#tempted to not mark this as regression

[sunfilledfish]

Go play outside

Self indulgent (slightly oc based) board

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

Teacher's Pet Baby

Shopping Trip

Cg!Professor!Wanda Maximoff x little!student!reader

Summary: Wanda offers to take you out on a shopping trip

Word count: 1.5K

Warnings: Age regression, mild anxiety, emotional vulnerability, fluff and comfort

Authors notes: Thank you my little ghost for sending in this request here~

Also, to all the littles, seeing this, please tred lightly on this blog! This is my big 18+ blog, but I do have some little!reader fics. Everything is marked accordingly!

You're nervous when Wanda suggests it after asking she'd only known about you being little for a week when she asked,

"Do you have any gear?" It was an innocent enough question she asked in the empty room of her class while she graded papers and you did some homework.

"Gear?" Your head tilted slightly, not looking up from your own book and notebook. 

"Little gear. I know you have your crayons and coloring book and your favorite stuffie you showed me pictures of, but is there anything else?" 

"Oh...um no...I left most things back at home." You absentmindedly tugged at your sleeve, pulling it over your hand to put it in your mouth slightly. It was a bad habit you’d long since tried to get rid of.

"Well how about this Saturday we go get some things?" She offers casually like it was something the two of you had done before. Like it was something so simple.

"I can't keep them at my dorm...my roommates will say something..." you felt your chest tighten. You knew if any of them found out about it they’d probably kick you out of the dorm. Probably call the dean on you or something, but just as your thoughts started to spiral, Wanda spoke up again.

"It can stay at my place and you can come and go as you please baby for whatever you want or need." Now there's a knot in your stomach. 

“Y-your place?” You hadn't been over to her place. The only place you two had spent time together was here in this classroom. 

“Do you not want that? I understand if you'd rather keep it here between us.” 

You knew being with a professor at all would be frowned upon even if it was something like this…for some reason in your brain this felt even worse than if you were having sex with her. You shook your head to get rid of the thoughts. sure you were big right now, but it's only been a week and you two haven't discussed anything beyond her being Mama.

Wanda let you sit with the idea, her eyes flicking between your face and the paper she was grading, letting you process in your own time. You weren’t sure what made your stomach twist more—her casual offer or the realization that you wanted to say yes.

“I…” You hesitated, gripping your pen a little too tightly. “I don’t know.”

Wanda hummed softly, setting her pen down. “That’s okay, baby. You don’t have to decide right now.” Her voice was gentle, patient, like she had all the time in the world for you. “I just want to make sure you have what you need. Somewhere safe for your things and a space where you can just be.”

A part of you wanted that so badly. The idea of a place where you didn’t have to hide, where you didn’t have to worry about judgment, where your things wouldn’t have to stay tucked away in the back of your closet or hidden under your bed—it was tempting. But this was still so new.

Your hands fidgeted with the corner of your notebook. “I just… I don’t want to be a burden,” you admitted quietly, barely above a whisper.

Wanda leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand as she looked at you. “Oh, Malyshka,” she murmured, shaking her head. “You could never be a burden to me. This isn’t about me doing you a favor—it’s about giving you what you need. Making sure you’re cared for. That’s what being your Mama means.”

Your heart clenched at that, the sincerity in her voice making it hard to breathe for a moment. You’d never had a caregiver before, you didn’t know everything. You knew what you saw on the internet; all those posts of imagines with a caregiver that made you feel something was now here in front of you. You swallowed thickly, nodding slowly. “Okay,” you whispered, finally glancing up at her.

Wanda’s smile was soft and full of warmth, like she was proud of you for even considering it. “Okay,” she echoed, reaching across the desk to gently squeeze your hand. “We’ll take it slow, baby. Just one step at a time.”

You nodded again, still nervous, still unsure—but with Wanda, you felt safe enough to try.

It was about an hour later when you spoke a simple, "Yes." Aloud that Wanda smiled. 

"Okay well how about we meet up here and we'll take a drive out so we're far away from others? Does that sound good?" She asks, finally looking at you. You felt her sea glass green eyes on you. You looked up to meet her eyes, suddenly feeling small. 

"Yes Mama, that sounds good.”

Wanda’s smile softened, her eyes full of warmth as she heard you call her Mama again. She reached over, brushing a strand of hair from your face with gentle fingers. “Good girl,” she praised softly. The simple words made your chest feel warm, a little fluttery even, but you still shifted in your seat, feeling shy.

She chuckled, recognizing the way you squirmed under her gaze. “We don’t have to rush, Malyshka. Just a nice, quiet drive. A little shopping. No pressure, okay?”

You nodded, chewing your lip. “Okay.”

Wanda leaned back in her chair, a satisfied look on her face as she picked up her grading again. But every so often, you caught her glancing at you, like she was just making sure you were okay. It made something in you settle, knowing that even when she wasn’t speaking, she was still paying attention.

You went back to your own work, but your mind kept drifting to Saturday—what it would be like, how it would feel to have things again, to pick them out with someone who actually understood. The idea was nerve-wracking but also… really exciting.

✎✐ ✎ ✐ ✎ ✐

The drive was peaceful, just you and Wanda, the hum of the road beneath the tires filling the silence between songs playing softly on the radio. Wanda let you control the music, occasionally glancing over at you with a smile as you mouthed the lyrics or tapped your fingers against your thigh. It made her heart swell knowing you felt comfortable enough to just be with her.

When she finally pulled into the parking lot, you felt your stomach twist with nervous energy. This wasn’t just any store—it was a town far enough away that no one from campus would see you, giving you the freedom to pick out what you needed without fear of judgment.

Wanda grabbed a cart, and the two of you walked in together. At first, everything felt normal as you strolled through the grocery aisles. Wanda picked up some snacks, her fingers grazing over brands you had mentioned growing up with. “How about these, Malyshka?” she asked, holding up a box of animal crackers.

You felt a small grin tug at your lips as you nodded. “Yeah, those are good.”

From there, she guided you toward the baby and toddler section. The moment you stepped into the aisle, your heart started beating faster. Your fingers twitched as you looked over the selection—things you hadn’t let yourself have in years.

Wanda was patient, watching as you hesitated before slowly reaching out to touch a pack of toddler fruit pouches. “These are good,” she encouraged. “Easy to have when you don’t want to use a spoon.”

You swallowed hard and placed them in the cart. One by one, Wanda helped you pick out what you needed—plates and bowls with cute designs, a sippy cup that felt just right in your hands, even a bath toy set shaped like little sea animals.

When you reached the bedding aisle, she let you run your fingers over the different sets, waiting patiently for you to make your choice. Your heart ached a little as you settled on one with soft pastel stars and moons. It felt safe.

Finally, she led you to the toy section. “Alright, Malyshka,” she said softly. “You’ve been so good and so brave today. Pick out a toy, anything you want.”

You hesitated at first, shifting on your feet as your eyes scanned the shelves. It felt overwhelming—like you shouldn’t be here, like you were doing something wrong. But Wanda was right beside you, her presence grounding you.

After a few moments, your eyes landed on a plush bunny with floppy ears and the softest fur you’d ever seen. You picked it up, hugging it to your chest without thinking.

Wanda smiled, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face. “That’s a very good choice, sweetheart.”

Your cheeks burned as you nodded, gripping the bunny tightly as she led you to the checkout. Wanda handled everything, paying without a second thought, and once you were back in the car, she handed you the bunny again.

“You did so well today,” she murmured, squeezing your knee affectionately.

You hugged the bunny close and whispered, “Thank you, Mama.”

And in that moment, you knew—you were exactly where you were meant to be.

[starsurfaceinvincible]

Small reminder: I don't recommend watching Invindible while Regressed. It's incredibly gory at times, even if it's a really good show (personal opinion, do what you want Homies <3)

Also these are Season One Hcs!! I haven't seen Season Two yet, so some things might be wrong or ooc!!

Regressor Mark Grayson Moodboard & Hcs

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

💪 Has a dog plush that's based off Seance Dog! It's his best friend and companion when he's feeling little

💪 Speaking about feeling little, I can't pinpoint an exact headspace range 🤔

💪 Really depends on his mood, tbh

💪 Either a quiet little guy, or a babbler that likes to go around and do things!

💪 Eve and Debbie are his main CGs

💪 Amber and William too, but it's only after they find out he's ✨Invincible✨

💪 ^ I want to say Omni-man/Nolan, but that really depends on where we are in the show/comics

💪 Littler Mark only goes small small when he's had a tough day, whether it was stressing over his school grades, or a tough mission, or having to lie to his friends

💪 He's more willing to just cuddle up with his favorite plush and watch some 'toons

💪 Bigger Mark likes doing some of the things Big Mark does! Rereading comics, building LEGOs

💪 He's just much more willing to show off his comics, or read them outloud so that you can enjoy them as well! :D

💪 Has a Seance Dog coloring book that Eve got him, super embarrassed about it, but its one of his favorite little activities

💪 I agree with other Regressor Mark Hcs, I think he started regressing after he became a hero!

💪 Prefers teethers to binkies, but it depends on his headspace

💪 Super secrative about his regression! Everything is hidden, and no one will ever find out!!

💪 . . . If you ignore the plushie on his bed, or his coloring book near his comics, or-

💪 If Eve's watching him (or maybe Nolan, or any of his friends who can fly) he adores doing it when he's small!!

💪 Flying around? Playing with the soft clouds? Maybe you two could attempt to play hide and seek!!

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

Y'all have any suggestions for his emoji, let me know!! I was tempted to give him 🐳 because it's cute and blue, but I'm not sure yet

Really like this show, it's my new favorite thing rn :3

[lordsovorn]

There is a variety of misconceptions surrounding people of the Hand, stemming mainly from the more conservatively-minded. On the one hand, it is entirely understandable, and in fact people of the Hand often make conscious effort to manipulate how their prey perceives them. However, they are still entirely human, and operate on entirely human principles. And since a clean break between those who follow the path of the Hand and those who do not, does not, in fact, exist, the differences are actually entirely possible to wrap one's head around. Moreso, it is practical to do so, even for those who would prefer to consider the people of the Hand to be an atrocious anomaly.

People of the Hand have not, by any means, "descended into primitive savagery". Saying so implies a reversion of the evolutionary process to some kind of natural barbaric state, which couldn't be farther from the truth. There is nothing inherently natural about cannibalism as the primary means of sustenance and the indiscriminate inter-species violence, and nothing primitive about the strategy and tactics people of the Hand employ to that end. Their way of life is an adaption to brutal conditions of hunger and hopelessness - the next stage in changing human circumstances, in a way, rather than a regression to something that came before.

People of the Hand are not mad or deranged, in the strict mental sense, though their onslaught on the established norms may be instinctively interpreted as such. It is, of course, understandable why the City-dwellers used to delineate people of the Hand as "them", as creatures of an entirely different nature. However, for people of the Hand there exist no difference in nature or morality - only in behavior and in reasoning. They adhere to a strategy of hyper-rationalistic egoism that ensures individual survival at the ultimate cost to survival of the community and of the species. And they are being very smart about it.

