#what makes it worse is that this parent is a teacher herself so she should understand first hand what it’s like

[bumpintheroad]

>:(

[co-dependance]

I’ve seen people talk about the main theme of the owl house being acceptance, and I think they’re completely right about that. But I haven’t really seen anyone look at the sub themes depicted in the show around the acceptance theme.

Specifically how the owl house is really advocating for child autonomy. Specifically in the ways of discipline, showing that communicating and talking with children ends up being a lot more beneficial and effective than punishing them.

The most obvious example comes with the collector, where instead of talking to him, King’s dad punished the kid by putting him in essentially time out, for the actions of his siblings. Which he would’ve learned if he had talked to the collector. And then following that, every interaction before talking with Luz, has the collector being used or placated in some way instead of being treated like an actual child due to the amount of power he has. The titan trappers revering him as some sort of god, Belos manipulating him, and even king attempting to appease the collector, instead of really talking to him. Though for king it’s a bit more understandable. Even so, the show showcases the collector’s change only after he’s talked to like a person, and then shown why his views were wrong.

Luz, who’s the main focus of the show, has her character arc and journey centered around being punished for her not fitting in at school. And while, yes, some of Luz’s antics that were shown seemed to be legitimately dangerous, the real solution would’ve been to talk with her and teach her about safety and why bringing wild animals and fireworks into a school building is dangerous. It should have also been that Luz should be able to talk and negotiate with her teacher about what would be acceptable for her projects with her endless creativity. The solution was not to essentially punish Luz for being creative, and what that only did was make her feel worse about herself and more isolated from the people she thought would be on her side. And then we were shown in thanks to them and for the future, Camilla’s growth into understanding that not talking to Luz about this, and essentially forcing her into normality, was not the way to go about things.

And we see this theme again, with Willow forced into the abomination track because her parent’s thought that was what was best for her, until she was able to showcase her skills and switch to what she was actually good at. Alador realizing he missed a lot of Amity’s growth by not talking to her, and then making it up to Amity by letting her set the boundaries and reestablishing their relationship. Odalia being controlling and not listening to her children which lead to actively harming their social development, until she was confronted and then shut out. Belos manipulating Hunter, isolating him, and abusing him, not even listening to what he had to say. And all of these situations were made better and more bearable when they were given the chance to take charge and be heard.

All this, in an attempt to showcase that children can be vulnerable and malleable, but they are also smart and understanding. And instead of deciding what a child needs, it’s important to communicate with the child instead, asking what they need and listening to what they’re saying. And implementing that by guiding and supporting them, not attempting to control them to what someone else thinks is right.

Children are smart and observant, they just need to be taught how to communicate, and viewed and thought of as actual human beings.

In a way, the owl house is attempting to advocate for it’s audience, and that’s beautiful.

[cosmichahn]

BEWITCHED

Melissa Schemmenti x Fem!Reader —☆

about: melissa only expected for her friday evening to go as always, but plans change when she sees you crying on the sidewalk

warning/s: mild cursing

word count: 4.7k

note/s: first time writing for mel, might be a bit rusty but i really enjoyed writing this and hope you guys enjoy reading! lyrics from bewitched and from the start by laufey mentioned. (i also have not watched the new episodes yet so yeah)

The parent evening at Abbott Elementary just ended, as every teacher and every parent went their separate ways. Everyone but you who left about an hour earlier than everyone. No one knows why, no one dared to ask when you rushed out of the building after cleaning up your classroom and grabbing your bag. Not even a goodbye like you always do, especially to Melissa who grew worried because of this; but she decided not to call you, especially how it seemed as though you wanted some time alone.

Your movement wasn’t harsh, nor was it rough. It was more of a quiet rush that might as well be considered worse than an angry one.

Melissa says her goodbyes to her co-workers before setting off to go home. She looks at her phone set up on the side with an attached stand to it, pondering on whether she should call you and ask how you are or perhaps not. You’ve only been at Abbott for a year, and in that year, Melissa grew very fond of you. There was just something about you she couldn’t pinpoint in the beginning, not until one of her kids came rushing to her crying and asking for you, for some reason. You started as an aide just to see if the teaching position would fit you at Abbott after about four years of teaching experience in a different state.

When you were Melissa’s aide, her days never ended up being exhausting. You were a breath of fresh air and really helped her around the classroom; with managing two classes at once, it’s not an uncommon occurrence for Melissa to stress herself out. Eventually, you’ve come to apply for an official teaching role at Abbott to teach 6th grade Biology after 2 and a half months of being an aide. It was perfect since the last Biology teacher just straight up gave up and signed up for a resignation; which is a bad image given that it kind of shows the students a message that they may not be worthy enough to stay for since that said teacher left to go to Addington. It’s great that you’re qualified for the teaching role and Ava, especially, was thankful for that.

The redhead drives over the street, her mind only occupied with next week's lesson plans that she should finish on Sunday. Thankfully she’s already done with grading papers. As her mind wanders, she comes across someone familiar on the street, tears pouring down. She stops her car immediately near the familiar broken down car whose owner is the person crying in front of her. You.

Upon noticing the sudden warmth of someone’s presence, you look up only to feel embarrassed, so you quickly wipe off the tears that already stained the bottom of your shirt used for wiping them off. You have the mascara stained from all the tears, and the lipstick that smudged just right on the side of your lips. This is an ugly cry that you never want anyone to see, but Melissa is the exception. You don’t mind her.

She looks at you with not pity, but worry. Wiping off the dust and small grains of dirt she can get off beside where you are, Melissa takes a seat, trying not to be too close to you so you can have enough space to be comfortable or not feel too crowded. “Hon, what happened?” Her voice is so smooth that it sounds like the only symphony you can listen to for the rest of your existence. She looks at you, her eyes speaking more emotion than her words, as always.

“It’s nothing, really.” You sniffle your runny nose in between words that shake your voice and tone. “Just a mishap, but thanks.” Your eyes meet hers, giving her a light chuckle which makes her raise her eyebrow.

“You know me enough not to believe this stunt.” She slightly tilts her head towards you, crossing her arms. Melissa knows you too well upon the year she spent with you at Abbott. She knows when you’re being all bullshit. This is one of those times.

You look at your lap, then your hands that had small stains of black from that mascara that you wore today. “Fine, it’s something. But it’s not really that big of a deal, Mel.” Your gaze turns to her. “It’s just a parent being a parent.”

“Seeing you like this doesn’t make it feel like it’s a small deal.” Melissa isn’t always one for being interested so quickly towards someone, but you just managed to intrigue her the more she knew about you.

In defeat, you tell her what happened; but you feel guilty upon telling her all of this. For whoever up there’s sake, this is only your second year at Abbott and you’re already dropping a bucket worth of tears over one comment a parent made for the first time in your whole career. “One of the parents, um, she called me a terrible teacher because her son was struggling with something and all I really did was help her son out but she wasn’t listening to what I was saying and blamed it all on me.” Talking about your problems really has always been the catapult to a breakdown that you can never find a way to stop. “She blamed it all on me that her son’s grades weren’t high enough, when he has always excelled in all of his subjects. He’s on the verge of burning out, and I’m just trying to help him, Mel.”

“She thinks her son’s grades aren’t enough, when they’re high and he already reached his goal. The mother is so strict but I can’t speak on it because I am not the parent, I am only the one who teaches and calculates the grades. I don’t make the grades, I just help the students achieve the grade they want. She called me terrible. A terrible teacher. I have never been called that and I feel so bad, so guilty, and sensitive, for feeling this way about it. About what she said. And I’m sorry for dumping all of this on you when you’re handling two classes at once, you’re incredible, and I know how stressed you are at times. I care about you a lot.”

Melissa thinks before she speaks, signaling if she can touch you and you nod in response; and so she places her arm around your shoulder, pulling you in with a small apologetic smile. “Some parents really are like that, and unfortunately we can’t exactly do anything about it other than have a quiet and listening conversation with our student.” You hold onto her other hand, feeling her squeeze yours in comfort. “And you don’t have to apologize for feeling this way. No apologies to me, we all have our own experiences, hon.” Melissa removes her arm around you, where she is now holding both of your hands in hers. You melt under her touch, she brings you warmth. She’s the beaming sun that lifts up your glow. “Your feelings aren’t any less. I care about you too, I care a lot.”

You only mumble a quiet thank you to her, letting go of her hands before moving closer and burying your face on her neck, feeling the warmth she had to offer. The comfort her presence gave you was enough to recharge from a tiring day. “Thank you so so much, Mel.” The warmth Melissa gave not only came from her natural body temperature, but also the sudden contact of you leaning into her this close that sent up sparks in her mind and caused her to grow a blush she couldn’t take away.

Melissa places her right hand on your back, leaning her head on yours, before whispering “Anything for you, cara.”

“You’re so nice to me, Mel.” You whisper with a small chuckle, feeling her heart beating, feeling it speed up. “I never knew that something I would say is enough to make your heart crazy.”

“Great assumption you got there.” Melissa jokes, lifting your face off her shoulder. You looked a mess with your smudged makeup, and yet still she was enchanted by you; to her you were still beautiful as always, and she was glad that you felt comfortable being in states like this around her. She keeps your trust the way you take care of hers.

“No use in lying to me when I look like a mess.” You shrug your shoulders, feeling the tension of your feelings cool down and feel lighter. She only playfully rolls her eyes and chuckles at you.

You never denied your attraction towards Melissa, but that’s something she doesn’t know. Something you never had the guts to tell her; you were just scared, confused as to how and why would she date someone like you. Someone younger, obsessed with movies, and could talk about anything and everything within every second of the day. You’ve seen how Melissa acts when Jacob starts yapping about something, but then if you’re the one doing it, she never scolds or avoids you when you talk about your interests even though she doesn’t get most of them. Melissa could just be really friendly to a selected number of people, and you’re lucky enough to be one of those people; that’s one of the main reasons as to why you’d rather not express your romantic feelings for her.

Melissa is too important to you. She’s your friend first before all.

“Why are you even stopped here anyway?” Melissa questions, looking at your car parked on the side near hers.

Embarrassed, you answer her with a small hint of nervousness “Well, you see, I ran out of gas.” You also realize your inability to head home because you remember now that you left your house keys on the desk right before you rushed out of the school a while ago. “Shit! I left my house keys in the school. Son of a bitch.”

Your evening after that parent situation really isn’t going how you want it to. First, you forget your apartment keys in a school that’s already locked, and second, your car is out of gas. You have nowhere to go and nowhere to sleep in, until an idea pops up in mind, but Melissa had another idea. “You can always stay at my-”

“I can call Janine and ask her if I can stay.” You say in full confidence, remembering how Janine once offered for you to stay at her place if ever that there were any cases of unfortunate occurrences. But instead of Melissa agreeing and knowing it’s better for you to stay at Janine’s, she reacts differently.

“No! I meant you can stay at my place.” This peaks the curiosity in you. A year of being friends with Melissa, and yet you’ve never been to her house before, surprisingly.

“As tempting as that offer is, I don’t want to be in the way of your weekend.” You say. Melissa only scoffed and shook her head with endearment. “And I do know how much you cherish your privacy.”

“That’s nonsense, sweetheart. You’re an exception.” Before you can say anything, Melissa stands up to open her car, making sure that you follow. “I’m not taking ‘no’ for an answer, by the way.” She’s pretty persuasive. Pretty and persuasive. She smirks at you as she waits for your approach; she leans on the car and crosses her arms with the keys dangling on her finger. “We both had a tiring day, so a little wine wouldn’t hurt too, right?”

You nod with excitement, looking back at your car while approaching Melissa’s. “Don’t worry, we can get back tomorrow. I have a guy that can help with your car without hassle.” Thankfully, the area where you stopped your car when it ran out of gas was a safe space. Knowing this part of Philly, it surely is more peaceful. Melissa is so thoughtful and just the sweetest, when what she always does, at least to you, is what you think of as something like the bare minimum or just something she does to her close friends. You’re not that special to her, as to what you think; but to her, you’re more than that.

Before leaving off with Melissa, you first check over your car just to grab your things. “Let me just get some stuff from my car. I don’t want any important things gone.” She nods as you head off, unlocking the back of the vehicle and grabbing some things. You take your files filled with student papers you need to check off and grade, then in front of the car is your bag with all of the pens you use and essentials. You double check to lock the door then look over to Melissa. “Well, it seems like we’re both gonna be occupied.” You say, showing her the very thick file folder you have.

“We can grade papers and drink wine.” She suggests, and all you can imagine is grading papers on the table together with Melissa’s glasses sitting on the bridge of her nose, hair up in a loose bun with a wine glass in hand and the smell of her lingering in her home. She holds your hand every so often after taking a sip of her wine and you brush a strand of hair off her face while she smiles at you and thanks you. That is all an image in your head.

“Sounds like a fun evening.” Is all you can say in reply.

As you approach her car, Melissa opens the door for you and you quickly thank her for it. The car ride was comfortable and quite fun. It’s not your first time riding in Melissa’s car, and usually she leads playing music in the car, but she actually lends you the aux cord from time to time. You connect your device to the speaker and radio in her car, where you then blast one of Laufey’s songs; a fairly recent artist that Melissa denied when you first played it around her, but she soon grew fond of the artist knowing that you loved listening to her music a lot.

Melissa would always find herself looking the artist up just so she could be reminded of you when she listens to it. It just for some reason makes her feel closer to you whenever she engages with things you love.

“You bewitched me.” You sing along the rhythm, slightly bopping your head to the light and magical tone of the song. Melissa quietly glances at you, a smile growing on her lips upon adoring the sight, before looking back on the street. “From the first time that you kissed me.” The lyrics catch Melissa, causing her to swallow the invisible lump in her throat. “To experience this song is to make my life complete.” You joke, not imagining anyone to dance to this song with other than Melissa.

Upon hearing this, Melissa wanted you to kiss her under the bustling lights of an evening in Philly. She wanted to lean in and whisper how much she wanted to keep you in her heart. She wanted to be the one who makes you bewildered, bewitched.

“Well, if I ever get the time to buy her vinyl, that would also be an alternate way to complete my life.” You shrug, chuckling.

But I’m falling so badly, I’m coming apart. The song continues. You cast me a note, cast a spell on my heart.

Melissa takes a quick glance over the radio. Well, you’re right about that. She thinks to herself, indulging the lyrics of the sweet yet whimsical song.

“Not the first time you’ve talked about the artist.” She looks over to you through the front mirror, noticing the embarrassed chuckling you let out. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way. I think it’s cute.”

“Thanks, Mel. People don’t really engage with me when I talk about things I love.” You look over at her with an endearing smile. “But thankfully I have you, don’t I?”

