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peterman-spideyparker · 2 years

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The Stroke (Marc Spector x Reader)

Author’s Note: Okay, this took me forever to write because I wasn’t sure that I should do a sequel to Domestic Adonis, but then I was listening to a mix Spotify put together and I’m like “okay, yeah, I think I’ll do a sequel.” So, yeah, be kind. And a BIG, HUGE THANK YOU TO @sexyexoskeleton for letting me bounce ideas back and forth and for beta reading! And, also, I saw this gif and my brain stopped for a good 30 seconds so it needed to be used. Also also, I used Google translate for the Spanish, so I apologize if anything is wrong. Enjoy! :)

Suggested listening: The Stroke by Billy Squier

Summary: The beard on the boys looks better every day–your heart already skips when you stare at him, and the beard added a new dimension. Since the boys were willing to do something for you, you decide to return the favor with something *spicy* for them. You have a plan set for Steven, but are in for a pleasant surprise when your boyfriend returns home and Marc is fronting.

Warnings: Fluff, smut (sexy lap dancing, reader being a bit of a Dom, Marc being flustered and turned on, cockriding, P in V sex, creampie), swearing

Other Characters: Steven Grant, Jake Lockley

Word Count: 4,121

“Did I wake you up?” Steven ask as he walks out of the bathroom, still trying to dry his hair with a towel.

“Not at all, hon,” you say with a sleepy smile as you hand him a cup of coffee.

“(Y/N),” he sighs as you let the liquid in the cup warm your hand, his tone letting you know that he knows you’re fibbing.

“I rolled over and you weren’t there. I got worried,” you say softly. “I thought you and Marc got called away in the middle of the night for some heroics.”

Steven reaches out a hand to cup your cheek, his thumb rubbing over the skin of your cheekbone, letting you lean into his touch.

“I’m so sorry, love,” he tells you as you rest your forehead on his.

“Don’t apologize. I heard the water running and I knew it was all alright.”

“I still don’t like that I made you worry.”

Steven leans forward to kiss you, letting you know that he still feels a little guilty.

“You smell good,” you hum, pulling him back into a kiss, letting whatever product he uses on his beard flood your nose.

“I hope so, or otherwise I need to pop back into the shower,” he smirks.

“I mean, if you really want to, you can and I’ll join.”

“But then this beautiful breakfast will get cold,” he hums as he places kisses all over your face and neck. “How about a raincheck on that?”

“Only because I’m a magnificent cook,” you say as you play with his damp curls.

Steven moves to the bedroom and puts on his clothes, quickly changing and joining you back at the table.

“You should be home at the regular time, right?” you ask as you dig into another pancake.

“Yeah,” he nods as he takes another sip of coffee. “Are we going somewhere?”

“No,” you shake your head, trying to keep a smirk from pulling at your lips. “I was just thinking we could order in tonight.”

He hums, the pitch of it telling you just enough to let you know he is confused as to the finer logistics as to how and why the two relate. “That sounds delightful,” he smiles as he checks his watch. “Oh, bugger, I need to get going if I’m gonna catch the bus.”

“Hey, I got it,” you tell him as you stop him from trying to care care of his plate, utensils, and mug. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“Love you, darlin’,” he smiles as he kisses you before grabbing his bag and scurrying out of the door.

It looks good—everything looks so good, especially with the makeup and how you did your hair. You know it looks good because you wouldn’t have bought it otherwise. The only problem is getting everything on by yourself. You secure in the last hooks of the bustier and put on the finishing touches, sliding on the matching satin robe just as you hear the locks to the apartment give way to the key.

Right on cue.

“Hey, baby,” you hear Marc’s voice ring throughout our home, the light thud of him toeing off his shoes. “It’s me.”

Okay, so a slight wrench in the plan. Nothing major.

“It’s good to hear your voice, baby,” you call, hearing his footsteps make their way towards the bedroom area. “Wait, don’t!”

“It’s not like I haven’t seen you naked before,” he chuckles. “Quite the opposite—I’ve seen you naked many times, many different ways. Sometimes with chocolate sauce and whipped cream.”

“I know, but, just sit at the kitchen table. The chair that’s closest to the mirror,” you instruct with a light chuckle, making sure you remain hidden from his line of sight. “And don’t touch the lights!”

“Okay,” he draws out, and you can hear the skepticism in his voice, but his feet creak along the old wood floors all the same, the chair lightly scraping against the planks as he sits down. Grabbing your heels nearby, you slide them on before you take a few slow steps out of the bedroom and towards Steven’s desk, carefully leaning back on your hands as the robe loosely hangs open.

“Fuck,” Marc breathes, a hazy smile pulling at the corner of his lips, a new twinkle appearing in his eye.

“Ah, ah!” you tut as he starts to get up. He immediately freezes at your gentle chastisement. “You stay right there.”

He does as you command, lowering himself back down as you approach him, closing the tantalizing space between your bodies.

“And to what do I owe this pleasure?” he says as you walk around the chair behind him, carefully dragging your hand along his shoulders as you move to stand right in front of him.

“Well, I figured that since you were willing to try something different for me, I should try to do something different for you,” you hum as you lean forward, so close that your lips almost touch. “Just sit back, relax, and try to control your grabby hands, hm?”

It’s like you can see Marc’s brain short-circuiting with pleasure as he looks at you, his pupils blown wide as he gives you a small nod.

“I need words, baby,” you urge. “No touching. Do you understand?”

“Y-Yes,” he says breathily, a large grin soon spreading across his face. Hearing the need in his voice and trying to regain composure, he clears his throat before giving you a firm nod. “Yes,” he repeats.

“Good.”

Moving away from him, your heels clack along the old wooden floor as you make your way to where your phone is situated on the nearby bookshelf, giving it a few taps from the song you initially had queued up for Steven to change it to one a bit more Marc’s speed. The rhythmic sounds of drums thump through the apartment as you make your way back to Marc. His eyes are wide with a mix of excitement and nerves, taking in small, slow breaths as his eyes brightly look at you. You move your body to the rhythm, the constricting nature of the bustier letting your cleavage move in a more jiggly manner. When the guitar starts, you let your satin robe fall to the floor as you approach your boyfriend. You see his Adam’s Apple bob as he swallows hard, his eyes drinking in every last bit of you that he can. A bright blush burns on Marc’s cheeks as he watches you move for him. His eyes are wide and sparkling—in any other situation, it could be construed as innocent. And while that might be the the case, at least partially, you know the guilty, sinful thoughts that are running through his mind.

As you slowly run your hands down your body as your hips swivel, a flustered, breathy chuckle falls from your boyfriend’s lips. In an effort to hide your satisfied smirk from him— you mean, if he’s already this flustered, he’s in for a real treat— you turn around and let him absorb how you look from behind. Knowing that he has enjoyed the view and you have contained your expression, you whip your hair around as you turn back to him, some small tendrils getting stuck in the creamy texture of your lipstick. You notice him squirm in his seat as a blissed out grin tugs at his lips, which gives you the confidence to get closer to him. Just as he thinks you’re about to make contact with his skin, you bend over, providing him with a frontal view of the slope of your ass and a full view of your over-pushed, barely contained cleavage. You let him take in the sight as you slowly stand, running a hand through your hair as you move over to him, circling around his chair before you sit on his lap. With one hand on the back of the chair, you roll your hips on his, making him inhale a shaky breath and his eyes partially close in delight. Teasing him a bit more, you lightly grind down on him, eliciting a faint whimper from his lips. You feel him shift his legs from under you, and a quick glance down shows that he’s wrapped his feet around the legs of the chair as a way to restrain himself from acting on how you make him feel.

With a smirk, you get up from his lap and take a few slow steps away from him. Your hands weave behind your back, and you can feel his eyes drilling holes into you as he watches you undo the bustier. For as hard as it was to put on, you get it off in an impressive amount of time—the music must be giving you extra confidence. When the last hook is undone, you hold it up with your dominant hand, letting it hang for a moment before you toss it to the side on the old wooden floors. You slowly move your hips, grazing your fingertips along your sides as you extend your arms up to accentuate the line in your back. When you turn back around to give Marc the view of your bare chest, his eyes are so blown with awe and lust, you can’t even see the gorgeous brown of his irises. Improvising from your carefully-practiced routine, you squat in the heels and move your body, running your fingers through your hair when you have been in a similar position on your boyfriends.

Leaning down on all fours, you do your best to sensually crawl along the squeaky floor to where he remains painfully still. You carefully drag yourself up along his body, your nose lightly brushing against the tent in his jeans and up his shirt. You hover your lips millimeters over his before you turn around so he faces your back once more, giving him a more traditional lap dance. You arch your back as you rock your hips against him, and you can hear him sniff the lingering scent of shampoo in your hair. Pivoting once move, you move to face him as your body continues to work, this time running your fingers trough his curly locks. A proper moan falls from his lips before you feel his hands grip onto your hips.

“Fuck it,” he grunts as he picks you up, taking large strides to the bedroom after he can’t take any more of your teasing, his lips hungrily attacking yours.

“That good, huh?” you quip as he moves his lips to your neck, harshly nipping at the thin skin, pulling a mixture of a yelp and moan from you before he throws you down on the mattress.

“The stockings and heels stay on.” His voice his deep and gravely with lust, pushing a harsh kiss against your lips, sliding his tongue down your throat as he removes your panties without even looking, throwing them somewhere behind him. HIs fingers dig into the flesh of your side as he mouths along your chest, his soft lips and hot breath clouding your focus.

“I wasn’t done,” you pout as his lips latch onto your chest, feasting on the supple, fatty flesh, warming your hardening nipple with his tongue, gently tugging at it with his teeth.

“I couldn’t—I needed—fuck,” he growls into your chest, moving to try and fit as much of your other breast into his mouth. Marc takes one of his hands from your waist, harshly grabbing and squeezing the flesh that is still recovering from what his mouth did to it. You writhe under his touch, humming in delight when you feel just how hard his cock is, straining against his pants. A whimper falls from your lips when you feel his fingers move along your slit, a soft grunt joining your shallow breaths as he carefully teases you. “You’re so fuckin’ wet for me, baby. Did dancing like that for us turn you on?”

“Mm, you always turn me on,” you say as you lean forward to try kiss Marc. At the last moment, he dips his head and bites your shoulder, causing your back to arch as he sinks his teeth into you, your pussy involuntarily fluttering around him.

Marc runs his tongue over where his teeth left little imprints, soothing the sting before he buries his face into the crook of your neck, a deep chuckle rumbling from his chest as he marks up the thin skin with clear evidence that you are his. As he creates and soothes a smattering of love bites, you wrap your legs around his waist. When Marc moves to grind into you, you take advantage of the situation and flip your positions on the mattress—a trick that the boys had taught you for safety and defense.

“I told you,” you say, placing your hands on Marc’s chest. “I wasn’t done.”

You lean down and run your fingers through the beard that has grown more luscious on his face—the motivator for the boy’s little surprise. You place open-mouthed kisses on the soft hair before you move to lick behind the shell of his ear, nipping and tugging at his earlobe. You slowly pull away from him, letting your teeth carefully drag over the soft skin. Once you release it, you sit all the way back up on your knees, running your hands up and down his body.

“Will you let me finish?” you ask, your fingers grazing the hem of his shirt. Half of the pads of your thumb graze the cotton, the other half brushing against the soft skin of his abs.

“Y-Yes,” he stutters, his brown eyes sparkling as he gazes up at you.

Twin smiles pull across our lips, and you slide your fingers under his shirt, enjoying the ripples and dips of the muscle below your hands. He lets out a sigh, resting his head back onto the pillow before you slide his shirt up and off of him. With his skin exposed, you lean forward and continue to kiss every inch of him that you can, always going back to his soft hair, scratching your fingers through his curls. As you press kisses down his exposed torso, your hands follow down further. Both Marc and you enjoy your worship of his body, and he grunts when you move your hand to palm through his jeans. He’s so much harder now than he was in the kitchen chair. His moans fill the bedroom, shortly joined by the jingle of his belt as he sneaks his hands between your bodies.

Once Marc gets his belt off, you begin to make quick work of his pants and underpants, getting too eager yourself to try and tease him through his boxers. His cock is painfully red, weeping precum as his dick rests against his stomach, giving you a new idea. Crawling on your knees, you move up, positioning yourself slightly above his hips. Lowering down, you slowly rub your slit along Marc’s length, back and forth, coating him with every last drip of your arousal. Marc’s eyes pinch shut, not expecting the kind of pleasure you grind down on him. With a new song playing on the speakers in the living room, you follow the beat of the music. You let out shaky breaths as he creates the greatest kind of friction against your clit.

“Marc,” you whine softly, your hands moving along you body. One hand settles to cup your breast while the other is in your hair.

“Fuck, you feel so fucking good,” he moans, his hand resting comfortably on your thigh. “You look so fucking—fuck.”

“N-No touching,” you stutter, moving your hand from your hair. Grabbing his hand, you take it and move it up above his head. You grab his other wrist and hold his hands above his head while you continue to grind down on him.

As you lean over him, he lunges forward and latches onto your breasts, his hot breath shooting straight to your core, making the slick between your legs all the more wet. As you move back down, you shift your hips to just the right angle, letting Marc slide into you. He doesn’t expect it in the slightest, unlatching from your chest to let out one of the most erotic moans you have ever heard fall from his lips. When he bottoms out in you, you rest your face in his neck, kissing everywhere that you can while you give yourself time to adjust and bask in the delight on him filling you up completely— you could have very easily kept going, having been so riled up from the evening, but you know how much Marc, Steven, and even Jake enjoy when you take your time like this.

“You ready for me?” you hum. “You want me to move?”

Marc doesn’t use his words, only bucking his hips into you and kissing you hungrily.

“Words, baby,” you kiss along his jaw.

