#call it what it fucking is even if it sucks. it was a violation. period. it's 2023 we don't tolerate Blurred Lines bullshit here.
Text
right. so. i'm taking the angel and i'm wrapping him in a soft blanket and i'm telling him that NO ONE has the right to touch him without his consent.
no matter how well they know each other and got along previously.
or how angsty the person feels about possibly never seeing him again.
or how much Aziraphale might even possibly WANT to be intimate with that person on some level, someday, when they're okay again.
there are no ways around this:
if he's not READY for it, or if he's not in the MOOD for a kiss, then NO ONE SHOULD BE KISSING HIM. PERIOD.
#pretty sure this is not a controversial statement but the things i've seen some folks say today has been. um.#disheartening to say the least and alarming at worst.#please fucking tell me i'm not the only one who knows assault when they see it even if they find both characters attractive.#like. holy fuck. i love(d) crowley too but what the fuck.#how is THIS being overlooked while Aziraphale is taking all the blame for how shit went down in the finale.#~ooh they finally kissed!!!!!~ ugh but STUPID ANGLE!!! >:( doesn't he know how sexy and emotional crowley is??? he should ENJOY this!!!!#<- some of y'all's apparent attitude and it Concerns me deeply.#call it what it fucking is even if it sucks. it was a violation. period. it's 2023 we don't tolerate Blurred Lines bullshit here.#goddamnit this was my safe fandom and now i'm like. y'all scare me tbh.#i hate fandom drama but the way the majority have elected to ignore a literal assault so they can UWU Sad Demon Puppy their blorbo is just.#what is this? spn???#he was my blorbo too but holy fuck i have lines. i have boundaries. and he crossed them when he crossed Aziraphale's.#if u think u know who this is no u don't#i am conflict avoidant leaf me alone lol#i just need to know that i'm not the only person here who um. respects boundaries and consent and all that. because y'all got me Concerned.#like. i wanna rant about this in my fandom friend groups but they're all UWU CROWLEY DESERVED BETTER so um. i no longer feel safe there tbh#good omens spoilers#go2 spoilers#go spoilers#good omens 2 spoilers
15 notes
·
View notes
Text
Periods Suck: Violate
Characters: Tate Langdon, Violet Harmon
Relationships: Tate x Violet
Content Warnings: Mentions of blood
Summary: Violet has endometriosis that causes horrible periods and this is the first period that Tate has been around for
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Vi?" Tate called as he walked through the hallway. He heard Violet groan in her bedroom.
He opened the door to find a pile of blankets on the bed that looked like they might possibly have a human under them. He chuckled a little, Violet was always cold
"Hey, I was thinking that maybe we could paint rocks in the yard later" he said as he sat down on the corner of the bed. Violet didn't respond.
"Vi?" He heard a small sniffle under the blanket. He immediately began to panic. She was crying. Had he done something to upset her? He gently pulled the blankets off Violet's face. Her eyes were red and puffy, and her cheeks were stained with tears.
"What's wrong, baby?" He used his thumb to wipe the tears from her cheeks.
"Cramps" she groaned
"Like, stomach cramps?" Tate was concerned that there was something wrong with her. Even through her tears, she was able to roll her eyes.
"Period cramps," she said like it was obvious.
Tate sort of understood. Constance had explained periods to him when Addy had gotten her first one. He knew that they hurt, but not that bad.
"Does it usually hurt you this bad?" Tate asked. Violet's face scrunched for a moment before she was able to answer.
"Yes, it's my endometriosis," she explained. Tate had never heard of that before. He was worried about what that meant, but he decided he'd ask later and try to focus on comforting Violet.
"What can I do for you, baby? Do you need something to eat? Cuddles? I can rub your stomach if you'd like. Have you had any pain meds?" Violet groaned at all of his questions.
"Will you just hold me and rub my stomach?" Violet winced. Tate immediately lifted her body and slid under her. He kissed the top of her head and began rubbing her stomach.
He started telling her stories about the ghosts in the house to keep her distracted until she fell asleep. While she snored, he decided he would get her some stuff
Tate entered the room about twenty minutes later to find Violet awake and crying again.
"What happened, baby? Why are you awake?" Tate asked.
"It hurts Tate, stupid fucking cramps woke me up" she complained.
"You're crying a lot Vi, does it really hurt that bad?" Tate fidgited with his hands while he talked. He was worried about Violet.
"No, the cramps don't hurt as bad right now, but I'm just really emotional and stressed out and I made a fucking mess and I just can't handle it right now" she ranted. Tate grabbed her hands gently.
"What do you mean you made a mess, babe?" He used his sleeve to clean off her face. She seemed hesitant, like she didn't really want to tell him.
"I bled through my pants and now my legs, pants, and sheets are a mess" she cried.
"I'm gonna take care of it Vi, how does a warm bath sound?" She smiled slightly.
"That sounds great, actually," she said.
Tate put his arms under Violet and lifted her gently. Her hands immediately moved down to cover the blood stains on her pants. He kissed her gently and moved her hand away.
"You don't have to hide it, Violet. I'm gonna take care of you, " he whispered.
He had Violet sit on the toilet, and he told her jokes as they waited for the bath to fill. When it was full, he helped Violet out of her clothes and into the bath. He kissed her head gently and turned to leave.
"Where are you going?" Violet asked.
"I'm gonna take your clothes and sheets and clean them up for you. I'll get some new clean clothes and sheets. They'll be ready when you get out of the bath. " Tate answered. Violet smiled.
"Thank you, Tate."
After the bath, Tate brought Violet pajamas and clean underwear. He helped her get dressed and then carried her to her clean bed. They cuddled in bed while Tate brushed her hair. Tate brought the basket of stuff he had gotten up onto the bed.
"What's this?" Violet asked.
"I got you chocolate, Midol, chips, and some water" he said. Violet leaned up and kissed him.
"I love you" She said. Tate smiled.
"I love you too"
13 notes
·
View notes
Text
Don't You Think 14 is too Young to Be Forced to ...
When I was 14, my parents decided they finished raising me. I was naive and entirely too young to raise myself.
I went to a new school to be closer to my parents store they owned which was where they spent almost all their time. They seemed to think their time raising kids was over when my older sister graduated. But, I was still there. I was 14. I had no one to help me.
I met a guy and long, difficult story short, I was forced by the principal of my highschool to pick a boyfriend so the boys would stop.fighting. None of the fighting was my fault. I was 14 and I had never had a real boyfriend. Two of the boys were first cousins fighting over me. Later on in life, they still screwed each other's spouses. I did dodge a bullet there but the next one hit me. I picked the other boy. The quiet one who adored me but I was confused and scared. I was 14. An adult forced me to pick a boyfriend in his office in front of the boys. Thinking back, I should have demanded to call my father but I was too scared.
Fast forward a week. I learned my new boyfriend was quite a bit older than I was because, first, I started school at 4. My mother didn't have time to "babysit" me because she had work to do. It was fine with me. Her verbal abuse began at 2 years old. Yes, I remember and I remember the neglect. But that's another story for another time.
Second, he has been held back for a couple of years. I had no idea.
Beside the building which was my parents feed store, was a vacant building with no roof. I remember the day he asked me to go to the vacant building with him. I was 14. I had no experience with boyfriends at all. I remember him asking me if I wanted to know what it was like to suck someone's penis. I looked a little surprised because I didn't understand what it meant. I remember him putting his hand on my shoulders, even if it was gently, and a hand on the back of my head. I never agreed. I was guided by his hand and told what to do.
Fast forward a few months, and my sister was in a car accident. My family was at the hospital. I was at home with my boyfriend who was to drive me to the hospital. This didn't happen. Instead he asked me if I wanted to try to have sex. I never agreed. I had questions because I was 14. My mother never had a sex talk with me at all. My friends in school called me a baby because I was more than a year younger than them, so when I maybe could have learned something they would be quiet around the baby.
He didn't wait for an answer. I didn't know what I was supposed to answer. My 17 year old boyfriend took my innocence from me. I remember screaming, I remember kicking him away. I remember going to the bathroom. That's all I can say about it. It is still too painful to dig deeper in my memory bank. The ones I've locked away. To protect myself, it's what I do.
Fast forward two months later. Monday before school. We were the cool kids so we rode around and smoked cigarettes. He drove to the cemetery just before you got to the city line. He didn't ask. He kissed me and told me this is what girlfriends do with their boyfriends. I remember crying. I remember he had a "sock" behind the truck seat to clean off with. I was in shock. I felt violated. Worst, I needed a change of clothes and I didn't have any. My home was about 45 minutes away from school.
I lied about starting my period. Even though, I hadn't started yet. I was 14. I had never had a period but my virginity had been taken by a man. A man who shouldn't have been in my classes. I never agreed to any of our sexual acts as I was never asked if it was what I wanted to do.
I was doing what a good girlfriend does for her boyfriend.
I started my period at his house before church one morning. I was extremely scared. No one explained what would happen. I had learned all I knew from a health class with the oldest text books ever. His mother had to explain everything to me. She knew he was fucking me. She did nothing to stop her 17 year old son from raping his girlfriend. She suggested we get pregnant. I was so upset and shocked but I was trapped. Just like I was trapped at my home with a physically abusive mother. This time my abuser was my boyfriend.
I was only 14.
I was in this relationship for two years.
The reason we broke up was because I had gained a lot of weight and it made him cheat on me with one of my friends. I had undiagnosed PCOS. Oh, and of course my friend was pregnant with his child.
All of my friends left me that day. Not just my abuser because they didn't think it was actually abuse. Because, I stayed. They didn't know how he would spank me on my ass with a belt in the woods or down the country roads to my home if I talked when he was in a mood. They forget about all the black eyes I had from my mother and I had no one else but my boyfriend and his parents. They paid for everything for me. Clothes, school supplies and fees.
I tried to die. I did a hell of a job. I still have the scar that you can see. I realized recently that my other scars from him were still healing. I haven't seen this man since he graduated until I was with my husband in the store in our town. There he was. I didn't see him until the husband pointed him out. I almost threw up.
Fart forward to this year, I finally found out that what he did would now be a crime called grooming due to the age difference, and other offenses as well.
I was also told that my first time was a rape. I had never thought of that as I knew it but I didn't want to hear it. I was told this about three months ago. It has been sitting in a dark corner of my mind.
This month, I accepted that I was raped and I did nothing back then so if we didn't mention it again, it would stay locked dormant in that dark corner.
I also read that my body was not mature enough to be attempting to have vaginal sex with a grown male. I was only 14, and I had undiagnosed PCOS. My female parts are smaller as I am a small female. The excruciating pain was because I was too young to be having sexual intercourse even though I was 14. I had reached puberty but I had not begun my period therefore parts of me were still maturing.
My gynecologist removed a lot of scar tissue on my first, second, and last surgery that he did for me.
Fast forward to last month. I had basically forgotten that he existed because I put him out of my mind. I always feel like I am safe when I am on social media but I am not. I can't hide because I don't want to have to be anonymous with everything. This blog has to remain anonymous though.
Sadly, this man who did all these things to me has recently made not one, not two, but three different Facebook pages in a month. Two of them have the same picture. One of them has no picture at all.
The circumstances in which I was introduced to the fact that he had a Facebook profile were brutal and cruel and that person has been told how brutal and cruel it was to play Guess Who with a picture of the person that raped me repeatedly.
I wish, when I was growing up as a preteen and teenager, that no actually meant no. I wish that a female would have been able to say you have to stop and they knew they had to stop. It was a different time, it's what I'm told. That doesn't help my brain though.
Seeing that picture of him after all these years sent me into an absolute tale spin of depression. Yes, I have blocked but, if he's made three pages, what would it be for him to make another with a different name? It wouldn't be a problem.
When I was 14 years old, I was raped by my first boyfriend in my own bed when he took my virginity and I had not even become a woman yet.
I don't know who reads these but I am okay if you're wondering. I am taking it day by day.
#mental health#dealing with depression#dealing with trauma#complex ptsd#im never recovering from this#gen x#gen xers#me too#me too movement
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
THE TRUTH THEOREM
RP blog for Reshiram (including gijinka form), written by Necro.
Necro | it/its pronouns only | 25+
Read the fucking pages pweaseeee
Mun | Muse
Rules underneath.
Blog is a wip as of now.
Absolutely no ooc drama. Unless someone actively abuses other people or writes illegal content, I do not want to hear it.
This also goes for proship/anti ship talk. I simply do not care. So long as every muse involved is legal and able to consent, as well as human intelligence and the ability to communicate consent, it's fine to me.
Please do not softblock me. Always hard block me. If you softblock me, I will likely think tumblr made a mistake and refollow. I'd rather not force my way into spaces where I'm not wanted.
I do not send in passwords.
I will not follow back if I'm not interested or see too much ooc drama on your blog.
This blog is a hobby. Roleplay is a hobby. I'm not here to have every flaw of mine scrutinized. I will be liberal with the block button if I feel the need to.
I will generally send a reminder if we have a thread going if you haven't replied in two days or longer. If you want to drop a thread, please just tell me. I will not be mad. I just want to know, otherwise the anxiety will drive me insane.
Let me know if you need anything specific tagged.
- Triggers are otherwise tagged as #Trigger/
- Please tag trypophobia, eye gore, mouth gore, and pregnancy for me.
Shipping is only done via chemistry. One sided insta crushes on your muses end are permitted, but don't force a ship on me.
I will not interact if I cannot see our muses interact for a longer period of time.
Blog will contain a LOT OF CRACK sometimes. It's the best way for me to cope with heavier thread topics. If you don't like that, you can blacklist the #Crack.; tag.
I'm too old for dumb fights over who's right and who isn't. Don't come into my inbox expecting to change my mind on drama. It will only get you blocked.
- This goes both ways. I myself don't engage in pros.hip and never will, but I tolerate them on my blog so long as what they write isn't fucking illegal. But should any pros.hip person try to force their disposition on me, they will also be blocked.
- If you don't like that, leave. The door exists. It's called the un/follow button.
Once again, with feeling this time: This is a hobby. Not a moral or ideological crusade.
I'm an abuse survivor, stalking survivor, grooming and child sexual harassment survivor. If you even so much as fucking dare to insinuate that I support any of that shit because I don't give a fuck if someone is pros.hip in my vague vicinity, you will get the block and never return button.
I cannot believe how many of these rules have to be about pros.hip and antis.hip, but apparently this is the world we live in now.
I know these rules sound really harsh and aggro, but I really want to make sure people understand where I stand. I've dealt with enough trauma from this website and its bullshittery, please don't make me relive it.
I promise beyond that I am a very kind and patient person. It just fucking sucks I have to be so aggressive about enforcing my rules because we can't have nice things on this hellsite.
I will never be mad if you block or unfollow me because something I write makes you uncomfortable, but if you need to talk to me about literally anything oocly (and it doesn't violate an abovementioned rule), you can always DM me. I don't bite and just want to be friends and write.
I have several mental health problems, please be patient with me.
If I like and unlike your post several times, it's not me trying to force your attention. It's me having to follow an OCD impulse. I apologize in advance.
#Pinned post.;#Psa.;#Rules.;#Ask to tag/#General trigger warning/#seriously be warned#i mention it here or there#Thank you for reading!#<3
2 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hi, 🖐 I was wondering if I may request a fic or head cannon, which ever you prefer, of some somnophilia Shigaraki. He drugs reader cause he has it bad for her and he thinks that's the only way he can have her. Then he's "enjoying" her sleeping form and she wakes up and she's into him, maybe she even says something like took you long enough. Please. I really enjoy your writing, the period sex is just...🥴
Reader came out a little more yandere-ish than I usually go for but that’s life ig
Also feel free to request more period sex I literally cannot get enough of shiggy being gross and tryna make his poor lil gf uncomfortable <3
| NSFW, somno & drugging (obviously), a teensy slight bit of angst but it’s all happy in the end
You’d liked him since you first spoke to him. You’d come with Himiko to join the league, being friends with her long enough you more or less let her drag you around on a daily basis. You’d asked her to just turn back, you wouldn’t be an asset even if you did agree with what they were trying to do, but she said there had to be something you could do to help and tugged you into the bar. He’d asked for your name and said you were useless to the cause but you still felt blood rising to your cheeks whenever he set those piercing red eyes on you.
When you’d been accepted on the condition you’d help and do whatever he told you, you’d kept to yourself, only interacting with your friend and occasionally Magne. Your quirk wasn’t really suited to combat but you helped around the hideout, working on preparations and anything that needed to be done in public since no one knew your face. You did whatever Shigaraki told you to, agreeing before he was done speaking and scurrying off before he could tell how flustered he made you.
Over the next several months you actually got to talk to him more and before you knew it you were head over heels for him. You liked his ideas, the way he articulated them, even the fucking hands all over his body made hearts shine in your eyes and wetness pool between your legs. Then weird stuff started happening.
You’d wake up feeling hungover despite not drinking, seemingly having intense wet dreams that somehow left your throat raw and stains covering your sheets every night. You nearly thought you’d pissed yourself there was so much of it. After the first week you got suspicious, but ultimately chalked it up to stress, despite how little sense that made.
Shigaraki didn’t know how to process his feelings. When Himiko had shoved you in front of him he’d had to be aloof, mean even, to stop himself from coming across like some loser with a huge crush. He couldn’t even talk to you at first, but every time you came around you didn’t act scared of him, just nervous. And then you started talking to him and he just liked you more.
He swears it was an accident the first time. You’d had too much to drink one of your first nights at the hideout and he helped you to bed. When you were sprawled out, disheveled on your bed he couldn’t stop himself. He was just going to kiss you once and leave, but you were so soft, and the light sigh that passed your lips made him come back for more. That night he’d held and kissed you for hours, but left before he went too far.
The second time it happened, it wasn’t an accident. He craved the warmth from your skin and the sweet taste of your lips, so he drugged you; watched you sip your one and only drink of the night and swept you off to bed like a kind leader. And at first he was content just to kiss you and lie beside you.
After a month, he snapped. The feel of your skin was too much temptation, so he slipped you an extra strong dose and got off from shoving his dick down your throat while you slept. The next morning he couldn’t look at you and left the second you mentioned a sore throat and started coughing. Since then he couldn’t stop; he jerked off over your face, rubbed his shaft against your skin, and used you in every way he could think of without fully violating you.
Tonight he’d decided he couldn’t stop himself and it would be better to indulge himself if it was inevitable anyway; it wasn’t like you’d ever have to know.
You sat beside him, nursing the drink he’d drugged for several hours while you chatted. You only got one third of the way through before your words became a little slurred, and unlike normal when you’d just down the rest and go to bed, you left it unfinished. He panicked slightly for a moment until he noticed you still seemed tired enough that he could do what he wanted, then he helped you to bed. He felt bad; you clearly trusted him, but he couldn’t stop himself. He’d waited long enough.
When he was sure you were out, he started stripping you, letting his eyes soak up all the naked flesh he’d let you keep secret until now. He’d even bought gloves that covered his last two fingers just for this; pulling them on had him salivating with anticipation.
He crawled over your limp body, gently grazing his fingers along your soft skin. His lips pressed against your forehead, then down your face and jaw until he latched onto your neck, intending to leave just a few hickeys where you weren’t likely to see. As a reward for how patient he’d been. You moaned softly, making him pull away with a pop, worried you were waking. You didn’t stir, though, and he continued.
He spread your legs, sucking drool back into his mouth at the sight of your slightly damp folds right in front of him. Tentatively, he pressed a kiss to your clit, watching your face for any sign of you waking. He quickly lost himself as he delved in, lapping up your fluids like your cunt was the last thing he’d ever taste. Your lashes fluttered, a combination of tolerance to the drug he’d been using and the decreased amount making you more aware much sooner.
