year old, than to take candy from strangers, but the Duke and Duchess never give you any sweets. So you’ll happily take what you can.   Erena smiles and drops the treat into your outstretched palm.   Not wanting to risk getting it confiscated by Edith, Joan or your mother if you brought it home, you quickly unwrap it and throw it into your mouth. It’s peppermint and it’s pretty damn good.   The woman looks at you patiently, waiting for a reaction, so you give her a thumbs up and a “Yummy!”   She laughs faintly. “Do you like candy?”   “Yep!” You hold out both hands as if you’re trick-or-treating. “Can I have another one, please?”   Might as well seize the chance while you can. It’s a dog-eat-dog world.    “You have very good manners.” She smiles, taking another out of her endless pouch and dropping it in your hand. Oh man, you’re starting to really like this lady. “My son likes chocolate, but I only managed to get candy for today.”   You chew the hard candy in your cheek, crunching down on it. You hope it rots your teeth and makes Edith’s life a living nightmare when she has to deal with it. “Your son?”   Her lips part to speak. But she’s interrupted—   “Mom?”   By sheer coincidence and coincidence itself, a boy with floppy, brown hair turns the corner of the garden. Thin lips, but chubby cheeks and bright eyes of deep mocha. You’ve known him the second your eyes have laid on him. A younger form of the person you fear most.   Taehyung.   You gasp and immediately spin around, hoping he didn’t see you, pretending you didn’t see him.   “I have to go now!”    Before Taehyung’s mom can utter another word, you run away. You don’t notice how Taehyung slows as well, brows furrowed at your receding form.   To see Jungkook is one thing. But to see Taehyung, the one who will use, coerce and lead you to your doom, is another. Jungkook handed down your judgment, but Taehyung is the one who led you there.   He’s the villain.   //   “You did decently,” your mother informs a few days after the whole affair. “We might have to go to the palace more often from now on.”   You nod, unable to dwell in her approval, mind still lost in a daze.    Taehyung — a half prince born a year before Jungkook. He has the blood of a royal with his father as the King, but his mother is merely a palace maid. You remember that he seeks revenge for her death after she’s poisoned by the jealous Queen.   But if she’s still alive, that means it’ll happen soon.   This year.    Springtime.    You’re slowly recalling the details of the event, the catalyst that begins Taehyung’s descent into madness, how he became the game’s villain. But you can’t involve yourself. You just can’t.   You shouldn’t have met any of them in the first place.   You shouldn’t get entangled in their story, in their lives. If you want to live, if you want to survive, you have to avoid Taehyung at all costs. So you can’t. You can’t. Can’t.   A day passes as you focus on your studies.   You can’t.   Another two days goes by, six meals eaten.   Can’t—   On the seventh, your silver spoon clanks noisily against the porcelain bowl, slipping from your grasps, dropping downwards in your deep trance that throbs your temples. Joan turns at the ruckus and you look at her, already standing up.   “I have to go to the castle.”   The guilt eating at you has won its battle.    “Pardon me?”   “Today. Right now.” You rush out of the room and down the hall, determination set in your strides. Maybe you can avoid this. Maybe if you do, he won’t become the game’s villain. Then he won’t be a threat to you, and you won’t be a threat to anyone. You’ll live and so will his mom who’s done nothing wrong.   The maid struggles to catch up to you. “My lady! Please! Wait! What do you mean?”   “I forgot something really important!”   “Y-You can’t just go. My lady! You must ask permission from the Duke and Duchess!”   “There’s no time to.” You’ve never been more serious and somber. There isn’t an inch of mischief, no childish selfishness. Twenty seven years has amounted to this very moment. And you use your status as the Duke’s daughter to command the girl. “Come with me. If the Duke or Duchess gets mad, I’ll take the blame.”   Joan sighs, annoyed as she looks around as if someone else could reason with you. But as you turn to her, looking her dead in the eye, she shifts on her feet and hesitantly calls for a carriage.   You’re in it before you can blink again.   There must be time. There hasn’t been any news yet. No reports of a death in the castle.   You can warn him. You can avoid this tragedy.    “We’re here, my lady,” Joan informs, peering out the window at the enormous stone walls and towers looming high above the clouds. The carriage doors open and she guides you out.    Your feet land onto the cobblestone.    But there isn’t any welcome. No guards that ask what your business here is. No servant passing by.   Instead, there’s chaos in the distance.    Your head whips to the noise and Joan shouts as you dash off towards it. Yet no one notices you in the midst of the pandemonium. No one would pay mind to a small child. You’re left to linger in the open halls, butlers that quickly walk past, maids whispering amongst themselves—   “Did you hear?”   Your head turns towards two girls.   “The King’s mistress just died!”   You came a moment too late.

