#its like. sixteen year olds have this whole thing about not knowing who they are or what they wanna do ANYWAY

[red-elric]

dave who learned imitation as a survival method....... dave getting into turntables and music mixing bc thats the one thing he can do with his bro without getting stressed out, getting into swords and ‘cool guy’ things bc when he acts like his bro and impresses him he gets hurt less, learning to act dry and emotionally disconnected from john bc john is well liked among his friends (and he likes john, too), learning to psychoanalyze by imitating rose because rose will back off if he manages to pick at one of HER sore spots for once....... dave realizing he doesnt want to be that person anymore on the meteor but not having any other method of becoming well-liked. dave imitating romcom protagonists to get karkat’s attention, becoming more and more grumpy and animated and dramatic bc of all the time he’s spent around karkat, dave’s dry humor getting more and more developed as he spends more time with rose and kanaya. dave who has a crisis (at least in another timeline) because at age sixteen he’s standing in his childhood bedroom and surrounded by interests he hasn’t pursued in years and sobbing because he doesn’t know who he is without trying to make someone like him. he doesn’t know which interests, if any, were ones he would have had if he’d grown up with a guardian that didn’t hate him, if the world hadn’t ended and if he wasn’t one of the sole survivors dedicating his childhood to creating a new universe, if he’d just been a normal kid. 

dave, age sixteen, who has no idea who he is or what he wants from life.

(https://www.homestuck.com/story/6306)

#it me #homestuck #dave strider #davekat #to an extent lol #that page--and like four or five following it--make me ugly cry ngl #its like. sixteen year olds have this whole thing about not knowing who they are or what they wanna do ANYWAY #but its much much worse for dave bc of all the trauma #its soooo hard to write him in aus bc like!!!! he's so traumatized in canon!!! #he might have been totally different if hed gotten a happy childhood!!!!! #frankly even the difference between game over timeline and retcon timeline dave is SHOCKING #game over dave is still soo clearly guarded and tense; retcon dave isnt exactly RELAXED but he seems a lot happier #enough that its a stark difference when he finally talks to dirk while still having that convo feel v similar to much earlier dave convos #anyway. love him........

[wmarximoff]

𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐲 𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐞 | 𝐰. 𝐦𝐚𝐱𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐟𝐟

summary: you return home after being kicked out of college - your father is not happy, but your stepmother certainly is.

warnings (18+): smut, very light somnophilia hints, strap-on sex (Wanda receiving), stepcest, unspecified legal age-gap, mommy kink, heavy mommy issues, sizable daddy issues, drinking, smoking, praise kink, certain amounts of angst, bad parenting, breastfeeding. MINORS DNI.

pairing: Wanda x fem!reader

word count: 4k

A/N: and the whole writing about stepmom!Wanda thing is getting worse…

masterlist.|

༺ᱬ༻

It was a sunny late afternoon, warm on the skin underneath your clothes, when you took the lighter close to the cigarette that appeared between your parted lips and ran the surface of your thumb across the spark wheel, creating the necessary ignition for the ember to flicker and ignite the tip of that little white cylinder, which blinked like a firefly down your nose tip.

Your sense of smell captured an emanation of wholesome, sour, idle odor – an act of teenage rebellion turned into a noxious addiction. A puff of thick white smoke rose from your nostrils. Someone gave you a crooked look when you sighed in heavy smoke.

You were sitting on a wooden bench under the shade of a long-standing oak tree in the middle of the small green square of the city, which sheltered you in the shadows of its ancient branches, in the surroundings of the structure of the white wooden gazebo that could well have been there since the fifties; the small convenience stores spread all around, the people staring at you because they all knew your fate – what your return to Westview represented, the flaw in the perfect family picture.

Everyone in town knew your parents, your father and stepmother, Jarvis (Vis for those neighbors who were more superficially intimate) and Wanda, and so your name was thrown to the wind with totally disconnected intonations to the public admiration assigned to that couple, typical small-town good samaritans – you spray-painted a billboard or got caught by the sheriff drinking in front of the gas station convenience at just sixteen years old, even though you never bothered to hide your petty misdeeds in none of these cases.

It had been a week since your return, seven days had passed that very morning. The short drive back had been as quiet as it could be – a few hours, no more, objectively and adamantly quiet to the core; the well-trained ear would just catch the sound of the asphalt sliding under the well-heeled car's tires, vibrating and petulant, icy air being expelled from the air-conditioning in cold puffs against the warm skin of your face, in a swath soon under your chin.

You followed, solemnly, your tired eyes behind your heavy lids, as the melancholy houses passed by the gloomy panorama presented in that small suburban town, sweet little houses with buttery walls and windows with wide open light cotton curtains, all surrounded by meters of pointed low wooden fences standing close together in lavish, sweeping rows in front of well-trimmed green lawns and behind neat sidewalks and vibrant trees.

You weren't born in Westview , in the heart of New Jersey, but outside in the neighborhoods of that city where all the smallest details had throughout your early life were derived – at the height of your simple ten or eleven years of age, overwhelming in an air of rebellion for an orphaned child of a resigned mother and lacking the affection of a disinterested father, that was the location chosen by that man as a starting point of the unusual life of him as a newlywed, at the time, with your stepmother Wanda Maximoff, pushing for suburban life patterned within the traditionalist mold of a square box, as socially anachronistic as it gets.

Jarvis Stark was a reserved and rather austere man, after all, an old-fashioned thinker, a classic political liberal and an unyielding conservative – abandoned by his first wife with the eldest daughter he didn't know how to raise, a father of three, the breadwinner, a proud Republican voter. And you were, then, the twenty-year-old daughter, the eldest failure, who was asked to withdraw from college because your grades were worthy of nothing but shame and stoning in the public square.

So you believed that only conformism could soothe you out of your succinct attachment to the reality which you found yourself, deeply enraged and dangerously bored, somewhere on the fine line that separated these two opposite poles of mood from ego. The car swerved around a corner, your childhood home looming into view at the end of the street. Westview, always the same, never different. So you sighed, a heavy, icy sigh, lifting and lowering your chest inside the baggy shirt you'd pulled over your head hours earlier.

Sighing was the little you could do, but perhaps it could be a prudent way of expressing your discontent with the current situation around you when Jarvis parked the car in front of the family home, Wanda's well-tended rose bushes rising into the front yard in a polychromatic vortex of blood red color.

The window of your old room upstairs looked at you gloomily as if it didn't want to welcome you back – nobody did, after all. And you looked at it as if you could stone it, with all the hatred worthy of a child that no one ever wanted to harbor wrapped up inside an adult body barely rigid to the touch.

“Y/n,” your father's dictatorial voice echoed into the silence that filled the vehicle, his pale cerulean eyes behind the lenses of his thin-rimmed glasses staring only at the leather steering wheel, irises hard with fury, never turning back to your figure sitting on the bench next to him.

“Before we go in I want one thing to be clear here, Y/n. I’m not kidding. You're not a child anymore, though you're still behaving like one, and I'm not going to treat you like one. I'm going to treat you like an adult, because that's what you are now. The playtime is over. I will no longer tolerate this type of behavior on your part.”

There was a silent pause, not long enough to give you the go-ahead to come up with a response to that man in the cashmere blazer and dark turtleneck blouse, a philosophy teacher who was dissatisfied with the denial of his academic career that had confined him eternally to the position of high school teacher.

“You're going to have to grow up. Do you even understand what that means, at least? Nothing is free anymore, the world is not going to be kind to you, and neither am I. Tomorrow you will look for a job and while you are living under my roof until you can support yourself, you will have to contribute to the household expenses and follow my rules. No more drinking, smoking, being up late or loud music, all of that is over now. If you want to have a bed and food on your plate inside my house, you will do it my way. Did I made myself clear, Y/n?”

And then Jarvis looked at you with the recognition of a father thundering in the circle of his blue irises, but the kind of father who doesn't much like to acknowledge that you are the kind of child he made, that his strict upbringing backfired and culminated in an as unserviceable adult as you could be, a reactionary time bomb in all the splendor of your young-coming-of-age as irresponsible and immature as you could be.

“Did I made myself clear, Y/n?!” he repeated, because his answer was silence. Eyes staring back at him as a result of the upbringing he gave you, your icy breath misting inside the car.

“Crystal clear, Dad,” cynicism crept under your tongue, spitting bitterness between your teeth. You wouldn't give him the satisfaction of taming your fury like an angry dog gagged at a muzzle – you never have before, after all.

That man stared at you for a single broken second as if he was going to stuff his tight nostrils to say anything, but he didn't, not in the way he could have said it. He just unfastened the seat belt across his broad chest and looked straight ahead again, stoic, ever so categorical and impassive.

“Fine,” said Jarvis, then already leading his long, bony right fingers to the doorknob, “And while you're here you're going to obey your mom and help her with the housework. This is an order, Y/n. I don't expect less than that.”

There was no opening for an answer as he then got out of the car and closed the door behind him with a hollow thud. Your eyes burned the back of the café-au-lait-colored blazer your father wore on his tall, skinny body with a vaguely British bearing, and a whisper that only your ears caught was said in the icy air inside the car.

“She’s not my mom...”

Stepping out of the car into the sweltering heat of a small town was an act at least fueled by the humiliation that weighed on the muscles just above your shoulder blades, your head hanging down with gravity in a vague impression of cowardice – on the contrary, however, since the poison running through your veins was of pure yellowing fury that compelled you to crease your brow. It's been a week, and you still haven't found a job, and your dad still doesn't lock eyes with you. Not that it mattered. It didn't matter, he never did before.

The afternoon sun hid behind the hills in the distance, and night fell like a veil over the small-town square. Conveniences closed their doors and you started walking. Going back to your childhood home depressed you, but you knew that in time it would stop bothering you. Going back to the childhood home where your father lived with his wife and his other children was what made an unpleasant impression on your nerves.

Especially when going up the three measly white painted wooden steps of the porch that led to the main entrance door of that family residence, with the night also coming the sloppiness worthy of a soul so enraged that only a young girl kicked from the university could contain within herself.

Your father's car wasn't in the driveway, and your younger half-brothers, the twins, were nowhere to be found or to be seen – not on the sofa in front of the television, not a single whiff of two ten-year-olds coming from upstairs. Only she was there, gracefully seated on the dark linen sofa, sipping expensive wine, as red as the roses and her fingernails and her long, glossy locks, in front of the television that was flashing some old program she liked.

Wanda Maximoff, your father's wife, your brothers' mother. A pair of eyes with emerald irises that blinked green in the low lights of the room and crossed their path with your figure standing in the doorway. There was the hint of a tentative smile that was stopped halfway when Wanda looked at you.

“Oh, hello dear, are you–” you looked at her when she did too, “Y/n?”

And something intrinsic to the red core of her soul just unraveled the complex puzzle expressed in the muscles of your face (call it maternal instinct or just taking the time to really pay attention to you), as she promptly discarded the glass of half-drunk wine onto the coffee table in front of the sofa and then leap to her feet, only to cross the living room towards you, like an angel coming to your rescue when all the world around you seems to be in pieces, crumbling and falling. Wanda always noticed you. Wanda was always there for you when no one else in the world was.

“Y/n,” her low voice called out to you, so imbued with warmth and affection, the only person to ever say your name in such a cordial and specious way that it just made you want to hear that word slip past her pearly lips again and again.

“Y/n, honey, is everything okay?” green eyes peered into you before twitching her dark brows, such a sweet expression on such a handsome face, such prominent cheekbones.

“Did you go out for a smoke? It's been a while since you left. And you didn't even let me know before... you only act like that when you're upset, honey. Is everything okay?” a complacent hand of hers reached for your fingers, holding them in a warm, gentle touch, “You know you can talk to me about anything you have in mind, Y/n.”

“I know,” you pursed your lips into a contrite line, Wanda looking into your sleepy eyes and your smell of cigarette smoke, her left thumb stroking the skin on the back of your right hand, “I know, I– I'm just... sorry, I'm... I'm just tired. I'm tired as fuck… Mama.”

“Oh, my baby,” Wanda whimpered, “It's okay, it's okay... my poor baby, Mama is here. Mama is here for you. Come here, honey.”

And then Wanda pulled you into a hug. A long hug, protecting your stepmother's body, her arms encircled around your shoulders, crimson-dyed nails caressing in soft touches the nape of your neck. Your right cheek rested against her left collarbone that poked beneath the thin white wool sweater Wanda wore across her torso. She was warm and comfortable, as only a mother could be – she smelled like a mother.

“It's fine, baby, it's fine, your dad and the boys are out. It's alright, Mama will take care of you my sweet, beautiful girl. Come on, let's go to bed. You need to relieve your stress, honey. Let Mama take care of you.”

And you were feeling her, her figure lifted against your cold body again as it always should be, roaming your nose through the warm strands of orange in a shade of red hair half auburn, the tousled strands exuding an exotic and distinctive dry shampoo scent on an invisible background of freshly applied hair dye. You in your stepmother’s arms, with a hint of cigarettes and the purest melancholy you were sinking into.