“I talk about firefighters to you a lot, hon. I think we’re even.” She laughed quietly. “And you really love the food I make.” In all honesty, there’s a mix of excitement and nervousness in Melissa right now. It’s your first time both going to her house and staying over there for the weekend. Is the sink cleared? Will there be time to whip up a quick meal? Is her bedroom clean? Wait, you’re sleeping in her bedroom? On the same bed as her? Unless you don’t want to, she’ll just sleep on the couch. Melissa’s mind just shuffled.

You notice that Melissa kind of dozes off, so you try to catch her attention. “Mel, you good?” Waving off your hand beside her, until you catch her attention.

“I’m good. Just thinking of something.” You quirk an eyebrow making an attempt to guess, but trying not to push it much as for Melissa to not get frustrated.

You remember the vending machine guy that the Abbott crew would always mention to Melissa. Given that he leaves hints that he likes her. This happens way after they forget to tease you and Melissa for being close. Although there’s some sort of jealousy that flows through you whenever this happens, it’s not really something you can do anything about, given that perhaps Melissa feels the same for him too. “Ooo, is it Gary?” You tease.

Melissa shakes her head quickly. “No, that’s not- he’s not-”

“Oh! My bad, sorry.” You apologize but she denies this apology, saying that there’s nothing to apologize for.

The next moments were filled with comfortable silence, as you then start humming to the next song playing.

Don’t you dare look at me that way; I don’t need reminders of how you don’t feel the same.

─────────

Shortly afterwards, you arrived at Melissa’s place, seeing the beautiful interior displayed right in front of you. She looks at you adoring her house, with only the luminescence of the neighboring houses and the moon lighting up your face. “Beautiful.” Melissa compliments.

She leads you to the door, unlocking it while you stand behind her, carrying the file folder and your bag. You’re greeted by a well decorated living room and several photo frames across the walls and the side tables. “You can just place your things on the couch and I’ll whip us up something to eat for dinner and maybe a snack while grading. That sound good?”

You nod in response, carefully placing your things on the couch that’s still covered by plastic, but that’s okay. It’s very Melissa, quite as you think.

“You know, Schemmenti, you’re all heart and passion.” You say, following her to the kitchen. Melissa manages to short circuit after what you just said, trying to mentally fix her composure.

“Flattery doesn’t work around here. Sorry, Sweetheart.” She shakes her head with a soft chuckle before turning to you and leaning on the counter. “And besides, you’re not helping in the kitchen, but you can sit there and look pretty.”

Compliments like these are common between you and Melissa. Both of you appreciate and care for each other’s everything; even when Melissa’s stress and temper gets a hold of herself, or when you go quiet from being too overwhelmed. “Funny, but I do need to fix this face.” You point at the several faded marks of makeup on your face, making Melissa walk towards you and offer to take you upstairs where the bathroom is.

She points to the bathroom then leaves you there, with the idea going across her mind that you probably don’t have any spare clothes to change into to be able to sleep comfortably. Due to this, while you’re getting yourself clean in the bathroom, Melissa gets an old Eagles shirt that she found in her closet and a pair of sweats she never uses. She knocks on the bathroom door with the clothes hanging on one of her arms. “I got you some clothes, hon.” She says, and you reply to her with thanks. “Just let me know if you need anything.”

“Thank you so much, Mel.” You open the door and thank her, carefully taking the neatly folded clothes from her arm.

You soon finish freshening up, looking at yourself all fixed up in the mirror with the change of clothes on. The Eagles shirt smells exactly the way Melissa does, and you take it in, feeling as though she’s with you right now. The scent fills you with comfort and warmth you don’t want to stop feeling.

Upon arriving at the kitchen, you’re greeted with a quick meal that Melissa made that’ll surely fill you up for the evening. You wonder how long you took in the bathroom because Melissa is already in a different set of clothes with, just as you thought, her hair in a loose bun. She sees you and the only thought that comes across her mind is ‘Damn’ There was just something about seeing you in her clothes, in her kitchen, even in her car, that felt so domestic. It’s the same thing she feels every time she offers to pick you up from somewhere or when you have lunch ‘dates’ where it’s just the two of you; or when sometimes she asks you to go to the farmer’s market with her, and you ask her to go to music stores and bookstores with her.

Now, you’re here in her house. You’re staying over for the weekend, and she can’t help but just keep herself from getting too attached to the idea of a domestic life with you.

“That looks delicious!” You exclaim, walking towards the counter where Melissa had already set up two stools and two sets of plates.

“You look delicious.” She blurts out which makes you burst out laughing, in mind that she was probably just joking around like always. You playfully punch Melissa’s shoulder, and if anyone were to ever do that to her, she would probably punch them harder, but she only looks at you with her brows furrowed.

You shake your head, “I thought flattery doesn’t work around here.” You sit across Melissa from the counter where you both prepare to eat. It’s filled with silence, before she clears her throat and tells you.

“Delicious doesn’t say it all.” Melissa shrugs, wanting you to take the flirty compliment.

After exchanging a few laughs with each other over dinner, you stop to look at Melissa who just finished laughing at something you said. “I like this side of Melissa Ann Schemmenti.” You rest your chin on your palm, elbow flat on the table with your eyes only to hers. “Anyone who would have the chance to be with you is lucky enough to experience what it feels to have a domestic life with you.” You say without thinking of what this might cause to the aura in the room.

“Well, um, not that it matters when I say it.” You say, feeling your palms grow sweaty by the clock. “I think a domestic and simple life with a partner I love is just a really incredible thing, I mean, I would want that kind of life to be mine. Not that I’m assuming that it’s the same thing you want, of course.” You smile apologetically.

“You think about it a lot?” Melissa asks, intrigued to know more and yet still going back to what you previously said about her. Even though she knows she has feelings for you, it still sits in the back of her mind that she may not be fond of marriage. Especially with things during and after Joe, she’s not sure when, but she knows she’s not ready for anything other than a relationship. No marriage, no union or anything.

But why is it that when she thinks of you, she thinks of marriage? She thinks of a life where she wakes up with you on her side. She gets ready in front of her vanity with your reflection in the mirror adoring her from behind. Walking hand in hand around every corner of town. Giving each other flowers just because you felt like it. Taking care of each other when one’s sick. Talking about everything and nothing at night.

“Marriage? Not a lot, but settling with someone I love? Of course.” You like the topic of it all. You love love; how it’s always there, how it doesn’t always have to be a person, that it can grow in places or on people you don’t expect. To love and be loved is what you want, and have always wanted. “I want to one day be loved. To be held, heard. Be sappy and all. To wake up and do the littlest of things. It doesn’t matter if it’s only a quiet day at home or looking through the grocery list while the sounds of the washing machine bustle in the background.” After that brief monologue, you catch Melissa’s eyes.

“You never know.” She gives you that reassuring and hopeful smile. “That person might just be the one in front of you after all.” Melissa sees the way your expression changes from sentimental to a confused furrowed look that made her eyes widen upon realizing what she had just said.

This makes you think for a bit, your brain split in half. Is she just being helpful with the conversation or is she confessing something. She waits for a response quietly as the two of you silently sit across each other. Does she regret saying this? Is she overthinking things?

“I hope so.” You respond nervously. “Are you saying what I hope you’re saying?” She takes her hand out on the table, hoping for yours to hold hers and you do so.

“I want it to be me.” She holds your hand softly.

“Oh.” The only word that came out of you, not being able to process things immediately. Until this registers in mind. “Oh.” You’re clueless as to how to respond. “I need to pinch myself.” You say before standing up, in which Melissa lets out a soft laugh. “Jesus Christ.” You mumble to yourself.

Melissa stands up to tidy the table, but all you can do is freeze in place. Perhaps this is what really happens when your mind short circuits. She puts the used dishes properly in the sink, before wiping her hands clean where she then walks to stand near you, the counter facing your back as she is now standing in front of you. Only the surface of the counter and Melissa in between your body, with only a shorter distance between herself and you. She walks closer, making you walk back, but the edge of the counter is now sticking to your lower back. Both of her hands are placed on either side of the counter behind you.

You clear your throat, only able to look her right in the eyes. Her lips were right there, ready for you to lean in closer just to feel what you’ve always wanted to feel. Her. The risk is for you to take. No, for the both of you to take.

“May I kiss you?” Before you could receive a vocal response, you feel her lips coming in closer onto yours. With closed eyes, Melissa’s hands make their way up to your hips, then to your waist, which slightly lifts up the shirt you were wearing; and so the coolness of your untouched waist was cooled from her fingertips.

A smile grows from your lips, returning it. The world feels as though it froze around the two of you. She pulls away only to look at you and your stunned and lovesick reaction, not wanting the moment to end before kissing you again. A groan escapes her lips, relief and excitement. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this.” Melissa mumbles in between kisses.

You swoop in and place both of your hands on her cheeks, feeling the warmth of her face on your palms. She takes a short step back as you lean more into the kiss, giving a light bite on her lower lip where she then smiles softly. “You’re the most beautiful person I have ever seen.” You whisper close to her, feeling her pull you closer by the waist. You’re smitten, and finally, she knows.

Your hands find themselves on Melissa’s shoulders as she pulls you in for a tight hug, her arms snaking around your waist as you rest your head on the crook of her neck.

The world froze around us, you kissed me good night.

[yourlocaldisneyvillain]

a little treat (nsfw)

AO3 link

Summary: Larissa decides to treat herself to a massage. ;)

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

♥ please do not hesitate to leave me a comment on ao3 if you feel so inclined -- it makes my heart sing ♥

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It’s 10am and Larissa can’t focus for the life of her.

She’s wound too tight, her shoulders are achey, she has a throbbing headache and she feels a deep discomfort in the pit of her stomach. It’s the final month of the winter semester, and the stress is really getting to her. Wednesday’s latest stunt caused more grey hairs to appear on her temples and everybody seems to be on her case — the mayor, the parents, the teachers, the students. 

She needs a fucking vacation.

She can’t afford to take a vacation — the school would collapse without her. Wednesday would probably burn it to the ground if Larissa took a single day off. 

She could, however… perhaps… maybe… take an afternoon off. Nobody has to know. It would be just one afternoon — it could even be today. She desperately needs to unwind somehow. 

But what should she do? Just… take a nap? Is she even physically capable of taking a nap? She doubts it — she’s far too anxious for it. She’d just end up working again.

She arches her back, cracks her neck. Her shoulders are terribly stiff. 

Perhaps she should get a massage.

She’s never had a massage before. She never seems to find the time for something like that, and quite honestly, she always thought it a waste of money. However, her shoulders don’t seem to share her opinion — they might just petrify if she continues to live like this.

She googles massage places nearby. There appear to be plenty — but one in particular sticks out. People seem to love it. It has many reviews, all of which are excellent.

"really REALLY enjoyed my massage :) 10/10"   "Ask for Tilly when you come if you like gentle hands. Fantastic experience."   "The Best message place……. reccommend…….."   "I’m a regular here. I always leave satisfied. Highly recommend."   "my first time getting a massage like this.. but i loved it!"

Before she knows it, Larissa is calling the massage place and booking an appointment, and, fortunately, they seem to have an opening this afternoon. The woman on the phone asks her if she wants a regular massage and informs her that they only have female masseuses — Larissa finds that a bit odd, but thinks nothing of it. She just wants her massage. A regular one — whatever the hell that means.

She spends the rest of her day working and anxiously waiting for the time to leave. She answers parents’ phone calls, deals with insufferable teenagers, schedules an appointment with the Mayor for tomorrow afternoon — her headache gets worse when she thinks about how she’ll have to debase herself, grovel and beg for more funding. She, however, ignores most of her emails, despite the angry red notifications popping up on the app annoying her to no end. She makes a pact with herself to look at those after the massage.

The time to go finally arrives — she lets out a sigh of relief as she locks her office and goes to exit the school building. She loves Nevermore, but you can get sick even of your favourite things if you look at them every day. 

She gets in the car, ignores the phone that buzzes incessantly, new emails arriving every couple of minutes. The massage will need to be out of this world if she wants to forget about all this stress — and she doubts it will be. She already regrets doing this — it will probably be a waste of time and money. She wonders if she’s capable of relaxing at this point. Does she even remember what being relaxed feels like?

She's lost in thought as she drives to the massage place. She thinks about emails that need to be answered, anxiety pooling in her stomach, and listens to the robotic voice of her phone navigation — before she knows it, she’s already arrived. 

She parks the car and enters the establishment — the place seems decent. A young, cheerful receptionist greets her as she approaches the desk.

“I have a 5 o’clock appointment,” she says, not bothering with a greeting. She thinks about her emails.

The receptionist checks her laptop, and Larissa checks out her cleavage. She considers the outfit a bit inappropriate for the workplace, but Larissa isn’t one to complain about a pleasant view. However, if any of her employees dressed like that, she’d have a word with them. 

“Ah, yes, I have you right here. Miss Weems, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“A regular massage, is it?”

What is it with these people and their “regular” massages? What even is a “regular” massage? And does that imply there’s such a thing as an “irregular” massage?

She doesn’t, however, ask any of those questions — instead she just says yes and impatiently taps her fingers on her purse. She wants to be done with this as quickly as possible so she can return to Nevermore. She’s getting quite fidgety. What if she returns and finds the school in ruins?

“Alright. You can always change your mind during, you know that,” the receptionist says and Larissa ignores her, still tapping her fingers on her purse. 

“You can go inside and get comfortable. Your masseuse will be with you shortly.”

Larissa just curtly nods and goes to the massage room, eager to get this over with. She anxiously checks her phone. She has 36 unanswered emails. She feels nauseous. Maybe this was a bad idea — maybe she shouldn’t have taken an afternoon off. God knows what Wednesday will do if she realises Larissa left the school grounds. She then remembers her appointment with the Mayor tomorrow and her stomach churns. She has to think about how to best present her case — balance the grovelling with the persuading, and maybe throw in a bit of flirting for good measure…

Her mind is racing. She eyes the emails again. Maybe if she just responds to a couple of urgent ones… it will take a minute or two at most — and then she can undress.

She responds to three emails — none of which are truly urgent, but should probably be addressed sooner rather than later — when she hears a knock on the door that brings her back to reality, and she realises she’s still dressed. 

She opens her mouth, wants to ask for five more minutes, but the door opens before she can speak and the prettiest young woman Larissa has ever seen enters the massage room. 

“Hi! Miss Weems, I presume?” she asks. 

Larissa drops her phone on the ground and swears out loud.

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You enter the massage room and the first thing you see is a tall, gorgeous, blonde woman in her forties, still fully dressed. You’re a bit confused — doesn’t she know how this works?

“Hi!” you say. “Miss Weems, I presume?”

The woman drops her phone on the ground. 

“Fuck,” she says, and immediately covers her mouth, as if surprised by her own reaction. “Fuck,” she repeats. “Yes. Sorry.” She bends down to pick up the phone.  