No one cries.   The arrangement is short and unluxurious, the bare minimum of what would be acceptable for a royal family. A priestess in front drones on impassively about the afterlife, but as you look around, no one grieves. After all, they wouldn’t shed tears for a mere maid.    This is merely a charade to quell away scandalous rumors and to give nobles an excuse to come to the castle and be acknowledged.   You’re overwhelmed in black, a tulle skirt and puffed sleeves. Your parents stand on either side of you, your father in a jacket with the house’s emblem and your mother with a veil covering the right side of her face. Like many others, your family has come for appearance sakes.   But for you, it’s different.   The woman inside the closed casket has shown you a kindness that you so seldom receive.   And because of your hesitation, because of your self-preservation and selfishness, this happened.   Once the burial ceremony is over, your parents mingle amongst the nobles, laughing cordially behind gloved hands as you follow after them and cutesy. It feels like you’re a show pony, brought around to show what the future of the Devereux looks like.   But after a while, you manage to slip away from the scrutiny.    And by sheer coincidence and coincidence only, you find him.   At first it’s the noise of heart wrenching sobs. It’s unrestrained wails and choked hiccups in between that attracts your attention. You twist through the familiar hedge corridors and the moment you turn the corner, your eyes lift to a small figure underneath an oak tree.    He sits alone. He cries to himself.    The boy with floppy, brown hair has his knees pulled together. He incessantly rubs at his eyes as if that alone could stop the tears that well and pour. He cries enough for the tens of people at the funeral, substituting their apathy with his anguish. His entire body wracks and the moment he whimpers “m-mom” in-between, it’s shaking to your core.    This is the beginning. The start of his path of destruction.   In this entire castle that stretches across the horizon, only his mother ever loved him. The half-prince. The Forgotten Prince. The one dirtied by regular red blood, not blue enough for the golden crown.   Taehyung mourns, vision blurred by his grief.   But as he rubs his eyes with his small fists, black shoes appear between the gaps of his hands.   He looks up. Your arm is extended in front of him.    Taehyung looks down to your folded, pink handkerchief. He looks stunned for a moment, as if he’s surprised that there was someone here. That someone actually heard him. That someone came.   He takes your handkerchief and sniffles.   “I’m sorry,” you murmur.    Sorry that she passed away, that he has to endure this, that you didn’t save her when you could’ve.   This isn’t just a game you’re playing anymore. All these people aren’t just characters.   You’re living a new life. And all these people have emotions, desires, thoughts of their own.   You’re not sure how you can comfort Taehyung. What you can say to make it better. “Your mother loved you a lot. I’m sure she wouldn’t want you to be crying so much by yourself.”   He hiccups, snivelling uncontrollably. “B-But if I don’t cry for her, who will?”   You don’t know what to say.   Tears continue to slip down his cheeks and as you linger awkwardly, you decide there isn’t much that you can say. So you sit beside him. You sit underneath the canopy of the tree and branches of rustling leaves, on the soft bed of grass, looking out at the garden.    This is all you can do.   You don’t notice the way Taehyung looks up in-between his mourning, glossy eyes pinpointed on the profile of your face.    The pair of you sit next to one another in the silence of his sniffles until it levels. Until he can breathe again—   “Anastasia!”   There’s a sharp call of your name, one that can only belong to your mother. You immediately come to your feet again as if a dog whistle has been blown. But as you hurry away, you turn over your shoulder. Your eyes connect with Taehyung’s brown ones, and for a moment you slow.   You leave a second later.   You twist down the hedges and turn the corner, nearly bumping straight into her. She looks down at you with her brows furrowed. “Where did you go?”   You smile. “I got lost.”   It’s futile. You know it now.   Trying to avoid the three that will lead you to your demise is like trying to wish you’d suddenly vanish off these lands. You know it won’t be the last time that you see Taehyung. It won’t be the last of Jungkook either. Or whoever the heroine will be. It seems like the more you try to run, the more you inadvertently become involved. But you’ll hold your head up high and face whatever is to come head on.