She held you as she had that first time, even a few years before that, when you staggered drunkenly down the driveway right after your high school prom night – the inside of your mouth tasted stale, wrinkled, the insides of your cheeks numb, a rudimentary bitter taste flooding the length of your pink tongue, oozing through your teeth the heat of the sly alcohol that chained you in a catatonic state of chronic sickness, numbing down your feelings.

And Wanda, like a good, worried mother never being able to bring herself to fall asleep next to her husband who was snoring in their bed upstairs, not letting her spirits cool down knowing that her eldest child was out and the clock was already past three o'clock in the morning at that point, was there waiting for you. As she had already done so much and so much more she would have to do, Wanda looked at you from the sofa when you opened the door, dragging your heels in soft steps into the house.

“Where were you?” was the first thing the low tone of voice across the room did reach your drunken ears, a pair of verdant irises burning holes in your forehead, “The deal was until midnight at the latest, Y/n. It's almost four o'clock in the morning! I was worried sick about you!”

The world around you was like being on the deck of a fishing vessel in a storm on the high seas, confused and treacherous, ready to engulf you in an eternal sullen, salty darkness. From beneath heavy lids, you glared at Wanda with brazen scorn leaking from your irises.

“Fuck you.”

“…What did you just said to me?”

There was a second of silence. You had to place a sinuous hand on the wall near the left side of your body to force yourself to continue standing during the afterglow of dawn, since, drunk as a skunk, cheeks as red as two ripe apples, eyes lost – you didn't even had an idea what you were talking about.

“Fuck you,” you repeated under your breath, the words as bitter as the alcohol pooled in the corners of your mouth cavity, “You’re not my mom.”

And you couldn't even tell why you said it, words so disloyal and tormenting, raw and piercing, that the woman older than you just didn't need to hear that night – after all, Wanda was your mother in a way, the closest you've been to one since the woman who conceived, bore, and gave birth to you decided to pack her suitcases in the car and disappear one afternoon when your father was away.

But Wanda has always been there for you from the moment her figure became a constant presence in your life. Wanda was the woman who raised you, who gave you the first taste of a sweet maternal love, so discordant and confusing for your cognition worthy of an abused animal. Wanda was the first woman you loved because she was the only person who loved you back.

“I'm sorry,” you wailed in a limp lisp, becoming aware of the sharp pain in your stepmother's vexed brows, the disappointed hesitation in the wavering green of her gaze, “I'm sorry, Wanda, it wasn't my – it wasn't my… my intention–”

“It's okay,” her voice was low, carrying a grief-stricken weight, “You're drunk and I…I overreacted– I know it's not my job, I'm just your stepmo–”

“No,” you whimpered, shaking your head, your eyes filled with tears of confusion, “No, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I– I'm sorry–”

“Y/n, it’s okay–”

“No, Wanda–”

And so you crossed the room quickly on your shifted ankles, your lack of motor coordination even reminiscent of a hesitant child staggering still learning to walk – your balance was internal, vulnerable.

“Wanda...”

You cried out for her, stepping across that plush rug to under the coffee table. Your arms raised, probed by the maternal touch that you were denied so early on, everything that you were deprived of and that you only sought to drink from Wanda until the last drop. She looked at you with affection, such an unfamiliar affection, her face too close. But your drunken brain couldn't even prepare you for the soft feel of the commission of your stepmom's peach lips, still tasting faintly of minty mouthwash, against your rough mouth that tasted like cheap beer and rancid blues.

You had kissed Wanda, because your body needed to have her close on an intrinsic level, to her core, as if you wanted to hide from the world within the amenities of her womb. And she kissed you back because she loved you, she always had, absorbing you with strong arms into her motherly warmth, giving you a security that alone you could never reach.

“M-Mama...” your lips connected again, in the living room of that house where only one family lived. And you laid her back on the sofa cushions where your brothers, her children, birthed by her, spend most of their day playing video games.

“Shh, it's okay, it's okay, baby,” Wanda whispered in a love sigh, one hand stroking the alcohol-warm skin of your cheek, you on top of her on those pillows, your heart pounding in your chest, the pride of a mother looking at you through green eyes.

“Mama is here for you, my little girl.”

Wanda pulled you down for another kiss, your knee vaguely brushing the hollow of her inner thighs, skimming against the thin pajama bottoms she was wearing. You apologized softly, stroking her where you could, where your touch reached, on her tummy rolls and in every graceful stretch mark that appeared in your stepmother's bulky silhouette on top of that sofa, with the family portraits hanging on the wall next to the stairs bearing witness to what you had to do. Calling her, reaching for her, for Wanda, for Mama, one being synonymous with the other.

What you did all summer of that year when your dad was away and your brothers were at some other friend's house, on the living room couch biting a pillow and at the kitchen table with her red nails dug into the crown of your head, on your bed of freshly laundered sheets and hers too, crammed with feminine perfume and the sweet red scent of her pomegranate moisturizer – Wanda on top, you on the bottom, she all on all fours, you behind her clamoring with your hips for what was yours, with an adulterine urge to be physically inside her innards at all times.

Even back home from the first semester of college that you already knew you would not finish, during the night when Wanda snuck out of her bedroom shared with Jarvis only to ride your thigh like an animal in heat, because she had missed you so much that her body ached.

“My little girl,” she said, “Mama has missed you so, so much, I can't bear the thought of being away from you, Y/n, please don't leave me again,” and the feeling was as mutual as it could be, because you also couldn't stand spending so much time away from an affection like no other ever felt by your empty and abandoned chest. You would always seek the motherly comfort Wanda had to offer to ward off your ills and soothe your spirits.

Even returning home after the failure of a dead academic life, your stepmother would always welcome you with open arms and legs – the sharpened ridge of red-painted fingernails digging into the thin skin above your shoulder blades, crescent-shaped marks piercing your flesh, marking you as hers, the headboard bumping in impassive rhythm against the wall, you rutting into Wanda's cunt with a silicone toy she had bought solely for your amusement.

“Mama,” you spit against the gleaming sweat from Wanda's throat, your hips bumping in wet slaps that echoed off the four walls of the room, your skin sliding against each other, “Mama, I love you, I love you, Mama...”

“Mama loves you too, baby,” Wanda moaned in a broken voice, “Mama loves you too. Mama loves absolutely everything about you, my little girl.”

You thrust that fake dick down her hole with a yelp of lustful satisfaction, a deafening delight, giving your stepmother's womb a rushing sense of pleasure. It was the height of belonging – being inside her, being embraced by her walls, feeling her loosen up internally to receive you all. It didn't matter that her wedding ring, placed on that finger by your father, felt so cold behind your back.

“Mama, Mama I– I’m gonna–” you growled, your brow furrowed, your hips crashing into hers in waves, your breaths ragged and shabby, your thrusts hard and sloppy, “I'm gonna come, Mama, p-please, please, Mama, Mama– M-Mommy! Mommy, I'm gonna come in you!”

“Do it baby, do it,” she smiled, so sweet and complacent beneath you, “Let Mama see your pretty face while you come, sweetheart. Come in Mama, give me all of you.”

Your clit was sliding frantically against the harness that circled your hips, and smelling her, feeling her heat, hearing her moans, was like an explosion inside your belly. You came – hot, strong, a red electric current inside your veins, running down between your thighs.

“Mama!” a squeaky little scream broke out of you, and from that open crack in your soul, the tears flowed down your face. Hot tears that dripped all over Wanda's sternum, mixing with the beads of sweat that exuded from her pores.

“Shh, honey, it's okay, it's okay,” a hand cupping your head brought you to snuggle against her chest, Wanda's heartbeat could be heard from the position you were in, your ear pressed to her skin.

“You did a great job, baby. You've let all your stress out. Mama is so proud of you, honey,” Wanda hummed, fingertips bent stroking your hair humid with warm sweat, “Do you want Mama's milk now, my sweet girl?”

You looked up from under your lids glistening from a silent cry, into her inviting eyes, “Can I…?”

Wanda smiled, “You know you don't have to ask me, sweetheart.”

You blinked once between lashes heavy with lust and tears before looking down at your stepmother's rosy nipple, which you brought to your mouth to close your lips on the circumvallation of it, earning a satisfied groan from Wanda.

With the twins approaching ten years old, there was no longer a single drop of sweet milk to be actually sipped, but something in the comfort imbued in that very intimate action, facing two naked bodies fresh out of the animalistic mist of such a carnal act, was enough for you to do it again and again, whenever you could, whenever she let you.

“That's right baby, that's right,” Wanda's melodious voice crooned, her fingers stroking a lock of hair close to the tip of your ear.

“Mama loves you, did you know that? Mama loves you so much, Y/n. No matter what others say about you, Mama is very proud of you, baby. You are my special girl.”

It was the movement that reconnected the two of you, bringing together two fragments of a shattered whole that, when put together again, made up a complete whole within Wanda. Consuming the human instinctual act, you both merged with a momentary perfection, a holdover of lustful nature during countless lapses of comfortable affability. A new hot tear trickled from the corner of your eye.

“Mama loves you,” Wanda repeated, one hand stroking the length of your back, “Mama loves you very much, my perfect girl.”

#wanda x you #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff x you #wanda reader #wanda x y/n #wanda maximoff imagine #scarlet witch x you #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch #scarlet witch x y/n #elizabeth olsen #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen x you #elizabeth olsen x female reader #marvel #mcu #marvel cinematic universe #fanfic

[rosalinesurvived]

I think another reason why I don’t like or trust Natsume is highkey lowkey because Fukuzawa did not agree to the whole Tripartide Plan beforehand. He didnt agree to becoming the opposite to the Mafia, something that could’ve been fatal for them both, Natsume decided that for him.

God knows how Mori met Natsume or why he decided that a murderous underground doctor with that ability was the perfect person to overthrow the notoriously dangerous Mafia but it wasn’t Mori’s plan.

Fukuzawa and Ranpo had their detective thing before they met Natsume and it was him that directed Fukuzawa to Mori. I’m of the opinion that Fukuzawa didn’t know that Natsume and Mori were planning for the latter to because the PM head until later on when Yosano comes into the picture when Mori’s already a member of the mafia.

In the chapter/flashback above he’s a quack doctor, 4 years after the Great War ends he’s officially in the Mafia, the ADA is official and Fukuzawa knows about the Tripartide, but he fiercely opposes the immortal regiment idea.

Sidenote: Somebody told Fukuzawa about Yosano’s whereabouts and what Mori was going to do with her. It was Mori who got her out of the room, it was Fukuzawa and Ranpo who intercepted them on the roof. Might’ve been Fukuchi, but that’s not been revealed and now he’s dead. My money’s on Taneda

Can you fucking imagine going to someone for a permission slip to run your detective business and the dude up and decides that you and your sixteen year old are the *perfect* people to oppose the Mafia in quasi-alignment with the government (who you previously killed for???)?????

Its likely that Natsume sent Fukuzawa to Mori bc he wanted the future ADA president and the future PM boss to have some idea of each other’s bloodlusts, strengths, personalities, convictions. But that makes him even shadier because its clear he knows Fukuzawa’s assassin past and whatever’s up with Mori. Also, why? Why make them go through the fake kidnapping thing together? Unless he was trying to forge some bond that would make it hard for them to go at each other’s throats in the future, eg: when Fukuzawa learns what Mori plans to use Yosano for. Because a diamond polishes a diamond.

The whole Tripartite Plan makes it so that the ADA, the government and the PM are in a permanent standstill because none of them can kill the other for fear of what would come next and Natsume executed it perfectly and shoved it onto Mori and Fukuzawa, the latter of whom this came straight out of left-wing and hit him like a freight train

#the mori+natsume dynamic are very very dazai+mori which hnnnnnng #and that says a lot about the three of them #with fukuzawa as chuuya i guess #in terms of the typical skk dynamics i guess natsume’s the bad mentor to mori which is understandable #bsd #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #fukuzawa yukichi #mori ougai #natsume soseki #tripartite tactic #santoka taneda #yosano akiko #port mafia #armed detective agency #special abilities division

[meow-town]

Jealous! Dee x Reader Oneshot 「Seeing Green」

Summary : Dee arrives at a party hoping to find his crush, but envy makes an entrance and makes him reveal secrets within his heart.

Requested by @chanel-lovegood !! Thank you so much! Things have really been piling on lately, so sorry if I take a while to finish requests!

Also, I’m literALLY SO SORRY FOR TAKING SO LONG TUMBLR DELETED MY ENTIRE DRAFT FOR SOME REASON AND I HAD TO START OVER

Why was he here? Dee Shvagenbagen, antisocial know-it-all, someone who absolutely despised parties and big social gatherings. He thought they were foolish, he had better things to do. He could be reading, he could be going over school notes, he could be doing anything other than being stuffed in some suburban house with horny sixteen year olds awkwardly swaying to shitty house music. Yet here he was, grabbing onto a clear plastic cup full with water and blowing off everyone who came up to him expecting to get his number.

