#You have barely a clue about the workings of the world compared to them

[beskarandblasters]

Was it all a dream?

Chapter Six: I'm gonna sleep because you live in my daydreams

Din Djarin x F!Reader

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Series summary: You’ve always had vivid dreams, an escape from your monotonous life. But one night, something appears in your dreams that keeps reoccurring; a pair of brown eyes. -Or- Two people, in completely different parts of the galaxy, find each other in their dreams and try to make sense of the strange connection they share.

Series warnings: reader is able-bodied, canon divergent (long live the Razor Crest), switches between Reader and Din’s POV, story takes place in the dream realm and the real world, takes place somewhere between the end of season two/Book of Boba Fett/beginning + middle of season three, eventual smut, line between reality and dreams gets blurred, use of Mando’a words and phrases, no use of y/n

Chapter summary: You further your escape plan off of Sullust. Din searches for you on Coruscant and ends up finding more than he bargained for. But once you two reunite in your dreams that night, everything starts to make sense.

Word count: 4.3k

Chapter warnings: Din has sex with someone else (but it's not technically infidelity IDK), sex work, angst, skinny dipping, fingering, oral sex (F receiving), vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, praising, panty stealing

Fic notifs: @beskarandblastersfics Fic recs: @kelbellsficrecs

You

The first step of your plan is to slowly accumulate all the parts to craft a blaster at home. You can’t take all the parts at once, it’ll be too obvious. By the end of your shift, you want to grab at least two or three parts that you know will be useful. You’ll shove them deep in your pockets, hoping no one notices. Especially those pesky droids. 

As the day shift crew starts to thin out, you hang back, waiting until there are fewer eyes around. Hastily, you grab two parts and shove them into your pocket, not even looking to see what you took. 

Day one of stealing blaster parts is seemingly a success.

After you leave the factory, you take the shuttle home, making a plan in your head to drop the parts off at your place and head to the library again. You have to research the last two dream locations. The last one will be hard, all you saw were endless beige hallways and a field through a window. Nothing distinctive about that. You’ve been hoping he would recognize one of these places eventually, giving you some sort of clue as to where you can go after you escape. 

Once the blaster parts are safe in your home, you head to the library with your mind running wild. When you really think about it… you’ve only known Din for less than ten days. Is it crazy to go after a man you barely know? Sort of. But when your reality is as bleak as it is, you’d take any reason to flee. 

Reality doesn’t even feel like reality anymore. That thought doesn’t even make sense. To you, reality is when you’re with Din in a love that feels real, more real than anything you’ve experienced in your life. That’s why you keep going. Besides, you were born to explore the galaxy, not to be bound to a soulless corporate life. 

Finding a secluded spot in the corner of your library, you pour yourself over books and articles on the data-pad– a routine for you as of late. Just as you expected, searching for a “place with beige hallways” yields no results. And the other place, the field by the lake and the grove of trees, you can’t find it either. You need him to recognize a place or to dream of somewhere with a distinct landscape. But for you, that’s every place, everything is distinct and memorable compared to Sullust. 

You hope tonight’s dream takes up someplace different, someplace real. 

Din

Din spends his day doing what he does best; tracking someone down. But this time this someone is you. He’s going off of the fragmented bits of information he has. He knows you live underground somewhere. And while you don’t remember where you live in real life when you’re dreaming he does recall one place where he found you in a dream— the lower levels of Coruscant. 

Is it a long shot? Yes, but it’s also a lead. Besides, any disappointment he’ll face if he doesn’t find you is worth it on the off chance that he actually does. 

-

It’s raining when he lands on Coruscant and it makes him immediately think of you. How he wishes he could take off his armor and feel the train on his skin. But not when there are all these people around. He wants to feel the elements with you and only you at his side. 

And so he sets off on his mission, combing the lower levels of Coruscant. He searches in cantinas, nightclubs, motels, and even brothels. And every time he gets the same answer from people after he tells them your name and describes what you look like– never heard of her. 

He goes to leave the brothel, the third one he’s been to tonight, but before he can go one of the workers stops him. It’s a woman; tall, brown curly hair, deep blue eyes, and glimmering red robes. 

“Are you in need of a service tonight, sir?” she asks sweetly, batting her eyelashes at him.

He shouldn’t. But this is different… right? This isn't sex with someone he loves. This is sex in the form of a service, with no emotions attached. And besides, you exist in the dream realm. The sex he had with you wasn't even real. But Maker, it felt so real. He’s in his own head, contemplating whether or not he’s dishonoring you, questioning whether or not you’re real. Are you out there somewhere in the galaxy yearning for his touch? Are you longing to escape whatever abysmal place you’re from? Are you seeking physical connections with others like he is right now? 

Do you only exist within his gaze? In the confines of his subconscious? 

“Sir?” the woman asks, stopping Din from spiraling further. 

“Yes,” he says awkwardly. 

“Follow me,” she says, turning with a sway of her hips and leading him down the hallway. 

She brings him to his chambers, closing the door behind him after he enters. 

“What are you in the mood for?” she asks, running a finger down his breastplate. 

Not this, he thinks to himself. But maybe for a fleeting moment, this can fill the void in his heart; a void in the shape of you. Perhaps he can close his eyes and pretend it’s you he’s burying his cock in. It won’t be the same and he knows that. With you he can be his true self, free of his armor and stripped of his real-world responsibilities. 

“I don’t have a preference,” he shrugs. 

She grabs him by the hand and leads him to the bed, coaxing him to sit. She begins to fall to her knees, brushing her hand over the bulge in his flight suit. He looks down at her, her eyes wide and searching his visor. But when he closes his eyes he’s transported back to the house with you, watching as you suck him off, your tongue swirling around his foreskin. You know just what to do to make him melt into a puddle, your touch reducing him down until he’s completely at your will. 

But this isn’t the same. And if he’s going to go through with this he needs to do it in a way less personal, without this woman’s eyes never leaving him. 

“On second thought,” he says, getting up from the bed, “Get on your hands and knees.”

This position takes him back to his early bounty-hunting days. He would spend countless nights railing prostitutes from behind, relieving his stress and frustrations, and getting off without having to worry about keeping up appearances afterward. 

He’s doing the same thing now. Except this time it feels different. There are feelings attached but not in the way he wants. The guilt he feels is indescribable. He’s wishing you were here, feeling your skin and hearing your moans. But that’ll just have to do for now. 

“Whatever you want, handsome,” she says, shedding her robes. 

Whatever you want, handsome. 

She doesn’t even know what he looks like. 

That shouldn’t make him laugh but it almost does. The stifled laughter comes out as a strange sound and he has to pass it off as clearing his throat. 

Handsome. 

Handsome. 

Handsome. 

Kriff, now he’s sad again. That word is forever associated with you and the cave illuminated by the fire. It feels wrong for someone else to call him that.

But he can’t be sad now. He needs to perform, to pretend he’s not feeling so terrible inside. 

The woman moves on the bed, resting on all fours and arching her back. It’s now or never. 

He gets on the bed, situating himself behind her on his knees. He pulls his cock out of his flight suit and strokes it, spreading the pre-cum built up on his tip down his shaft. He looks to his left and sees a bottle of lube lying on the bed. 

Perfect, he thinks to himself. 

He grabs the bottle and squirts a dollop of lube onto his fingers, spreading it around the woman’s entrance, just enough so he can slip inside. He tosses the bottle aside and holds her hips, thrusting into her roughly. She moans, high-pitched and breathy. It almost seems like it’s played up like she’s putting on a show. It’s nothing like you. Your sweet moans are melodic, music to his ears. 

He feels awful. This poor woman is just doing her job, just making a living. And here he is, fucking her while he compares her to someone who might not even be real. He just wants to get this over with. 

If he’s learned one thing from his experience, it’s that sex in real life can’t even begin to compare to sex in the dream realm. 

He pulls out and cums all over her ass, not even feeling any relief. He’s not sure if she came either, too lost in his thoughts. She flops forward and rolls to her side, looking up at him as he puts his cock away and moves off the bed. 

“Hope you enjoyed yourself…” she says, not looking at him, “You can pay out front.”

He nods and leaves without saying a word. He needs to get out of there now.

Before he leaves he places a fistful of credits on the front counter, hoping it’s enough to cover his services. He’s exhausted, and in need of sleep in more ways than one. 

Once he’s back in the Razor Crest, he’s peeling off his armor and stripping down to just his flight suit. As soon as his head hits the pillow he’s out, searching for you, wherever you are. 

You

Blinding sunlight. Sand, so much sand. You look up, searching for any notable features. 

A binary sunset. 

That’s something you don’t see every day.

Sand is pooling in your shoes. Maker, this sucks. But at least you get to feel the sun on your face. 

But where’s Din?

“I hate this place,” you hear him say behind you.

You turn around to see him coming towards you, the harsh sunlight making him squint, resting a hand on his hip.

“We just got here.”

“I’ve been here before.”

He’s been here before.

“...In a dream?”

“No, in real life. I feel like I’m here quite often.”

“What’s this place called?”

“...I don’t remember.”

It doesn’t matter. You finally have a lead, a tie to a real location where you can possibly find him. 

“I like it here.”

“You won’t be saying that for long. You’re not used to the sun. We should try to find shelter, ner vercopa,” he says, grabbing you by the hand.

He leads you across the desert, searching for some form of haven away from the blazing suns. Although you’ve learned for so long to feel the sun on your skin, he was right. This is too much. He’s silent as he walks, too focused on you and getting you comfortable. 

In the distance, you spot looming rocky bluffs. Maybe there’s a spot in the shade there. But it’s like your eyes are playing tricks on you because beside the rocky bluffs is a body of water. There’s no way. It has to be a mirage, your mind is faking you out, giving you hope that there’s water nearby. 

“Is that real?” you ask, turning to look at him.

“It can’t be,” he says, meeting your gaze. His warm brown eyes are lit up by the sun, turning them into a beautiful shade of amber. “There are no places like that on this planet.”

You look at the mirage again, letting your primal urges take over. Real or not, you need to find out. You let go of his hand, trudging through the sand towards the oasis. 

“What are you doing?!” 

“We might as well see if it’s real or not,” you shrug.

He catches up to you, interlocking his hand with yours once again. 

“None of this is real. We’re in a dream,” he says.

“You know what I mean,” you respond, rolling your eyes, “Like whether or not this is an illusion.”

“...Right.” He still sounds uneasy.

As you get closer you notice more about the oasis– tall leafy trees, bushes full of ripe fruit you’ve never seen before, and blue shimmering water. All of it tucked into the side of a rock face.

“Looks pretty real to me,” you say, standing at the edge of the water.

You let go of his hand and crouch down. The surface of the water moves gently in the direction of the wind. You cup your hands and scoop up a handful of water, rising from the ground to show Din.

“Look. Real water,” you say, holding out your hands to him.

His eyes flicker from the water in your hands back to your face. The unsettled expression on his face is starting to dissipate, finally letting himself relax. You bring your hands to your mouth and take a sip of water– so crisp and refreshing. But it’s not enough. 

You pour the remaining water back into the spring and reach for the hem of your shirt, pulling it off over your head.

“What are you-”

“Taking a dip,” you say, taking off your shoes and kicking off your underwear and pants in one go, “Are you joining me?”

“Yes,” he says quickly, slipping off his boots. 

You ease yourself into the water, expecting for the temperature to shock you but it’s the opposite. It’s…. inviting.

Din joins you in the water, his hands immediately gravitate to your waist, pulling you into him. It’s not that deep, only going up to the middle of his waist. 

“This is nice,” he says.

“This is nice… And real,” you tease.

“I’m not used to there being water here. Or swimming for that matter.”

“I’ve never been swimming before either.”

“See? What if you jumped in and immediately drowned?”

“I’d have you to save me, of course,” you playfully retort. You move to float on your back and continue, “Besides it’s not that deep.”

“I guess you’re right,” he says, floating on his back beside you. 

The two of you stay like that for a while, staring up at the sky. 

“Have you seen your son?” you absentmindedly ask. 

But then you wince in anticipation of his response. 

“No,” he admits. 

“I’m sorry. You must miss him.”

“I do… This is the only thing keeping me going.”

“What do you mean?” 

“This… Us.”

“Really?” you say, standing upright and looking down at him. His curls are wet and his eyes are closed, the sun hitting the high points of his face. 

“…Yes,” he says, still not looking at you. 

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” you say, vaguely remembering your plan back home. You’re escaping but you don’t know where from. 

“What if we found each other? You know… in real life.”

“I’m trying, ner vercopa,” he says, grabbing your hand.

“You’re trying?”

“I searched through the lower levels of Coruscant.”

“That’s sweet, Din,” you respond, squeezing his hand, “But I’m not from there.”

“I know,” he sighs, “It was worth a shot.”

He lies there, floating so peacefully like he’s never had any real moments to rest until he’s visited the dream realm with you. 

“I’ll tear the galaxy apart to find you if I have to,” he says.

“You mean that?” you ask, his words tugging at your heart. 

“Yes…” he says. The inflection in his response was a little weird like he wanted to say more but quickly decided against it. 

“What is it?”

“…I have to tell you something,” he says, eyes still closed. 

“You can tell me anything.”

“Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum,” he says, finally looking at you. 

“What does that mean, Din?”

“It’s my native language. It means I love you,” he says, eyes flickering away from you and staring up at the sky once again. 

You sink to his level, your head poking up from the water as you grab his chin, brushing your thumb along the hair on his jawline. You turn his head so he’s looking at you but instead, he shifts so he’s floating upright, face to face with you. 