[echioceras]

it’s so funny to me how jkr parades herself around like the biggest feminist when she didn’t even represent her cis female characters in a healthy way?

- molly is an asshole to hermione based on a rumour and it’s never brought up again while she’s presented as a perfect mother (besides being unsupportive of like, all of her kids)

- hermione and ginny hate fleur for *checks notes* being hot and enthusiastically kind

- the stereotype of girls crying in the bathroom is used to the point of there being a GHOST CALLED MOANING MYRTLE WHO HIDES IN THE WOMEN’S RESTROOM AND CRIES

- hermione’s girlboss moment in book four was going to the yule ball with a legal adult who was a professional quidditch player to make ron jealous as if that’s not a situation that can very easily turn into grooming

- hermione physically attacking ron because he dated someone else????????????? and this being presented as a natural reaction???????

- narcissa malfoy being a literal hate crime committing war criminal but for some reason being redeemed for wanting her son to be alive

- ginny’s only personality for the first few books being that she had a crush on harry potter

- snape being presented in a positive light despite being so obsessed with lily that the only thing keeping him from being a wizard hate cult member was her??? even though she explicitly rejected him and he continued to be creepy towards her????????????? this is not a love story this is just a guy who doesn’t know what no means

- every female character just hating luna???? until they think she’s useful???????? like literally tricking her and being cruel to her and her being a running joke???? this is more anti-autistic but like STILL

- lavender brown being thrown under the bus for being happy about the fact that she has a romantic partner and, while a little misguidedly, caring for him in ways she thinks he will appreciate

- so many female characters being described as “strong” by reviewers i think the words you’re looking for are “not like other girls”

- honestly the only woman characters in harry potter i felt were actually depicted as wise were mcgonagall and luna

and sure, many of these can be argued to be character choices and therefore not representative of the author’s views, but a piece of work reflects what the writer thinks for sure, and many of these are recurring events

also the idea of family in harry potter is so convoluted. yes harry is basically adopted by the weasleys. yes the only place he was safe was the house his biological mother protected instead of where he belonged. yes molly weasley is emotionally abusive towards the twins. yes she is depicted as a wonderful mother figure to everyone around her. yes sirius doesn’t get to be a parent to harry because they aren’t closely related. yes dumbledore (the man who willingly led an ELEVEN YEAR OLD on a path ending in his death) gets to have full say over what happens to him. yes harry hates his son. yes he knows what it was to be unloved. WHAT.

[chattegeorgiana]

Do you think it is a social phenomenon that the majority of SS fans are women?the ship has serious problems like mistreatment and attempted murder between Sakura and Sasuke and Sakura looks obsessive about chasing after a guy who rejected her multiple times and who treats her like shit but those fans always justify those actions of him and because Sasuke was considered twice in the entire manga then the other horrible acts of him do not matter to them.Why do you think this phenomenon would be?

I think it is. I think it's comparable to the social phenomenon we saw happening with 50 shades of gray for example.

In essence, they are terrible love stories. But people are drawn to it because well... you know that all saying?

Sex, drugs and rock'n'roll sell.

But no, really... While in 50 shades of gray the reasoning for which people fell for it it's different, in SS's case it's something different. Of course, there are 2 ways to view this. I'll look at the feminine side, since this is the one we're talking about.

In the feminine angle, it's that old traditional view that has been ingrained into women over and over again for aeons: that she's the one who needs to fix him, no matter his behavior. You don't wanna see how many cases as this I've seen over the years.