Hunting other humans is not a moral choice for them, but an optimization - humans are simply easy to hunt in an environment drastically different from what they evolved to inhabit. It would be individually wasteful to ignore such easy prey.

Likewise, the brutality and excessive violence against the weak are little more than a tool to subjugate, intimidate and manipulate prey. On a case by case basis, it might influenced by individual empathy or malice, but overall it is simply an accepted, generally efficient strategy. The scars, the trophies, the marking of territory, the disturbing shrieks - they all might appear barbaric, but each display is a consciously crafted tool of psychological warfare. Which, again, would be stupid not to employ against prey capable of fear and unreasonable, emotionally driven behavior. The people of the Hand do not speak not because they can't or because they don't understand speech - they simply do not choose to communicate in ways that might give prey an advantage. Safe to say, making an impression of a savage monster is helpful to them in that way too.

The disdain for honor, law and emotional ties is likewise rooted in rationalistic desire to ensure one's own survival. No follower of the Hand will risk their life irrationally - no follower of the Hand will pass up an opportunity to ensure their own survival when another shows weakness. With no surplus in anything, survival in Under is as zero-sum a game as can possibly be. Here, a sacrifice of immediate benefit for the sake of vague and, frankly, unlikely prospects of individual or communal payback is considered simply absurd.

All of this, of course, is not rooted in biology, or in a deep-seated culture (let alone an underlying ethnicity; "tribe", as some might be tempted to assume). The Way of the Hand is a way of life. There is no inherent religious obligation to follow it forever (except individual delusions), no promise of reward beyond survival, no requirements for entry beyond the will to survive at any cost.

It is, in fact, common for individuals and familial groups to fluctuate in the degree of their adherence to the principles of the Hand depending on personal goals, material conditions and the well-being of their companions - when the equation changes, so does the framework of solving it. It is easy being "civilized" with well-stocked backpacks and well-armed companions - much less so with an injured dead-weight. Likewise, it is easy to choose between the life of your child and that of a stranger. And when the choice is between certain death for both or for one, for you or for another, what would be the rational thing to choose? Behind the monstrous behavior lies a particular brand of high rationality that leaves no room for sentimentalities, risky assumptions and hopes.

People of the Hand are different from what came before, there is no doubt to that. But there is nothing that has suddenly appeared within them that hasn't always been there. From the ways of thought before the Fall, the path of the Hand is different only in a matter of degree - the tightness of the limits of your priorities, and proximity of those you sacrifice for them.

[regressionbegressed]

Had a really bad breakdown last night and regressed really bad and had a dissociative panic attack at the same time. Didn't get to plan out anything. I don't know if I'll go through with what I planned after all, but I'll see ....

It's tempting to go ahead and mark off stickers on a poster for what I did do today,, just to prove to myself that having a breakdown doesn't mean anything in the big world and that it's fine. Dunno though. Kind of don't care about stickers. But maybe that's me recovering from the really bad regression talking....

[weirdshitdontlook]

Hello!!

My name is Vulkin, I’m 23!

If you are under 18, get the fuck out. I’m not joking. I will not be nice about it. I am an adult.

He/him/theirs please and thank you. This is my kink side blog. It will be nsfw/nsft and very explicit.

If you don’t like it don’t stay. Block this account and move on. Don’t make it my problem you’re uncomfy.

Tags explanation /master list below the cut. Will be updated over time.

Shut his mouth goddamn - Is my rare just rambling and talking posts

🦠🦠🦠🦠🦠🦠🦠🦠🦠🦠🦠🦠🦠🦠🦠🦠

Vulkin barks - puppy kink

Lovely.png - age regression

Ask to not ask - cnc / forced kink

holy!sins - preist/blasphemy kink

Monsters💚💚 - monster fucker go brrrrrr

spicy!tempt - just shit I find hot that prolly isn’t a specific kink

B-bruises >.< - impact play slapping spanking so on and so forth, I’ll throw being man handled in there as well cause they kinda go hand in hand.

Sleepyy toy - somnophilia and sex while I’m asleep stuff

Choke and tears - feral top mode, I want to mark you and watch you writhe

Foux cest - incest are we really shocked

TBA - idk lol only just decided to start tagging stuff

[kingofanemptyworld]

I thought about replying to this in the notes but I love your tags so I just wanted to highlight them, plus it’s easier to like, address multiple points.

My reasoning with this in regard to Grimmjow getting his mark only after becoming an arrancar is because he’s the dominant soul at this point (so anything pre-adjuchas would be too messy to have a singular soul mark) and pre-arrancar there’s too much focus on survival to add in the idea of a soulmate. Arrancar won’t regress, so they’ve essentially stabilized their soul, hence being able to “support” a soul mark. As for when he was human… admittedly didn’t think of that! I’m tempted to say he did have one because, in essence, his soul was of a slightly different makeup back then, before it hollowfied, and also for drama purposes. But I actually don’t think Grimmjow as he is now would care about a soulmate he had when he was human. So much of his character is him continuously looking forward, always, and dwelling on something like that would just be a waste of energy for him. So it’s somewhat irrelevant.

Grimmjow’s mark blackening every time Ichigo “dies” is interesting… I think maybe it fades? The body isn’t dead, yet, and I don’t think it would be unless he’s gone for a prolonged period of time (forgive me if there’s a canon explanation, I’m so mixed up with bleach lore lmao). But when Ichigo literally dies, i.e Ulquiorra putting a hole through his chest, the mark definitely turns fully black. Which is fun to think about considering that would be after his fight with Grimmjow when Grimm is bleeding out in the sand and probably wondering what the fuck happened to his fighty shinigami nemesis…

Oh, wow, regular humans having to deal with this and the potential hollowfication of their dead soulmate… oof. Be interesting if the mark like, scars over or something. A physical change to signify the soul is no longer human, one people don’t have an actual explanation for.

Sorry for rambling but I’ve been like obsessing over this au for a few days now so it’s really fun to talk about it!

one of those soulmate AUs where your soul mark turns black when your soulmate dies and Ichigo’s mark has been black since he was born. you can’t miss what you never had so it’s never bothered him much. only, it itches sometimes, nearly burns, and he sure as hell doesn’t know how to explain that so he wisely doesn’t mention it to anyone, ever.

meeting grimmjow for the first time both complicates and simplifies things.

[agerefandom]

The Regressor and The Goblin King 

Those who are liminal, like teenagers or age regressors, have the most power and the most potential for court fae: they are bound and yet between the rules, like the fae themselves, and are desired for that trait 

You begin to automatically collect items that belong to that same liminal space, many of them touched by the energy of the goblin realm 

You pick them up and take them home: the stone with a hole through the center, the feather that fell from above, the stuffed animal that looks so familiar you swear it came straight from a half-remembered dream

The more of these fae-touched items that you collect, the more the eyes begin to follow your every move, especially when you are small and regressed and vulnerable 

And if, one day, you hold that special stuffed animal close, and whisper I wish that someone would take me away from here... your wish will be granted 

You will wake in the Labyrinth, the Goblin King beside you 

He will look down at you with a twisted smile, somehow both patronizing and tempting, and he will offer you a crystal ball: a world all your own, where you can play forever 

You must refuse this offer: otherwise you will live the rest of your days in the crystal ball, stored on the shelves of the castle, lost in delirious daydreams of sunny days 

When you refuse, he will scoff and tell you to wander his Labyrinth until you reconsider

And so you will wander: you will meet many familiar faces, and many strange sights in the Goblin King’s Labyrinth 

You will make friends, and you will need to run from danger, and you will learn the twisting routes that take you closer to the half-glimpsed spires of the Castle 

Twice more, the Goblin King will visit you, and offer you something that you want: an escape from danger, or a way back to your own world 

Twice more, you must refuse him 

At the end of your journey, you will find your way to the Goblin Castle, and the friends you have made along the way will refuse to enter with you, too afraid of the King’s presence 

You must enter alone, and find your way through the paradoxical stairways to the throne room where the Goblin King waits for you with a question

“I have offered you a world of your own: I have offered you safety: I have offered you everything. What more can you want from me?” 

Many people have requested many different things of the Goblin King, but no one before has asked to stay with him

When you ask to stay, he will stand from his throne, and come forward to stand before you: he will cup your face in leather-gloved hands and kiss your forehead, marking you forever as his 

After you have been marked, the Goblins will emerge from their hiding places and joy will explode through the kingdom: there will be songs and dances and many arms wrapped around your ankles, welcoming a new sibling to the kingdom 

Through all of it, the Goblin King will smile quietly, never leaving your side: he will sit on the throne with you tucked into his arms, he will toss you in the air and catch you in a twirl, he will welcome your friends from the Labyrinth into the castle and thank them for helping you 

And you will all live happily... ever... after. 

[anonauthorsworkshop]

can we get more of the MHA AU i love the concept so much like MC just being this scrunkly little thing and then summons an entire monster from the SCPverse to protect them

for those who don't know, this is an AU where MC gets isekai'd into MHA and has a summoning SCPs quirk. this is a bit on the longer side

-

Living without a roof over your head has not been a fun experience.

It's a struggle to even get food some days. Ever since you've been swiped from your home universe and into this eccentric one, life's been excruciatingly difficult. Not to mention the fact that your body has been regressed into your younger years. And, for some ungodly reason, you have the ability to conjure anomalies. From the SCP Foundation. At your beck and call.

It took a while to convince yourself that this wasn't a fever dream.

You've been getting by, at least. You may have the body of a child right now, but your mind is that of a young adult.

Today, after much guilt tripping, you managed to convince a cashier to give you some food for free. You're thankful that you haven't had to resort to stealing yet.

Grocery bag in hand, you start to make your way home. Home as in your makeshift cardboard box placed in a random alleyway.

You're content with the meal you're able to bring home today. So content that you don't notice someone approaching.

The grocery bag sways in your grasp.

You blink, and your hand turns empty.

"Hey!" You yell at the thief, little legs running wildly to reach the man. "That's mine!"

He looks back at you, stopping in his place. "Look," his voice oozes of confidence. It only irritates you more. "I don't have time for you, kid."

"Yes, you do!" You stomp over to him, stretching your arms to snatch your groceries back. "Give it back."

Laughter reaches your ears. "Give me one good reason why."

"I'll give you money," you bluff, "lots of it. My mom's a lawyer."

"A tempting offer." He hums. "Give it, then."

"Give me the food first," you reply, praying he doesn't notice your rugged, dirtied clothes that scream your mom is definitely not a lawyer.

He shrugs, and you find the grocery bag is back in your hands. Instantaneously, you make a break for it, running as fast as your legs can.

It's not enough. A blurry figure darts past you, and soon appears in front of you. It's the man, and his presence freezes you in place.