“Not interested.”

“But I literally just-”

“I’m not interested.”

The brunette sighed, turning on her heel and sulking away to the furthest corner. He sighed and went back on his search, scouting out for the light in this dark realm of absurdity. Turning corners, climbing up stairs to a whole other side of the party, stepping out into the front yard, and continuing to push away people who didn’t know about the concept of personal space. He continued to look for them, the only thing worth being here for. 

(f/n) (l/n).

A diamond in the rough. He didn’t expect them to be at party. From what he had gathered, they would much rather be at home than doing anything like this. He had seen social media posts of them reading or drawing or just staying in in general. Dee remembered how he had come to arrive at this party. Kids were bombarding the class group chat with messages about it, obviously, Dee couldn’t be less interested until he overheard someone speak at school. That’s what Dee did. He subconsciously eavesdropped, constantly.

“Yeah, I’ve invited (f/n) to the party. She said she’d go if I did.”

A slight twinge of hurt pecked at his chest, someone had probably spiked the water or whatever.

 His mind scattered back, scratching into the deepest corners of his brain to think of more places they could be.

‘Upstairs? No, there’s people making out up there, they wouldn’t be comfortable. Maybe they’re in the bathroom, hiding? That sounds like something they would do.’

His breath hitched in his throat once he realized. Squeezing in between people, leaving behind a trail of ‘excuse me’s and ‘coming through’s. He made his way back out through the kitchen door, leaving to the backyard. And once he slid the door closed, he saw.

There they were. Sitting atop the grass with an anxious dog on their lap.

“Sh, sh. It’s okay! They’re just loud noises, nothing’s gonna hurt you!” The terrier whimpered in response, backing up further into them.

He sighed into his lips, parting his sight. A rosy tint crept onto his cheeks, just by looking at them. (F/n), sweetest soul he’d ever met. And now was a perfect example. The sight of them holding the little creature close to their chest, stroking its fur gradually while whispering sweet words of reassurance - even while fully knowing the dog wouldn’t understand, it was adorable.

A distant song made its way to his ears.

You see me in hindsight, tangled up with you all night.

Burning, it, down.

“Dee?”

“Y-yeah? Sorry, I just zoned out.”

He mentally striked himself across the face, scowling visibly while they smiled at him. “What are you doing here? I thought you hated these types of things.”

“I do, but I wanted to see someone here.” ‘You. It’s you who I wanted to see.’ “What about you?”

“A friend dragged me here along with him.”

A comforting silence took over them both. Silences were just different with (f/n), Dee thought. They silently gestured for him to sit next to them, patting the grass with one hand. With still no words spoken, he sat and shuffled closer to (f/n), cheeks still pinkish in color. He reached for the dog to scratch behind its ears and retracted his arms to prop himself up once more. Some stars were visible, but with all of the light coming from inside and the lamppost, they could only point some out.

The terrier suddenly jumped out of (f/n)’s arms to switch over to Dee. Hopping off, it strided to his side and jumped onto his lap. (F/n) looked over at him, giving him a closed-eye smile. He felt his heart flutter in his chest. Wrapping an arm languidly around the pup, his gaze returned to the skies.  How long had it been? Bit less than a year now. Around 10 months since (f/n) transferred to his school, and 8 months since he developed a crush on them. It really only got worse from there. It was a silly little crush, at first. Evolved into him thinking about them before he went to sleep, cradling his pillow. Then he began to ask around for their socials, places they would be during the weekend. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be here with them right now.

He exhaled deeply, cherishing this moment.

The scent of their hair, their usual coffee order, their playlist, their favorite flower - which they had only briefly mentioned in a school trip once. He remembered every small detail he could recollect, small and unimportant as it may seem.  “Who’d you say you came here with?” He blurted out, desperate to get some form of conversation going.

“Oh, just Vitya. He’s in the school band, you’ve probably heard of him.”

His brow unconscious furrowed. Vitya. Sure, he’d heard of Vitya. Bassist and lead vocalist of the school band, as well as second hand man to Ches. He’d visited Ches’s shop every now and then only to see Vitya greet him each time. Vitya, with his ruffled brown hair and his dimples and his incredible skills in music. Who had more talent in his left pinkie finger than Dee could ever have in his entire body.

He chose to let it go, to just enjoy the time he had with (f/n) for as long as he could. Vitya could cloud his thoughts any day, but moments like these came once in a lifetime. “Why don’t you join the band? Haywire has been looking for a new member, and you seem to like the kind of music they produce.”

“Just, uh, not really interested.” Lies. Dee couldn’t play a note if his life depended on it. He tended to rush into things, to impulsively decide to learn something new and get frustrated as all hell when he wasn’t amazing at it within the first five minutes. Being intellectually gifted does that to a person. You grow up all of your life being naturally amazing at everything without having to lift a finger, and once you have to put in effort, you give up.

They sat in lively conversation for about another ten minutes, until the music re-emerged from its muffled state, as a voice shouted over it.

“(F/N)! GET OVER HERE! SOMEONE’S DEDICATING A SONG TO YOU!” (F/n)’s head darted over immediately.

“Oh shit! Really?”  The dog jumped up at the sight of their agitated state. “I’m coming! Coming!” While they scrambled to their feet, Dee swiftly pulled the critter off of him.

“I’ll come with.” He grumbled, pulling his jacket back into place. (F/n) nodded and grasped his forearm to drag him inside. They shut the door behind them, placing their plastic cup onto the kitchen counter. An electric guitar being tuned, drum kits being assembled, keyboard being tried out and a bass guitar being plugged in, much to Dee’s dismay. It wouldn’t take a genius to find out who dedicated a song to (f/n). Dee felt bad for the other members of Haywire, being dragged into an entire performance because their leader was head over heels for someone he couldn’t have.

He couldn’t have them, Dee repeated the phrase in his mind, almost to convince himself. (F/n) was destined to end up with him. It was only fair.  “This song goes out to someone who’s real special to me.” Dee blocked out the voice to the best of his abilities. He could just imagine the way Vitya looked at (f/n) when he said that. “You’re always by my side, (f/n). And I think this is a good way to show you how much I appreciate everything you do for me.”

‘No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. This is not a confession.’ Dee thought, looking back at them. The starter riff begun and Dee internally facepalmed at the sound of it.

‘Wonderwall. Of all the songs you could dedicate to someone, Wonderwall. How basic and boring.’

Even with how distressed he was, the blonde always managed to critique something. His gaze flew from one person to another. The crowd staring at them like a pair of animals at the zoo, and the brunette’s sight caught directly onto (f/n).

He carried on through the entire song, adjusting his gaze every once in a while to be able to look at the fretboard. People were recording, as if this were a romantic comedy in which the guy on stage would drop on his knees to receive a kiss from the love interest.

But it didn’t seem to far from that. And it scared Dee.

Vitya staring deeply into (f/n)’s eyes, and them shyly reciprocating with a twinkle.

This wasn’t happening.  The absolute hysteria building up in his body was too much to bear. It couldn’t end here. Dee needed to have his chance. He need to tell them how they felt. The tension is his neck was alarmingly visible, and he had to do something. 

Vitya leaning further from the stage, beginning to sit on his knees to face the crowd better. Sitting on his knees to face (f/n) better. To have his face closer to theirs. To make their move. To take them away from him. To ruin him.

“Dee?!”

Before he knew what he was doing, he latched onto their frame, swooping them out of the scene.

“What the fuck, man?!” Dee didn’t say anything back, as much as he wanted to. As much as he wanted to swipe the lovesick look clean off of the bassist’s face with a guitar. Dee ignored all complaints and demands to be put down and took them into a closet, locking the door behind them. He took a breather, body pressed firmly against the door, as if someone was to barge in at any second. “What the fuck are you doing?!”

“Shut up.”

“I- excuse me?!”

“Shut up.”

He doesn’t know why. It seemed right in the heat of the moment and he pulled her away. And now they were both inside a pitch dark closet, sharing a small space that could barely fit the both of them. His breathing calmed down, and his head thudded on the wall behind him once he threw it back. No one had seen them go in here. He made sure.  “Dee…” He couldn’t see anything, just black. Pure black. “Why did you pull me in here?” His cool demeanor shattered into small little bits, as he stumbled over words and syllables.

“I-I just… Uhm. I don’t…” He was cut off by a sigh and he shut up this time.

Dark as all hell, with no ability to see anything. He felt two hands press down on his shoulders. “Oh, there you are.” He stifled a gasp when he felt their hands on him, cheeks burning hotter with each second that passed. “These are your shoulders, right?”

“Yeah.. yeah, that’s it.” He replied, voice shaky as he tensed up even more. The tips of his ear were turning pink, and for once he was glad it was dark in the room. He couldn’t imagine having to explain to (f/n) why he was sweating, face looking like a fire truck. They patted along his shoulders, gripping onto his arms and finding their way all over him. Cupping his cheeks, they tugged and pinched slightly.

“Im guessing this is your face..?”

“It is.”

They chuckled and moved to remove their hands. But his ones piled over theirs to maintain them where they were. “N-no.” He whispered. “Keep them here.” (F/n) hummed and did as he said, taking a step forward. He nuzzled further into their palm, exhaling deeply. They were now so close to each other, Dee could feel the body heat radiating off of (f/n). Although there was no light, they could feel his gaze like a touch. They pulled away.

“We should get out of here, Vitya’s looking for me. I don’t wanna make him worry.”

“Stop talking about Vitya. Vitya isn’t here. I’m here.” He husked, now managing to see (f/n) more clearly in the dark. The (hair-colored) beauty relaxed, eyes half lidded. “It’s just Vitya with you, isn’t it?” The question took both of them by surprise. (F/n) didn’t know how to respond, and Dee couldn’t imagine what he had just said. That was risky. Too risky. He could have apologized and let it go, but at this point he might as well pull through with it. “Vitya dedicating a song to you, Vitya inviting you to a party, Vitya and his bass skills, Vitya, Vitya, Vitya.”

He continued to confront them. “What about me? Why can’t you gush over me? I’ve been trying my absolute hardest for you to notice my approaches and nothing. How am I supposed to feel knowing that my best wasn’t good enough, and that some rando can win you over by doing his bare minimum? Huh?”

(F/n) blinked at the blonde’s outburst, mind clouded with so many thoughts at once they couldn’t focus on a single one. They listened to him ramble on, except their brain wasn’t absorbing any of the info he spat at them. Dee Shvagenbagen, antisocial know-it-all, and the most attractive person they’d ever met. Their body drove closer to him, itching to get closer. They’d been keeping their distance for him to not notice them falling for him. After all, he wasn’t interested in people like that. Or at least, people excluding (f/n). Maybe 8 months since she grew apart. And it was harder each day. Harder to not confess the way they felt.

Another step.  And another.

And another.

They cupped his chin, pupils dilated completely. Whether it was from the lack of light, or from how close they were to him, they didn’t know. Possibly both. Dee’s rant came halting to an end, as (f/n) closed the space between them.

As they felt fireworks go off in their stomach, as they felt all nerves dissipate from their body, as they silently thanked a greater good for this opportunity.

As they pressed their lips onto his, pressing a stray hand flat on his chest. He felt them run their fingers around his hair, pulling of the hair tie to run their fingers through it. Pausing in between for breaths each time, Dee smashed his lips onto theirs, losing all control he might’ve previously had. He pulled away fro a brief second, enticing them with the promise of more. Only for him to push them back in a mere second, pushing the back of their head into the kiss. Long breaths, roaming hands and deep kisses.  “I’ve liked you… Hah, for the longest time. Dee.”

“Me too…”

They clawed at his back when he forced entrance into their mouth, claiming every spot as his. Needless to say, Dee knew his feelings were reciprocated.

#metal Family #metalfamily #metalfamilyxreader #metal family x reader #dee x reader #dee metal family #metal family dee #dee metal family x reader #metal family dee x reader #dee shvagenbagen #dee Shvagenbagen x reader #dee #this took forever I’m so sorry #also kinda rushed because I didn’t wanna make you wait any longer

[acciojaeyun]

– 1:16 am ; how jungwon falls in love

genre: fluff pairing: yang jungwon x gn!reader trope: childhood friends to lovers

a/n: HAPPY BIRTHDAY JUNGWONIEEEE 🥺

love had the last cup of vanilla ice cream with rainbow sprinkles and mini marshmallows.

it was not that hot out when you both first met outside of your respective houses. in fact, it was hot, albeit a bit cooler than normal. but the temptation of the vanilla ice cream was something undeniable, that not even the faintest drop of temperature could stop you from having your hands around the waffle cone.

love shared an ice cream cup with you when he was eight and you were seven.

love shared an ice cream cup with you when he was eight and you were seven.