She — Miss Weems — is, by all accounts, rather odd — the tallest woman you’ve ever seen, dressed like a 1940s movie star, with hair so blonde it’s almost white pinned in an intricate updo, swearing instead of a greeting (to be fair, she has the most beautiful, velvety voice and a British accent that would probably make anything she says sound sensual and sophisticated), apparently unaware you have to be undressed for a massage.

You are immediately enamoured with her. 

“I can give you a couple more minutes,” you say as you watch her fumble with her phone, shoving it in her purse. “You do kind of need to be undressed for this.”

“I'm sorry, I seem to have lost track of time — I just needed to respond to a couple of emails. They were quite urgent.”

“That’s alright, Miss Weems, but we do have a limited amount of time.”

You have no one scheduled for another half an hour after her, and for this woman, you’d gladly cut your break short — but you don’t say that, deciding to remain professional. 

“I apologise,” she says, taking off her coat. “My head seems to be elsewhere. I’ll undress in a moment.”

“You can leave it on the hanger there,” you say. “I’ll leave you to it, I can give you another ten minutes.”

“Oh no, we shouldn’t waste time,” she says. She strides across the room, hips swaying in the tight skirt, to put her coat on the hanger. A pleasant scent of subtle, citrusy perfume reaches you as she passes by you. “I’ll undress in a moment.”

She hangs the coat, then pauses, turning towards you. “Do I need to… fully undress?”

She seems a bit nervous. You find her confidence and charisma mixed with clumsiness and nervousness absolutely irresistible. 

“People generally do, but you can undress to your comfort level. You’ve booked the regular massage, haven’t you?”

“I’ve been asked that about a dozen times today. Yes, I’ve booked the regular massage,” she says, sounding annoyed as she unbuttons her shirt. 

“We're required to double-check. Just know that if you change your mind during, we charge a higher fee.”

Larissa ignores you. You have a feeling this woman can be a handful. 

You don’t mind.

You try not to be creepy and stare at her chest as she takes her shirt off, so you go fumble with the massage oils, even though you already have everything ready.

She shimmies out of her skirt, and you can’t resist — you stare at her long legs, clad in nude stockings that are held up with garters. Who even wears garters nowadays? And why does she look so hot in them? 

As she undoes the garters and pulls her stockings down, your eyes drift from her legs to her lacy underwear. Your throat is suddenly dry.

Small talk would probably be a good idea. You have to remain professional.

“So, this is your first time getting a massage?"

"Is it that obvious?" she asks, giving you a pretty, practiced smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. You can tell her mind is elsewhere.

"How come you’ve never had one before?”

“Oh, I’ve just never really had the time. But the back pain has really been getting to me lately. I’ve been feeling rather stressed.”

You can believe that — despite being absolutely stunning, the woman is as stiff as a stick. You can tell the woman hasn’t relaxed in decades. Her shoulders and neck appear rigid, her jaw seems to be perpetually clenched, and she wasn’t even able to put her phone aside for five minutes to undress for a massage. 

“Oh? Is your job usually stressful or is it just a rough period for you?”

She scoffs. “I think it suffices to say my job requires me to deal with teenagers on a daily basis.”

“That does sound stressful,” you say, deciding not to pry further. You need to shift the conversation away from her job — get her to relax. “I'll try my best to make you forget all about that today, Miss Weems.”

“I do hope you manage that, darling, but I’m afraid I’m a tough case. And no offence, but how much experience do you have with this?” She flashes you a bright smile — it reads as condescending. It pisses you off — and turns you on. “You seem awfully young. Are you in college?”

Definitely more than you since this is your first massage, you want to say, but instead you decide to be polite. “I’ve had sufficient training. And yes, I’m in my last year of college.”

“I must tell you, I’m not sure I believe a massage could relax me — but I’m willing to give it a go, since I’ve already put the time aside for it.”

Oh, you’re never the one to back away from a challenge.

“I hope to change your mind then, Miss Weems.”

She gives you a saccharine, patronising smile, but says nothing.

You’d like nothing more than to fuck that smile off of her face.

You no longer bother averting your gaze as she removes her bra (a sheer, lacy thing that doesn’t cover much anyway) and reveals small, beautiful breasts. Your immediate thought is they’re the perfect size to put in your mouth. 

No matter if you’re attracted to your clients or not, you are always professional — you’re here to provide a service that you’re well payed for. You always manage to keep your own feelings and thoughts hidden and under control. 

It isn’t every day, however, that you have an actual goddess on your massage table — and one who challenged you, saying you couldn't possibly help her relax. Oh, how you wish she hadn’t chosen the regular massage… 

Suddenly, a devious thought pops up in your mind. You could… entice her a bit during the massage. Make her want it.

She appears a bit self-conscious walking to the massage table clad only in nude lacey underwear, her cheeks flushed a pretty pink, but she keeps her head high and shoulders back, channeling confidence you aren’t sure she actually possesses. She’s still a vision, however, self-conscious or not. You watch her thighs and ass jiggle as she walks and it’s the most erotic thing you’ve seen in a while. 

Should you do it?

She climbs onto the table — she struggles to do it elegantly, as she’s a bit tall for it. You somehow find that very cute. Her ass jiggles as she finally settles face down on the table. You resist the urge to slap it. 

Oh, fuck it. It’s your last week on the job anyway.

You smirk as you rub the oil between your palms, warming it up. 

You’re going to play dirty.

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Larissa tenses up as she feels soft, warm hands touch her shoulder blades. She isn’t used to people touching her. And to be quite honest, it’s been quite a while since she was naked (or almost naked) in front of anybody. She feels vulnerable.

“Allow yourself to relax, Miss Weems. This is your time.”

Her time — she hasn’t had an hour to herself in… who knows how long. She wants to relax, but it’s just so hard and…

Oh. 

She lets out a groan as the girl presses on just the right spot. Oh, that feels good. 

“Does that feel good, Miss Weems?” 

She hears the smugness in her voice, and she’s tempted to say no just to be spiteful, but then she presses on that good spot again and Larissa melts into the massage table.

“Mhmmm,” Larissa manages to utter. 

“Oh? I thought you were hard to please, Miss Weems.”

Now the girl is just being cheeky.

“In my school I punish the smug students when they talk back to me,” she breathes out and then moans as the masseuse finds another spot that makes her brain go fuzzy.

“Oh, you’d like to punish me? That’s kinky.”

Well. This seems to be going in a… direction. Not that Larissa would mind if the situation was different — she’s very much attracted to the girl — but this isn’t that sort of massage place…

….right?

“Are you… allowed to talk to me like that?” Larissa asks.

“Well, if you upgrade to the erotic massage, I can talk to you however you’d like. I could tell you how I’d like you to punish me. Or anything else you want, for that matter.”

Oh. So that’s why everyone kept checking if she wants the regular massage. And why the woman on the phone made sure to inform her they only have female masseuses available. And why the upgrade was so much more expensive.

The masseuse ventures a bit further down Larissa’s back, warm hands slick with oil gliding over her skin until they reach the band of her underwear. She rubs little circles around the edge of the fabric, sticking her thumbs underneath it, teasing, but not going further, and then going upwards again, following the line of Larissa’s spine. Her feather-light touch makes Larissa shiver. 

It’s been some time since Larissa was touched like that — couple of years, for sure. Four? No. Six? Oh, heavens. How has it already been that long? She’s just always so busy, and one night stands require so much effort, and dating requires even more, and…

Larissa’s brain is empty as the pretty masseuse runs her hands up her legs and starts to massage her buttocks, oiling them up, squeezing and kneading. Larissa moans quite loudly, and immediately feels her face go red with embarrassment at the sound she just produced. 

“I…”

“Of course, there’s no obligation,” the masseuse says, rubbing circles with her thumbs just where Larissa’s buttocks meet her legs. Larissa feels heat pool in her core. “You can have the regular massage.”

“And what does an… erotic,” she stumbles over the word, “massage usually imply?”

“It implies sensual touching, dirty talk, if you want, and we do offer mutual touch for a higher price. Oh, and we guarantee an orgasm.”

Larissa scoffs. “You guarantee it? That’s confident.”

Suddenly she feels hot breath on her ear. She shivers.

“Let’s make a deal, Miss Weems — if you don’t finish, I don’t charge you anything.”

Larissa hears herself speak before she’s aware she even made a decision. 

“Deal.”

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You glance at the clock as Larissa accepts your proposal. You have 40 minutes — that should be plenty of time. Worst case scenario, you extend the appointment into your break. 

You don’t know what it is about this woman, but you yearn to make her come undone. She’s wound so tight, seems to be some sort of a sick workaholic, and yet you can sense the suppressed desire radiating off of her. It’ll be a special pleasure to make her lose her composure. 

You rub her shoulders and back, trying to relax her as much as you can, finding the spots that make her moan, venturing lower and lower on her back.

“Can I take these off?” you ask, lightly pulling on her underwear. 

“Yes,” she says, and lifts up her hips to help you slide it off of her.

You fold her underwear, putting it to the side, but not before noticing the distinct wet spot on it. 

“I will undress — is that alright with you?” you ask.

“Yes,” she breathes out as you massage her lower back and buttocks. There’s a spot that makes her shiver when you run your hands over it — you make sure to repeat the motion, and you are rewarded with a loud moan. 

“Be aware you can revoke consent at any time,” you recite the obligatory line as you strip naked swiftly and efficiently. You do a quick job of rubbing oil on your breasts and stomach and then climb onto the massage table, straddling her legs and pressing your body against hers. She lets out a high pitched moan as you rub your breasts along her back.

“You said something about punishment, Miss Weems? Tell me, do you prefer good girls or bad girls?” you ask as you slide your hardened nipples against her oiled back.

“Fuck,” Larissa groans.

“Or do you prefer being called a good girl yourself?.”

Larissa whines.

“Do you like that, Miss Weems? Wanna be a good girl for me?”

“I— fuck,” she groans as you start running your palms over her thighs, squeezing and caressing, getting closer to her chore with each stroke.

“Is this alright? Be aware you can revoke consent at any time.”

“Yes,” she says.

“So you want to be a good girl, hm?” you say as you finally brush your thumbs against her core. Despite the slick massage oil, you can tell she’s wet. She spreads her legs as you touch her.

“Yes,” she says, quietly — as if she has a hard time admitting it.

“Will you turn for me?” 

You help her turn on her back beneath you. Her blue eyes are dark with desire, pupils blown wide, and a few stray hairs are sticking out of her updo. She is flushed in her face and chest, which somehow renders her milky, freckled skin even more attractive. 

“Good girl,” you say as you quickly grab more oil and rub it between your palms. She blushes a deeper shade of red.

“I just have to say that I don’t usually… do this,” she says.

Sometimes people feel the need to justify themselves, especially if it’s their first time having an experience like this — and even more so if they’re indulging in a fantasy they consider embarrassing or dirty — no matter if it’s something as common and innocent as being called a good girl.

You rub oil around her breasts and on her stomach. You feel her getting self-conscious, tensing up, glancing around nervously and fidgeting. 

“What a pity,” you say, palming her breasts, making her gasp, “that a pretty thing like you doesn’t know how to let herself be worshipped. You’ve been so good, worked so hard — you deserve to be taken care of.”

She produces a quiet whine — she seems to like that. Good. You’re back on track.

“Relax for me, that’s it,” you say, making sure to arch your back prettily, providing a nice view for her as you massage her breasts. You can feel she's slowly relaxing under your touch. “Good girl,” you praise her and run your thumbs over her nipples at the same time. She lets out a throaty moan. 

“Is it okay if I use my mouth?” you ask, lowering your head to her chest that's slightly heaving under your touch.

“Yes,” she says with a hoarse voice. You leave a trail of kisses across her chest, the oil greasing your lips, before you take her right nipple in your mouth and suck on it. She keens and her hands immediately fly to your head to press you harder against her chest.

“Fuck, sorry,” she breathes out. “Can I do that?”

“Yes,” you say. “Want me to suck harder?”

“Yes — ah — and bite, please — mmmm, fuck,” she mewls as you suck and bite on her nipple while you pinch the other one with your hand. You use your free hand to caress her torso, her hips, knead the soft flesh on the side of her upper thigh.

“Such a good girl,” you murmur against her breast, taking her hard nipple between your teeth. “Asking for what you want. Is there anything else you want, hm? Or like?”

You run your hand in the inside of her thigh, teasing.

“I, ah… I like… dirty talk,” she manages to say between moans as you bite on her nipple and gently run your fingers through her folds — she’s soaked.

It isn’t a common thing for you to be so turned on by a client — it’s just a job, after all — but the feeling of Larissa’s wetness on your fingers, her wanton, broken moans, her slow, but certain relinquishing of control… it’s just so delicious. You want to fuck this woman every day. 

You kiss your way upwards to her neck and plant a hot kiss on her jaw. “Is this okay?” you whisper into her ear. She nods.

“I need you to be a good girl and use your words,” you murmur. Your obligatory line is “I need verbal consent” — but Larissa inspires you to be creative with it. 

“Yes,” she says with a breathy voice.

“So you like dirty talk, hm? You’d like me to tell you how hot and wet your cunt is against my fingers? And how much it will turn me on to fuck you?” you whisper, spreading her wetness across her clit, making her gasp and buck her hips into your hand. 

“Yesyesyes, please fuck me,” she whines, rolling her hips into your hand. “Fuck me like you’d fuck a dirty slut.”

You feel heat pooling in your own core at her words — and at the idea of fucking this uptight woman like a dirty slut.

You slowly slide a finger inside of her, curling it, and she spreads her legs further. She looks absolutely magnificent like this, flushed, chest heaving, eyes closed, mouth agape and head thrown back, all spread out for you, begging to be ravished. You start pumping your finger in and out — slowly, curling it inside — and she grabs your back and pushes you closer to her. Her gaze is hazy and hooded as she looks at you. “Harder,” she rasps, and the sheer lust in her voice makes you shiver. You go harder. 

Her moans are becoming louder as you continue to fuck her, and you decide to add a second finger. “Fuckyes,” she groans and moves her hips to meet your thrusts.

“You look so pretty while I fuck you like a dirty slut,” you say, voice breathy with exertion. “Such a good girl. You look so hot.”

She whines and tangles her hands into your hair. You wouldn’t usually let a client do that — but you let her. 

“Add another finger,” she says with a husky voice. She throws her head back and moans as you slip a third finger inside of her, then pushes your head towards her chest. You suck and bite on her nipples, alternating between both breasts as you fuck her hard and fast, making sure to angle your palm so it hits her clit every time you pound into her.

“Go harder,” she pants. Your hand kind of hurts at this point, but you oblige. The pain is immediately forgotten as you feel her starting to clench around your fingers.