“I love you, ner vercopa,” he says, looking you in the eye. 

“I love you, too, Din,” you respond. You don’t even have to think about it. 

He closes the gap between you two, going in for a kiss. But just as he leans in the sky above you changes from day to night with a sunset somewhere in between. In what feels like seconds the sky is an inky black tapestry peppered with stars shining down on the two of you. 

You look up admiring the star-filled sky, a sight you’ve never seen before. Din’s hands cup your face and you feel his eyes on you. He angles your face towards him, pressing his lips against yours. You wrap your arms around him and his hands slide from your face to your chest. And you stay there, hands roaming each other’s bodies, kissing like you’re the air the other person can’t live without. He feels so real under your touch– the warmth of his skin, the stubble on his face, his minty breath like he just brushed his teeth before bed; before coming to meet you here. 

But as the night settles in so does the chill in the air. Your fingertips go wrinkly, goosebumps prick your skin, and a shiver runs down your spine. Din runs a hand up your back before pulling away and telling you, “We should get out. You’re freezing.”

He’s right even though you’re worried if you get out of the water the dream will end. So begrudgingly you get out, crouching down to scoop up your clothes and wait for what’s to come next. You glance to your right, looking into the rock face where you spot a cave, just like where it all began.

“Look,” you say, pointing to the cave as he’s collecting his clothes, “A cave.”

He pokes his head up, squinting at where you’re pointing. 

“I’ll go make sure nothing’s in there,” he says, balled-up clothes in one arm and his blaster drawn. You pick up his boots, tiptoeing behind him as he inches closer to the cave. It’s a funny sight– Din fully nude, moving towards the mouth of the cave like a loth-cat on the prowl, holding a messy ball of clothes. 

He enters the cave and you wait with bated breath, hoping it’s not too deep and that nothing is lurking in there. But then you hear a muffled, “Ow…”

“You alright?”

“Walked right into the back wall of the cave…”

“Oh,” you say, stifling a laugh.

“It’s not funny!”

“It kind of is.”

“I normally have something that helps me see in the dark,” he sighs. 

You follow him inside, feeling around for him in the darkness until a hand finds your face.

“I’ve got you,” he says, softly.

He takes the clothes and boots you’re holding and presumably sets them down by his blaster and his clothes. 

“What do you think? Should we make a fire?” you ask.

“I don’t know. I like this,” he says, hands finding your face again. 

It’s almost entirely pitch black in the cave except for a sliver of moonlight trickling in. 

“Fine with me,” you say, sitting down on the cave floor, expecting to be met with the feeling of cool rock against your skin. But instead, you feel your clothes laid out underneath you. What a gentleman. 

He wastes no time, his hands pushing you by the shoulders so you’re lying down. You spread your legs for him, ready to have him inside you already. You’ll have to be patient, though, judging by the way his hand creeps up your leg slowly, starting at your inner ankle. A shiver of anticipation rattles through you, your body chilled by the nighttime desert air. His large hand palms the skin of your inner thigh, inching closer to your entrance ever so slowly. A small whimper thoughtlessly escapes your lips, prompting him to tease, “Patience, ner vercopa.”

You hear him shift to lie down in front of you, head resting against your thigh. His warm breath gently tickles you, triggering another shiver from you. He chuckles, his face sneaking closer to your cunt. His tongue licks one long, slow stripe up your cunt, moving in a way that can only be described as methodical and meticulous. He does it again, somehow moving even slower than before. He can’t do this, not when you’ve been aching for him for what feels like forever, even though you saw him the night prior.

“Din,” you whine.

“Shh,” he whispers, making all of your hair stand on its end, “What did I say?”

“...I have to be patient,” you say, softly sighing.

“That’s right,” he chuckles, hovering over your clit. He pauses for a moment, just to drive you crazy before whispering, “Good girl.”

That gets another whimper out of you but it turns into a choked-up moan as he sucks on your clit, tongue making circles around it over and over again. His arms wrap around your thighs and your back arches up off the floor of the cave. In no time, he pulls what is your first of many orgasms of the night. You just expect to have him inside you now that he’s made you cum but instead, he stays there, planted in between your thighs, licking up the remnants of your spend before trying for a second orgasm. And he does it again, faster than before since you’re so sensitive from the first one. 

For what feels like hours, Din stays there, arms hooked around your thighs and face buried in your cunt, making you shiver and whimper, making you squirt in this small cave under the star-filled sky. But once he finally feels like you’ve had enough, however many that orgasms was, he pulls back and rests on his elbows. 

“You ready for me, ner vercopa?”

“Yes, “ you say quickly.

“Someone’s eager,” he teases. 

“I’ve just… missed you,” you admit, spreading your legs farther apart to accommodate how broad he is. 

“I’ve missed you, too,” he chuckles, grabbing your thigh, “But not so fast. On your hands and knees, ner vercopa.”

Your cheeks heat up at his commands as you shift to rest on all fours, back arched and ass sticking up for him. One hand roams your body as the other strokes his cock, spreading his pre-cum down his shaft. His hands lock on your hips as he pushes into you slowly, buying himself down to the hilt and pausing to enjoy the feeling before pulling back and slamming into you. Deep and guttural moans force their way out your throat, coming out as choked-up sobs. 

“Kriff, you feel so good,” he moans, squeezing your hip harder. 

There’s not a coherent thought in your head, leaving you to respond in the form of a whimper. One of his hands moves from your hip to your shoulder, holding on to you for purchase as he rails you. Soon enough, the small cave is filled with the obscene sounds of skin colliding with skin and the wet, squelching sounds of his cock in your pussy. 

With one last thrust inside you, you cum around his cock, walls clenching and releasing him erratically. The sensation of your orgasm triggers his; his cock spilling his cum inside you. He fucks you through your release, the hand on your shoulder moving back to your hip and leaving a trail of tingles in its wake. 

He pulls out and you let yourself rest against the floor, thankful again for the clothes he laid out underneath you. He lies down beside you and you move to lay on his chest.

“Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum… I love you,” he whispers.

“I love you, too,” you whisper back.

Din

You go stiff beside him, falling silent as well, assuming you’re falling asleep. Falling asleep in a dream…. How does that work?

The blinding light spilling into the opening of the cave interrupts his thoughts. The suns are rising again. Has that much time really passed here?

He rests his hand at his side, feeling a ball of fabric against his palm. Looking down he spots… your panties, gray and basic but with a noticeable wet spot in the center. 

Is it wrong to take a sniff? Maybe. Is it a little weird? Yes. 

But you’re sleeping so soundly against his chest. You won’t know. 

Slowly, he takes the fabric and brings it to his nose, ready to take a big inhale. 

And then he wakes up. Maybe it was the Maker punishing him for his perverted behavior. 

The dull ceiling greets his vision yet again. And as he stretches and yawns, he feels something in his hand.

No, it can’t be. 

He opens his hand to reveal the panties from the dream, gray with the same wet spot in the center. How in the galaxy did this happen? Something from a dream materialized in real life, right in the palm of his hand. 

First, the perverted thoughts have to take over before he thinks about what this means. He brings the panties to his nose and inhales deeply, his senses met with the same familiar scent– you. His cock twitches in his flight suit and flashbacks of the dream play in his mind. It makes him miss you even more, wishing he was dreaming again. 

But now that that’s out of the way he’s starting to realize that…. You’re real. If anything this just incentivizes his mission even further. He’ll turn the galaxy upside down if he has to. 

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[heteromerous-rhyming]

i'm unleashing my inner academic i'm so sorry all.

in "Pacific-Asian Immigrant and Refugee Women Who Kill Their Batterers: Telling Stories that Illustrate the Significance of Specificity" julia tolmie writes: the true significance of this evidence for the purpose of the accused's self-defence case is properly understood only when it is explicitly understood in light of her unique positioning.

this is an article written in 1997 and it details two trials - muy ky chhay, an immigrant woman from cambodia, and jai fong zhou, an immigrant woman from china. (if you're interested at all please give it a read, it's available for download if you search up the title) they were both put on trial for the murder or attempted murder of their husbands, their abusers. the article is compelling on a number of levels but one of the parts of this article that pierced me through was tolmie's centering of these women and their narratives and their testimonies. you can see throughout this article tolmie's commitment to foregrounding the stories of these women, you can see that she's done what she can to research and understand, to show them as individuals first. (i will never be sane about this, do you understand)

that is to say: riordan was much more radical twenty years ago.

i will not be comparing the cases of these women to sally jackson's fictional situation. that would diminish them, the reality of their cases.

but what i do want to do is use tolmie's methodology. i want to show the significance of specificity in sally jackson's case. tolmie organizes her article into sections, and i wanted to take a few of them to look at sally jackson. so. without further ado:

1. the accused's credibility

sally jackson has no family, no one to vouch for her. it is clear throughout the lightning thief that she's isolated - and this is in contrast to gabe, who is surrounded by his poker friends constantly. she got her diploma late because she couldn't finish high school due to needing to take care of her uncle with cancer, who then died leaving her with nothing. she was young when she had percy, and never married the man who fathered him.

in the eyes of this world, sally jackson would be often overlooked, dismissed, disdained. she wanted to be a novelist, she had passion and ambition, but these were beaten down by the world. she barely got her high school degree, there's no chance that she, a single mother, gets a high paying job, so she's working at a candy shop. a job that whether or not she enjoys was not what she'd worked towards. audre lorde speaks about the difficulty of working women to write novels in "age, race, class, and sex" because of the material demands of that process. sally jackson cannot write a novel - she's working a job that cannot possibly pay her enough for her and percy to survive in new york and she's a single mother caring for a child that the schools will often describe as "a troubled kid."

not only that - sally jackson finds it difficult to make friends, because percy is not a normal child. he's a demigod. those first few years, though we don't know much about them, must have been terrifying. she's in contact with camp, chiron probably advises her to give up her son so they can stop attracting monsters, but she refuses. she calls this choice selfish. but it is so increasingly clear that percy is one of the only bright and joyful parts left in her life, that percy is who she lives for.

she chose percy. chose to raise him, chose to protect him, chose to keep him close.

2. evidence of the deceased's violence

gabe ugliano (the name is on the nose and i'm living for it) is the manager of the electronics mega-mart in queens (i have no clue what this company is but ok) he clearly has more money than sally, and i would venture to assume that the lease for the apartment is also in his name (though i also assume that sally is paying for a good amount of that apartment). that is to say, gabe has significantly more power and "respectability" in the eyes of society than sally. he's probably the reason that they're financially afloat. despite all of this, despite the fact that gabe has a clearly expensive car, he does not ever offer to cover sally's financial situation. she's still working a likely minimum wage job even though it is probably that gabe could support all three of them with his.

it is evident, from percy's first interaction with him in the books, that gabe is financially controlling and greedy. he's not stupid (at least in this regard); he works out (with an ease that implies habit) exactly how much money percy likely has. and then he takes it. it is likely that gabe also does this to sally. it is likely that he knows exactly how much money sally makes and regularly attempts to control how much she can save (think: the money for montauk came out of sally's "clothes budget"). he restricts her movement ("my mom and I hadn’t been to montauk the last two summers, because gabe said there wasn’t enough money.")

when sally returns from the underworld, gabe forces her to work to make up for the month's salary she "lost."

this is also when percy realizes that gabe hits his mother. canonically, gabe physically abuses sally. can we assume that maybe sally has been taking hits for percy? perhaps. it is clear that percy didn't realize that gabe was physically violent towards his mother, so i assume that gabe never hit percy. we don't know the extent of his physical violence. we don't need to; regardless sally jackson is in a situation where that threat of physical violence is constantly hanging over her head.

3. the accused's options in dealing with the deceased's violence

sally stays with gabe because of a myriad of reasons, most relating to what i have described above in section 2 but also, crucially, because of the protection he offers percy due to his smell.

sally isn't weak-willed. she isn't irrational. she might plead with percy to not antagonize gabe, but that's survival instinct. she understands pretty clearly her situation.

she knows how difficult it is for a single mother to survive on her own with a child. she knows how impossible it would be to do so with a child of the big three, without combat skills, without the disguise of humanness. perhaps she's resigned herself to the fact that there is no other way. perhaps she thinks that this is punishment for keeping percy close.

she cannot divorce him; he'd oppose that, and he has the financial means to hire a lawyer. and after divorce, where would she go? without the means to support herself and percy, without a support network, what options does she have?

she cannot leave, cannot call the police. she still needs to take care of percy, she still needs a place to stay.

and yet, despite all of this, at the end of the book sally makes the choice to kill gabe. she takes back agency into her own hands, and despite the financial uncertainty, despite all of the reasons that she couldn't leave, she takes her life into her own hands. not only that, but his death leads to her financial liberation.

perhaps this was due to percy finally ending up at camp, finally having that concrete safety net to fall back on. perhaps this was because gabe threatened to call the police on percy, perhaps this was because gabe fueled the terrorist accusations, perhaps any number of things.

all this to say. somehow, riordan, a white cis man, twenty years ago, managed to capture in sally jackson something real. he managed to show the structural inequities that she faced, her lack of options, and gabe's abuse in a book meant for children. in a book meant for twelve-year-olds.

and this was without explicitly showing any physical violence from gabe.

sally jackson's story is engaging because we understand somehow, despite the majority of us condemning murder, why she killed her abuser. we understand that this isn't just a toxic relationship, that this isn't a situation that sally can just leave, that both real and fantastical forces combined compel her to stay, and we cheer for her.

i want to end this unfortunately long post with a quote from tolmie, from the article i started off with:

"It has been suggested that women rarely succeed in arguing self-defense because legal doctrines and notions of what is "reasonable" do not encompass the realities of women's lives."

what better way than to break this doctrine of "reasonability" through the lens of a fantasy world.

#percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo show crit #(ultimately yeah ig that's what this is) #analysis #who needs to write academic papers when you can post on tumblr #sally jackson #percy jackson analysis #.

[heartfullofleeches]

*sigh* incubus reader pulling jeremiah out of the microwave and into the empty corridors of the church for an impromptu dance before dipping him and leaving before the old man can get a proper kiss

"Mr. Priest~ Spend time with me, won't you? I'm bored to tears."

"Mhm." Jeremiah pays you little mind as he snuffs out varying candles, pausing to stroke your horns as your paths cross. "Patience, my dear. You will have more of my time than you know what to do with soon."

You groan. This man converts your last meal into a member of his weird cult, forces them to break contract with you, and creates one of his own only to never have any fun. Sure he threatened to slaughter your entire race for not complying, but honestly that feels like the better option in opposite to this bore of a nightmare.

"But I wanna play now. The souls you give are nice, but I'm wasting away here."

You hop off the bench you whine upon, snaking your hands around Jeremiah's neck as you jump on his back. "Just think about all the things we can do. You may not be human anymore, but I know your desires. I've seen you undressing me with those eyes of yours... As if you playing keep away with me and your flock isn't clue enough for how obsessed you are with me."

Jeremiah swallows hard as your fangs nip his earlobe; claws caught in the chain of his cross. A self made man of the God shouldn't give into such temptations, but Jeremiah now had his own ways regarding worship. Still, he could not submit to you just yet for he still needed to rewrite the wrongs of his fallen Lord and remake the world into a place worthy of your combined grace.

Being a holy disciple truly was the greatest burden to bare.

"Just hold on a little longer for me...." Jeremiah kisses the back of your hand before ripping himself free of your hold. He walks over to a record player and grabs a vinyl from a crate on the floor.

"Enjoy some music until I am done."

You try your best to, but even the man's taste in music is boring. Some classical piece better fit for a ball rather than a technical date between a demon and a priest. You tap your foot along to the rhythm for an attempt at find some solace in the beat, a devilish grin working up your face as an idea pops into mind.

You creep up behind Jeremiah.

"Y/n, I said wait- What? What on earth are you doing? Let go."

You tug on the collar of his robes as you grip his shoulder, spinning him around to face you. The look on tour face makes his decrepit heart flutter, and anxiety levels to rise. You place an arm behind his back and grab hold of his wrist as you twirl across the floor to the center of the room.

Jeremiah hisses. "Y/n this is not funny. I am a very busy man."

"Aw, come on. I've been around for a couple hundred years and with whatevers going on with you you'll be here for a while too. Live a little."

You wrap your tail around his waist to prevent him from escaping, chest bumped up against his. The close proximity leaves Jeremiah with little choice but to subcome to your influence- nor does his will. He follows your lead as your steps slow and steady into a waltz.

"See? Now you're getting into it."

"Quiet." Jeremiah rests his hand on the curve of your spine and completely shuts off any distance between you; your laughter the sweet cry of angels as it plays in his ear. A little tame compared to what you orginally had in mind, but it wasn't so bad. You slow dance together for a while until the devil in you decides to have some more fun.

You lead Jeremiah near the benches before securing your hand on the center of his back and twisting your tail down to his calf to further throw him off balance as you drip him low. You stare into each other's eyes; your body guiding his into the seat before you mount the man as you work your fingers into his bleached locks. He closes his eyes as you drawn in, his reward for his obedience a single lick.

"See you later, Jeremiah."

The weight disappears from his lap and you from his sight as he opens his eyes. Jeremiah growls in frustration.

"Y/n? Y/n, get back here at once!"

No response - your giggles echoing from a far corner of the church. Jeremiah follows the sound of your voice. By the time he's done with you, hell would be a paradise you'd never see again.

#Jeremiah my oc #Yandere priest #yandere oc #yandere x reader #yandere #yandere scenarios #yandere headcanons #yandere insert #yandere blurb #yandere x you #male yandere #yandere imagines #demon reader #Incubus reader #yandere drabble

[blaiddraws]

Whumptober day 17: Alt prompt 3, Dazed and Confused

yesterday was talking to @ghostypetrainer , who mentioned a sort of AU where, when Ingo gets eeby deebied to hisui, chandelure ends up coming with. I was immediately enthralled by the idea

saw the prompt dazed and confused and took the opportunity in front of me to write this ^w^

Flashes of cold, biting winds. It was the first and only thing he could remember. Deep snow, eerie howls. A light in the distance.

Numb fingers, numb toes, and a bone-deep chill that seemed to persist even as he found himself in an unfamiliar station, bundled in blankets near a small hearth, which contained a warm fire. 

The structure he had awoken to was small, with canvas walls between wood slatting. He'd almost consider it cozy, if it weren't for the chill. 

Trying to think felt like… like… there must have been a phrase there, but he could not recall it. But it was difficult, and slow. A busy static in the periphery of his senses, a strange fog muddying his thoughts.

He shuffled a little closer to the fire, only to suddenly sit up in surprise as he realized another person was there. 

"Oh, you're awake. That's good. People were worried you wouldn't make it," they said, leaning forward so that he could see their face in the low light of the fire, "It wouldn't be good to rescue a stranger from the elements, only for him to perish within our homes just because the space was too vast."

The phrasing was odd to him, but then again, he had nothing to compare it to. So he remained silent. What would he even say? He didn't know anything. 

This didn't seem to phase the other person, as they tossed another log into the fire before busying themself with something on a shelf out of his view. 

"Say, stranger, now that you're awake, do you feel well enough to speak? You were pretty… not there enough when we found you," they mused. 

Could he speak? He frowned for a moment, trying to remember how that even worked, before clearing his throat slightly. 

"Y- yes. I can speak. Thank you for saving me." From what, he had no clue, but what they've said lined up with the only memories he had. And he would be a terrible guest if he didn't thank his rescuers. 

Rescuers. They had said "we". Which implied there were other people, right? The idea surprised him slightly, though immediately afterwards it seemed like something obvious. Why wouldn't there be other people? This small tent wasn't the only thing in the world. Even if he could not remember, he was certain of this.

"That's good," the other person replied. They turned around, taking a small pot of some kind and hooking it above the water, before gently placing a small bundle of herbs nearby.

"So, stranger, what were you even doing all the way out in the Icelands all alone at night? With clothes like that, to boot." They gestured vaguely towards his entirety, and he looked down at his body.

He was wearing a dark coat, a white [dress shirt] and blue [tie]. (For some reason, his head felt bare.)

Unfortunately, he knew as much about the other person's question as they themself did. 

"I am afraid I am not quite certain," he admitted. Glancing around the room rewarded him with the sight of a black hat next to him, which he swiftly put on. It felt nice. Correct.

They didn't seem too surprised at his admission, fortunately, only shrugging slightly.

"Ah, well, worth a shot. You were pretty dazed when we found you." they said, before tilting their head as something occurred to them, "Say, stranger, what's your name?"

His name? He furrowed his brow. Yes, his name. That's… something everyone has. It never even occurred to him at all, before they asked. But his mind remained frustratingly blank. The persistent chill in his bones didn't help, as distracting as it was.

"I… I am afraid I… I am quite uncertain," he said slowly, shaking his head, "I could not tell you my name."

The person froze, before giving him a strange look.

"Okay. That's. okay. Do you know where you came from?"

Frankly, he wasn't sure if he even existed before they apparently found him. He shook his head again and told them as such.

"That's… not good," they said after a moment, "I'll be right back, okay?"

And with that, they left through a door set within the wooden frame of the tent. The chilly air from outside washed over him, causing him to shiver.

The abrupt departure seemed a little odd to him. But so did everything else, so maybe that was just how it worked here. Wherever here was. 

He stared at the fire for a few moments, but found himself growing restless. It felt wrong to inspect what was clearly someone's private domicile, so he turned to the clothes on his body to try and learn something about himself.

His dark coat, long with silver and brown accents. A blue armband on one arm, something that made him distantly feel proud and straighten his posture. It meant something, though he wasn't sure what exactly that was.

His hat, too, held that distant warmth and meaning to it, particularly the metal badge affixed to the front. He ran his thumb over it for a moment, trying to parse the emotions behind it and digging into his mind to find the meaning, but stopped suddenly as a spike of pain went through his head.

Ouch. No more of that. He placed the hat back on his head. He'd think about it later.

He scooted himself further up, blankets pooling at his waist, and pulled aside his coat. Had he been wearing… two belts? One belt was affixed to his pants, but there seemed to have been another atop that. Only burnt and torn scraps left loosely attached to a clip. How odd. 

The pockets of his coat only contained some loose metal coins, lint, and a brightly colored treat contained within a crinkly and transparent material. He was tempted to unwrap and eat it, but elected to save it for later. Looked like he only had the one, after all. (Why was he so sure it was something he could eat?)

He had the urge to pat the front and sides of his coat, and was pleasantly surprised when he felt a small lump within a hidden pocket. Without hesitation, he removed it to inspect.

It was a small ball, split red and white. Small enough to hold between two fingers, but when he absentmindedly tapped a button it suddenly grew almost fist-sized. His eyebrows rose slightly, but he didn't feel particularly surprised.

Something about this ball was incredibly familiar to him. The worn paint and nicks and scratches spoke of a long history.

Without further fanfare or hesitation, he clicked a button and the ball sprung open. He dropped it at his side, surprised by the sudden light, but was more preoccupied with the creature that had emerged.

Metal and glass and an ethereal flame, the pokemon hovered in the air in front of him. It floated almost as if it were merely hung on a hook, but was unmistakably suspended only by its own power. 

The sight of it filled him with adoration and warmth, but the familiarity clawed at his mind, a stabbing pain. He tried his hardest to ignore it. This pokemon felt far too important.

It looked confused, stressed, as it glanced around the area with glowing yellow eyes -- but when its gaze settled on him, it metaphorically and literally lit up as it let out a trill of what he could only interpret as delight.

Without needing to think about his actions, he lifted his trembling arms into the air, beckoning the creature closer. It gladly obliged, slowly approaching until it gently bumped against his forehead. 

He placed his hands on either side of its globe, almost as if he were cradling it.

"I know you," he muttered. The pokemon let out an inquisitive noise, and he shook his head.

"I am afraid to admit that, were they even there in the first place, my memories have severely derailed from the tracks of my mind, dear friend."

The pokemon made an alarmed crackle, pulling back so it could look him in the eyes. It seemed distressed.

He stroked its glass, trying to reassure it.

"Rest assured, it seems my heart still remembers you. There is an undeniable familiarity and warmth I feel for you."

Much to his dismay, this only seemed to distress the pokemon even further. He patted it again.

"Oh, candle, what is causing you so much distress?" he asked. He didn't even realize the nickname until the pokemon suddenly froze.

There was a pause, the only movement between them the flicker of its low flames, before it sank to nuzzle up close to his chest.

He wrapped his arms around it, and some of the raw edges of his broken mind began to smooth. The oppressive fog in his mind began to shrink away in the light of the pokemon's flames.

That bone-deep chill he had felt before began to melt away as well, at the touch of this pokemon. Its flames weren't particularly hot, barely above what he'd consider cool, even, and yet they worked far better at making him feel truly warm than the actual crackling fire within the hearth next to him.

#whumptober2022 #altprompt #dazed and confused #amnesia #ingo #chandelure #pokemon #submas #the belt ingo normally keeps his team on got destroyed #(impractical to put them on your normal belt) #but he'd managed to grab chandelure's pokeball and put it in his pocket #before. the eeby deeby #oh also #HUH. thinking about my note at the beginning #it's kinda wild to me that i had an idea yesterday. and wrote it out. within the day. #past me could never #writing

[the-precious-sugar-chan]

I have a Kino theory I never shared but let's see. About the following topic:

How was Kino born after all? What is he?

From the unnecessarily vague details from Lost Eden, we know that Kino was born somehow from the miasma of the Rotigenberg and Karl's DNA.

How does that work? 'Figure it out', the Rejet headquarters say.

And I think I did...

Disclaimer: I haven't played a DL route in years so bare with me if I mix things up.

The Demon World is full of this demonic aura, enough to bring people back from the dead as Ghouls, if Karl's experiments on humans were any telling. He'd pick up corpses and bring them to experiment on them, in order to create a new race, hopefully stronger, but when it didn't turn out to his benefit, he discarded them and the Ghouls kept reproducing and growing a great amount of resentment.

That said. What if Kino was one of those corpses? What if Kino was a human corpse that Karl picked up amongst many others, brought to the Demon World to try out this experiment of his, and his DNA (like a hair, as the assumptions say) fell on this random body and when it was time, the life came back to it with that mix of miasma and vampire king DNA?

That would explain why he was apparently born 'out of nowhere' and why there, plus how his powers awaken eventually despite all that.

Other Ghouls resent him and bully him because, although he was equally weak, he'd claim himself son of that one man that turned all Ghouls in what they are. Naturally, they ganged up on little Kino until they broke him. Then he swore revenge on everyone who wronged him and when he got his powers everyone was his target.

One of the first things Kino says at the beginning of his route/flashback is "When I woke up, I was already here". Yui sees in his dream that when he was a child, he actually saw Karl leaving and he compared him to a star (or, at least, pointed at a star and called it 'papa'). He doesn't recall how he got there, who or what is he, but he decided to move forward in the darkness, following the stars.