“Yes—move.”

You happily comply with his request, beginning your movements up and down his length. Of course you can’t make it too easy for him to start—he did break the no touching rule a few times. You keep your movements slow, painfully teasing for him to endure, and while it’s a punishment for him, it’s just as much of a punishment for you. Letting go of his wrists, you sit more upright on his lap, bouncing up and down. The way he slides in and out of you sends your head into a spin when his cock hits your back-most wall—if you keep it up, you’ll be coming on him in less than a minute. Changing pace, you go down on him and rock your hips back and forth, riding him like a cowgirl on a mission into the sunset. As you increase your speed, you find yourself leaning back, putting a hand on his strong leg for support. Working on him in your new position, you pick up on a shift in his moans. This change is further confirmed when you feel his hips buck up into you harshly and repeatedly as his hands flying to place a bruising grip on my hips.

“Cariño,” a deeper voice grunts.

“Oh, hi, Jake,” you pant as he rails into you, delighted to see the broodiest of your boys. “What are you doing here?”

“You wear that—do all of this—and expect me not to come out?” he grunts as his pelvis slams into yours at a bruising pace.

“It’s for all you boys,” you whine before he smacks your ass, your skin stinging as the sound lingers in the air.

He grabs your face with one of his hands, smushing your cheeks as he pulls you in for one of the filthiest kisses you’ve ever received—there’s so much tongue involved, it’s like he’s trying to make your mouths one. He sucks on your tongue as he pulls back, but not before letting it go so he can nibble on your bottom lip.

“Mm,” you hum hungrily, leaning in for another raunchy kiss.

“Eres tan jodidamente buena,” he growls as his mouth lips, nicks, sucks, and kisses whatever they can find. “Tan hermosa.”

“Fuck, baby,” you whine as you grind down on his thrusting hips. “Fuck, just like that. Right there.”

Jake’s mouth continues to explore whatever parts of your body it can reach, sending shivers up your spine along with the feelings that he’s already creating in your belly.

“Mierda, fuck,” he grunts as you roll against him.

“That feel good, papi?” you ask knowing full well it does as you lean over and take his face in your hands for a kiss.

“You have no idea, baby.” You catch him clenching his jaw, and you kiss along the tense muscle. “Marc doesn’t like that I’ve cut in.”

“Let him back, and next time you front, we can do this again. I’ll get some new lingerie that you can tear off of me with that beautiful, strong hands.”

A wicked smile spreads across his face before he leans up, kissing you with gusto, his hips halting their assault to your core.

“Te amo, cariño,” he whispers.

“Te amo, mi amor,” you parrot, pressing a kiss to his lips. Once you pull back from the kiss, you can tell that Jake has taken a step back and let Marc back to center stage.

“Hi, babygirl,” Marc draws out.

“Hey, hot stuff,” you smirk.

“You were up to something real good before Jake interrupted,” he muses as his hands trail down the sides of your body.

“Was I?” you ask with a coy smile.

Marc smiles and pulls you in for another kiss, his hands finding home once more on your hips, lightly beginning to rock you on his cock. Taking his incentive in earnest, you wiggle your ass down on him before you begin to bounce once more. The blissed-out expression on Marc’s face lets you know he is thoroughly enjoying it, and his thumb that he snakes down over your clit makes sure that you get to enjoy it just as much.

“Oh, Marc,” you whine. “Baby.”

“I love it when you get like this,” he pants, the tight circles his rubs becoming harder and smaller. “So fuckin’ pretty like this.”

“Just like that, Marc,” you breathe, starting to loose your rhythm as he pulls you closer to your release.

A consistent flow of your whimpers and whines join the erotic echos of your skin slapping together. You barely last for one more minute before you feel that band get a little too tight in your stomach.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Marc encourages, his own breathing becoming more hitched and shallow. “Come for me, baby.”

His words are your command, and you squeeze Marc for everything he is worth. The sheer force of your orgasm makes it hard to keep going, but you continue to rock your hips against his to make sure you get him right where he needs to be. As you begin to come down from your high, you slowly roll your hips as lean forward, running your fingers through his beard as you kiss him. Marc’s needly lips chase yours as you pull back, and you can feel his unspoken confusion as you turn around on his cock.

“Relax, baby,” you tell him as you run your hands along his strong thighs. “It was sweet that you helped me get off, but you broke the no touching rule. Now, you don’t get to watch my tits bounce when you cum.”

Working your hips more, you feel him in a wondrously different way than you have all night, his cock hitting new spots deep within you. You whine with each bounce, and you can hear Marc’s barely contained whimpers as you slide up and down him. Pushing through your over-stimulation, you move your hips faster and grip Marc’s knees for stability. Just as you approach your second orgasm, Marc cries out in the bedroom, his hips jerking to meet yours as he shoots his hot, sticky cum inside of you. Once you have both calmed down, you slide off of him, turning on your knee as you collapse by his side.

“You okay?” you breathe as you run your fingers through his beard and his sweat-soaked curls.

“I’m fantastic. Jake is, too. Steven checked out when you started to ride us, though,” Marc smirks. “His mind was in such a spin from everything before, that was the straw that ended it for him. I swear, he’s gonna blush every time he looks at you now, having seen all that.”

“Was it good?” you breathe.

“What do you mean, ‘Was it good’?” Marc asks, disbelief and confusion in his voice.

“Well, I’ve never done anything like that. Not just the dance, but being that in control. I mean, well, you know I’m not usually like that and—.”

“Baby,” he chuckles, running his hands up and down your sides. “You were so confident and in control, and you looked so happy. It’s a real sexy look on you.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah.”

“So, it was good for you?”

“That was some of the best sex we’ve ever had.”

You can’t help but blush, burying your face into Marc’s chest as he leans down to kiss your forehead.

“How about I get you cleaned up, hm?” he asks gently has his thumb traces tiny circles into your hip.

“Carry me?” you ask, looking up through your lashes into Marc’s gorgeous eyes, sparkling in the twilight beams streaming into the apartment.

“Of course, babygirl.”

Translations (mostly according to Google):

“Cariño.” = “Darling/dear/love.”

“Eres tan jodidamente buena para mí.” = “You are so fucking good for me.”

“Tan hermosa.” = “So beautiful.”

“Mierda” = “Shit”

“Te amo” = “I love you”

"Mi amor” = “My love”

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foldingfittedsheets · 1 month

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not a question, i just love your romance comics very much and hope you're having a good day.

i hope the courts aren't a fuck and they grant your name change. or perish.

So luckily the boat I’m in was that the possibility was present to change my first name as part of getting married. That ship sailed. So now I have to go to a court and have a judge sign off but luckily unless you’re trying to escape the law they don’t say no. It’s just money and time.

Even more luckily a very lovely friend paid for the name change portion so I get to worry about the logistics without stressing on budget. Today didn’t go as planned but it could’ve been worse!

#ask ffs #we had lunch with a friend and dnd tonight #I’m tired and fussy but it’s been a good day

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riseswiththesun · 2 months

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tell me what you really feel

mini drabble/ficlet based off this comic by @mayskalih! i saw her first hc about this and had wanted to write something but then she did the comic and i literally got up and wrote this sksks so thank you for the brainrot LOL

not sure when the canon time frame of this would be I kinda made it vague, so you can imagine it how you want tbh lol, I kinda imagine them a bit older, so like canon divergence/post canon

ao3 link

word count: 2.5k

title inspired by lyrics from the song like or like like by miniature tigers

He hates to admit how much the words sting when Sokka says them.

Lovebirds.

Zuko feels like he did as a child; the way he feels is almost petulant, wanting something he knows he cannot have. The way feelings he can't quite discern—anger, jealousy, sadness, bitterness, perhaps, he isn't sure, and he doesn't even really want to know—pool at the bottom of his stomach, leaving him uneasy. But he knows all of this is so painfully trivial, pathetic even, how such a nonsensical word almost sends him into a downward spiral of emotions.

But Sokka only confirmed what he’s expected—what he’s known.

He’s seen the way that the two of them smile at each other, the way she seems almost happier, lighter, brighter, around Aang—something he would be foolish to think she would ever be around him. And so even though he’s been clinging to their few brief moments of amicability, the few moments of vulnerability, and the few brief touches that he’s clung onto more than he likes to admit, he knows his place. He’s grateful for the forgiveness he’s been granted, and that, albeit unfortunately, will just have to be enough.

Zukko never wanted to come to terms with these feelings—if that’s what they even are. He’s tried to tuck them into the back of his mind, being content with where they currently remained—something he didn’t want to grapple with. But now, the painstaking realization has hit him that his feelings are large and grand, knowing that it’s more than just admiration or maybe even something as menial as a crush. He cares, feelings that feel large and grand in a way that he can’t quite comprehend. But he knows that he likes how he feels understood, and he likes how he feels that he’s not someone who’s broken, and he likes that he feels that he is someone who is capable of doing good things—of making a change, of becoming good again. And even aside from that, he likes that she is all things good, that she is hope, that she is someone who deserves better—which is something that he knows that he is not.

So because he cares, he allows for the upturn of his own lips as he watches the two of them, the sun casting down glowing rays—something almost out of a picture, and he thinks to himself: this is what she deserves, what she wants.

And because he cares, cares in a way that it aches in the deepest swells of his chest, he turns to Sokka, nodding in agreeance, the same smile on his face as he speaks.

“You’re right, Sokka,” he says almost breathily, forbidding any sort of indication of the affliction that hangs low in his throat to show in his voice. “We should help them.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆

Katara feels a shift—something is off.

It feels harmless at first; she doesn’t think much of it. It starts with Sokka’s calculated glances towards her, almost as if he has some sort of intention behind his stares. He has the same look on his face when he talks about war plans or whenever he’s discussing something concerning logistics—he’s plotting, but she doesn’t know what.

She sees the way he and Zuko share mutual looks, almost as if it’s something they’re in on together. It felt harmless at first, the way they’re insistent on certain things, guiding her to certain parts of the camp, directing her to do certain tasks that normally they wouldn’t have her do, but then it crosses into a certain territory where it raises flags, and she knows that something’s off, but she can’t quite figure out what.

It makes the energy within the camp feel strained—she can tell that Sokka is being sneaky, like he’s hiding something from her, or maybe even all of them, which only floods her with additional anxiety—something she already feels she has enough of, and doesn’t need more of at a time like this; Toph is indifferent as always; Suki constantly looks as if she’s worried, almost as if she knows what’s going on, but refuses to say much of anything; Aang tries to keep spirits up, acting as he always does, which that much she can appreciate, her one small semblance of normalcy; but then there’s Zuko, who she doesn’t know how to describe his behavior, but all she knows is his is the person’s behaviors whose bothers her the most.

She hates that once she finally found herself comfortable with him, almost seeking him out, almost desiring to be near him, he’s decided he no longer wants to be near her, taking every opportunity to push her away. Every instance in which she attempted to even talk to him, whether it be for something small, or even when she tries to seek out his assistance, he’s quick to call someone in replacement of him.

Katara huffs to herself, feeling exasperated by everything that’s been going on the last few days. Part of her feels like she’s being dramatic, something everyone wouldn’t hesitate to tell her, but she knows that something is wrong, and she hates that it bothers her so much.

She finds herself roaming aimlessly around their campsite, searching for some form of respite, anything at this to put her mind at her ease. She sees Aang and Zuko sitting and talking, prompting her to try and join them, hoping talking with them could jog her spirits even the smallest bit knowing the two of them are two people that as of lately, are the only ones who she feels like understand her most.

“Hey,” Katara calls out as she approaches them, a smile on her face, “Can I join you guys?” She takes a seat before they can even answer, assuming she’ll receive an eventual yes. She somewhat receives one in the form of Aang’s returned grin, but Zuko’s body stiffens at the sight of her. The smile she saw from afar has been replaced by a face she once deemed as cold—an expression she didn’t associate e

“U-uh,” he hesitates, quickly standing up. “I-I gotta go…” Walking away before the two of them can question his reasonings for leaving.

Aang and Katara share confused glances, before both their eyes follow Zuko to the other side of their camp, joining Sokka in whatever it is he seems to be doing. Aang gives her a shrug before he continues the conversation, but Katara no longer has any interest in talking, her mood seemingly gone sour.

But most of all, she hates the feeling in her chest, something almost like a tear in her heart, that occurred the second that Zuko left, taking all the air in her lungs with him.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆

Zuko concludes that solitude is the best course of action.

He knows that he’s doing the right thing, the honorable one even, but it doesn’t make it any more bearable. He almost wishes that he felt the petty rage and jealousy that he felt with Mai—anger, at least, is an easier concept to grapple with.

But he finds that whatever this is, he can only take in strides, the gravity of his feelings being a harsh reality that he’s been forced to come to terms with. Each time Zuko aids in this plan of theirs, he knows it’s for a greater purpose, one that he would put above his own desires and feelings (something that the Zuko before would have never considered), so he continues, and will continue to do so for the foreseeable future.

Though despite being someone who's changed, valuing those who he cares about, it’s in his innate being as a person to at times, wallow. So he concludes that solitude is in fact the best course of action. Because in isolation, there he can bask in his emotions without fear of being questioned; there is nobody to judge his seemingly childish tantrums, when all of it just feels so unfair, and why him; but most of all, there he can live in the bliss in knowing he’s the only one who knows just how much his feelings have amounted to, and just how much he may have fucked up in allowing them to get to that point.

So he keeps to himself in the moments that he can, doing whatever tasks he can alone, cherishing the few moments of privacy he gets to wrestle with his emotions. He clings to whatever noises around him, hoping they can somehow bring him back to earth, but it’s normally much to no avail—the crackle of the fire and the buzzing of insects in the night sky only provide cursory background noise to the never ending state of chaos of his mind.