“Shigaraki?” you called sleepily, having dreamed he was there before you opened your eyes. He froze, tongue still pressed against you, and looked up just as you saw him. Your face burned, eyes going wide at the sight of your boss dining between your legs. He leaned back, licking and wiping your juices off his face as he blushed and stared at the floor.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, voice barely above a whisper. You shook your head, still in shock but wanting to reassure him more than anything.
“I-I like you!” you blurted out, sitting up and covering yourself with your blanket. You sat in silence, waiting on him to respond, neither of you looking at each other.
“...You do?” he asked after a long pause. You nodded, premature tears stinging your eyes at the rejection you anticipated. The position he’d been in made you think he just wanted to defile you and leave, uninterested in your actual affection. He dropped to his knees before the bed, eyes just as wide as yours and the hint of a smile hovering on his lips.
You inched closer, both unsure as you approached each other mutually for the first time. His face finally hovered in front of yours, just as you’d been dreaming of for months. Your hands gently held his face as you closed the distance, and you felt his breath hitch when your lips finally met. The texture was rough, but his lips were pleasant and his kiss felt better than you’d imagined.
The fact he hadn’t said anything seemed to confirm your suspicion; that he wouldn’t want anything beyond sneaking around with you in the night. You pushed the thought away, intent on savoring him, even if you had to lie to yourself about what would happen when he was done with you. For now, you could pretend he loved you.
He gave your blanket a small tug, and you let him pull it off, leaving you naked as he crawled onto the bed. You were coaxed onto your back as he hovered over you, never breaking the kiss. The hands you’d been staring at for months caressed your skin, his fingers finding their way to your clit and rolling it gently. You gasped into his mouth and he rewarded you with his tongue, letting it play with yours as you ran your hands through his hair.
At a speed you didn’t know he was capable, he undressed himself, eagerly pressing his body back to yours the second it was bare. You wrapped your legs around his waist, clinging tightly to him as he rubbed his shaft along your slit, gathering slick onto his skin. He kissed you again, sighing softly into your mouth when you deepened it on your own. Your tongue shyly intruded into his mouth, just enough to coax his into tangling with it.
His hands seemed to be everywhere at once, one moment groping at your breasts and the next squeezing your hips hard enough to bruise. You gingerly gave him the same treatment, brushing your fingers along his torso where his ribs prominently stuck out against his pale skin and his stomach, rigid with lean muscle that trailed down into a wild mess of white pubic hair. When you touched his cock he stiffened, pulling away to look down at you with a slightly hazy expression.
“You really want to?” he asked softly, eyes wide as they searched yours. You nodded, kissing the corner of his mouth lightly.
“I’ve wanted you for a long time,” you admitted, trembling slightly as his fingers curled under your chin to tilt you into another kiss.
He pressed in, already well lubricated, and buried himself completely in your warmth. He groaned against your lips, both of you panting. As he started to thrust, he gripped your clit in his fingers just a little too roughly, toying with it and reveling in the sounds he could draw from you. Your whimpers were slightly muffled against his mouth, however if anyone got too close to the paper-thin wall of your room they’d easily hear.
You’d been close already when you woke up, and his rough treatment quickly pushed you over the edge and you creamed around him. He groaned loudly at the feeling of your walls contracting, hammering into you faster as he got closer to his peak. The overstimulation made you squirm, still holding him close despite his abuse to your clit as well as all the sensitive places inside.
His cum was warm, shooting out in thick streams against your cervix as he buried himself deep. He thrusted shallowly through his orgasm and went slightly soft inside. The fingers clutching your puffy nub slowed to a stop along with his movements, and you relaxed. Then, you felt him harden again.
It had been too much before, but the feeling of him fucking his load into you and the obscene squelching sounds had you nearly sobbing. You held him tightly, trying to muffle the sounds in his neck as he ravaged you a second time, resuming his ministrations to your clit. He went faster than before, pounding you into the old mattress of your bed and making it squeak loudly. You didn’t have the mental capacity to care anymore.
The orgasm he forced from you made you see stars, your eyes rolled back into your head and you moaned loudly against his skin. This time he followed almost immediately, groaning as he snapped his hips harshly against yours. His cum leaked out around him, pooling under you and creating a sticky mess on your thighs and the sheets.
He rested atop your body, shaking slightly as he panted and came down from his high. Your stomach sank when he moved, no doubt to leave since he’d gotten what he came for. He pulled out with a soft hiss, surveying the mess he’d left with satisfaction.
You were shocked when he flopped over beside you and slung an arm over your stomach, contently nuzzling into your neck and leaving several soft kisses there as he started to drift off. You tentatively pressed your lips to his sweaty forehead and nearly cried when you saw a small smile grace his features in response. Heavy-lidded red eyes met yours, his usually tense face wearing an expression you couldn’t quite read.
“You’ll be my girlfriend, right?” He kissed your cheek, clearly expecting a yes. You stared at him with wide eyes, nodding frantically when you found you couldn’t speak. He sighed happily and closed his eyes, pulling you a little closer. His serene expression made your own eyelids droop, and soon you were unconscious, too, elated and secure in the knowledge that he’d be there when you woke up.
#shigaraki#mha shigaraki#shigaraki x reader#shigaraki x y/n#shigaraki x you#shigaraki tomura#tomura shigaraki#shigaraki smut#shigaraki fluff#shimura tenko#tenko shimura#bnha shigaraki#somno
308 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hi Whetstonefire. I have a question about the comic where Nightwing cheats on Starfire with Barbara: What happens directly after that? Does Starfire find out that Nightwing cheated on her? And, if so, how does she react? I've read online that (according to Marv Wolfman) Starfire is the opposite of everything Batman taught Nightwing to be and that Batman taught Nightwing to be repressed and cold. What did Nightwing contribute (emotionally) to the relationship between him and Starfire? (Cont.)
(Cont.) From what I can tell, from online, Nightwing was adamant about standards of mercy and monogamy - how do you think, if Starfire were to be written as her own character and not written around Nightwing and his emotional needs, she would handle and react to that? (This bit is an FYI for other readers: this is just speculation, not hate. Sorry about that.) Sorry about the questions! Have a nice day!
Okay there are so many separate questions packed in here! I may miss some of them lol and I do not want to put in the hours it would take to produce an orderly response to all this, so this post is going to be a mess.
Initial query and important point: the cheating story was out of continuity. Like, literally, not just by ‘being rejected by the fanbase,’ it was just this weird retcon oneshot that seems to have been some sort of fuck-you to Nightwing or his fans or something. So no, it had no in-setting fallout lol. It, in more ways than most comics, didn't exactly happen.
It was just this weird thing where Dick hooks up with Babs before giving her a wedding invitation, which is both out of character for him in general and out of step with where he was leading up to the wedding--he was desperate to get married so they could have some Normal Stable Adulthood Happiness; the choice to recharacterize him as a fuckboy who regards it as a loss of freedom isn’t congruent, on much more than the level of principle.
As far as how Kori would feel about it, if she had learned...that is very hard to say. Apart from how it would require her to reinterpret everything about where their relationship stood at that point, the data is very unclear, and I don’t even have all of it. Gonna back up to cover some of the rest of the ask, get some context here.
So this actually brings up two of my biggest gripes with Wolfman’s NTT--weird Kori characterization and the weirdly negative interpretation of Batman as parent that backwashed heavily into other titles and influenced the character for the worse, in ways we're very much still dealing with today. 😩
The latter is pretty self-explanatory, though Wolfman’s take that the main thing Bruce taught Dick was repression does shed light on some writing choices and make others funnier. But Kori. Oh my lands.
So, item one, I wouldn't say that Kori is overall opposite Bruce, or even of his philosophy? There are just some very major points of opposition. She isn’t emotionally buttoned-down like at all, especially about positive feelings, although considered realistically with all the bullshit they’ve piled into her backstory she absolutely leans on repression to cope and stay positive, which makes her a lot like Dick actually.
To an extent, she was clearly written around foiling Dick’s Batman-derived traits in the same way that Robin was written to foil Batman, bright and glad and aerial. A Flamebird to his Nightwing in theme if not in name.
You could do some interesting stuff with that, and the bildungsroman aspects of this period of Dick’s life, like he has two roads forward in terms of how he’s going to define ‘adulthood’--does it necessarily require becoming more like his mentor-father, for good and ill, or can he make Kori in part a destination, as it were, and create an adult self that is derived from who he has always been as well as the man he’s modeled himself after?
To an extent I think this even was one of the things going on in ntt but like. Only a little bit.
(Given how much like Bruce Babs is in most of the ways Kori isn’t, especially once she’s Oracle, you could make a case for her as love interest being like. Symbolic of his not being in a rebellious phase? That gets weird and oedipal really fast tho lol.)
Okay stepping down one meta level lol, the thing about answering the 'what would kori' question here is that her character is deeply bound up in her culture, about which we are told and shown a great many contradictory things. Any attempt to read her as an independent character has to tackle not only the gender stuff you allude to and these inconsistencies, but how much of the sheer mess of her is rooted in racism.
'Fantastic' racism, technically, because Tamaraneans aren't real, but the 'taming the savage' narrative that kept surfacing between them and the language used in reference to it is just. The existing racism of presumably the writers, placed in Dick's mouth, and it's super gross. I hate it so much.
(I had a faint hope when they cast her for live action it was with a deliberate intent to directly tackle and better that history, but lollllllll nah. At least they didn’t double down in it tho! Can you imagine, with a black actress, in this day and age....)
So to predict and comprehend Kori, you have to make a lot of calls about Tamaran as a civilization. I like to slightly privilege stuff established earlier if there's no good reason not to, so while much is made over time of her inappropriate rage and the violence she was raised to normalize, I think what she says in her first appearance is good to keep in mind: in her culture, kindness is for friends and cruelty is for enemies. She doesn't understand why the Titans seem to have this backwards.
Kori is not a merciless person. She’s very empathetic, as a rule. With people she loves, she is self-destructively forgiving. That's not a trait only Dick benefits from--her family keeps betraying her in new exciting ways, and she keeps letting them.
Her arc of growing away from that habit is however greatly crippled by centering Dick in the narrative and by the awful 'civilizing' overtones that keep coming into it. When she comes back after the 1986 breakup, still married to Karras, she brings with her a commitment to doing things the Earth way--to eschew lethal force as more than a compromise with her friends’ values, but as a deliberate choice.
This deserved a lot more space and time than it got, and the fact that it didn’t get it is only somewhat due to her being subordinated to Dick and to general writing fail; a lot of it’s just the team book problems of everything happening to everybody all at once.
I mean, Dick’s journey later on to deciding he loves her enough to date her even though she’s married and it’s technically against his principles was packed into this absolutely heinous issue where he was inspired by a woman refusing to separate from her husband who’d just threatened to kill her and their kid with a knife, until being stopped by Nightwing. Because he’s apologizing for what he did.
This is his inspiration for accepting Kori’s marital status! It’s supposed to be heartwarming, as far as I can tell! Not heavyhanded messaging that this is a self-destructive terrible choice in which Kori will inevitably harm him somehow! This issue is pro ‘consensual open relationships under certain circumstances’ and also ‘giving abusers another chance’ as expressions of love. Welcome to the 80s ig.
(Notable is that the wife in this issue was black and the husband and son both looked very white, so it’s probably her stepkid and she probably wouldn’t get to keep him if they separated; this is not even vaguely treated as a factor.)
Point is, everyone was getting too little space to actually go through the amount of development they were getting, and it was clumsily handled; it’s not just her.
In an overlapping period Gar processed his issues with his adoptive father with whom he constantly fought and their shared trauma over the rest of their family (the Doom Patrol) having died violently not long ago via a batshit several-issue storyline where Mento went crazy, created supermutants, and abusively mind-controlled them to attack the Titans. It is literally all like this.
Back to the infidelity thing, now. So much to unpack. So like I mentioned above, their first big breakup, while partially driven by Dick’s existing conflicted feelings about their different ideas about things like ‘killing in battle’ and ‘her identity and loyalties being tied up with her home planet,’ is explicitly over different takes on monogamy.
When Dick is breaking up with her, Kori makes it clear she thinks it’s totally reasonable to have both a husband and a love, since Karras also has someone he loves and they’re both fine with it, but the story doesn't really explain how nonmonogamy works on Tamaran, or even if it's practiced outside the context of political marriage. They do do a sort of...soulbond fusion dance...thing, as part of the ceremony, so marriage is definitely serious business. There are so many levels of cultural difference that get poor to no development.
But to return to the weird ooc retcon cheating story: because of this context, no matter what her personal norms are, Dick specifically casually sleeping with someone else would be something for Kori to be mad about, because of the hypocrisy.
Then there’s the Mirage Incident, which I haven’t read through properly and which was very poorly handled by the writers. Kori is upset about Dick having slept with someone impersonating her and there’s a general vibe of this being treated by Dick’s social circle as unfaithfulness even though he was in fact sexually violated by deceit; it famously sucks.
We still don’t learn a lot here about Kori’s ideas about monogamy, from what I have seen, because her focus is mostly on feeling like Dick doesn’t care about her enough or in the right way since he couldn’t tell the difference. Which is an understandable feeling, even if it’s not an appropriate reaction to have at him at this time.
What Nightwing contributed emotionally........hm. This is a mess, honestly; he was all over the map, and not just because of having Brother Blood in his head. I cannot speak definitively on this, it’s too inconsistent.
For most of their relationship, Kori was the more intensely invested one, the one to initiate and the one who was shown at length to be excited to come home at the end of the day to their shared apartment because her boyfriend was there to see and talk to. If we set aside his more egregious white male bullshit, Dick was pretty emotionally available most of the time, though? They were cute.
Since they split up a lot of ink has been spilled making him less into her in retrospect, but he was pretty invested--leaving her coincided with mental breakdowns both times, and it wasn’t even mostly because she was doing his emotional processing for him, because she wasn’t, although it’s fair to say he often fell into using the relationship as an emotional crutch. Kori was definitely doing the same thing though so...it wasn’t the most balanced relationship in fiction history, but apart from slight codependency and the racism, it was decent enough.
She gets more evenhanded development than most superhero love interests, honestly, because she was costarring in a team book. She had her own storylines. She had other friends.
Mostly both of them just needed some space to finish growing up and stop being retraumatized long enough to process some of the existing trauma better, and I think they could have gone on being good for each other for a long time.
#long post#this did in fact take me about two hours#ask#a nonny mouse#dickkori#koriand'r#dick grayson#nightwing#hoc est meum#teen titans#new teen titans#wolfman and perez#sexism#racism#relationships#monogamy#drama#shipping#lol nonny if you're sorry why do it#do you mean sorry to inconvenience me?#do you mean 'sorry to activate your compulsive question answering?'
25 notes
·
View notes
Text
A Year to Eternity? - Chapter 8
“Please tell me you have something else to listen to,” Bonnie sighed. She slumped into her seat and poked at her ears. “I swear this is perforating my eardrums.”
“What’s wrong with opera?” He glided around three cars on the highway, weaving in and out of traffic at breakneck speed.
She hugged her jacket closed against a blast of cold air and spun to face him, folding one leg under the other.
“It’s boring and loud and half the time at a register that only dogs can hear,” she said, ticking off reasons on her fingers. “And slow down. You might not be able to die in a fiery car crash, but I can.”
“I won’t let you die Bonnie.” He dutifully lowered his speed until he exceeded the limit by a measly thirty miles an hour. With his right hand he flipped to a second preset station. “Is Jazz more to your liking?”
“I’ll take it over Opera,” she rolled her eyes. “What’s the rush?”
“Do you want me to slow down and delay answers for Elena?” Kol shifted lanes.
“No, but I do want to be able to actually help her, so it would be nice it you didn’t wrap us around a telephone-pole.” She leaned into his space, pressing close enough to smell his aftershave. “At this speed you’re gonna turn a fourteen-hour drive into eight. Eager, much?”
“Eager to get this over with,” he inhaled, breathing in the soft array of flowers clinging to her hair. “I want to get the spell from Davina and get out fast.”
“Bad break-up?” She raised an eyebrow.
“Amicable, actually,” he shook his head, passing two trucks.
Bonnie watched the half-tonnes shrink in her mirror before tapping her nail on the gear shift and turning her gaze to him.
“If it was amicable then why’d you bring me?”
“What do you mean?” His jaw clicked. It was the only chink in his calm.
“You don’t need me to retrieve a spell,” she tilted her head, curls bouncing. “I’m clearly a buffer and I wanna know why.”
He passed another car before he sighed.
“Because if the gossip has spread, as I suspect it has, it won’t be anymore.”
~oOo~
She watched the road without seeing the asphalt, taking twists and turns on autopilot. Elena’s dark eyes flashed in her vision with every beat of her heart; she kept hearing the strain behind her even tone.
I might not even need you; it could be another dead end.
Her stomach twisted up tight. Thirteen dead witches tight.
She took a left turn and was momentarily disoriented by the canopy of leaves that covered the winding driveway.
You don’t get to talk like that. There will be no giving up hope, and I am always going to help you.
She put the car in park, shut it down and hopped out. The door slammed behind her.
Her voice had been too even, too restrained, but her eyes had held the truth.
She paced towards the house and froze, staring up at the towering structure as her mind lingered somewhere back at the Grille. The conversation replayed again and again.
She loved her baby. She possessed the protective instinct to keep her child safe. Anyone who looked at her, who watched her with the infant, could tell how much she loved her. She clearly didn’t hold what had happened against her innocent child, but she saw it in Elena’s eyes.
The haunted gaze of the violated.
And whether she had been physically harmed or not they knew for sure her mind had been invaded.
“Caroline?”
The voices in her head cut off. She stared at him across a sudden ringing silence, sucking in a deep breath that seared her lungs.
“I d… don’t know why I’m here,” she dipped her chin, applying pressure to her chest to keep it from trembling. The brief drive felt like a blur; she had been certain the roads led to the school, and yet.
He stepped lightly onto the drive, moving forward until he could reach out and lift her face.
“What happened?”
She shook her head, gaze focused on the gleam of gold along his jaw. Her shoulders rose in a shrug.
“Caroline, something is wrong,” he moved his hands to her shoulders. “What happened?”
The trembling began somewhere behind her internal organs, spreading out in spasms until it overtook her hands.
“I don’t know,” she shoved her fingers through her hair, dislodging a few roots. The sting helped ground her. “I don’t know, and she doesn’t know, and that’s the whole problem. And it’s all my fucking fault!”
He took a small step back, giving her room to scrub her palms down her face, but kept his hands on her upper arms. His eyes roamed over her as he spoke slowly.
“I think I’m going to need a little more information, love.”
“Why?” She scoffed, tears pooling in her eyes. “It’s my fault!”
A memory tickled the back of her mind.
“And yours!” She shoved him hard; the change in demeanour caught him off guard.
He stumbled.
Confusion turned down the corners of his mouth.
“I was ready to run,” she explained around a sob, “and then you answered Stefan’s phone!”
“Caroline…” he blinked once, mouth popping open.
“Somebody screwed with her memory so she would forget there was a chance she could be pregnant.” Her hands balled into fists.
His mind reeled, trying to keep up with her train of thought. If he had it right they had gone from her self blame to the twins and were now jumping back. Although, how the two points connected remained a mystery to him.
“Elena?” He guessed, brows raising.
“She was only there because of me.” Caroline suddenly spun on her heel and kicked the front tire of her car. Her aggression broke the perfect circle that had once been a rim.
“She went to Brazil for me!” She punctuated each word with another kick.