“we could share,” the kid with smiled, dimples showing as he showed you the ice cream cup he had in his hands.

the thing about being a kid is, your parents have warned you not to talk to strangers. and the kid that apparently had your favourite ice cream was a stranger. you heard the words of your parents repeating in your head, but your favourite vanilla soft serve was held between the stranger’s small hands. 

so, you smiled at love, and love smiled back at you.

you were first acquainted with love through an eight-year-old jungwon, who had his hair in a bowl cut and whose cheeks are puffed out with dimples as deep as it could get. the jungwon who preferred to play chase with you on a bike at exactly 4:00 in the afternoon once you’re done with your classes, an hour before your own private lessons.

at twelve, love danced gracefully to the music you blasted on your speakers.

“i know this song!” jungwon would tell you while jumping as the music blasted your bluetooth speakers you brought to his place on afternoon.

you watched as jungwon hit every beat, you watched how he isolated his body to incorporate meaning to the words of the music, you watched how he smiled while catching his breath after dancing one whole routine.

“you’ve improved a lot on your dancing,” you smiled at jungwon who blushed in return. “i’ve been practising,” he responds as he takes a seat beside you on the floor to steal the fry you have in between your fingers. 

jungwon promised a lot of things.

first, jungwon promises not to refrain himself from stealing your food.

you let him steal your fry, just like how many times he had stolen your food. it was something unspoken between you two: you order jungwon’s usual while he claims to not order his, since he wanted to try some other things.

at the end of the day, you would eat the aloha burger and curly fries as he takes bite off your chicken sandwich and regular fries.

second, jungwon promises to put you first and protect you from everything.

“y/n!” he shouts as he pulls you by the arm to the pavement, saving you from an accident on the road. “y/n, you could’ve gotten hurt!” he says through teary eyes, checking your face whether you’ve had inevitable repercussions from the incident.

and lastly, jungwon promises to be your best-friend all the time.

“i love you,” he smiles through his chocolate tongue, savouring the last remnants of the chocolate ice cream he ordered instead of vanilla. you giggled and said it back with such sweetness, vanilla draped over the words with such delicacy and childlike intensity. 

love was ice cream shared under the sunset after a thirty-minute bike ride before jungwon goes to taekwondo and you go to piano lessons.

but love fails.

“up for a bike?” you asked one afternoon after your classes, just like you always did. and while you expected jungwon to nod at you and agree, he pouted and shook his head, “i have training.”

“oh,” you nodded and pouted as well, “it’s alright! we can bike some other time!”

at sixteen, love leaves for its dreams.

“what do you mean you’re not sure when you’ll come back?”

“i’ll come back, y/n.” jungwon sighs as he packs his clothes.

“what if you don’t?”

���then i’ve reached my dreams.”

for three months, love was seen through the screen. 

you couldn’t be prouder for jungwon, you knew you left bittersweetly. it ended in such a way that you have told jungwon that you didn’t want him reaching his dream when it was in fact the opposite.

“i’m proud of you,” you’d say when he decided to call you one random night. 

jungwon smiles. “how are you?” he asks.

jungwon still steals your food whenever he came to visit you. he still preferred ordering mundane menu items while subconsciously wanting yours – where he ends up eating your food and you end up eating his.

“i kinda want to try the mint choco,” he says as he looks at the ice cream menu.

“you never liked mint choco…” you trailed off as you knew where this was going.

jungwon still protects you from everything, that he had his sunghoon-hyung teach him how to skate because you told him one time you wanted to try ice skating; how was he supposed to protect you when he didn’t even know how to?

“since when did you learn how to skate?”

“i think you forgot i have a professional ice skater in my group.”

jungwon kept his promises. 

heck, he promised even more than that.

“would it be weird if i asked you if i could take you on a date?” he asked as he looked at you while you nursed yourself with hot chocolate.

“it would be,”

“but i could, right?” he presses, hopeful.

“you could.”

he releases a breath he has been holding, “alright.”

you looked at him expectingly.

“i’ll take you on a date,”

“as a bestfriend?”

jungwon takes a sip on his hot chocolate, “that and more.”

#yang jungwon #jungwon #enhypen jungwon #enhypen jungwon x reader #jungwon x reader #yang jungwon x reader #enhypen soft thoughts #enhypen soft hours #enhypen #smut #angst #fluff #x reader #masterlist #imagine #imagines #prompts #headcanons #headcanon #fic #fanfic

[bethanywritesbooks]

my immediate thoughts on the first four and a bit episodes of netflix's avatar!

massive spoilers below!

okay I’m sorry but there is NO WAY sozin was actually present and storming the air temple. dude’s the fire lord. he would absolutely have been sitting behind a desk from the safety and comfort of his own palace and receiving the occasional update via letter at MOST. 

are we supposed to infer the airbender woman who gyatso nods at is aang’s mum? surely the camera lingered on her (and showed her having absolutely bananas-level tornadobending skills) for a reason.

gyatso with the kids :”( literally made me cry. 

honestly I was not as outraged as some people with the whole ‘toning down sokka’s sexism’ thing, bc I do understand some of his lines coming across differently/more maliciously in 2024 than intended at the time they were written. but I have to say … this version of katara opening the iceberg was not entirely convincing :/ like in the OG version you could see how she was so angry at sokka that it fuelled her waterbending enough to break the iceberg, but in this one she just … raises her hands? 

I get that this show is trying to be its own thing, but ‘will you go penguin sledding with me?’ is SUCH a perfect introduction to aang’s character, and I’m kind of bummed they nixed the line :/ 

and I get there are time constrains etc, but they didn’t include any of katara and aang actually bonding together, so it doesn’t really make sense now that she’s willing to go off and travel the world with him. 

the music is really good! 

GRAN GRAN DID THE THING! 

speaking of, why does gran gran know everybody’s business?

they definitely seem to have toned down zuko’s personality? like OG show zuko would not be having a back and forth conversation with iroh about the avatar, he would’ve just shouted at him and stormed off. 

I also really like the interaction between iroh and aang. iroh’s toeing the party line, but you get the sense that he believes differently. 

okay, I have to say this, and this is something I’ve been thinking since the first promo pictures came out. everyone’s clothes look too clean! our real clothes have were and tear, but these outfits don’t look lived in! it’s distracting me!

that said, paul sunghyung lee is completely spot-on as live-action iroh. completely captures the character’s personality and appearance. I want a hug from this version of iroh.

must admit I am glad that appa and momo are 100 times cuter and nowhere near as terrifying as they looked in [REDACTED BY THE DAI LI]. 

okay, heading into episode two. 

seems they have retconned zhao’s origin story, since this seems to be the first time iroh has met him? does this now mean zhao was not present at the zuko/ozai agni kai, like he was in the OG show?

SUKI!!!! 

suki’s reaction to meeting a boy she likes being to throw down and fight him, what a little weirdo (affectionate). 

oh, zuko. having the confidence to try and fight AVATAR KYOSHI is certainly … A Decision. one that a teenage boy would make! 

AVATAR KYOSHI LOOKS SO GOOD! 

avatar kyoshi if you are free to hang out on thursday night, I would like to hang out on thursday night when I am free, if you are free. 

hmm I’m kind of intrigued as to where they’re going with the live action version of zhao. because right now it seems like he’s a nameless commander — like we’re supposed to infer his letter is his first direct communication with ozai? he’s not been around the royal family before? by taking away this backstory, the show is missing out on the total hilarity of a middle-aged man having longstanding, personal beef with a sixteen-year-old.

listen, if daniel dae kim wanted to be in my tv show I would absolutely be like ‘yes, of course, how many close-ups do you want?’ but I do think the OG show not revealing ozai’s face until season 3 was a really smart decision. it built up so much suspense and mystery around this character (who is supposed to be larger than life!) and it had SUCH good payoff IMHO. I do kind of wish they had committed to this too but, like. if daniel dae kim was in my show I’d want his face in it, so I get it. 

time for episode three! 

azula!! introducing her doing undercover work makes sense for her character, given how she later infiltrates ba sing se. though I’m not sure it’s entirely believable that the people … wouldn’t recognise her? in the fire nation capital? she’s a (very!) public figure!

again, season 1 zuko would not have had the patience and self-control to compromise with zhao like this. 

mai and ty lee! I like that the show is already hinting at mai betraying azula for zuko — her first instinct is to defend zuko (even though she walks it back when she sees azula is upset), hinting at where her true loyalties eventually lie. 

being a teenage girl and getting led astray by a bad boy with a shaggy haircut is, unfortunately, a canon event for us all. 

katara brushing by zuko and him touching her scarf!!! not the 2024 zutara crumbs! 

‘zuko, don’t fire bend, it’ll draw too much attention!’ zuko: proceeds to have a huge smackdown fight w aang, destroying multiple vendors’ goods in the process. 

that lady smacking zuko for attacking aang was genuinely the funniest part of the episode. 

‘MY CABBAGES!’ iconic, outstanding, give him an oscar immediately!

episode four! 

more aang and iroh interactions! maybe they'll do a jailbreak together? 

loved seeing the iroh and ozai interaction, I hope we get to see more of their dynamic together. (I think a lot of ozai’s actions make sense when you remember he’s a youngest child.) 

loved the detail of zuko giving iroh lu ten’s broach (badge? pin? it’s late, my brain’s getting fuzzy), showing that his softer side was always there.

bumi’s voice and mannerisms and completely spot-on, but I’m not sure I entirely agree with his new characterisation. he seems so … jaded and bitter? yes, they’ve captured his silliness and eccentricity, but he’s also supposed to be wise, and I’m not sure if the latter is really coming across.

okay episode five! (it’s 11:30PM at this point, and I can feel myself becoming less and less coherent, so don’t expect as much detail at this point.) 

ooof. the CGI while the gaang is on appa seems … worse than in earlier episodes? did they run out of money at this point? 

this version of ozai seems more … pragmatic? he’s strategically playing his kids against each other, but IMHO animated ozai would never praise zuko (even if it was to put azula in her place) bc he didn’t like him enough to do that. ever. 

JUNE LOOKS SO GOOD.

okay I am too tired to keep watching, I'll watch more tomorrow.

#atla netflix spoilers #atla spoilers #atla #avatar the last airbender #the last airbender

[kitkatopinions]

@kitestarry Thought I'd answer this comment in its own post. :)

Ghira and Kali are very much so stereotypical "Mom and Dad" characters imo, where Kali is kind of nosy and she's comforting and she's given that "no she can hit people with pans too" thing that people give Supermoms since like 2000 so they can say they're strong women without having to do any work, and Ghira is like overprotective and tells Blake she isn't wearing enough clothes and hates Sun because he's a boy who's interested in his daughter. And I don't like the stereotypical "Mom and Dad" characterization in any setting really, but since they're only featured in two seasons and are honestly not even sort of the focus of Blake's 4-5 arc (which is much more about her, Sun, and Ilia,) they're very paper thin characters I feel like. So there isn't much else to them. But on top of that, the RWBY writers do this thing where they'll make the teenage characters do dangerous stuff but do not care to write the "caring" parental figures in their life to actually do anything about it. Like, with Willow you can at least be like "well she's an alcoholic who had an abusive husband" which doesn't mean that her complete lack of presence until V7 and her lack of action in protecting her children is fine, but it makes more sense. And when then sixteen year old Ruby left home to go after Cinder and supposedly like a year later Tai still is completely not around, we could at least say "well, he knows she's with Qrow and he might not have known how serious everything was" which isn't a good excuse, but it's at least something. But, I believe Blake ran away from home five years before the start of the show, which means she was like twelve! And she ran away to be part of a group Ghira thought was dangerous and morally wrong (which is why he left in the first place.) Like, we don't know if Blake had a good place to stay for that whole time, if she ever went hungry, and the show fully tells us she was in a bad and unsafe relationship for part of it. And where were her parents? And then the Fall of Beacon happens after Blake is on TV during the Vytal Festival, and the whole thing just makes them feel like very uncaring bad parents. There's also Ghira's whole peaceful protest 'be nice to your oppressors and they might like you' 'we need to stop faunus violence' thing. Like many Faunus characters, Ghira's a mouthpiece for the severely badly handled fantasy racism plot. It's bad on Blake, but since she has a lot more character and role outside of that, it's easy enough to just clip it out for her for me. But because Ghira has been such a small role, it's a lot harder to dismiss for him. Like if you removed that sort of thing from Ghira's character, all that you'd have left is 'over-protective dad who doesn't care about finding his twelve year old runaway but will comment on her belly shirt when she comes home."

But also, I don't write for them to be honest. Writing for characters oftentimes makes me like them more because it helps me dive into the character concept more than the oftentimes lackluster execution. There are a lot of characters I didn't like that much, but then when I write for them, I find myself really enjoying them. But my sister and I first started writing for RWBY after volume six with a fanfiction that was an AU branch off starting at the end of V5. And the only fanfictions I've written either are branches off of that branch off or are Team STRQ era fics. So... Ghira and Kali aren't really part of things in my fics ever.