“Your cunt feels so good around my fingers,” you murmur before sucking on her nipple.

“Fuckfuckfuuuck,” she whines as you pound into her. You can sense she’s very close. She’s bucking her hips into your hand and digging her nails into your shoulders, and her moans are becoming higher in pitch. You make sure not to falter in your movements, keeping a hard and steady pace, and soon her moans become high-pitched whines and intelligible swearwords.

“Be a good girl and come for me.”

As you say it, she grabs your hair, pulls your face up towards herself and kisses you.

Usually, you’d pull away if a client did that.

You don’t pull away.

It’s a hot, sloppy kiss, and she cries out into your mouth and closes her thighs around your hand as you fuck her through her orgasm. She spasms with the aftershocks and you can taste her cries of pleasure and her hot breath in your mouth. It’s raw and filthy and erotic.

You slowly pull your fingers out of her as she comes down from her high, her breathing slowing down, her grip on your faltering. She's putty in your hands, completely relaxed. 

You stay like that for a moment. Her eyes are closed, her chest still heaving. Your hand hurts, but you don’t care.

You glance at the clock — three minutes to spare. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, opening her pretty blue eyes. Her mascara is smudged. She looks absolutely ravishing, thoroughly fucked and flushed. “Do I have to go? What time is it?”

“No,” you say. “Take your time.”

She smiles nervously. You can tell she doesn’t know what do say or do — and to be honest, for the first time since you’ve started this job, you don’t really know either.

“Take your time, calm down, and then I’ll help you clean yourself up. I have half an hour to spare. I don’t want you to rush. I don’t charge extra for that.”

She nods, and closes her eyes. You stay like that for a couple of minutes — you rub hear arms, gently and reassuringly. 

“Well,” she says after minutes of silence, and smirks. She opens her eyes. “You won the bet. I’m pretty relaxed right now.”

You both laugh. 

The cleanup process is not as awkward as you expect it to be. The silence is somehow pleasant, rather than awkward. When you're both dressed and Larissa is heading towards the door, makeup freshly reapplied and her updo redone, she nervously glances towards you.

“So, uh, if I were to… come again,” she says, then pauses, and you can see her wincing at herself for the accidental pun, “would I be able to, um, I suppose, make sure you will, uh—”

“It’s my last week here.”

“Oh.”

She stands at the door awkwardly. “It’s been…” she pauses, glances nervously around the room, clearly struggling to find words. After a couple of moments, she finally meets your gaze, and you shiver under the intensity of it. 

“Thank you,” she says, her voice clear and genuine. You can tell she means it.

She turns to leave, but you stop her. 

“Wait,” you say. She waits, watches you grab a piece of paper from the side table and scribble on it. You approach her, awkwardly extending your arm, giving her the paper.

“My number,” you say, looking up at her.

She takes it. The corners of eyes crinkle in the loveliest way as she smiles at you before leaving.

She calls you a week later.

[laurasimonsdaughter]

For someone who had, in a span of one hour, managed to do their first magical fire spell and acquire their first serious magical injury, Violet thought little Hümeyra was doing extremely well. They had even stopped sniffling, although that might be purely because the Magical Accident and Emergency waiting room was filled with so many distractions that they had forgotten about their own painful hand. Violet made a mental note to warn Hümeyra’s parents they’d probably have a lot of questions later. On how exactly one might give themselves fox ears, for instance, as the annoyed looking teenager across the room seemed to have done. Or what might cause someone’s fingers to drip drops of liquid light all over the floor, like the apologetic elderly man seated in the corner. But right now, as long as these questions would not be posed to her, she was content to let Hümeyra sneakily gawk at everything while clinging to her arm with their non-injured hand. It wasn’t too bad a burn, luckily. Violet had taken the time to make sure of that.

“Just take a seat, a specialist will be with you as soon as possible.”

“No hurry, I’m used to it.”

Violet looked up mostly because of the voice of the nurse – she was rather hoping Hümeyra could be seen to soon – but the young woman that followed the nurse in was a startling enough appearance for her to temporarily join Hümeyra in their staring. She made a rather striking appearance, but whatever had happened to her had left her with a nasty gash on the left side of her head. Instead of bleeding, however, it was streaking translucent blue down her temple, mostly sticking to her skin, but seeming to partially evaporate into pale mist at the edges. It didn’t look good. It certainly didn’t look like something anyone should be “used to”.

The woman made her way over on heavy, muddy combat boots, and let herself fall into a vacant chair. She had kept one chair empty between her and Hümeyra, but that didn’t stop them from peeking at her. It didn’t stop Violet either, but she hoped she was at least doing it more subtly than her pupil. Instead of doing the customary blank stare into empty space everyone else in the waiting room seemed to be employing, the woman turned a pair of lively, light brown eyes in their direction and gave Hümeyra a lopsided grin.

“Hi there,” she nodded, draped in the narrow chair with far too much ease. “What are you in for?”

“I set myself on fire,” Hümeyra explained helpfully, showing off the nearly perfectly round burn mark on her palm.

The woman whistled, making her eyes comically large. “You did a thorough job of that. Do you think they’ll have to take it off?”

Violet turned around in startled indignation, but before she could even open her mouth Hümeyra let out a derisive scoff:

“Of course they’re not taking my hand off.”

“No?” the woman said and for a moment that crooked grin flashed back onto her face as her eyes darted up to Violet’s for a second.

“No,” Hümeyra said decidedly. “Violet said it was going to be fine. And she knows everything.”

The brown eyes twinkled a little brighter and Violet hastily focussed all her attention on Hümeyra again. “Does she really, how come?”

Violet couldn’t quite see Hümeyra’s face, but she was well aware what sort of expression seven-year-olds treat people to when they feel they are being particularly uninformed. “She’s a teacher.”

“Really.” The woman raises her hands in complete acquiescence. “Well, then it’s her job to know, isn’t it.”

“Exactly,” Hümeyra nodded, satisfied in their victory. “And besides, your face looks much worse than my hand and you don’t seem worried they’re going to cut it off.”

“Honestly, Hümeyra!” Violet exclaimed, but the woman was snickering into the collar of her leather jacket, not in the least disturbed.

“No need, Ms Violet, no need. Your student displays astute observational and reasoning skills. You should be very proud.”

[Read the rest of Magical Accidents (3k one-shot) on AO3.]

[theworldoffostering]

The director of special education did not show up to our IEP this week. It made the meeting a whole lot less contentious. It didn’t hurt that they assigned a much more experienced teacher to DS and our advocate showed up and kept everyone in line. Should it take that much work/effort/stress? Absolutely not! I will never understand how anyone is getting services if we cannot with all of the privileges we have personally been afforded.

DH and I talked to Ms. 6 this week. It could be worse, but it’s not great. She bought herself a car or someone else did, but it seems no one cares if she has insurance (legally required). I told her to call and get some quotes. She has not.

She has a boyfriend she met online that no one has vetted. He’s older (no idea how much older) as he has his own place. He lives three hours away in a neighboring state, but Ms. 6 couldn’t remember which city he lives in. She goes to see him on the weekends despite the fact that no one has met him or vetted him. It’s killing me! She was very vague on the details regarding what he does for a living.

Her car seems some basic repairs. Her grandpa has been a semi truck driver for decades. Hasn’t helped her with the repairs. Boyfriend is maybe some kind of mechanic but is unable to help with repairs. Mom is driving Ms. 6’s uninsured car and teaching Ms. 6 how to do donuts in it.

Ms. 6 said she applied to a PA program. When I pointed out that the PA program she applied for is a masters program (aren’t they all?) that cost $109k for the 28 month program, she seemed shocked and unimpressed. I did do a conference call with her and the high school this week to try to sort out her graduation.

Ms. 6 had knee surgery last week. I offered to be available and make the three hour drive to take her. She said her mom was taking her. The night before surgery her mom said she had to work and couldn’t take her. Grandma said she couldn’t take her because she had already take a sick day that week. Mom’s BF drove her, but apparently doesn’t like hospitals so he didn’t sit in the room and wait for Ms. 6 to be taken back to surgery. Surgery was pushed back several hours. Now mom doesn’t want to take her to the post-op appointment because the dogs have a vet appointment.

Post surgery, Ms. 6 was prescribed narcotics. Mom is an addict. Is she currently using? I have no idea but she used for at least a decade and has a conviction for cooking meth with the intent to sell. Kids were removed for many reasons including heroin use. Ms. 6 said the “oxy” isn’t managing her pain so she asked the nurse for something else AND an oxy refill. The pharmacist wouldn’t give both to mom. Mom told Ms. 6 it’s because they don’t have the same last name. I pointed out that I also don’t share the same last name as anyone in our family, and we were also recently denied a narcotic at the pharmacy. It is clear that no one that she has contact with lives in their thinking brains—they are all convinced that they are victims of one system or another.

Ms. 6 also quit her job. She said it was because they were making her do too much work.

Ms. 6 really wants contact with the other kids, particularly NB at this point. We have withheld that so far but can’t really articulate why. I think because it doesn’t feel healthy or good, and things don’t necessarily feel stable with her between DH and myself and her. I’ve talked to her a handful of times in the past month which are the first times I’ve spoken to her since she left in August. Anyone have experience in this area? Is it wrong for us to feel it out as parents before we open that relationship back up to siblings? It’s not my intention to use them as pawns, but it probably feels that way to Ms. 6. The kids here have not asked to see her, and DS and DD are actively continuing to say that they don’t want to have contact.

I’m trying to be something for her but that all feels very temporary and complicated right now. I sent her a small care package today via mail and am going to offer up some services for her like connecting her with colleges, but am trying to hold tight to a lot of boundaries at this point.

[doodlegirl1998]

Oh my god...

I just realized something about how some characters are treated, so I'm gonna quote Joshscorcher from one of his fails videos

"You aren't a person, you ARE a disability! You're not a human, you ARE a skin color! You're not alive, you ARE a checkbox!"

Doesn't that just fit some of the characters in BNHA to a T?

We got the crazy yandere! The hotheaded rival! The hardass teacher with a heart of gold! The black guy!

And of course! The disabled kid who magically gets cured to be like everyone else!

Hori seems to believe that if he just adds pieces of representation or tropes that people like, they will just eat it up without question.

Not even considering or bothering to think about actual backstory, personality, goals, likes or dislikes.

You know, things that make a character an actual character!

Hi @theloganator101 👋,

This fits how MHA treats it's characters to a T or at the very least they develop from Nuanced characters to a stereotype which is never what you want from a series. Also Hori even fails at fitting these characters into the cookie cutter molds he tries to contort them into at times.

Let's give a few examples based on what you have said above:

"Crazy Yandere and Token Bi" = Toga (which the LGBTQ fans of MHA should be offended by, because having a Yandere who is coded very creepily (yet also not condemned for her creepy behavior in general or how she groped Uraraka without consent) as prominent representation is not good...

"Sweet generic shonen love interest" = Uraraka (well this is what Hori intends for her with IzuOcha endgame even with how weakly its built in the series. And Uraraka herself denying her feelings for Izu and freely simping for Toga. I feel so sorry for Ocha fans, how she has been written with Toga is a complete mess.)

"Hardass Teacher with a heart of gold" = Aizawa (or this is what Hori intends for him realistically a lot of his actions under a critical lense read as malice at worse and negligence at best but go off about how he cares about his kids, Hori. Despite dropping a building on them and making them believe their parents are kidnapped by villains. Or the fact that he expelled tonnes of other students prior to 1A without a care - what makes 1A so special?)

"Hot headhead rival" = Bakugou... (Well this is meant to be him, narratively speaking, but rivals are meant to inspire and respect each other. Bakugou doesn't respect Izuku, Bakugou abuses Izuku and acts as his parasite. Bakugou brings Izuku down at every opportunity.)

"The 'token black/ blasian' characters" = Rumi and Rock Lock. (While I'd say Rock Lock is good black representation. Rumi... She's not my favourite. I like strong female characters but the way she's so aggressive and violence hungry as a hero - that rubs me the wrong way. Realistically, I could see her killing a villain by accident through use of excessive force. And I can't ignore that she's used as a stick for Hori's gore porn fetish which isn't a great look as one of Hori's few Blasian characters.)

"The disabled kid who gets magically cured to be like everyone else." - Midoriya Izuku. (You could say this is the case for All Might and Aoyama too but Izuku is the most prominent example as the main protagonist.) Izuku's story and the lack of how his backstory is touched on is one of the one that's the most upsetting parts of MHA to me. Personally, I have a disability and mine can't be fixed, while I accept and embrace it now, I didn't when I was Izuku's age. I would daydream about getting "fixed" and being like everyone else so I could fit in. As an adult, I have now achieved many things that I was told that I could not hope to ever be able to do - and I didn't need to be "fixed/ made normal" to do it. Instead, I worked my ass off to achieve those things.

Izuku's story would have been way more powerful if he trained relentlessly with All Might, stayed quirkless and achieved as much as his quirked peers.

OR, if he had to gain OFA, the cognitive dissonance between how he was treated then in his backstory vs now should heavily influence him. Either way, he should have grown out of "Kacchan" and told Bakugou, his bully and abuser, to fuck right off.

The fact that Izuku isn't allowed to think of his backstory or one negative thought of Kacchan severely limits him. And it's one of the things that has stunted him as a character. All Izuku is now is OFA 'generic shonen protagonist' who will save Shig and destroy All for One. What a waste.

TLDR - developing good characters is like nurturing a particularly fussy plant, you can put down the right soil (backstory) to get readers hooked but if you get lazy and don't water it regularly (develop plot points, think through what is in character rather than what you as the Author want them to do, have them show up regularly) it (the characters) will never grow.

[imabeautifulbutterfly]

Once Upon a Time on the Razor Crest

Summary: Din realizes his error

A/N: Hello lovelies,

I hope everyone has a lovely weekend. I got up at 4 this morning so I could go for an hour walk before I started the day and now I'm super exhausted. If some of this doesn't exactly make sense I do apologize. I'll review it again tomorrow when I get a chance.

I know the GIF isn't Din Djarin, but ... eh, who cares. LOL.

Love oo

Due to the past history of the OC there will be discussions alluding to past domestic abuse, please note that as it could be a trigger for some.

Warnings: Unwanted touching, manipulative personality, obsessive personality, apologizing, realizing anger directed at the wrong person, crying, grief, mentions of deceased person. I think that's about it, if I miss any warnings please let me know.

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Main Master List   |  Once Upon a Time on the Razor Crest

THE CRESTWORLD

CHAPTER FOUR

Din was ready to storm off, after listening to Ann defend herself. He hated that she had been so observant, and realized something did happen to him at the parent-teacher meeting. Honestly, he hadn’t realized how much it had bothered him, until she called him out on it. 