Klaus wrapped his arms around her upper body, trapping her arms as he pulled her back to prevent her inflicting further damage on her poor vehicle.
Caroline fought futilely, but she knew her chances of actually breaking free when Klaus had no intention of letting her go were non-existent.
Once she calmed down he allowed her the space to turn without letting go. His strong hands remained on her lower back, gently moving up and down in a soothing motion.
“I won’t pretend to know everything, but I can tell you that whatever did happen was not your fault.” He caught her gaze. “Odds are that whoever the person was to affect her memory did so after and unintentionally removed her daughter’s conception.”
A scream of frustration built in the back of her throat, but she swallowed it, and the urge to shove his perfectly reasonable explanation back in his face, down.
“She wants to believe that,” her voice emerged strained, “but it’s not what happened.”
“How can you be so sure of that?” His fingers pressed gently against her spine. “You just claimed that nobody knew.”
“Because she’s my best friend,” she shifted, losing the will to even pretend she didn’t want to lean into his embrace, “and she was only missing for an hour and half, and she’s not easy.”
Tears flooded her eyes again. She made no attempt to stop him from lowering her head to his shoulder where she quickly soaked through his shirt. The gentle pressure of his fingers in her hair brought on more tears; it didn’t matter how many times he claimed otherwise because she knew.
“It’s my fault,” she choked.
~oOo~
The rocking chair’s gentle sway had long since lulled Serena to sleep. It reminded him of calmer days spent between the new world and the old long before air travel entered vogue. Were she a little older with the experiences to make comparisons he would have said the easy glide reminded her of water; something he knew she found soothing.
Anyone else would have placed her in the crib when she drifted off, but he persisted. The motion relaxed him, and he had given his word.
It was the only way Elena would agree to rest. He swore without hesitation to watch the infant throughout the night. He could have done the job just as well from the crib, but it eased his mind having her in his arms where it would be impossible to miss the first signs of dry skin.
And of course, Serena loved to be held; cradled in his arms or those of her mother.
It felt like a dream, snuggling an adorable baby while Elena got much needed rest. He would gladly take whatever mockery his siblings could dish out; it wouldn’t change the fact the he would have happily let the world burn if she stayed safe and never again cried out in anguish.
He hadn’t thought it possible to care for someone so deeply when they lay beyond the bonds of blood.
Marcel, adopted into the family, never found his way in, not completely.
Hayley took months and reminded him on many occasions why he spent so long shielding his heart.
Elena snuck up on him, found a backdoor and changed the locks before he registered what happened. No amount of reinforcement could keep her out because she was already in, not that he had tried after his mother’s ritual. One failed attempt had been enough. She was in and that was that.
He didn’t let people in easily, but one unfocused blink and an uncoordinated fist broke down his walls and built up new ones, reinforcing support around the infant he never wanted to let go of.
Until three weeks ago Hope had been the only one to ever evoke such a response from his heart.
Serena’s even breathing stopped, halting his heartbeat. Panic gripped his chest until her breathing picked up again after a catch.
“Normal,” he breathed, “perfectly normal.”
Hope had stopped breathing many times, giving her parents joint heart attacks; Rebekah called it periodic breathing.
Knowing didn’t keep his heart from stuttering.
“It’s a good thing I’m frozen,” he whispered, brushing a finger over her cheek, “or else you’d be giving me grey hair.”
Her mouth twitched in a smile.
Across the hall Elena shifted in her sleep.
He wondered how much rest she truly gained in the midst of her tossing and turning. He offered her dreamless sleep, and he suspected she might have taken him up on it if the Grille hadn’t put vervain in the decaf coffee she drank during lunch.
He shifted, settling in the chair for a long night, but before he could get comfortable a loud bang came from downstairs. A jolt traveled through him, but Elena hardly registered the noise.once the shock settled he accepted the knock hadn’t been that loud.
The second threatened to knock the newly fixed door from the hinges.
He made his way downstairs, listening to the hiss beyond the front door.
“It’s the middle of the night!”
He recognized the familiar sound of emotional exhaustion in Caroline’s voice as he reached for the doorknob.
“She has a newborn. She’s not asleep.”
He opened the door, smirking when his brother jerked backwards to keep from falling inside the house. He brought his hand down for extra support on the wriggling baby.
“She has, in fact, been asleep for an hour in spite of having a newborn in the house.”
“What the bloody hell are you doing her?” His eyes flickered to Elijah’s arms.
“At this moment in time I am answering the door.” His thumb touched Serena’s soft cheek. He knew the picture he must have painted in his unbuttoned shirt with the sleeves rolled up; not even he could have said where his tie and suit jacket had ended up.
“Where’s Elena?” He rolled his eyes.
“Were you not listening? She’s asleep.” His eyes narrowed as Klaus shouldered his way inside and up the stairs before he or Caroline could stop him.
“Niklaus!”
He followed, Caroline on his heels, and pulled his brother away, too late, by the back of his shirt.
Elena blinked through the cobwebs of nightmare fuelled sleep
She sat up, surveying the scene with a sigh.
“I knew I’d regret that invitation.”
~oOo~
Bone deep exhaustion, the kind that gripped in the dead of night when consciousness forced away sleep, gripped her.
She mumbled something incoherent and rolled over, shoving her face into the pillow. Persistent fingers wrapped around the dark fabric of her comforter.
“Hope, wake up.”
The blankets were thrown around her waist, making way for cold air to circle around her upper body.
“No,” she whined, curling into the fetal position.
“Hope!” Hands shook her shoulder.
She cracked open an eye. Under the weight of exhaustion her stare felt less withering. A mop of curly black hair came into view. It took an incredible amount of effort to lift her head and read the bright green numbers of the alarm clock.
“It’s 2:48 in the morning,” she could barely lift her voice above a whisper.
He fidgeted, clutching and smoothing out his sweater. “I have to talk to you.”
“At 2:48 in the morning?” She groaned, squeezing her eyes shut. “I was sleeping.”
She could feel him moving, bouncing with nervous energy. Under normal circumstances, at more reasonable hours, she found his idiosyncrasies adorable, but it was 2:48 in the freaking morning.
She liked sleep.
Scratch that, she loved sleep.
She wanted to remembrance sleep, but his bouncing leg made it impossible.
She peeked again: 3:01.
“Landon,” she dragged out his name.
“I stole something,” he blurted.
Her eyes snapped open as she bolted upright and crossed her arms. She blinked away her bewilderment to study the conflicting emotions on his face.
“I don’t know why I did it,” he hurried, explaining in a whisper, “I don’t even remember doing it.”
“Then how do you know you stole it?” She stifled a yawn.
“Because I remember it from the tour,” he reached into his pocket for a short dagger. “It glowed from my backpack and woke me up.”
“It glowed?” Her sleep addled mind refused to register the significance of his words.
“Bright orange,” he nodded, “like fire.”
“You couldn’t have stolen it,” she rubbed her eyes, coming awake with each word. “There are wards.”
“Then how did I get it?” He countered, emotions going out of control. His eyes tracked her as she stumbled out of bed and shoved her feet into slipper boots. “Where are you going?”
“Coffee,” she cinched a purple robe around her waist, “then find out how you got it.”
Days spent unable to sleep while the Hollow poisoned her body meant she knew the quietest path through the hall, keeping her off the teacher’s radar.
In the kitchen she went through the motions of making coffee between yawns.
“Coffee?” She poured cream and sugar. Her nose wrinkled at the two sweet taste, but she lacked the energy to remake it.
“Aren’t werewolves wide awake at night?” Landon shook his head and followed her into the hall, falling into step at her side.
“Only on full moons,” she whispered. Her hand shot out, fingers clutching the front of his hoodie to stop him. In her mind’s eye she saw the outline of the hot spots as if marked with bioluminescent paint.
“Squeaky floorboards,” she jerked her chin to a closed door, “and Mr. Williams is a light sleeper.”
“So how do we get to the library?” He focused on the dark door less than twenty feet away.
“Follow me and step exactly where I step.” She sat her empty mug on a hall table and began picking her way across the floor. She kept one hand behind her, holding tight to Landon.
Her eyes narrowed when they got close. She stopped up suddenly, nearly tumbling into a wall when Landon ran into her; his arms around her waist saved them a loud bang. Low voices drifted out of the ajar door with a distant light from a lamp.
“I think someone noticed,” she hugged his arms, muttering a spell under her breath to turn them invisible. “Don’t let go.”
~oOo~
Caroline shifted on the bed, smoothing out the material of a striped onesie.
Elena patted Serena’s back absently as she nursed and watched the stacks of clean clothes get higher. The silence stretched out between them until she physically couldn’t take it.
“Care, what’s going on?” She watched her shoulders draw up and elbows tuck in. “Come on, Care. Klaus didn’t barge in here so you could compulsively fold my laundry.”
“If I don’t fold it you’ll put off putting things away and pick up clean stuff from the baskets.” Her eyes darted up and then back to the blanket in her hands. “Why not just hold it when it comes out of the dryer?”
“I have a newborn,” she lifted Serena to burp. Her fingers skimmed the soft skin for any signs of dryness.
“You’ve got Elijah here, if not 24/7 then close to it,” she sighed. Out of laundry, she clasped her hands together in her lap. “Plus the rest of us popping in.”
“Which is what enabled me to do the laundry. I’m not supermom like you.”
“I’m not supermom,” Caroline’s laugh came out watery.
“You were a neurotic control freak before you became a vampire and gained the ability to speed clean,” Elena crossed her legs and held Serena carefully as she placed her in the bassinet by the bed. “I have pictures of the Dallas house and I know Ric is the organized chaos kind. I did live with him. You worked, took care of the twins and kept the house immaculate. You’re supermom, and I may have a little inferiority complex.”
“Why?” Her brows shot up.
“Seriously?” Elena gestured to her bedroom. Books lay scattered across the nightstand, and thanks to Caroline they were the only things out of place. Her journal sat open on the last entry where she had listed the vague details of Serena’s first bath; she still needed to add the dry out.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, fingers plucking at a loose thread on the blanket.
“Don’t worry,” she waved a hand, yawning. “I’ll find my groove and eventually get over it.”
“Not that,” her chin quivered.
Elena tilted her head.
“You…” Caroline faltered, reached a hand over to the bassinet. “Elena, you’re only in this position because of me… because I dragged you with me to Brazil. I left you alone.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“I did,” she insisted. “I left you in the hotel alone.”
“Where I was safe,” Elena reached for her hands. “I made the choice to leave the room. I decided to go for a walk. When you left me to go to that meeting I was safe.”
“It still feels like my fault,” she shook her head.
“It wasn’t, and I’m fine,” Elena sank against the headboard.
“No, you’re not,” Caroline shifted and sat next to her, careful of the piled fabric. “I know the signs Elena, and now that I know what happened they all make a lot more sense.” She took a deep breath, holding Elena’s hands tighter. “You pulled away from us. You hid what happened. For months you would jump when anyone touched you.”
Elena chewed on her bottom lip.
“I don’t know what happened.” Her stomach trembled.
“Yeah, you do.” Caroline blew out a rush of air. “You’re not one-night-stand-girl Elena, and that should have been my first clue. Somebody violated you, and you didn’t tell anyone.”
“I told Elijah,” she protested in a small voice.
“And if the two of you weren’t the two of you that might actually sting.” Tears burned in her eyes. “I guess I can’t blame you for not telling me sooner… I never told you.”
“Care?” Her heart stuttered with foreboding. “Oh my God, Care.”
She sat up.
“He… he convinced me I wanted it, and after I turned he made me think it was my fault,” she whispered in a hollow voice. “And then rituals and hybrids complicated things. You got a sire bond and I convinced myself it was better for you, and everyone else, not to know.”
“I…” Elena swallowed. “Caroline, I… I thought he was just feeding on you; that’s why Stefan helped me get you on vervain. If I.. if I had known I wouldn’t have… I would have told him to go to hell.” Tears brimmed in her eyes.
“I know,” she felt a sob in the back of her throat.
The slid down in the bed, laying side-by-side. She curled an arm around Elena’s waist and blinked back her own tears to focus on the shimmering brown eyes of her best friend.
“Call it even?” She grimaced at her lame attempt to joke.
Elena’s laugh caught on a sob. “The other option is to say ‘I-hate-you’ and go our separate ways.”
“We’re beyond the point of leaving each other,” Caroline sighed. “Forgive me?”
“I never blamed you, but yes.” She hugged her close. “Forgive me?”
“I was bitter for a while, and genuinely terrified for you, but I already forgave you.” Caroline managed a half-smile. “And you seemed happy enough when you turned it back on and the bond was gone.”
Elena lowered her eyes, cuddling closer.
“What is it?” Her eyes narrowed.
“It wasn’t gone,” she whispered. “Damon didn’t want to hear that it was still there so I lied. And to make sure he never found out I lied to everyone.”
Caroline was silent for a long while, digesting the information. When she did speak it was in a decidedly calm voice.
“Do you think if we told Bonnie she could find a way to bring him back so we can kill him?”
“I think a spell like that could kill her,” she shook her head. Exhaustion beckoned her close.
“Best to let sleeping dogs lie,” she shut her eyes.
~oOo~
If she had accurately kept count it was her fourth yawn. Stifling it brought tears to her eyes, blurring the store fronts and street signs into a solid block of multiple colours. Several quick blinks brought her surroundings into crystal clear focus.
She saw the ceiling of the car with perfect clarity.
Her fingers curled around the warm wool covering her from chin to knee, mapping the dark blue material down to where it bunched near her hips and protected her from the sharp dig of the belt buckle.
“You covered me up,” she mumbled. Her fingers fumbled near the door, hunting for the lever that would raise her into a seated position again.
She saw him shrug from the corner of her eye as she rose.
“You looked cold.”
“And laid me down?” The seat snapped up, hitting her back with a dull thud.
“There would have been a crick in your neck otherwise.” He pulled into a parking space.
“Did you speed up again?” She squinted at the dash clock.
“Yes,” he turned off the ignition, “because if I stuck to your speed we wouldn’t have gotten here until 10 in the morning.”
“That’s not right,” she sighed. Her stomach growled, reminding her of the last meal she ate before they left Mystic Falls.
“What is right?”
Her mind scrambled. She carried ones and sevens and put decimals in the wrong places before admitting the fog in her brain was to dense for simple addition so she held no hope of mentally working a complex problem at 4 in the morning without chemical assistance.
“I’ll tell you after coffee.”
A shiver travelled up her body when she stepped onto the street; Kol’s jacket settled on her shoulders. Standing made the material swing around the bottom of her thighs, lower than half of the dresses in her closet.
“You’re tall,” she garbled around a yawn.
“And you’re very articulate before coffee,” he chuckled, steering her with a hand on the small of her back. “Come on, love.”
Bonnie made no comment to the physical contact, though he suspected an earful after the caffeine hit her bloodstream. Then again, she had never scolded his behaviour during Elena’s labour.
They crossed through the familiar green of Jackson Square. It was as deserted as any place in New Orleans could be during the early hours of the morning.
A handful of people occupied a handful of tables in the café that would bustle with energy in a handful of hours.
He left Bonnie beneath a green and white awning, sitting in a dark green chair.
She blinked at her surroundings.
He wondered from his place at the counter if the wrinkle in her brow was the result of attempting more mental math or if her confusion came from the sudden stillness.
She startled when he returned with two steaming cups and two orders of beignets.
Her throat released a pleased hum when she sipped the coffee. She had finished half the cup before he made it through the first beignet.
“I thought you two were living in San Francisco.” Bonnie picked up a beignet. Warmth radiated beneath the layer of powdered sugar.
“Were you keeping track of me daring?” He took a bite to mask his smirk.
“It’s always best to know where the hurricane’s brewing.”
He huffed.
Powdered sugar blew out in a cloud, dotting her cheeks with ghostly freckles that she swiped away before eating her own beignet.
Her eyes went round.
“We were in San Francisco, but Davina moved back here after we ended things since her magic is stronger here.”
“All magic is,” she murmured, watching the tiny hairs rise on her hand. “I can feel it humming under my skin like electricity. It’s making the air static.”
“I remember that feeling,” he nodded. At her confused frown he explained about the months spent in the body of Kaleb. “It was another attempt of my mother’s to kill her children; only in body though.”
“Glad she didn’t succeed. Though, I do admire her commitment to her goals.” She polished off the first beignet. “And 8 am.”
“8 am?” He tilted his head.
“That’s when we should have arrived.” Over the rim of her cup her eyes sparkled. “You took four hours off of the drive, maniac.”
“Psychotic maniac.”
Kol froze, cup halfway to his mouth, eyes darting towards the new voice. She stood watching them with crossed arms and a curious expression.
“Davina,” he greeted, lowering his mug.
“Kol,” she nodded, shifting her weight onto her heels. “What are you doing here?”
“At the moment I am plying Bonnie here with caffeine and sugar,” he cleared his throat. “Then I was going to look for you.”
“You drove through the night like a maniac to find me?” Her eyes darted briefly to Bonnie as her brows lowered; her gaze flicked to his daylight ring. “This have anything to do with the rumours about Rebekah?”
Bonnie traced the white cover on her cup, noting how the colour momentarily matched his complexion.
“I came for a spell…”
“So Rebekah’s not human?” Davina cut in, pressing her fingers into her arms.
“She is…” he cleared his throat.
Information slotted in place from their conversation at the hospital until his comment about rumours and amicable splits made sense.
“Oh my…” her fingers flew to her open mouth. “You never told her about the cure.”
Davina didn’t want to turn. Kol didn’t want to turn.
Kol knew every option. Davina knew one.
“There’s a cure?” She took a step towards the table. “How long have you known about it?”
“Sorry,” Bonnie mouthed her apology.
“Kol?” Davina prompted and when he didn’t answer she turned her focus to Bonnie. “Do you know?”
“I…” she chewed her bottom lip, eyes darting from one to the other. Her nail scratched at the Café logo on her cup. “I’m a little fuzzy on the history. Wasn’t it the twelfth century when you heard the rumours?”
“Early twelfth,” he nodded.
“I don’t care about rumours. I care about the facts.” Heat flared in her eyes. “How long have you known?”
He inhaled slowly and tipped his cup around, addressing his answer to the powdered sugar dotting the table.
“I have known where to find it for nearly eight years, and I knew where to look when I was possessing Kaleb.”
Jazz filled the ensuing silence. When Bonnie dared to look up it was into the face of indignation a split second before Davina Claire spun on her heel and stormed out.
“She’s not gonna give you anything now is she?” Bonnie sighed. She got to her feet when he shook his head and left him at the table.
Davina’s maroon jacket flashed between the locals on their way to work.
She ran around the people and after her, bemoaning her shoe choices.
“Wait up,” she called, gasping for breath.
Against all odds Davina listened.
She caught up and sucked in large gulps of air as she whipped off the now too warm coat; Davina’s eyes settled on the fabric.
“I’m not giving him anything.” She crossed her arms.
“Then give it to me,” Bonnie’s breath puffed clouds in the air. “My best friend, we’re practically sisters, just had a baby and because of magical interference she doesn’t remember how she got pregnant. Elijah says you’ve worked with memory before; you can help her.”
“Why don’t you just ask her boyfriend, or retrace her steps?” Davina uncrossed her arms.
“She doesn’t have a boyfriend, and retracing her steps doesn’t give answers.” Bonnie rubbed a stitch in her side, mentally making a note to get in shape again. “All signs point to someone hurting her.”
Davina glanced beyond her shoulder; Bonnie looked back to find Kol on the street.
“He could have told me,” her eyes narrowed.