So yeah, it's a combination of them being thin stereotypical parents with very little interest to them, their apparent lack of care when their twelve year old ran away, and just never writing for them so they don't get the same treatment of me fleshing them out myself that other characters who are just as thin in canon might get that make me like them more.

#rwde

[littlemisssatanist]

can i ask for a small favor? can you rant about daemon targaryen please? i just re-read your team green 💚 post and i'm reminded of how much ick i feel towards that character, especially in the wake of the team trailers being released.

hiii!!! tysm for this ask i was super happy when i saw it in my inbox i'm flattered people want to hear my opinions lol

my thoughts about daemon are very convoluted. i think he has the potential to be a very interesting character but it's kinda canceled out by the incest and pedophilia thing.

like. i understand it's an incest dragon show but my main issue with team black when it comes to their criticisms. they love to spout endless words about how aegon is a rapist and how alicent is a rape apologist for not... idk slitting his throat i guess.

it's really ironic to me, because these same people will turn around and then yap about how daemyra is the perfect ship. they'll be aghast when you even slightly suggest you enjoy aegon's character in any way but be in an uproar if you dare bash their dashing and roguish prince daemon.

honestly, name one terrible thing aegon did and i'll be able to give you something daemon did that is arguably worse than that.

aegon - raping a servant girl in the show (which honestly i'm treating more as a fanfiction considering how terribly written both the greens and the blacks are).

daemon - uhmmmm probably the whole thing with nettles. you know. the sixteen year old girl he groomed and raped (yes raped because minors aren't able to consent). actually, now that i think of it, he did the exact same thing with rhaenyra too, huh? or does team black find the whole fleabottom episode to be hot and rhaenyra being sexually free? that seems like the sort of thing they'd take from that whole fiasco.

on the topic of blood & cheese: the way some people defend this is honestly sickening.

'but poor luke was killed by his terrible uncle aemond' he was an envoy of war (not to aemond, btw, he owed him no safe haven) and also he kinda. yk. took out his eye. i'm not saying luke deserved to die, but i'm going to be honest this is one of the more mild things that happened during the dance.

whether luke deserved to die (which i'd like to reiterate: i do not think he did. i can understand WHY aemond killed him, but that is not me EXCUSING him. this is for those of you who don't know how to read and will inevitably find a way to start putting words in my mouth) b&c is completely unexcusable.

it's team feminism until its a woman who doesn't fit your little box of badass hottie. it's team feminism until that woman doesn't bow down to rhae-rhae and betray her own family and children in order to join the 'good side.' it's team woman until you point out that rhaenyra was groomed by daemon and continues to make decisions that are decidedly anti-feminist.

this is why i can't stand team black stans who say things like 'i hate the greens except for helaena bc she didn't do anything wrong' because you quite literally cannot do that without admitting that helaena suffered because of the blacks NOT the greens.

helaena suffered bc of DAEMON not because of any actions taken by the greens. DAEMON was the one who orchestrated b&c, the one who sent men to terrorize her and kill her children.

daemon did that.

i have no problem with people who can admit that their faves have flaws. i admit aemond's flaws, daeron's flaws, aegon's flaws. the problem i have with daemon is that his stans are so insufferably annoying and they literally cannot do any of that.

my last thought about daemon (at the moment, at least) is his relationship with strong boys.

lots of tb likes to say that daemon loved those boys like his own and would never do anything to hurt them. and i... honestly find it a little strange, and also a little embarassing, because how am i going to have a better grasp on his character than those that love him most???

i genuinely believe that daemon, had rhaenyra ascended to the throne like viserys planned, he would have caused 'unfortunate accidents' for the strong boys in order to get his blood on the throne. which, btw, was one of the main reasons viserys named rhaenyra heir, to keep daemon from sitting on the throne.

i think it the succession crisis had been between daemon and rhaenyra instead, it would have been a much more interesting storyline.

then again grrm isn't that good at writing interesting storylines when it comes to daemon considering he's a self-insert. honestly i wouldn't be surprised if when he died it was found out that grrm had a fanfiction written somewhere where daemon survived the fight with aemond and got to live out the rest of his boring ass life grooming little girls. who knows.

#anti daemon targaryen #anti daemyra #asks #anti team black #anti hotd #hotd critical #pro team green

[tomatette]

Okay, so … @wyomingnot told me about their headcanon that Ma-Ma is actually Techies mother. And, I somehow couldn't stop thinking about it, so here goes:

Madeline gets knocked up at sixteen, homeless and prostituting herself for drug money. She doesn't want a kid, but she also has no money to get rid of it, so she breaks into an electric shop in Peach Trees, trying to rob it.

The owner, an old man, catches her in the act. But instead of calling the judges on her, he offers her food and a place to crash. She's suspicious at first, obviously, but, being pretty much out of other options, she stays anyway. After a couple days she comes to the conclusion that the old man really just genuinely wants to help. And he convinces her to have the baby. He has no family, he tells her. He would support her and the child in any way he can. And Madeline is maybe not happy, but its probably the best time she's had in her whole miserable life.

The baby is born. A little boy she calls Tadgh to please the old man (it's his middle name). But it's stressful and exhausting and, frankly, she doesn't like to be a mom. So she falls back into bad habits, finds herself a drug cook boyfriend and a pimp, and shows up at the electronic shop less and less.

The shop keeper takes care of the kid everyone calls Techie (because Tadgh is Irish and people twist their tongues trying to pronounce it correctly), treats him like he's his own grandkid. He might not be able to help Madeleine, because she doesn't want to be helped, but he can at least try to save the boy, help him set up a good life.

Next Madeleine's, now Ma-Ma's, known backstory happens. She plays no role in Techies life during the time she builds her Slo-Mo empire. When she takes over Peach Trees, Techie is around eight years old. It's then that she remembers her son.

Techie's grown into a clever kid, very tech-savvy, who helps his Da in the shop. He knows that his Da is not his real father, and that his Ma is still somewhere out there and loves him very much.

It's a shock for the little boy when he has to find out the hard way that his Da has lied to him. Ma-Ma is pretty much the opposite of a loving mother. And he hides behind the tool-rack when she storms into the shop and demands her son. Da tries to reason with her, when that doesn't work, he tells Techie to run.

Which he does - until he hears his Da scream. Then, he heads back and returns just in time to see Ma-Ma kill his Da. She takes a struggling and fighting little Techie "home", and just like that his childhood is over.

She doesn't really have many motherly feelings for him, but she does keep him fed and in relatively good health. It'd be an understatement to say their relationship is complicated. Techie hates and loves her in equal measures. She's the embodiment of every bad thing that has ever happened to him, but she's also his only source of touch or affection, as few and far between as those might be …

I might use this for my Techie fic, but I wanted to share this here anyway :)

#Techie #clan techie #dredd 2012 #dredd #domhnall gleeson #ma-ma #madeleine madrigal #Lena Headey #Just a little hc #Ma-Ma is Techie's mother

[lollytea]

Okay I wanna write down a few thoughts on that part of the climax in Thanks to Them that has garnered some mixed opinions. Specifically Hunter’s possession and the subsequent death of Flapjack. 

I wouldn’t necessarily say I’m defending this scene, as people are perfectly within their rights to be uncomfortable with it and criticize everything from its execution to its inclusion at all. Whether this whole thing was objectively a terrible writing decision for Hunter’s character, his arc, and the overall message it sends is....a discussion starter to say the least. Rather, what I wanna do is maybe try and dissect the reasons why these scenes might exist in the first place. From a writing perspective. 

I’ve been thinking about it a lot, trying to figure out just what angle the crew was going for and I think I might have some vague idea. And I’ll admit, I think there’s something poignant in here somewhere. Maybe they fumbled the bag a bit and didn’t consider just how troubling some of these implications could be. Writing gets clunky sometimes. But that’s up to every individual viewer to draw their own conclusions. But personally, I don’t believe that these scenes were intended to be gratuitous. I don’t believe that they were added solely because the crew are sadists who enjoy wringing Hunter dry like an angsty dish cloth. As flawed as they may be, I think I can understand why they were written. Possibly. 

So, I’m gonna try to give an objective look at the themes, storytelling and symbolism at play here and how all of that relates to Hunter’s overall character and the big climax of his story.

We’ll start with the very understandable hurt viewers felt when Hunter’s road to recovery was abruptly relapsed by Belos. The thing many people are vocalizing their feelings about is how the episode made sure to demonstrate just how happy Hunter was. That’s what devastated them the most. Hunter was in the process of healing, which hits close to home for many, making what Belos did to him all the more disturbing on a personal level. 

However, every single one of us knew that Belos was alive before we watched the episode. Hunter did not. Hunter believed that Belos was dead and this was the only reason that he felt safe enough to make such progress in his recovery. So now matter what way you twist it, we all knew Hunter was set up to relapse the moment he realized Belos was in the Human Realm. 

So what was the point of showing this sixteen year old abuse victim experiencing safety, warmth, happiness, confidence and self exploration just to cruelly rip it all away from him? 

Put simply, to establish just how much Hunter now has to live for. Just how much Hunter has to fight for. His motivations for living and for fighting are sprinkled all throughout the episode. This boy has such a hopeful future laid out before him and he knows it. So when he finally gets his moment to tell Belos exactly what he wants for himself, you understand exactly where this passion and determination is coming from. It means something. 

And then there’s the possession itself, which everything comes down to. We saw the leaks, we hated them, some of us talked ourselves into believing they were fake but we all kinda knew deep down. It was a very fun very terrible week. ANYWAY. 

I think that Hunter’s arc would have felt incomplete if he didn’t get a final confrontation with Belos. That’s the popular opinion. However, many are also in the opinion that Hunter getting possessed was very unnecessary and violating and it should not have been done in the first place. And I’m not gonna argue with this view. It’s legit. But again, here’s what I believe the crew might have been going for with this.

The possession of Hunter’s body is a symbolic manifestation of everything Belos has always represented in his life. It’s a final culmination of all sixteen years under that man’s thumb and all the damage he’s done to Hunter’s body and psyche. 

Ever since Separate Tides, Hunter has been Belos’ puppet. And honestly, though the specifics of the arrangement have shifted, this was still the case throughout Thanks To Them. Between Separate Tides and Hollow Mind, it’s pretty simple. Perfectly obedient Golden Guard who does everything his uncle tells him to do, without much say in the trajectory of his own life. 

However, after Hollow Mind, Hunter was no longer that. But that didn’t mean the puppetry stopped entirely. He was a nervous wreck for the rest of the season. The mention of the Emperor’s name paralyzed him with fear. It didn’t matter if it wasn’t done directly. Belos still had an alarming amount of control over Hunter. 

So long as he was alive, Hunter knew he wasn’t safe. And once Hunter starts to realize that he’s still out there, it becomes obvious that he will never fully recover until he’s certain Belos is dead. 

Everything about the possession is an encapsulation of what Belos’ years of abuse and manipulation have been like to Hunter. How powerless he’s always felt. But this time, it isn’t done through words or threats of violence. It’s worse than that. It’s physically invasive. It’s desecration. It’s having his very self taken away from him and nothing is more sacred than a person’s autonomy. The weight of what’s happening to him is palpable. 

This is the worst thing Belos has ever done to him. 

But what does Hunter, the boy who spent his entire life petrified of this man, do about it? 

He finds it in himself to rebel against it.

Because, though Belos’ abuse and the negative effects of his upbringing have always been such a crucial aspect of Hunter’s sense of personhood, it’s not all that defines him. 

A long time ago Hunter was given orders from the Emperor to slay a selkidomus. Instead he passed the job off to somebody else because he didn’t want to do it. 

Hunter self-sabotaged his own mission and allowed Luz to escape with the palismen he was ordered to recover. 

Hunter studied wild magic against his uncle’s wishes. 

Hunter went to Eclipse Lake even when he was told not to. 

Hunter had a secret palismen named Flapjack. 

Hunter assigned himself to the Hexside mission without getting Belos’ approval. 

Hunter owned a secret scroll. 

Hunter refused to roll over and die in the mindscape even when Belos decided that he was no longer useful. 

Hunter has a rebellious heart. Had one from the very beginning. He was definitely in denial about it back then (Happily declaring just how much he loves “Authority! And rules!”) but it was there, clear as day.

But this is the moment where Hunter embraces that rebellious heart. And in doing so, he finds the willpower to regain control of his body. To Hunter, this moment is a reflection of everything he’s always wanted to do. To break free of Belos’ power. To speak his mind. To choose his own future. To choose himself. 

And all that genuine joy we saw him experiencing earlier in the episode is what strengthens his resolve to grit out his final words to Belos.

Hunter releases years of pent up frustration that he was too brainwashed to ever let himself think about. 

Hunter openly expresses desire after desire, fully aware that every single one of them will boil Belos’ blood. 

Hunter outrights demands that he be allowed happiness. 

He’s proving, not only to Belos, but to himself that you can hurt him, you can scare him, you can manipulate him, you can even possess him, but you will never own him. Nobody will ever own him. 