In Zuko's mind, he feels as though there’s a constant influx of emotions, so much so that he almost doesn’t feel smaller hands against his back, jolting him out of his thoughts, stopping him in his tracks.

“Hey, Zuko,” a voice that could belong to nobody other than Katara calls out from behind him. He feels his body stiffen at her touch, no longer used to the close contact, even in the few instances it had occurred. Zuko turns to face her, her face showing clear signs of displeasure, but before Zuko can even question why, she keeps talking. “Why are you avoiding me?” She asks, anger, or maybe even hurt, Zuko thinks, hanging in her voice.

His eyes go wide, but he quickly tries to regain his composure, not wanting to raise any sort of concern. He thinks to what he’s done for the entirety of the week whenever Katara’s had any sort of issue, knowing there’s a better solution than him to her problems.

“Let me go get Aang…” He says gently, trying not to make matters worse.

Her face scrunches at this, releasing out a huff—she’s upset. Zuko tries to think of what he could’ve done to upset her, all he’s done since they’ve made amends is try his hardest to do right by her, and he feels like he constantly keeps coming up short, only confirming what he’s known for so long—she deserves better.

“You’re not going anywhere—you don’t need to get Aang, this has nothing to do with him,” she starts, closing the distance between them. Zuko can see the telltale signs of her anger, the face she makes when she’s fed up with all of them, when they’ve pushed her buttons too hard, or worn her patience too thin—the furrow between her brows, the narrow of her eyes, the rosiness in her cheeks, the exasperation in her voice. “What’s wrong, Zuko? Why are you avoiding me? Why is it that every time I try to talk to you or ask for your help, you suddenly call Aang or leave?” She asks angrily, before her voice gets quiet, as if she’s nervous to finish the rest of her sentence, “Did I… do something?”

Zuko didn’t think there was a feeling that felt worse than how he already did, but the look on Katara’s face, one that had just been filled with anger, that now holds so much hurt, is enough to make him fess up to the whole ruse—he doesn’t want to leave any room for misinterpretation.

“I-I wanted to help you and Aang!” He blurts out. “Sokka told me you liked each other, so we’ve… been trying to help you two. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea but… that’s why I’ve been doing that, for you two.”

Her face twists, this time not in anger, but what he thinks is annoyance. Katara lets out a pained huff, pinching her nose and closing her eyes, almost as if she had to take a moment to process his words.

“You two are idiots,” she sighs.

This time, it’s Zuko's turn for his face to scrunch up, but for him, rather than anger or annoyance, it’s in confusion. He raises his brows, leaning against the wall behind him, “What?”

Katara steps closer, cutting the distance between them from arm’s length to inches away in just a few seconds. She leans in, pressing her hands against the stone wall behind him for support. Their faces are so close he can feel her breath tickling his cheek, he feels his heart racing and his palms growing sweaty, the result of too many emotions and her presence alone.

“Zuko, I don’t like Aang…” She says. “I like you.”

He blinks at her, feeling dumbfounded. The words hang in the air, almost as if they’re waiting for Zuko to take them and physically make himself process them, screaming at him to comprehend the gravity of what she means, but Katara, instead, does it for him, giving him no time for things like insecurity or misunderstanding. She closes the distance between them, pressing her lips onto his.

At first, Zuko feels his body tense—one too many shocking proclamations have occurred, leaving him incapable of processing things at a normal rate. By the time his mind has finally processed her words, I like you, his body finally has caught up to reality, taking him out of the state of limbo he’s since been existing in—those few seconds between before and after her profession—he feels Katara pull away, just after he’d finally become accustomed to the way her lips felt against his.

He feels his cheeks flush, seeing the way she looks at him, waiting for his response. Her eyes have a look in them, softness almost, something akin to hope, Zuko thinks. They stare at one another, at a loss for words, both too scared to break the silence between them, the only sound their bated breaths and the drumming of their heartbeats.

Zuko has never been the best at emotions or words, he thinks the best course of action in this scenario is just doing. So this time, it’s Zuko who leans forward, cupping her cheek affectionately before pressing his lips onto hers with a confidence he didn’t know that he had in himself.

And though Zuko isn’t perfect, and he still has so much to learn, so much growing to still do, maybe he is deserving of good things, and there are people who are capable of seeing the good in him too. He thinks that maybe later they can talk more about their feelings and specifics and whatever other misunderstandings may have occurred, but for now, he enjoys the way she feels underneath his touch, a feeling he wants to tattoo in his memory, a moment like this he will remember forever.

All the feelings of self doubt and insecurity and the little voices that scream inside him, you aren’t enough, begin to dissipate with every little press of her mouth against his. It feels sweet and it feels new and it feels like the good in life that he’s been searching for.

When he finally pulls away, he looks at her, admiring how the fire casts a glow on her face, her cheeks rosy, and her lips plush. Her eyes sparkle, and Zuko never realized, or at least he’s never allowed himself to admit just how beautiful she really is.

He feels a warmth settle inside him, the corners of his lips upturning. And there’s more that he wants to say, but his mind, always an influx of emotions, albeit this time, positive ones, settles on: “I like you too, Katara.”

#zutara #atla #zutara fic #zuko x katara #zk #vi’s drabbles

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possibilistfanfiction · 1 year

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conservationist au already!? you write so fast dang (what are your secrets) (also it's okay if you want to keep them secret) (mostly i am excite for frog)

here she is! frog au! lol [ao3]

to see us blossom (while the green spreads like wings)

only our feet have been here, that i'm aware of. it's wild and remote and beautiful as can be. i just want to be quiet and love it. let it sink in. i'll be leaving the planet, sometime. and i'll miss it.

— dr. bruce means

'dr. silva,' diego bursts into your office, his hair fluffed and messy, 'i found someone for the expedition!'

'did you... run here?'

'yeah, from the lab.' he gulps a breath. 'i got excited.'

it's fucking awesome that diego, your favorite grad student, is coming on this expedition, but it's becoming a huge pain in the ass to plan — you try your hardest not to feel guilty about why, but it is mostly because of you — and is starting to feel more and more impossible by the day. you don't want to get your hopes up: you don't have that much funding, and it's starting to seem a little bit impossible logistically, even with dr. superion's help. but you'll humor him: 'so who are we taking with us?'

he waits a breath, practically bursting at the seams. 'beatrice zhang.'

'the photographer?'

'she's an experienced climber! you follow her on instagram, right?'

you have gratuitously followed beatrice zhang on instagram for the last four years — for her photography, because it is some of the most beautiful and thoughtful you've ever seen, regardless of the subject matter, but also for the occasional photo of herself, surfing or climbing or behind the camera, particularly delightful if it features her arms in a tank — but diego doesn't need to know that part. 'yes, her work is wonderful for lots of conservationist efforts.' diplomatic, you think, mentally patting yourself on the back.

'and she's hot.'

'i didn't say that.'

diego rolls his eyes.

'anyway, how would we even get her to come with us?'

diego grins. 'i emailed her.'

'what?'

he takes out his phone and shows you her instagram, which, indeed, does have an ‘email’ button, which, obviously, you've never paid attention to before. 'she hasn't responded yet, or her team or whatever, i guess, but i only sent it ten minutes ago. and it went to a legit address and hasn't bounced back, so, i just figured, why not?'

even though, last year, you had had a successful time in guyana, finding and recording a few new species, there are a lot of why not's, really: your GA probably shouldn’t be making these choices without consulting you first, but you don’t really care about that so much as your mobility is more limited than ever lately. the weather probably won't hold so who the fuck knows if it'll even be possible to reach to spot at all. and, plus, it's for a frog. one tiny frog, that may or may not exist — (you're sure it does) — in the middle of a jungle on the top of a tepui that's never been climbed. it's... a little crazy, when you think through it now, way crazier than it had seemed when you wrote the grant for funding last year. most people, even world renowned war-turned-wildlife photographers with insane biceps — especially them, probably — aren't interested in a project like this.

'well, the least that will happen is she doesn't respond,' you figure; you don't believe in any religion and life had dealt you quite the shitty hand for a long time, so if there's any balancing it out, maybe this will be a strike in the good column for you. so, 'yeah, you're right. why not?'

it's two days later when your phone vibrates about seven times; you roll over in... some girl's bed? okay, solid night, then, and when you look over at her, she's beautiful and fast asleep. you remember your fifth shot of tequila and vaguely how great riding her dick had been; you find your phone graciously plugged into a charger on the nightstand on your side of the bed, and when you go to the bathroom you see condoms in the small trash can — so, all in all, a success. your back is sore but not terrible and you groan when you see it's only six am, but there's texts from diego and you have a policy not to ignore those, no matter how stupid they occasionally can be.

these are unequivocally not stupid, though, because they start with dr. silva! and then ava!!!!! ava! and devolve into some emojis and then omg oh my god and finally check your email, which is really the only helpful part of that — but they're not stupid because when you do check your email, you see a forwarded message from diego first. it's a cordial reply to the email he had sent to beatrice zhang, from her, it seems, asking politely to be put in touch with the lead biologist on the expedition if possible. which, you remember with the tiniest bit of a happy jolt, is you. you open the newest email, which is, in fact, connecting you and beatrice. she’s already responded, and it’s kind of wild because, from the three short sentences asking if you could set up a video chat to talk more about the expedition or, if she happened to be close to where you were in the world, even meet near your office or lab for coffee, she sounds, well, at least interested. you don't think someone like her — someone who has photographed war, and famine, and wildfires, and, miraculously last year, a snow leopard and her cub — would even respond to something she didn't care at all about.

holy shit, you text diego. you need a cup of coffee, or, like, maybe three cups of coffee, and a breakfast sandwich before you can respond to that email, so you decide to get a move on. plus, it feels unhinged to respond to it from your phone, so you need to go home anyway. you should also maybe definitely shower, you think, as you look at yourself in the mirror: your makeup is a little smudged and your hair is an unrepentant mess. still hot though, you think when you quietly find your clothes and put your bra on, a deep teal that makes your boobs look awesome. thankfully, you were just in high-waisted, loose jeans and a cropped sweater last night, so after you wash your face and get dressed, it's not really giving walk of shame — walk of pride, thank you very much.

you google maps where you are and, thankfully, it's a nice enough morning and a short enough distance that you can walk to your favorite cafe and then to your apartment without having to call an uber. you grab your cane from where you'd left it propped up by the wall near the bed, and then, because you're definitely not an asshole, gently shake your, well, one night stand's shoulder. her eyes are green, and you do remember that much.

'i gotta go do some work, sorry.'

she nods. 'right. doctor.'

well, maybe you're a little bit of an asshole, but it's not your fault that people think you're a very important neurosurgeon or something. you are very important in cataloguing biodiversity, so you just roll with it. 'thanks for a great time.'

she nods with a soft smile, and it's nice to kiss her, gently, goodbye.

'wait, you're meeting with her? here?'

'yes,' you say, mostly annoyed at camila's vaguely unhinged energy. 'she's close by train, so it's better to meet in person.'

'oh my god,' camila says. she's one of your best friends and probably the smartest, most tech-savvy person you know. when you figured out how helpful it would be to have someone operate drones for you on this expedition, you hadn't even bothered to ask anyone else.

'don't you know her?'

'well, sure,' camila confirms. 'i did some drone work for her a few months ago in the bahamas when she was photographing sharks. but, like, she's amazing, ava.'

'well, hopefully she'll say yes.'

'you'll have to charm her.'

'i'm very good at charming hot women.'

camila rolls her eyes.

'i'm also very good at charming people to go find frogs with me.'

she waits for a beat and then relents. 'well, i suppose that's true.'

'come on,' you say, 'help me make a slide deck. i feel like she'd think that's sexy or something.'

'you're ridiculous.'

'it'll work, i'm telling you.'

beatrice zhang in soft wool pants and closed-toed birkenstocks and a crewneck sweater sitting ramrod straight at the decent cafe just off campus near your office is, quite honestly, not a sight you'd ever expected to see, but it is kind of a miracle. or, at least that's what it had felt like, when she had emailed that she was, actually, a few hours away by train and wouldn't mind a day trip to meet in person. you're glad that you wore your best professor outfit today, flared navy slacks that make your ass look divine, and a crisp white button up that you tucked in tight and rolled up at the sleeves, a camel peacoat and expensive loafers that dr. salvius had gotten you when you passed your dissertation two years ago. you usually wear... well, not this — you reserve this for conferences and presentations — but, if looking professional helps beatrice sign onto this project, so be it.

and, well, maybe it's not strictly professional to undo another button as you had walked to the cafe, and, like, you don't actually know if beatrice is gay or not, but you spot her and smile and wave and her eyes get big for a moment, and you’re afraid you’ve got it all wrong: you’re small and young and pretty and, sometimes, people think that disqualifies you from being smart. but then her eyes rake over you and linger, for just a moment, on your chest, so you're probably right. if this helps too, so be it.

you wave and she stands very formally; she clearly recognizes you, which makes you feel a small thrill of satisfaction. 'hey, glad you found it okay.'

'i've had much more difficult locations to navigate before, although the freshman can be a bit scary.'

it's deadpan, so it takes you a split second, but then you laugh and offer your hand. 'i'm dr. silva.' you want to roll your eyes at your title, which you normally feel quite proud of, all of a sudden. 'ava, any pronouns.'

'dr. silva,' she says anyway, and shakes your hand firmly. 'it's a pleasure. i'm beatrice, she/her.'

only after do you sit, a little sprawled, and prop your cane up on the table, does she sit too, and then looks down at the menu. 'do you recommend anything? i haven't had lunch yet.'

'well, if you're like, uh... —' falling prey to diet culture, you think, but you don't know beatrice at all, so — 'wanting a vegetable forward option, their salads and quinoa bowls are okay.'

she wrinkles her nose. you hide a smile in the collar of your coat.