As much as he wanted to run off, and grab Grogu, something kept him frozen at the entrance to the kitchen. His hand rested against the doorframe, his back towards the kitchen. He knew he should apologize. She was right of course, it wasn’t her fault he’d been sensitive the last few mornings. 

It all had to do with that teacher, Estival. He’d known her for years. She’d been friends with Camilla ever since she moved into town to fulfil the teaching role.  

He admitted he noticed she’d always been extra friendly to him, but nothing more than just friends. Ever since Camilla passed away, she had reached out to him directly a couple of times, offering to help him, provide a meal or two for him and Grogu, but he never reciprocated or accepted her help. He never really felt comfortable with her, and now he knew why.

It never occurred to him, she would’ve tried to use Grogu as a means of getting closer to him. It became very clear, she was using Grogu, by the way she was treating him at the conference. It was eerie, as he watched her act like Grogu’s mother and be overly attentive. She even called him ‘son’ at one point.

He tried at first to justify her actions, but the more he watched how she was acting towards his son, the angrier he became. 

To realize he had allowed such a loathsome woman to be near his family, to allow her to teach his son, and who absolutely had no qualms about resting her hand on his inner thigh as she asked him to sit closer to her, so she could show some of Grogu’s work. He was shocked and disgusted by her attitude. Especially, when she tried to play the ‘I thought this is what you wanted’ card. He did the only thing he could that night, and told her that if she ever retaliated against Grogu because of his rejection, he would make sure everyone knew what kind of woman she was. He quickly left with Grogu in his arms, giving her one final warning before he headed home that night.

That night, for the fourth time since he lost Camilla he cried his eyes out as he fell asleep. He never knew there had been someone so abhorrent in Camilla’s life. He wondered what would’ve happened if she had lived … the thought alone made him feel unsettled. 

As he stood at the kitchen entrance, his eyes caught the picture of Camilla sitting on the front porch as her hand rested on her tiny bump, her pregnant belly just starting to show. She sat there while she read to Grogu. 

What made that night even worse, was the fact it would’ve been his and Camilla’s eleventh anniversary. 

He let out a deep sigh, his head tilted as he realized Ann had nothing to do with Estival. It wasn’t Ann’s fault she was here and Camilla wasn’t, or that he didn’t see the warning signs when it came to Estival. 

He slowly turned to look at her, she had her back to him as she was busy putting away the dishes that had been washed. She had been completely oblivious to his presence as she focused on her task.

“Sorry.”

I stopped moving as I heard his whispered voice, surprised to realize he was still there. I placed the dish in my hand on the counter, as I turned to look at him. He simply stood there looking at me, with barely any sort of reaction.

“Did you say something?”

He let out a sigh as he nodded his head slightly, he rubbed the back of his neck as he cleared his throat. “Yeah. I’m sorry … I mean … ahem! I apologize for saying what I said, and for being short with you. Not just today but … since that night.”

I nodded in appreciation, I took my time thinking about what I wanted to say in return. He looked as though he was racked with guilt, there was no point making a mountain out of an ant hill. Regardless of what was said, it was clearly evident he was dealing with something and it wasn’t my place to figure out what that was for him. 

“Thanks Din. I appreciate it.” 

I waited for him to say more or to continue the conversation but he just stood there, I turned my attention back to the dishes that needed to be dried and put away. I could still feel his eyes on me, it was as though he was waiting for me to say something. 

However, the sound of tiny feet rushing to my side broke the weird tension that had been settled in the kitchen. I stopped moving, when I felt a tiny hand pressed against my thigh. I smirked as I looked down to see that smiling face of the cutest boy around, “Bye, Annie”

I couldn’t help match his smile, surprised by his actions, that had been the first time he had touched me voluntarily. I kneeled down, so I could look Grogu in the eye, “Bye, sweetie. Have a good day at school” I ruffled the hair on top of his head, before he ran off to his father’s side. Din nodded his goodbye as he held Grogu’s hand as they headed towards the bus stop. 

I let out a sigh, something wasn’t sitting right with me about the way we had left things. 

I felt as though I needed to at least let Din know we were okay. It was about fifteen minutes later, when I heard Din’s footsteps come back into the house, I met him in the hallway, before he decided to head upstairs. 

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Main Master List   |  Once Upon a Time on the Razor Crest

@littlemisspascal@sprout-fics@liadamerondjarin @badbatch-simp24 @spicymcnuggies @lady-ren @firstofficerwiggles @darkangel4121 @discofern @kavecika @monako-jinn-stories @ladykatakuri @avathebestx @theroguesully @furyhellfire66 @carodealmeida @ciramaris @twinkofthedink @dindjarin-mandalorian @tortor-mcgee @sarcasmismyonlydefense24 @chiyo13

[chronicbeans]

I'm sorry if I'm bothering you but can I please ask for a yandere Ren from Persona 5 with a Yuutsu darling

And where he starts to grow attached to her and one day he confesses his feelings and she accepts but on the condition he'll marry her

Yuutsu is an OC of mine and you can find more information on her at my posts here on Tumblr I'm sorry if this sounds weird and you don't have to take this request if you don't want to

Of course! I'll try my best, since this is my first time writing for an OC that isn't my own. From what I could gather, she seems like a very soft-spoken and nice person, that is willing to put others over herself. If this isn't entirely accurate, I apologize!

Of course, just so everyone knows, Yuutsu belongs to the lovely @nunezs-stuff !

Yandere Ren Amamiya x Yuutsu (OC)

TW: Stalking, Mentions of Past Abuse, False Criminal Accusations, Bullying, Intimidation

It was entirely a coincidence that Ren met Yuutsu that day. Being extremely late to the first day of school does make it harder to properly meet your classmates, as well as secure a poor first impression, but Yuutsu seemed to not only be happy to meet him... But completely alright with his tardiness and the unsavory rumors floating about. A girl as soft-spoken as her having no problem with such a disturbing rumor about him was a shock, to say the least, for Ren. That, and the fact that she seemed to go out of her way at times to talk with him.

Asking how he is feeling, making sure the rumors aren't getting to him, and even asking for the truth from HIM. Not from the teachers, not from the other students, but the center of attention, himself. When he explained how the accusations against him were false, but he was still charged for the crime, he was sure Yuutsu wouldn't believe him... but she did. She did, and it struck a chord somewhere inside of him. An odd chord that made his heart flutter, as if a million pink butterflies made a home inside of it, and it was ready to burst at any moment.

Once that chord was struck, he started acting different. When the teachers would mention anything about her hair being dyed, he defended Yuutsu. She is expressing herself. Her outfits and hair hold no weight in whether or not she gets good grades, so why should it matter? She's doing well in school, as far as he knows, so it clearly isn't holding her back. Any student who says a thing wrong about her gets intimidated by him. Sure, he may not LOOK tough, but he has a criminal record. Even if Yuutsu knows that he didn't commit the crime, most of the other students don't. As far as they know, when they see him march up to them and give them a stern talking to, it's the equivalent of a thug approaching them to beat them down. No one will say a word about her, her interests, or anything else revolving around her on his watch.

Wherever Yuutsu goes, Ren follows. If the school schedule and Cafe Leblanc' opening and closing times don't get in the way, he will be there. In fact, he may even invite her to try out some of the coffee and curry at Cafe Leblanc. He doesn't see why not... It would save him the time of finding out her schedule, then finding her wherever she is at to go see her.

When he unlocks his persona and the ability to go into the Metaverse, everything gets worse. He now has a tool which could be used to get to know her, without having to follow her around. He'll do as much digging as the Metaverse let's him. Does Yuutsu have a shadow in the Metaverse? Does she have a palace? If so, what is it? What caused it? What can he learn about her from it?

It's at this point, Yuutsu most likely realizes that something is off. Ren looks more tired than usual. He seems to know more about her than he should. She never told him about what her parents did. About the horrible expectations they forced upon her, or what happened with her mother. Ren knows, however, having slipped up when trying to get her to relax and take a break from studying before she hurts herself. After having enough of... whatever was happening, she decides to confront him about it.

Sitting in a booth at Cafe Leblanc, she pops a question "Ren, we are friends, right? Can you tell me how you know about my parents. I don't remember telling you about them." Everything is silent, before she opens her mouth to repeat the question, wondering if he just didn't hear her. She's proven wrong, however, when Ren cuts her off.

"Look... Yuutsu, I know I'm not the most exciting guy. If anything, I'd say I'm pretty ordinary compared to a few of our classmates. I have my ways of figuring things out, however, that I can't really explain... If I tried, I am pretty sure you wouldn't believe me. I can tell you WHY I learned about your parents, though." He makes his way out from behind the counter, continuing to speak as he sits down across from her. "I love you. I love you so much. You are so kind, no matter what happens. You accept those that don't fit in with what society considers normal or decent. You dress how you want, act how you want, and pay no mind to those who tell you not to do that. I love you, so much, I can't even describe it. I think about you everyday, worrying about you, and try my best to do what I can to help you when you are in need. I love you, Yuutsu."

She tenses as he suddenly places his hand on top of hers, finishing his confession by saying "I wanted to make sure everything was okay at home. Now that I know the struggle you have gone through, alongside the fact that you have stayed so kind when some others let those experiences change them for the worst, I find you even more beautiful than before. Yuutsu, will you please be my girlfriend?"

There is a thick silence in the air. For a second, Ren fears the worst: she'll reject him- no, she'll FEAR him. She'll FEAR him like all the others in their school. However, she shocks him. Instead of saying something like "No... you're scaring me." or "Get away from me! How did you get that information?!", she looks him in the eyes, making a proposition.

"I'll be your girlfriend, if we get married in the future. The near future, preferably. Marriage is very important to me, so I want to make sure our priorities when it comes to our relationship don't conflict."

His eyes widen, a grin forming as he quickly responds "Of course! That's what I was hoping to hear, actually! I'd love to get married! Should we start planning now, so we can be prepared for when we can afford it? I'll even make a savings account for it. I love you so much, I can't wait to get married!"

[dopesotherstuff]

Things you shouldn't teach bullied kids...religion edition

Apologies to Christian friends, but this has to be said:

"Turn the other cheek" is a rancidly bad piece of advice to give young kids who are being bullied or abused. It's right down there in the toilet of bad ideas next to "just ignore them". Especially since kids take such advice literally and will end up defenseless, confused and even more damaged as a result.

Remaining passive in the face of bullying guarantees that the bully will continue, will escalate, and will probably invite others to join the fun. And they will. Because here's a target who doesn't fight back--who thinks GOD HIMSELF doesn't want her to fight back--and bullies never, ever stop once they find a good target.

At least, until they face real consequences. The consequences could be being roasted, humiliating pranks, getting in trouble (if you can find an adult willing to step in), or just straight up getting a punch in the teeth, but whatever they are, they need to happen. Otherwise, the bully will just keep taking pleasure in an innocent kid's suffering.

[Below is a screed about the consequences of expecting kids to act like holy martyrs instead of protecting themselves, and some advice for young folks trying to reconcile religious pacifism with the need to protect themselves. It's not an easy read and wasn't an easy write, but I'm hoping it will help someone.]

Meanwhile, the bullied kid, who just wants to do the right thing and please God, ends up traumatized, beaten down and wondering why God wants her to be so miserable. If she cries, prays, quotes the Bible, or explains her principles while being bullied, she will be bullied even harder. (Do you really believe that those little playground sociopaths care what God thinks?) And by the time they're done with her, she'll be going through religious trauma to go with the emotional and physical stuff, because the advice to endure and pray just made things worse.

After all, God's not going to step in and help or even comfort her. God is not going to grant her unshakeable confidence and strength to shrug off her suffering. God is not going to warn the bully or make them feel bad. God is not going to prick the consciences of lazy, uninvolved teachers, parents, and administrators to make them get off their asses and help.

God is not going to help. That's what other humans are supposed to do. But in a typical bullying situation, anyone with the power to help has already decided not to. Adults will even hobble her further with the warning that they will punish her for fighting back. She will be left on her own, told she's not supposed to defend herself, with no idea what to do or how to make the abuse stop.

That is exactly what "turn the other cheek" sets bullied and abused kids up for. Wrongheaded religious pacifists may even try to say that the child's suffering is somehow normal or even beneficial. Which is, and I really mean this, an incredibly shitty thing to do to a child.

Now I know some zealots think that suffering is Godly for everyone regardless of age, and we should all be prepared to make sacrifices to keep our covenants, et cetera. But the reality is that encouraging children to passively accept bullying and abuse, or respond to it with piety and kindness, is going to destroy their childhoods. And that is way too much of a sacrifice to expect from someone who is young, vulnerable and likely to be scarred for life by the experience.

Kids are not meant to be martyrs. They are not supposed to spend their childhoods going through constant, agonizing, permanently damaging tests of faith. They are too little to even begin to cope with that, and any adult who thinks that kind of ordeal is good for them or just what they should expect as a good Christian shouldn't be allowed around kids.

Discouraging kids from standing up for themselves aids and abets their bullies and pretty much guarantees you'll end up with an anxious, depressed child with low self-esteem and stunted social skills. If they're also very Christian, the experience won't just damage their minds, hearts, self-image, and trust in others. It will also damage their faith.

Do you really think that's right and good? Do you really think that's what God wants?

Don't ever, ever tell bullied kids to turn the other cheek. Get off your ass, put your love into action, and give them real help with the situation. Get involved, help them learn to stand up for themselves, and while you're at it, have a little chat with the "responsible" adults who just stand by with their thumbs up their butts and let this all go on.

If you hide behind "turn the other cheek" instead of actually helping a vulnerable child, in the end, you won't get a wise and resilient kid who is strong in her faith, forgives everyone who hurt or failed her, and believes that her suffering was somehow worth it.

You will get a traumatized kid who very likely has both her faith and her self-esteem in tatters. And all because you gave her a Bible quote and left her to fend for herself instead of actually helping.

Is putting a child through this what you want? No? Then...

...stop failing kids by using a misguided application of a Bible quote to convince them that God doesn't want them to defend themselves!

Whether they are facing childhood bullies, an abusive parent, a lascivious priest, a would-be child trafficker, or a violent "friend", kids need to know that it is okay to stand up for themselves, protect themselves, and defend their own boundaries. Telling them to "turn the other cheek" instead is child abuse, because it sets them up for years of completely unnecessary suffering.

Yeah, I know Jesus said it. But would Jesus say it to a little kid who is suffering with no help? Would Jesus tell that child that it's not okay to protect herself? Do you really believe that? Because I can't. I seriously doubt Jesus was out to recruit ten-year-old schoolyard martyrs.

No real, loving God could possibly want that done to a kid. And no loving, Godly person would give advice that makes things easier for people who victimize kids, by discouraging kids from resisting.