Another point, in his song Count Off, there's a similar quote at the beginning: "When I woke up, you were already gone", and I think that could be a reference to Karl, the one he saw as his father figure, someone he didn't get the chance to meet right there as it was already late.

Lastly, in Chaos Lineage, Karl has NO clue of who tf is Kino lmao. He does recall going to Rotigenberg and all that, but he never intended to see him as another son. In his words: He only has 6 sons.

Which feeds my need to say that Kino is not a Sakamaki.

I think he could be considered a powerful Ghoul. A hybrid, maybe. A Ghoul with vampire characteristics and similar powers to Karl's (since he only has a tad of Karl's DNA, mixed with a lot of other things).

So there's that. I'd be glad to read any opinions on this, if any! I hope not to mix too much stuff up, lol. If Rejet won't give me answers, I'll make them up.😤

#diabolik lovers #diabolik lovers kino #i also headcanon that he named himself but that's a conversation for another day #sugar opinions

[doctorbrown]

DOCTOBER '23 ⸺ 「 19 / 31 * MEMORY 」

February 8, 1986

❝I just—I feel like I'm going crazy, Doc,❞ Marty says, dragging a hand roughly through his hair. He's hunched forward on the couch and Emmett has the sneaking suspicion that if he could shrink further into himself and disappear, he would try just that. Einstein, possibly sensing Marty's distress, abandons his spot beside Emmett to settle on the couch and lean his weight into Marty's leg.

❝I mean...I mean, how fucked up is it to feel like I hate it here even though everything's better now? Mom and Dad are actually happy and are spending time with each other, Dave and Linda are—hell, I barely recognise them—and the house and—❞

Emmett's gaze drops to Marty's anxiously bouncing knee as he works through his next words, nearly choking on the weight of them. He reaches out a firm, steady hand and places it atop Marty's bouncing knee to still the movements and, with some luck, project some much needed calm into the boy.

Last month's conversation with George McFly rings loudly in his ears—we're worried about our son, Doctor Brown—and the more Marty reveals, wittingly or unwittingly, the more difficult the lie Emmett will have to weave when George inevitably asks what he's learned.

❝God, Doc, last night at dinner they brought up our family vacation—the one we apparently took early last year when the publishing company offered Dad a contract for A Match Made In Space—and I can't keep smiling like I know what's going on when I don't have a clue! Then they keep asking and their tone of voice they sound so concerned, I...❞

He wishes he had something more concrete to tell him. While he understands feeling like a stranger in your own home and among your peers, he has never had the experience of actually being one, so wholly and completely removed from everything you once knew.

There's no hard and fast rule for how these things work. No published works he can read from other time travellers to glean their experiences and compare those to theirs, no sophisticated database even in the future—nothing.

It is all trial and error and Marty, unfortunately, with his unique experience of being the world's first time-traveller and having actively altered his previously existing timeline, is suffering effects of his unintended temporal excursion he never would have dreamed of.

This is not something they will be able to solve in a single night, but it is a much-needed start.

❝If you didn't answer the phone last night I don't know what I would've done. I just—I couldn't take being there anymore. It's stupid, I know, but when I called you and I said our code word and you didn't get it at first I thought—I thought you forgot. That that was something else that apparently just didn't happen because, I don't know, we weren't friends like that or something.❞

There's so much more to the story Marty doesn't say, that Emmett can infer from his body language, but he doesn't push for details for fear of sending him over an already unstable precipice. He is a pipe ready to burst despite how he tries to hold himself together, and Emmett has to consider the ensuing damage.

❝Marty,❞ Emmett says as he leans forward, his forehead creasing with unmasked concern. He removes his hand from Marty's knee to place them both on his shoulders and squeeze, offering a firm, grounding touch. Marty's head drops and beneath his clothing, Emmett can feel his shoulders start to shake.

❝Even if I didn't work out the discrepancy between the codewords, I wouldn't have just left you there if you were calling me for help. That I could ever forget you—it's simply unthinkable! Impossible, even.❞

You are my best friend across the entire space-time continuum.

Marty sniffs and nods. ❝I know, I said it was stupid, but... I don't want to keep being surprised with all these things that happened that I don't remember. Doc, what is the codeword that you remembered?❞

Emmett hums and pulls his hands back. ❝In order to avoid confusion, I suggested we invoke the name of my faithful old companion Copernicus as our code for whenever you covertly needed my assistance. As you would eventually meet him, it seemed fitting.❞

❝See, that's not how I remember it. We came up with the idea in '83. You told me to say something about Einstein.❞

He nods slowly. There was still a discrepancy there, however the ones between the two timelines in this case were extremely minor. Not significant enough for him to have been unable to piece together the underlying message.

❝What were the events that happened as you remember them, Marty? The way I remember it, you were peer pressured into joining that Needles character on some illegal escapade; likely something that would land you into a world of trouble if you were caught. When you refused to take part, you ran off and called me, hoping to keep it secret from your parents.❞

Marty purses his lips as he calls up the memory in question. ❝No, that's—Needles was there, yeah, but it was at a party at Emily Rockwell's place. Her parents were away for the weekend and Needles and his gang wouldn't leave me alone. Then there was a whole bunch of other stuff and—Mom was already drunk by then, Dave was working the late-night shifts at Burger King, and I didn't want Dad or Linda to know.❞

Emmett has half a mind to remind him he doesn't need to justify his reasons for ever seeking out his help, but he bites his tongue.

Instead, he tries to sift through his own memories, looking for a curtain or a doorway to a previously undiscovered mental pathway that would put them back on the same page.

He knows his own memories are changing—adapting. When he thinks back to George McFly seated on his couch, he recalls two different figures, one a pitiful spectre diametrically opposed to the straight-backed, confident man he has known throughout the years.

There are nights he sees through a dense fog—nights where Marty desperately tried anything he could to avoid going back home to his family, offering excuse after excuse to stay until he finally gave in and agreed to let him stay the night under the condition that he inform his family so they didn't assume the worst.

The process has been incredibly slow-going, but if he slowly received memories from a parallel life he once lived, the same must happen for Marty in time. If there was some kind of time-frame he could give him to ease the process, he would.

❝Tell me it's not gonna be like this forever, Doc. That I'm not going to be stuck like this when my family is waiting for—their Marty to remember all the good things they had. What if he never does? If I never do? Is everything I know just a lie?❞

#doctober 2023 #&; a great idea can change the world 「 hc 」 #i'm still fucking sick and it's making writing so hard but i am determined. #i have many thoughts about disjointed memories and the timeline trying to correct/preserve itself #marty has the worst of it by far but doc - likely because he died in the other timeline - also receives memories of that life that no #longer is #and marty slowly receives memories of this timeline to help slot him in better; he doesn't lose the old ones but it eventually becomes #he has to sift through two sets the old and the new #and it's something they just have to work through for themselves #i also hc that marty believes he 'killed' the marty of this timeline and doc's like well wait hold up #there's no OTHER marty there's one marty across the timeline and you are him even if you don't remember / realise it #also doc would never discount marty's memories even if they don't line up with what he remembers #what he experienced is all VERY real - even if the originating timeline no longer exists #the same way 1985A was real though it no longer exists #THIS GOT LONG AGAIN FUCK.

[vivanightcity]

Name: Adiel Miller

Age: 27

Gender: None, they barely align with ‘human’ fuck having a gender. 

Pronouns: Any and all, with a personal love for ‘it/its’, a sort of reclamation of the dehumanizing language it was raised with. (Practically, you can mix and match, or just pick one and use it, it’s all good)

Lifepath: Streetkid 

Occupation: Doll at a dollhouse that works with a number of corpo hotels and short term rental style hotels in Downtown. Can be found in a number of BDs still knocking about though. 

Cyberware: Doll chip, prototype long term behavioral chip, scratchers and big knucks (reinforced nails and knuckles that are concealable and look like standard human parts) 

Sexuality: People hot. That’s about it. 

Born and raised in NYC. Their parents worked themselves to the bone to get by and take care of him, but it was always a struggle. Maybe the city wasn’t as bad as Night City is now, but it was still a far cry from safe or easy. When it was around 15, and already getting into trouble and running around acting like he had a damn clue, Arasaka (subject to change what corp, I just thought it tied in with their vibe) started contacting parents of minors with records. Offering them an opportunity. A bright future and a new start for their son, get them out of trouble and away from bad influences before things get worse. All it took was signing away its bodily autonomy and they got a good payout and one less mouth to feed. 

They were testing out some more long term behavioral chips targeted at wealthy families, a hopefully safer and more useful version of what was already in use in juvenile correction facilities. A fully customizable range, as much or as little control as wanted across a host of 'problem' behaviors. Even focused on pushing manners and etiquette. It could dissuade kids from indulging, make them obey their parents without question, or just give them a ‘helping hand’ in sitting still and focusing on school. A replacement for conversion therapy, fat camps and drugs, all in one easy package that could be installed when your kid went in for routine work. They never needed to know! But of course that sort of work needed thorough testing before going to market with people who could afford it, and having empirical proof of its efficacy was always good for marketing. 'This wonderful neuralware could make even the worst kids act like a child you'd be happy to have next to you at for press conferences and family dinners'.

A controlled environment, classes to show the improvement rate of those with the chip and those without. Little corrections to strength of influence, fine tuning and fixing it up as they went. So what if some other kids never came back from the surgery room? Price of progress. They’d do big demonstrations pretty frequently, every few months, showing off test scores, video comparisons of posture, attitude, vocabulary use, antisocial behaviors etc. etc. Then the suits visiting would get a chance to interact. To test the parameters themselves, screaming abuse or even pushing whatever sorry sack was chosen for the demo around, proving that these kids - most of which, like Adiel, had some history of violence - would never argue back to those they were told to obey. 

Few short years later, Adiel was around 18, everything seemed golden. Working as intended. Even kids they took the chips out of, or turned them off in the case of some earlier models which couldn’t be safely removed, didn’t seem to be suffering the same level of addiction and withdrawal as seen in traditional behavioral chips on the market. There wasn’t NONE, but it was a manageable amount comparatively. At that point, they turfed everyone out, loosed unto a world they’d been isolated from for a few years, and in the case of a fair number of them, stuck with various degrees of control still implanted in them. ‘A reward for their help’. Saying it would help them stay on the straight and narrow, when really, in the world around them, it just set them up to be manipulated and controlled.

They put protections on the hardware, and the software was heavily encoded. No one Adiel has gone to for help has been able to safely remove it, and the rumor was that someone who tried triggered some sort of anti piracy/corpo espionage failsafes and them and the ripperdoc ended up mulch. Even after it entered the market during Arasaka’s big push in the early 2070s to get back in with the NUSA and free states money, it took money to access the kind of docs who had it on the shelves, and even when he scraped together enough it turned out what they had going was different enough from the market release that it was still a risk. 

So it’s still there. Nearly ten years and a cross country relocation later. Despite everything it went through because of Arasaka, they are the reason he moved to NC. When the city became the international hub it was, and Arasaka’s new north american headquarters, Adiel figured it was their best chance. Get back on their radar, get a foot in that door, and get the damned thing removed or turned off so they could get back to some semblance of a normal life where they doesn’t have to avoid everyone in white coats, expensive suits, or decked out in arasaka combat armor. Eventually, Addy was able to get hired. Went in for a physical and for them to check its doll chip and make sure he didn’t have any sort of spyware installed, made the mistake of telling the doc checking it over what was up, and got sent away with the promise they’ll look into it… Only he woke up the next day to a termination message. No more arasaka job, no more answers, no more way in. 

And that leads us to here. Burnt out from working non stop to get to NC and then get in with Arasaka, only for it to fall apart. Found working as a doll and sticking to hobbies far away from armed guards, docs and corpos, was the best way to control when he was near people who could fuck with him. Then the fancy suits were already paying for their time, and they didn’t have to remember doing what they said. 

One of the only good things that came out of his time with Arasaka was the opening of doors and access to education and the time to explore. Where it grew up there weren’t any stars visible. Even outside of the city the most you could see were satellites that were near enough to shine through light pollution. Getting to see stars, not only as they used to be, but through flicks and even BDs from orbit. To feel so small was freeing. Getting there is something it longs to do. 

Any sort of hobby or task that can be repeated methodically, over and over, to practice and perfect, is the kind of thing Adiel leans into. Repetition, focusing so completely onto the task over and over, helps to calm it down, to think things through. Worryingly, he’s not sure if this was always the case, or if it’s yet another side effect. One that can have it so completely wrapped up in a drill that they don't stop to rest or eat or anything until made to. Shifting that focus sucks, and getting pulled out of it can be jarring and stressful. 

A side effect of the behavioral chip is a sort of mirroring. His posture, inflection, language use, it seems to shift and alter depending on who it’s talking to. Reacting to the people around it to fit in. Well. He thinks it’s a side effect, it could also just be a survival method because of how he grew up. 