"Thought you could lie and get away, huh?" You gulp, feeling tears form. This young body is too fragile, damnit. You try to shove the tears back down your sockets.

"You're clever, I'll give you that." He steps forward, "But I have a quirk, you know?"

"Since you lied, I might just leave you a mark."

He reaches for his pockets, and a wire within you snaps.

He's grabbing his weapon.

Help.

You want help.

Please.

"An interesting situation you're in, dear."

A voice behind you.

The smiling mask leans in front of your vision. "Say, who is this man?"

"A bad one," you whisper. "A very bad man."

035's grin widens. "I see."

Black appendages burst from the ground. The thief doesn't even scream when they wrap and curl around his body and squeeze. His mouth opens, but his vocal chords have already decayed. There is no shout to hear, only the sizzling of skin and the man's frantic gurgling.

035 snaps his fingers, handing you back your groceries. "There you go. All dealt with." Your shoulders sag in relief. You move to thank him-

"Oh, and won't you be so kind to keep me here longer? I'd rather not be locked back in that dreary cell of mine."

"Fine. But I'm carrying the groceries."

"Isn't it heavy, dear?"

"You'd corrode the entire bag!"

"Fair point."

-

This is dangerous.

There's a villain lurking around the city. One with a powerful speed quirk, nonetheless.

Leaping into the air, All Might narrows his eyes, spotting a swift blur running in the streets.

Found him.

He pauses and squints. There's another figure next to the villain. Judging by their small figure, it's a ... child?

There's no hesitation when All Might bolts from his position. He has to get there fast.

Yet when he arrives at the scene, the hero is astounded by the sight before him.

A body, rapidly decomposing as a black ooze engulfs the villain. Unrecognizable of any human feature.

All Might anxiously scans his surroundings. The little kid, where are they?

He leaps into the air again.

He will be reporting this incident, he decides.

[wisdomofme]

You know what, I’m having a good day today so- SURPRISE! I’ve been writing and I kinda really love this bit and I really just wanna share <3 So here’s part of a soulmate fic for my regression ship: Dick/Kory from Titans

-----

"What's this?"

Kory pressed her fingers against his hairline and the soft contentment that had flooded Dick's body suddenly drained like a plug had been pulled. 

His hand grabbed at the back of his neck, sliding up the bed and away from Kory's tempting warmth. He couldn't bring himself to look her in the eye, the weight of his shame keeping his eyes glued to the blankets of the bed.

"Don't worry about it," he murmured, trying to brush it off even though he knew she wouldn't let him. "It's just a human thing-"

"I know what a soulmark is, Dick." He could hear the irritation in her voice and could imagine the glare in her eyes. "I just didn't know you had one."

Dick stayed silent, his nails digging into his neck as he waited. He'd known from the start that this would all come back to bite him, he'd just wished this could've lasted a little longer.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, her voice quiet with hurt.

“It wasn’t important-”

“Don’t lie to me, Grayson,” she cut him off, her gaze pinning him to the bed. He couldn’t figure out how she did it. Just see straight through him.

Dick sighed, his hand finally falling from his neck and into his lap as he leant forward, pulling an unhelpful Kory slightly closer. 

“You're right,” he admitted, his heart pounding in his chest as his eyes took in her expression. While he still could, while she would still look at him. “It is important, it always has been.” Unsure if she would pull away, Dick reached towards her slowly. When Kory didn’t pull away he linked his fingers with hers, stroking his thumb gently across the side of her hand. “My parents were soulmates.”

Kory tensed, her brow creasing as she pulled back. “Dick…”

He shook his head and tugged her closer by their linked hands. “No, it’s not that it’s just…” His gaze fell to their hands, a calm breath steadying his nerves. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have kept it from you. My soulmark is a part of me and you should know.”

Dick twisted in his seat, letting go of Kory’s hand even as she tried to stop him. “No, Dick, I don’t need to see it. I just wished you’d told me about it.”

“Read it,” he insisted.

“I don’t want to read the soulmark of the man I just-”

“Kory.” He turned, trying to catch her gaze. She looked back at him, her expression twisted into something sour and broken. It hurt to see, he just hoped that this wouldn’t make it worse. “Read it.”

Still she hesitated, but just for a moment more. Then she was reaching for his shoulder and all Dick could do was turn back around and bow his head. He could tell the moment she recognized the familiar words, the sharp intake of breath echoing in his ears, and yet he still couldn’t bring himself to look back at her.

“Dick…”

“I shouldn’t have kept it from you.” The words didn’t feel like relief, just another stone on his back, another mistake he’d made. “But it was clear from the start that it was one-sided, and you didn’t have your memories. I didn’t want to add to your problems.”

Kory sighed as she pulled away from him, the warmth of her hand leaving a burning mark on his shoulder and Dick wondered if it’ll be the last time he ever got to feel her touch. He wouldn’t fault her but he would miss it.

And then her hands were on his jaw, guiding him back to face her as she straddled his legs. His hands were quick to steady her, his fingers curling over her bare hips as she brushed his hair back from his face. Her lips were curled into a frown but her eyes glimmered with joy. The contrast was distracting enough that he nearly missed what she said.

“Soulmates aren’t just a human thing, you know,” she said casually, like the very balance of their partnership, their lives, wasn’t resting on this moment. “Although soulmarks are. You humans make such a complicated bond seem so easy.”

Dick frowned, he was trying to pay attention to her words, really, but his soulmate was sitting in his lap, only wearing his shirt, while she tried to give him a lecture. So he nodded like he was following and hoped she didn’t notice how his eyes were glued to her lips.

“Tamaraneans are warriors, our soulbonds are forged in blood.” She pressed her left hand against his jaw and Dick couldn't help but lean into it. Her head bowed and he craned towards her. The temptation to taste her lips again was too much to resist as his eyes fluttered shut and Kory ground her right palm into his ribcage.

Dick lurched backwards, all the air leaving his lungs in a single breath as his ribs throb with the pain of a thousand burning suns.

“Jesus Kory!” The exclamation wheezed through his lips as he let go of her hips so he could clutch his ribs. “Fuck!”

Even through the pain he could hear her choked gasp and his eyes opened quick enough for him to catch her panting heavily as she held her side. 

Her left side.

It only took a moment for her to catch his eyes, a pained and yet somehow satisfied grin stretching across her face. “And you said your ribs were fine.”

[porcelaintoybox23]

A more thorough review of Sk8 the Infinity

I’ll be focusing on the characters and their development. There will also be spoilers.

1. Gender ratio

Why isn’t there a single female character of substance? Maybe I’m too old to still be holding out the hope that creators will realize men can empathize with women. I desperately hoped that Miya might be a girl so there could be some variety. None of the female characters are adequately developed or focused on. We see no actual grief from Langa’s mother who lost her husband. She only exists to be a sort of soundboard for him. Reki’s family is pretty much dull until his sister points stuff out to him.

The detective…

Even Adam’s aunts could use more development.

Women in this show only existed as prizes or tools.

2. General Character Development

The show, now that the ending haze has worn off a bit, didn’t really develop anyone. Like there was progress, but it felt hollow. Part of me wants to blame the 12 episode limit but I don’t think that’s an excuse. Time was not used adequately. I feel like most of our character can be boiled down to a few words. Langa: Reki Reki: Skating Tadashi: Ainosuke-sama Shadow: Flower shop manager

I find it a disservice to reduce these characters to being fully focused on other people. It limits their character progression and makes them one dimensional.

By the end of the show, I feel like Miya really didn’t have that much growth. Joe stayed the same. Langa, I feel, regressed, and Reki went through the most basic character arc in recent decades. I feel like Reki and Langa’s fight shouldn’t have lasted nearly four episodes out of 12. That time could’ve been used to develop everyone more.

3. Detailed Character Analysis

Reki: Reki was so boring and basic that I almost want him removed from the story entirely. I not going to sit here and lie by saying that the arcs in this show aren’t archetypal, but Reki’s in particular is not unique. He’s happy go lucky, positive, he wears his uniform differently, he’s not too smart or too dumb, etc. I do like him, but he’s so basic that it would be hard to dislike him. The most unique and interesting aspect of his character is his love of skateboarding. Reki clearly reads about the subject, he learns and studies, he LOVES everything about it. Reki brought me into the show and made me care. That is how wonderfully written his passion is.

Besides that…Reki feeling insecure and causing his friendship break up was too drawn out and boring. I want there to be some strife for Reki so he can grow, but I wish it was done in a more interesting manner. Maybe Reki could’ve told Langa directly, in a rage, that he felt insecure. Hell, if you want to keep the arc, make it shorter. Have those two make up a little sooner but let Reki take the time to rekindle his passion. The fight was boring and I knew it would be resolved, so it felt pointless. I’m not against tropes. Sometimes, the best part is seeing how each story executes them differently. Reki just fell flat. Of course he stands up for Miya, of course he gets jealous but comes around.

Langa: Baby boy, I do love this Canadian. Langa became one note towards the end. “Reki” this and “Reki” that…I understand it’s ship bait, I understand the story centers their relationship, but that’s no excuse to limit Langa’s character. I wish during the fight that Langa didn’t lose his passion for skating. I’d be fine if he enjoyed it a little less, but not to the point that was shown. I hate leaving a character’s development dependent on one person, it’s one of my biggest critiques of Fe3h. If anything happens with Reki, Langa will lose himself which is not the mark of a developed character. Show Langa and the rest of the gang more. Develop the relationship between him and his mother. I am an only child, I promise you the loss of 1/3 of my family would be devastating. We’re close knit and I’m sure the Hasewaga’s were too. Let Langa rebel a bit, let him be angry with Reki, let Adam tempt him a bit more to the dark side so when he frees Adam it’s more of a growth moment. Langa rekindled his passion racing Shadow, he wasn’t friends with Reki yet. He wanted to skate against Adam because he love the thrill of competition and getting better. Why does that all leave because of Reki?

Let Langa exist outside of Reki. That would make the pairing stronger. There really isn’t any complexity to it as is. As an introvert, I have been attached to one person but the show goes too far with it. I still have other connections. Miya literally agreed to be Langa’s catdog…why was that dropped? I also disliked Langa being too op at other things besides skating. We get it, Reki feels insecure, but this just makes Langa more basic.

Look me in the face and tell me what would change about Langa’s character if everyone but Reki wasn’t in the show. Replace Adam with any no name douche. Nothing. No one else affects Langa.

Adam: Adam is clearly the tertiary protagonist and probably had the best development in the show, though it wasn’t super great either. His backstory is entirely implied. I understand show don’t tell, but it was too much. Why did Adam “quit” skating? Why did it hurt him so much considering S was a thing and he clearly was practicing. Was it the loss of his friends? The pieces are there but… I had an inkling that Adam was the informant, but I kinda had hope he would lose his political career and be free from his creepy aunts. Adam isn’t evil, though I wish his ire toward Tadashi was better explained. Their relationship really needed more exploration. (It doesn’t fit his analysis but the “zone” concept was so weird…)

Cherry: honestly, I don’t have much criticism. I liked him and his aesthetic. I do wish there was more elaboration on if he and Adam made up.