“Could’ve, should’ve, didn’t,” Bonnie sighed. She kind of understood why; Davina had refused to entertain the idea of being a vampire, and Kol didn’t want to be human. He wouldn’t compromise when she wouldn’t consider the more obvious option.
“This has nothing to do with him though. This has to do with a woman who’s hurting and in desperate need of answers. So help me to help her.”
She drew deep breaths, looking Bonnie up and down hesitantly.
“The Originals have a house in town, right?” Bonnie tucked her hair behind her ear.
“The Abattoir,” Davina nodded.
“Okay, so we’ll be around until tomorrow morning,” she gestured over her shoulder. “Come morning we’ll leave again, and I’m hoping it will be with one of your spells.”
She left Davina standing in the square and walked back, coming to a stop in front of Kol.
“Withholding information? Really?” She handed him his coat.
“This information wouldn’t have made a difference in our situation for many reasons that I told you weeks ago.” He touched the bridge of her nose; his thumb came away with powdered sugar. “I saw no point in revealing the information and my reluctance to take the cure.”
“Why not?” She fell into step beside him.
“I knew it was over, but she still made a formidable ally. Why introduce animosity?”
“I guess I can see your point,” she nodded, eyes darting around the street. “Twenty-four hours in New Orleans… what to do?”
“I’ve got a handful of books I want to grab,” he shrugged, “maybe there will be a spell in one for when Davina doesn’t deliver.”
“Have a little faith.” She swayed, nudging his side.
“People these days don’t have faith,” he snorted.
“You’re not exactly of these days though,” she teased.
“Are you calling me old?” He opened the passenger door.
“I’m calling you ancient,” she flashed a quick smile. Her hand curled around the top of the door, brushing his fingers as she did; a tingle raced up her arm.
“Age brings experience, darling,” he took a step, boxing her in the space between door and car.
Her heart skipped.
“Not necessarily wisdom,” she breathed. Her eyes flickered to the smirk overtaking his lips.
“First I’m ancient and now I’m a fool?” He tilted his head.
“Your timing could be better,” she tilted her head, holding his gaze.
“I happen to have excellent timing.”
“Prove it.”
His hand settled on her waist, pulling her body to him.
Her palms settled on his chest above his beating heart.
Her touch starved skin tingled everywhere their bodies met. She thought she might analyze that further, but then his mouth captured hers in a slow kiss.
He tasted of coffee and beignets; the combination sent the pit of her stomach into a wild swirl. Her fingers threaded through his hair as she stood on tiptoe to get closer.
He pulled back, brushing a second kiss along her bottom lip that left her breathless.
Her lashes fluttered against her cheek. She stared a beat too long at his lips.
He noticed and smirked.
Could he smell what his kiss had done to her, or was the press of her body enough?
She struggled to think beyond the sensation of his strong fingers pressing deliciously into her hips and came up with a single word.
“B-books?”
++++
“This couldn’t have waited until the sun came up?” Elijah traced the rim of his mug. The white ceramic held a heavenly blend of coffee the he purchased after Elena compiled a mountain of research into the effects of caffeine on breast fed infants. Not the he doubted her; the information was to convince Caroline when she inevitably found the bag of coffee.
“I couldn’t allow Caroline to sink further into her guilt.” Klaus stared out over the lake, vaguely illuminated in the pre-dawn. “It would have consumed her and destroyed half the mansion in the process. Your desk lays in ruins, by the way… not that you’re ever there to notice.”
“I’m at the mansion all the time,” he looked up and then down, fascinated by the grain in the patio table.
“You have been there for a grand total of sixty-three hours in the last twenty-one days. Three hours in which you sleep, shower and change.” Klaus scoffed.
“You know we don’t require much sleep, Niklaus.” He mused, tilting his head.
A slim vial of bright green weighed down his pocket. He had yet to find a suitable storage solution for the precious spell that felt safest on his person.
“How many of those other hours were spent here?” He took a drink of coffee.
“I’ve lost track,” he shrugged. “Most of my time is spent here when I am not on the phone with various contacts in and around Brazil.”
“Brazil,” Klaus nodded, crossing one leg over the other as he tapped the table with a finger, “so you know?”
Elijah nodded, already having worked out that Caroline told him; he had thought the information would be leaked by Kol first.
“She told me a few hours before you arrive to beg her help.” The wind ruffled the water. “I was looking for answers. It has recently become apparent that the information needs to be found sooner rather than later.”
“Why? Did the bastard gift her something more than an unwanted child?” His expression darkened.
“No, Niklaus,” he lifted his chin. If his brother’s expression was dark his own was thunderous. “And you will not refer to Serena as such again. She is wanted even if the circumstances surrounding her conception are not.”
Klaus went silent for a moment, letting the anger run its course. The cold fury rivalled the rage his brother had sported the night he awoke after the ritual.
“Very well,” he finally said, “you would know better of that situation, after all, practically living here.”
“I am not living here.” Elijah returned his attention to the lake.
“I said: ‘practically’,” he smirked, “you’re too comfortable with the girl to not be, and don’t think I didn’t notice that you restocked the pantry.” He sipped his cup and raised both eyebrows. “The coffee blend is a dead give-away.”
The wind kicked up.
“She’s been a little too busy to run to the store.”
“With the daughter who now requires answers,” Klaus hummed. “Will you be explaining that one?”
“Serena is not entirely… human, he studied the stain at the bottom of the cup.
“Obviously not,” he snorted, “her mother is a gypsy and a doppelgänger.”
“And she is something else.”
“Something else? What else is there?” Klaus shifted, leaning over the table. “No supernatural species can make themselves apparent at that age. Unless it’s a werewolf who killed their mother in childbirth, but those children never survive the first shift.”
“She’s not a wolf, and she’s not a witch,” he frowned. “There’s some gypsy magic from Elena, but something else is dominant.”
“There is nothing else, Elijah.”
“Then I suppose there’s not point in showing you the pictures,” he set down his mug.
“What pictures?” Low growls drowned out his question.
Wind blew down, flattening their hair beneath a fast moving shadow.
Klaus looked up, sensing Elijah doing the same.
His mind struggled to accept the physical evidence blotting out the light. He reached blindly for Elijah’s arm, afraid to take his eyes off the impossibility for even a second.
“Are you seeing this?”
@elejahforever @elejah-wonderland @naughtynecromancer @ethanjwillis @cry-btch@geekofmanyfandoms@morsmornte@xanderling@bellemorte180@iw1shiknew@blndbandt@petrova-banz @bulldozed88@njeancastro316
#Elena gilbert#Elijah mikaelson#kol mikaelson#bonnie bennett#Caroline forbes#Klaus mikaelson#klaroline#kennett#elejah#Elena x elijah#legacies#the vampire diaries#the originals#ayte
28 notes
·
View notes
Text
All You Need is Confidence
Part 2
A/N: I don’t own any gifs I use, this is just for fun. I’ll probably make this a serious just because it’s fun to write. Enjoy! I’m so sorry it sucks, I have writers block so bad! It’s going fast too because, honestly, I just wanna get to the good parts.
Warnings: Minor language, suggestive themes, student teacher relationships, and poly relationships. Also Boy x boy stuff too!
Your mind went blank, there was no thought in the world passing through you as you kissed Mr. Park Jaehyung, your damned English teacher. Time stopped-or it seemed to stop-everything was just focused on you two and how your lips moved flawlessly against each other. Softly, Mr. Park's hand slide down from your cheek, firmly holding your shoulder. You almost forgot someone else was sitting in the room with the both of you.
"Ahem," Mr. Kim cleared his throat.
Instantly, you jumped away from Mr. Park, your chair moving back with a loud screeching noise echoing in the room. Was it always this quiet? Everything that happened just hit you, the fact you had a panic attack in the middle of class and let without permission, or maybe that your teacher kissed you and you kissed him back, better yet another teacher was in the same room as the both of you!
Your head hung low with shame, you couldn't fathom kissing your teacher was a good thing. Although, at the moment it never felt better to kiss Mr. Park's perfect lips, still, it was illegal and your dumbass craved more.
"Y/N?" You flinched a bit upon hearing Mr. Park speak up, his honey voice making you shake to your core. "I'm sorry-"
Before he could apologize, you stood up, abruptly, scaring both teachers into thinking you felt violated. That's the last thing they wanted for you, to feel harassed by the sudden emotions of a teacher.
"Do-Don't," you stuttered out.
There was nothing else to say, neither Mr. Kim nor Mr. Park didn't have the heart to say anything to you. Mr. Park didn't want you to be freaked out, really, he wanted to tell you he loved and cared for you. But, he decided you didn't need to know that for now, it still seemed you were conflicted by that kiss just now. Or the fact you could get reported by Mr. Kim due to him witnessing this whole event.
"I think...," you started, nearly choking on your words. "I think I need to go home?"
It came out more as a question less than a statement, both teachers just nodded in response instead of saying anything at all. Which, you had to admit, any other word or action would flip your lid.
"Alright...," Mr. Kim trailed on, deciding to talk before Mr. Park could. "I'll tell the office I sent you home since you...um...threw up in my class? That's okay right?"
If you weren't so flipped the fuck out, you would've cooed at Mr. Kim's "that's okay right?"
"That's fine...I guess...I'm gonna go."
Without another word, without a goodbye, without anything at all, you picked up your stray bag slinging it over your shoulder. Hastily running out the door with a million thoughts running through your mind. Mr. Park kissed you like full-fledged kissed you and the worst part about a good-looking, funny, TEACHER kissing you was that you liked it. The kiss lingered on your lips, the feeling of his plump lips echoing begging for more, it was like a shot of serotonin. You tried rubbing the kiss off your lips, shaking the feeling almost as you walked to your car.
Long story short you kissed a teacher on a Monday, but now it's Thursday and you haven't been to school yet. Of course, you didn't tell a single soul about the events that happened. You also didn't know if Mr. Kim reported either of you to the principal, considering the school didn't call your mom or anything you just assumed Mr. Kim never told either. You managed to get your mom to call you out of school for two days, to your mother two days were more than enough. The only option you had was to go to school and skip Mr. Park's class and let's just mention this you weren't disgusted Mr. Park kissed you, but the fact you don't know how to act around him now.
Anyway, as your mom was pushing you out of the house to get ready to head to school, Mr. Kim was having a very heated conversation with Mr. Park.
"What the hell were you thinking," Mr. Kim's voice was a whisper disguised as a scream. '
Early this morning he came into Mr. Park's classroom when they both didn't have class, pacing back and forth around the room. So many emotions ran through Mr. Kim's head, he couldn't quite place a finger on what exact emotion he was feeling. Wonpil had feelings for you, seeing you kiss Mr. Park-his best friend-made him upset for an odd reason. Upset that you didn't kiss him first but rather kissed Mr. Park, but the fact that he wasn't mad about the kiss itself made him wonder. In the moment, he was oddly entranced by the way both of your lips met, keeping a close eye on your both. Even weirder he fantasized himself kissing you...and Jae. This all... was new for Wonpil, yes he always knew he had feelings for you. But Jae, that was different. Jae and he were always close so he thought the feelings he had were just the closeness they shared, as of recently Wonpil's starting to rethink their "friendship."
"I didn't mean to," Jae spoke up.
Mr. Park sat at his desk, rubbing his temples lightly trying to figure out the mess he just made. Teachers are usually updated on the students not coming to school, so when they didn't see your name on the absentee list a conversation sparked up between them.
"It all just happened so fast-You don't understand-"
"Hyung, I do understand!"
Mr. Park's argument was obviously weak, they both knew it all too well. Wonpil swallowed harshly, looking at his friend in a conflicting matter.
"What," Jae grew frustrated as it neared his first class, all he wanted was this controversy to be over. "Pil do you want me to say sorry! Do you want me to regret kissing her because I don't!"
Wonpil and Jae fought in the past, typically in their high school years, but Jae has never raised his voice like he was doing now. It was only natural that Wonpil was taken aback, new things and emotions seemed to be coming to life.
"I like her," Jae firmly said, trying not to sound stern but still getting his point across.
"Hyung," Wonpil started, but Jae raised a hand before he could finish stopping him further.
"Pil, I know this might ruin our...I know you like her too. Right?"
Wonpil only nodded shyly, he knew it wasn't his turn to talk. Jae had more to say about the topic of liking her.
"Maybe there's a way she can pick one of us-or none of us."
"Jae," Wonpil tried, feeling himself grow uncomfortable, but failed due to Jae's upcoming rant.
"Or maybe there's no hope for either of us because it's illegal-"
"Jae," Wonpil spoke again, but still not getting through to him.
"But what if she chooses one of us, what happens to the other!"
"Jae! Let me talk to just a second," Wonpil whined, but successfully shutting Jae up.
"Jae," Wonpil started, blushing softly not making any eye contact. "Have you ever had multiple relations, at the same time..."
"What do you mean," Jae asked, slightly confused at the sudden question. You know, after they just got done screaming at each other for liking the same girl.
"I mean," Wonpil started, leaning onto a nearby desk being a blushing mess. The thought he was having wasn't exactly the most "normal" thought he's had. "Have you ever dated two people at the same time?"
"Wonpil, I don't cheat on people I would think you'd know that-"
"Jae," Wonpil moaned out of frustration. Usually, he was the naive one, but currently, Jae is making it hard not to throw something at his head. "Like three people dating, each other, at the same time."
"Pil," Jae's eyes opened wide, the first-period bell ringing at the same time. "Are you saying you want to be in a relationship with Y/N and...me?"
Students flowed into Mr. Park's room, some muttering hi's to both teachers as they just stood in the middle of the room. A look of disbelief was plastered over Jae's face, Wonpil was still in shock that he even insinuated that he wanted a poly relationship with his best friend and a student! Wonpil doesn't even know what he wants, but yet he suggested an idea that made his heart flutter just thinking about all three of them in a relationship. It was a schoolgirl thing to do. Jae, on the other hand, was still processing what Mr. Kim had said. Did Wonpil just indirectly confess to him? His best friend wants to date him and Y/N, why is this so hard to fathom? Wonpil has always had different ideas, but this is a conflicting idea.
Unfortunately for Mr. Park, class was starting and he needed to focus on Shakespeare rather than the fact his friend has a crush on him. That's just what he did, taught the real meaning of Macbeth with the lingering thought of a poly relation stuck in his brain.
Mr. Kim walked to his class, the second period of the day, quickly he put a happy-to-be-here face on instead of the dear-god-what-did-I-do face then walked into class like nothing happened. All of his students were sitting down, talking amongst each other as they were waiting for Mr. Kim to start teaching.
"Good morning class," Wonpils soft voice spoke up.
He walked over to his desk, picking up an attendance binder getting prepared to check who's there. One by one, he called out the student's name, all of them replying with a monotone here. When he got to your name, his breath hitched, he tried to play it off so the class wouldn't realize it. Looking around the room he saw you, writing in a notebook, with your head down. Nonetheless, you said here just so he would continue class.
After that, the class went by like a breeze for Mr. Kim. The impending doom of talking to Mr. Park gushed through him, but the whole period Mr. Kim thought of one thing. You. Just in that moment, he saw how depraved and gloomy you were. The bell rang, students got up with their friends walking out of class without a care in the world. Mr. Kim took this as an opportunity to talk to you, just to make sure you were okay since you've been gone.
"Miss L/N, may I see you for a minute," his voice sounded so small, but yet it hit you like a brick.
You mentally sighed to yourself, this is what you've been dreading for the last two days. Yet, you knew it had to happen at some point, this needs to be addressed whether it was ideal or not.
"Mr. Kim," you smiled, with a hint of falseness. "What can I do for you?"
"Y/N," he softly spoke, watching the last kid walk out of the classroom. Swiftly, Wonpil shut the door so your conversation would be at the least bit private. "How are you doing with...everything?"
"I'm fine," you lied, and certainly it didn't fool Mr. Kim.
"Look, we need to talk-"
"Mr. Kim," you interrupted, internally freaking out. "I-I don't wanna get expelled or get Mr. Park fired, so please, I'm begging you don't tell anyone."
Mr. Kim leaned back on his desk, arms crossing in the process. Only one thing came out of his mouth, one simple question.
"Do you regret it?"
At first, you were taken aback at the sudden question. Was this some sort of test Mr. Kim was doing, if you said yes would he report you? But this is Mr. Kim we're talking about, as you got to know him you realized there truly isn't a bad bone in his body. He couldn't hurt a fly even if he wanted to.
You answered back, hoping he wouldn't get you expelled. "No, I don't think so."
Wonpil's jaw clenched, a bit of anger bubbling through him, he could see your whimsical expression as you were reminded of the kiss. It's written all over your face, you liked Mr. Park. You took into notice at the sudden shift in the aura, Mr. Kim was tapping his foot aggressively.
"Mr. Kim, I'm sorry! Nothings going to happen, nothing at all! So please don't-"
"Damnit Y/N!" Mr. Kim yelled, instantly shutting you up, he was frazzled and he couldn't seem to handle it.
Handle these emotions he has, the love, the joy, the anger, the jealously...This was not something he's ever experienced in his adult life, and he's feeling stupid for it.
"You like Mr. Park," he said, more in a statement way. He rubbed his head, carefully picking out his next move. Suddenly he was reminded of the conversation with Jae earlier, an idea lit up in his head. "What about me?"
"Huh," you muttered out, wide-eyed at the unexpected question.
"Y/N," Mr. Kim flashed his puppy eyes, unconsciously. "Do you like me...like you like Mr. Park?"
His eyes almost pleaded for a yes to come out of your mouth. For some reason, your mouth went dry. What exactly was happening?
"Mr. Kim," you started, but Mr. Kim already had you by the waist. Pulling you into his chest with a gentle tug, his hand gripped you softly around your tiny waist. He looked down at you, with passion in his eyes, anticipating that you answer.
"I like you, even though it's...wrong...I like you Y/N."
As you gazed into Wonpil's eyes, trying to make up the confession he just gave. Mr. Park had come to Mr. Kim's room to finish their conversation from earlier, only to be met with him holding you, confessing to you, leaning into you, kissing you...That was the moment Jae got it, he understood why Wonpil mentioned a poly relationship.
7 notes
·
View notes
Text
Tailor-Made
Title: Tailor-Made
Author: aliciameade
Rating: *** M ***
Pairing: Stephanie Smothers/Emily Nelson
Summary: Emily wears her suits like armor and they fit like a glove. Stephanie admires her ability to pull off the style so effortlessly and knows she could never do the same.
Emily disagrees.
Set somewhere in the first-half of “Baby.”
Also on AO3
Perfect lines.
That’s what Stephanie sees as she watches Emily tug at the waist of her blazer after shrugging it on. She’s had the pleasure of watching Emily dress many times over the past several weeks, almost always as a result of Stephanie undressing her first. She finds it almost as sensual as the preceding acts of lust they share because, despite the three-piece suits and pinstripes that Emily dons like armor, Stephanie knows what lies beneath, both figuratively and literally.
“How do you do that?” she asks from where she sits on the ottoman in Emily’s massive closet.
Emily meets her eyes in the mirror she’s facing and a smile touches her lips. “Do what?”
Stephanie herself has yet to get dressed; her skirt, sweater, and bra are still on the floor in the adjacent bedroom but she’s borrowed one of Emily’s many silk robes. Emily needs to get to the office; it’s late morning following their impromptu tryst. Emily had called Stephanie and told her to meet her at her house in ten minutes and to leave her underwear at home.
Stephanie hadn’t known where Sean was or when he would be back, but Emily’s initial vigor upon her arrival and discovery of Stephanie waiting for her (dressed, but sans underwear, as instructed) and how it gave way after Stephanie’s first quick orgasm to an hour of unhurried lovemaking told her Sean’s absence had been unexpected and could be for an extended period of time.