And if making kids more vulnerable to abuse is their actual plan...it ain't God they're working for.

***

Oh, and if you're young and can relate to this story:

Don't turn the other cheek when someone is victimizing you. Please. It will very likely make things worse.

Stand up for yourself. Do what you have to to keep yourself safe. Be clever, be tough, be sneaky, and be your own best friend, because you do not deserve to suffer.

You absolutely deserve to be happy and safe--yes, even if you're not a perfect person. And even if you have no friends, and none of the adults around care, and you have preachy idiots in your ear telling you to just endure it, you must remember that you deserve defending. Even if you have to do it yourself.

Don't just leave your protection in God's hands. Any adult who tells you to do this when people are hurting you is either deluding themself, or just making a stupid excuse not to give you real help.

Stand up for yourself, whether you're telling that creep on Facebook's mother about what he just sent you, laying a chili-pepper trap for that pig who always steals your lunch, or making your bully cry. Save "turn the other cheek" for conflicts with those who have a working moral compass, not abusers. You can forgive your bully and feel remorse for being a little mean after you have made sure that he never tries to pull his crap again.

It's far better to just be imperfect, and sort things out with God later, than to try to be perfect in horrible circumstances and end up broken, traumatized and struggling with your faith. Especially when you're just a kid.

Oh, and do yourself a favor. If someone is preaching extreme religious pacifism at you after hearing of your situation, they may mean well. But if all they do is preach and lay expectations on you and not help, you may well have to disappoint them. Unless they're actually stepping in to help you resolve the situation without having to retaliate and it works, your priority should be stopping the abuse as safely as possible by whatever means are at your disposal. Not satisfying a sanctimonious, uninvolved person's idea of what God wants.

[thewritersaddictions]

The Adults: Steve Harrington: Pretty Toes

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Pov: Steve

Warnings: fluff, soft!steve, spa day at home, a little bit of a feet fetish, bad painting skills.

Summary: Steve loves to pamper you, so that means spa days to paint your toes.

A/n- firefly graphics for dividers

WC- 3.8k

Stranger Things Master List // The Adults Master List

From what Steve was able to tell you hadn’t stopped since you started work nearly five months ago. You had been nothing but working. Nonstop and the harder the work got the worse your sleep got, the more agitated you got with every passing day. Five months of working your ass, it was all for a project.  

Y/n was a teacher for the local middle school. If she wasn’t grading homework, or other work-related assignments, Y/n was creating projects for the students. She was what I wish I had during my middle and high school years. Someone who was always going to be there for me, and not because my rich and snooty parents had been giving the school money. But because she actually cared about me.  

So here I was watching my girlfriend, sit hunched over at her desk. Rolling the knots of her neck could only work so many times before she’d get pissed and throw the pen that she was working with. A loud sigh came from her lips. “Babe?” I asked. From where I was sitting, I was able to see her just over the brim of my book. I wasn’t really reading the book anymore not since the sighing and the loud creaking of her bones started to get closer and closer together.  

“Huh?” Y/n said back. When she looked up at me her under eyes were nearly black. She hadn’t been getting any good sleep, nothing seemed to help her. A relaxing bath was out of the question, a few chewable melatonin she wasn’t up to taking. She was going to run herself ragged if she didn’t stop and relax even if it was just for a day.  

She needed someone to look at her and tell it was okay to stop. It was okay to take of yourself once in a while, but for as long as I had known her. Y/n was all about taking and caring for others. It was pumped into her soul. Y/n was the sweetest more helpful person I had ever met, and maybe that’s why I had fallen in love with her.  

I watched her even more that night. “Baby, maybe you should take a few minutes for a break. Give your mind, your eyes and your back a break.” I spoke. This time I had put the book down completely. Notching it before fulling closing it and setting it down on the side table. Because Y/n and I had been together for a while now and before that had been friends for what seemed like out entire lives it wasn’t hard for me to tell the slight changes in her.  

It wasn’t like she was able to fool me all the time, but for right now I had her under lock and key. Everything she did was a large sign of exactly how tired she had become over the past few months. This was her first year as a teacher and I think that idea of not knowing or being so lost that you had to ask for help scared the shit of Y/n, something that she’d never fully admit.  

It was Thursday night, only a Friday to go before Y/n would possible be able to relax if she let herself. “Baby? I’m serious leave this for tomorrow, or even later than that.” I said getting up from my spot on the couch. Walking over to her, my hands came down to rest of her tense shoulders. “Damn, you honestly need to relax. I swear you’re more tense than I am.” I said rubbing her shoulders softly with my fingers.  

A content sigh left her lips before she started to lean into the soft touches. “You’re the best you know that.” She said looking up at me. “No, I’m not the best. I just love you, and don’t want to watch you not take care of yourself anymore.” I commented. She closed her eyes and hummed. Now I just had to come with a plan that would make her relax.  

All I wanted was for to be happy, content, and in a thoughtless zone for a few hours even if that meant I was forced to do some additional work. So, the next morning came like a cool summer breeze. A loud alarm clock went off, and as always it woke me up and not Y/n. I was gentle when waking y/n up. Her hair a mess, stick up in some places, and her sheets had somehow wrapped around her in her sleep. Causing her look very much like a burrito. I chuckled a little at the site.  

I watched as my sleep-induced girlfriend regrettable got out of bed. Shedding herself of the sheets, and of her night clothes before disappearing to go take a quick shower and get dress before she had to leave for work. I got up stretched and made my way to go make a large cup of coffee and pack her a bigger and better lunch than she normally packed herself.  

As I waited for coffee to brew. The plan was easy, or at least I hoped that it would be easy. Saturday night that’s where the plan starts off. I want somewhat of a relaxing time for Y/n which means for that to happen, Y/n needs to and has to be calm.  

Friday was a blast passing by quickly. Y/n was out the door by the time I had my own cup of coffee ready for the day. I sat there in the kitchen, my mind racing for what my plans was really going to be. I thought and thought most of the day until I got a text from Y/n asking me  

‘When was the last time me and Robin had like a spa day?’ The text read. I scrunched my brows together trying desperately to think. Y/n and robin had become great friends, it’s funny thinking back on it. Y/n and Robin where long friends before her and I were, Robin had forced us to go on a date and now here we were living together in our small little apartment. Living our lives together as Robin had said we had her to thank for it.  

I thought, my mind came up blank. Whatever answer that was there wasn’t. My mind was blank, so I text Y/n back. ‘I can’t manage to think of one. Why do you think that you might go with Robin during the weekend and relax?’ I asked, a little said that my less put together might not come true. The response I got was quick, ‘No just was having an argument with her. Thank you for helping me win, love you.’ Y/n said. For the rest of the day, it was quiet. 

But at the thought of Y/n’s question I wondered if maybe she didn’t have to do it with Robin but rather I could do it for her. Then my plan came to life. I’d do whatever girl loves, a pampering boyfriend who just wants to give their girl a spa day. I was quick to come up with my plan. When I looked over my watch it was nearly time for Y/n’s day to end. I only had an hour or so left, so I got to work.  

Grabbing a few things from the bathroom. Turning to look at the tub. A bath with scented, rose petals and soft jazz lulling in the air came to mind. That would be that start to Y/n’s great weekend. Everything else would fall perfectly in line.  

I got to work gather everything I needed for her to have a great Saturday. Did we have enough breakfast food, for a good breakfast in bed sorta morning, check. Did Y/n still nail polish and lotions left over from Christmas time, check. Did we have enough girly, romantic movies, check. We had never run out of movies that Y/n was willing to watch over again and again.  

When Y/n got home I was just about done. Slipping the paper with my plans on it under my book on the side table. A heavy sigh floated through the air as Y/n came passing by me on the couch. “Honey?” I heard her say, “Here baby, right here.” I answered back. “What are your plans for dinner together?” She asked setting down her bags, the coffee travel mug I had given her this morning was in her hand as she traveled to the kitchen, I followed her.  

“We can take out, whatever you want.” I said, I wasn’t one for cooking and with the way that Y/n been working for the past few months I didn’t really except or want her cooking. That would just be another thing she would have to worry about. “Fine, just no Chinese.” She said kissing me before moving around me and drifting off to her desk no less to work on her project.  

I sighed; she was so stuck in her life right now. Y/n used to be so excited about coming home telling me all about her work with the kids. Telling me about all the fun things she had planned for them to do, but from what I remember teens can be pretty big assholes sometimes. I remember the kids being like that, sucking all the joy from my flirts with girls at Scoops Ahoy.  

Y/n had said no to take out Chinese, but not to KFC. I grabbed my keys, kissing her on the head telling her that I was going out to grab dinner and would be back in a few. I came back with KFC, Y/n was still sitting there at her desk. “I can smell the chicken.” She said as I locked the front door. “Hey, it’s finger lickin’ good baby.” I spoke as I set down the bowl and other side items.  

The rest of the night flowed with normalcy, and I continued to tweak my plan. In the morning I would suggest a bubble bath, a good lunch breakfast with movies, and then near the end of the night I get down on my knees and paint to her toes. Whatever color she wanted. Y/n fell asleep in my arms that night, tight against my chest. Her breathing evening out by the time I had stopped combing through her hair.  

My plan would work perfectly to get rid of most of her stress. 

The next morning like I planned I got up and made her a delicious breakfast. With her alarm going off five times a week at the dawn of morning I was able to make her food and plate everything. Before she ventured out of our bedroom to see why I wasn’t in the bed. When I walked, Y/n was leaning up against the head board, her hair sitting in a messy bun keeping most of the strands away from her beautiful face.  

“Here you go baby.” I said setting the small table around her thighs. She looked up from her book, with a content look of shock. “What is this all for?” She questioned. I smiled and rolled my eyes. “I just want to pamper my girl for a day, I mean I can always take the plate back and eat it all.” I said reaching for the small table. My hand was swatted away. I laughed before settling next to her on the bed. She ate with a content expression on her face.  

When she was done with her breakfast, I got to work with setting up a movie on her favorites. While she got out of bed. I made her another cup of coffee for her and myself. She came out settling down next to me. “I just wanna watch a movie with you on my weekends.” I said towards her, lifting the blanket and letting her climbing underneath. By the end of the movie Y/n had tear-stained cheeks, and huddle into me practically attacking me with a hug. I smiled and kissed the top of her head. “I love you just for who you are my love.” I said quoting whatever part of the movies I was actually paying attention.  

“That’s not what he said to her.” Y/n said. She was laughing the great smile coming back to her face even if it was just for the day, or for today. “I had one more thing that I wanted to do with you today, or maybe it’s two.”  

“Two more things with you, should I be worried?” She said back to me, full of sass. The girl that I remember. She had so different, she’s hard on herself with her job and it’s said to see the girl that I still love disappear behind projects, grades, and homework that she’s gotta grade. “Whatever do you have planned for us?” She asked, her smile was so genuine and happy. Just like the first time I had seen her.  

“Well since it’s two things I have to set one up for you, but how about you pick something for me.” I said, getting up from under the blanket. “Okay.” She said, still she was smiling at me. I made me towards the bathroom, but then turned around “I forgot to give you that thing you need to pick out.” I said walking back over to her, pulling the old plastic container out from under the side table. Y/n’s head fell a little to the side.  

“I want you to pick a color while I get something ready for you.” I said kissing her quickly on her lips before walking back to our bedroom. I was planning on give Y/n a pair of silk pjs for our anniversary as it was coming up soon, but changed my mind when I thought of my plan last night. 

I dug around in the back of our shared closet. I was trying to find the little black bag that I had stuffed the little outfit in. When I found I gave myself a triumphant pat on the back, now with all this time I had spent trying to find this damn bag. I betted that Y/n was done picking a color. When I came out of our bedroom. Y/n was sitting there still digging through the plastic container. I watched her for a few seconds. She was like a little girl who was trying to find the best color crayon to use for her coloring page.  

I left my spot, and walked into the bathroom shutting the door and turning on the lights for the bathroom. Grabbing all the things I needed from under the sink. I grabbed Y/ns table from the rack, and put it on the sink. I would run that through the dryer before Y/n wanted to get out of her bath. I moved over to the bath tub. Running the water, the tap was freezing nothing that would or could cause a relaxing bath. So, I used the cold water to clean the bottom of the tub before switch the water over to hot. Plugging it and letting the water start to fill the tub, next I set the candles up. All around the edge of the tub. Lighting them all one at time, before moving on to the next part.  

I needed to get the bubbles and the lavender scent around the room. So, bubbles and a lavender soap went into the water as the tub filled. I turned off the light and left the room. When I got out, I took the towel with me throwing it into the dryer. “Are you almost done?” I heard Y/n say from across the apartment. “Yeah, I’m done, are you done though?” Y/n asked me. I rolled my eyes, before walking over towards her. She was still wrapped up in the blanket. “Yeah, I’m done. What color did you pick?” I asked. Leaned down, the back of my heels lifted off the carpet. “Pink.” She spoke. Her cheeks were a little red, her eyes a little blown out. Maybe it was because of the way I was sitting, but she was beautiful right now.  

“Pink it is.” I said taking it out of her hand. Setting on the side table before grabbing the plastic container and setting it back underneath the table. “Are you ready for your other treat?” I asked her, standing up and putting my hand out for her to reach. “Yeah, I think I am.” She answered. Taking my hand, I lifted her up from the couch, the blanket falling down to the carpet. We walked together to the bathroom door. When I opened the door, the tub was just about finished filling up. The expression on Y/ns face was to die for. She a happy sorta of shock. Her smile was wider than all day, the smell of lavender was brewing around the room. “For me?” She questioned me looking over at me. Her eyes were briming with tears.  

“Oh, honey. Don’t cry... Please don’t cry.” I said going to cup her cheeks. “Oh Stevie, they're not sad tears. Baby they’re happy tears.” She said explaining. I let a sigh of relief pass by. She walked in, taking off her morning clothes. Every time I see this woman naked. I think that I might not have gotten the chance. Ever.  

She turns off the water, and slips into the hot water. There's a sigh on contentless in her sigh. “God, Stevie this feels so nice.” She says. “I’m glad baby.” I said, leaning up against the door frame before thinking that maybe she’d like to be alone. I go to turn, but I’m stopped when Y/n calls after me.  

‘Steve, where are you going?” She asks, there's something behind her words. Fear... Something that I can almost catch. “I was thinking that maybe you’d like this to be your alone time. To just relax in the bath.” I said softly. She starts shaking her head. “NO” It’s loud and assertive, then a second “No, please. Just sit here with me.” She says looking into my eyes. Yeah, there’s defiantly fear behind her eyes for sure.  

“Okay baby, do you want to do anything, or just sit there.” I ask. “Just sit here, I wanna run my finger through your hair.” She says softly. I laugh and walk back into the bathroom sitting down next to the tubs edge. Her hands are wet, so she runs her fingers through my hair almost automatically. The lavender calms me down along with Y/ns fingers.  