#my vp #new bub #the like under the cut is a lot of exposition and world building stuff #went in and changed up some pronouns in the write up cause addy was not a 'fuck human gender' kinda doll when i wrote it xD #but to emphasize - it doesn't care ic their opinion is none of it matters so they don't give a fuck #you aren't misgendering adiel by calling him anything or using any gendered terms #dude works so does babygirl

[fetabathwater]

so can i ask how you see amma and gortash's relationship prior to receiving a knife in the head? ive seen how other people write it and then i found your fics and im interested in how you came to liking the dark urge and gortash

honestly found it due to insanity. < joking.

on a serious note my kryptonite in games has always been some degree of connection between characters, because i have such a love/hate relationship with how it widens the world and interpersonal relationships but can also simultaneously seem to make everything seem relatively small. but with bg3 i kind of really like that balance there because like, anything is quite frankly possible with durge anyway - the only traits are like 1) spawn of bhaal 2) serial killer (?) 3) worked with the other dead three chosen within the last 2 years and 4) was knifed by another chosen of bhaal and tadpoled. you can make up anything and everything because the game is dnd and the rules are whatever, too. yeah you get context clues from other characters, like that ketheric fundamentally can't stand anyone, but the chosen(s) of bhaal more so, and he tolerated the durge bc at least they had a work ethic (LOL), and gortash like plans 500 steps ahead so made it his prime directive to touch base with the bhaalist leader and be like, hey man, wanna go break into some places with me? or wanna take over the world? raphael is also there. yknow.

also definitely the delivery of lines sold me too - not just gortash's VA, but the way orin kind of like looooaaattthhhheeesss how durge was seemingly wrapped up in other shit ( slash sarevok is even like. yeah you thought you were untouchable and didnt notice that orin was making her own move for the throne . idiot. stupidhead. worst chosen next 2 me). also all the other characters as well who have something to say, like kressa, helsik and naaber, never mind all of the moonrise tower and then the quests in act 3, but starting earlier with just partially revealed information.

i . okay yeah like i have seen some interesting sort of takes of durge / gortash and each to their own etc etc but i think that the durge has a lot more agency than ppl wanna give them credit for, and i think people also vastly underestimate that gortash also seemingly underestimated them as well - like just bc durge wrote some like note about forgive me father but i am being charmed by the chosen of bane (however u wanna interpret that ofc), they did still end it with oh well ! i'll probably feel a tiny smidgen of guilt when i backstab him but we're gonna end the world in ur name dad ! praise bhaal! LIKE. THE DURGE WAS DEFINITELY GONNA STILL KILL EVERYONE - EVEN THE NETHERBRAIN WAS LIKE. YEAH YOU HELD IT ALL TOGETHER AND YOU SCARED ME EVEN A LITTLE BIT. YOU WERE GONNA KILL EVERYONE.

honestly though ive barely actually posted anythign i have written for them teehee i checked. it was like 2 fics. 1 of them they were fucking. so i mean take that how you will ... but like i mean amma and gortash's "relationship" extends back longer than what the range of the game gives, at least in my mind and what ive like. got an idea of anyway for her pre-bg3 life / adventures were like. but as far as how they like interact it is barely above tolerable. towards the absolute sort of planning it is running a lot warmer, but theyre just. aware of each other. in some similar circles because of well. lower city activities etc. a general equal partnership with stepping on each others toes, seeing how far to push the other. amma probably does hold on some threatening level a bit more of a . position. just because like (okay hindsight compared to orin), it is literally her own person not having her run gortash through - and he knows that. with orin he makes her basically agree to a magical contract to not harm him, but amma's the only thing holding herself back from just like. killing him. and for the most part she probably would just be mildly inconvenienced and it would probably leave her bed running a bit cold but like. she would bounce back. it would just INCONVENIENCE the plan heavily because chosen of bane are few and far between.

and also she knows that gortash also primarily gives the targets that are convenient for him, and there definitely times when it was bordering on a bit too much pointing and doing - and in her mind not enough equal weight pulling definitely. very much a case of balancing the scales in terms of doing their part, especially with the like multiple heists they perform (at least 3 minimum), and not just being aware of the other especially prior to both being selected as the chosen of their respective god. but yeah. there is no real "love" between them, no love lost either. arguably amma doesnt really know what love is, or in her own roundabout way expresses it much in the way of loving something so much you have the urge to eat it. yeah, amma does have a slight attachment, one that kind of hits a higher speed immediately prior to being knifed and tadpoled, because that is when we get the heists and actual partnership and its not just the introduction of the steel watch and him clawing his way up the social ladder by encouraging favour by lords and ladies and their beds, and its not the bhaalists just kind of sitting by idle and waiting for something to kick them into gear because yeah people are dying but at the same time, its not striking the fear into people's hearts like it used to, just letting them fade into history, despite bhaal's return like 10yrs prior.

amma kind of hates that gortash actually gave her a way to bring them back into the fray, and that she also does have to hold off from not ending him before the plan would have worked completely. a lot of that feeling is in the few times that she does like, strike out at him, either with planned wounds or if she has violently lashed out in general and even when they fuck, honestly. when amma does wrangle herself back into that position of control, especially in a position where gortash is incredibly vulnerable, its messes with her hatred so bad. she doesnt know if he is willingly submitting to her, because yeah she loves a bit of fighting back, hair pulling, scratching, getting told off, what can she say. definitely does something to her. but amma kind of loves when she's almost literally got him underfoot.

she wouldve followed the plan through to the end as well, so it is a mixed blessing for a lot of people that orin took an opportunity to strike at her.

ultimately its not so much that whole like 'i can fix him / i can make him worse' stuff either, because like amma did have a chance at a "normal" life, but she still returned to the temple of bhaal (whether or not by her own choice is ofc . debatable lmao). gortash was sold to a warlock, beaten in the house of hope routinely, escaped only to wind up in street gangs, eventually made his way to being an arms dealer, worked up the social ladder with equal parts sex and money and blackmail, sold possibly his friend into slavery for technology (we just really dont know the full extent of what zariel promised yknow), was the one who reached out to the bhaalist leader and concocted the idea to raid a vault or two, both in faerun and the hells. like, they were choices that were made, to keep them both firmly though on the side of like... theyre not realistically good people, their childhoods definitely shaped them, but they didnt try to change then and there. they just stay the same, and there is no getting better or worse. there just is.

#replies #oc: amma #I RAMBLED SO HARD IM SOORRRYRYRYRY #anyway back to hw #technically #baldurs gate 3 spoilers #the dark urge spoilers

[offeatherandbone]

@savedpeople

"Pretty fucking cool, right? The tree, I mean, though I know this whole place must look damn luxurious to you."

Compared to the rest of the Sanctuary, it is; that's because they're currently in the parlor where Negan's wives spend much of their time -- though they're notably absent now -- down the hall from the leader's own living quarters. A room of leather and velvet, fancy-ass decorative pillows and chandeliers, a selection of wines at a personal bar and, currently, a bare Christmas tree, with a handful of boxes sitting besides it.

"Told the guys I wanted to feel some damn holiday cheer this winter and look at this." He motions towards the tree. "They pulled through for once in their sad lives. Now, as you may notice, it's looking pretty fucking sad, but that's where you come in." Arms spread open wide like his smile. "You, my dear, are going to help me decorate this thing."

He spots what must be either confusion or disbelief cross her face, because he soon adds, "You must be wondering why I don't have one of my many wives helpin' me instead. Don't you worry, I've got plenty of things lined up for them to help me get into the Christmas spirit." He keeps it vague on purpose; lets her come to her conclusions. "And let's be honest, you could use a break from all that back breaking work you do for me." Not the best kind of 'back breaking,' but by some miracle he manages to keep that one to himself. "I might even pour you a drink."

Some time later, the tree is wrapped in white lights and silver garland rests across the fireplace mantel. Raven turns down his offer to have a drink -- Negan has no fucking clue why -- but he still grabs himself a beer as they work their way through boxes of frosted silver, gold, and red bulb ornaments. He encourages them to share stories of Christmas from before the world fell, and he's pretty sure he sees Raven crack a smile or two. Soon enough the tree is covered, and Negan takes a dramatic step back to take it all in after he finishes it off with a gold star at the top.

"I don't know about you, but I think we did pretty fucking good! Look at it; there's so much Christmas cheer radiating off this thing, I'm about to start singing carols."

Hands on his hips, Negan turns to her, lifting a palm into the air. And -- maybe just to appease him, maybe not -- Raven doesn't leave him hanging, and gives him a high-five.

When she had been called out of her makeshift garage, Raven had spent the entire time creating a list of things that could have gotten her in trouble. Always having a bit of an issue with authority, there were definitely things that could warrant punishment. 'Innocent until prove guilty...right?’ She thought to herself, making sure to keep her lips tight as the two men lead her to Negan, ignoring any gross comment thrown her way with nothing more than a sharp side eye or a blank stare. 

Her arms were crossed when she stepped into the parlor. Eyes fell on the Pine and her brows furrowed, defensively confused. She listened quietly, waiting for Negan to explain. He wasn’t exactly one to let things speak for themselves, enjoying his own voice too much for that. It was definitely one of the weirder things that’s happened to her, but at least it wasn’t an iron to the face. If he wanted company decorating a Christmas tree, then so be it. It wasn’t exactly like she had anywhere else to go, though she did have some cars to work on.  “Sure,” She said hesitantly with a shrug of her shoulders, walking over to one of the boxes. When she opened it, it smelled like mothballs and something stale. She carefully pulled out an old crocheted blanket covering a few smaller plastic boxes filled with ornaments. At first, she was a quiet and stiff, listening to his stories as she cleaned the dust off the ornaments with the blanket. By the time she started putting the ornaments on the actual tree, she even found herself giving a soft laugh at one of his jokes. It was more of a huff, but it was something. 

“Never decorated a tree before,” She admitted, sharing a little glimpse of her own life as an apology for rejecting the drink. Her mother’s addiction robbed her of a lot of experiences. Christmas was one of them. “My boyfriend’s family was Jewish, so we celebrated Hanukkah.” Finn had been very sweet, allowing her into his family and sharing his culture with her. Sometimes, she felt left out of all the Christmas stuff but she stopped caring after a while. There was a numb pain in her chest, remembering exchanging gifts with Finn. At least he didn’t have to deal with the apocalypse anymore... Raven went quiet again, but it was more comfortable than it had been in the beginning. 

As Negan added the final touch, Raven hummed in agreement. They did do a pretty good job with the stuff they had. It looked a bit incohesive, but it made it feel more... homely. As he threatened to sing, Raven even felt comfortable enough to poke at him. 

“Please don’t.” As he raised his hand and waited, Raven sighed exaggeratedly and gave him a half assed Highfive. He kinda deserved it since he had been less obnoxious than usual. 

#savedpeople #✧ Raven Reyes; it won't survive me #✧ Raven & Negan; TBD #Months late but the inspiration hit lmaoooo

[savedpeople]

🎄 From Raven

Send ‘🎄’ for our muses to decorate a christmas tree together. | Not Accepting | @offeatherandbone

"Pretty fucking cool, right? The tree, I mean, though I know this whole place must look damn luxurious to you."

Compared to the rest of the Sanctuary, it is; that's because they're currently in the parlor where Negan's wives spend much of their time -- though they're notably absent now -- down the hall from the leader's own living quarters. A room of leather and velvet, fancy-ass decorative pillows and chandeliers, a selection of wines at a personal bar and, currently, a bare Christmas tree, with a handful of boxes sitting besides it.

"Told the guys I wanted to feel some damn holiday cheer this winter and look at this." He motions towards the tree. "They pulled through for once in their sad lives. Now, as you may notice, it's looking pretty fucking sad, but that's where you come in." Arms spread open wide like his smile. "You, my dear, are going to help me decorate this thing."

He spots what must be either confusion or disbelief cross her face, because he soon adds, "You must be wondering why I don't have one of my many wives helpin' me instead. Don't you worry, I've got plenty of things lined up for them to help me get into the Christmas spirit." He keeps it vague on purpose; lets her come to her conclusions. "And let's be honest, you could use a break from all that back breaking work you do for me." Not the best kind of 'back breaking,' but by some miracle he manages to keep that one to himself. "I might even pour you a drink."

Some time later, the tree is wrapped in white lights and silver garland rests across the fireplace mantel. Raven turns down his offer to have a drink -- Negan has no fucking clue why -- but he still grabs himself a beer as they work their way through boxes of frosted silver, gold, and red bulb ornaments. He encourages them to share stories of Christmas from before the world fell, and he's pretty sure he sees Raven crack a smile or two. Soon enough the tree is covered, and Negan takes a dramatic step back to take it all in after he finishes it off with a gold star at the top.

"I don't know about you, but I think we did pretty fucking good! Look at it; there's so much Christmas cheer radiating off this thing, I'm about to start singing carols."

Hands on his hips, Negan turns to her, lifting a palm into the air. And -- maybe just to appease him, maybe not -- Raven doesn't leave him hanging, and gives him a high-five.

#offeatherandbone #n.egan 'i'm lonely so i force people into doing activities with me' smith #n.egan managing to /not/ make a s.ex joke? amazing #i don't remember much of the 100 at this point but halfway through writing this i remembered the thing about raven's mom #and couldn't remember if raven doesn't drink bc of that or not so i played it safe ajsdkflja #i hope you like this! even if it's super late #✘ || First one's free ( asks ) #✘ || We are the saviors ( canon verse 1 )

[onlylaboum]

To be honest, I usually don't reblog your posts BECAUSE of the passive-aggressive tone you often use. It's just kpop. I like Laboum but it won't end my life if they're not world famous. I just want to enjoy music and stages and all their content happily, not create a second job for myself as their unseen manager. It's okay if that's how you stan and have fun but it's not for me.