“How do you look so good in that suit?”
“Baby,” Emily says with a smirk as she adjusts her pocket square, “I don’t look good in the suit; I make the suit look good.”
There’s not much Stephanie can say to that. She swallows thickly, arousal spiking again despite the three releases she was just given and she knows Emily can read it on her by the way her eyes burn into Stephanie’s through the mirror. “Yes, you do,” she says, having to clear her throat to get the words out.
She finishes checking her appearance and turns, taking slow, measured steps toward Stephanie, one hand in the pocket of her slacks until she stops in front of Stephanie.
Stephanie wets her lips and struggles to maintain composure. “It’s so unfair.”
“Why is that?” Emily asks and Stephanie watches as she brings her leg up to prop a gleaming black and white loafer next to Stephanie’s hip on the edge of the ottoman. As she leans down, she licks her thumb and Stephanie braces herself for whatever’s about to happen, but all Emily does is rub at what must be a spot of dirt on her shoe.
“Because,” Stephanie says after taking a shaky breath; if she leaned forward, her face could be between Emily’s legs...again. “I could never look that good in a suit.”
Emily regards her for a moment, then puts her foot back on the floor. “I’ll text you later.”
It’s a jarring, kind of cold response given the electricity that was flowing between them but she’s starting to learn to not take Emily’s bluntness too personally. She’s also learning there’s value in bluntness of her own. “I’m so wet, Em,” she says as she uncrosses her legs and lets the robe slip off her thighs.
There’s value in it because Emily never expects it and it shows in brief surprise that crosses her features before she once again appears stoic but Stephanie already knows she has her.
“One more,” Emily says, predictably, and drops to her knees in front of Stephanie, a sight she will never, ever tire of.
The impeccably tailored blazer gets tossed onto the ottoman next to Stephanie and she watches as Emily undoes the cufflink on her right wrist that she fastened just minutes earlier to neatly roll back her sleeve.
Stephanie parts her legs and leans back, though props herself up. She’s realized she’s going to get to watch Emily fuck her in the mirror and feels herself grow even wetter at the thought. “Just one?” she says, breath already quickening.
Emily’s quick, fingers sinking into Stephanie before she expected them to, and Stephanie’s moan is maybe a little pathetic with how needy it sounds.
“Just one,” Emily confirms, fingers setting a hard, quick pace fucking Stephanie before she ducks her head down to suck on her clit.
She’s already seconds from coming. “We’ll see,” she breathes before throwing her head back to groan as her orgasm rushes through her.
~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~
It isn’t just one.
It’s two.
Three, if you count the one Emily gives herself standing in front of Stephanie while Stephanie watches.
Four, if you count the one Stephanie gives herself while watching Emily.
~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~
Emily texts her later as she said she would.
306 Broadway, 8:00. Sean will watch Miles.
Stephanie resists immediately Googling what the location is, but she knows it’s somewhere downtown. There’s no information beyond the location and time but Stephanie can fill in the blanks. Meet Emily there.
Stephanie’s filled with excited anticipation as she always is when she knows she is about to see Emily, but it’s heightened this evening with the element of mystery that’s been added.
“You look nice, Mom,” Miles says when she exits the bathroom after finishing her hair and makeup.
“Thank you, Smooch,” she says with a smile and a ruffling of his curls. She hasn’t done much, really. Just a bit more mascara and eyeliner and some lipstick, but she knows it makes a noticeable difference, especially when paired with the light pink dress she’s wearing. She feels kind of like she’s about to go on a date; she wouldn’t mind it if that’s what it was. “Are you ready to go to Nicky’s for a bit?”
~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~
It continues to be a surreal experience every time she does to Emily and Sean’s home, even more so when Emily isn’t there. To have to speak to Sean, to thank him for babysitting her son while she goes to have what is surely a sexual rendezvous with his wife is not something she particularly enjoys.
(The speaking to Sean part, not the sexual rendezvous.)
~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~
306 Broadway, Stephanie discovers as she parks along the curb, is a nondescript building. It lacks signage and the windows it has have their curtains drawn for the evening.
Emily’s Porsche is there, though, already parked in front of Stephanie’s Suburu, so she knows she’s in the right place.
She checks her appearance in the rear-view mirror once more before she hops out of the car to cross the sidewalk. She’s unsure if she should knock or ring the buzzer (once she notices there’s a buzzer), but the door opens before she decides to do either.
“You’re late,” Emily flatly.
“No, I’m…” Stephanie checks her watch: 8:01 PM. “I’m...one minute late,” she agrees. “I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not,” Emily says sharply and Stephanie realizes what she’s said; it’s still a habit she’s trying to break. “Well, come in,” she continues as she steps aside to let Stephanie pass.
Stephanie’s brain is still trying to catch up with things: the mysterious location, Emily’s cool greeting, and her appearance (unbuttoned blazer and semi-casual end-of-workday appearance) while she takes in the room she’s stepped into.
It’s a warehouse of sorts, though not cold and gray. It’s lined with racks upon racks of clothing, all of it appearing to be high-end. There are a lot of sequins and sparkles, bright colors and deep, dark tones, dresses, tuxes, and suits.
“This is Dennis’s storage facility,” Emily says as though reading Stephanie’s mind. “Clothes from old photoshoots, fashion shows. Shit like that.”
“Wow,” Stephanie says, still taking it all in as she falls in step next to Emily who’s leading her further and further into the storage facility. “Why are we here, though, if I may ask?”
Emily glances at her and Stephanie can tell she’s trying to hide a smile. “This is Pierre,” Emily says with a nod ahead of them and Stephanie shifts her attention.
There’s a very well-dressed man waiting for them in an open area surrounded by mirrors a few small sofas, benches, dress mannequins, and tables covered with fabrics, scissors, and more of the like.
“Pierre is my bespoke tailor,” she continues as they arrive in his area. “This is Stephanie,” she says as an introduction and Stephanie isn’t sure if she should stride forward and shake his hand or not. They are still an awkwardly far distance apart.
She settles on a wave. “Hello.”
“Pleased to meet you,” he replies; he carries a faint French accent, as though he perhaps spent the first 10-15 years of his life in the country before relocating to the U.S.
“Pierre is going to fit you.”
Stephanie looks up at her, still a bit confused, and furrows her brow.
“For a suit, baby,” she clarifies. She seems to notice the pet name slipped out when it shouldn’t have but when Stephanie looks back, blushing, to Pierre, he’s still just wearing a polite smile.
The numbers finally spring to life in her head, quickly adding up a massive price tag “Oh, no, I couldn’t—”
“Yes, you can,” Emily says curtly before swatting Stephanie’s rear end to make her yelp and hop forward.
It gets her walking forward and she whips her head around to glare at Emily who is now smiling at her in a way that manages to ease all of Stephanie’s concerns.
“Hello,” she says again after stopping a few feet in front of Pierre.
He only nods and she watches his eyes roam her body; it feels invasive though oddly not violating. “What a figure,” he says to himself after a few seconds.
“I know, right?” Emily’s voice is behind Stephanie and she looks over Pierre’s shoulder to see her approaching and then taking a seat on a couch to Stephanie’s left. “Make her stop traffic.”
There’s a measuring tape draped around his shoulders that Stephanie notices once he starts sliding it off and into his hands. “It will be my pleasure.”
~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~
“Now, Ms. Nelson gave me your initial sizes in advance,” he says as he turns toward a rack full of pants, shirts, and jackets on hangers, “so let’s find pieces that you like and then we will get started.”
She wonders, for a moment as she follows him to the options, how Emily had that information to provide. Until she realizes that Emily has had ample opportunities to look at the tags and sizes in Stephanie’s clothing. To look in her closet, if she was so inclined. To map her body with her hands.
She realizes he’s waiting for her to make selections and almost apologizes for her mind wandering, stopping short of it when she feels Emily’s presence behind her.
“This one,” Emily’s smooth voice says as a white blouse passes by Stephanie to Pierre. “Both of these,” followed by two jackets. “And these,” and two pairs of pants.
“Very well,” Pierre says with a smile and Stephanie realizes all of the decisions have been made for her. “I have a dressing area just over here for privacy, if you’d follow me.”
There’s a hand at Stephanie’s back and she melts into it for a second before following him to a cream-colored curtain hanging along the rear wall that gives way to the largest dressing room Stephanie’s ever seen. The selected pieces are hung on an empty rack and Pierre excuses himself, leaving Stephanie alone in the room.
She isn’t surprised when Emily joins her and draws the curtain behind them. She’s equally unsurprised when Emily reaches for the zipper on the back of her dress to draw it down. She watches Emily lean down the mirror and feels her warm, soft lips in the back of her neck she’s exposed by lifting Stephanie’s hair out of the way.
It makes her shiver and she tries not to let her instantaneous arousal be too obvious even as Emily’s hands ease the dress down her arms until Stephanie’s stepping out of it. She watches Emily hang it on a spare hanger and return with the white blouse. Stephanie can already tell it’s been pressed crisp, the lines in the sleeves sharp.
“This is going to be too expensive, Em,” she says as she slips her arms into those crisp sleeves while Emily helps.
Emily just shushes her and watches over Stephanie’s shoulder while she buttons the shirt, stopping a few from the top as Emily’s hands start fiddling with the collar, then smooths her hands over Stephanie’s shoulders.
She’s handed a pair of dark charcoal gray pants and steps into them; by now she knows how this is going and just holds her hands up and out of the way while Emily tucks her shirt in, hands warm and sure as they smooth the rich fabric down Stephanie’s waist to her hips and the tops of her thighs where the shirt ends. For as long as Emily’s hands are down the front and back of Stephanie’s pants making her heart race, they withdraw before bringing her any relief.
The jacket follows and she shrugs into it while Emily smooths its lines and tugs at the cuffs and flaps, evaluating things with a keen eye in the mirror.
It’s a strange transformation, Stephanie thinks as Emily slips her hair out from where it’s caught beneath the jacket’s collar, to see herself dressed this way. She’s compelled to straighten her spine (not that she would ever slouch!) and stand taller, to hold her head higher.
“Perfect,” Emily says, voice in her ear as she reaches around Stephanie’s waist to button the jacket for her.
She finally steps in front of Stephanie, then, turning to work more with her collar until it sits how Emily deems is correct. Emily’s focus is intense and it only raises Stephanie’s blood pressure further. Having Emily’s hands on her so much, gliding over her arms, down her torso (she knows Emily didn’t have to move that slowly over her breasts), her hips, her backside, all under the guise of deciding if the chosen pieces were good starting points for tailoring makes her head spin a bit.
“Pierre,” Emily calls, “would you mind running to the office? We need that savoy blue tie they were working on today.”
Stephanie’s heart, already beating at a clip, starts to race.
“Of course,” comes the reply followed by the jingle of keys. “I’ll lock up behind me; shouldn’t be too long.”
“Take your time,” Emily replies, though her voice has dropped considerably in volume as her eyes hold Stephanie’s.
Stephanie parts her lips to question the obvious but Emily’s mouth is on hers before she can ask.
Yes, they really are going to do this year, is the answer she feels as Emily’s tongue slips into her mouth.
“You look amazing,” Emily breathes before kissing Stephanie harder.
She holds tight to Emily’s shoulders to keep her footing. Emily’s hands are everywhere. They follow the same paths they had been so recently, but now they are heavy and greedy, grabbing and pulling at her.
As abruptly as Emily had grabbed her, she retreats, taking a few long steps backward while she unbuttons her own blouse, shucking it and her jacket in one move. There’s a chaise lounge in the corner that she’s heading toward and Stephanie follows, hands moving to shed her own clothing.
“Leave it on,” Emily says...or commands. Or...requests?
She’s staring at Stephanie so hotly she’s not sure she won’t be set on fire as a result.
“Leave it on and fuck me.”
The confidence and power that had been simmering from the way Emily regarded her in the expensive suit rush through her like a drug as she quickens her steps to catch up, hands immediately moving to Emily’s pants to undo them.
“This is a turn-on for you?” she asks; it’s rhetorical but Emily nods anyway as Stephanie pushes her slacks over her hips to fall to the floor.
Neither bothers to deal with Emily’s shoes or get the pants off her completely; Stephanie just puts a hand in the center of her chest and pushes to watch Emily willingly drop onto the lounge behind her and lean back. Her thighs fall open and it takes Stephanie no time at all to make her decision.
She falls to her knees and runs her hands up Emily’s legs until she reaches the heat between them. Together, her thumbs draw a line down the front of her underwear, a black thong that is already soaked. It prompts a whine from Emily and Stephanie glances up to find her, eyes wild and face flushed, staring intently at her.
She thinks back to that morning and all the previous times Emily in her impeccable suits and what it did to Stephanie to watch her shed the pieces, or adjust them to be more forgiving so she could fuck Stephanie more freely.
It’s with that in mind that she keeps her eyes locked on Emily’s as she withdraws her hands so she can move them to the collar of her shirt and unbutton it where it sits tightly against her throat. There’s a flash of hunger in Emily’s eyes and she unbuttons a second, then a third button, and a fourth until Stephanie knows her cleavage should be visible.
Then her hands are back on Emily, once again running up her thighs. She leans down to let her mouth follow, dropping kisses along the way until her fingers are curling into the scrap of ruined fabric to move it out of her way.
She touches Emily first with her tongue and watches as she slumps further into the lounge.
Her own arousal is maddening, pounding in her ears and between her legs.
She works to hold her composure, though. She wants to maintain the calm power of control Emily seems to so easily wield over Stephanie when their roles are reversed. She teases her, though doesn’t withhold too much, tongue never leaving the wet, swollen flesh that Emily is offering to her more and more desperately as her hips tilt and lift.
She grows hot in the clothing; none of it is particularly breathable, but Emily’s apparent inability to look away pushes such a basic discomfort far to the back of her mind.
Sometimes, and Stephanie hates to admit it, she lets herself think that maybe Emily doesn’t think about her when they have sex. It’s entirely possible she fantasizes about another person; Stephanie would have no way of knowing.
Except now: right now, Emily is consuming Stephanie’s presence as much as Stephanie is consuming her body, the connection between them right now more than that of Stephanie’s tongue. Deeper than Stephanie’s tongue even as it reaches inside Emily before being replaced by her fingers as it moves back to her clit.
“Don’t stop,” Emily breathes; she’s anything but quiet but they are alone. Stephanie would never want to silence her anyway. Emily coming undone, unrestrained (well, mentally), and uncaring is a sound that rings a bell deep within Stephanie’s chest.
Of course, she has no intention of stopping. Not while Emily is dripping off her fingers nor while her clit is so swollen she cannot possibly resist capturing it between her lips to suck on it while her tongue continues to work it in her mouth.
Emily’s hands are dug into the chaise; they anchor her while her hips thrust, as Stephanie’s own buck with need, both growing wilder and losing their rhythm until it’s a mad, untamed race to a finish that soaks Stephanie’s hand and makes her groan into Emily as orgasm overtakes both of them.
“Fuck,” Emily says after a few minutes of labored breathing.
Stephanie’s barely moved, Emily’s thigh serving as a pillow while they recover. “Mhm,” she hums in agreement while she gathers herself until she can lift her head.
“Fuck,” Emily repeats, this time as a breathy laugh. She reaches, arm appearing heavy, for her own jacket where it landed on the chaise and fumbles around until she’s tossing the pocket square Stephanie had watched her fold and place that morning down toward her. “You’re a mess.”
It takes her a moment to realize what she means, then both notices and blushes. Raw lust now fading, what they just did starts to let her self-consciousness back in, though she manages not to apologize.
She realizes as she uses the colorful square of fabric to wipe Emily’s arousal first off her face and chin, then off her hand, she doesn’t have anything to apologize for. No one has been offended. In fact, Emily’s watching her like she just gave her the world.
“I guess that means you like the suit?” she says, the realization giving her renewed confidence after a brief moment of faltering.
“I love it,” Emily says, back arching in a stretch that makes her spine pop a few times. “Now take it off.”
“Take it off?” Stephanie looks down at herself and frowns.
“I’m not going to have Pierre tailor that one; it smells like sex.”
That makes Stephanie blush despite the confidence but she does laugh. “Oh, my God.”
“Put on the other suit I brought you. There’s a vest with it. And clean that snatch up; I know you’re a mess and he’s going to be face to face with it.”
“What?!”
“He has to be to tailor the pants, baby,” Emily says, brain function and motor control almost back at one hundred percent. “You’ll be wearing the pants,” she adds.
“Oh, thank God,” Stephanie exhales in relief.
Emily laughs but it doesn’t feel as though she’s mocking Stephanie’s ignorance; rather, she seems to be delighted by it. “Now, hurry up.”
~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~
Stephanie hasn’t been as physically close to a man as she is with Pierre in a very long time. Her discomfort must be noticeable because Emily’s wearing a very amused look when she turns to look at her while he crouches in front of her, running the tape along her inseam. She’s also highly paranoid as she is wearing no underwear (they were completely ruined) he is spending far too much time inches away from her personal area.
She feels a bit like a rag doll the way he positions and measures her, and it’s a relief when he indicates he’s finished. It was a lot of focused attention on her but, she realizes, the constant discomfort did help move her mind away from replaying the vision of Emily asking Stephanie to fuck her.
The suit, this one black, is covered in chalk marks and pins and she knows Emily’s hands aren’t going to be roaming it any time soon.
“You can change,” Pierre says when he’s finished his work.
“Wait,” Emily says, pushing away from where she’d been leaning against a table, watching his work. There’s a strip of blue fabric in her hand and she takes Pierre’s place in front of Stephanie.
She notices Pierre makes himself scarce, back turned as he busies himself with transferring the notes he’s taken into a computer.
“I need to see if I was right,” Emily says as she slips the necktie around Stephanie’s shoulders.
Emily’s cheeks still hold a faint blush from their recent activity and it warms Stephanie. Neither of them speaks while Emily works on the tie, flipping it under her collar and tying it with easy expertise despite doing it backward. She tucks it until Stephanie’s vest once it’s tied and then tugs on the knot, wiggling it until she deems it correct.
She takes a few steps back to survey the work that’s been done, both her own and Pierre’s, and nods. “I was right. It matches your eyes perfectly.” She smiles.
Stephanie blushes so hard she wishes she could hide but Emily’s smile, both soft and the tiniest bit sensual, stops her from running.
“This is perfect, Pierre, thank you,” Emily says to break the moment. “I’ll help you change; it’s a bitch getting out of these things when they’re full of pins.”
Emily follows her into the changing room and Stephanie’s hit with a maddening dose of deja vu. She expects Emily to initiate something once again but instead, she undresses Stephanie with attentive care until the pieces are hung to be customized.
She helps Stephanie back into her dress with equal care and, once she’s zipped, leans down to draw Stephanie into a slow, soft kiss that makes her sigh from how good it is.
Emily withdraws, hand still framing Stephanie’s face, and she draws her thumb across her lips in a gesture of gentle intimacy and whispers, “You’re going to stop traffic.”
The End
#a simple favor#stephanie smothers#emily nelson#murder moms#asf fic#fanfic#CAN YOU BELIEVE THEY'RE BACK#smut#obviously#yep it's the scene we talked about like 6+ months ago#see never say never!#my bday gift to you all
102 notes
·
View notes
Note
Ok here's my prompt: college winterironspider, established winterspider and they want to do a trio costume with Tony as a way to show him they want him 💕💕
A late Halloween Prompt whipped up in thanks for boosting my friend’s rpg. Thank you! (Also you all say that Halloween is a 365 day event so 3 days late shouldn’t stop you right? ;)
Warnings: homophobia including slurs, some mention of smuttiness but nothing explicit, foul language. WinterIronSpider. 3.6k.