So, yes, absolutely. There are valid criticisms to be had of the concept of Hunter being possessed. And it’s likely the writers didn’t really think a lot of the ramifications through. 

But I believe the idea it’s trying to portray was how the intensity of that moment and how violating it was to Hunter further emphasized just how powerful Hunter’s final act of defiance was. It wasn’t just one last fight between the two of them, it was a visceral way of having Hunter confront everything Belos has ever put him through, allow his resentment to bubble over and finally understand that he has the right to reject who he was “supposed” to be, whether Belos likes it or not. 

One thing that came from the possession scene that I believe is genuinely a good and healthy thing is that Hunter’s perspective of Belos has changed for the better.

This was the worst thing Belos could have possibly done to him. And Hunter did not only survive it but he was capable of resisting it. Something he’s never been able to do before. He has officially endured the worst Belos can inflict on him. So, with that in mind, Hunter has no reason left to be afraid of this man anymore. With this, all remaining control Belos had over him has been shattered. 

I have to acknowledge that, though this experience was truly godawful, it did provide Hunter with the closure he needed. It was necessary to how he proceeds forward. With all that fear out of the picture, Hunter’s current feelings towards Belos consist of righteous fury and contempt. Which is cathartic to say the least, as Hunter’s hate can finally be directed at the person who hurt him, rather than himself. In the case of a victim struggling with their trauma, allowing themselves to be angry at their abuser can be a very therapeutic thing. 

This is huge for Hunter. While many have expressed the opinion that the after effects of this moment will be detrimental to Hunter’s overall arc, I honestly think it’s a massive step in the journey to recovery. It’s not the nice peaceful part he experienced while in Camila’s house but not everything about an abuse victim’s healing process is pleasant. Sometimes it’s ugly. But progress is progress. 

And then there’s the matter of Flapjack’s sacrifice which is a doozy of a subject. 

Anyone who follows me is aware that I was very vocal in my belief that Flapjack would survive, because surely they wouldn’t take something so precious to Hunter away from him. Surely. 

(Well I’m Stan and I was wrong, I’m singing the Stan Wrong Song, okay fuck you.)

But once that episode was over and the credits were rolling, I started to think about Flapjack as far back as his introduction in Hunting Palismen. And honestly, I feel like his death was planned from the start. The kind of friend who comes into your life, changes you for the better before inevitably having to say goodbye. But even if it’s temporary, that doesn’t make their presence in your life any less impactful. 

While Flapjack had plenty of personality, he wasn’t so much a character with his own arc, as he was a tool in progressing Hunter’s. His role in the story was to guide a lost and lonely boy into the light and show him that he’s worthy of being loved. 

And with Flapjack’s influence, Hunter let himself meet people who don’t make him feel worthless. He has never felt more loved in his life. 

Flapjack officially imprinted on Hunter when the boy expressed a longing to figure out his own future. Flapjack decided that he would try to lead him in the right direction. 

And in his final moments, Flapjack watched the boy he had been guiding adamantly proclaim everything he wanted his future to be. It was safe to assume he had figured it out. 

Flapjack’s existence in Hunter’s life also represents the link to Caleb along with Hunter’s complicated “relationship” with this ghost of a man that he’ll never know. Caleb is not Hunter and Hunter will never be Caleb. However, they’ll always be connected by the strings of terrible, terrible destiny that Belos tied together. And though Hunter didn’t know it, Caleb lingered in his life in the form of the bird he left behind.

And in all that time where Hunter figuring out his own identity, Caleb’s bird was helping him along. It was when Hunter was finally certain exactly who he was (Not a witch hunting accomplice of Belos) that Caleb’s bird was ready to move on.

With all these ends tied up, Hunter did not need Flapjack anymore. 

But Flapjack still had one more job left to do. And that was to make sure Hunter got to stay with the people who loved him and Hunter got his chance to experience the future he had decided for himself. Figuring it out is useless if it’s all a hopeless fantasy. Flapjack wanted it to be a reality. 

It must have been a relief to the little bird’s heart that his witch had grown so much and he could leave knowing Hunter would be okay without him.

(There’s also the interpretation that Flapjack is an analogy for a service animal/disability aid. But that line about learning to carve could not set it up the future any clearer. Hunter will not be without a palisman forever.

Obviously, it might take him some time before he’s ready to begin again. But he will make a new palismen. As a boy who’s spent his entire arc learning how to let new loved ones into his life, it would make absolutely no sense whatsoever if he didn’t.)

Anyway, my biggest fear when I saw the leaks which showed Flapjack sacrificing himself for Hunter’s sake, was how much something like that could completely destroy all of Hunter’s healing progress. Because why wouldn’t it? He not only lost his best friend but Flapjack died to keep him alive. How could he possibly live with himself after something like that? 

I think this is one of the main talking points over why people are upset about Flapjack’s death. How it’s going to effect Hunter. I’ve seen the belief that this devastating loss was detrimental to his recovery journey and it’s rendered all of the lighthearted scenes of enthusiasm and confidence from earlier in the special obsolete. But I honestly feel like it’s the exact opposite. 

Hunter’s reaction to Flapjack’s death was different than I imagined it would be. And not in an objectively bad way. It’s quite telling of how far he’s come. Compare it to Hollow Mind where Hunter also experiences a traumatic loss which results in him having a complete meltdown. He cries, he hyperventilates, he runs blindly into the woods. It was borderline apocalyptic. And it’s completely understandable. At this point in life, Hunter lost what he believed to be his entire world. 

After Flapjack’s sacrifice, the first thing Hunter did when he regained consciousness was smile, softly greet his remaining loved ones and ask if they were alright. It’s revealed seconds later that he already knew Flapjack was gone. But he still had it in him to smile. Because even in the devastating aftermath of losing the creature who changed his life and introduced him to real happiness, he’s relieved to know his friends and family are safe. He knows he’s not alone. 

Flapjack was deeply important to Hunter. It’s impossible to even articulate just how much he adored that little bird. When he lost his former life, Flapjack was all he had.

However, by this point, Hunter’s life is flourishing with hobbies and interests and ambitions and friends and family and love. Flapjack was no longer everything Hunter had. And being surrounded by so many people who cared about him in his moment of grief is a powerful thing. 

Hunter is quiet about Flapjack’s death. He’s weak, he’s exhausted, he’s utterly gutted. But there’s nothing that implies he blames himself. Judging by how he was aware of the sacrifice despite just waking up, I believe they did get one last goodbye via their mental link. 

And I think this is why Hunter seems so accepting of what had just happened. Whatever Flapjack said to him, he had successfully made Hunter understand that this was just how it had to be and that it was not his fault. And with all the love and optimism Flapjack has instilled in him since they met, Hunter decided that what he needs to do now is try and lead the most fulfilling life he possibly can. He has to. This life had been a gift from Flapjack after all.

But as mentioned way up above, Hunter can never have the life he wants until Belos is permanently out of the picture. I think this is where his new lease of life comes from in the final moments of the special. 

Hunter has changed significantly throughout this episode. While in his opening scene, he was completely clueless on how to comfort Luz properly because he equates the guilt she feels to his own and that link between their similar feelings sabotages any attempt at clarity on his part. His words of comfort were basically “If it helps, they’ll hate me more.” 

But before he steps through the portal, Hunter has a new perspective on the self-loathing that has been corrupting both himself and the girl he now calls family. It was never them. It was Belos. It was always Belos. Hunter is able to tell Luz that it was never her fault because he finally understands that it was never his fault. And he’s telling her all of this because she’s important to him and she always will be. 

Hunter still has Luz.

He then expresses his new motivation. To fight back. To regain control of his life. To get some justice for all the damage his abuser has done to him and so many others. To protect the world that he cares about. 

Hunter still has Willow and Gus and Amity. 

Hunter still has Camila and Vee. 

Losing Flapjack did not kill Hunter’s fire. It did not render all of his prior growth in the Human Realm null and void. Hunter has experienced a loss and his grief is palpable but he still has so much left.

In fact, I think if Hunter hadn’t had these experiences, hadn’t built these relationships, hadn’t realized just how much life has to offer to him, he wouldn’t be taking such a defiant stance. He wouldn’t be the first one to march into the portal, taking Flapjack home, determined to end Belos once and for all. And he’s standing on a strong foundation of mourning, experience, wisdom, love and support. 

I keep thinking about that very infamous line by Dana that was misinterpreted to Hell and back. 

“Dana doesn’t like happy endings.” 

That line never bothered me much, even when I didn’t know what the exact context actually was (Dana doesn’t like happily ever after.) Like, I watched the Owl House, I know the kind of stories Dana liked to tell. So, the way I always interpreted that opinion was the simple message that we can never have it all. 

Life is tumultuous. There are ups. There are downs. There are gains. There are losses. And I feel like that’s an accurate summary of Hunter’s development throughout the special. 

Hunter had been mistreated. He now has far more scars than he started out with. He lost Flapjack. These are all devastating blows to him physically and emotionally. 

But please, don’t allow the suffering Hunter went through distract from all of his positive growth in this episode. Hunter spent months making happy memories. He strengthened his bonds with his friends. He now has somebody who genuinely loves him that he can call family. He’s discovered all these brand new hobbies and interests. 

He likes who he is now.

That hasn’t changed. I promise you that it hasn’t changed. 

And most importantly of all, Hunter is no longer ruled by fear of the man who hurt him. He is no longer under Belos’ control. 

Hunter is grieving right now but he is not in ruins. 

This is not rock bottom for him. 

I feel that Hunter’s gains and losses were pretty evenly distributed throughout the episode. However, because of the attachment people have towards him, as a teenage abuse victim who’s steadily recovering, it’s easy to only see his losses. Because it hurts to see, it really does. 

But I promise you all of those happy Hunter memories meant something too. Those are what’s him pushing forward right now. 

Anyway, those are my two cents on that whole thing. Again, I don’t think these scenes are immune to criticism. However, I did want to take a moment to examine them a bit because I truly believe that there was a team of passionate writers attempting to create something profound with this.

I like to write myself and I understand that a lot of the time I miss the mark and don’t always execute the point I’m trying to make. So, at the very least, even if things aren’t handled perfectly, I’d like to try and dissect the message that they were attempting to send. 

It’s absolutely fine if you don’t agree with a word of this. I understand that these scenes have hurt quite a lot of people. But thank you for reading. I appreciate it. 💕

#toh spoilers #tw abuse

[autisticgirliesbracket]

What makes Midori Asakusa from Keep Your Hands Off Eizouken! the autistic girlie ever of all time? Here's what the people have to say:

Asakusa-related asks/reblogs: x This post will be updated after each round!

Image ID in alt text and under the readmore.

[Image ID. White slide with a low-quality screenshot of Midori Asakusa sitting on a large orange beanbag. She is surrounded by text boxes which read,

"She's clearly excited about animation and often ends up infodumping about stuff she's interested in, she often is in "her own world" and ends up goofing around during club work when alongside her friends in the film club, but also she gets clearly anxious and uncomfortable around strangers, stumbling over her words and clutching her plush bunny when trying to explain stuff to the student council. i just love having a character who can be BOTH silly and excitable and also more shy and awkward around different groups of people... relatable tbh (also a good article: www.animeherald.com/2022/07/02/a-neurodivergent-examination-of-eizoukens-asakusa-midori/amp/)"

"She loves animation. She knows so much about animation. She has drawings full of sketches and concepts and I will be honest with you I am not great at infodumping because I have bad memory but BELIEVE ME SHE HAD THE TISM SO MUCH"

"when i see her im like yaaay yaaay yaaay inthink its a sign"

"Our girlie here is NOT neurotypical! From the first pages of the first chapter we discover her special interests in the place she lives in and in animation as a medium (she infodumps). This results in several notebooks worth of schematics of the town and how it could be used as the base for wordbuilding an interesting setting for a cartoon. She also piles up vehicles sketches with detailed internal structure. In a later chapter she thinks so much about how a giant robot would work that arrives at the conclusion it would not work and tries to scratch the whole project she and her friends are working on, because if she cannot make it work irl other people would notice. The only way her friend could make her continue to work on the mecha suit stuff is convincing her that she was not making it for "other people" but for her own enjoyment. With this new rule in place she can move on. Asakusa does not fare well in crowds and with strangers. She constantly pushes forward her friend to do the speaking and when she speaks up for herself she rambles in dialect or uses quotes and catchphrases to keep the momentum. She gets soooo distracted by small things. A piece of obsidian in the back of the schoolyard, how did it get there? And oh my god I know we where talking about something serious but IS THAT A TANUKI? Also do not tell me a neurotypical sixteen years old girl has ever saved up for a big army regulation backpack to stuff it with things like a torchlight, a multitool, several feet of paracord, light-up shoes, and a stuffed bunny. She needs them to explore closed down buildings even if she is afraid of the dark. She needs her emotional support bunny." End ID.]