Big bad guy that can be saved by the power of love, as if that's all you need in a relationship. To hell with dynamics that work together. That's thrown under the bus. Or be accountable for your own actions and understand that it's not your job to fix someone else's behavior.

It's their own job - if it's the case of fixing in the first place.

But this angle does deeper, like I said in the beginning. It has its roots in this ingrained belief that has been offered to women for years and years and they still continue to do so in the media. Gladly, the world is changing, but still.

That kind of view is dangerous.

But because it's been ingrained for such a long while into the collective feminine, it's hard for even young girls to see that this thing is not okay. Because that's what the environment they are born in, raised and live shows them - you're a woman, thus, you need to respect your man and love him and fix him no matter what shit he does.

That's so outdated.

Another issue that's prevalent here is something that I don't know how many understand. It's actually something I discovered myself while watching a Tony Robbins coaching session.

He said this: rejection breeds obsession. That's when I understood best SS's dynamics and the reason people stuck to it so much.

It was something I was under myself when I first shipped them as I got into the fandom.

I didn't even realized it until years later.

Sasuke rejected Sakura's love multiple times. That's what turned her into this obsessive character. And I know I have some people that stalk my profile and are gonna come at me with all kinds of name calling, but... I'm sorry, even Kishimoto himself called Sakura obsessed over Sasuke in an interview after The Last.

When discussing about the love between NH & NS Kishi says:

“That’s right. But Sakura is addicted to Sasuke.” (laugh) “The reason why Hinata came to like Naruto is clear, but I’ve deliberately avoided writing down the reason why Sakura came to like Sasuke.” (laugh) “That’s because somehow, I had the feeling that it would conversely end up sounding contrived.”

And that's when I understood why.

Obsession and addiction are pretty much sisters in nature. Granted, there are slight differences between them, but their core is very similar: they stem from another deep seated issue. Something you can't make peace with. Something that is lacking in you thus you become addicted to it and obsessed in order to fill that void.

And I think I know what's in the case of Sakura, but I'll refrain from talking about now cuz I'm using it as a plot for Kaika. :D

But the point still stands: Sakura had a void inside of her that she tried to fill it with her 'love' for Sasuke. Only that she got rejected by him, and thus she became obsessed with the idea of Sasuke. With her idea of him though, rather than who he truly was.

Because you know what's interesting to observe as well? This is also based on what Tony Robbins said.

The full quote is this: Rejection breeds obsession, and whatever you resist persists.

I'm going to refer to the second part here. Whatever you resist, persists.

Well, in this case, she resisted the idea of the Sasuke who wanted to go to Orochimaru. Who chose that. But for as much as she resisted the idea (which is another way to say rejecting the idea), that state of affairs continued to persist.

Sasuke still went to Orochimaru. Even her declaration of love couldn't stop him.

Of course, this quote was said in a different context, but thinking about it in depth, you can see how it can be transposed to this.

So I think, in a way, the reason it so much persisted in the fandom was because many of the female fans identified with this side of Sakura, so they fell under the same trap the character did.

So you see, it's a rather complex situation here.

It's a deep seated issue which to resolve, you'd have to come to terms with. And to do that, there's a lot of introspection necessary.

Which I always wonder WHY it lacked on Sakura whenever it came to Sasuke, but when it was in terms of Naruto, she had a lot.

Well, I think it was there to show us something else, but then we got the ending that we got so then those themes were out the window.

It's a shame though.

Being a piece of media with a high focus on bonds, we could've had such great messages and lessons, yet it ended the way it did which isn't telling the right message at all.

But oh well, it is what it is.

[idreamtofmanderleyagain]

See, I was told if a character reminds a lot of people of their abusers, like Edward Cullen, then you should listen and think about what the narrative is saying. Look at most villain discourse and it's usually about white men like Loki or Kylo. And if a big trait of theirs is "manipulation", a word already with connotations of "abuser"? Then of course people will learn to see their abusers in them.