'but their kimchi fried chicken sandwich is my favorite.'

'and the slaw?'

'well, i'm a fries girl.'

she smiles over the top of her menu, just slightly.

'but my friend likes the slaw, and i trust her.'

she nods and sets her menu down, her wrists resting on the edge of the table, her hands clasped. a practical smart watch, no wedding band. her full attention is on you and it makes you feel a little breathless.

you're saved from saying something incredibly dumb — you're very, very smart, and you're actually very good at flirting, but beatrice zhang is hot as hell and a certified badass and you also really want her to be, like, your colleague — when your server comes to your table. you both order, and you get the fried chicken sandwich too, even though you already ate lunch an hour ago — diego's always happy to eat your leftovers out of the fridge in the lab anyway.

you're not saved from saying something marginally dumb, though, because beatrice kindly thanks your server and hands over her menu and then looks at you again, fully focused.

'i like your hair,’ you say, instead of, well, anything else. you want to groan and slam your head down into the table, or something, because beatrice's brows knit together and she brings one hand to run through her floppy middle part, short in the back and on the sides, pushing it out of her eyes.

'oh,' she says, softly and definitely confused. 'thank you.'

you're sure you're blushing. 'sorry, i just, like, the last time you posted — you had long hair.'

it's mortifying, the moment you say it, because you can mentally calculate the last time beatrice posted a picture of herself on her instagram, and it was definitely over a year ago.

she also seems to realize this, because her confusion turns to a smug little smile that could probably eat you alive. you'd definitely let it.

'i read about the last species of frog you discovered, when the article came out.'

that was also over a year ago, and you laugh, tension releasing from your shoulders. 'so that’s how you knew what i looked like.’

‘sure.’

to be fair, the article did include a picture of you, muddy and sweaty and overjoyed, holding a tiny frog in the palm of your hand, but, ‘did you google me?’

‘i only take on projects, at this point, that i find interesting.’

‘so you think i’m interesting.’

she raises a brow, a scar that also wasn’t there over a year ago running an inch above it and then straight through, cleanly healed but not faded yet, stopping right on the top of her cheek — thankfully your brain didn't comment on that, even though it's kind of hot too. ‘i think that fact that you've already identified six new species of frog two years into an assistant professorship is interesting.’

'so that's a yes.' you grin. ‘want me to tell you about the project, then?'

she thanks your server when he brings her water and your lemonade of the day, and a coffee, and then leans forward in her seat. ‘yes,' she says. 'i do.’

you tell her about it as coherently as you can: you're sure there's a brand new species of frog — maybe more than one, if you're lucky — on the top of a land mass deep in the forest in guyana. you've secured enough funding to make it happen; bare bones, but still. you have diego and yasmine, your grad students, and michael, another assistant professor in your apartment who's helped you on expeditions before, mostly by carrying a bunch of shit. you've gotten camila — who beatrice is also very excited to work with again — to sign on to do tech work for you. dr. superion and dr. salvius are helping from here.

'so, anyway, i need you to climb the tepui.'

beatrice sits back when you're done, flicks through a few slides on your laptop that you'd handed to her with pictures of the jungle, the cliff face, the budget outlines and logistics and equipment you anticipate you'll need.

'do you know a lot about climbing?'

it's kind — to not assume that you don't; to not expect you to either. you shake your head no.

'i'm an alpinist, for the most part,' she says, 'which means that i climb, well —' she pauses.

'no need to be modest for me.'

she offers a small smile. 'i've climbed eight of the ten tallest mountains in the world.'

hot, you think, but you take a deep breath instead and say, 'that's impressive.' nailed it.

'yes, well.' she blushes. 'thank you. but this kind of climbing is traditional climbing — big wall climbing.'

'oh.' you frown. 'so, you can't do it?'

'i can,' she says, 'and i'd like to. i think i know enough of biology to be marginally helpful, and i can certainly photograph the expedition.'

your heart soars, warming your whole body, and you take a bite of your lukewarm sandwich to hide your smile.

'but i'll need a team. i'm confident that i'll be able to get up the wall, but i'm not experienced enough at this kind of climbing to lead on all of these passes.'

'we might not have the funds to pay much, if you bring on more people.'

she shakes her head. 'i have access to plenty of discretionary funds, so that shouldn't be a problem.'

'that's hot.' well, you tried.

she laughs, thank god. 'i just wanted to make sure that you and your team are okay with me bringing other people on.'

'as long as they aren't, like, shitty, you know. racist, homophobic, ableist. all that stuff.'

she nods, very seriously. 'i can assure you that, while one of my climbing partners is inclined to be an asshole, it's always done with respect toward important identities. she's more annoying than anything. and my other partner is the best person i know.'

'well, other than me, now.'

you can tell beatrice is torn between smiling and rolling her eyes; she does a bit of both. 'and, as far as logistics go, i could easily provide a helicopter to get us in as far as possible. less of a hike.'

it's impossible that beatrice didn't see your cane. 'i have adaptive equipment for myself. i can do the hike.'

but her brows knit together. 'yes, i assumed so: you're leading the expedition. i just meant, for my team at least, the fewer miles we have to bring photography and climbing gear in a jungle, the better. it's heavy, and then we have to do a major climb.'

'oh.' you bite your bottom lip. 'that makes sense. sorry, people suck sometimes.'

'i imagine so.' she looks at you very sincerely. 'i'm sorry.'

you wave her off. 'thanks. it is what it is, though.'

beatrice doesn't try to argue, although you can tell that maybe she wants to. 'anyway, whatever you think will help your team, and whatever will help mine, that falls outside of your grant funds, i can cover.'

'that's — are you sure?'

she nods. 'quite.'

'where did you get these discretionary funds?' you can't help asking.

'a bad man,' she says, leaning forward and whispering dramatically. it makes you laugh.

'ooh, did you kill him? warlord?'

'alas, no. my father, and he's already dead.'

'ah.' you snap your fingers. 'well, if another opportunity comes up, you just let me know. i have tons of lethal neurotoxins in my lab. i'm always down to... you know — murder —' you whisper — 'a billionaire. long haul ethics, you know?'

she nods very solemnly, fighting a smile. 'i'll keep that under advisement.'

you fight the urge to ask her for a drink, and you definitely stare at her mouth a little too long, but then you get it together and offer your hand. 'well, partners?'

she shakes it, hers strong and rough with callouses. the thought sends a little shiver up your spine, but you valiantly ignore it. 'partners.'

beatrice invites you, after a few days of emailing back and forth to create an updated budget and logistics plan, to meet at a climbing gym. it's to meet her other two team members first. before you all get together with your main crew for dinner afterward. she'd given you their names, headshots, and very formal bios, which you had kind of loved: lilith, who, according to beatrice's bio, will be the lead climber. when you google her, you find out that she's, like, a world champion big wall climber, so that bodes well. and then mary, another photographer and world class marksman — I know this isn't particularly relevant, beatrice had included as a footnote, but it is quite impressive — and avid climber too.

you're hopeful about it all, and you're hopeful that tonight maybe she just wants to see you alone, and to have you watch her climb. there's, like, a two percent chance you'll physically be able to climb, really, but that's fine. she'd texted you about it, far less formal than her perfectly punctuated emails, so that's a good sign. and she'd posted a recent picture someone took of her — a candid, petting the trunk of an elephant peacefully — on her instagram too. maybe that was scheduled — beatrice seems like the kind of person who would schedule instagram posts — but a girl can hope, you know? you liked it one hour and fourteen minutes after she posted, from the lab's social media account and not your personal one, so you figure you've handled this all perfectly. you're great, beatrice is a colleague, and you've got this.

you're stressed about what to wear to a climbing gym and then to get dinner afterward, although there's probably a locker room or something, but it's fine. you're hot in anything. (or nothing. not that the night is going to go there.) you settle on tight leggings you wear to the gym and a sports bra, a cropped jacket on over. it's, like, cute and femme, but also practical. you brush on some mascara and put part of your hair into a little bun so it won't fall into your eyes, and you pack a spare change of clothes in a canvas tote — slacks and a nice bra and a t-shirt that hugs your body perfectly along with a pair of platform converse and an army-green overshirt — in case everyone else changes before going to dinner.

you grab your cane and head out the door.

if you fall to your death, it's definitely not going to be because of your back or legs. it's going to be because beatrice is in loose pants that seem comfortable for climbing and a tight racerback tank, and when you walk in, she's hanging by one arm on a short wall, just chilling out there, before she seems to decide what she wants to do. she brings her legs up to find footholds and then she's almost upside down, holding onto the wall with both hands calmly and moving so fluidly — a leg stretching out, her chalked fingers grasping onto a tiny hold. there's a delicate tattoo along her right forearm, all linework, and there are scars all over her left shoulder, running down to her elbow from what you can see: some are jagged and some are clean, neat, like surgical incisions. they don't seem to be limiting her progress at all, because she moves over the outhanging ledge easily and then to the top before just letting go and calmly rolling to her feet after she lands without a sound.

the — very hot — woman, lilith, you know from the headshot, sitting on the floor next to the wall, legs outstretched, leaning back on her palms set flat on the ground behind, and looking impossibly graceful while doing it, groans.

'getting stuck that long on a soft V8? come on, beatrice.'

beatrice, to her credit, just shrugs.

'shoulder?' the other woman asks.

'it's fine,' beatrice says. 'just getting back into the groove of your tiny walls.'

'oh, ha ha.'

'8091 meters will really change your perspective. you should try it sometime.'

'no thanks, i'll stick to my world records, thank you very much.'

they seem like they might physically fight, but then they both start laughing. weird, but you fuck with it.

beatrice turns, her hands on her hips, and, like, whew, god fucking bless, and then waves with a smile when she sees you. she walks over. 'hello ava.'

'hey,' you say, suddenly feeling a little awkward: you have not a single idea what you're doing. 'that was pretty impressive.'

'it was not,' the lilith says.

beatrice heads toward her anyway, and you follow. 'you can ignore her most of the time,' she says. 'dr. silva, this is lilith. lilith, dr. silva.'

'just ava.' you look at beatrice with a raised brow. 'please.'

lilith lazily salutes. 'ava, then. our illustrious leader, i hear. beatrice is making me lead a 1000 foot first ascent for a frog?'

'i'm not making you do anything,' beatrice says, and lilith grumbles like a teenager. it's funny, and you decide that you like her then and there, even if she scares you a little. she scares you a little more when she gracefully gets to her feet. she's tall and imposing, with a sharp face and long hair braided back, more wiry than beatrice's bigger muscles, but — you're sure — just as strong.

she offers her hand, which you shake. 'in my defense,' you say, 'it is a very cool frog. we can even name it after you, if you want.'

this seems to amuse her, because there's a hint of a smile on her face. 'i do like first ascents anyway.'

'see,' you say, 'that's the spirit.'

'ava,' beatrice says, 'no pressure, but i thought you might find it fun to try climbing. only if you'd like.'

'i'm, uh —' you gesture a little clumsily with your cane, the tips of your ears turning red. 'not sure that i can?'

'mary is an adaptive climbing instructor,' beatrice says, gesturing over to the taller wall with ropes connected through pulleys at the top, where a strong Black woman with perfectly neat braids and a dark outfit on is sorting through a few harnesses on the ground. 'but if you'd rather not climb, lilith and i are just finishing up. we can show you a few things we've been practicing in anticipation for the route, and then change and go to dinner.'

beatrice doesn't say either choice with any more or less merit, or worth, or importance: they're choices, and they're yours, and they won't affect how much she trusts you or believes in the expedition. lilith is checking her phone, uninterested at this point, and you decide, as you always have, to try.

'yeah, sure. i have no idea what adaptive climbing is, though.'

beatrice smiles and lilith stays on her phone, texting. 'that's fine. i have no idea about ninety percent of what you study.'

'i find that hard to believe. you're a wildlife photographer.'

she hums, softly touching your elbow and then walking toward mary. 'conservationist photography, sure. but i'm not a biologist.'

you make a note that beatrice doesn't really like wildlife photographer as a job title, although she was polite enough to not outright tell you so. 'well, i'm not a climber, so, quid pro quo?'

'ah, but you will be after tonight,' mary says, standing with a smile and offering her hand. 'dr. silva, right?'

'just ava,' you tell her, endeared by the fact that beatrice had probably been very formally saying dr. silva to her team this entire time. you shake mary's hand as firmly as you can and feel immediately a little more relaxed with the confident, easy way she holds her shoulders, her kind smile, her bright eyes.

'beatrice and i go way back,' she says. 'this project of yours sounds amazing. i was excited when she asked if i wanted in.'

'of course i'd ask,' beatrice says, bumping mary in the shoulder, who rolls her eyes fondly.

'well, beatrice said you were promised an adaptive climbing lesson.'

'if you're still in,' beatrice says, 'mary can show you the ropes.' she laughs at herself. 'literally.'

mary groans, but you're delighted. 'well, don't leave me hanging.'

'no. not another bad pun aficionado. please.'

beatrice grins and you sling an arm over her slightly sweaty and delightfully strong shoulders. she stiffens a little, and mary looks to her for a moment, and you're worried you've overstepped, and fast. but then beatrice relaxes.

you step back and gesture between the two of you happily. 'is this our thing now?'

'if trading terrible puns is wrong, then i don't want to be right.'

mary groans. 'not sure why i agreed to this trip after all.'

'we can name a frog after you, if you want,' you offer.

mary perks up. 'really?'

'yeah,' you say, 'sure. i've already named one after myself and given five others the dumbest, gayest names i could think of.'

'i'm back in, then.'

you laugh. 'well, let's rock and try not to roll.'

mary sighs, but beatrice's muffled laugh into your shoulder is way worth it.