#autistic girlies bracket #autistic girlie masterpost #keep your hands off eizouken! #Midori Asakusa

[and-stir-the-stars]

Summary: After the Bite, Evan spent years being manipulated into helping William commit crimes against humanity. Now, William's in jail, Evan is in 21-year-old Mike's custody, and Evan just wants to stay at home taking care of the stray animals he finds in the woods outside. Michael tries to convince his little brother that it's not healthy to hide away in the house for the rest of his life.

Au: saffron pawn au

word count: 1,375

...

“Evan.” 

The sixteen-year-old sitting cross-legged on the couch didn’t move. He didn’t even look up at Michael; his attention stayed glued on the fox laying asleep in his lap as he ran his fingers gently through its fur. 

With a mighty huff through his nose, Michael knelt down in front of the couch so he was eye-level with his younger brother. Evan couldn’t get up and walk away with the fox asleep in his lap, or the squirrel balanced carefully on his shoulder, or the raccoon laying on the couch curled up against his thigh. 

“Evan.” Mike put more care into keeping the gruffness out of his voice this time. “Ev, can you look at me? Please?”

Evan grunted.

Michael waited. He didn’t have anywhere to be; he could kneel here all day if Evan chose to play things the hard way. 

Finally, Evan looked up. His green gaze drilled holes into the lower part of Michael’s face as he adamantly refused to meet Michael’s eye. 

Michael’s chest moved slowly in and out as he took a deep breath, reminding himself that it was okay. Evan didn’t need to meet his eye; he just needed to listen. 

“C’mon, Ev. This isn’t good for you, and you know it.”

“I told you, I’m fine.”

“You’re sixteen. You should be getting out of the house, having fun, being a dumb kid,” Michael corrected. “You should be meeting new people and making friends.” 

“I have friends!” Eyes lifting, Evan looked up at Michael with a glare.

‘Well, at least he’s finally looking you in the eye.’

Michael sighed, as much at the sardonic voice as at Evan’s outburst. “Your animals don’t count,” Mike said firmly.

“Then I don’t need friends.” 

“Yes, you do.”

“That means a lot, coming from the guy whose definition of ‘friend’ is anyone who comes into his stupid parlor more than once. You can’t tell me I’m not normal when the only time you bother leaving the house is going to work or the store because you’re too scared to leave your psycho little brother home alone.” 

Michael blinked at Evan. Blood rushed to his face and anger reddened his cheeks at Evan’s insults. “Low blow, Evan.” 

The fox in Evan’s lap raised its head and looked sleepily around the room as though troubled. 

Evan shrugged, and the squirrel on his shoulder jumped onto the back of the couch and climbed away. Evan watched it go with a frown. “Psycho, remember?”

‘Deep breaths, Michael. Deep breath in, then out…’

“You’re not a psycho.” 

Evan wasn’t looking at him anymore. He wasn’t petting the fox anymore, either; just watched it stand and stretch its legs as though waiting for it to jump away and leave him. “Then I don’t know what I am.” 

“A lonely kid?”

Evan snickered. “That’s what Therapist #5 used to say.” 

“Was that the one with the mole?”

“No, the pink glasses.”

“Riiiiiiight,” Michael clacked his tongue as the memory returned to him. “That’s the one I freaked out when I told her we were moving.” 

Evan rolled his eyes. “You told her that she ‘didn’t have very long left’ after the whole town accused us of being serial killers.”

“I was just talking about the number of therapy sessions she would have left with you!”

Michael knew he shouldn’t, but… he couldn’t help but laugh remembering the way that woman’s eyes had widened, how she had taken a step back and her manicured hand had floated over her heart, how she had looked about five seconds away from passing out like some dramatic Hollywood actor…

Evan’s lips flickered upward in a brief smile, too.

With its legs apparently sufficiently stretched, the fox curled up again in Evan’s lap, and the sixteen-year-old reached out to scratch the underside of its chin. As though jealous of the attention, the raccoon at Evan’s side stood and crawled into Evan’s lap as well, and the kid reached out to pet it with his other hand. 

“Listen, Ev,” Mike started carefully. “I’m just… trying to be honest here. I know what it’s like to… to lock yourself away from the world. I did it all the time when I was your age– hell, I did it when I was younger than you, and you’re right. I still do it now, because… I felt like I wasn’t good enough. Like… like just existing in the world would be a punishment for everyone around me.”

Memories flooded Michael’s mind. Being pushed away and rejected as a kid until the only people he could surround himself with were a group of delinquent kids who did nothing but encourage each other’s worst tendencies; hiding his face behind a Foxy mask because he couldn’t bare to look at himself in the mirror and he needed to be something other than the stupid, weak little kid he saw there; the months when Evan had been in his coma and Michael would find notes that read ‘murderer’ in dripping red paint stuffed inside his locker; staying locked inside his room for days in fear of their father or his teachers or his classmates taking out their anger and judgement on him…

“I know what that’s like,” Micheal whispered. “I know how awful it is, and I know that I don’t want that for you, Ev.” 

The smile was gone from Evan’s face, replaced by shiny eyes and the splotchy red color his cheeks always got just before he cried. 

“Please, please, promise me you won’t lock yourself away.” 

Evan shook his head, though it didn’t look like an answer so much as him being overwhelmed and confused and hurt. 

“You don’t have to do anything big, just– something, Ev. I… I even called around, and… did you know there’s an animal shelter looking for volunteers not far from here?”

Evan’s teary eyes lifted to meet Michael’s. For a second, he seemed touched by the olive branch Michael had extended him. But the hope died in his eyes quicker than it had appeared. 

“Th-they’ll just find out what I a-am, and– and then we’ll have to move again. There’s n-no point.” 

“Or,” Michael said. “Or maybe they’ll see how much you love animals, how good you are at taking care of them, and they’ll be happy for the help. Maybe you’ll make a friend or two.” 

Evan was already shaking his head. “They won’t want me, Mikey. They won’t, they w-won’t, they won’t! You didn’t ev-even want me; why the hell would they?!” 

Michael’s eyes squeezed closed for an awful few seconds. There it was. 

Standing up, Michael stopped kneeling in front of Evan and moved to sit beside him on the couch. 

Evan leaned away from him on instinct, but he couldn’t move very far with the animals still on his lap.

“I love you, Evan. And I know– I know– if you give the right people the chance, they will, too.”

Evan’s entire body was shaking now, one of his hands floating up to his face and covering his mouth as he sobbed with his head low enough that his chin practically touched his chest. 

The raccoon and fox on Evan’s lap seemed to look at each other for a moment. Then, the raccoon got to its feet and scurried away. The fox followed not long after, and a fresh sob ripped from Evan’s chest as it left. 

Michael’s hands fluttered in the air, unsure if he should try to comfort Ev or if this was one of the times when touch would make it worse. 

Evan ended up answering that for him by burying his face against Michael’s shoulder and pounding his fists against his big brother’s chest. 

With a strangled gasp as he was suddenly winded, Michael grabbed at Evan’s hands. He transferred Evan’s wrists into one hand, keeping his little brother’s hands pinned down as he wrapped his free arm around Evan. 

“I hate you,” Evan sobbed. “I hate you, I hate you, I HATE YOU!”

“It’s okay,” Michael whispered as Evan trembled in his arms and tried yanking his hands out of Michael’s grip. The words felt awkward on his tongue despite the echoes in his mind of countless therapists harping on about how important it was to communicate now. “I am not going to let you hurt me, but you can let it all out, Ev. It’s okay.” 

Evan just sobbed louder. 

#wake up besties: new evan personality dropped #don't you just love it when ev has abandonment/rejection issues from his big brother #''trying to kill him'' by putting him in fredbear's mouth and then moving out without a goodbye #the second he turned 18?? #saffron pawn au #evan afton #the crying child #michael afton #mike afton #fnaf au #fnaf #fnaf fic #disney princess evan #<- bc of the animal thing #kats scribbles

[illarian-rambling]

Thanks for the tag @dyrewrites!

Oc in 15

For my final Outcast of Honor, we've got Twenari Undetasib (or Crowborn or Devaris)! She's a capital G Gifted Kid who spent most of her childhood doing magic for her brutal smuggler mother. In the first book, she's twelve. After the time skip for two and three, she's sixteen. But she's always had the soul of a forty-five year old tenured professor. She also serves as the straightman of this series' four man comedy routine, so her dialog isn't quite as funny on its own as it is with the other's. This'll all be dialog from the 3rd book

"Azhur, I'm sorry it ended up like this. You... you've known me for three days. That's hardly enough time to know somebody, let alone a daughter. Yet, you risked everything for me. I... I wish I knew why. You're a powerful sorcerer, with enough money to buy the moon out of the sky. You don't need me. Getting involved in my struggles was a terrible investment---you gain nothing, but have the chance to lose everything. I suppose the only explanation is that... that you really do...."

"She also says that if you die, she'll find a way to haunt your ghost. But it shouldn't come to that. Once you're up, you can go to her and she can haunt you all she likes in the living world."

"We mortals might preserve if we work together. After all, enough ants can kill a lion."

"Something to do with gravitational runes and the density of air. It's brilliant; they combine the magical with the mechanical and get a miracle. Gods, if I could just get a peek inside one of those fans...."

"I can scan for key terms. Two can read faster than one, even if one doesn't know the science. Please, I promise I can be of use."

"Rich people love souvenirs. I'll bet one of my kinsmen has something that can get us nearby, at least."

"According to my second cousin Omari, who, keep in mind, is nine years old, we're a few miles out from Kityra Village."

"I have water, I have organic material; I can make soup."

"I'd never realized the full breadth of an infallible memory. There must be something about the mortal mind that allows it to block out such a horrific process. I'd make sense, as adaptation against madness. If robots don't have that, then, Bi'em, your contributions to teleportation magic as a whole could be incredible!"

"Delays are dangerous. We keep going."

"I tortured people for my mother. Does that count as experience?"

"I don't want to speak with her. I don't even want to see her if I can avoid it. Is that cowardly of me? She stole my childhood away, shouldn't I have something to say to her?"

"...no. I'll catch you up on Janazi literature motifs later. No, when the heros are against the wall and the dragon is closing in, they go to find another dragon. And I've got one in mind."

"Spirit of the desert! I gave you the luxury of a discussion last time, but you have worn my patience thin. You have no choice in the matter; you will apportion a piece of your power to me and I will leave with it. Give it willingly and I will not have to resort to force!"

"Leave her to her estate. Leave her to her schemes and her gold. Leave her to all those empty things and she'll hollow herself out in time. She doesn't have enough of a heart for vengeance."

I'll tag @moonandris @mitzymossy33 @revenantlore and @goldxdarkness!

Have a bitchin day <3

#writing #writerscommunity #writblr #my ocs

[so-very-small]

“Does it get easier?”

“Oh, gods no.”

The Elder taps their cigarette, dried tea leaves wrapped in a sliver of a leaf. Minuscule ashes fall off, resting on the windowsill before the wind topples them off the edge.

The Elder is scarred, long thinning hair falling down to cover their missing eye. A cane fashioned from a knitting needle rests in their lap, and their wrinkles crease as they exhale the smoke from their pursed lips.

“I’ve been a borrower my whole life,” they say, “Wasn’t one who was shrunk, or a fae, I was born into it. I grew up in an old factory on the edge of town.”

“A factory?”

“It’s where the humans make their things. It all comes from big buildings, with dozens and dozens of them working inside. Like chips, or pencils. I lived in a pencil factory.”

“Oh,” I say. I had never really thought about where the humans got things.

“My mother died when I was sixteen. It took me two years to get from the factory to this residential neighborhood. Lost my eye from a cat on the way, and this scar here is from where an automobile kicked a rock at me. I almost didn’t make it. I’ve lived in this home ever since.”

My eyes are wide, fingers curled tight around the edge of my loose shirt. Half the words are unrecognizable, but I won’t dare interrupt. Getting an audience with the Elder is nothing short of a miracle in itself.

“It’s been dozens of years. I cannot tell you the amount of times I’ve brushed death, or worse.”

The Elder takes another drag, and I try not to stare at the scar on their shoulder.

“The world isn’t meant for us,” I say, eventually.

The Elder snorts.

“If we weren’t meant to be here, we wouldn’t be,” they reply, smoke spilling from their lips. “If you weren’t meant to be here, you wouldn’t have made it this far. But you did, kid, and that means something.”

They pause, their legs swinging softly as they dangle from the edge of the windowsill. Before us spreads the beans garden, soft in the early morning light, the glints of dew almost casting a magical appearance over the green.

“Borrowing never gets easier. For us, living, it doesn’t. You’ve come a long way to see me, child, I see it in your eyes, and I know you want some special wisdom that will make all of this okay. But the truth is, it will be a constant struggle.”

They pause, a worn hand reaching down to smother their tea cigarette before flicking it over the edge.

“But there’s the morning light,” They say, gesturing out before us, “And it will always come. You’ll always be able to see the dew in the grass, feel the warmth of fresh borrowed food, the feeling of curling up to sleep after a long day of work.”