Miya: baby boy #2. He does end up a bit one note, cocky younger kid who’s mean because he’s lonely. I love him but he’s basic and kinda disappears toward the end. Would’ve been nice to use those “fight” episodes to develop him. Reki also owes him an apology for abandoning him and shoving him. Like, bro. Miya is proof you can have someone retain their passion but feel sad that they lost their friends. Miya’s ex-friend suddenly talking to him again came so far out of left field you’d think it was Adam. Completely unearned and made no sense.

Joe: he exists…I don’t do muscle heads. He’s most interesting with Cherry and their dynamic is cute.

Tadashi: whoo boy this man does nothing. Why does he lobe skating? What got him into it? What did he do outside of playing with Adam?

I do not understand why he is so loyal to Adam. I don’t. It’s not shown and it’s honestly very weird. The moments where he starts to be interesting, he backs out and becomes a shadow again. He’s literally Langa 1.0, everything is about Adam for him. Dude, get a life.

Shadow: I do love him and I did want him to get the girl. He doesn’t really do anything…

Might’ve been nice to develop our main cast.

4. Updated Rating

8/10 overall, 9/10 for animation and art style

5. Final thoughts

It’s a good show and I do like it a lot. If there’s a season 2, I do hope some of my criticism is addressed.

Edit: I haven't deleted comments before, but if I see one more about "well the author is female" and "we don't need developed female characters because gay shipping" I will start. Women deserve to be developed. Choke

[executionersghost]

2. how does your muse handle grief?

Headcanon meme || accepting!

Meca is most applicable to this question so I shall answer with her.

Short answer: She does not. It is a little verse dependent however.

I’ll put it under a cut though because it’s A Bit

Obviously the largest object of her grief is her late beloved. His death marked the point where she fell away from nearly every aspect of her life.

Bloodborne Meca sought an escape from her grief in the form of blood. As a consequence, she gradually lost her abilities to perform as a Choirling. Her insight failed her and she regressed further and further into beasthood. She would no longer commune with her fellow choir, her only family, and as for her love of being a doctor…she could no longer perform proper medical procedures. For the presence of warm, living flesh enticed her bestial hungers, and any use of healing blood was…tempting, to say the least.

She made peace with it all however. Existence was nothing but an all-consuming grief, but there was an end in sight. Embracing beastliness would allow her to relinquish her human pains. And beyond that…her beloved waited in death whenever it would come to her. All she has to do now is leave behind as much research as possible before her hands forget how to write.

Elden Ring War Surgeon Meca, however…it does not go so gently.

When she lost him, she couldn’t even cry. She never truly processed what had happened. Even when what remained of his company brought back his helm and glintstone items for her, she never truly let herself believe that he was dead. Really, she knew he was, but a bit of pretend, a bit of delusion, every now and again was an easier exercise than acceptance.

When she was taken by Mohg, she should have become as crazed and blood-addled as the rest of the surgeons. But Varre, the only still-living, still-sane person from her past, held her away from those bloody swamps and kept her from succumbing completely. She resents him for that. She considers him selfish for it. The weight of her grief, and rage, and frustration weighs on her day by day, try as she may to pretend it isn’t there. Why grieve if there’s nothing to grieve over? This is all, of course, without even mentioning the bloodlust that consumes her as a consequence of being forced to imbibe Accursed Blood and make it through only mostly unscathed. Sometimes she’s tempted to give in. A few careless missteps here, some dubious choices there. She will not bring death upon herself, but she wouldn’t be too bothered should it find her.

[jediofbooksandsnacks]

wounds

Each scar has a story to tell.

also on AO3

This is set after Kogami returns to Japan after Sinners of the System Case 3. Season 3 had not debuted when I wrote this, uhm, some time ago.

all my thanks to @whatsyourcolor, @sandypenguin6 and @saber-of-dreams for their beta reading skills. All mistakes are mine, and I’m not a medical professional so please tell me if I mixed anything up, yes?

~

The wan morning sunlight drew Shinya from restless sleep. The palm of his hand rubbed over his eyes as he blinked slowly awake, his legs shifting beneath the yellow sheets in the still bedroom. Everything around him waited, as though it had caught its breath in anticipation of something soon to happen.

He dropped his hand.

The clock said it was too fucking early for this.

Next to him, Akane slept with an unburdened face. Nothing pulled her mouth tight, nothing caught her brow and then vanished when he glanced at her. This waiting game was slowly driving him crazy, but he couldn’t push her. Not on this.

He sighed. Ran a hand through his messy hair, ran his tongue over his teeth. A deep breath had him sitting up, sheets falling to his waist. The bed squeaked as his feet met the floor and he rolled his shoulder to work out a kink as the nail marks she’d left behind twinged on his back. On the way to the bathroom, he picked up his abandoned boxer briefs.

Their night had been lustful, and he couldn’t remember when he’d tossed them aside and had buried himself in her, in her scent and her body. Time stopped when he was with her and he didn’t yet know if it was a blessing or a curse. The spigot washed soap from his hands over the low hum of water refilling the toilet. Their toothbrushes were in the holder, hers looked like she needed a new one. He spat the toothpaste out, rinsed. Decided to shave later. The cotton of his boxers was loose around his legs as he returned to the bedroom.

She’d shifted while he was in there. One foot draped off of the bed and her face was buried in a pillow, her mouth opened on a small snore. A print book was on her nightstand and a glass of water stood next to it, blurring the digital time on her clock. The bubble they created together, a place where their daily responsibilities were laid outside the door, slid through his thoughts as he lay back down next to the sleeping curve of her body.

A mole stood out against her pale skin, just beneath her left shoulder blade. Gentle fingers ran across it, trailing down the naked skin of her back. In sleep she rolled over and settled against him and the pillows, her brown hair falling across her face. It was soft as he brushed it back. The smell of chemical apples lifted from her shampoo filled his nose as he kissed her forehead.

The sharpness of her eyes, the curl of her hair tucked under her ear, the slope of her shoulder in the night; he wanted to fix this in his memory, the entirety of Akane, to recall in the long nights he knew were ahead.

In a few minutes she stirred and woke. The exhalation of her breath made goosebumps prickle his skin as her eyes blinked open to meet his. Flashes of a hundred things ran through her look, and he was struck by the fact that they could discover something new each morning ahead until they were old and gray and faced that last, final discovery; if he could only ask her. If they had that luxury. One hand touched his chest as she lifted herself and kissed his shoulder with her tired mouth. As she sat up, she gave out a jaw-cracking yawn while the sheets fell back and dim morning light caught on the smooth skin of scar tissue healed on her upper abdomen.

Evidence of the night before was in the bite mark on her shoulder, the hickey bruising her right breast.

“Be back in a minute,” she said sleepily and kissed him again before she got up to go to the bathroom. The fluid lines of her back bent as she picked up her own underwear and then closed the door behind her.

When the door clicked shut he lay back, his hand beneath his head. It was a struggle to still his mind and think of nothing.

The expectation of violence had been his life, as an enforcer and then as a guerrilla. Wars had been his purpose, and he was prepared at any moment to sacrifice himself for the good of something greater. But nothing, nothing at all, had prepared him for the way he’d died last night in her arms.

Soulmates, his destiny, the One; he hated that take. It was thoughtless. Regressive. It wholesale shattered the fire and blood and meaning each person struggled with to make a life worth sharing and replaced it with a ridiculous trick of fate. But that wanting hit on something as-of-yet unspoken between them. Something that was, for all of its ups and downs, inescapably true.

The bathroom door opened and her footsteps shuffled across the carpet. The bed did not sink quite so far as she slid into it again and curled her arms around his torso and managed to tangle her legs through his. One hand drew an absent line down his chest, and then back up, as her breath tickled his skin and her face settled flush against his neck. Cotton met his hand as it settled on her hip. Yawning again, her breath now minty fresh, she murmured, “How long have you been up?”

“Not long,” he said. Fingers traced up and down her back, making slow, steady progress.

She hummed. The midday deadline for his departure loomed in front of them and manifested in the ceaseless motion of her hands against the contours of his skin. Will they ever be free of the System and its demands on their attention, on their hard work, and on their sacrifices? Her fingers settled into a circle on his side, tracing from his hip to his ribcage and back again. Both of them handing in their resignations and retiring to a house in the countryside, like Saiga, almost made him mention it to her. But that hadn't ended so well for him, had it?

Absently, she kissed his chest.

Understanding their jobs and saying goodbye were two different things.

“When did you get this?” His hand skimmed across the puckered skin on her side, just beneath her ribcage. Dominators were her judge and occasional jury, but this looked like—

“I got shot while we were making an arrest.” Her hand curled in the center of his chest. “I was glad that Gino was there to pursue while Hinakawa radioed for help.”

Of course it was Gino. Gino and his steady presence, manifesting his own guardian enforcer version of Dime. For whatever else was going on, for whatever bullshit Gino was going through, Shinya knew that Gino would have been tempted to end those assholes for hurting Akane.

Gino’s one problem was that he fell into the trap of being Iago’s green-eyed monster. But Gino’s feelings towards Akane were that of an older brother looking out for little sis, and that hadn’t changed. Masaoka’s own role suited him, though Shinya was leery of saying that. Their healing relationship was still sometimes contentious.

“He’s a good friend,” she carried on, “though he’s always trying to be a warrior.” The motion of her hands on his skin made him shiver; she traced one of his scars with gentle fingers.

“You seem to attract them.” The conversation he’d had with Hanashiro many months ago resounded in his head.

Eyes bright with knowing insight sparkled in her otherwise obviously controlled and clearly quite serious face which was in absolutely no way fighting a smile. “Detective instincts.”

A more secure him would not draw her close and kiss her. A more secure him would not fight a battle with himself about any of this, hue be damned. A more secure him would say the hell with it and ask her to--

(Still.)

One of her legs came high, her warm knee brushing the hair on his thigh as they lost themselves in a long, slow kiss. When it ended, her hands fell into her habit of retracing his scars. The bullet slash on his neck, the deep cut on his chest, the mottled skin of a one on his side that had healed slowly and needed better medicine than they had available.

“I can feel that,” he said to break the silence, “but at a remove.” Her waiting eyes watched him, so many questions looming unanswered between them.

“I know.” Fingers splayed over the wound, briefly erasing the mark from their sight. Beneath the warmth of her hand, though, he felt that dead zone, that place holding his marked history. Only parts of that story had come out since he’d been back, something he felt almost a pull to tell her and bring reality back to their plastic and Hue-cleared world. Someday he’d tell her more. But not now.

He threaded his fingers through hers. Kissed them. The sorrow in her smile held grace as she laid her head on his shoulder.