I'm worried you'll answer this really angrily but I saw your recent post and wanted to let you know how some people might be feeling. I'll still be following for updates and gifsets and stuff! 💜

people were (also barely) liking instead of sharing my posts also before i expressed my frustration w this stuff so idt that's the issue.

on twitter i'm much more active nowadays bc at least there there's a few more active latte, but still very few compared to even other nugu groups that have similar numbers in streams.

i never said i liked spending so much time on LABOUM. i am aware i have an internet addiction and have been hyperfixating on the group to avoid stressing out about worse things in my daily life.

not just me but also other latte i talk to on twitter and tiktok are really fucking burned out from how much we try to do. i don't think being a stan should be a day job. i sure would love if people shared shit we post though instead of keep scrolling or give a like once a month, which does virtually nothing. we wouldn't have to stress out so much if people actually engaged with things we did. we try to encourage ppl to use apps to win youtube ads for Laboum (which worked but slowly, it's how we made Kiss Kiss finally reach 1 million views), we ask people to give feedback, to maybe watch a video or play a streaming playlist, or partake in a game, or to buy an album or share an MV with friends.

the way that a lot of people don't do that sht, the way that in MONTHS no new people have followed their twitter or youtube, the way that barely anyone talks about them online, does in fact signify that people don't care about Laboum. not everyone needs to be an active social media user or anything ofc, but this degree of lack of attention? unless when it's about a disbandment prediction, joking about the girls' horrible experiences at their expense, or fake interest in the group only on certain conditions, shit doesn't get attention.

the girls had viral tiktok videos a bunch of times, but the majority of the people watching have no fucking clue who they are or that they aren't just actors, and it's just me and 1 other Latte trying to respond to tired comments calling the members by names of characters they played, or "ZN" which is Jinyea's old stage name. if ONLY there were a few more Latte who would leave a comment or two for once as well, the few of us wouldn't have to deal with trying to inform the general public abt Laboum.

people not sharing shit abt LABOUM is one of the main reasons why so may ppl now think they disbanded, and why you see a bunch of kpop fans who claim they're a fan of LABOUM but have been out of the loop w them for 3-6 years. it doesn't help that their domestic fanbase consists of mainly loser incels who don't dare to fucking talk about the group unless when being petty about Yulhee or creepy about their bodies.

and i know tumblr kpop fans LOVE only looking at stupid fucking gifs and not clicking on the videos they're from, acting as if streaming is a fucking punishment from hell instead of just playing a fucking song or playlist you like in the background, and acting as if it's a shocker when groups aren't doing well when so fucking few people who pretend to be a fan actually listen to music or read or watch anything new or buy music. considering your purple heart use, you should KNOW how supporting musicians works. as much as i hate the competitiveness and commodity in the music industry, likes alone never helped artists.

so yeah i'm passive-aggressive bc im trying to fucking encourage people to do something more than say they like Laboum but never dare to mention their name nor recommend a song nor share anything about them. i wouldnt be so fucking frustrated if i saw some more hype aside from from clickbait content and gg stans who just namedrop them for edgy crappy jokes.

Laboum don't need to be world famous and i don't think they will be per se, but they are really unknown. unless people do something more than just quietly listen to them once every blue moon and don't engage in anything Latte are asking or encouraging people to do, they will remain as extremely unknown as right now and disband when their contracts end in summer 2023.

other Latte are feeling the same frustrations as i do and feel exhausted. anyone who knows Laboum's story and the international, knows how small it is and how frustrated we are. this shouldn't be a surprise if you've talked to any Latte. i am familiar with how reserved fans are in this fandom. when trying to set up projects before for their anniversaries, it ended with me and only 1 other Latte in a skype call, no communication from the rest, and them not daring to partake any projects or plans anymore. that felt really disappointing.

so no, i don't find fun in being so stressed and active in trying to promote LABOUM to such an extent bc me and a few others are trying to do work for multiple ppl and for free at that. but all we ask is basic stuff like 'please also share posts' or 'hey check out and share this new song cover'. it's already ridicilous i have to ask ppl to share posts bc they refuse to, whether i ask or not.

if that's too much work, are people really interested in the group???? the thing is also that if other people, at least a few more, do a little more than nothing, it would actually make more people discover the group on their own socials, become fans, and partake in fandom. we wouldn't be so burned out if there were more than like 5-20 accounts trying to do so much bc no one else will. e.g. we emailed the company to demand translators and it hired one, but then barely anyone watched LABOUM's newer youtube videos and so that was kind of abandoned too. no views or attention = a sign that people aren't interested = no new content. that's how it works.

#i can be as passive aggressive as i want when i see LABOUM being shit-talked for over 5 years #and mismanaged poorly and waste time on this garbage website to make posts that no one bothers showing to their followers #like if this doesnt reach new fans then what am i doing it for? #2 or 3 people who sort of like their songs and some gifs but no content and are too embarrassed to share laboum stuff? #you can continue to not share posts as you want just like people didnt BEFORE i ever complained abt it #you can also unfollow idk #i need sleep and im annoyed w how many fcking words it took me to write this. its prob very repetitive #im not good at making gifs and it's a hassle so thanks i guess but i dont want to be a gif maker #asks #anon

[alln64games]

Bomberman 64

JP release: 26th September 1997

NA release: 27th November 1997

PAL release: 3rd December 1997

Developer: Hudson

Publisher: Hudson (JP), Nintendo (NA/PAL)

N64 Magazine Score: 50%

Bomberman is a much loved multiplayer game, and with the Nintendo 64 having four controller ports built in, an N64 version seems like a no-brainer, you could even have 8 players by having players sharing controllers, one using D-pad and L and the other using C-buttons and R.

Bomberman 64, however, leaves multiplayer to be an afterthought, focusing instead on a 3D puzzle-platform game.

The start of Bomberman 64 is immensely more difficult than the rest, with the main challenge working out the mechanics of the game. The controls feel extremely imprecise and the game gets you to use the barely-working method of dropping a bomb and then pressing b to pick it up – except if you get close to a bomb, you’ll kick it and it will slide away.

Then, after you’ve completed the first world, the game tells you “oh, if you press A and B together, you’ll hold it straight away”. It’s strange that the game lets you struggle with it before telling you the proper way to play.

Little frustrations plague the game. From thin platforms that aren’t suited to the game’s controls, the game hiding objects in places where the game’s bad camera struggles to see and that once you’ve figured out the main mechanics, you realise that there aren’t really any puzzles other than roaming around, hoping you’re going the right way.

Your bombs also explode in a circle, with the blast radius increasing slightly every time you collect a power up, which makes it very difficult to judge how far your bomb will explode, although even at the maximum, it’s nothing compared to the + shape explosions we know and love from Bomberman, one that is integral to the gameplay.

To get to the credits, there are 5 zones, each with 2 levels and 2 bosses. The bosses are quite tedious and not exciting, and Bomberman can only take one hit. There are also golden cards to collect. To collect these, you have to search every nook and cranny, as well as attack bosses in certain ways – with no clues for any of them.

If you find all 100, and fight the boss again, you’ll unlock the secret final world, but when the game is so tedious to play, is more even a good thing?

Bomberman 64 is slow, tedious and the transition to “3D” has taken away everything that made Bomberman fun and enjoyable. It’s no surprise that Bomberman ended up returning to its 2D gameplay.

When it isn’t being tedious, this mode just about works. There’s not much to it, admittedly, and it suffers from all sorts of minor annoyances – such as having to work blind when the environment obscures your view; enemies who regenerate out of sight, in places you’ve thought you’d cleared; exploration puzzles that hide things from the usual perspectives.

- Zy Nicholson, N64 Magazine #8

Remake or remaster?

There are much better Bomberman games to focus on instead.

Official ways to get the game.

There is no official way to get Bomberman 64

#bomberman #n64 #n64 games #nintendo 64 #retro games

[bloodcrosses]

I used to believe I was special, although looking back I don't think i truly believed it. I was bullied by other kids and teachers (I'm glad your sociopathic arse is retired and no other kids have to suffer because of you, Mr S***r), was emotionally abused and worn down by [a parent]. I was told I couldn't be an actress because it cost too much money (they literally worked with a guy in an amdram group ffs, they knew this was bullshit).

I guess I wanted to believe I was special because the characters in my stories were outcasts who came good. I made up stories where that happened to me too. Wishing upon stars.

Of course, real life doesn't give a single shit about saving people. Hell, people don't either most of the time. I was a problem when I reached puberty and got tired of following rules that benefited no one but the tormentors. Primary school was a petting zoo compared to that shithole called A** S****s. Imagine paraying day in, day out. I told my parents (we finally had a phone then, we were literally so poor we couldn't afford a fucking phone till I was 13) who reluctantly agreed to call about it.

I learned later on they never did. They assumed I exaggerated it all since I wasn't wrapped in plaster in the hospital.

I begged to be moved out of the CDT/Home Ec groups away from my main tormentor N**** S****. They refused. I started just skipping school altogether. Nobody was interested in helping, so why should i give a shit about their fucking toothless, useless rules. I went from being a highly thought of kid to a bad kid. Nobody cared why.

Turns out my worst tormentor, NS, left during my rebellion phase because her own friends bullied her over something completely dumb. I hope she learned something. But probably not. I find it hard to believe bullies can truly change. None of them have ever tried to apologise after all (yes, I realise I no longer use my real name most places - because it's triggering to hear it for a whole load of reasons, the bullshit they put me through being a big one) but my LinkedIn in (private, but logged in members should be able to find it) so they can find me if they want me.

Anyway, my mental health team recently referred me for an autism assessment. I'm not a bad person, I'm someone who struggles with social clues, obsessiveness and depression over being unable to fit in a world I cannot understand.

I am relieved, yes. I'm so also angry at all the maltreatment- more so by teachers, since kids are kids and don't have funny developed empathy - who made me feel so worthless.

My "favourite" story about Mr. St**r (I think his first name was Philip. I do know his son was Richard, so hi there, congrats on your dad scarring me for life!) was he decided to hold an all-girls football match. Cool idea. Except this was a small class, and we required substitutes. He deliberately refused to pick his three least favourite girls as subs or players. This was fucking blatant discrimination. I liked playing football. I was an exceptionally good runner.

But that didn't matter. He hated me for being bad at maths (I still have horribly intrusive thoughts about when he screamed at, to mortification myself and my two fellow outcasts). He resented giving me good grades in English. My art was always stuck on the wall where barely anybody could see it (I'm not great at art now, but I'm good enough to get into publications as an artist, a writer and a photograph. So fuck you).

You might say: well you've achieved a lot. Didn't you win in the end?

Well, that's the thing about depression and nuerotypical disorders - depression is manageable, but if autism is accurate...it I'd a little different, you can't "cure" it. I've learnt very well to mask it. Which is common in females. But I will never be rid of it.

And I don't know how long I can take 30 or so more years of never being quite right.

#idk #i mean i suspected this but #my dad used to mock me for being austic just like my nephew #it just brought back everything that happened snd i didn’t understand why inwas being screamed at #why i was hated #why everyone would call me thiick #autism #depression #i still think about suicide a lot #my life is miserable

[angry-geese]

Sukuna requests. S/o makes fun of him all the time, calls him weak, etc. What nobody knows at the beginning is that s/o is significantly stronger than sukuna

The Definition of Human - Sukuna x Reader

Warnings: some swearing but its pretty tame. mention of death, and violence. Sukuna kind of needs his own warning. sfw. gn!reader.

a/n: as much as i love the idea of sukuna being soft for his human s/o i also love the thought of them being much stronger than him and him having no clue what do to with that

Word Count: 2.1k

You were just a sorcerer when he first met you, barely an adult, cast out by your village.

Someone so powerful hadn't been born for centuries. A sorcerer like you could turn the world of Jujutsu on its head. And that was the last thing they wanted to happen. The older you grew, the more unpredictable you became. You were far too strong for the village elders to handle. While you could have been a powerful ally, you would have been an even worse foe. The very people that had raised you, who taught you how to use your powers had begun to fear you.

Though you weren't trussed up like a sacrifice, you were sat by one of his altars like one.

It was only by chance you stumbled across such a thing. The surrounding woods were vast, and winding. No matter what path you took, you always seemed to wind back up by them. Perhaps it was a work of sorcery, meant to keep you lost in the woods forever. No trail seemed to lead back home. The village elders never expected you to last long on your own against the elements, let alone the King of Curses. But growing exhausted, and hungry, you had little choice but to stop and rest. The altar had offerings in the form of food, and a place to rest. Far more than Sukuna needed. You figured he wouldn't notice if you took a few things.

At the base of an altar sat a much smaller form. A human, one from the local village. Your shoulders were slumped, your arms curled around a bag. You didn't look sad, so much as you looked furious. You were talking to yourself, listing out all the ways you’d flatten each and every structure, how you’d salt the very earth they stood on, how you’d turn the once rich, fertile soil uninhabitable.

For having Sukuna’s interest in mind, he was certainly ready to burn it to the ground. Your village did little to appease the King of Curses. The humans in it were conniving, and rather quick to betray him. The relationship between the two was strained at best. In exchange for offerings in the form of crops, alcohol, and whoever decided to get on the village elders’ bad side, he wouldn't burn your home to the ground.

In a way, you were their last sacrifice to him, and by far his favorite.

As a child your parents had warned you, telling you never to go into the woods alone. A four armed man wandered out there, and he had a habit of making travelers disappear. Now that very same forest you once feared was your only sliver of comfort.

It took you a moment to realize he was standing there. And when you finally noticed him, you didn't look at him with the fear most humans did. There was a curious glint in your eyes. You sized him up, studied him in a way he wasn't used to.

In your hands you held an apple—an old offering—paring it with a knife. You were carving around the bruises. The texture of bruised apples always bothered you.

“It's dangerous to be out here alone, little one,” he said, eyeing you up like prey, “you should know that by now.”

“You’re the least of my worries, old man,” you said, popping a chunk of apple into your mouth.