Hi Ava, I'll be in town today to get some equipment squared away. I was wondering if maybe you'd like to have dinner if you're free. No shop talk, unless you want

you read and reread the text. you'd gone over shitty — expected, but still shitty — test results from an mri at your neurologist's earlier today, and, even though your team seemed to gel the other night, and all of your logistics are much less daunting now that beatrice has covered some of them financially, you had planned to stay home in your favorite boxers and most comfortable hoodie and wallow with a mediocre bottle of wine and good pizza and great reality tv.

but — hey, that sounds sweet. any places in mind?

beatrice texts back almost immediately. I don't know the area too well. You can pick, if you'd like

like, you're colleagues. you're about to be in one of the most remote parts of the world together in five days, with just a handful of other people, for weeks, maybe longer. you're the leader of the expedition but beatrice is, in important ways, a leader too. she's smart and beautiful and handsome and focused. if it's a date, incredible; if it's not, you still want to know her, you still want to spend time in her gentle warmth.

any food allergies/hatred?

she responds, No, I'm pretty adventurous

still, no clarity, but you set a place and time — one of your favorite tapas restaurants with a great little bar and, if it gets late enough, a good dance floor — and then set about getting ready. you eat a banana and take ibuprofen, which hopefully will help you be able to dance without much pain, and then get as pretty as you deem not desperate for a normal dinner with a colleague to be. which, it's you, so you're still very, very pretty, including one of your very best cleavage tanks. you finish your eyeliner perfectly and blow yourself a little kiss in the mirror. for good luck, or whatever. it's science.

'i got tired of it,' beatrice says. 'war photography is...' she pauses, and shakes her head, like she doesn't quite know what to tell you. you're totally sure she's not telling the truth, not really, but you know not to push, to spook her away. 'i could leave,' she settles on. 'as much as i hate the west, as much as i hate american and european, especially british, foreign policy, and its destruction of the world — i got to take pictures, and leave. at first, i thought it was something important i could do, to record the truth. political inherently, anti-imperialist, without being in politics. but, i was in occupied palestine, and, then, after —' she clears her throat, brings her fingers up to ghost over the scar through her brow — 'after. i couldn't do it. they're wars because of my history — our collective history — but they weren't my wars. they aren’t my wars. i can’t photograph them, at least right now. because i got to leave.'

you're horrified that she might start to cry — which isn't horrifying, not at all, you cry all the time, but you're supposed to be having a nice meal with your colleague and you had asked what you thought was an innocuous question about how she got into her more recent conservationist work, but clearly, not innocuous. you're starting to think, with a kind of clarity you very rarely have about anyone, that nothing about beatrice herself is innocuous. even her collarless button down and loose pants cuffed at the ankles — and the way all of her clothes, ever practical, drape with a tailored casualness on her small, strong frame — her easy hair that’s always actually perfectly trimmed and styled, the pattern of callouses on her hands: everything about her is intentioned. she means what she says. she means what she does. she means who she is.

'i started studying frogs with my mom,' you offer. it's true, and you mean who you are too.

she takes a sip of her water and nods in what you can tell is a quiet relief.

'my family is from manaus. my mom wasn't a scientist or anything, she was a bank teller, but when i was little, we'd go out often. she loved the rainforest, so, you know, i loved the rainforest.'

beatrice smiles gently. 'that sounds beautiful.'

you stare down at a croqueta and tear a small piece of it off, let the old ache fill your chest. 'she died, when i was seven.'

'oh,' beatrice says, 'i —'

'— it was a long time ago,' you say.

'sometimes that doesn't make it hurt any less.'

it's permission, to feel how you need to. most people accept when you tell them that and move on in relief, unwilling or unable to give you the space. but beatrice sits steadily. 'i broke my back, during the car accident we were in; we were visiting spain and, well. i had to relearn to walk. it took a really long time, and the orphanage i grew up in wasn't big on good physical therapy or really any care, so i taught myself what i could outside of school, got into university, got good medical care for the first time, like, ever. and i started studying biology. i went back to the rainforest as soon as i could, as a research assistant, and guyana was ... it's mind-blowing, bea.'

she weighs it all in contemplative silence for a moment, trying to decide what you need; what relief she can give. ‘i can't wait to see. i've always wanted to go.'

it is relief, what you feel, to be so immediately seen and understood. 'well, it's not just anyone i'd want to bring to the rainforest. my mom's favorites were always frogs, so —' you shrug, suddenly a little at a loss.

'so here we are, about to go find another.'

you pop the croqueta into your mouth, feel the dull pain in your chest dissipate when you realize you're close enough to beatrice's face to see her freckles. 'i have spinal stenosis, from the accident. it's progressing pretty fast, even with the best medical team, tech, surgeries, all that.'

she nods, like she understands what you mean without making you have to say it. it's a gift, bigger than she probably knows.

'i really want to find that fucking frog.'

'well,' she says, and lifts her glass, 'to finding our frog.'

'you know, it's bad luck to toast with water.'

she frowns. 'i don't usually drink.'

'you're very... controlled.'

she waits a beat and then grins. 'okay, one beer.'

'fuck yeah!'

'one, ava.'

'mhm. whatever you say, bea.'

'i have to take the train back,' beatrice argues — or, at least, tries to argue, because her eyes drift down to your boobs when you take your sweater off. success.

'you can just stay at my place. i have a mediocre ikea couch.'

'i can't let you sleep on your own couch.'

you laugh. 'oh, you definitely get the couch. i need all the good mattress support i can get before i sleep in a tent for a month.'

she smiles, gently and a little sad, but then the moment passes, a kind of grace. 'fine.'

'really?'

the set of her shoulders is looser but still sure, still so, so certain. 'yes.'

'hell yeah!' she laughs. 'shots?'

beatrice pulls a face but you order lemon drops anyway, mostly because vodka seems neutral and they're a good shot for people who don't drink often, sweet and tangy and fun. beatrice sniffs hers first — bold move, big mistake most of the time — but then nods in approval.

'to our frog,' you say, and she clinks her glass with yours. you touch it to the bartop and she follows suit, and then take it as smoothly as you can. it's an easy drink, so you don't have any problems, and she swallows without too much of a grimace. 'okay?'

'it's not bad,' she says, and your whole body hums, probably because of the two margaritas you had with dinner and this shot now, but also because there are freckles stretching across her cheeks and gold flecks in her brown eyes and if you let yourself look closely a tiny split on her lip, probably from the dry, cool air recently.

you shake yourself out of... whatever that was, and you order two more shots; she takes hers without hesitation this time, laughing when you spill a little down your cheek. she reaches a hand and wipes with her strong hand, tender, over the corner of your mouth, down to your jaw, and then clears her throat, takes her hand back quickly, although you want to ask for her to stay. but instead, 'come on, bea,' you say, 'let's dance!'

she only groans in a show of protest for posterity, you're sure, because she's very strong and you're very small and when you tug on her wrists she follows you easily.

you love to dance; you have always loved to dance: what little you remember of your mom is full of green, the rainforest and the wall of your living room. she would push back all the furniture to the edges, just the two of you in a small apartment, where you slept in the same bed and ate fruit from the trees outside. she would put on britney spears and jump around with you; she would put on stevie nicks and hold you in her arms, swaying around. she was full of light, from what you remember, always ready to read to you, in portugese and in english; to help you with your math and your handwriting. she cut your food for you and bought you new shoes when yours wore through the soles. she had been a good mom in the way good moms are: happy to hold your hand, to rub her nose against yours, to let you eat the batter off the spoon. you don't remember much, not before the accident, but it had been easy, and beautiful — the mist and orchids and green, all around.

beatrice is a little stiff until you start jumping around, fully out of time with the music, just to make her laugh. and she does, a smile lighting up her whole face. her body is graceful like this too, like it's always somehow known exactly how to move. you wonder, fleetingly between songs, what she was like as a child, if she was as sure and smart and kind as she is now. someone crowds into her space from behind and then you're not thinking of anything other than the tickle of her hair against your cheek as she presses into you, the lilt of her laugh into your ear, the hard muscles of her shoulders and the soft, small swell of her hips when you bring your palms to rest there. you're drunk and she's beautiful, and you've kissed lots of beautiful people when you've been drunk. but she closes her eyes and sways to the beat and it's like the rest of the world falls away. it's like there's only you and beatrice and the cloud forest, above anything else that has harmed and will harm again. there's her gold skin and scars and tattoos hidden under her shirt, the healed slices down your spine, the air between your bodies: sweaty, sticky with spilled drinks, thumping bass, everyone else in this bar. there's only the two of you, and it's a little like you've been punched in the gut: you're falling in love with her. it's easy, right now, to put a name to it all, when you can look at her jaw without reproach.

she opens her eyes and looks at you, a smile on her face, and leans in your direction. it's easy, to bring your hand to touch where you had been staring, to say, 'bea,' as she laughs into your neck, says, 'this is so fun, thank you.' it's hard to not kiss her, but she's ... extraordinary, and you don't want your first kiss to be in the middle of a mid-at-best dance floor after a few shots. you want it to be somewhere beautiful. somewhere you already know; somewhere you're certain she'll love.

'let's go home,' you say, because you had done another round somewhere between songs and she's slightly unsteady on her feet. she nods into your neck and you take her hand.

you walk back to your apartment with her, one arm looped through hers — 'very gallant,' you'd said when she'd offered, and even in the dim light from the moon and streetlamps you had seen her blush — and your other hand using your cane. she had found it for you, tucked behind where you had been sitting at the bar; she hadn't asked anything about why you didn't use it when you were dancing, or why you need it now. you know so many good people and you organize a lot with some of your other friends who work with the disability center at the university, but there is some kind of a revelation about being seen so wholly.

but maybe you're also just a little drunk, because she sways a bit as you walk and her accent is lilting, tender, her hair messy in her eyes. it's probably as soft as it looks; you had lost your hair tie somewhere between shots two and three and you tuck yours behind your ear. you have so many questions you want to ask her but you hold them in because she looks up at the moon and the stars and it's enough, to be here with her. to know her laugh, now, and the way she has hurt too.

it's enough to just walk.

it hadn't actually taken too much convincing — after you unlocked the door and gave her some choices in pajamas, soft sleep shorts and a big cotton crew her eventual choices, and gotten her a glass of water and a few cheddar crackers — to get her to agree to sleep in your bed with you. perhaps it had been because your couch is ... an unknown number of years old — 'listen, bea, phd students make, like, no money, and it was twenty bucks on craigslist three years go' — or maybe, maybe, it's because she just wants to.

you settle in first, listen to her brush her teeth with a spare toothbrush you'd given her, and wash her face with your facewash — that she had frowned at, accidentally rude but pretty funny and, like, fair, you got it from the drug store on the corner and you're sure she has a whole understated fancy little routine when she's not out in the field — and then wash her hands after going to the bathroom. you love sex, so you sleep with people often. you've had a boyfriend before, that you cared about deeply, so there's some parts of intimacy that are familiar to you, of course. but this, beatrice carefully climbing into bed next to you, with her freckles and her eyelashes and the pink of her lips, is different: you're not going to kiss her, not right now. you're not going to reach out and put your palm on her jaw like you want to, or feel the warm skin of her ribs, the goosebumps that would inevitably rise there if you raked your nails across the ridges. you're not going to because, you know, somewhere elemental in you, that you want to know her, and love her, for a long time. you want to take her to the rainforest.

'where's your favorite place in the world?' you ask instead, whisper it into the dark, the soft outline of her face.

she's turned toward you, her hands tucked carefully under her chin; it makes her look younger. 'tibet. the himalayas.'

'makes sense. you and your big mountains.'

'what's the last mountain you... summited?'

'annapurna. it's the tenth tallest in the world.' she pauses, considering. 'are we playing twenty questions?'

her eyelids are drooping. 'i don't think you're going to be awake for twenty questions.'

she laughs softly. 'i want to ask you one, though.'

'hmm. sure. two to four questions, then.'

'do you... uh, well, okay. do you like women?'

it's so awkward, so out of place for someone so sure, that you have to fight the urge to burst out in laughter. but it's also soft, and nervous, her eyes wide. it makes you feel sixteen again, full of possibility. 'yeah, bea. i'm bi. i love women.'

she nods, tucks her hands even tighter under her chin, lets a big relieved breath out. 'cool.'

'yeah?'

'mhm. i'm a lesbian, if you didn't know.'

you want to say you're the gayest looking person i've ever met but you refrain. for the romance of it all. 'good to know.'

she tries hard to wink and fails miserably. you let yourself, just once, just for a moment, reach out and run your hand through her hair. she leans into your touch, relaxes under it, before you fold yourself back onto your side of the bed. 'you have one more question.'

'so do you.'

'okay. hmm. favorite ice cream flavor?'

she laughs. 'that's what you want to know.'

you nod. 'it's very important information.'

'okay.' she thinks hard about it, genuinely. 'mint chocolate chip?'

'that's so boring, jeez.'

'oh, i'm sorry. simple combinations of dynamic tastes is probably too sophisticated for you to understand.'

'okay, ratatouille.'

she tries, a valiant effort, to not crack a smile, but she eventually does. 'okay, my turn. favorite color?'

you let your eyes fall closed and imagine it all, the sharp thorns and the torrential rain and the chirp of the neon blue frog you'd found last time. you think about taking her there. 'green, of course,' you tell her, a promise, a future in the clouds. 'green.'

#conservationist au #conservationist au 🐸#ft butch bea but we gotta have different tags lol but she's here #just ch1 but ch2 is the expedition!#avatrice #avatrice fic #wn #wn fic #frog au #i guess bc y’all love that lol

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johannwolfgangvongoethe · 8 months

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Some Personal Thoughts on Disability in Enstars

disclaimer: disability is a very broad term that covers many different experiences. i will be talking about physical disabilities since i feel most comfortable doing so/have experience with them. obviously that ignores a Huge part of what disability and chronical illness is and can be. but i think it is beyond my capabilities to talk about experiences i don't know much about.

alt caption: i think ritsu is a good character and im trying to explain to myself why

this is sort of a long post, sorry.

content warnings: i talk about ableism and touch on related topics such as dehumanization and objectification and such below. individual parts of this post have their own cw's.