Could he turn time back to that first click of the loaded gun? Does the passage of time only heal wounds, or set them in deeper? And how can you find absolution when each morning dawned on a fresh battle with your own demons?

He’d met people like that. He fought back against it every day.

Shinya buried his nose in her hair, inhaling lab-created apples once more. Fingers ran over her back as he set those thoughts aside as he murmured, “I’m not dead yet, you know.”

Contrite, she hummed. “Are my thoughts that clear?”

“I know you.”

“You do,” she sighed. “Then I’ll see you when you return.”

“Only if you make the same promise.”

Her nose pressed into his neck, her mouth gave him a light kiss beneath his jugular. One hand slid down to her hips while the other traced her back, his own body responding to having her so close. The curve of Akane’s hip sloped down beneath his hand, and on his way back up he brushed his fingers over her stomach and abdomen and between her breasts before he brought them to her jaw. Ran his knuckles along her cheek, kissed her nose.

Trust and worry warred there and something deeper. Darker. But there was nothing they could say unless they opened her own tightly closed doors.

And how could he push through them, when his own had opened barely a crack?

Her face was only inches from his own when he caught her lips in a kiss.

Notes:

[yodawgiherd]

You Were Never Truly Gone ch2

>>>Read on AO3<<<

Well, you guys asked for it, so enjoy a few chapters of my post-canon world. Thank you all so much for the lovely comments/kudos, I appreciate every single one of you <3 So for you all, I'm writing this - The end that I would want for Eren and Mikasa :)

It was a beautiful day today. Looking over the waves at the rapidly approaching Paradis shore, Armin couldn’t keep the excited smile away from his face. Soon, he would be seeing Historia again, and they would work together to achieve peace. But that was not all, he reminded himself, fist clenching over the feather in his hand.

Today he would see Mikasa and remember Eren with her.

It would mark three years since the end of the war and his sacrifice, and Armin couldn’t help it – he felt anxious. Mikasa was doing great usually, she was her own person and not a shadow in the past. But this day, when all of them gathered around the grave to thank the person that saved them, was always a trial by fire. He would be there for her, he and everyone else, they would help her push past and return to her normal self. That he swore, both to himself and his dead best friend.

“What are you thinking about?”, Annie’s voice from behind made him jump a bit in surprise.

“N-Nothing. Or well, the anniversary I guess…”

“I could say, anytime you are worried you get a wrinkle.”, Annie reached out, tapping the center of Armin’s forehead, “Rrrrrright here.”

With a smile he swiped her hand with his own, letting their fingers intertwine. The edge of Annie’s engagement ring felt cold against his skin, reminding Armin of the day when he finally gathered his courage and asked her the question. It still felt surreal sometimes, that he was engaged to her. Too good to be true.

“Can you two stop being so disgustingly in love?”, Pieck appeared on the deck, “I don’t want to throw up.”

She lit up a cigarette, watching the shore grow closer. Armin was tempted to let go of Annie’s hand because of Pieck’s request, but she tightened the hold and wouldn’t let him. Yea, Annie was never the one to let herself be pushed around.

“Are the guys ready?”, Armin asked instead, “We will be meeting the queen soon.”

“Jean keeps styling his hair and Connie is teasing Reiner because of the letter sniffing.”, she let out a large puff, watching the smoke curl in the salty sea air, “But other than that, we are good to go.”

Their work was important. Being a group from both the scouts and warriors they were the peacemakers, the ones that kept traveling between the nations to try and keep the fragile ceasefire brought upon by Eren’s actions. Armin’s mood turned sour. Eighty percent of the world was destroyed and still, the leaders were at each other’s throats. The sacrifice gave them chance, but it didn’t magically fix everything, there was still a lot of work to be done.

When the ship finally pulled into a harbor the rest of their group stepped out of the cabin. Jean, looking slick as ever, Reiner tailed by smirking Connie. Pieck threw the cigarette butt into the ocean, dusting herself off before meeting Armin’s eyes.

“Shall we?”

He nodded, throwing the feather into the ocean too. Over the gangway and down, Armin took a moment to help Annie jump down, help she didn’t need but appreciated nevertheless. The others noticed of course, and Jean was the one who spoke up.

“You get engaged and suddenly you are a gentleman, is that it?”, he grinned, “Whipped even before marriage, what a way to go.”

“Ah, as if you are the one to talk.”, Pieck pushed past him with a smile of her own, “I’m pretty sure you weren’t working so hard on your hair for the “history books”, were you?”

“It’s not like that…”

Ignoring whatever excuse he tried to voice, Pieck joined Armin and Annie on the shore, and soon they were gathered again. Then it was finally time to walk over to where Historia was standing in front of her honor guard, flanked by Kiyomi on her right.

“Ambassador Arlert,” rang the queen’s voice, loud and clear, “It is my pleasure to welcome you back to the Paradis island.”

“It is an honor, your majesty.”, bowing deep, Armin was mirrored on both sides by his friends, and when he straightened there was a spark of amusement in Historia’s eyes.

But protocol was protocol.

“I’m sure that you must be tired after your journey,”, the queen said, “Join me for some refreshment.”

Not waiting for an answer, as she was the queen, Historia turned and walked in the direction of the large tent, her guard splitting flawlessly to let her pass. It was a demonstration of military discipline and an effective one at that, making Armin frown. So much death, and it was not enough.

As soon as they were inside, away from the public eye, Historia changed immediately. Throwing herself onto him, she hugged Armin tight, grinning like a maniac.

“I missed you so much!”, she practically squealed, pulling back to look at the others, “All of you too!”

Catching up felt like regressing towards the old times. Armin was almost tempted to say careless, but that was never the truth with them. There was always something – first the titans, then the rumbling, and now whatever this fragile peace was. But there would be time to worry later, so Armin relaxed instead, letting Historia’s cheerfulness infect him. They talked about everything, about Armin and Annie’s engagement and Historia admired the ring on Annie’s finger, modeled after the one with a secret blade she used to wear. Jean recounted the events of their travels after, all the cities that they visited, and all the wonders that they saw since their last meeting.

But then the stories were told and it was time to get down to business.

“Historia,”, Armin said,” how is the situation here?”

Her happy smile soured immediately.

“Bad. The army holds a very important position in the government, and they are not giving it up. The Yeagerists and growing with every single month and I have no idea how to stop them.”, she frowned, “Every time I’m in the city I swear that I can hear them chanting that Fight, Fight.”

“Do you think that they planning to overthrow you?”, Reiner spoke up, but Historia shook her head.

“No, they have no reason to. I am not much more than a puppet queen at this point, they have most of the control, and keeping me as a figurehead lets them work in the background.”

“Can’t Kiyomi help you?”, Pieck asked, “Hizuru military is recovering well, from what I’ve heard.”

“She could, but she is not going to.”

“Why is that?”

“Kiyomi wants Mikasa, she wants her to come to Hizuru, marry and become shogun’s wife, continue the bloodline.”, Historia was annoyed, and it showed in her voice, “She expects me to tie Mikasa up, stuff her in a shipping crate and send her against her will. The hag.”

It made sense that the queen was extra against anything like that, her being in similar situation years back.

“And since I told her that she can go stuff it and I would never force Mikasa into that, Kiyomi grew sort of cold towards me.”

She sighed.

“But we can talk about that tomorrow when the formal meeting happens. Today you guys have other plans.”

“That’s true.”, Annie nodded, “We have to see Mikasa.”

“And Eren.”, Connie added.

“I wish I could go with you, but unfortunately I have a lot to do before we meet tomorrow.”, Historia walked over to Armin, hugging him again, “Give her my love, okay?”

She moved over to the exit, only stopping to add: “And him too.”

With the queen gone the group left the shore, ignoring the stares of the soldiers. Some called them traitors, Armin knew, the Yeagerist faction condemned their peace-making efforts as cowardness.

“Hey,”, Annie squeezed his hand, “Don’t mind them. They are fools.”

He smiled at his girlf-… fiancé. Damn.

“I know, but they are fools with power, and that’s dangerous.”

“I wonder if they would be this warmongering if they knew what Eren’s true goal was.”, Jean said, “All he wanted was peace.”

“It’s not like we can tell them, they would never believe us.”, Pieck had a new cigarette hanging from her lips, the burning tip moving when she spoke, “To them, Eren was a God of War that paved the way to Paradis supremacy.”

They didn’t speak more after that, passing the soldiers and heading out of the harbor. The island nation had grown considerably in the three years, and buildings with concrete replaced the once green fields. Yet that didn’t go on forever, and before too long they were walking in nature’s embrace again.

“Maybe we should have taken a car,” Connie huffed as they walked, “Or a horse.”

“The exercise will do you good.”, Annie called over her shoulder with the typical cold expression.

“We do have a horse,”, Reiner tapped Jean’s shoulder, “Right here.”

“Hah, that was a good one, maybe you could make those jokes more often if you didn’t spend so long on sniffing the queen’s letters.”, Jean shot back.

Back and forth they bickered while Pieck smoked with an enigmatic smile, Armin and Annie leading the group while holding hands. There it was, the familiar field with trees, a lone hill in the middle. Excited to see Mikasa again, Armin let go of Annie and broke into a run, leaving his friends behind. They all ran like this, years back, with Eren in front and Mikasa right behind him, letting him take the lead. Armin was always hopelessly last in those races, but he never did mind hat. Now, he was the only one running.

Up and up, over the green grass and to the tree where Eren’s final resting place was. With a smile, Armin finally got high enough to get a view of that place, but the greeting shout on his lips died when he saw what was happening. Yes, Mikasa was indeed there, but that was not all. Far from it.

Stunned by the scene in front of him, Armin stared, watching the stranger kiss his friend with fervor. Their kissing was passionate and Mikasa was more than into it, her hands roaming all over the stranger's back. If that was not proof enough, Armin knew that she has the ears of a huntress and could easily hear him coming, but she was too deep in the moment to notice. Blushing slightly, feeling like he was intruding, Armin silently walked down the hill where the group just arrived, everyone looking at him with a question on their faces.

“What’s wrong?”, Reiner was the first one to speak, “Is Mikasa not there?”

“She is… it’s just…. I…”, Armin scratched the back of his neck, looking everywhere but not at his friends.

How was he supposed to explain this? Yet when Annie stepped closer, taking a hold of his cheek and forcing him to meet her gaze, her icy eyes speared right through and pinned him in place.

“Armin, what happened?”

Yeah, he could not hide the truth from her.

“Mikasa is there, but she’s not alone.”

“What are you talking about?”

“She is with… someone…”

Now everyone was speaking over one another.

“What?”

“Who?”

“What the…”

“Is she okay?”

“Is he…”

It would probably go on forever if Annie didn’t raise a hand, calming the mess. When they all fell silent, she fixed Armin with her famous stare, letting a single word fall from her lips.

“Talk.”

So, Armin took a deep breath. And talked.