They reach over, their wrinkled hand clasping my smooth one. I hold on tightly, and they give me a soft squeeze.

“Struggling is our birthright,” they say. “But eventually, you’ll see all the things we struggle for, and realize it’s worth it. The wind on your cheeks, the laughter of a friend, an entire stolen cookie.”

They let out a small chuckle at the end, giving my hand another squeeze before releasing it.

“We’re made so small so we can see the beauty in these small things, my child. And once you see that beauty? It makes it all worth it.”

I nod, turning my gaze back out to the garden. It’s not the answer I traveled here for. Futility, burden, the overwhelming state of my existence still burns heavy in my chest.

But the dewdrops on the tomato plants catch the light in a way that makes them sparkle. Flowers unfurl gently, a small breeze teases its way through my hair, and from inside I can hear someone beginning to practice piano.

It’s nice.

“Thank you, Elder.”

They pat my hand.

“You’re never in this alone, child.”

And together, we sit and watch the sunrise.

#g/t #giant tiny #my writing #this is. this was fun #love metaphors

[iamumbra195]

Okay, I keep seeing this everywhere and it's driving me insane.

Everytime someone points out how a teenage girl is oversexualized in a show-- with half her chest being shown for some odd reason-- someone else comes in and talks about how that person shouldn't complain because there's a man that walks around half naked in the show when these two things are fundamentally different???

Best example of this is Yaoyorozu and Kirishima from Mha

A man's chest being exposed and a woman's chest being exposed are two very different things. That's why it's perfectly fine for men to go to the beach wearing only swim shorts because they're covering the only intimate part of their body. Women cover their chest and private because those are the intimate part of their body.

The sexualization of men and women are very different. Stop comparing them. I'm aware that Kirishima and the other anime boys are sexualized but society has different standard for men and women. When women are sexualized, when teenage girls are sexualized, they are objectified in a way men aren't most of the time. Women are sexualized ALL the time and most of the time it's not welcome so stop comparing that shit.

The experiences of men and women are on opposite ends of the spectrum. Women are subject to sexualization from the age of eleven, sometimes even younger, and that's why you have characters like Sarada, who was what, twelve? in the early manga and was literally dressed in that abomination of outfit and walking around in 6 inch heels when she's literally a child. A child.

So back to my point, stop comparing a teenage girl in a dangerous industry walking around half naked (or completely naked in Hagakure's case) to a teenage boy that can literally turn his skin into armour because once again, men have one intimate area and women. have. TWO!!

There's also no reason for her or Hagakure to walk around like that when there's an in universe solution to their problem-- Mirio's DNA infused suit. Kirishima could do that as well if he wanted but once again, completely different situations here.

Also it kinda says something when its mostly the female characters quirks that require them to be half naked/naked (Yayorozu, Hagakure, Midnight, probably more...)

Thanks for listening

If you wanna know what pissed me off: https://www.reddit.com/r/BokunoheroFanfiction/comments/165100d/extremely_high_bmi_high_body_fat_momo_deals_with/

Also this redesign for Momo's suit looks great and suits her personality really well. If she really needs to make some really big like a cannon, you can add a zipper for that specific use but she rarely needs to make that sort of thing and it would take a lot of time to adding a zipper is hardly a big deal. She mostly makes things that she can literally create from her arms but for some reason she's always making from the weird boob window area.

Plus isn't quirk society super advanced? Why does she have a whole bookshelf on her hip when she can get like a tablet or some fancy glasses/goggles like Edith from Spider-Man: Far from Home

Also found a sarada redesign :)

SEE? SHE LOOKS COOL! GIRLS DON'T HAVE TO BE HALF NAKED TO LOOK COOL!

Literally all the girls in shipudden looked amazing in their ninja clothes without being sexualized, it's possible to do that Boruto too. And I don't give a fuck if it's modern times, do you see military women or police women dressed half naked? NO!

They're not regular civilians in Konoha who can dress any way they want, it has to be practical and Sarada's timeskip design? Very much impractical. I don't think this redesign is perfect cause the jacket looks a little too long and might get in the way of her reaching for her weapons pouch but it's way better than the original

Everyone keeps trying to say that everyone who dislikes the design is projecting their own misogynistic views and that they were all insecure like... Sorry I'm not comfortable seeing a sixteen year old dress like that? Sarada has been consitently sexualized in the manga and it's not cool. Idk why y'all are defending it. Like it if you want to Idc but ppl not liking is perfectly valid considering all the weird connotations it has

I like this design too, could do without the heels tbh

She reminds me of Sasuke in this and maki from JJK

A huge reason why I personally love JJK is because Gege doesn't needlessly oversexualize the women, both students and adults and they're all dressed in a practical uniform

#sexualization of men and women are different #misogyny #mha #boruto naruto next generations #sarada uchiha #momo yaoyorozu #tooru hagakure #kirishima eijirou #rant #I read an article mocking the ppl complaining about Sarada's design and saying they're disconnected from reality and I'm like: -__- #yeah WE'RE the ones disconnected from reality #misogynistic pieces of shit #literally every single one of her designs is creepy gtfo

[noteveryoneis]

Ava Silva’s trademarks are the mistakes she makes along the way.

She knows that, her ex knows that, her kids know that, even the cat lady across the street knows that. Everyone in her little hometown knew that.

Everyone and their mothers thought Ava Silva had hit rock-bottom when she ended up knocked up at sixteen years old by her stupid little high school boyfriend, but no, Ava kept digging. She just had to keep the baby, marry the guy and move out of the state to have two more kids with him before the age of twenty-four. JC was a good guy, he loved her, loved their girls, he was kind and he cared about them. Until he didn’t, breaking up with Ava and asking her to take full custody of the girls, without a single afterthought.

“We weren’t ready,” he had said. “I’m not ready to be a father.”

Good thing he had realized that now, their first baby was almost into her pre-teen at that point — and she had glared at him from the darkness of the hallway of their shitty little apartment as Ava sat across from him at the kitchen table, defeated.

So it’s expected for this new decision to turn out to be another mistake. Even Ava knows it.

Still, it looks good, on paper. A fresh new start. Just the four of them, Ava and her girls. Back to her hometown, the place she knows by heart and could navigate with her eyes closed. Hell, she even found a job and a whole new house — small and cramped but like Camila said it herself: “The good thing about growing up in social housing is that whatever you find here, it’s gonna look like Disneyland to them”. And yeah, she wasn’t wrong.

Ava turns right into the small driveway surrounded by yellow grass and sun-burnt rose bushes — she’s pretty sure they can save them, with determination and a lot of research on Google. The girls have their noses to the windows, except for Neves who is asleep in her child car seat. The eight hour drive has exhausted them all, the car is covered in sandwich crumbs, coffee mist — Ava’s lifesaver at that point — and Takis dust. She’s pretty sure she has a sunburn mark all around her sunglasses, but she doesn’t really know if she can get sunburned through the windshield — fingers crossed that she isn’t.

“There it is,” Ava announces as she turns off the ignition. “Our new home.”

Dear God her divorce is turning her into a middle-aged white suburban dad in a horror movie.

“It’s ugly,” Nina comments from the back seat, crossing her arms over her chest. “I don’t like it.”

“Yeah, well, we’re not choosing it for its pretty face, bug,” Ava says, holding onto her patience like a life buoy (Nina hates everyone and everything since they have announced their separation, even more when it became clear that Ava was separating her from her father). “We’re choosing it because it has a roof and four walls, and good water pressure.”

And because it’s basically the only thing affordable that isn’t in a trailer park.

“I like it,” Nova comments timidly from the passenger seat.

Ava smiles at her, sending her a wink. At least that one is making it easy.

“Come on, let’s go, it’s gonna be night soon.”

The truck with their things will be here tomorrow, Camila will come to help them and properly meet the girls (according to the texts she had been sending Ava for the last few weeks, she was overly excited and bouncing around at the idea of being so close to ‘her girls’).

Ava opens the creaking door, climbs out of the car, grimacing as the joints in her knees crack painfully. Yeah. She’s definitely a middle-aged dad. The wind carries the smell of the sea all the way here, washing away the nauseous aroma of Takis and coffee, Ava already feels like she can breathe a little better.

Neves’ little head is leaning on the headrest of her car seat, cheeks red, curly dark hair drawing a halo around her little face. She looks absolutely adorable. They all did, her girls, at that age. Well, they’re still cute today, but it’s like Nova’s presence is slowly fading away from her face, and Nina was always the more flashing beauty — all in bright smiles and charming light in her eyes, just like her parents.

Ava takes great care as she unbuckles her little harness, reaching up to brush against her cheek and the softness of her eyelashes. Her baby. Her babies, they’re all her babies. 

Nina wiggles out of her seatbelt, bringing Ava back to the task at hand. 

“You girls go ahead, I’ll be right there to open the door.”

“Okay,” Nova says, unbuckling herself and climbing out, Nina jumping behind her. 

Ava brushes her lips against Neves’ forehead, stroking the pad of her thumb across her cheek. 

“Wake up, baby, we’re here.”

Neves shifts in her seat, but doesn’t even open her eyes. 

“Come on, Neves, wake up, cutie-pie, we’re home now.”

Neves shakes her head, eyes still close.

“No? You don’t want to see your room?” Ava asks, giggling a little. “Damn. That’s too bad. Guess I’ll watch Paw Patrol all alone with the girls huh. That’s sooo sad.”

That gets Neves to open one eye, squinting at her mother as if trying to call bullshit on her. Ava raises an eyebrow and Neves stretches her arms over her head, whining loudly as if to convey how tired she is. Life is hard when you’re a five year old sleeping in a car.

“I know, baby, I know,” Ava says. “Come on now, let’s go see the house.”

She reaches out and picks Neves up, hugging her to her chest with one arm under her legs as the girl ties them around her waist, burying her face in her neck. Ava pushes the door closed, makes her way around the car towards the front of the house while searching for her keys in the pockets of her shorts. Both Nova and Nina are waiting for her on the porch — yes, the porch, Ava is very proud of that one — stretching their arms, little t-shirts riding up to show their tummies. Once upon a time, Ava and JC used to tickle them every time they’d do that, starting a tickle fight that JC always won. It’s when Nova started expressing that she didn’t want that that things got a little tense, since her father didn’t understand and would get offended.

Ava shakes her head, wiggles her keys as she slides them into the lock, the key ring that Nina made for mother’s day in pre-K jiggling against her palm.

The door opens into a dark room that smells musty but that’s probably because all the windows and shutters haven’t been opened for weeks. 

“Here we are,” Ava says, turning the lights on.

An endless room stretches in front of them, turning to the right around the staircase, which is right next to the door, after the narrow hallway leading to the smallest bathroom. Ava can already see the vision: the thrifted couch and chairs, the living room table they found on the sidewalk, the cushions the girls use for a pillow fight. It will all be their space, theirs and theirs alone.

“The kitchen is all the way to the right,” Ava explains as Nova and Nina start running ahead, slowly hyping themselves up for the discovery of the house. “There is a small bedroom behind the door after the stairs, I assume it’s gonna be mine if you take the three bedrooms upstairs.”

“Wait what?”

Both girls come back running, Nina with a confused frown on her face. 

“Three bedrooms?”

“Yeah, and there is another bathroom with a bathtub for all three of you, but I gotta warn you: I’m taking a bath in there at least once every two weeks.”

“We all get a bedroom?” Nina asks again, like she didn’t hear a word of that.

“Yeah, I already told you— didn’t I tell you?” Ava frown.

“You did,” Nova whispers, cheeks turning red in embarrassment. “But we didn’t know…”

They didn’t know if she could pull it off. They didn’t know if she wasn’t going to come back empty handed with a guilty and sorry look on her face, telling them that she didn’t get the place and that they were living in the trailer park after all. Ava doesn’t blame them. They’ve both done that a lot.

“So we don’t have to share?” Nina asks.

Ava shakes her head, dropping a kiss into Neves’ hair.

“Nope. Although you’re going to have to decide which one of you gets which room.”

There is a beat of silence as they all look at her, and then both of the little girls are running up the stairs, yelling at each other as Neves asks to be put down and climbs after her sisters, disappearing into the dark.

“No running into the stairs!” Ava yells, but no one listens.

All three of the girls are all shouting in a concert of little voices, trying to decide which room is the biggest — Nina is going to win, because Nova doesn’t fight, she always takes the things her sisters don’t want (bottom bunk, ugliest towel, most-worn out shoes) but right now she’s trying to cheer Nina up, and because Neves, poor little Neves, was unfortunately born to be the youngest of her sisters, and therefore she loses every single argument.

Ava shakes her head in the middle of the front door, a smile tugging at her lips.

She’s a middle-aged white suburban dad from a horror movie, and her girls are okay.

#fic: strangers in this town #ava silva #warrior nun #*entrapta voice*: ask me about my stories I've waited years to talk about my stories #jc is a douche in this au even though the og is the one and only straight boi i don't hate