(I can't really tell if this ask is connected to the second one, but I think they aren't, so I'm going to just respond seperately, okay? Feel free to clarify yourself if needed.)

Alright, so.

There are actually quite a few characters who remind me of my abusers or remind me of specific experiences of abuse.

it's also always really notable to me that people pull out the "Edward Cullen/Kylo Ren/Loki /but that one shitty white dude!'" card every time this subject comes up, as if the people criticizing this shit aren't speaking in a much wider scope about characters who are female, POC, and/or LGBT, disabled, etc., as if the people who are fans of these kinds of characters aren't themselves often marginalized members of the community. Like, these popular white dudes (and their fans) are absolutely not the ones who get thrown under the bus the hardest, but people always seem to prop them up as a wholesale justification for this nonsense, always seem to sprinkle their names into conversations about totally different characters...and honestly? It's starting to really reek of bullshit to me. The more people pull that the more it feels like they are literally just utilizing them as convenient strawmen; a last resort/to save face/to claim a "not like other girls" badge.

Not that I think you intended any of this anon, I think you're talking about this because it's what you've absorbed from being aroun it, and you wanted to speak about that, so I get it. I don't blame you specifically for this problem.

(Also, Loki is now confirmed to be non-binary, he's not only ever male. He's a member of the LGBT community. But I digress... )

All that said I have a more important perspective to offer. Here's a connundrum for you:

Since my life and my trauma was directly impacted by being related to a terrifying violent serial criminal, how am I supposed to feel about the Hannibal fandom?

Should I be angry at them? Should I hate Hannibal/SOTL?

Should I assume that the Hannibal fandom condones the violence that occured in my family's life?

Have they personally transgressed against me in some way for enjoying and shipping Hannibal Lecter?

Do I now have the ultimate right to condemn and shame them?

The answer, anon, is no to all of the above.

Now, personally, I think Hannibal is a fun character, and he doesn't actually remind me of the monster in my life. They are very different individuals, one is very real and one is highly stylized fiction that resembles no real person that I can think of. But if I DID see a resemblance, I would have every right to that experience of the character. I would have every right to talk about it in my space.

But setting that aside, by the logic of the "rules" tumblr gave you above, my experience should definately count right? Somebody who is impacted by the most extreme form of violent criminal should count in the "who gets to dictate what this piece of fiction means" narrative, right?

The thing is, my experience of certain characters has NOTHING to do with other people's experience of a character. I absolutely have no right to demand anything of anybody, especially not to dictate to them what the right way to think and feel about art is.

My experience may be valuable, my voice may be valuable. I may have things to say that will feel relevant and compelling to others when I interperet a piece of fiction. But that is a vastly different thing than what tumblr/twitter means when they bring this up. Tumblr/twitter wants you to believe that there is a heirarchy on the truth when it comes to critical analysis, and that the most reactionary and bad-faith opinions deserve the loudest platform, and the most cowed obedience from others.

I fundamentally disagree.

Fictional characters, like Loki for example, can contain multitudes. Loki reminds me of my own experiences of abuse as the victim and not the abuser. That serial criminal I spoke about was my father. Loki's trauma stemming from the experience of having a "monster" as a father, of internalizing that horror? Of not being able to connect with his new emotionally abusive father, and the rest of his family? That was the first time I'd ever really seen something that fit my experience in that way.

But for someone else, Loki is going to remind them of their abuser. He's going to remind them of a toxic manipulator in their life.

And honestly, BOTH experiences are valid. BOTH experiences deserve a voice. But NEITHER of them wins anyone the right to be an domineering, controlling asshole to other people about it. NEITHER have the right to hurt and shame other people over it.

Art is fucking subjective, and it's time kids on social media actually fully absorbed that concept and what it means. It's time that they put down the ideological rhetoric for a while and just allowed themselves and other people to be fucking human.

If somebody who's literally related to a monster on par with someone like Hannibal can tell you that (the general you, not you specifically anon), then maybe it's time to re-evaluate your priorities, and time to assess just how beholden you feel to the emotionally toxic demands of strangers online.