“Mikasa is sitting near Eren’s grave but she’s not alone. She’s making out with someone, and from what I saw she’s enjoying it very much.”

A stunned silence followed, the cigarette falling from Pieck’s shocked mouth. Somewhere high overhead, a bird darted towards the endless horizon.

“Well, I… Uhm… Guess we should be happy that she’s finally moved on?”, the words were awkward, and Reiner knew that, but he pushed them out, “I’m glad that she.. you know... found someone?”

“I agree but does she have to do in front of Eren?”, Pieck said, her brows furled in a frown.

“That does not sound like her at all.”, Annie agreed.

“What, you guys think that he minds?”, Connie noted, “Like.. is he watching her or something?”

“It’s disrespectful, that’s what it is.”, Jean was staring at the tree, voice tense, “He doesn’t deserve that, having his girl kiss a stranger on his own grave.”

“Mikasa is not his girl,” Annie disagreed, “He doesn’t own her.”

“I didn’t mean it like that….”

“Regardless,” Pieck cut in, “I think that it would be best to let Mikasa speak for herself.”

Taking the lead, she took the first steps towards the tree.

“Let’s go.”, Annie agreed, following her friend.

Soon all of them were moving.

Mikasa was still there in the same position, Armin noticed, still in the arms of that stranger. His back was to them and her eyes were closed so she didn’t see them coming, immersed in the kissing, the whole situation made only worse by the small giggle that left her lips when the guy pulled back for a moment. Look, Armin loved seeing her happy, but watching it happen here felt… wrong.

The pair totally ignored them, lost in the kissing, neither of them noticing the group that was a few feet away from them. Finally fed up with it, Jean cleared his throat, loud enough for them to hear. Mikasa’s eyes shot open as she pulled back from the kiss, her cheeks reddening immediately. Her gaze shot between the stranger’s face and them, embarrassment evident.

Slowly, very slowly the guy untangled himself from her arms, standing up and pulling Mikasa to her feet too. Only then did he turn, and Armin’s mind went blank.

No.

There was a ghost in from of him. A blushing enemy of humanity with kiss-swollen lips that didn’t let go of Mikasa’s hand after helping her stand, keeping them linked. An island devil that looked at each and every member of their group with a fond smile. Next to that beast, Mikasa hid her face in the red scarf, eyes ticking between everyone. The grave was still there, Armin saw, the small headstone with those fond words on it, a few flowers lying on the patch of ground. And yet….

The dead man, the walking corpse, the impossible, he opened his mouth and spoke.

“Hey guys, long time no see.”

[centrally-unplanned]

During the Neon Genesis Evangelion rewatch I decided pick an aspect of the show to focus on as I watched, and I chose Misato; namely, how her arc connects to Eva’s wider themes. Evangelion has a lot going on and I don’t think it can be boiled down to one thematic concept, but if I were to try: real fulfillment for people can only come from being of value to and connecting with other people, but as an individual that process is inherently painful and impossible to truly achieve - What Do? Shinji embodies this in a very interiorized (and therefore very universally applicable) way, withdrawing from others and neglecting his potential to act out of fear of the pain and consequences. Yet one of the really interesting things about Eva is how the other characters reflect a different aspect of this same struggle, and so all combine into a grander narrative.

Misato does this as well - but in a way that doesn't jump out as much. Misato is very much the driver of the plot, making proactive choices around the conspiracy, the war, etc, and these actions can often overshadow her inner struggles. Thus, singling her out for focus - and from that process I feel she showcases a really unique take on the show’s themes.

Reflections on Misato’s Thematic Reflection

The other three main characters (Shinji, Asuka, Rei - sorry Ritsuko fans!) being all kids, tend to struggle with issues very close to home, but Misato is the adult in the room and so has adult concerns, namely the big picture struggle for humanity. These concerns are her duty though, not her passion - Misato is riddled with “base” desires that are emotionally and physically hyper-indulgent. Her relationship with Kaji is a constant temptation to escape from those duties and instead whittle away endless time in emotional intimacy - and also fuck like rabbits. There is a great showcase scene in End of Evangelion of this, where in their youth Misato and Kaji literally spent a week straight in their apartment doing nothing else:

----For Misato, fans symbolize sex, which I love is a sentence I can say----

Note by the way that they could have communicated that they were cloistered off banging it out in a myriad of ways, but they chose to highlight the outside obligations Misato was neglecting to do the job, because ~*themes*~. But of course such states cannot last, and Kaji himself has his own duties, very similarly to Misato, ones that he will not truly neglect for her sake.

This arc is further reflected in her relationship with Shinji, who she adopts in the opening episodes as a sort of surrogate child. While the contradictions here are less evident at first, as the show progresses it becomes clear that this family is, to quote Ritsuko, “playing house”, a pantomime of adulthood over the reality. Furthermore, her desire to mother Shinji - a desire she holds strongly for reasons I’ll note soon - starts running up against her need to command Shinji as his superior officer, commands that increasingly hurt him but are for his (and humanity’s) own good. In both of these cases, Misato is torn between those outer responsibilities and inner desires, and has to walk a tightrope of balancing them.

Like so many in the the oh-so-Freudian Evangelion, Misato’s conflicts stem from her relationship with her father; a cold, neglectful man who was absent for much of her life growing up, but who was devoting his time to NERV (the core organization in the show) fighting for humanity in his own way and also sacrificed himself to save Misato’s life when she was a teen. She loathes him and idolizes him simultaneously for this duality, which expresses itself as an outer shell of heroic professionalism masking the inner vulnerability and desire for the intimacy she lacked growing up, alongside a deep shame of that desire:

This shame is important, since I wager it would tempting to think that the conclusion of Misato’s arc is “always prioritize the big picture”, as that embodies her final moment: convincing and even *sexually manipulating* Shinji into piloting the Eva for the greater good. Its a powerful scene, and also a callback to the very first episode - where she stares on in horror as Gendo (her boss & Shinji’s absentee father) equally orders Shinji to “pilot the Eva” despite the terrible toll it would inflict on him. She judged it harshly then, but now is reprising that role under even more terrible stakes. I could see one concluding that Misato’s arc culminates in her embracing a Gendo-ian ruthlessness.

But it doesn’t, because A: Gendo is a selfish, cowardly piece of shit, not at all concerned with the greater good, and B: when Misato’s effort to Be The Adult are partially motivated by a desire to cover up for her shame in her damned sex drive, that *can’t* be fully aspirational!  She was only able to get through to Shinji because of the emotional connection they shared, which stemmed from her desire to “play house”, a choice that itself stemmed from her desire to be *nothing like* her cold, absent father and not make the mistakes he made (told you we’d get there). And they *were* mistakes, despite her father’s intentions. If Evangelion has an answer to its question of “how to solve the pain of being part of society” (It does not, I am radically simplifying right now), it’s that you can’t solve it, to wipe that pain away (AKA Human Instrumentality) would be a mistake, and instead you have to accept the pain and contradictions as the key to how you evolve as a person. Misato changes over the course of the show, but never in a way to resolve these contradictions - she only evolves to cope with them. 

And then she dies, but hey, its Shinji’s story in the end. Sometimes you gotta get Fridge’d for the greater good.

------

A final, sort-of side note to take this a little beyond Misato’s arc, “evolution” is critical to how Misato serves as a reflection of the theme for other characters. A huge crux of Shinji’s arc is his relationship with Asuka, namely his burgeoning romantic desire for her that he is incapable of acting on due to ~arc stuff. For Shinji, if he made a move on Asuka and got down with her it would be huge progress for him! Sex is a critical component of connecting with others after all, and it would mark his ability to open himself up to those connections. But what is progress for Shinji, the teen, is regression for Misato, the adult, as her sexual chemistry with Kaji can tip into excess - for her connecting with one person is in fact a form of withdraw from her wider responsibilities. What is the healthy choice for you constantly evolves as you yourself evolve, and its really fascinating that Evangelion simultaneously uses sexual intimacy for opposed meanings via different characters. The scene I posted above, where Shinji is judging a shame-filled Misato for the sex she is having, is one where both of their weaknesses are on full, simultaneous display - very hard for one scene to pull off.

------

(A final-final meta-note: I rarely write about themes in shows because I feel like everything I am saying is super-obvious; there is only so subtle a tv show can be. If you are going to do like cross-comparisons between shows or wider social trends that’s worth it, but just the show in isolation I fear it’s too basic. Would be curious if anyone who does stumble on this essay has that reaction of “yeah anyone who saw the show would know this”.)

[balloonstand]

Whetstone chapter 2*: Silver shaves Flint (5.2k, pwp)

It only took 4 years folks but we did it 

*this isn’t a sequel, just another version of the original

On a calm day, his thoughts would tread a neat path through his mind, proceeding like a lineage. First, in the present: capitulation, which is to surrender or yield on stipulated terms. Then, one generation older, one branch up the tree: capitulatus, the Medieval Latin, which is to draw up into chapters. Quite the leap, but his tidy mind could manage it on a different day. The next branch above that, the classical Latin: capitulum. Chapter or heading. Dangerously high in the tree, capitus, the diminutive. Little head. After that, the apex of the tree, but also the deepest root, the seed that became the whole lineage: caput. Head.

On a calm day, his mind would manage this regression through time and language to this seed of clarity quickly, tidily, to instruct him on his own thoughts.

Today, he has his head in his hands, mind awhirl with meaningless noise. Today he is pulling at his hair. Surrender. Chapter. Head. He doesn’t know what to make of them, these words buffeting him, storming around his mind. Refusing to show him their meaning or to teach him which direction his next step should be. He pulls at the roots of his hair. Surrender. Chapter. Head. 

He might tear his hair out of his head. He had been rather vain about his hair, in another life. He had taken the greatest pride in its length, lustre, and polish. As much as his uniform, he felt that his hair had been able to distinguish him, mark his rank and respectability. And Thomas Hamilton had only increased his vanity about his hair through the attentions he paid it. He would pull the ribbon from Flint’s- from McGraw’s- James’ hair and he would run his fingers through it over and again, and he would-

Flint pulls, pulls, and pulls at his roots.  Surrender, chapter, head . He can’t force it to make the sense that he needs it to make. 

There is a knock at his door. Flint almost doesn’t even hear it over the tumult in his mind. But he hears it, and if he thought that there was even the barest whisper of a chance that it was anyone other than Silver knocking, he would not have said, “Enter.”

It is Silver, of course it is Silver who steps into Flint’s room with all the comfort and familiarity of a person entering his own room. He closes the door behind him, then Flint can hear him pause as he takes in the sight of Flint, who has not bothered to unclench his fingers from his hair. Flint can sense Silver adapting to this. His footsteps, even, become softer, less boisterous than his knocking had been. He approaches more slowly and cautiously than he had entered. Flint wonders how Silver would react if Flint said, “Surrender, chapter, head” aloud. He wonders if Silver can hear it being said inside Flint’s mind.