Enstars Writing, Beloathed

to get this out of the way; it is bad sometimes. this is discussed very often. it doesnt depend on the authors either, in my opinion, some writers will hit you with something really troublesome only to (seemingly accidentally) invent human emotion and compassion in a different story. i dont want to repeat what others have said eloquently but there is a fair amount of imperialist worldviews, xenophobia, just racism really, transphobia, ableism, and copaganda to be found in enstars. this isnt about x character being x thing, but about how it is very noticable when the author of a story holds these worldviews and they bleed into their stories.

so that is not the greatest foundation if youre looking for well-written disabilities. but i wouldnt be reading enstars if i didnt think it genuinely is really really good sometimes. in my opinion, the way disabilities are portrayed is a mixed bag overall but there are some extremely worthwhile bits that touched me quite a lot.

What I personally understand as Well-Written Disability

the way disabled people suffer often goes unnoticed, and disabled people dont have a platform to talk about oppression. a lot of life-changing issues can go unnoticed to those unnaffected by them, even if they are in broad daylight: underfounded or entirely lacking healthcare, the way many healthcare systems are marketbased and ethics are prone to suffer bc of this (even under 'welfare' capitalism), a lack of equal marriage, the inaccessibility of the most basic and necessary facilities, financing care and the dependency on family/loved ones (both a logistical and psychological problem), the huge stigma against disabled people, etc, etc, you get me....

we need to write about people who need care, to keep them in mind at all times. disabled people are not a minority in a mathematical sense but in a hierarchical sense. it is naive to think of them as "a substancial percentage" of populations. as we age, we inevitably all enter the stage of needing care at some point. SO to an extend, i want to claim its a topic that affects every single person. yet disabled people are rarely a central topic anywhere. it is not enough to acknowledge them, we need to plan and think with them in mind. and Write with them in mind, i guess.

SO when i see fiction grapple the topic, i am usually really happy, even if the portrayal isnt ideal. (critical, maybe, but generally speaking very happy) pointing out "badly" written disabled characters is obviously not as easy as calling someone out for uncritically saying "i think eugenics are a good idea!!!" through fiction. people with that sort of facist mindset exist of course but ableism does not end there.

if i were to single out things i see often: i think the most disappointing thing a story can do is to - mention a disability without it ever having an impact on people in the story (-> the disability is basically nonexistent, has no impact or relevance, outside of a theoretical mention) OR - uncritically use a disabled character as a mere plot devise, without granting them the ability to speak (-> dehumanization, a lack of understanding that disabled people are, well, People. they do shit.)

and then of course there is fetishization, both in a literal sense and in an inspiration porn sense and the problem of turning disability into a caricature for jokes (either to other disabled people for their behaviour/body or to create a sense of satisfying superiority by laughing at them) but i feel like those problems explain themselves.

to apply these to very basic examples: i think often something like a robotic sci-fi prosthetic is not a good way to represent a disability because it fails to represent what people go through irl and provides a "magic fix" without repercussions. here is a really good post about it. about the plot device issue... i think it is similar to what people often criticise as "manpain". a disabled person will never appear or speak, they are demoted to being the reason an able-bodied character acts a certain way, like a lifeless accessory. this doesnt always have to be bad, esp if its just a sideplot! but it can get tiring if the audience never gets to learn about other aspects of the unseen character in question and we are only introduced to their suffering.

all of this to talk about gacha idol boys. it is how it is. anyway, this is roughly my mental state when i tackle enstars.

disclaimer 2: i am really just a kogaP. this influences which characters i encounter when reading. there are tons of stories i just never looked at and there is SO MUCh lore i just dont know about. please lemme know if you have additions to stuff i say/understand a character better/have related story recommendations! tl;dr the sakuma bit will be long.

disclaimer 3: i genuinely adore every single character mentioned below and am always excited to learn smth new about them. if i criticize writing, that has nothing to do with that character or their fans. it is about the writers.

the most obvious example. Eichi (content warning for brief mentions of self harm and suicidal ideation)

everything eichi does, he does with the knowledge he will most likely die young. that is a truly dramatic setup.

but before i get back to that thought. it always felt to me like eichis illness(/es) lack a certain sense of conciseness? i do not think you need to put a name and diagnosis on it for it to be relatable and real to readers, tbh!! though to achieve believability, there needs to be a good amount of consistency. what i can recall off the top of my head is the following:

he breaks down/straight up blacks out frequently due to weakness and dizzyness

measures were taken to secure his safety in those situations (the infamous Eichi-kun Gauge as seen in Element)

his stamina is seriously low

he coughs a lot

we saw him cough up blood (Daydream)

he relies on long hospital stays because his health needs to be monitored and/or supported this closely

he stays inside a lot (hinting towards problems with his immune system?)

being healthy enough to eat unhealthy food is a big deal to him, so there are dietary restrictions/it was necessary to precisely control what he eats

his grandfather, who died recently, is considered an outlier for how long he lived (so it IS hereditary)

which..... could be a lot of things...? or, more likely: a culmination of many things at once. if you have headcanons on eichis health, please lemme know!

but in addition to eichis terminal illness, there is a second quality to him that seperates him from most disabled people: he is extremely wealthy. and his wealth is fundamentally important to stories. usually illness and poverty go hand in hand, since incame is tied to the ability to work, which worsens an already bad situation. no matter how limited eichis actions are because of his body, the possibilties offered by his wealth make him a central figure in every overarching plot. in addition to this, his family is well aware of his consitution and he is a patriarchal leading figure to them, the head to their coporate hierachy. eichi is free of the things that usually rid the chronically ill of their safety and power: society (he is an idol and popular) and money (he is the richest boy in japan). if youd ask me, i think that while being chronically ill is of course physically taxing, the worse problem is the economic state it puts you in. eichi simply overcomes this? yes, he is terminally ill, his situation is terrifying. but he has an extraordinary amount of control while he lives. more than a poor yet able-bodied person may have.

his unique circumstances enable him to be incredibly active. this is so fun to read about in my opinion. its a fascinating setup to me. without casting any sort of moral judgement on his actions and the antagonistic role he plays; he is, excuse me for my phrasing here, a disabled power fantasy. (at least to me)

this is a double-edged sword to him. because of who he is as a person (ambitious, cunning, ruthless, diligent)

he lives in relative safety but his strong ambition and financial ability to fulfill his dreams tempt him to go past his limits. because his remaining lifetime is uncertain, the need to preserve the body he is given seems uneconomical (a mindset his upbringing and education as an heir to his family would have enforced imo) he is bound to break down sooner or later anyway. i think he begins to see himself and his body as a tool to achieve his goals and neglects spending time on anything BUT working towards them. so the moment he runs out of goals (like at the end of Element), his reason to "remain" becomes futile.

it really struck with me how he appears in Blackbird - emaciated, pathetic, purposefully neglected because he chose to be neglected and weak in an act of self harm bc denying medical attention (something that couldnt have happened otherwise) wataru has to remind him that no one died and the obvious connection to make is that the eccentrics are physically unharmed and starting over, that they should not be a source of guilt to eichi. but i think this is just as much about eichi himself. he might have expected to die since he left the hospital and overexhausted himself at school and as an idol. he didnt die though. it was a real possibility and seemed likely but he didnt. the neglect and indirect self harm here point out, to me, that he saw the "role" he gave himself as fulfilled at that point and waited to die.

eichi stands over economic or social factors that could ostracize and dehumanize him but funnily enough he manages to do so himself by treating his body as a tool and his happiness as an option that got overshadowed by a need to succeed.

this vulnerability makes him, despite how vague the descriptions of his illness are and despite how unrelatable his wealth is, a very satisfying character imo. it is engaging to me. certain limits are removed for him but he created new ones, specifically because he did not see himself as something worth sustaining once he becomes useless. imo, eichi applied the idea that a lifes worth can be measured in its ability to function in an industry to himself. and spiralled over it, entirely inverting his uncanny amount of bodily autonomy. it is clear how the situation he is in worsens his mental health like that. and how his mental health in turn worsens his physical health. it is inseperable.

i cant really get into !! era eichi because i genuinely just dont... know enough. the fine tradition of having a weekly H-Day stands out, though. after all, eichi has new bigger ambitions and is, once again, inviting his own ruin through overexhaustion. so his friends (the new addition of having friends is essential) had to forcefully make him stop for at least one day a week. that is pretty big. i think.

this is true for many marginalized existences so it of course applies to disabled people: if neither your surroundings nor yourself permit you to feel human and therefore assign your person an inherent worth and lovability... sometimes you need a friend to do so!!! social circles are the best support structure for your health.

The Sakuma Family

(i will get into ritsu and rei seperately later on. there are just a few concepts i want to get out of the way that apply to both of them.)

so... to get a little theoretical; the concept of "disability" relies on the concept of a "normative" human existence. "disability" is an otherness and can therefore easily be seen as a "monstrocity" in the eyes of ignorant people, something that instils fear. (there is a reason why a lot of horror exploits disabled bodies as a source of terror and uses mental hospitals as settings) from an able-bodied point of view it seems "desirable" to be a "normative human", yet the disabled person knows that is not a possibility and knows their worth and place as a human in human spaces. at least ideally. able-bodied people sometimes lack this understanding. there is nothing to be desired about an able body or fixed about a disabled body, beyond what medical care can do for ones quality of life.

if you have read operetta, this is all very familiar;

operetta, chapter 17 and, well, here we are. vampires. a very basic truth about the sakuma family that i hate to see denied is that they are human. there is nothing supernatural about them. they are just disabled. or, to turn the idea around, if one was to assign them vampiristic traits and such... is vampirism not a disability and should be taken seriously as such? if you consider the limits a vampire has while coordinating through their life, is that not... strangely just a disabled experience? (MINUS THE KILLING PEOPLE OBVIOUSLY but much modern fiction is sympathetic towards vampires instead and does not display them as violent)

anyway, to hear it from the horses mouth (the horse is rei):

operetta, chapter 19 the sakuma family is a curious case. their condition is hereditary though the severity varies from person to person. it comes up in many stories but for the most part i am thinking about operetta, resurrection sunday, and devils right now. how did this all start? what made an entire family turn to live as vampires, with blood ceremonies and all that? what bizarre kind of generational trauma is this?

(and, while it does not play a role as important as it did for eichi, they are rich. this is important to mention. many normal experiences just dont apply to them because wealth makes them immune. ... how did the sakumas become this influential anyway.)

for an unspecified but long time, an entire family managed to mentally entirely seperate themselves from the rest of humanity because of their chronical illness. personally, i have no doubt this is the result of a world that othered them first. whether the main motivator at play here is a defensiveness towards a society that cannot understand you or an internal need to turn hardships into an identity that can be carried with pride. it takes a considerable amount of emotional strength and planning for the "hey we are human actually" declaration in operetta to occur.

they are, weirdly, what people mean when they talk about a "toxic anti-recovery mindset". (an expression i struggle with because this sort of rhetoric is often used to discriminate against disabled people who speak up for themselves or ask for accomodations. but that aside) it is an amount of pride that leads to internal self destruction.

of course, as is the case with every single character i write about in this post, a lot of it has to do with aesthetics and being chuuni to sell gacha cards. so we know the reason behind the reason. but it makes for some bizarre in-universe implications.

but in any case, the fact that their identity as false vampires is something they have always carried, that modern society sees as "mystical and sexy" has a hilarious side effect: their disability becomes marketable under the guise of vampirism. it is hard to recover from that.

so again, we have a double-edged sword: to present ones medical condition as a "persona" declares it as a performative act, something that is done to bring joy to an audience. personal detriment is not considered here, since it stops being a part of ones being and starts to become "work". the time and place of ones symptoms has to overlap with the time and place of ones performances. or people will hate you for your uncontrollable illness. however, rei and ritsu are both also able to carry their condition with a sort of playfulness. it is almost something like the act of "reclaiming" when they purposefully choose to larp a little for fun. usually, when a scene mentions their disability in the context of comic relief, they have control over the situation that unfolds and even initiate it and invite others to laugh alongside them. this can be a slippery slope to getting harrassed of course.... but i am rather baffled by the amount of dominance they have in social interactions. so it just reads as a healthy amount of dark humour to me.

this, and the consistent writing of their symptoms, and the ability to easily compare it to real existing illnesses, easly make them my favourite instance of written disabled people in the series. their illness has an impact on their behaviour and it is detrimental! and they are both very human in the way they attempt to cope. there is a certain realism to it. idek.

many people seem to headcanon them with myalgic encephalomyelitis, which is a really good explanation, and i personally want to suggest narcolepsy. the point being, there is room to accurately assign them a realistic relatable and understandable condition, even if nothing is ever named in canon. and of course they are mentioned to have an iron deficiency.

bear with this slightly "out there" theory for a moment: have you or a friend ever tried to get a compensation for your disadvantage at school or uni? it can be really hard to do, if it is possible at all, even if it is something very simple (more time, a slightly different enviroment, the ability to drink or sit, etc) yumenosaki is a school for performance arts, mainly idols. bold statement: it might genuinely be easier to get/explain an accommondation for your "idol quirk" (something that would be actively fostered), than for your disability. not that yumenosaki is very strict or asks for a lot anyway, its just something that has been on my mind.

here is another funny thing i have been thinking about: both of them crave juice, soda, and fruit - sugary yet fresh stuff. i feel like this is not uncommon for people who suffer from excessive tiredness and fatigue, the body subconsciously wishes for some sugar intake to "wake up".