-
Tony flings open the dorm room door, already toeing off his sodden shoes. New England weather could turn on dime, and it had a habit of turning unfavorable on the 15 minute trek from the Chem labs back to his dorm room. His shirt is sticking to his skin, jeans heavy with rain. He can feel his hair, getting just this side of too long for how Howard likes it, dripping down the back of his neck.
Mother Nature hates him, and she’s not the only one, because Peter Parker is lounging on Tony’s roommate’s bed. Bucky is nowhere in sight, but the bathroom door is closed, so deductive reasoning is barely required. They’ve probably been fucking; the room has that musty scent that makes him twitch in his wet pants. Parker lays among the mussed sheets and blankets like the pillow princess he must be, curls riotous, beaming at the sight of Tony.
“Hey, Tony,” says Parker in the softest, cracking voice that Tony’s ever heard come from a nineteen-year-old. He blinks dazed, whiskey-colored eyes. “Y’re all wet.”
“I know. Where’s Barnes?”
“Bathroom.”
Tony hums. Barnes liked to take ridiculously long showers, conditioning his ridiculously long hair, moisturizing his ridiculously huge and attractive body. The guy was the antithesis to his boyfriend, large where Parker was small, dark where he was light, brooding where Parker was a goddamn ray of sunshine sneaking in through a crack in the curtains and blinding Tony. With Barnes in the shower, Tony is stuck shivering in his wet clothes, wishing he’d stayed out in the downpour and smoked a cigarette. Instead, he just sits on his bed—his sheets have seen worse than some rainwater. Opening up his bookbag, he sees that his textbooks are unscathed. Thank fucking God.
All the time, he feels Parker’s eyes on him. The kid is too pretty for his own good—both he and his boyfriend. When he came to MIT, he had envisioned dozens of nightmare scenarios regarding roommates. Maybe they’d steal his clothes, eat his food, leave their hair in the drain. Instead, he’d gotten a goddamn Calvin Klein model and his twink. Sometimes, Tony had to lay awake facing the wall on his side of the dorm room, pretending he didn’t hear the breathy giggles and dirty, foul whispers as the two fooled around while their roommate was ‘sleeping’. It left him unbearably hard, determined not to rut into the mattress lest they find out that he was still awake (and stop, God, please don’t stop—).
It was all very, very fucked up: how much Tony liked them; how much it made him hate them.
“You’re gonna catch pneumonia,” Parker says.
“What do you want me to do about it, kid?” Tony asks. He’s only three years older than Parker, but the kid seems so young—the enthusiasm, the naivete, the buoyancy. Tony can’t help but call him kid.
Parker raises his eyebrows. “It’s your room. Take off your clothes.”
Tony stops where he’s flipping through his textbook. He lets it fall closed with a thud, assessing Parker’s gaze. He looks innocent enough, maybe a little sleepy, but he wasn’t dumb by any means (a full ride to MIT proved that). Surely he had to know how that sounded, for him to tell his boyfriend’s roommate to undress in front of him.
“In front of you, Parker? I’ll take the pneumonia.”
The kid just grins, shaking his head. “Whatever. Are you going to the Halloween Party at Delta Psi?”
“Everybody is going to the Halloween Party at Delta Psi,” Tony answers flatly.
“Are you going to wear a costume?”
“Fuck no.”
“Because you have no idea what to wear, right.”
Tony rolls his eyes. “You’re a shit, Parker. So, what if I don’t? I’m an engineer; what do I need to dress up for?”
“I’m dressing Bucky; I could dress you too.”
“Yeah,” Tony snarks. “That’s just what I want.”
The bathroom door opens. Bucky appears in nothing but a towel around his hips. His abs violate state and federal laws—or at least if they don’t, they should. His hair is wet and up in a bun. Eyes like the ocean iced over drag up and down Tony’s body, making him feel heated despite the goosebumps on his skin. Tony is keenly aware of how his nipples have hardened, somewhere between the icy downpour and the sight of Parker looking fucked out on the twin-sized bed.
“Took you long enough,” Tony mutters. He grabs some clothes from the drawer and disappears into the bathroom, cranking the shower (and the drain is spotless because Barnes is a fucking good guy who cleans up after himself, the asshole) up to hellish proportions and peeling his wet clothes from his body. On the other side of the door are warm voices that are easy enough to tune out, or to tune into when he’s standing under the burning spray with a hand on his cock.
-
When he gets out of the shower, Parker is gone back to his own dorm. Bucky is eating a bowl of cereal, still shirtless. The words come out of Tony’s mouth before he can stop them: “Barnes, I think your boyfriend hit on me when you were in the shower. I just thought you might want to know that.”
Barnes stops chewing. He’s got the best poker face Tony has ever seen, no hint of anger or jealousy or surprise. His jaw closes again with an obscene, sugary crunch. After he swallows, he says, “Thanks, Tony. You’re a good friend.”
-
The first package arrives two days later. It’s for Tony, with no return address. He rolls his eyes—that’s just like his mother to be so dramatic as to not even say she’s sending him anything nor leave her mark. When he opens it though, there are no deliciously baked treats, no heartfelt (maybe a little distant) cards with carefully crafted handwriting, no trinkets that are hideous which he will be forced to cherish. Instead, it’s the ugliest pair of pants he’s ever seen: straight-legged and a size too big for him and a dirty gray.
“The fuck, mom,” Tony mutters. He tosses them aside. “Really off your game, crazy old bat.”
But when Barnes gets out of class and spots the box sitting on Tony’s desk, he points to it. “Did you get the first part of your costume?”
“Excuse me?”
“Your costume?” Bucky enunciates more, the fucking asshole, like Tony didn’t hear him the first time. “Peter told me that you said you were cool with him getting you a costume. He gets really fucking into Halloween. I saw this picture of him up in his Aunt’s apartment in Queens—”
Tony holds up a hand. “Stop. Rewind. I in no way told Parker he could dress me up for Halloween. Period.”
Barnes just raises his eyebrows. “That’s not what Peter thinks.”
“I couldn’t care less what he thinks, I’m not some doll for him to play with.”
“Next time he’s over, you can tell him so.” The guy’s pale eyes fucking glitter—glitter—like he knows that’s not going to go over well for Tony. And maybe it won’t, maybe Tony’s going to have to break some fucking hearts, but there’s no chance in hell he’s going to be caught dead in a costume, especially not one picked by a doe-eyed little twink like Parker.
But when Parker arrives for his date with Bucky two hours later, pink-cheeked from the windy cold, he’s got another little box tucked under his arm that he thrusts into Tony’s hands.
Tony thrusts it back. “Nope. Don’t want it.”
Parker frowns, looking up at Tony with those flat brows curled in confusion. “What do you mean? It’s for your costume.”
Barnes watches everything through the reflection in the mirror he keeps by his bed. He’s currently combing his hair like a schmuck (fuck, he looks so handsome), mouth pressed into a flat line, though Tony suspects that it’s more from holding back laughter than expressing any discontent. Tony chooses a point on the wall above Parker’s head and stares at it. The kid’s got eyes like vortexes, and Tony isn’t getting sucked in, no sir, not today.
“No costume. I’m not wearing a costume.”
“Sure you are, I’ve already bought the stuff. It’s started to arrive—did you get the pants?”
“Pants? Is that what they’re called? They’re hideous—” Barnes makes a noise in the corner that has Tony throwing a fuming glare his way. “I’m not going to wear them, or anything else. So return the stuff, kid.”
Parker stares down at the small package in his hands. “I—I can’t. I had it expedited so that it would get here in time for Halloween. No returns.”
“No re—? Well, fuck. That’s not my problem. I didn’t ask you to buy me stuff for a costume. What the hell were you going to dress me up as, anyway? A corpse from the 80’s?”
When Parker looks up, his eyes are a little misty. He rubs at one with his forearm, probably scratching himself with the wool from his coat. “It was gonna be a surprise.”
And yep. There it is. That does Tony in, because as much as Tony wishes he was the no good cruel piece of shit that plenty of people around MIT and the New England area like to label him as, he’s a sucker for tears. He’s seen his mom cry too many times, it just—it gets to him.
Tony snatches the package out of the kid’s hands. He points a finger at him. “No cartoon characters. No cross-dressing. No dorky inanimate objects, like a fork or a wet floor sign. Got it? Swear to God, kid, if you embarrass me in front of the whole school, I will never forgive you.”
“Why would I want to embarrass you?” Parker asks. He holds out a pinky. “It’s not embarrassing. Promise.”
“Fuck your pinky, man. Go on your date. Get out—you too Barnes, I don’t want to see either of your faces for like, two hours or something. Swear to God. I’m at the end of my rope, do you hear me? The end of my fucking rope.”
-
In the box is a scarf, long and plain and red. Tony rolls his eyes and sets it with the pants.
That night when he returns from his evening class, he finds that Barnes and his boyfriend have dragged all the blankets off of Bucky’s bed and onto the floor creating the warmest, coziest looking nest Tony’s ever seen. It looks like a slice of Heaven after coming in from the brutal cold. The best spot of all looks to be somewhere in between Barnes who is sprawled on his back, one arm behind his head and the other outstretched, and Peter who lays with his head cushioned on that ridiculous bicep. The size different between the two of them makes Tony’s mouth go dry.
On the wall, a Star Wars movie plays: The Empire Strikes Back.
Parker leans his head up, blinking at the sight of Tony in the doorway. He smiles, so soft and sweet that it hurts. “Hey Tony,” he says. He pats the blanket beside him. “Want to join us? There’s room.”
Tony hasn’t the slightest idea what to make of that. Not even a little one. Doesn’t Parker know how awkward that would be? For Tony to just cuddle in a pillow fort with Barnes and his boyfriend? Doesn’t Parker know how much that would hurt—
“No, I’ve got somewhere to be,” Tony lies. He steps out the door he had just came through and shuts it behind him. The library is always open on campus, and Tony falls asleep bent over the table there, cheek pressed into a book about the latest breakthroughs in Artificial Intelligence.
-
The next day arrives a plain white t-shirt in a plastic bag. Begrudgingly, Tony tries it on. It clings to his chest and the gentle six-pack he sports (nothing like Barnes who spends five days a week at the on-campus gym and drinks protein shakes in the morning). Turning sideways, he eyes himself in the mirror. At least this doesn’t look bad, certainly not with the way it clings to his biceps, but he will be fucking freezing.
Barnes comes in and catches Tony checking himself out in the mirror. For a moment, Tony thinks that maybe Barnes is checking him out, too, but—
“Looks good,” Bucky purrs. Making fun of Tony, surely.
Tony flips him the bird, but the guy just laughs.
“What is he dressing you up as?” Tony asks. Purely out of curiosity. Knowing how whipped Barnes was, Peter could dress him up as anything and he’d take it. Even something embarrassing or emasculating.
Barnes just rolls his eyes. “You know him. It’s a secret.”
The comradery with which he says it, like of course Tony knows how Peter is—something about it itches at the back of Tony’s brain, a mosquito that has landed and started to suck at his blood. But it’s no surprise that Barnes and his boyfriend are weirdos who like to spend more time having ‘dates’ in their dorm room with Tony rather than at a restaurant or the movies or any fucking where else.
But, like all things that Tony doesn’t want to wonder about, he pushes to the back of his brain.
-
The next day, it is a denim jacket and hideous combat boots.
“Fashion homicide,” Tony mutters.
-
The day before Halloween brings Tony a red flannel shirt.
“Goddamnit,” he says, holding it up so Barnes can see. “What is he dressing me up as, a lesbian?”
-
It isn’t until he’s assembling it all in the bathroom that he puts it together—and okay. It’s not bad. Bender was easily the coolest character in the Breakfast Club, though his fashion sense was nothing like Tony’s. The layers—white shirt under flannel under denim—are a little stifling, but out in the cold fall air, it would be perfect. He even combs his hair back.
All in all, Parker could have done far, far worse.
But when he comes out of the bathroom and finds the two of them in the dorm room, he sees that Parker has done worse.
Matching costumes.
Parker is Brian through and through. He looks like a total scrub in his khakis with Nike sneakers on, the long-sleeved sweater that clings to his thin frame. A ballpoint pen is tucked behind his ear, wrist-watch circling the delicate little wrist, and to top it off, a pair of sunglasses are looped over the collar of his sweater.
And Barnes? Forgone are his goth threads. He sits on his bed wearing blue jeans that hug his broad thighs, the whitest shoes that Tony’s ever seen, and a goddamn blue wifebeater that shows off his arms, both heavily muscled. Folded on his pillow is a letterman jacket, and Tony doesn’t even like jocks, but his cock twitches at the sight, thinking of slipping it down off of Bucky’s bare shoulders.
“No—we match,” Tony says.
Peter lights up. “Yes! You got it! The Breakfast Club is a classic.”
“I should have said no matching costumes. We look like—” like boyfriends, Tony thinks, “—like queers. I’m not going out like this.”
“Watch the slurs you throw around,” Barnes says, his mouth an unhappy, flat line.
Tony winces. “I—I didn’t mean it like that. But this is taking it to a whole new level that I’m not comfortable with. Not to mention, three gays all going out in matching costumes? Isn’t that a little suggestive?”
“Suggestive of what?” Parker asks. He’s holding fingerless gloves—the last part of Tony’s costume. It’s the cherry on top. With the cigarettes that Tony plans to be chainsmoking thanks to the stress of this whole event, he’ll be method acting his character all night.
“Come on. Suggestive, suggestive. Like we’re all—” Tony mashes his hands together.
Barnes reaches out, hand flat, arm flexing nicely. He doesn’t even look at Parker and Parker doesn’t look at him, but they slap hands in a high five.
“Am I speaking in tongues? I’m not fucking leaving like this; I’m not going to have the whole campus thinking I’m your loser third wheel.” It would be too painful, when there’s a shameful part of him that would gladly be the third wheel to them, that’s desperate to be between them. This feels like the crudest parody.
“You wouldn’t be,” Peter says.
“Pete, maybe we shouldn’t do this right now,” Barnes interrupts.
“No, Bucky, this was supposed to—supposed to be cute!” Parker turns away from them, towards the wall by Tony’s bed. He drops the gloves there and crosses his arms. It would be petulant if it wasn’t so heartbroken, the curve of his shoulders, his head drooping down morosely. Instead, the kid just looks like he’s trying to hold himself together.
Tony sighs. It takes Herculean strength not to roll his eyes. “Kid. I’m sorry. Clearly this meant a lot to you. Fuck knows why, but—”
Peter turns around, eyes tearful and flashing with anger. He reaches up to his ear, fiddling with the lobe with trembling fingers. Grabbing Tony’s wrist, he puts a little diamond earing in his palm, just like Claire did with Bender.
“What’s this?” Tony says, shoulders hunching. “My ears aren’t pierced.”
“Yes they are,” Peter says through his teeth. “You probably got them pierced five or so years ago, but your dad was an asshole about it and made you take them out. It’s been ages and the holes are hard to see but they still won’t close.”
Tony blanches. He can still hear the way Howard demeaned him, spent the whole dinner talking his Tony’s mother about how ridiculous the boy looked, how it gave people ideas about him, because pierced ears are for women and the only men who have them are faggots. “How the fuck do you even know that?”
“Do you think I’m dumb?” This is the loudest Peter’s ever been, his usual fragile voice replaced by this one that is sure and angry and doesn’t crack. “One: I spend every moment that I’m not looking at Bucky looking at you. I’ve got eyes; I know what a hole in an ear looks like, thanks. Two: your dad is an asshole about everything. He’s probably the reason why you don’t drink mixed drinks, why you call us queers even though you’re bi, why you lie and say you’re going to spend the whole holiday break at home but then come back and spend it here alone in the dorm. Because your dad is an asshole.
“He’s probably the reason why you’re such a fucking dunce too. A thick skull must run in the family, because Bucky and I have been hitting on you the entire semester and even though you go into the bathroom to jerk off every time you come back to the dorm and catch us making out, you won’t make a move or, or let us make the move, and—”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Tony says, his own voice rising to a shout. “You’ve been doing all this bullshit on purpose? Blowing Barnes when you know I’m awake? Skipping around here in your underwear because, what, you know it turns me on? Because you want to out me? Am I a fucking joke to you?”
“No,” Peter shouts, slapping a hand flat on Tony’s chest. “We like you, fuckface!”
The force of Peter’s tiny hand barely makes Tony sway, but the words—those might as well knock him to his knees. He feels like the scarf around his neck is on too tight, like there’s not enough air in the room. He licks his lips, his eyes moving between Peter’s red-rimmed eyes and nose (he’s an ugly crier) and Bucky who is still sitting on the twin bed watching them, his face white and afraid.
“You like me?” Tony asks. “What does that even mean? You two are together.”
“It means,” Peter says, taking Tony’s fist, coaxing open the anxious fingers to wear the diamond stud earring still rests, cutting into his palm. Peter presses his thumb against it, tenderly. “That we like you. We want you. To get to know you. You—and not your hang-ups.”
Tony shakes his head, taking his hand from Peter’s burning grip. “I—I can’t do that. My dad—”
“—is an asshole,” Bucky mutters.
Tony snorts softly. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re not wrong.”
“We don’t have to go home with you at Thanksgiving or Christmas or ever, if you don’t want,” Peter says. “We just want a chance. We want you to do something for yourself. Not your dad. Does that make sense?”
The silence lingers around the room. Somewhere in the distance, Halloween music is playing, ghoulish noises and moans and witch-like cackling. Mouth dry, Tony takes the backing off of the stud earing and reaches up, feeling for the holes in the lobes of his ears. It’s been years since he wore them, and his hands are trembling so badly that he can’t even find them—
“I’ll help you,” Peter says tenderly, taking the earring. He has it in in a moment and leans back, taking Tony in from head to toe.
“Well?” Tony asks. He clears his throat—there’s something stuck in it, some lump that he has to swallow away. He holds out his arms. “How do I look?”
“Gay,” Bucky says from the corner, smiling.
“That’s it!” Tony shouts. “I’m not going! Thanks for nothing! I’m out!”
“Tony,” Peter groans. “He was just joking, he’s—”
But Tony is already stalking to the dorm room door and pulling it open. He stops to glance over his shoulder at Bucky and Peter who are watching him with wide eyes. “Well?” he says. “I’m all for being fashionably late, but if we don’t get going, there’s not going to be anything left of the keg—”
The two scramble for their jackets and follow him out the door.
#winterironspider#tw: homophobia#tw: f slur#tw: q slur#college!winterironspider#Halloween prompt#cagewrites#longfic
275 notes
·
View notes
Text
Shimada dragons theory
Michael Chu once said in an interview that the Shimada dragons aren't magic.
If the dragons aren't magic, then they must be technology.
I was inspired to look deeper into this by one of Arthur B. Clarke's adages: "Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic." I started a WIP on this premise, but wanted to lay it out because there are some delicate topics that pop up that I can’t be sure I will be able to respectfully convey in story form.
What sort of technology can appear and disappear in Overwatch? Vishkar's (Lucio's dad's) hardlight technology. I'm sure this theory has been brought up several times in passing through the fandom.
If this is true, this presents several issues. If hardlight technology only came into existence in the last 30 years, how did the Shimadas get that technology? It must mean the legend is either:
1) Younger than first expected, or
2) The legend is old, but the dragons manifesting themselves is a new phenomena.