“I love you know that.” She speaks. I look up at up. “I know that honey.” “Yeah, but I don’t say it enough, and the more you keep taking care of me tonight the more I think about the fact that I love you, and I should say it more often.” She speaks. “Love, I know you love me, and I love you too.” I speak. Resting my head on my arm. We sit there till I have to get up and start the dryer, when I come back the water is cold, and Y/n is ready to get out. The towel is warm to the touch, and fluffy. I wrap it around Y/n’s frame.  

“Here.” I said handing her the set of pink silk pjs from behind my back as she wraps the towel around her hair. “Oh Stevie.” She says taking the fabric from my hands. “Oh, I love them.” She quick to get into the silk fabric. She does a little spin in the bathroom.  

“Beautiful.” I say as she hugs me tightly. “Come pretty girl I’ve got one more thing for you.” I speak. We walk out of the bathroom. Having already blown out all the candles. “Go sit down on the couch in your spot, and I’ll tell you what I have planned.” I said smacking her ass a little. The silk fabric giving little to my imagination.  

She sat down at her spot, while I grabbed some snacks. A bowl of popcorn I had popped while I got the towel to start in the dryer. I came back and Y/n was back to digging through the nail polish container. “You want a different color?” I ask a little disappointed. I loved when she had pink anything on her.  

“No sweetie. Just looking in all.” She spoke. I put the bowl down and Y/n automatically dug in. “So, what’s your plan Stevie.” She asked a mouth full of popcorn. I chuckled before sitting down on the floor crossing my legs. “I’m gonna paint your toes.” I said reaching over for the pink shade of nail polish. Y/n’s cheeks grew with blush, “I thought you didn’t...” I scrunch my brow together. “I didn’t like what?” I can’t help but ask. ‘You know feet” she says. “No, honey, I’m not against feet, because yours are so damn cute especially when you get painted.” I said rubbing my hands over her feet and toes. She squirms.  

“A little ticklish.” I speak. I get a half-way goofy and dirty look. One that’s there so I don’t tickle her feet. I don’t. Instead shaking the nail polish, and then opening it up. The smell is hard to put away, but from the look Y/n’s giving me she can’t help want to watch me do this for me. The first few strokes of the polish loaded brush are sloppy. Polish getting on her skin. I’m quick to clean it up, going to work on the next toes. She giggling the entire time.  

“You’ve got to stop moving so I don’t make a mess.” I comment not even looking up at her, but feeling her rolling her eyes. “Fine.” She says dramatically. I finish up her left foot then move on to her right one. The same thing happens. She starts to move again, “Come on love, I’m almost done and then you can’t smudge them but you can move.” I say, I don’t hear anything back, so I return to painting her toes. Once I’m done, I scream the brush back onto the polish bottle.  

When I look up, Y/n is asleep. Her lashes lay over her cheeks. Her mouth slightly left agape. Little snores leaving her, which if I say anything about. She will surely deny. Her hair still a little damp, rests on the couch causing a little wet spot. I get up stretching. My lanky arms and legs are not used to sitting on the floor for that long.  

Once I’m done, I put away the nail polish bottle, and take my spot next to Y/n. She shifts with the change in the couch. Her feet stay still but she’s reaching out towards me. So, I indulge her. Pulling her into my grasp, Head resting on her head nicely. I sigh, catching a strong whiff of bubbles, lavender, and the shampoo she uses each morning. A mumble of a few words leaves her mouth.  

“Thank you, bubba.” She speaks. ‘Of course, love.” I say kissing her head softly. Holding her a little tighter than usual.  

Completed on: 01/02/23

Posted on: 01/03/23

The Adults- @yourfavdummy

[argentnoelle]

troublemaker [on ao3]

Junmo isn't tempted by the case. Not really. [episode 1]

The bright sun and the fields of Euemseong had been enough to drive away the shadows, once. Park Junmo, exiled to such a place, had learned the peace of waiting in silence while the reeds rippled, and the ease of letting down his guard, in the small police station, with his desk overflowing with papers, the same few problems, never very serious. There was no one worse than him here. He learned to smile, how to feel dirt under his fingernails while his hair curled in the rough wind, his colleagues making good-natured jokes about his wild attitude. That’s Park Junmo, the city-boy; is everyone like that in Seoul?

Which Seoul are you talking about? Is it the one Euijeong came from, with its wide streets and apartments shaded by the trees, family of proud cops all framed under glass, churchgoing every Sunday? Knickknacks over every surface, tables piled with food. When Euijeong was promoted it took her back to the city, and she’d known he was bitter about it, although he said nothing but you deserve it. She did, and she fit into the creases of her black uniform gracefully. The SMPA should know what a precious thing they had. They should take care of it—but they probably won’t.

It doesn’t matter. Euijeong is quite capable of taking care of herself.

Yes, in the slums Junmo came from everyone was like him. Attitude was the one thing that overflowed; you may have nothing but you have pride, don’t you, and anger, restless anger, itching under your skin, anger at the man, anger at yourself your parents the whole world; but it hadn’t singled Junmo out until he tried to walk softly into Euijeong’s middle-class life and all he was, suddenly, was not good enough for her. You see, he’d thought he’d known what he was taking on. He’d thought he’d learned to take it, the sneers all through school, the teachers whose gazes glazed over him, the label “troublemaker” printed over his head before he even opened his mouth. It didn’t bother him because they were all fucking assholes really. Euijeong loved him, he loved Euijeong, and it made him feel so young and stupid, like a lovestruck fool. Dating clandestinely during patrol, sneaking kisses and gifts back and forth, the look of that silver ring shining on her finger—it was a beautiful dream and it said you’ve made it, Junmo, you’ve made it, you can forget the past. Then on the day of their wedding his father trailed in dragging the past with him like a rotting carcass, and from that day forward Junmo was not just rough around the edges, he was once again “the drug addict’s son.”

He didn’t want to go back to Seoul. He would have liked if Euijeong stayed with him, out in Euemseong where no one gave a fuck about his father, where his leather jacket was a quirk only and not a suit of armor. But Euijeong was going to rise in the ranks. She was going to make it. It was something she’d confessed to him before they married. It was something he’d known from the start.

“Junmo, there are a lot of guys who want me, but I would never even think about choosing them. You know why? Because they don’t want me. Not really. They want the sweet face I put on—you know—when I smile like this? They like the soft way I talk when I’m being polite. I’m a good girl, you know, I’d make a good wife—is what they’re thinking. And I do want that. But I’m not going to put anything above my career. And so… to even think abut dating someone who expects otherwise… I feel like I’m leading him on.”

“I know that, Euijeong,” Junmo had replied. He’d smiled at her, gently, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Don’t you know it’s why I like you?”

It’s one thing to be a career couple when you both have prospects, but years later and now she’s back in the city and Junmo isn’t, and he’s beginning to realize that no matter how much he works for it, it’s never going to happen for him. Just like in school, he’s painted before he even opens his mouth. No, no—he’s had enough of ambition. In these lazy summer days, Park Junmo practices not giving a fuck, learning how to not try. If he never gets around to studying for the exam they can’t flunk him—isn’t that how it goes?

If he gets into fistfights in school, then he didn’t really care about doing well in the first place.

Something like that.

He doesn’t miss Seoul, anyway. He doesn’t miss the light and the noise, he doesn’t miss slipping into the crowd where his braggadocio isn’t anything to look down on, where he doesn’t have to keep bending his head. He doesn’t miss the days spent hungry and bitter and watching his father spend the money on meth, watching him smile and slip into a place that exists only in the drug, leaving Junmo behind, with that gnawing pit in his stomach, the sting of bruises. He doesn’t miss getting into trouble and then running, running like his life depended on it, with a group of kids he barely knew, and laughing when their pursuers were gone—the smell of spray paint, the video games with which they frittered away pointless afternoons, and under the night-dark sky, throwing rocks through broken windows just to see them shatter, glitter like so many stars.

There’s only one kind of place you end up, a kid like that; you can’t live within the law so you either become it or it eats you. Junmo’s chosen his path and he’s happy, you know, not seeing the inside of a jail cell. Dohyung had been his foothold in. The man is kind, and his kindness comes at a cost, but so does most people’s—that doesn’t mean it isn’t real. Dohyung thinks—he’s never said it outright—that he’d shown Junmo the possibilities. Rescued him, given him a chance, Good Samaritan that he is. Well, he’s not wrong that Junmo never wanted to be a cop before Dohyung came to him and said it:

“Junmo, if you want to get into fights you should join the police.”

With a split lip and blood on his teeth Junmo had given him a grin: “sure, hyung. I’ll just sign up—your colleagues will love me.”

“I’m serious, Junmo.”

He always had that worried tone in his voice, Dohyung. Like everyone he didn’t personally save weighed on his heart.

“Me.”

Dohyung looked at him. Nodded.

And it was the first time anyone ever told him they thought he’d amount to anything. So.

It’s been years since then and Junmo thinks he’s at least paid off that debt. He’s kept himself off the streets, he’s married, he’s happy, he’s at fucking loose ends but he’s no one’s problem anymore. So when Dohyung shows up with this stupid idea Junmo doesn’t feel bad about telling him exactly what he thinks of it, this going-undercover-to-catch-thugs shit. “There’s a lot of other cops who can do this.” And Dohyung wants to give Junmo a chance. He’d been the one to see the pride wear off slowly, the shine dulling over with time: Junmo was a cop and he was going to be the best. He was going to make it.

He got his foot in the door because of Dohyung, and Dohyung had known before Junmo did that he wasn’t going to get any higher up the fucking ladder without something crazy happening. So there’s no reason for Junmo to refuse, is there? Except that Dohyung thinks this is the mission for him—him, Park Junmo—because even after all this time his past is knocking at the door, his father’s voice still as loud as it ever was when he got high and suddenly couldn’t stand the sight of Junmo who was after all another mouth to feed and who never got the picture, never knew when to shut up. You’d think he’d’ve learned how to back then, but he never did. Even when it hurt him more, got him into deeper shit, Junmo took pride in it, his smart mouth. It wasn’t until he met good people like Dohyung that he learned to keep quiet and pretend. His father would be so proud, wouldn’t he?

Oh, he would laugh his fucking head off. “Junmo, you piece of shit, you really think they care about you?”

From the last person who understands about care—Junmo is justified in throwing that one out.

You beat me to hell.

“I never claimed to care about you, Junmo. You always knew I’d put the meth before anyone else.”

Dohyung is, after all, a good man and he’s a practical man, too, and Junmo is the one for the job, maybe, because there’s plenty of cops who could take this mission but no one else suited for it the way Junmo is.

Dohyung, at least, is trying to help.

Cho Changsik is just an asshole.

“Even I wouldn’t give a promotion to a drug addict’s son.”

You weren’t imagining it. No one’s going to give you a chance. Not unless you do the dirty work. But you’re used to that, aren’t you. Well, hell. Who would Junmo be if he turned the man down, anyway? Didn’t he want to make something of himself?

After this mission, he’ll be in Seoul again. He’ll be with Euijeong. They won’t have that gulf between them, that hanging pity in her eyes.

Should he want to leave her behind? Can he?

He’s already made up his mind.

The city was whispering to him in his dreams for a long time.

[ao3]

[mdhwrites]

I've been reading your analysis of Sasha and I would like to ask: You seem to defend that Sasha's actions are of her own fault entirely and that theyre not an indicative of her parents being abusive or negligent.

While I agree that they may not be abusive, shouldn't the fact that you seem to interpret Sasha as someone who has never been told no in her life be a sign that her parents did fail to properly raise her? Considering she's only 13, isn't it fair to place some blame on them? After all, we're mostly a product of how we are raised.

I apologize if I misinterpreted your words in any way.

This is actually a fair response and even in my last post on this, I argued that the divorce DID fuck her up. Hell, that they used too soft of hands to cradle her. By 13 though, especially with such an upbringing, you are starting to be your own person. Deciding what matters to you. Worse yet... Soft hands can't mold. They can't influence properly. So yes, they could have and should have done a better job at stopping Sasha from hardening her self aggrandizing ways but well... Parents make mistakes.

We all do. It's part of being human. And while we may have explanations, very few of us have excuses. After all, your argument effectively pushes the blame to literally ANYONE other than Sasha. After all, why didn't Oum and Bee try to reign in their daughter's friend? Why did Anne listen to Sasha when her parents taught her better? Why didn't Marcy decide to just stop hanging out with Sasha if she was so mean to her so often? Or hell, go broader. Why didn't her TEACHERS ever tell her no? Why didn't other kids ever stop her?

ANYONE could have told her no, made her face consequences, but instead they kept playing her game. Kept letting her live the base idea that she herself constructed.

That's also only IF her parents were soft. I'm theorizing just like anyone else but with what I've seen of people in my life, it's very possible that some other reason might be the explanation for Sasha's behavior. Hell, her youngest appearance has her screaming "Stop right there, EVILDOERS." She likely got that from a show or cartoon and that might have put the idea of her being a hero into her head. Her parents and everyone else thought it was just a kid playing around like kids do and so literally no one but Sasha is at fault.

It kind of exemplifies why "If everyone you meet is an asshole, maybe you're the problem," that I think applies well here. Sasha and her blatant disregard for morality is still the core problem here, even if others could have tried to temper it. A lot of morality after all is basic empathy. Many decide not to steal from an abandoned wallet not because it's illegal or the like but because they are empathic enough to recognize that it'd suck if their wallet was stolen and when they got it back, their cards and cash were missing. There's a reason why the golden rule, the thing you rely on when nothing else guides you, is "Treat unto others how you wish to be treated." A moment of asking if you'd be okay with this being done to you.

The thing that makes Sasha so terrifyingly effective though is that she DOES have empathy. It's part of what makes redemption for her possible but she doesn't use it to empathize and treat others kindly when we first meet her. Instead, she finds that nugget of you that means the most, empathizes with that desire to see it blossom... And then twists it as hard as can so that it serves HER. Any argument you give her against her intentions, she'll throw back at you as doing it for your own good like we say in Reunion and she'll shut it down due to her hero complex. After all, her version of the golden rule is "Do unto others what serves me, for my happiness equals EVERYONE'S happiness."

BUT the saving grace of Sasha is that she's not a complete narcissist. A lot of people are pawns but the second you come into her circle, you HAVE to stay. This is how Reunion is in character. She wants things to be the way they were but when faced with the choice of keeping her circle by having both Anne and her die, or letting go, she chooses the latter. It's a break in her personal image that she has to deal with but the price of losing one of those she holds dear is too high for her to pay otherwise. In S2, we see the fallout as she lashes out against this, hates the moment of weakness and thus wants ALL control to fix it and S3 shows it swinging the other way. Sasha is now TERRIFIED of that circle ever being broken again so now she's terrified of Anne's opinion of her, terrified of power when it comes to Anne... And doesn't want this same experience with Marcy, thus why she tries to rationalize her circle with Marcy being permanently broken so she just write Marcy off.