Inventing a Guy to Cope. Rei

funny title aside... he... did that... ? rei is a curious example of how different mostly unrelated traumas can overlap. he had no childhood, thanks to his family that considered him "mature" at a very young age and his early status as a child star. and his bad health is a miserable addition to this. it is quite scary to image how pressured to do right he felt growing up and how that resulted in the fragmented distanced way he views himself; reinventable, and ultimately unknowable. (to others AND himself)

despite his bad health he has always been working and performing "well". he was praised for his remarkable talents but rarely had the chance to stop and patch himself up. whether this was a result of a pushy enviroment or his personality as a people pleaser who cannot show weakness and imperfection is hard to tell. maybe both.

the state he is in in Crossroad is fascinating to me. he all but directly lists the criteria of depression to keito when he attempts to explain his sorrows. he is restless, rowdy, mentions later on that he enrolled in yumenosaki against his familys wishes. he is very much searching for joy and his own identity in the middle of a health emergency. this has to do with the way he was raised, only knowing how to exist for and serve others, how he was made to sell a made-up version of himself, but i also believe it has to do with the fact he has started to exclude himself from his familys traditions and values. he started to cast away the uncertain "monstrosity" existence of his family (as well as the false idolhood others assigned him) and instead embraces humanity as a chronically ill person.

crossroad, i forgor which chapters

this of course marks a starting point of change that later results in him making up the wagahai pronouns persona - something he specifically created with the intention of looking vulnerable and weak. because he yearned to do less, to recover from years of exhaustion.

in a way, i want to say both, the ore pronouns persona and the wagahai pronouns persona, are attempts to cope with expectations he cannot handle physically or mentally. one relies on masking, on appearing stronger than he actually is and therefore invulnerable, and the other relies on exaggerating his weakness, in an attempt to finally let others recognize it. i think as a disabled person, both are performances one has to learn in order to "function" in everyday life, while remaining safe from serious harm (doing badly at ones job or classes, angering others that hold power over your life). since ones circumstances are often hard to grasp for someone who does not share the same illness, there is no choice but to simplify and exaggerate until symptoms become tangible concepts or to just brave through it, at the cost of ones health and future time.

rei in particular, for better or for worse, is incredibly capable when he needs to be and unfortunately that means others will often not take his health seriously because they saw him function just fine the other day. this is a general problem but an obvious offender in that regard is koga, who comments on reis fatigue constantly and loves to create a bit of a high expectations toxic work enviroment (and, to be fair, rei terrorizes him too. kogas hostility towards rei is sometimes ableist but not really rooted in ableism. after all koga is highly aware how performative the wagahai persona can be and is a huge motivational and inspirational factor in reis life. its a whole complex)

!! era holds some positive changes. his mental need to please other people remains a persistent source of trouble for him (and others) but he seems to really let his body recover and lives a more nocturnal life. both kuro and kaoru mention that he looks more healthy (in succession match???? i think??) since he finally stopped enforcing a normal day/night cycle on his body just to comply with social norms. you can indeed be very human even if you break human-made rules.

(additional comment: "becoming human" is of course a theme for each of the eccentrics and not uniquely tied to disability, it very much has to do with the objectification one goes through as a public figure. but this is a post about disability and it really fits in well. so here we go)

Literally Just a Realistic Teenager. Ritsu

ritsu, while not really being among my favourite characters, is my favourite instance of a disabled character in enstars. partly because of his writing and partly because my personal experiences overlap with his so much it sometimes is painful - but always extremely satisfying. just had to get that out.

ritsu is perhaps the most visibly ill. he blacks out and sleeps where he stands, everywhere, without control and often requires other peoples (well, mostly maos) assistance in order to remain safe when this happens. he also repeated a year of school, specifically because of his disability.

he is painfully aware of this. that he looks ill, that he behaves ill, that he is an underachiever compared to others of the same age, even to people younger than him.

ritsu developed unique behaviours to deal with this: he is very dependent and clingy and often asks others to do things for him, unapologetically. that does not mean asking for help doesnt hurt his pride, just that it is the most viable strategy for everyday survival that he ended up with. other than that, he clings more to the vampire identity than rei does. either to defy his older brother or, and this is important imo, because it is the one safety net he has to fall back on that makes him feel "normal" and like he is a regular being. albeit not human. no matter how much others might blame him for his shortcomings or how much he is a failure in the eyes of society, he is very regular for a "vampire". under the logic developed by his family, he is just a child, and the world at large is to blame. it is an easier truth to accept than facing systematic injustice and prejudice in a human world.

the stories i mentioned in another part above aside, i really love what ensemble band does for him; ritsu gets extremely irritated with mao in the prologue, seemingly out of nowhere. his character is allowed to express this sort of anger and to take it out on others, even if it is unjust and misguided. it is not pretty and it isnt good behaviour but it is a very heartfelt emotion to me.

its obvious that he cannot compete with others and that this will always been seen as his personal fault instead of a circumstance he cannot influence. and more than that: no one appreciates the real efforts he makes. for instance, getting himself out of bed in time for classes is difficult for regular teenagers and straight up hellish for ritsu. but he manages to do so a lot later on. instead of acknowledging that this is a real accomplishment on his part and possibly really exhausting and bad for his comfort in the long run, this is seen as doing the bare minimum.

while it is not correct, the malice ritsu sometimes treats others with comes from an comprehensible place. able-bodied ignorance can appear as purposeful slights made by those more privileged than him.

yet he learns to conform. his friends are important to him. knights success is important to him. (thought mental health probably played a role here too and made things even harder prior to his third year of high school) and yet;

seven bridge, chapter 24, but its really just an example i had at hand

the remarks stay the same. his peers still cannot help but brand him as "just lazy", even if they are kind and understanding otherwise and habour no ill intent. so i would like to ask: how long can he keep this up? how hard is this on him?

i dont think i need to explain just how common and hurtful it is to be accused of "laziness". probably the single most irritating comment someone with fatigue will hear every single day.

however, on the flipside, ritsu has perhaps the most people who care for him in comparison with other characters, though they sometimes complain (communication is hard, care is hard, everyone in enstars is very young and i cannot bring myself to see those comments as malice. its a mixture of ignorance and ones own burdens) there is mao, obviously. tsumugi is a very funny example. knights, of course, in particular naru. (at least based on my humble knights readings)

quite interesting how he just decided mao is his caretaker, now and in the future. i shared a few of my thoughts on caretaking here. this is.... a huge responsibility to just put on someones shoulders, to say the least. he shouldnt be doing this but i think it speaks for itself that this is a problem that is on his mind. ITS IS A REALLY IMPORTANT TOPIC TO BRING UP, especially since, the younger you are, the harder it is to get insurance to pay for your care. yes, he is often just teasing mao, but ritsu is looking for ways to get through life. by learning to be as independent as possible, whenever possible. though often you really just find yourself at the mercy of friends and family.

Inter-Sibling Violence

apologies, i will be done with the sakumas soon. i didnt know how to fit this in at the start.

the relationship between rei and ritsu, as people with the same disability who experiences different symptoms and challenges, is worth thinking about. infighting within people of the same disability is very common since experiences can be so different, there are no universal truths or opinions. with different lifestyles come different expectations for what is "normal" and sometimes pressure and social norms can cause someone to shift blame onto others who have no achieved the same things in life.

rei and ritsu are said to have been very close as small children and likely depended on each other a lot. i can see how reis fostering nature and ritsus needy nature developed alongside each other and enforced each other.

time and time again, rei says that he is a "less severe" case, that ritsu has it worse. he jets around the world because he feels forced to do so, when ritsu just wanted emotional support from him to begin with. ritsu stayed alone at home, sheltered and likely caged by their families convictions. but! i want to suggest the following: as much as it hurt him, it was important for reis health to be away from his family, too. i dont think staying there would have been good for him. his absence and the experiences he made away from home were an important catalyst for the positive family development we see in operetta.

of course, rei means well. he cares. he is trying to have a positive impact. yet from ritsus point of view, all of this must feel terribly condescending, especially with how much rei babies him. there is just one year between them. this is barely anything when it comes to sibling inferiority complexes the brain can make up. rei, who is successful and famous and beloved and, most importantly, proclaims to have it "easier than him", is trying to find a cure for him. from ritsus point of view this must be unbearable. their lives are so different when they basically started at the very same point of origin.

more than that, rei shoulders the sketchy blood rituals himself, out of love of course, but if one was more jaded, one could assume he doesnt think ritsu would be able to stomach the responsibility.

you will always compare yourself to your siblings in unhealthy ways but ritsu is just doing this on hard mode, i fear.

HHHRAGAHHHH GHHH ghgghrhgh. Niki

nikis writing is... driving me up a wall sometimes, to say the least. dont get me wrong, i love him. to an extend i understand that his single-mindedness and shallowless has purpose to it. in fact, i adore these character traits. he really seems to be behind four mental barriers at all times, unable to let deeper thoughts touch him, lest they make him succumb to despair. (yet nikis specific flavour of menhera cannot quite shine since... well, he has to stand next to himeru all the time)

the descriptions we get of nikis illness are nonsensical, at least to my knowledge. you could imagine he has something like hyperthyroidism. this never really gets explored though. at some point ENGstars mentions he has "gastroptosis or whatever" (the "or whatever" is part of his dialogue - niki really doesnt give a fuck), which makes no sense at all. weirdly enough, it would even be strangely in character if this was just a misconception.

so, can anyone take niki to a doctor? has this happened and i just wasnt there for it? there is no excuse why no one is considering medical care when it comes to him. except that he often is the butt monkey of jokes the writers want to make and has to stay available for it. more than that; his parents just left him alone like this? as a child? did he get an allowance at least? this cannot be legal, right? i wait for the day this comes up as a topic but i fear it is in vain. (please tell me if it actually did. i dont follow niki that closely) this is an unbelievable thing to do to a healthy child, yet alone one with a severe illness. we are basically looking at denial of assistance.

so many things surrounding nikis story are designed to make him as miserable as possible. i cannot help but feel that he exists purely as comic relief, for funny bickering, and superficial drama. i dont really like that at all, his misery just gets exploited.

EVEN SO... his self-image is actually really fascinating. as rinne likes to point out again and again, niki has no self-worth. he works two jobs, one of which he hates, he constantly gets into dangerous situations, and he will do anything just for some crumbs, and quickly forgets when others treat him badly. and of course, the worst bit:

es!! main story, please dont make me go find it

to some degree, he just accepts this as something he deserves. there is no consideration for his own quality of life, somewhere along the lines it seems like he got conviced just surviving is all he gets. he internalized self-degredation to a dangerous degree and i never see anyone mention this mental affliction specifically as a comorbidity of his disability. to me, there is without a doubt a relation here. sure, maybe he would still fight with this otherwise, just because he had to witness his fathers fall from grace as a child and knows there is a stigma attached to his name now. but i think you can tell it is more than that, from the way he is ashamed to beg (even in a life or death scenario, as seen in hot limit), as if his condition was his own fault.

this circles back to the point i made earlier for eichi; how much nikis life is worth, is measured in his economical value.

of the characters i have spoken of so far, nikis is financially the most accurate to real life. there is no safety net for him, no convenient family wealth.

(at this point it feels important to mention that somehow rinne manages to be the only person entirely aware of the danger and desires to change nikis mindset, YET he is a huge strain on nikis health. i dont know how those two function.)

Just a Lamb. Tatsumi

tatsumis specific trauma is a unique one: while most other characters struggle with conditions they were born with or developed as they grew up, tatsumis injury is the result of strain and violence. those are two different pairs of shoes, though the outcome may be similar. whether it is worse to be born into circumstances you cannot escape or to have to live with having something thrust upon you unfairly is up to personal judgement. pain is not really quantifiable. its just important to keep in mind, i think. under the circumstances tatsumi grew up in, he has his own burdens. it is very easy in many ways to compare and contrast him with eichi. of course this applies to how they used their bodies too: as an expandable resource. they had ideals for their school life (and beyond) that just seemed far more important and they both ended up in hospital because of this. (+ we know tatsumis surroundings were purposefully manipulated to destroy him)

and, of course, tatsumi got attacked later on. he never really talks about it directly but his legs seem to talk for him, in ways.

the story does not quite make it clear whether his occasional weakness and pain are the result of old injuries or entirely psychosomantic, and i dont think there is a real need to know, as a reader. in fact, in a certain light, i think it can be considered good that we dont know for certain: it would be relevant for tatsumi himself, sure, since it would influence which kinds of treatments and help he can seek out. however, i think the ambiguity may foster a certain level of sympathy in readers.

often psychosomatic problems are not taken seriously enough in real life: they cannot be proven physically and they dont fit into the neat little boxes that the ICD wants you to believe exist, so they cannot be defined on paper or easily explained to doctors or insurance providers.

to foster empathy with his situation requires his character to be lovable and for the narrative to treat him with care as well. which is thankfully the case. alkaloid are dear with him and, despite the fact he cannot perform in his work enviroment all the time, he is very respected for his other skills. he is a well-rounded person.

all that aside. it is absolutely worth to mention tatsumi pre-injury, too. he came up with a form of small-scale universal income among a semi-union at school. without getting too much into all that. (obbligato really seems like required lecture in the realm of enstars stories) the entire concept strives for social equality and is extremely anti-discrimination. it fundamentally goes against the idea that someone needs to "deserve" care, and is the opposite of the mindset i described with eichi and niki above. he never had to make first-hand experiences with disability to be extremely compassionate. this seems really rare among people in real life, even those who preach altruism.