You were still human. Strong, but human. You needed sleep, and food. If exposed to the elements too long you would freeze, or succumb to heatstroke or thirst.

“Old man?!” He said, clearly offended.

“What? You don't think I’ve heard the stories?” You asked. “You don’t scare me.”

And you were right. Even as he looked you in the eyes, you didn't back down once. You, unlike every other human from your village, weren't scared of him. He found you curious, and interesting. From the very moment your eyes locked with his, he was infatuated.

“I should frighten you,” he warned.

“You don't,” you said, “in fact, I think I could kick your ass!”

Expecting it to be an easy fight, he took your offer.

What resulted was a fight that would last days. Sukuna had never met anyone who could last so long against him. Let alone a human. Your strength was only rivaled by your unwavering rage. You were determined in a way he’d never seen before. Your village, along with half of the surrounding forest would be razed in the battle.

They had to have seen this coming. The child that is not embraced by the village will burn it down to feel it's warmth.

And it's warmth you felt.

You couldn't imagine yourself being sad. You were too filled with anger and betrayal. There was no room left in your heart for sadness.

He remembers the look of the fires, and how they glinted in your eyes. He thinks that's when you began to turn into a curse.

After the third day, he had grown not only bored, but tired. It was clear neither of you were capable of destroying the other. He figured you were too tough to eat; you wouldn't make good meat. Uraume couldn't do a whole lot with you. And you were too combative to be a concubine. You would not go with him willingly. He's not one to give up, nor is he one to admit defeat, but he knows when he's not going to win. The two of you would mutually destroy the world before you would destroy each other. There was no end in sight. Sukuna simply wanted to leave.

So he simply headed for home.

That enraged you. After days of fighting, there was no climatic end to the battle. You wanted something more.

"Hey asshole!" You said. "You can't just walk away!"

"I know when I've met my match." He said. "Do you?"

"The hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means this world will burn before we destroy each other."

The two of you were quite literally a match made in hell. You would be a powerful ally and an even worse foe. There was no point in fighting you.

He did nothing to stop you when you followed him.

You were more of a nuisance than anything else. He often found himself comparing you to a cockroach. No matter how many times he tried to squash, poison, or starve out you always came back. If he couldn't kill you, then he had to have you on his side. You weren't something to be deceived, betrayed, injured, or killed. You were stronger than that. You were sharp, too, with a tongue to match. Whether harsh words he threw your way, you returned in double. It was rare he found a human with quite a tongue on them. He often remarked about having it nailed to his door. You simply pointed at his servants and dared them to try it.

They never did. Anyone who dared harm you often met a gruesome fate, either at his hands, or yours.

He didn't consider himself capable of falling in love. And he isn't. To some extent. But love is what he felt. You were the closest to an equal the King of Curses had ever met. In many ways you surpassed him, but those who admitted it often met a swift death.

He moved onto the next village. So did you. Word had not yet spread of what happened. People knew of the fires, but not of the deaths, and your connection to them. You settled down, taking up work with the local shamans. Though you were a newcomer, your help was gladly accepted when Sukuna first showed up, demanding offerings.

In the beginning you tried to warn them. That didn't help. They never listened. It always ended the same way; with a razed village and a bunch of needless deaths.

Sukuna would visit. Often in the late hours of the night as you were trying to get some sleep. He did little more than steal your food, and make himself far too comfortable. Of course that's how most of your meetings went.

He's not sure when he fell for you. But it was something that happened all at once. After years of a back and forth between you two, something gave. You took a place right by his side. He found himself no longer taking concubines, no longer indulging in the sacrifices presented to him. He found himself consumed with the thought of you. He had to have you.

“I can't believe you’re all out of sake,” he said, one night while visiting.

“I wonder who’s fault that is,” you said.

He cast you a glare from across the room. You'd have to buy more in the morning anyway. But all the good stuff has been put up as an offering, and the only sake left in the market is watered down, and worth nothing to you. You don't drink the stuff all that much anyway, you just used it for cooking.

“I question why I keep you alive,” he said.

“I think if you could even kill me,” you said, “you would have by now. Someone as weak as you doesn't stand a chance.”

He didn't like this, and hauled you into his arms, carrying you away from your cooking.

“No!” You squealed, too busy giggling to put up much of a fight. “The rice is going to overcook!”

Sukuna couldn't care less about the rice. He tossed you rather carelessly onto your shared bed, caging you in his arms. The kiss he pulled you into was fleeting, and soft, like he was almost afraid to touch you.

When the village elders first discovered these meetings, it didn't take them long to exile you. The very people that had welcomed you had ignored your warnings and betrayed you. You had gone from respected, and even loved, to feared in an instant.

At some point you stopped trying to warn them. If you really wanted to, you could stop him. Delay him at best. Give people time to run. At least someone would survive. But after a while, you began to think some of them deserved it. The sacrifices they provided were never enough when Sukuna grew tired of toying with them. It was just you and him. Two constant presences in each other's life. You grew used to his company. Enjoyed it, even. You’d never tell him that. Mostly because you didn't want to inflate his ego even more. You were as much his as he was yours.

At some point you became more curse than human.

You could breathe, your lungs would fill with air, but the action provided no relief. You no longer felt the need to eat, and often found yourself forgetting to do so. Food turned to ash in your mouth. The enjoyment of eating was long since lost to you. You're alive, but you're not. Your heart beats but the blood that courses through your veins is not quite right. Your memories of yourself when you were younger fade. But the anger. That fear, that anger, cast into the past, is the only humanity left in you.

You found yourself falling asleep next to him, and in turn waking up next to him. Sometimes in his arms, sometimes on the other side of the bed. He found himself opening his arms for you to climb into. You would do so, albeit reluctantly.

You were his partner. You were a nuisance, but you were his partner.

"Am I dead?" You asked, one morning in the fall. You think it was fall. You remember the leaves turning yellow and orange, but it wasn't cold enough to be winter.

"I haven't killed you yet, so no." He said. "Why?"

"Because I woke up and saw your face, and thought I had finally gone to hell." You said.

His mouth opened, but no words came out. An offended sounding huff left him. He rolled over onto you, pinning you to the sheets. His knees planted on either side of your body, his hands found your wrists. It’d take no effort from you to throw him off. But you didn't. You never did.

“You’re not in hell yet,” he said.

“I'd beg to differ,”

“Then beg,”

“Make me!”

He attacked your neck with wet, open mouth kisses, sending you into a giggling fit. Your skin was warm under his lips. You were always so warm. You were flushed from your chest to your forehead, blush dusting the tips of your ears and your nose. Your arms wrapped around your neck, pulling him flush to your chest. Your heartbeat was audible, racing as he pressed his ear to your chest.

“Stay in bed a little longer,” he said. He was pleading more than he was asking. And you weren't able to find it in you to refuse.

It wasn't entirely awful having someone stronger than him.

#ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #sukuna fluff #jujutsu kaisen #sukuna #this was either going to be called the definition of human or in hell i'll be in good company #possibly uncharacteristically soft sukuna #also i suck at tagging #goose answers

[sammygvfslut]

i like you a latte | s. kiszka

Summary: Words cannot espresso how much you mean to Sammy Kiszka.

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: Hey besties!!! this is my first ever sam fic, and i really hope you guys enjoy it! it’s super cheesy so beware of some tooth-rotting fluff ahead. any and all feedback is appreciated <3

Loud chattering and the sounds of espresso machines hissing and whistling filled the cafe. Every few seconds or so when a new customer walked in, a soft ringing above the door rang. Glancing at the clock, you sighed as it read 7am. Way too early for your liking. You wished to be back in bed under the covers with your cat Joey snuggling. Plus, the cold weather made it even harder for you to get out of bed every morning. Damn you, winter.

“Good morning.” A voice said suddenly, startling you as you slightly jumped. “Whoops, didn’t mean to scare you there for a sec.”

Turning around at the voice, your heart fluttered and a smile pulled at the corners of your lips. “G-Good morning, Sam! Nope, didn’t scare me at all. I was just uh...focusing very hard and you caught me off guard.”

A chuckle rumbled from his chest, his own lips curving and flashing that beautiful grin. God, he made you melt. You took a quick chance to admire his appearance for the day, luscious brown locks pulled back into a low bun with a few stray pieces framing his face, and he wore a slightly oversized brown grandpa looking sweater. He exuded true fall energy today and all you wanted to do was snuggle with him watching a movie while sipping on hot chocolate. “Right. Focusing on what exactly? Staring at the register?”  

“S-Sure. Yes, the register.” Totally not him instead. “Um, I realized it turned off right now and my mind blanked to turn it back on.”

Sam placed a hand on your shoulder as he laughed, his touch leaving a wave of goosebumps to rise out of your skin. “You’re so cute. I’ll leave you to that then, but if you need help trying to get the register to turn back on again, let me know.” And with that, he sent you a wink and turned on his heel away to start on the customers orders.

Alright, alright. So maybe early shifts weren’t as bad as you thought thanks to your insanely charming co-worker. Sam and you had been working together for the past year, and almost instantly you started falling for him. He welcomed you with open arms and he was a great help when it came to your training. Your co-workers were nice too, but Sam took that extra step in making sure you were comfortable with what you were doing. If you made a mistake and were freaking out about it, he somehow knew the way to calm you down. He was too precious and good for this cruel world. And most of all, out of your league too.

With his dashing looks and amazing personality, you just knew there was no way he’d ever feel the same about you. Except, any time you’d voice that thought to any of your friends at work, they’d tell you you’re crazy and that he likes you too. Apparently they caught on to the signs more than you did, which wasn’t a shocker considering that you’d have no clue if a guy was interested in you unless he blatantly confessed. So, trying to figure out hints was completely pointless for you.

“Uh oh, she’s deep in thought,” one of your friends/co-workers, Danny, teased. He also happened to be Sam’s best friend, and current band mate since the pair are in a band with Sam’s older twin brothers. “I bet I can guess what, or who you were thinking about.”

“Don’t even say it,” you warned with a finger, “He’s literally four feet away from us—”

“So?” Danny rolled her eyes with his arms folded. “Why don’t you just tell him how you feel? Come on, it’s been almost a year now. What’s the worst that can happen if you confess?”

“He can hear me.” You stared blankly at him, shaking your head. “Absolutely not though, Danny. I will not embarrass myself from the humiliation I’d have to face from his rejection.”

Danny groaned frustratedly, placing his hands on both your shoulders and shaking them. “You’re so hopeless! Y/N, how many times do the guys and I have to tell you he likes you too!” He raised his voice a little louder than necessary which accidentally caught the attention of almost everyone in the cafe. Sam included unfortunately. Danny’s eyes widened, silently cursing under his breath. “Carry on, everyone.”

As much as you hated to admit it, Danny wasn’t lying when he mentioned about the guys agreeing that Sam likes you too. Every time you came over Josh’s apartment and Sam was there he’d find any little excuse to have his arm around you or teasing you constantly. You’d shake it off that he was just treating you like a friend would, but of course the guys would disagree with you.

“We’ll finish this conversation later,” Danny told you sternly, “But for now, and don’t make it obvious, but Sam’s looking at you.” A mischievous grin spread across his face as he winked and stepped to the next register before greeting a new customer and taking their order.

Heart pounding out of your chest, you slowly looked over your shoulder in Sam’s direction. You saw his head quickly turn and finish off the drink in front of him. Your cheeks burned at this and tried taking deep, slow breaths to calm yourself down. Didn’t work much, but as a new customer waved and told you their order, your breathing turned back to normal.

On the other end of the counter, Sam was currently freaking the hell out from what he heard a few minutes ago between you and Danny. He didn’t mean to, but he also wasn’t that far from either of you. Plus, Danny wasn’t the best at keeping his voice low. He had a strong feeling he knew you were talking about him, and for that reason alone he overflowed the cup he was pouring into and made a mess. He cursed under his breath and wiped his hands on his apron, shaking his head.

You caught sight of this and rushed to his side, grabbing a cloth from under the sink and started wiping the sticky counter. Sam was certain his cheeks were tomato red from his embarrassment, making a complete fool of himself for not paying attention to what he was doing. More so focusing on your conversation and your damn smile from earlier. You weren’t the only one here with a crush.

“T-Thanks, Y/N.” Sam chuckled nervously, throwing the cup in the trash and tossing the drink pitcher he held in the sink. “I’m normally not this much of a dumbass.”

“I’m not too sure about that one, Kiszka.” You teased lightly with a grin. “It happens, don’t worry,” you assured. “I’m just glad it was cold tea you spilled and not steaming coffee. I’d hate for you to get a third degree burn. That happened to me once, don’t recommend it.”

“Didn’t I drive you to the hospital for that?” he asked. “I think that might’ve happened a few months ago.”

Your eyes widened at the memory. “Oh shit, you’re right. God, I’m still so sorry I had to drag you into that.”

Sam shook his head, lips curving and cheeks no longer flushed. “For the hundredth time, stop apologizing about that, Y/N. You know you can count on me for anything, so of course I didn’t mind driving you to the hospital. I remember even blasting some ABBA on the way over there so you’d have something else to focus on instead of the pain you endured.”

You smiled at the memory. “Didn’t we also go out for ice cream afterwards?”

He nodded, lightly rubbing his arm. “Yeah, it was a lot of fun. I mean, I always have fun when I’m with you.”

Your breath caught in your throat at his last few words, blinking slowly. “O-Oh.”

Oh? That’s all you have to say? Nice one, Y/N.