She is the character to me that needed the ten years THE MOST. Needed to craft an entirely new identity to be able to handle proper empathy with who she wants to be versus who she believes she is. Otherwise, she was vulnerable of falling into an equally destructive but inverted relationship with Anne where she is entirely at ANNE'S beck and call.

There's a reason why I REALLY like Sasha, especially since the writing on her is SO GOOD that despite only getting maybe a tenth of the show in screen time, the show actually does explore this stuff and give good reasons each time a transition needs to happen with her. She is the TIGHTEST of the writing in the show and probably the part that most proves that if Matt Braly wanted to tell a story as serialized as ATLA, he seems very capable of it.

And honestly, the show never tries to excuse Sasha so... Why does the fandom? It just wanting to not have Sasha have been a monster? Is it projection? I don't know but it's interesting to me that THIS topic is the one that has had a chain of asks going for as long as my genuine hot take of Marcy and Sasha not individually being main characters.

If it is projection though, maybe take a page from Sasha then and ask what it is you're doing and if it's the right thing. I learned that lesson the hard way coming out of High School. I didn't blame my parents, friends or society though. I hit rock bottom because I was an asshole and made myself better. It wasn't easy, it wasn't simple and I'm STILL dealing with the ramifications of effectively destroying my own confidence and ego back then (you all EASILY see the most confident face I can put on and even then, I try to admit I'm not omnipotent or anything like that.)

But if you really want to redeem yourself and make up for the past, excuses aren't going to do that. Showing you can learn and change does. That you recognize the past and don't want to repeat it. Almost like that's one of the lessons of Amphibia. To face change rather than try to dismiss it or run from it.

Oh, and this will be the last blog I do about trying to excuse Sasha's actions like this (except maybe discussing how Grime actively encourages her worst impulses, either by accident or on purpose) kind of for the reason I stated in the second paragraph. The idea that I could keep arguing why one source doesn't work but that if you're looking for an excuse, you'll find one anywhere around her. Sasha likely did that too before Amphibia so as to never have to change and that's part of my point with this being HER fault.

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

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

And finally a Twitter you can follow too!

[pixel-chills]

Dreamflower Fact Drop Part 1!

For Luan (and his family):

Luan's father has Gaelic roots, and Luan's mother is half-Japanese and half-Portuguese. Their family speaks mostly English though. Luan has an older sister called Valerie. Valerie is 3 years older than Luan.

Luan puts many things into his mouth; he licks and bites a lot of stuff either when bored or stressed, or just out of curiosity, (also as a form of affection). It's an oral stim which he has had for his whole life.

Luan's family has 5 cats, and Luan's sister has a small dog!

Luan only wears glasses when he is reading or using a computer, since he is farsighted. He's been wearing glasses since he was 5, but his sight got eventually a bit better and he only needs them for specific tasks.

Luan's parents own a bookstore. Luan's father used to teach literature at the university in the city where Solros also lived. That's why Luan is such a bookworm. Luan's father heritage the bookstore from Luan's grandmother.

Luan's mother is a home economics teacher at the high school.

Luan was homeschooled by his parents since the town they live in didn't have a school for Animutants.

Luan probably watched the original Winx Club like 100 times with his sister when they were kids.

When Luan learns Solros hasn't really tried many types of sweets before, (only a couple of off-brand cheap stuff), he buys like 20 types of different sweets and chocolates for Solros to try.

For Solros (and his family):

Solros doesn't know how to ride a bike or swim.

Solros stutters a lot, it has been a developmental since he was a child and he was never really treated for it. He stutters more heavily when anxious and in distress, and less when he is relaxed and without worries.

Solros had a very special and close bond with his mother, April Huxley, obviously. The first years of his life were loved and safe despite the harsh and poor living conditions.

Yet, Solros' mother was originally going to abort him. On her way to the clinic, she saw a late-blooming field of sunflowers, and took it as a sign that it's never too late to change her life and start blooming. That's also why she named her child 'Solros' (Sunflower).

Solros' dad is named Gavin Ellis. He didn't hit his son until Solros' mother died. His mother was his shield from the physical abuse. After her death, Solros became his dad's new punching bag...

Solros doesn't like wearing jewellery or shirts with high collars (makes him feel trapped and choked).

Solros' mum was the one to feed Solros' imagination. He didn't have toys or games, so his mother made him imagine a lot of things from simple things he had. Socks became puppets, bottle caps became cars, cardboard boxes became fortresses etc...

Solros' mother breastfed him until he was 6 or 7. The only reason she stopped was because Solros decided himself he didn't want it anymore, because the other kids at school were making fun of him. (Ofc she didn't feed him when under substances, she knew that much.)

It took longer than average for Solros to get rid of diapers too, and he was prone to accidents long after he stopped using them. He developed a small problem with stuttering ever since he was a kid, but it got much worse when his mother died.

His mother loved him so much, and told him he was a beautiful special boy who should never beat himself up for what he is.

Solros was her reason to try to get better. April was an addict before she found herself pregnant. It was the turning point of her life.

She had little hiccups and relapses here and there, but Solros was her reason to always get back on track as soon as possible. He was her everything. She eventually even found a job to be able to take care of her son better.

After finding a job, April was able to buy Solros a bit more food, take him to a circus once, and buy some toys and new clothes. The best things Solros got from his mum during this time were colouring pencils, a sketchbook, and stickers. And the trip to the circus, of course.

Solros loves bright colours and the way clowns are supposed to make everyone laugh, (and he loves to see people smile).

The only time April got angry at Solros was when he run away to play in the park when she had passed out. She was so worried about her son that she slapped him when she finally found him playing in the park with another kid, (Luan).

That day always stuck with Solros for multiple reasons; he made his very first friend ever, but it was also the first (and only) time his mother had slapped him. Solros did go back to the park after that, multiple times (with permission), but his friend was never there anymore.

The Classic Care Bears is Solros' comfort show.

[wind-corner]

Chapter ten

Brigitte admit she was tried after everything that happened. Also her parents seemed to smother her for a while, and while it was a bit of a pain she was sort of happy to see her parents after all its been a while.

And after calming her dad down (something both she amd her father did a bit often) she was able to go back to her dorm though she was followed by her parents till they seemed to be called else where and while she had simply wanted to flop down on her bed and sleep, for quite a long while. It seemd her absence caused a power valcum that before she could sleep Brigitte had to stomp out. And remind everyone one, no only who she was but the pride they should have as members of their dorm and that they shouldn't bring shame to the dorm by acting like fools.

And while most time she was quiet and didn't say much she knew it was the time to get loud m, and loud she got. And she admit she was worried she might have hurt a few ears, but they honestly needed to behave like reasonable people, rather than a bunch of fools. But at least that event made it clear.to her that she seemed to have gotten faster and stronger in her time away from home.

Of.course she had texted meri who oddly enough didn't respond till that morning saying that they were training for months with weights, which made Brigitte wonder if she could mimic it with actually weights and decided she should most likely do that so she could keep the speed and strength from the fight. But that would be something she had to look in later?

Or ask mister crewel the potion teacher? Or would it be better to ask Mrs crewel the home economics teacher? After a moment of thought Brigitte figure it might safer to ask the potion teacher since everyone knows if you don't make an appointment Mr crewel the math teacher and Mrs crewel would be making out in their class room, and she rather not walk into that. Roumor has it someone saw them doing worse but it has never been confirmed.

But pushing all that aside Brigitte has slept poorly and had been awoken by her alarm. Because it seems the headmage wouldn't let them escape from school, and thus Brigitte got up and dressed before heading to the cafeteria for some breakfast.

Yawning she didn't seem to notice or care about most of the whispers around her, after all its not like she could stop them, and it's not like they were saying anything bad, just talking about her, chaim and meri returning from where they disappeared from. As well as the beating she had done to her dorm, or at least the ones who had thought to cause trouble but for now everything should be peaceful.

At least in her dorm, sighing she wonder what the cooks had been making when she heard someone calling her name and for a moment she was confused since not to many people add the word 'miss' to the front of it. Before it clicked. And she recalled the Heartslabyul freshman she had saved.

Having noticed the girl she gave her a light wave. And she noted the girl coming closer to her, and Brigitte wonder if she could ask the girl what was good today? (After all she couldn't remember what they were serving today since she wasn't fully sure if she only slept for a few hours or for mutable days. Mostly because how tried she felt maybe after a few days she might stop feeling light headed? Another thing to text her friends about later.

Ywaning Brigitte soon found herself bombard with questions one after another, it seemed the freshman was both worried and curious. And while she did try to think of the events she knew their was a bit of a haze a fog hiding it, but than again that was also explained to her, after the mission of getting them back, a lot of the information would be destroyed, esared from the records to keep anyone from using the information from being used for evil uses. Afrer all time travel isn't something anyone should truly have.

Reaching out she found herself patting the girl's head. She was much smaller than herself so it wasn't hard to do so. "I don't mind answering some of your questions, but is it alright if I eat first?"

It seemed the girl was embarrassed as she seem to apologize, in which brigtte told her it was fine and than went to go get food before sitting down, and it seemed while she had been doing that the freshman had bought over her own meal to sit beside her.

And.the girl begin her questions and while Brigitte couldn't remember details, not that she planned on telling the girl everything, memory wipe or not. After all she didn't want someone overhearing and than trying to get more information out of her. Information she didn't have. Why did people have to be so heartless to others? No what matters is doing what can to do what's right.

So eating and answering every few questions Brigitte found herself in the middle of many other people as she had to mention what happened but rather go into details she was merely answering questions of the people who had gather around her in hopes to know what happened.

By the end of breakfast and the bell rang to go to classes she had a mix of students from diffrent dorms around her seeming to be watching her, some with a shine in their eyes. Others with a bit of disbelief, others who seemed to want to ask more but where unsure how too.

What she did tell them, they were transport to another world, the air their was like breathing though smog, and their movement was hinder by some great weight. They did have to dress like the locals so they weren't found out. They had only fought one great beast (she didn't tell them it was an overbloat rotem) no they didn't become famous because they were trying to keep a low profile.

The food was decent, they got the foods by a bit of trading and selling things (she wasn't fully sure how, but it seems meri and chaim made it possible and she wasn't to sure ask for more details but they had said it was legal means), and no they didn't find love since they try to stay close to themselves, and not interact with people unless they couldn't help it.

They weren't sleeping out in the wood but had found a small abbondon place to room for the time they were there. They even fixed it up so it was more liveable for them. And based on the dates, seemed time flow the same there as it did here so they were their for the same amount of time as they were missing here.

And yes they had been looking for a way back home. But it had taken us a while to get back, thankfully they did get back since she admit to being tried, of not being home. She also said she did get to see a lot of cute animals and pet them.

And yes their was nature so they did what they can in the shadows. After that point Brigitte had wrap everything up and had gotten up since they still had classes, or rather she did, she wasn't sure if meri and chaim would. And Brigitte found herself hoping her two friends would be ok. All she could do was hope they would be alright. None the less she had class to go and hopefully not a lot of make up work.

So after getting up tossing her trash and say buy to all the ones who had gather to hear her talk about what happened Brigitte made her way to the first class of the day, feeling rather hopeful for the day ahead.

[nothingtherefornow]

Sadly and furiously, there's worse teachers than Bustier and Mendeleiv, and worse principals than Damoclès in real life

I've just read stories and testimonials from people about their years in primary and secondary school in France, And I've realized that, in fact, there are really so much worse cases than Miss Bustier, Mrs. Mendeliev, and Mr. Damocles as teachers and principals in real life :

Teachers and principals who aren't just enablers, but bullies themselves. Teachers who select one of their students as a scapegoat to vent all their frustrations, often punishing them unfairly, and ignoring or making fun of their difficulties, humiliating them in front of other students, etc. To the point that it also encouraged others students to bully the scapegoat student. One testimony particularly schoked me :

"I had a teacher who found all possible excuses to punish me, when we had presentations/assignements to make, the others in my class had 1 week to do it... I had to do it for the day after. She very often deprived me of recess, prevented me from going to the toilets, but above all, she couldn't see me so much that she very often sent me to the principal's class to do my punishments. She and the director were very good friends, and the director also had fun punishing me and saying mean things about me in front of her students. I was the student not to become. And this had quite a repercussion since the class of the director attacked me physically and also mentally during the lunch break (the only recess I had the right to because I had to eat), which , over the months, had rounded up all the other classes who came to harass me too (except my class, being aware that I did nothing wrong). And the harassment was even sometimes sexual and I confess that I do not understand how no supervisor could see what was happening."

it's terrifying how Miraculous actually only shows a fraction of school bullying and what a bad teacher is

Fortunately there are also testimonials on teachers who have helped students a lot.

A favorite youtuber of mine spoke of a teacher in a large kindergarten section who had traumatized her, and led her to withdraw into herself and never participate in class again. Then in CP, she had a teacher who was the exact opposite, fair, kind and attentive A teacher who helped her heal the wounds of the previous year. as kindergarten and primary shared the same canteen, the bad teacher and the good teacher already knew each other, and one day the youtuber witnessed a conversation between the two teachers of which she was the subject. The good teacher complimented her student and expressed her joy to have her in her class, while the bad teacher dared to ask "are you sure she is not mentally retarded?" about her former student, and she added that "according to science" students who are too well behaved hid a vice, and that one should not hesitate to often punish them, even if it means going as far as corporal punishment. The nice teacher replied that if she were to come across a teacher punishing his students this way, she would report them to the rectorate, slash their car tires, and set their house on fire. Then the good teacher asked to her colleague "I sure hope you're not that kind of teacher, right ?" Karma is rare in real life, but when it does its job, it's a jubilant moment ^^.

This story may be exaggerated, but I found it interesting to cite it

Myself I had an immense chance to have a schooling which took place without aplomb despite my autism thanks also to the presence of my twin sister (my parents always and rightly arranged for us to be in the same class) and I have always had relatively good teachers.

But reading and listening to this kind of testimonies really makes me realize that there are still a lot of bad teachers who do not just enable but also participate in the bullying of one or many students. Those kind of "adults" are the shame of teaching, people who shouldn't even have the right to teach nor approach children.

SPOILER WARNING ABOUT MIRACULOUS SEASON 5

That's why the episode Confrontation had me starting to despise Caline Bustier and Denis Damoclès a lot less, because it's better to have a teacher and principal regretting their past bullying enabling actions and misleading, and wanting to make up for it and become better, rather than teachers and principals who do enjoy abusing their students and never get caught