In the case of the 2nd hypothesis, it's not particularly interesting in that it's possible the hardlight tech was 'acquired' by the Shimada clan before it was fully developed and researched separately, leading to the creation of the Shimada dragon tech. So our last option is:
3) Hardlight technology is not a new thing, but a 'rediscovered' technology almost as old as the Dragons legend.
For that to work, we have to make several assumptions.
The history of our current world is the background for Overwatch's world. Our world's history is also Overwatch's history.
The legend of the Shimada dragons is legitimately old. Several generations old and not the recent 21st century creation of the clan’s to retcon why fucking dragons appear. Since Hanamura doesn't actually exist IRL, we have to guess the age of the story. We'll say the legend probably dates back to the 1700's, if not, earlier. (I'd go into the clothing choice in the Dragons trailer to get a more accurate date and the like, but I don't think the creators took that into very deep consideration.) So let’s just say the legend came out in the 18th century.
Hardlight tech was developed and recognized within a twenty-six year time frame before 2076. Why? Lucio's father developed it. Lucio is 26. Had to have been alive when his father invented it.
The dragons are 'real' in that the Shimada clan has always been able to 'summon' dragons in a rudimentary or similar fashion in the way Hanzo and Genji do it now.
The ability to summon dragons is intrinsically connected to having the tattoos.
We also have to make another assumption about the dragons. Since they're technology, what do the tattoos have to do with anything?
My theory is this:
The Shimada clan or a vassal of the Shimada clan had known about a more primitive version of hard light technology. Metalwork and the like is a common skill that dates back to the beginning of civilization. It wouldn't be unusual for someone to figure out the benefits of laying delicate metal wires together to form circuitry.
What if the Shimada clan had surgeons who were able to manipulate metal circuitry into their bodies, linking it to their central nervous systems to be able to project and "summon" dragons? That would make the human body a giant battery for this technology. The circuitry laid out by these metal filaments would be covered up by tattoos and the legend would be preserved as a legitimate claim to power.
Assuming this pseudo-science is even feasible, this theory presents several issues. If we go by the assumptions laid out in the beginning, we run into some troubling questions.
1. Knowledge of circuitry and electricity. Electricity as we know it today wasn’t used widely until sometime in the 1800′s or so. The idea of electric currents and the like existed on a small scale since before then but has never been harness to be constantly flowing. There are theories that ancient civilizations had been using rudimentary batteries or electric light sources, though that has yet to be proven. Though if you think about the experiments with a piece of copper and a fruit to light up filaments or something, it’s rudimentary enough that anyone could’ve done it in the old days. This doesn’t dismiss the possibility that someone way back when understood the basics of circuits and electricity. But for someone to understand that the human body is basically a giant battery (Matrix), then they’d have to not only understand circuitry, but also human anatomy, which brings us to our next issue.
2. Knowledge of anatomy. Connecting metal and the like to the central nervous system and doing this sort of surgery requires extensive knowledge of the human anatomy. In order to know human anatomy, one has to study human bodies. Historically speaking, human dissections were not allowed in Japan until the late 1700's because of Confucianism and Chinese beliefs that were still carried over, and the first translation of an anatomy book in Japan was completed in the late 1700′s. So either the legend is younger than we first surmised or someone has been defying the law since before then. I’m going with the latter for the sake of the theory.
3. Executors of the surgery. Perhaps the most diciest thing in this whole theory. If most of Japan followed Confucian beliefs (or that the norms were rooted in Confucian principles), who would be available to (or forced to) violate those principles?
In Japan, there are a group of people known as the ‘burakumin’, the lowest caste in the Edo period or Tokugawa era, however you want to call it (1603 - 1868) though they existed way before then. They were general occupations such as butchers, leather workers, undertakers--anything to do with death or the ‘unclean’. It’s very similar to India’s ‘untouchables’. They are still discriminated against to this day. I won't discuss the burakumin in much detail here because my knowledge on the matter is limited. But it deserves acknowledgment that their treatment is pretty fucking terrible.
If there was anyone available who dealt with death and bodies, it would be burakumin. They would have the most knowledge about anatomy and potentially be able to do this surgery to inlay metal into people’s skin, essentially creating a rudimentary form of the Dragons. But then what does the burakumin have to do with a crime syndicate family like the Shimadas? Wouldn’t the Shimadas also follow the social norm of distancing themselves from society’s outcasts?
4. Formation of yakuza. Burakumin actually make up a surprising amount of yakuza members. Outcasts and outliers in society with nowhere else to go, yakuza gangs and similar organizations formed in the Edo era, right around the time we place our theory. So it wouldn’t be unusual for them to be associated. As many people know, a very telling identifier of yakuza are their tattoos. It could very well be that the tattoos exist to cover up the scars from the surgeries.
In conclusion, there could be a potentially deep backstory behind the dragons and the legends. Likely dating back to the beginning of the Edo period, it wouldn’t be strange if the legend came up around then to explain away any electrical discharge and cover it up with dragon tattoos to give legitimacy to the legends. Over time as people kept practicing it, they were able to refine the technology in such a way that it evolved to produce actual dragon-shaped discharges.
I had another thing where the Shimadas were assassins not because it was profitable or anything, but because they had to train their bodies to withstand the circuits sucking out all their energy that they thought they may as well make a cover story and stick with it, hence becoming assassins and ninjas. In other words, they’re training their bodies not because they’re assassins, but because their bodies won’t be able to handle the discharge otherwise.
TL;DR: Dragons are not magic, they’re electric circuits placed beneath the skin, using the human body as a giant battery that got refined over time. Legend probably dates back to 1600′s-1700′s. Surgery was completed by burakumin (basically Japan’s “untouchables”) who made up a majority of yakuza, and tattoos were used to cover up the scars from the surgery.
Or this could all be bullshit and I’m just talking out of my ass.
#drivels drivels#more dumbass analysis with actual history#it's like playing tetris with history and lore and that's fun
16 notes
·
View notes
Text
Rules for Being a Girl by Candace Bushnell and Katie Contugno (SPOILERS)
I just finished this book about 20 minutes ago and boy do I have some things to say (a lot apparently judging by the size of this post sorry not sorry) That being said, do not read past the flames if you don’t want it to be ruined!
Honestly I’m just gonna jump right into this in a stream of thoughts
Right from the beginning, literally like page 2 this book was relatable when they introduced Bex as the cool and hot younger teacher that everyone had crushes on. If you didn’t have one of those at your school please tell me where you went because my middle and high school had at least 5 I can think off the top of my head
Page 4: Marin’s bf pinches her side when she walks up to their lunch table. Ok cool. My bf pokes me in the side and I do the same all the time. Totally normal.
AND THEN his friend is like “checking to make sure she isn’t getting fat?” And my mouth dropped open and I was like wtf that’s RUDE.
And then I thought about it and realized I have literally heard so many jokes like that from so many guys and it just registers a little differently when you’re reading it on a page.
Me going through my memory banks for every slightly sexist joke I’ve heard in my 25 years of life:
When Bex offers to drive Marin home I’m literally thinking that is so fucking weird why would he do that you’re an idiot you could lose your job
And then he tells her “hey don’t tell anyone I could get in trouble” and I’m like oh you’re a terrible person you know exactly what you’re doing 😑
As soon as Chloe started acting cold about Marin knowing Bex was writing a novel and hanging out with him during her sisters chess tournament I knew something was up. But was it just normal jealousy that her BFF got to hang out with the hot teacher 🤔
Ok. Ride offer #2. You’re literally asking to be fired dude. And then you’re going to take her to your apartment? That’s not weird or anything.
When Bex kissed Marin I was literally sitting there like 🤢 and her stream of thoughts are probably similar to every girl/women who has ever experienced unwanted advances from a guy
My heart was literally breaking when she was replaying it in her head and trying to think about whether she should tell someone but like “it’s just Bex it’s not that big of a deal” so then I was thinking about how this book better end with his ass in jail
AND THEN when she tried to tell Chloe and she basically victim blamed her and told her she was being dramatic and stuff I was like nooooo 😭😭😭 please support your friend
After finishing the book Chloes reaction made sense since she was being manipulated by the same disgusting POS. So now I hate him even more
The part when their principle brings up the poor girl to go through EVERY SINGLE uniform violation in front of everyone was awful
Personally I never had any issues with dress code but that’s because in high school (and still mostly tbh) I had zero fashion sense and was usually in jeans or sweats and a T-shirt 🤷🏻♀️
But just like in this book, the dress code was geared to “stop girls from distracting boys with their clothes” 😒😒😒😒😒😒😒
Marin’s editorial for the newspaper titled “Rules for Being a Girl” was spot on. Chances are if you’re a woman you’ve experienced every thing she mentioned at least once. I want to photocopy it and throw it at every male i come in contact with
Obviously Bex was not going to like it because he felt personally attacked by it. Which...ya know...if the shoe fits 🤷🏻♀️
And then her boyfriend was such a Dick about it and asked her if she was on her period and then she DUMPED HIM
I was over here like:
And then she calls Bex out for his list of short stories only having white male authors. Like YOU TELL HIM
Side note: this made me think of one of my favorite short stories from English class: The Lottery by Shirley Jackson. Very dark but very good
The part where Marin is helping her sister with her hair and get ready to go out and she convinces her to wear her glasses was so important to me. I’m a big sister too and I’ll be damned if I ever see either of my sisters changing themselves for a man
Ms. Klein is the teacher I would have wanted to be if I was any good at science. Unfortunately I am not so here we are...
Also would like to join a feminist book club (or any book club really) when we’re allowed to see real people again
I like that even though it’s only briefly mentioned, they bring up the fact that there is very little support for girls sports in high school (and honestly college and professionals too).
Gray is the cute, feminist bf every girl needs. He is so supportive. But also I LOLED when he got caught for watching the handmaids tale movie instead of reading the book
Marin’s parents were also so supportive of her and placed all the blame exactly where it belonged...on the pervy teacher
When Bex was investigated and didn’t get in any sort of trouble after Marin told the principle I was disappointed but not surprised which is sad
When Chloe got angry at Marin and started pulling away I kinda guessed that she was seeing Bex
When Marin didn’t get into Brown because of Bex I was so angry. And then he had the AUDACITY to say she tried to ruin his life?!? SIR YOU RUINED YOUR OWN LIFE TRYING TO HOOK UP WITH YOUR STUDENT
He deserved worse than her painting on his stupid car
Pushing Jacob into lockers? Yes keep going
Me at this point:
I was sad when she freaked out and broke up with Gray but understood where she was coming from but still I was like 🥺
Learning that Chloe had been in a relationship with Bex wasn’t a surprise but still sucked. Their editorial together was a powerful move since he was in charge of the school paper
I’m glad Chloe pressed charges and hope Bex, though imaginary, spends lots of time in prison and his life is ruined 🥰
Basically this was a great Women’s History Month read and I’d recommend it to any one and everyone. It does a great job of showing the subtle sexism women and girls experience that’s become so completely normal people barely bat an eye.
Anyway, girl power, ovaries before brovaries, chicks before dicks etc
#books#reading#bookblogger#young adult#read ya#booklr#rules for being a girl#candace bushnell#katie cotugno
1 note
·
View note
Text
The Dumbest Inning of Baseball
Whenever my friends who don’t follow sports ask me who to root for, I tell them to root for chaos. Outside of my favorite teams, I will always root for something ridiculous to happen during a game. 4 overtime periods, obscure rules violations, and large men carrying a football when they shouldn’t are the best, most absurd moments in sports that everyone can enjoy.
My favorite sport, baseball, has its own share of chaotic moments, and I’d argue it has the most chaotic moments out of any American sport. There’s just so much baseball out there. 162+ games every year for every team means that there’s so much more potential for chaos to take the wheel. And in a winner-take-all playoff game 5 years ago, we were subjected to the most ridiculous inning of baseball I have ever seen.
A bit of background: it’s game 5 of the American League division series, Toronto Blue Jays vs. the Texas Rangers. The series is tied 2-2, and it’s win or go home. Toronto is the home team, and the game is tied 2-2 going into the 7th inning. Rangers player Rougned Odor is on 3rd base with two outs in the top of the inning, and Shin-Soo Choo take ball 2 from Aaron Sanchez. And then this happens:
Doink! On the throw back to the pitcher, catcher Russell Martin hits Choo’s bat and the ball dribbles down the 3rd base line. Seeing an opportunity and actually knowing the rules of baseball, Odor takes off for home and scores to give the Rangers the lead.
Catchers throw about 320 pitches back to the pitcher every game when accounting for both teams. If you spread that out over an entire season, that’s over 750,000 pitches thrown back to the pitcher every year. I’ve watched baseball for over twenty years, and I’ve seen this happen maybe two other times.
If there’s no runner on base, no problem. The ball is retrieved, and you end up on a baseball oddities compilation on Youtube. But if there are runners on, the ball is live and the runners can advance if they desire. I was taught this when playing little league, when catchers weren’t as good at throwing and pitchers weren’t as good at catching.
So the rarity of this moment has everyone confused, including the umpires. Both managers come out to clarify the call. The umpires are asked to review the play and see if there was any batter’s interference on the throw back. The announcers are watching the replay over and over, saying the same thing to kill time. Overall, this delay takes 20 minutes. Meanwhile, the Toronto fans are pissed and they’re throwing garbage onto the field.
Fun times. Either way, the call stands, and the Rangers are now up 3-2. The Blue Jays have declared that they are playing the game under protest. They’re also not too happy at their fans.
And then, after the angriest 7th inning stretch, the bottom half of the 7th comes.
Oh jeez, where to begin.
Well, Russell Martin starts off the inning trying to redeem himself. He hits a weak grounder to Elvis Andrus, the Rangers’ shortstop, and Andrus misses it. Andrus is by no means a bad defender. In fact, he’s an above average defender in just about every season. Seems like he just got a case of the yips. This should have been out number 1. It’s a huge break for the Blue Jays, and Martin doesn’t have to do the walk of shame back to the dugout.
Next batter grounds out to first base. First baseman Mitch Moreland throws to second to get a forceout, but he throws it in the dirt and Andrus can’t catch it. Error #2 in two batters. Something weird is going on. The next batter comes up to bunt, literally saying “I’m sacrificing an out to move the runners up.” Third basemen Adrian Beltre fields it and throws to 3rd to try to get the forceout there. Andrus is at third ready to catch the ball. Andrus drops the ball. All runners are safe, Andrus has been at the center of all three of these mishaps, and if no errors were committed, the inning would already be over. Instead, the bases are loaded and nobody’s out. The inning has been sucked into the Twilight Zone.
A groundout and a run-scoring forceout later, the Blue Jays have tied the game, but there are two outs. They were gifted a perfect run-scoring situation, and only getting one run out of this would have been deflating for the team and their fans. The announcer casually says, “What next?”
Jose Bautista was next.
Boom. A huge 3-run home run puts the Blue Jays in the lead. Bautista tosses hit bat away in celebration. It’s one of the most majestic bat flips I’ve ever seen. The gif doesn’t do it justice. Just look at this.
Image credit: Getty Images
Loooook at it. Bautista looks like he’s saying farewell to an old friend. “You have done your job,” he might say. “The baseball has been obliterated, and now it’s time for you to be free.” The bat soars into the night sky. It’s flying to bat heaven where it can crush all the baseballs it wants. There were probably angels singing as it flew through the sky, but they were drowned out by the sound of everyone in the Rogers Centre losing their minds.
Watch the video too. It’s just too glorious.
Just imagine all the tension and anger the fans had about this game, and Bautista made that all turn into unbridled jubilation. I can’t imagine how that feels, but it must have been incredible.
Then the fans start throwing trash onto the field in…celebration? Sure, why not. The broadcast doesn’t show it, but the announcers commented on fans running on the field and trash all over the outfield. The game is delayed again. In this delay, the two teams start to get into an argument and the dugouts clear.
Image credit: Getty Images
Because how the hell do you recover from this as a Rangers player? Hell, even as a Blue Jays player? It’s been the most exhausting inning, wrestling with obscure rules, dealing with errors on three consecutive plays, and a capacity crowd that’s taken an emotional rollercoaster to the moon and back.
In the end, the Rangers didn’t recover. They lost the game and the series. The Blue Jays went on to the ALCS, where they were beat in 6 games by the soon-to-be-champion Kansas City Royals. And even though the Blue Jays’ season may have ended in disappointment, they will always have this. A moment where the baseball gods got drunk and destroyed the heavens and the earth. A moment of pure sports joy and catharsis. This will be the most memorable sports moment for Toronto baseball until their next championship.
So. Let’s recap: a freak accident invokes a rule that’s so obscure that even the umpires are confused about and gives the visiting team a lead in a sudden death baseball game. The game is delayed, fans are pissed, chaos ensues, and then the home crowd riots as much as they can without getting the game forfeited. Then in the home half of the inning, a generally sure-handed defense fucks up 3 plays in a row, which leads to a Blue Jays fan’s dream scenario: a big, huge, stupid home run to take the lead. The inning, after all the delays, took 53 minutes to complete. Incredible.
I love baseball. It can be so dumb.
In May of the following year, the Rangers and Blue Jays played each other again. The Rangers wanted revenge. This is what happened.
Odor got the punch that all Rangers fans needed to see to start the healing process. It was a stupid brawl, because all baseball brawls are stupid. But it felt like a proper epilogue for what was the craziest inning I have ever seen of baseball.
Here’s a video detailing the doink that started the chaos.
Here’s a video showing the entire bottom half of the inning in all of its messy glory.
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
living on the edge of the law (biadore / sashea) - chapter 8 - Lily2
sasha and katya have a grand idea though sasha is a bit worried about involving her girlfriend into it and adore is making considerable progress on bianca who’s just a closed book.
hope y'all enjoy! I actually did finish this tuesday but theatre and school, now I have a break though so here we are!! xx spoiler but seperate fic is coming about that europe trip - lily.
— *.✧
Adore had stepped out of the shower and into the light, fully clothed but wet and raggedy hair, staring intently at Bianca who simply would cough, avoid the gaze and continue her cooking that she had put a pause on since she had to go and run off to find a tearful, anxious Adore sitting in an abandoned bus stop with nothing but thunder and lightning pouring out as she seemed to cry harder and more frequently than the actual rain that went on.
The kiss hadn’t been brought up, not yet atleast— though in both of their minds it was clear that it was most likely something they shouldn’t speak of or bring up again though Adore would happily do it again, for free, just as much mascara on her face if needed; she may have looked like an absolute wet dog.
Bianca was a much more soft and loving kisser than Adore expected from her brass attitude and tone, it was the most pleasant moment she had experienced and then Bianca beyond frightened of her work and possible downfall of it had backed off, telling her to shower and clear her mind, she came for a completely different reason that the older woman had yet to piece together.
“Thanks for letting me shower.“
The words came out quiet, a mumble though Bianca could only give a quaint, visibly flustered smile— a small chuckle which made Adore a little more happy inside, "Well obviously, wasn’t gonna let you shit around all wet and cold, it get you all sick after.” They unbeknownst to eachother seemed to just perfectly inch together in harmony, wanting to be close to one another as they spoke nonchalant, getting their minds away from what had happened prior.
“You’re a really good kisser."
Adore immediately regretted letting the words slip though someone had to say it, she tapped her nails across the white marble counter as Bianca visibly bit her tongue, holding back with a sigh and looking away to hide the flush that infiltrated her cheeks the second she had processed the sentence.
"Adore…"
"I know, I get it, I’m just your fucking assistant Adore!” She mocked in louder voice, copying Bianca’s eye motions and hand signals as she spoke, “I came all the way from fucking Brisbane! Work, I work all the time, no time for relationships when there’s work to be done and I have to be your personal file folder!” She paused and felt Bianca’s eyes stare before shaking her head and leaning against the counter, throwing in the towel for this one.