Sam’s heart dropped. Fuck. Maybe you weren’t talking about him after all. Maybe it was Danny or one of his brothers that you had a crush on and he was mistaken about it. He wanted nothing more than for the ground to swallow him whole right about now. Being anywhere but here sounded splendid to him.

“Y-Y/N, I—“

“Ihavefunwhenimwithyoutoo,” you muttered all too quickly, and poor Sam barely even understood what you said. He didn’t have the chance to ask you to repeat yourself because you quickly walked away to the back and he was left with a tug at his chest, frowning.

Within the next few days after Sam’s tea spill, literally, things between you and him became...awkward. Something went off in him to become even more clumsy than normal and forget everything he’s ever known when you’re near him. He’d get flustered, stuttering a lot, messing up orders, dropping dishes, and nearly tripping all the time. He hated it so much and wished he could just muster up the courage and apologize for being such an idiot and confess his feelings to you. Even during your hangouts with the guys, Sam and you wouldn’t interact as much and honestly you were well aware you were being super childish and immature about the situation. Sam did too, and he needed to snap the fuck out of it.

The next few days at work Sam would ignore Danny’s little side comments about his immaturity and continued working in silence. For the rest of his shift he didn’t talk much to anyone other than the customers. He wanted to talk to you when he had the chance, but then he’d quickly back out and walk the opposite direction.

He couldn’t figure out why it was so futile for him to just grow a sack and tell you he likes you. He’d never gone through this struggle before. Then again, as cheesy as it sounded, the other girls he’d asked out in the past couldn’t compare to you. Never in a million years, and maybe he was too afraid that he didn’t deserve someone as amazing as you.

Nearing closing that same day, it was only you, Sam, and Danny. The flow of customers died down and not many people came in towards the end of the night which you were grateful for. It finally gave you the chance to relax a bit and start cleaning things up ahead of time so you wouldn’t have to stay after. Joey and a nice warm bath were waiting for you at home.

While Sam decided on working the register and you and Danny would clean, he grabbed your arm and led you into the back.

“What are you two still doing not dating each other or talking?! It’s been way too long now, Y/N. And since it’s only us three tonight, you have no other choice. Come on, I know you can’t take this any longer, and he can’t either. I can take over the register for a bit while you and him talk.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, contemplating his offering. As incredibly thankful as you were for his help, you were also scared shitless of the possible outcome. Perhaps it was finally time though that you say fuck it and say what you needed to. You couldn’t go on for any longer to keep your feelings bottled up inside. Maybe, just maybe he might feel the same way, and by God you hoped that would be the case.

Inhaling, you nodded slowly and made your way back to where you were. Your eyes searched for Sam and saw he was busy making a drink, except there was no one else here besides you, him and Danny. It could’ve been a drink for him, so you shrugged this off and went towards the sink to start washing the dishes.

A few moments later, Sam cleared his throat from behind you. “H-Hey Y/N, so um, I know the créme brûlée latte is your favorite, and I thought I’d make you one. You seemed really stressed and busy today and I wanted to try to cheer you up. I hope that’s okay.”

Your heart swelled at his generosity and your cheeks burned as you felt his gaze burning into you, his palms soaking from nervousness. “Sam, you didn’t have to do that for me.”

He shrugged casually, a small smile on his lips and his cheeks tinted a light pink. “It’s okay, I wanted to. And I uh, tried my best on the art. Hope you like it.”

Raising a brow, your gaze dropped on your cup and your eyes widened as you saw what he was referring to. A small coffee cup with the words I like you a latte around it.

“It’s true,” Sam chewed on his bottom lip while running his fingers through his hair. “I really like you Y/N, and I’m so sorry for acting like such an idiot these last few days around you. I don’t know what came over me, and I’m sorry that I didn’t talk to you much either.”

Setting your cup on the counter, you took a step closer to him and cupped his cheek, rubbing your thumb softly against his soft skin. “You don’t have to apologize for anything, Sam. I’m sorry for not talking to you too, as well as for making a fool of myself. I tend to do that around someone I like.”

Finally, the realization dawned on Sam as a wide grin pulled at his lips. “Glad we’re on the same boat.”

“I-Is it alright if I kiss you?” he asked shyly, his eyes sparkling as he looked at you.

You giggled. “You don’t even have to ask, loverboy.” You playfully rolled your eyes and cupped his other cheek before connecting his lips with yours.

A smirk pulled at Danny’s lips as he glanced at the two of you, shaking his head. Josh and Jake owed him $20 now. 

It was about damn time that Sam and you finally espresso’d your love for each other. 

tagging these lovely folks bc they helped inspired me and their work is amazing <3 @godlygreta​ / @flowervanfleet​ / @dharma-divine​

#sam kiszka imagine #sam kiszka x reader #greta van fic #greta van fleet #sam kiszka

[rwprincess]

Two Worlds Collided

Masterlist

A/N: Oh, an anachronistic songfic from RWPrincess? But this time it’s about John Bender! :D Inspired by Never Tear Us Apart (originally by INXS in 1987, but I particularly like this Paloma Faith version)

Word Count: 2K

Synopsis: Bender met reader at the Breakfast Club and the two seemed like opposites, but they shared a common hidden sadness. Over the years, feelings and relationships change.

CW: Swearing, sexuality, Bender being a general asshole

Bender had met her the same way everyone in the Breakfast Club had, on the Saturday detention on March 24th. He had seen her in the hallways prior to that as he was always observant. He had seen everyone in the Breakfast Club before that day; but he hadn’t given her much thought. Now, he was paying attention to little else. He had no idea why he was drawn to her; they were both so different and he could never picture himself with a goody-two-shoes like that. But the way she had reacted to his more vulnerable, real moments, how she tried to make a connection with him...that stuck with him. He knew he should have learned from his disastrous blow-up with Claire that two people who were so different just wouldn’t work out. He repeated this to himself over and over, like a mantra, but it never changed how he actually felt.

After the breakup, the Breakfast Club had a split between those who chose Bender and those who chose Claire. Of course, Andrew sided with Claire unconditionally, but John considered that as no big loss. Allison tried to play the middle ground and Johnson had sided more with him, but he was surprised at the wholehearted backing he received from Y/N. He had assumed that she would either try to be neutral like Allison, or pick Claire. She had no reason to side with him, he had always come off as an aloof ass. But she had, and he was eternally grateful for that. He had originally decided to get together with Claire because the notion had a hot, forbidden quality to it. They spent time insulting each other and making out to make up for it. It was as passionate as it was destructive, so of course it couldn’t last. However, when he was alone and reflected to himself, he had been attracted to Y/N all along. She was hot, yes, but he had plenty of good-looking girls to choose from. He was more drawn to that kind, quiet inside she had displayed that day. How she had gone out of her way numerous times to reach out to him and had been genuinely nice to him. Most of the time, someone only did that to gain something for themselves. Whether it was to use him or to make themselves feel better, it depended on the person, but with Y/N that never felt like it was the case.

Don't ask me

What you know is true

Don't have to tell you

I love your precious heart

He thought back to the first time he saw her on that Saturday, walking into the library and looking so out of place. He was already adjusting into his spot when she entered and she froze in front of all the tables like a deer-in-the-headlights, as if she had just materialized there and had no clue what she was doing. He remembered feeling both attracted to that doe-eyed look and scoffing internally at it. While she wasn’t part of the cliques that Andrew and Claire were, she had a very sheltered look to her and he was envious of that type of innocence. Her ignorance must have been bliss compared to the hell he lived each day at school and at home. She was just as out of place as the preppies or ultra-dweeb Johnson, but instead of being offended by that notion, she looked terrified. She meekly put her items on the front-row desk opposite to him and he thought about all the fun he could poke at everyone here, including her. However, the first blow did not land well. Bender loved making people uncomfortable, but he didn’t necessarily want to make them cry. He’d made some off-handed remark towards her. He had been circling her and eyeing her, employing the discomfort he liked inflicting, trying to ‘guess’ why she was in detention. “I bet you were caught fooling around with a teacher, right? Always the quiet ones that you’d least suspect…”

John Bender rarely regretted his words or actions. He knew he was an asshole and let unfiltered thoughts through so that he could be the center of attention. In doing so, he had to stand by all the shit he said, even when he crossed a line. This was one of the scattered occasions in which he felt remorse, though. She didn’t reply, not verbally, anyway, but she looked scared shitless and was rooted to the spot. Tears instantly sprang up in her eyes and she looked as if she were about to hurl right on his combat boots. He backed off after that. He didn’t apologize, because that’s not something John Bender could have on his reputation, but he didn’t target her. There was something so sincere about her reaction and he saw himself reflected in that expression. Not the tough-as-nails persona he projected, but his secret self who had seen too much too early in life and could barely stand another blow. He didn’t know what her deal was, but there was a heavy sadness behind those eyes that was far too real for him to tamper with.

When he had shown the group his souvenir for spilling paint in his garage, courtesy of his father, she must have seen that reflection back. No one in that group actually knew him. They all thought he was a lying sack of shit; what could he say? His reputation preceded him. But he caught her gaze as he backed away from the group, and the sadness in her recognized the sadness in him. He felt an odd sort of click, a mutual understanding, but he turned away from them all and trashed the library.

I, I was standing

You were there

Two worlds collided

And they could never tear us apart

That was months ago, and out of everyone he met that day, she was the one who truly stuck by him. He’d surprisingly connected with Johnson, sure. Everybody likes to get high and Bender was the supplier. And he and Allison had similar interests, but she wouldn’t give up Andrew and with that territory came Claire...there was just no going back to that. But Bender still had Y/N, and he could never understand it. The first time he had brought her into his friend circle, he tried to justify it as sticking to his word and ‘having the balls to stand up to his friends’ like he had told Claire to do. He also reasoned that it was some sort of social experiment. As much as he liked to portray himself as someone who couldn’t care less, Bender was entirely social. He craved attention and admiration for others and could read just about anyone like a book. Maybe that’s why he didn’t mess with Y/N after that first comment landed so wrongly. He felt like he knew exactly what she was thinking and feeling and decided to back off. However, it wasn’t just some ‘watch and see how she interacts’ set up; Bender genuinely wanted her there. He wanted to integrate her into his life.

She was still extremely quiet, mostly a speak-when-you’re-spoken-to type, but he started to peel back layers in her personality. He found that, despite that lurking sadness, there was an unending pool of optimism. She tried to see the best in situations and in people. She meshed incredibly well with his friends because she listened instead of judged. She would nod along like she knew exactly what they were talking about and how they felt. He started to develop an attachment to her. While he was still dating Claire, he told himself it was akin to having a pet. Y/N was like a goldfish that he could tell his problems to and know the secret would be kept. But after Claire, he realized that wasn’t the case...particularly when he sought Y/N’s comfort above all else. He divulged the entire last big fight he and Claire had to her, and she was just so...reassuring. After that day, he began to see her in a different light. He argued with himself over what his feelings and intentions actually were, but he couldn’t keep them at bay for long. She was good for Bender. He had never felt lighter.

Of course, Bender had not known stability in his life ever, and the risk of falling for Y/N and having it mean something and being accountable to one person overwhelmed him. He did what he knew best: he fought it and ran away from it. At first, he tried to avoid her, just distance himself. But he’d gravitate back; being without her was too heavy to bear. He wanted to try to actively push her away, to fuck up this relationship with his words, just like he did with everything else. But when he opened his mouth to try to lie, to say he didn’t need her or want her around or whatever, he would look into her eyes and it became impossible. He remembered the way he had shaken her to her core the first day they met, and he couldn’t allow himself to bring that sadness up again in her.

We could live for a thousand years

But if I hurt you

I'd make wine from your tears

Eventually, he gave in. While he was able to control his words to not say anything harmful, he wasn’t able to contain them from slipping up and telling her, “Dammit, I love you!” It wasn’t in a context that could be taken as joking or being said flippantly; she knew immediately what he meant and that he meant those words, wholly.

She took his face in her hands and told him, “I love you, too.” There was no turning back, and as the years passed, they fell deeply in love. He'd dug up her secrets and fears, but she seemed to trust him enough to not use them against her in any way. They both dreaded the prospect of never getting out of Shermer and falling into the same circular trap their parents had. However, he reassured her that the moment they had the opportunity, they would bust out of there. He lucked out that Claire had never asked for her diamond earring back. It was probably one of many and she had forgotten she had even given it to him as a token. He decided to pawn it to top-off the savings he and Y/N had accrued. "You're too good for me, you're sure as hell too good for this place,'' he told her. The trade-in was enough to get them out of town and start anew, but only one of them could really ‘move up’ for now. While they argued back and forth about who should get to pursue which dream, Bender rationalized to her, “I was barely cut out for high school. I can’t really do college. And that’s okay. You’re the brains in this relationship, I’m the beauty.” He winked at her and with her laughter as response, that sealed the deal of who was going to school.

I told you

That we could fly

'Cause we all have wings

But some of us don't know why

She searched the crowd, holding her diploma. Bender had supported her both financially and emotionally these last four years and now they had the degree to prove it. She felt pride in being able to take over from him and let him follow a new path. He had always been good with his hands, but despite his protests, he was good with his mind too. He was a sharp-thinker and she knew that he could make a career that he loved out of that. She’d be there to push and brace him as he had done for her. Finally, she spotted him. When their eyes connected, she felt that same crackle that she had the first day they had met, all those years ago. Before the friendship and the love, she knew there was a spark there, that they were two of a kind, even though they were so different.

I, I was standing

You were there

Two worlds collided

And they could never tear us apart

#john bender #john bender x reader #benderxreader #fem!reader #the breakfast club #breakfast club #reader-insert #80s fanfic