“Quite the storm,” Silver says mildly. Neutrally. He might be making small talk about the weather. Every dialogue with Silver is like Silver holding a door open for Flint and seeing if he will walk through it. Asking where Flint would like to lead him. 

Flint wonders for the hundredth – for the thousandth – time who Silver was before Flint met him. All he knows of Silver is the way he takes his cues from Flint. There are only glimpses and guesses of what lies beyond. 

“Nothing we have not seen before,” Flint answers brusquely. He is embarrassed now that he let Silver see so much of him. He smooths his hair and looks Silver in the eye. “Wouldn’t you agree?” 

“Difficult to say,” Silver says, sitting opposite Flint. He does not look away; he never breaks a gaze. He should have been a courtier, Flint thinks. He may be easy to provoke, but he is nearly impossible to ruffle. Flint wishes to ruffle him. If Silver truly wants to join Flint in this mood, he will have to enter it ruffled. 

Flint arranges himself in his seat as though he is comfortable and tries to bring his thoughts in hand. He pulls the drawstrings of strategy to close the bag around the mess of his thoughts. He tries to count the number of times that he has wormed his way under Silver’s skin- very few. He does not need to count the number of times Silver has welcomed him in- none at all. Silver will be in his mind soon enough, so Flint tries to tidy it for him. 

Silver, rarely companionably silent, has begun talking. Flint listens to his tone more than his words. It keeps rolling like the tide, changing, modulating. Probing. Like waves breaking against the stone of Flint’s mood, wearing it down in precise and purposeful patterns. Flint knows that Silver has his own mind and motives, his own plans for Flint. Maybe it should worry Flint. Maybe he should send Silver away. But Flint finds it perversely intriguing. He wonders what Silver would do with him, given his way. What a surrender to Silver would mean for Flint. 

Surrender. Chapter. Head.  

Flint clenches around his thoughts once more. He notices Silver notice it and either of them could say something, but neither one of them does. Silver’s tone changes slightly, then rolls back into a different one. He is going to let Flint retreat; he will follow him and neither of them will mention why. 

“It’s not lice, is it?” Silver asks.

Flint glares at him and Silver grins back at Flint. Then he adopts a more innocently concerned expression and mimes pulling at his hair. “Is it because you have lice, do you think? I hear it makes your head-”

“My hair is clean.”

“Yes?”

“Cleaner than yours has ever been.”

“That would make your head a nice home for the lice, wouldn’t it?”

“Would you call my head a nice home for anything?”

Silver’s expression freezes, his fluidity stilled. Pinned down. One foot in the door, but Flint does not want to enter as an intruder. It would be so much sweeter for Silver to come to him, inviting him in. The thought of Silver welcoming Flint pangs and Flint–

Flint runs his hands through his hair, tugging at it. Ask me, he thinks. Just ask me and I’ll tell you anything. Don’t try to trick it out of me, just ask.

“Is- have you always been so vain about your hair?” Silver is smiling. His shoulders are tensed, ready.

Flint feels the familiar, almost nauseating mix of fear, disgust, and hope at this vulnerability of Silver seeing something that grows from Flint’s very core. And the small twinge of pride in Silver for being to leap the etymological branches that cluster around Flint’s true meaning. 

“Yes,” Flint says. 

“And do you keep it long and well-kept,” Silver asks, “so that one day you’ll be able to go back?” 

“Back?”

“To England. To whatever was before all this.”

Flint cannot stop himself; he lurches out of his seat and stands, breathing quickly. 

Capitulation. Head, chapter, surrender. 

No, Flint wants to say- doesn’t want to say. No, I keep it because I need to love it, I need to cherish one thing about myself. I keep it because I want to be seen for what I am. So that, someday, someone might run his fingers through it lovingly and tell me that it is nice. 

And it’s not even as long as it used to be.

Not because he wants to go back to England. Not because he could imagine himself returning to his position in her Navy. Not because he could wash his hair and his face, put on clean clothes, and blend in with the society that had turned away from him. 

This is all primed at the tip of his tongue, but something in his mind says  are they not the same thing? James Flint cannot have those fingers in his hair, soft touches, caring caresses. They belong to James McGraw. This hair belongs to James McGraw. 

“Yes,” Flint says. The word is choked and pathetic. “Not England. But yes. Before.”

Silver has stood too and his expression has that same stillness as before. But it isn’t panic that is frozen on his features now. It is more an expression of pain. “You think you-” Silver stops himself. Flint recognizes the effort that it takes.

“Don’t you?” Flint asks. Doesn’t Silver ever want to turn his back on the sea and walk forward into a quiet life?

Silver looks at him with astonishment in every line of his face. “No,” he says slowly. “And neither do you. Not really.”

Flint opens his mouth, then closes it. He studies Silver’s face, trying to understand.

Silver says, “You say it, but that doesn’t mean that it is true.” 

You should know, Flint thinks bitterly. Then: You should know, Flint thinks achingly. “It’s the truth,” he says.

Silver fixes him with a look. “You’re pulling it out, Flint. Your hair, you’re pulling it out.”

Flint drops his hands. He hadn’t even noticed that they had crept back to his head.

Head-

“It- it used to be longer,” Flint says lamely after a moment. “I cut it before I boarded my first pirate ship.”

“How many inches?”

Get out, Flint almost says.  Out of my room, out of my mind . 

Don’t you like it like this, he doesn’t almost say, do you think it would be better longer? Shorter? What would tempt you?  

He imagines it: laying against Silver’s chest, with Silver’s hand in his hair. Silver alternates running his fingers through it hypnotically and playing with individual strands until Flint’s body floats away on a gentle current and the only thing that exists is Silver playing with his hair. But this fantasy feels flat, like a drawing. The room is too bright. His hand in Flint’s hair is too clean. It is slightly wrong in a dreamlike way. McGraw could have those things, but Flint-

And to Silver, he can only be Flint. The name McGraw would be a lie in Silver’s mouth. 

“Flint, you’re pulling it out.”

Silver does not mean at that moment; Flint’s hands are clasped behind his back. His military at-ease. Feet shoulder-width apart, knees straight, left hand covering the right behind his back like his wrists are shackled. Put him in his Navy uniform and he would be entirely unremarkable aboard the  HMS Scarborough . It makes his stomach turn. 

“It’s too long,” Flint says finally. It is as much as he can say. He can’t offer much, but he offers it all. He puts everything in Silver’s hands and wonders if Silver knows it. 

“If it’s too long,” Silver says, “you should cut it.”

He says it simply. He sits as he says it. It’s settled, his casual body language says, and easily so. 

He does not know, then, that he has uprooted the tree of surrender, chapter, head in Flint’s mind. Flint had not realized how accustomed he had become to its shade until Silver had drawn it back and given Flint the sun. 

Flint sits too. You should cut it. A weight off of his shoulders. “Will you do it?” Flint asks before he thinks about asking it. Maybe he should look away from the surprise on Silver’s face after he says it, but he drinks in every little change in his expression and saves it in his mind for later. “I don’t have a razor here, but you can use the knife.” Flint nods to the knife sitting unsheathed on his table.

There’s a moment’s pause. 

“Why shouldn’t I?” Silver says softly, almost to himself.

“I can’t do all your thinking for you,” Flint snaps. He should not have asked. “Will you do it or not?” So, he asks a second time. He knows that one cannot right a mistake by repeating it, but he always seems to do so.

Silver’s expression hardens. He stands up, grabs the knife off the table, weighs it in his hand. He takes a step toward Flint’s chair and Flint doesn’t move. He doesn’t care why Silver is approaching him with the knife. What matters is that he is stepping closer. Another and another step. And he is right in front of Flint. His leg brushes against Flint’s bent knee. 

This close, Flint can hear when Silver’s breath quickens and becomes audible. Flint could close his eyes and just listen, except that he can’t tear his eyes away from Silver’s face. Silver hefts the knife up like it is heavy. With his free hand, he takes a lock of Flint’s hair between his fingers. 

Flint almost flinches away from the touch. Once, when Flint was serving his first week on a ship in the Caribbean, he had gotten terribly sunburned. One of his crew mates had soaked a cloth in cool water and applied it to the burn. Flint had flinched away from that in the same way, the reflexive protection of the injury even from its cure. 

“I’m not a barber,” Silver says. Both of his hands are still, one on the knife and one in Flint’s hair. “I’m going to cut it very short. I’m going to shave it.”

Flint nods twice, just to feel Silver’s hand moving through his hair, although it is really more that his hair is moving in Silver’s hand. What is it to take something from someone who is not giving it? He does not want to be a thief; being a pirate is enough. 

“Are you sure this is what you want?” 

He wonders what Silver is really asking, because he knows that this is what Flint wants. “Go on,” Flint says. He can feel his heartbeat in his throat.

Silver goes on. One lock at a time falls from Flint’s head and lands at his feet. It happens quickly. Flint is looking at Silver and he practically misses it. 

Then Silver circles around the chair until he is standing behind Flint, and Flint has nothing to distract him from every sensation on his scalp. He had not expected it to feel like this, cutting his hair. He has been pulling his hair out at the root for long enough that he had forgotten to imagine that cutting his hair might feel different from that. He thinks:  this doesn’t feel like losing something . And it surprises him. 

It all surprises him. The softness of Silver’s hands on his head. Even the knife is gentle, an extension of Silver’s touch. He had been ready for the bite of its blade on his scalp, too sharp to be a harmless razor. Silver has tamed it down to a caress. This, all of this, Silver’s touch is almost, almost, almost, almost- 

 “That’s good,” Flint says. He says it without thinking, and he does not think about it after he says it. 

Immediately, Silver’s hand falters and Flint feels the knife’s sharpness for the first time. He feels the opening of his skin under it. Not very deep, but some blood. Head wounds bleed a lot.

“You spoke too soon,” Silver says. His voice has the same shake as his hand. He presses his fingertips against the injured patch of skin. 

Too soon, Silver says. Too soon. Flint thinks he should have said too late, it is more true. It is too late and Flint still has not said what he should. 

A week ago, he could have told Silver, you’re the only person I smile with anymore when the two of them had been laughing at something clever Silver had said. Two weeks ago, he could have said, I am less afraid of being understood when it is you who understands me when Flint had turned to Silver after several quiet minutes of watching the sea to find that Silver’s eyes already rooted on him, unconcerned at having been discovered looking at him. 

And it is not just the beautiful things that he has bitten back. It is also the shameful, burning things that scrape his throat like rough stone as he silences them. It is when he has to look away when Silver is holding the neck of a bottle or the post of a railing loosely in his hand, and Flint could say yes, just like that, that is how I would like it. Or the mornings where he could have looked Silver in the eye and said, I couldn’t sleep until I had brought myself off to the thought of you. I touched myself and pretended that it was your hand. Then I slept soundly for the night. 