“I get it.” She finally whispered before Bianca silently turned her back and continued rummaging through the fridge, offering Adore some iced tea which she begrudgingly accepeted with some persuasion.
“We work together, you’re young, you’re famous, you have a life that I just don’t think I could handle. As your assistant already I have pressure but to think of all the stuff that might happen media wise when they find out she’s dating her older, prettier, smarter assistant, I can’t risk it."
No response from Adore which Bianca couldn’t stand, she always had something to say and this was uncharted territory in their relationship, a new note to write down about Adore: Doesn’t reply or speak when she’s in emotional turmoil.
"So what happened?"
She knew the question was eventually gonna come, how could it possibly not? Bianca drove to am entire abandoned bus stop just to "rescue” her and make sure she wasn’t stuck in a damn storm.
“I really don’t wanna go into details but basically stuff with my mom, it got messy and I didn’t want to be in the place right now, she was helping me unpack."
"Say no more.” She went over to Adore and rubbed her shoulders, she seemed like she was about to burst into tears again but Bianca wiped her eyes, shushing her. “Your mom loves you, she has very funny the one time I got to meet her, you’re just stressed and worried about other things."
Well you can definitely say that again.
Adore slipped from her grasp and nodded, "Whatever.” She grumbled still a bit distraught, Bianca not knowing exactly what to do or how to reply before grabbing her hands again and turning Adore towards her, “Not whatever! She absolutely loves you and I can smell that shit a mile away.” The singer had to crack atleast a small smile before glaring at the countertop that had different bases and ingredients out.
“It’s called Napoleon Cake, my co-worker and close friend Katya gave me the recipe, she’s from Russia and she said this shit is huge over there."
Adore was definitely intruiged, "I’ll help you, not as if I have anything better to do for the day.” Bianca threw her a towel and smirked, “It’ll get a bit messy, I’m warning you now."
"It’s perfect, it’ll blend right in with my clothing and style."
*.✧
A knock at the door interupted Katya and Sasha who were aimlessly scrolling around their laptop, searching for flights to Russia, they both discussed the want to go back to Europe and St. Petersburg atleast a tiny bit, just visit Eastern Europe as a whole really.
"Come in!” Katya yelled before Trixie waved, stepping into the office and holding flowers as well a box of must have been chocolate, the Russian’s jaw dropping as Sasha hit her at the shoulder for her to snap out as the curly and long haired blonde smiled gently, “Hi, I didn’t know you came!” Katya graciously accepeted the gifts though right after she dumped them all on Sasha’s monitor.
“I know, I told Shea I was and she said you’re in here—” she quickly turned to Sasha who immediately sat up a little straighter once her girlfriend was mentioned, “You must be Sasha!” There was a very honest sweetness in her words, as if she had been dying to meet her for years. “I am, Shea’s girlfriend.” The title still made her smile and a small glimmer of pride always pounded in her heart.
“I know! She always talks about you and how gorgeous you are and definitely wasn’t wrong.” The two hugged before Sasha pointed to Trixie and mouthed, I like her, a bit much but I like her.
Katya waved her off before nervously giving a grin to Trixie who admitted she really came to drop the gifts off and asked if they could go on a date to amusement park together, the one thing Katya couldn’t possibly refuse.
“As if she’s gonna say no.” Sasha spoke with a smirk, glaring at her Russian co-worker, Trixie laughing.
The older Russian’s head whipped to her co-worker, “Не будь жо́пой!” Katya yelled before Sasha cracked into laughter covering her mouth and turning away, pretending to not even pay attention to the conversation though she was listening with nothing but eagerness to Katya and Trixie who were both obviously into eachother but we’re just the tiniest bit shy to show it and often played it off as friendship though they had been on four dates already.
“I would absolutely love to.” She kissed her hand as if she was some kind of southern gentleman. “Good!” She clapped before leaving a kiss with her bright pink lipstick on the blonde’s right cheek, waving goodbye to her and to Sasha who only sucked in her laughter with a polite smile and send off.
The door closed and Sasha almost cried of laughter, “How is it you’re so well composed, polite and visibly nervous around her but then anyone else you’re constantly screaming, kind of amazing.” Katya flushed, keeping the kiss mark on her cheek before she groaned, slumping in her chair as Sasha dumped her presents on her, “I think it’s love and it’s fucking disgusting."
Sasha giggled, "Finally, took you long enough.” Katya hit her shoulder before opening the box of chocolates, she was extremely picky with sweets in general and the amount of each ingredient it had to have but this was pretty good, the label read as Swiss chocolate and it was good, though Sasha couldn’t stand most sweets period.
“How are we gonna go back to Russia and get fat if you won’t even eat sweets?” Sasha rolled her eyes at the question before admitting she liked some sweets and in moderation, she never had a sweet tooth as a child either, Katya who devoured the chocolate could firmly disagree about her own views compared to Sasha.
“So are we gonna do this trip or not?"
"How long?”
The talking paused as Katya pulled up a calendar on her phone, opening her mouth and then scrolling before she finally reached her point, “Let’s go three weeks from April to May.” Sasha shook her head, “Way too long and I don’t wanna leave Shea that long.” She whined though Katya shrugged, “Bring her, we don’t wanna stick to just Russia anyway, why can’t she come?"
Sasha’s face completely blanched, "No, no, no. I am not taking Shea to Russia, I absolutely refuse.” Katya was definitely confused and a bit worried about how sure she was, “Are you not proud of your identity?"
"No! Well yes— well no, it’s a privilege whenever politics or violent human right violations aren’t mentioned, but you know how my parents are and why I even came to America in the first place! Not to mention how blantantly racist and homophobic among other things our government and even people can be! I’m not subjecting my girlfriend to that."
"Then she can stay an extra four days wherever she wants, this isn’t like the United States, we have trains and buses and easy travel country to country, I just wanna go for a few days! The tough thing is you both probably can’t be open in most of Europe period, though I want to definitely stop by Amsterdam!"
Silence from Sasha, they mentioned bringing Bianca earlier though that was shut down when they asked her and the latina could only reply with, "Adore.” Reminding them that was her lane of work now and with that came sacrifices.
Her fingers ran across her contacts before she clicked the number she needed, waiting for it ring, “Shea!” Katya screamed from the phone she dialed, Sasha yelping and grabbing her phone, “Shea please come to my office, your girlfriend is a wreck!” The constant cursing in Russian only made Katya hang up before Shea could answer, confused on the other end for sure.
Sasha fixed her hair and closed the tab on her Mac as Shea came in, holding her phone before Sasha stood and gestured her girlfriend over who happily kissed her, putting her hair behind her ear, “So are y'all okay?” Curious as to what the phone call was even about, “Sasha why don’t you lead."
The Russian embarrassed, looked down at her shoes, groaning though Katya had her arms crossed and smiled, satisfied. "Katya and I want to go back to home to Russia and Europe for three weeks.” Shea didn’t see an issue with this, “Okay, that’s fine, you don’t need my permission to take time off babe.” She leaned against her lover’s desk as she continued, “She doesn’t want you to come because she’s scared you’re gonna uncomfortable in Russia.” Katya finally spoke breaking Sasha’s tension.
Shea frowned, “Sasha you can’t be so worried for me babe.” She smiled and sat with her girlfriend who had a visible sadness glooming over her. “C'mon! It’s so beautiful in all the pictures and videos you show me, I know we can’t be open but that doesn’t mean I won’t enjoy myself."
Tension loomed and Katya broke it with a slap at her shoulders, Sasha still not speaking before Shea pushed her off her chair, the Russians confused until Shea grabbed her girlfriend by the waist and made her sit in her lap, yelling, "C'mon! Let me come! I wanna go to Europe!” She whined extensively, Katya clapped and yelled at Sasha as well who could only smile and shake her head, “If you stop shaking me maybe we can work it out!"
That was enough of a compromise for Shea to stop though she still sat in her girlfriend’s chair, her arms around her waist tightly as the chair spun a bit, Shea’s feet hitting the floor as Sasha opened her laptop again, handing it to Katya who begun typing into the website, "Okay let’s do three weeks, I don’t wanna go to Russia first, it’s probably the most expensive flight in Europe if we’re thinking logically here."
"Oh this is a whole vacation! We’re gonna hop around?"
Sasha kissed her girlfriend’s cheek grinning, "Traveling in Europe is very easy once you get there and Russia we only wanna stay at most five days, don’t need much more."
"Can we go to Spain? I really wanna visit Valencia and Barcelona."
Katya waved a hand, pointing to Shea, "She has a point here, the ticket is about five hundred each verses some of the nearby ones that are over a thousand!” Shea winked at her girlfriend who seemed just a bit nervous, “They have a ton of art there, they like invented half of the architecture styles I’m sure, you’ll love it."
"I’m not worried about Spain, are you sure you wanna come?"
"I’m absolutely positive, no one else I would rather travel and spend my days with, anytime.” They stared at eachother with such loving and intense bedroom eyes that Katya coughed obnxiously, almost falling out of her chair on purpose, “It was my idea!” She coughed again before they all laughed and Sasha smiled, “I know and I can’t wait to experience Europe with my girlfriend and my long lost sister."
"H-E-A-R bitch! Here we come!"
*.✧
Upon hearing about the unplanned trip to Europe Bianca wanted to kick herself for dedicating herself so badly to her work as she sat, helping Adore, unpack into her new place. It wasn’t too bad, she had begun to even tune out the music that she had blasting from her speaker, the two of them sitting on the lovely and new wood floors as they unpacked and sorted through clothes in her suitcases, Bianca was a master organizer at work and appreciated the time between them that wasn’t work related.
Adore had inisited they get to know eachother better by asking questions, she was very clearly but nosy and trying to make an impression but Bianca couldn’t complain too badly when she smiled at her, a soft grin across her lips as she reluctantly accepeted.
However, some interesting things were noted in Bianca’s memory now that they had actually started getting a bit more interesting with questions from the dull basics.
"What’s a movie you could watch forever, you’d never get bored of it?” Adore asked curious, taking a bite from the pizza that they decided to order since the singer inisited it was the greatest food group of the universe though Bianca would concur with that another day.
“Well I have two, the first is more a documentary, Paris is Burning, it’s amazing, if you haven’t watched it take notes from it— it was and still is, in my opinion so you know it’s right, the most iconic film about LGBTQ people."
Adore nodded, definitely intruiged, "Party! It sounds really cool."
"It’s a film I think everyone should be required to watch atleast once in their life, it’s timeless and always will be but the second is A Star is Born, the original, not the one with Barbara."
A gasp left Adore’s lips, "Really? I sing The Man That Got Away atleast three times a week, I don’t appreciate anything theatre as much as I probably should.” Bianca was absolutely smitten to hear that, “Do you? I would kill to see you sing it for me."
"Another day, your turn!” She took another piece of pizza before Bianca pondered, zipping her suitcase closed as they had officially finished sorting through everything they had to.
“When you kissed me, did you mean it or was it only because I was your closure?"
Unexpected as it was question Adore immediately put her plate down and ran her hand through her long and thick hair, "I did mean it, it wasn’t some stupid fucking joke— you’re a great kisser to boot, fucking asshole."
Bianca had to cackle at the last bit though immediately her thoughts shifted back, glaring at Adore who only stared at her feet and fishnets, adjusting her shirt before the older woman felt herself bite her tongue, not knowing how to respond though there was only one thought she wanted to get out.
"Kiss me again."
The singer almost immediately turned and grabbed her hand, the two sitting right next to eachother anyway, her hands held around her shoulder loosely, Bianca feeling a bit red and it was definitely visible. "I’ll only kiss you again if you let me go on a date with you.” She immediately threw Adore’s arms off and she groaned, “Please! What the hell is up with that, you don’t have to do a damn thing after, you already constantly breathe on my neck so what’s the difference if it’s for something more personal?"
She had a point and Bianca hated it, she was much more witty than anticipated a month ago.
"Fine, one date and no kissing, no holding hands, you’re officially someone now and you can't—” Adore rolled her eyes and grabbed her face before clashing their lips together, Bianca had never been so happy and offended to be kissed considering she was trying to speak. Her hand’s gently sat on Bianca’s shoulder now, they kissed for atleast one minute and only stopped to breathe, not wanting to let anything detour them from the moment.
“Dammit I didn’t wanna stop but oxygen is something we need I guess.” Bianca nodded though Adore only leaned in again, giving her a soft kiss and whispering, “You’re really cute and soft for someone who tried to murder me atleast twice the first week."
Bianca shouldn’t be turned on, she shouldn’t be letting his happen, she shouldn’t have Adore draping around her fingertips and be so easily distracted.
"I’m not cute or any of that shit, you called me a clown that first day and you’re wrong, I’m not a clown, I’m the fucking circus.” She whispered back though Adore collapsed into laugher, still having her arms around her shoulder.
Their lips met again, Adore started the night with nude lipstick but due to Bianca, she now had a clearly distinct red pattern across her lips though that was definitely not a negative.
“Maybe next week at my gig you can kiss me like that for five minutes instead of warmups.” The seperated and Adore let her arms now hang at her own sides, Bianca could only laugh it off and kiss her again, the two beginning to escalate just a bit though it was impossible for Adore to say no, this is what she had been pinning for the entire time.
“Why can’t we always do this?” She mumbled against her skin, leaning her head on her assistant’s neck, breathing softly as she replied with a quick, “Because you have a career and I want to make sure I’m focusing, I like you, I really do but I’m almost sure this in any world isn’t a smart idea."
Adore could only brightly smile with a wink, "Well I’ve scored a date so I’m pretty excited.” Bianca fiddled with her fingers and now had to accept the fact of the matter: she was going on a date with Adore Delano.
This is both the best and the worst thing that could possibly happen to me.
#rpdr fanfiction#bianca del rio#adore delano#shea coulee#sasha velour#trixie mattel#katya zamolodchikova#lesbian au#celebrity au#sashea#biadore#side trixya#living on the edge of the law#roza#submission#concrit welcome
15 notes
·
View notes
Note
What do you think of the way some of the xv fans handled the verum rex thing? I saw that one blog had kind of called them out and I'm glad about that
Well, as a FFXV fan myself – and one who went through not only KH’s long wait, but also FFXV’s massive wait too – I actually found it rather fun that Nomura was able to slip in something as majestic as the Verum Rex trailer into the game. At first, I was absent-mindedly waiting for the boring intro dialogue to appear in the game to introduce Toy Box, but then I suddenly look up and goes ‘What the fuck? Visual Works?!’ I dropped my phone and burst out laughing because that commercial was so try-hard compared to the rest of the game.
But funnily enough, it didn’t dawn on me the FF Versus XIII comparisons until I came onto Tumblr. Silly to think about, considering that I was there from the very first E3 reveal when Versus XIII was a concept along side Final Fantasy XIII. I ended up looking again and then I began to see the influences of what Versus XIII was in what Verum Rex showcased in that commercial.
Supposedly, it was Nomura’s ‘screw you’ to Square Enix for leaving Versus in developmental hell, and I honestly don’t blame him for that. Nomura’s already been pretty open about how disgruntled he was having to leave the project, but it was for the better, I feel…
I have a more detail explanation below the KEEP READING, since I love rambling more than a monologue Xemnas and Xigbar combined. So kick back with a cold one, and get ready for me rambling. c:
Though a starting statement/summary before you go into this: I like Verum Rex. I like FFXV. I like Kingdom Hearts. I don’t like the ridicule and blame game being put on everyone and anyone.
For me, I don’t feel this is necessarily Nomura lashing out for the sake of lashing out/spite. So FFXV fans being grumpy over the Verum Rex trailers – despite their bitterness over Versus XIII being lost in developmental hell – is kind of not justified, kinda is? Despite it not being an official game, Versus XIII/Verum Rex is technically still Nomura’s ideas and concepts. And I dunno about you, but modifying an old idea and shaping it into a new idea truly isn’t anything unheard of. I know I like to do it myself with OCs, re-purposing them into new stories/concepts if they didn’t have much use before and all. Nomura, I feel, had the right to do so, considering that he was pretty much one of the main honchos to write, design, create Versus XIII before Square executives took the project from him.
Perhaps a rather unpopular opinion overall, but I actually think that it was good that Nomura was taken off the project. And no, I’m not saying Square violating Nomura’s right to his characters and creative ideas was right. What I mean mostly is that with Nomura being taken from Versus XIII/XV to focus on Kingdom Hearts was a good idea. The sheer scale and promise for both games from two of Square’s most massive franchises is overwhelming in general for one person to manage and oversee completely. And despite me respecting Nomura and his ungodly skill at game design and art, it’s alot of pressure over all. Heck, I can barely handle designing the one game I’ve been trying to get together. But he was given two major titles to try creating? That’s alot of pressure overall.
And that’s why the two games took so long to begin with, I feel. Versus/XV and KH3 were both in developmental hell, and – from the gossip I recall – Square Enix didn’t even want to keep pushing on with Final Fantasy Versus/XV. Nomura, as much as he wanted to keep it alive, couldn’t be the one to do it when Kingdom Hearts was a bigger priority to Square.
So that’s where I think Tabata came in. Not to steal Nomura’s thunder or characters or concept, but he stepped in to make sure that the Final Fantasy title people have been waiting for would finally be released. Kingdom Hearts 3 for sure was going to be released, but FFXV could have died six years ago were it not for the hard decision to keep FFXV alive – at the expense of the four years of prior concepts being scrapped.
It sucks when your idea is ultimately discarded for a reason beyond your control – or outside meddling too – so I don’t blame Nomura and his spite. But at the same time, instead of viewing it as nothing more than a revenge trailer/easter egg to get back at Square, I like to imagine it more as Nomura re-channeling ‘old OCs’ and plot points to fit it into something that, you know, actually works for everyone – especially him and the ideas he wanted to bring to life before Square Enix made him focus on one project.
If anything, I feel like Tabata was given the short end of the stick in all of this too. And before you guys get on me for being a Final Fantasy XV apologist or… Whatever the term is… I’m not, by any means, saying that FFXV is a superior game over KH3. I know XV has its flaws and strengths, just as KH3 has flaws and strengths too. But I feel like people don’t give Tabata enough credit for, you know, trying to make what he was given work, so both games wouldn’t have to suffer such insane developmental periods and hells. He was basically thrown into a dying project and was expected to revitalize it with characters that weren’t his, a plot that he didn’t establish entirely himself, and a world that he couldn’t really modify after Square’s notorious habit of releasing trailers way too early for their own good.
If Tabata was allowed to start from scratch with his own timeframe and plot, and give everything that Nomura worked on back to him, you probably would have gotten an amazing game then too – and one that would have annihilated your feels, because Tabata (still not over Type-0 and it’s damn opening…!).
But I feel like regardless of my defense of FFXV, it doesn’t matter. Because regardless of the comparisons between what Versus XIII and FFXV has and what Verum Rex became, it’s not either of them. Verum Rex is Nomura’s idea, just re-purposed because of how passionate the man is for his game. People should be pleased with the fact that instead of one game or the other dying to developmental hell, we were able to get both. And getting Verum Rex – whether as a bonus in Kingdom Hearts or as its own concept in the future – should be a bonus too!
I think the only thing to blame for the conflict overall is Square’s terrible way of over-hyping things to the point of disappointment, and the people that Square, unfortunately, made bitter and saddened with their actions…
52 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
tar-oh
Tar-Oh
iammushroom
Watch This Space
nieshaus
I'm not one, I'm a few. No family too. Who am I?
shoujomangathoughts
Shoujo Thoughts
walsinghams
hiding in plain sight.