It is a mistake to think about that. Heat grows in him, twisting and spreading vine-like through his body and pooling low in his belly. He tries to focus on the pain from the cut, but Silver’s fingers are pressing tenderly on it, too tenderly to hurt. Through the descending haze of heat, Flint thinks that if the cut was deeper or wider, maybe a pedantic academic could argue that Silver’s fingers were in him. Maybe in a future tome of their intertwined stories, a historian could say, and James Flint did feel John Silver inside of him, just once, through a hole in his head. Silver slipped in and out in one moment and that is the whole story. 

Neither one of them has spoken a word in some minutes. Flint has surely stopped bleeding by now. He could say that, and Silver would finish his task and it would just be one more favor between them as the world continues on outside of this room. 

Flint reopens his should’s, this time in the present. This is harder. His mind works in the past tense.

He should be more upset at giving up his hair. He should be thinking less of the feel of Silver’s hands on him and more of this loss. He should be less aware of the heat of Silver’s body close behind him. He should stop wishing that Silver would step closer. Stop imagining that two people might be able to live in one body if they press themselves closely enough together. His mind should be in the past and not this hypothetical future or hypothetically-slanted vision of the present that will only hurt him when it does not come.  

But this will be the past soon enough. He closes his eyes and memorizes the feel of this moment so that he can live in it again later. He writes this all over his mind:  He is standing behind me so I can’t see his face, or anything else. But I can feel his heartbeat in his fingertips on my head, and everywhere else I can feel him not touching me in that way that almost feels like a touch. He has a knife to me but he is using it to free me.  

Another chapter for the book of Silver that Flint keeps in his mind, always open.

And Silver still has not moved. For a wild moment, Flint is certain that he is paused like this to let Flint commit the moment to memory, but then Flint realizes that he is finished. Finished cutting off Flint’s hair. But he is still standing there. He is waiting for Flint to react so he can react to it.

Flint reaches a hand up to his scalp to feel how short his new hair is. He gets up out of the chair – Silver’s hand stays motionless as Flint moves himself politely out from under it – and walks to the mirror, rubbing his hand across the surprising velvet of his short hair. He looks at himself in the mirror, sees how he looks. He looks how he feels when he calls himself Flint. It is not just his hair that Silver has cut away with the knife, it is the chain that connects him to the anchor of his former life, his escape from who he truly is now. Now he is only one person.

His expression startles him more than the sight of his hair; his eyes are dark and hungry, his lips parted and his cheeks flushed.

The strange and familiar sight of himself is not enough to distract him from noticing as Silver follows him to the mirror. He resumes his place behind Flint, just as he was while cutting Flint’s hair. Flint’s eyes meet Silver’s in the mirror. Their eyes are equally dark and hungry. Silver’s have a wildness to them that Flint wants to study, to record, to savor. He wants to unravel it and understand its every nuance; he could just ask, he supposes. But it is so sharply painful to ask someone for something when you do not know if their answer will be yes.

He turns around so he and Silver are face to face. The table the mirror is sitting on presses against his back. Silver is so close to him that it feels useless to try to estimate the distance between them. Flint feels a heightened awareness of his environment, like the bright clarity of his senses during a battle. And he feels that same calmness that he feels in a fight for his life, the calmness of necessity and single-mindedness.

Silver’s eyes move frantically, darting all over Flint’s face. Begging for something, some hint.

“What is it?” Flint asks.

“You let me cut your hair.”

Flint wonders if Silver is still holding the knife. “No, I asked you to cut my hair.” Silver still looks lost, so Flint tries again: “What is it?”

“Can’t you just tell me where to go?” Silver looks away, but only for a breath, then his eyes turn back to Flint like a weathervane fixed in the wind. “I don’t know where I am, but I think you do. Can’t you tell me where I need to go?”

Flint wants to reach out and take Silver into his arms, lead him to the bed and show him his heart. He wants to say  I was there before, I know the way forward  and then lean in slowly enough that Silver will know what is coming before he feels Flint kiss him. He could do this and Silver would accept it all, as he has accepted the other things that Flint has asked him to.

But he does not want Silver to accept it, he wants Silver to ask for it, with his words and his eyes and his hands.

His voice is rough when he says, “You cut my hair because you knew that I needed to have it cut.”

Silver leans in slightly, like he wants to climb directly into Flint’s mind. His eyes are locked onto Flint’s, so he would see if Flint dropped his gaze to those lips that are tantalizingly close and coming closer. And Silver would take the cue, Flint knows he would. So he does not look. 

He looks instead into Silver’s blue eyes. He watches them slip out from under Flint’s gaze and  jump from point to point on Flint’s face. He sees when Silver looks at Flint’s lips. Can Flint make his lips look softer and more inviting just by wishing it?

“Sometimes I feel that you know everything,” Silver says quietly. “That if I want to understand something I don’t need to look at it, I just need to look to you.”

Flint shakes his head slowly, keeping his eyes steady on Silver’s.

“You’ve been here before, haven’t you? You know what this place is called,” Silver says.

“I’m here now, with you.”

Relief washes over Silver’s face – Flint was ready for a hundred emotions to come over Silver’s features, but relief is not one that he had expected – and he kisses Flint. Their arms are already around each other, Flint realizes belatedly. He tightens his hold and parts his lips so he can taste Silver’s mouth on his tongue. 

Silver is not timid. His hands are strong and firm on Flint’s sides and he eagerly meets Flint’s tongue with his own. He is not following any lead but his own pleasure, Flint realizes. It makes him dizzy with desire. He wants to give Silver everything, even the things he doesn’t know yet how to want. 

Silver inhales sharply and Flint realizes that he has spoken some of this aloud. Or Silver can truly read his mind, just as he always half-suspected. 

And Flint says it again, just to make Silver’s breath come faster, to see his eyes get darker and to feel his erection grow harder against Flint’s leg. Flint spreads his legs apart so that one rests between Silver’s. Silver presses against it, sending waves of lust through Flint, shuttering his mind to any other thoughts other than want, need. He runs his hands across Silver’s back, drunk with the permission to touch as much as he wants to.

Silver’s hands are on the laces of Flint’s breeches and that flinching reflex tugs at him again, but now it is because he is already on the edge and he wants to love Silver slowly all night long. But he would never be able to pull away from Silver and he stands, dazed, as Silver pulls his cock out and begins to stroke him. He is not hesitant at all, not fearful. Even in his fantasies, as he brought himself off quietly in his bed alone, Flint had never been able to imagine that Silver would be this eager for him. 

Flint begins to talk as Silver strokes him. He says, “You don’t know how many times I’ve thought of this, of you. Ever since I met you, every time I’ve given myself pleasure it was to the thought of you.”

Silver’s hand falters. “Fuck,” he says hoarsely, “fuck.”

Flint reaches for Silver’s laces, trying to remember how to use his fingers. He manages it finally, clumsily, and wraps his hand around Silver’s cock. It is hot in his hand, silky to touch. Silver’s hips jerk forward and he loses his rhythm again. 

Flint follows Silver’s lead, letting him choose the pace for them both. Silver’s lust-dark eyes meet Flint’s, and Flint can see the effect it has on Silver. Flint wraps his free hand around the back of Silver’s neck and pulls their foreheads together. 

Flint is so close now. His hand keeps stilling on Silver as the world beyond the sensation of Silver’s hand on his cock recedes. He can’t stop the little thrusts of his hips. He pulls his head back at the last moment so that he can see Silver’s face. He looks at Silver’s eyes, the color in his cheeks, his lips that are red and shiny from kissing Flint. And he comes. 

Silver says, “Oh.” His voice is so raw with lust that Flint would surely come again if he could. 

Flint wants to say something, but no words can replace the act of falling to his knees in front of Silver and taking him in his mouth. So he acts and does not speak. Silver’s body tightens and the sound he makes is as sweet as Flint's release had been. His hands fall onto Flint’s head, and he is caressing the hair he just cut. Flint swallows him down deeply, the smell of Silver’s sweat giving him a heady rush. 

Flint draws back after a moment so that he can catch his breath, and he looks up at Silver. He takes in the beauty of him with his shirt rumpled from Flint clenching at it, his breeches discarded beside him, and his whole body shiny with sweat. His gaze lingers on Silver’s cock, standing up for him. He remembers what he said about giving Silver everything and he says, “Here.”

He turns around and braces himself against the table, half-bent over it. He doesn’t have anything, any oil. But he wants this. Silver split his scalp with a knife and it was a caress. This will be just as sweet. 

He hears SIlver’s sharp intake of breath. He feels Silver’s hands on him. Two dry fingers touch him and Flint smiles. 

“Don’t you need- don’t you have any oil or-” Silver sounds more aroused than anything else. 

“It’s all right, I want it,” Flint says. He'll beg for it if that is what Silver wants. 

“Flint,” Silver says. Flint looks over his shoulder. Silver’s expression is such an intoxicating mix of lust and tenderness that Flint nearly averts his eyes, certain that he is trespassing somehow by seeing this. “Flint, this is not the only night for us. We’re going to do this again.” 

We’re going to do this again  . Flint wants to ask him to repeat it, just so he can be sure he heard him correctly.  We’re going to do this again  . It is the same thunderbolt as hearing  then cut it  had been. Flint grabs Silver’s hand and kisses his palm, unable to speak. 

Still holding SIlver’s hand, he tugs Silver against his back. He feels Silver’s cock between his legs, sliding against him. The head of it presses against Flint’s balls. Silver moans and rocks forward again. Their mingled sweat creates a slickness that allows Silver to slide comfortably. Every time he pumps his hips, Flint hitches back to meet him and so every thrust is something they are doing together. 

“Next time,” Flint says, loving the taste of that phrase in his mouth, “next time you’re going to fuck me properly. You’re going to feel me hot and tight around you and you’re going to hear me asking for it deeper. I’ll come just from your cock in me, you won’t even need to touch me, that’s how much I’ll want to feel you in me.”

Those nights of touching himself and thinking of this, Flint had neglected to imagine so much. He hadn’t thought to imagine how Silver’s chest would be hot and sweaty against his back, or the way that he could feel Silver’s hair draping over him. He hadn’t considered that Silver would stop to kiss the back of his neck. And even in his most self-indulgent fantasies, he had never imagined that when Silver came, he would call out Flint’s name.

Flint would be content to stand there forever, the edge of the table biting uncomfortably into his hips now that there is no distraction from it, and Silver almost suffocatingly heavy across his back. But Silver pulls him up and looks intently into his face for a moment before drawing him in for a deliberate, soft kiss. 

When Silver breaks the kiss, he slides his cheek next to Flint’s and says quietly in his ear, “I’ve thought about it too. I didn’t know why, but you were always there.”

They stand there in an embrace that neither wants to break. They’ll have to break it eventually, but that is fine. This is not the only time this will happen. They are going to do this again. Flint tucks his face into Silver’s neck and breaths in.

He opens the book of Silver in his mind and begins to write.