While we are Here. K.... Kaname

as mentioned, i spoke a little about kaname before. so i wont get into the complex of caregiving.

it is extremely satisfying we got to meet kaname, if only for one event story. he does not have to remain a faceless motivation behind himeru and tatsumis lives, he thankfully became humanized.

the entire conflict around kaname at the moment is a matter of bodily autonomy. how much of your person can be in anothers hand, ethically? there is no excuse for the theft of his (idol) identity through himeru but the damage is done now. ideally, you dont want any part of yourself to depend on others but the disabled reality is that this is very often impossible. especially for kaname. there simply is no one else who could be responsible for him right now and, to be fair, at least when it comes to medical care, himeru seems to behave very responsibly.

repeating what has been said in the other post but i am worried for kanames seemingly inevitable reintroduction to the story. he has been in a comatose state for a year. if he wakes (since this is fiction, it is possible to exchange 'if' for 'when', realistically it really would be an 'if' though) he would most likely be confronted with permanent neurological and physical damage and years of rehabilitation. at least logically. (not to mention the psychological shock) would this be written with compassion and a sense of realism? it makes for a compelling source of conflict and emotional hardships that could be extremely worthwhile to explore. i just cant entirely bring myself to trust the writers with this one but i would love to be convinced otherwise.

that is, of course, if they dont somehow just skip rehabilitation entirely and declare it a miracle healing.....

imo, the in-game discourse between characters is just as important as his future development. i just really hope autonomy and recovery will be large topics.

He doesnt go here, but. Adonis

so bringing him up just really feels necessary within the context of this post because of his interests. one of adonis hobbies is sign language and accessibility.

this is, i think, maybe the best thing they ever did with his "protector" persona. it just fits so well, it is a direct conversion of ideals to actions. knowing undead songs have been translated for a deaf audience in canon is extremely wholesome and uplifting, even if it is entirely inconsequential for the story and just something that gets mentioned.

(now that sandstorm is out on engstars, you can check that out too for further mentions of this! if i could wish for one thing, it would be for the stories to acknowledge that there are tons of independent sign languages and i would love to know which one adonis and rei speak... you ever think about how adonis speaks like four languages fluently. at least.)

nightless city live, chapter 3

everyone in undead loved that and supported the vision. to see koga, who is usually against anything but musical performances and wishes to express art freely, praise the idea really puts deaf identity and accessibility in a great light. it is a very positively radical forwardthinking idea.

so, i just wanted to mention that. adonis is treated horribly by the narrative a lot, it entirely fails to grasp his identity and is insensitive towards foreign cultures, but i would die for him i think.

finishing thoughts

like mentioned, please absolutely let me know if you have different related ideas or recommendations. or corrections, or worries over something i wrote!!! learning and improving is always great. i am sorry i could not get into so many other characters, the ones i wrote about are those that i feel confident enough to comment on. in the future i would love to meet maguro!! i just havent really read any mama stories at all :'''3

i feel like i barely said anything at all and barely engaged with text enough since i didnt get into any character specifically. i would love to write another post about ritsu or rei or both. a draft for it has been sitting around for ages (as did the draft for this post, lol) but i hope someone will find an interesting thought in here somewhere.

all in all, enstars is actually... surprisingly nice to read for the disability in there??? even if it is disappointing in handling many other things. of course, the writings not always ideal (i read hidden beast just the other day and the ableism in there took years off my life) but often its really nice. nothing hits quite like seeing real emotions and experiences through some metaphorical stylized anime lense, you feel.

anyway thank you for listening. i am actually for real done now.

#enstars #ensemble stars #enstarsposting #did i overreact and write too much..... ah... nay......

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alwritey-aphrodite · 7 months

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steven grant and pumpkins? i’m so excited for october now

2023 Fall Blurbs

As much as you loved your cozy, little flat, sometimes it felt a little too small and cramped for your liking. It was difficult to have people over and to cook in the small kitchen and deep cleaning was almost impossible with how little space you had to move things around. Still, you loved it, and you’d never consider moving.

Not even when Steven brings home pumpkins that take up most of your kitchen and dining area.

“What’re those for?” You ask, pausing your dish washing to watch him struggle through the door with the pumpkins.

“Halloween,” he answers with a smile, clearly pleased with his little joke, “thought it might be fun to carve them, yeah?” And while you didn’t disagree, even the logistics of carving the pumpkins, let alone displaying them, made your head spin.

Still, Steven was never to be deterred from a plan once he set his mind to it, and he spent the rest of the afternoon setting up the pumpkins and finding carving supplies and newspapers he was willing to part with to catch all the gunk that comes out of the inside of the pumpkins. Really, the pumpkins are almost perfect, round and large and bright orange, and you can’t help but wonder if Steven just found them or if he went searching for the most perfect pumpkins to bring home.

Either way, the carving extravaganza begins after dinner, which you ate on the couch because the pumpkins were taking up the entirety of the table. Using a large knife that was definitely too expensive to be used on giant pumpkins, Steven cuts the top off the plants before the two of you get to work scooping out the guts.

As you clean out the pumpkins, scooping out seeds and guts and sending them falling with a splat onto the newspapers you’ve laid out, you talk about all your favorite fall memories, your best costumes and favorite treats and movies. Steven’s are, of course, from more recent years, and most of them feature you, but he loves to listen to you recount your childhood tales of trick or treating and trading candy and eating yourself sick.

It makes the time go by faster, and before you know it, the pumpkins are ready for carving. You decide to just wing it, taking one of the knives and jabbing it through the thick skin of your pumpkin, while Steven takes his time to sketch out his design just the way he envisions it. You keep yours a surprise, turning the pumpkin this way and that to keep Steven from catching a glance.

Once the two of you are done, hands sore and cheeks hurting from laughing at each other’s struggles, you light small candles to place inside, and then you reveal your designs to each other.

“What is that supposed to be, love?” Steven asks through barely contained laughter, glancing between your pumpkin and his, with its perfectly drawn and carved cat.

“It’s a spooky pumpkin face,” you reply as if it’s obvious, “the triangles are the eyes and the square is the nose and the circle is the mouth because he’s yelling.”

With your explanation, Steven only laughs harder, picking up his pumpkin to display in the window sill and pressing a kiss to your cheek.

#steven grant #steven grant x reader #steven grant x you #steven grant fanfiction #steven grant fluff #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight fanfic #moon knight

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anarcho-physicist · 11 months

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My favorite weird phase of matter (and also some intro-y stuff that you can skip if you want to look at the pretty pictures)

[Fig. 1 (a) from Mur, M., Kos, Ž., Ravnik, M. et al. Continuous generation of topological defects in a passively driven nematic liquid crystal. Nat Commun 13, 6855 (2022).]

Hi again! In my previous posts, I described what the term soft matter means to a physicist, and how physicists really understand phases of matter mostly in terms of symmetries. In the future, I'm similarly planning to write more long form, in-depth explanations of specific concepts/topics in soft matter physics.

I'd really like to be able to dive into the math behind everything, but I also want to keep things as understandable and enjoyable as possible to those with little to no math background. So I'll try my best to explain every bit of every equation I show, and I think forcing myself to do so will help me understand them better.

I might also post some things other than long-form essays. One idea I've been thinking of doing is to post a daily/weekly/whateverly arXiv update, where I pick one or a few soft matter physics preprints that have been uploaded recently, and write short, informal summaries of their findings. I think that might be a good way to keep myself and anyone who's interested informed on the state of the field. I also intend to do shorter posts on specific papers or results I think are really cool. My research and academic responsibilities keep me very busy, so I'll likely make shorter posts when I don't have the time or energy to write longer, deeper explanations.

Another idea I've been toying around with is potentially using this account as something like a radically open research notebook/journal, where I immediately write up and publicly post each little research milestone I've made for the day/week/whatever. My paycheck comes mostly from government grants, the research I do is publicly funded. I think the public ought to be aware of exactly what they're funding, and particularly, I think the members of the public who are interested in what we do should be able to engage with researchers, to learn about the current state of the field. I also think this ability to engage with current research should be accessible to all members of the public, not just those wealthy enough to be able to spend a lot of time around universities. On the other hand, there are some ethical and logistical considerations when it comes to sharing unpublished research, and I'd at the very least need to get approval from all of my collaborators, so if I end up doing something like this, it wouldn't be for a while.

Anyways, for now, I'd just like to show you some really cool experimental realizations of a gorgeously weird phase of matter that is very dear to my heart (and my CV):

Active Nematic Liquid Crystals

[Video taken by the Dogic Lab]

These two-dimensional, spontaneously flowing "line fluids" host topological defects (the little comet-shaped and triangle-shaped dark spots). These are quasiparticles with fascinating dynamics, and some really beautiful mathematics behind their structure. To quote my PI who was quoting some other physicist I can't remember:

Materials are like people; it's the defects that make them interesting.

The term liquid crystal refers to a general class of materials with symmetries and properties in-between those of a crystal and those of a simple liquid. Nematics are a particular type of liquid crystal, one with full translational symmetry, but S^1 / Z_2 -broken rotational symmetry. Active nematics are nematics that also break time-reversal symmetry, and thus energy conservation (I'll explain how this is possible in an energy-conserving universe sometime soon; the short answer is "coarse-graining").

Here's what happens if you put an active nematic on a sphere:

[Dogic Lab again -- they're great they do a lot of really cool stuff]

Fun fact: These defects attract and repel each other just like charged particles (via Gauss's law), except they aren't electrically charged, they're topologically charged. Rather than electromagnetic fields, the medium of interaction here is the elastic free energy associated with curves in the line field. The comet-shaped defects have a +1/2 topological charge, while the triangular ones have a -1/2 charge. If you bring two defects close enough together, they'll effectively "add" their charges up. This means oppositely-charged defects can annihilate each other into the uniform/vacuum state, and that a sufficiently perturbed vacuum can pair-produce oppositely charged defects. That eye-catching picture at the top of this post is a cross-polarized image of that pair-production process in an externally-driven passive nematic. The two arrows point to two individual defects.

In an active nematic, things get even more interesting; the +1/2 defects become effectively self-propelled, while the -1/2 defects do not. At least, not if the activity is spatiotemporally constant (this is a hint to a really cool upcoming paper I'll hopefully be publishing before the end of this summer). This results in all sorts of weird nonequilibrium behavior, like the chaotic state displayed in the first animation, or the oscillatory swirling of the four +1/2 defects on the vesicle depicted in the second.

Why do we only see four +1/2 defects, and no -1/2s on the sphere? For two reasons: 1) The sphere is fairly small relative to the active length scale, which is roughly the average separation distance between defects. This is governed by the balance of active and elastic stresses. And 2) The hairy ball theorem necessitates a net topological charge on the sphere of +2 = 4 x +1/2.

All of the nematics I've shown you so far have been synthetic, but nematics (and even active nematics) show up in nature too. One really good example: look at your hands. I mean, really look at them. Do you see any familiar little triangle shapes? Maybe some little whorly comets? Fingerprints are a frozen nematic texture! But the defects in your fingerprints aren't very interesting, because they don't move (I hope). What else is there?

This brings us to my favorite experimental discovery ever made. Hydra are microscopic freshwater creatures that regrow their limbs. It turns out, the hydra's supracellular actin fibres, which play a major role in this morphogenesis, order like an active nematic. They have topological defects, which appear to correlate with sites of new organ growth. You can see them in the hydra itself:

[Fig. 1 (a-f) from Maroudas-Sacks, Y., Garion, L., Shani-Zerbib, L. et al. Topological defects in the nematic order of actin fibres as organization centres of Hydra morphogenesis. Nat. Phys. 17, 251–259 (2021).]

It's literally algebraic topology come to life.

#soft matter #physics #science #196 #mathematics #biology #topology #academia

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rjzimmerman · 2 days

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Photo of my hand holding a baby desert tortoise at the Desert Tortoise Research Center at the Twenty-Nine Palms Marine Base in Twenty-Nine Palms, California:

Excerpt from this story from the LA Times:

A 3.5-million-acre swath of Mojave Desert between Ridgecrest and the Morongo Basin has received a new federal designation that advocates hope will help protect vulnerable wildlife like the Mojave desert tortoise.

The area has been named a sentinel landscape, a federally led effort to promote sustainable land-use practices near military installations.

“It’s built on partnerships,” said Phil Murray, encroachment manager for the Marine Corps Air Ground Combat Center in Twentynine Palms, one of five installations that surrounds the newly designated land. “A lot of the conservation work that’s done around the Morongo Basin or Mojave Desert is coordinated through different federal agencies, NGOs and private partners.”

The goal is to encourage a more collaborative approach, and to streamline federal assistance to the various agencies, groups and people involved, he said.

The designation doesn’t change who owns or manages the land and does not come with dedicated funding, aside from money for an implementation plan and a coordinator, Murray said. But sentinel landscapes are prioritized for funding through certain grants, he said.

The coalition is expected to support conservation efforts such as erecting desert tortoise fencing to reduce vehicle strikes, creating wildlife crossings, propagating seeds and rehabilitating habitat, including areas that have burned in wildfires, Murray said.

The Mojave Desert Land Trust expects to do much work on the ground, including helping with seed collection and outreach, said Cody Hanford, deputy executive director and chief conservation officer of the nonprofit dedicated to protecting the California desert.

“It will elevate our projects, elevate our goals, which I think in the end will help them become more accomplishable,” he said.

Other partners include various federal and state agencies, conservation groups and San Bernardino County.

The expanse of desert that received the designation is ringed by the Marine Corps Air Ground Combat Center, National Training Center Fort Irwin, Edwards Air Force Base, Naval Air Weapons Station China Lake and Marine Corps Logistics Base Barstow.

It’s also the heart of desert tortoise habitat in California, said Ken MacDonald, board member at-large and former president of the Desert Tortoise Council conservation group, a partner in the new effort.

“There’s recreational interests, tribal interests, local community interests,” he said. “So coming together as a partnership, we thought, would make the coalition and the cooperation more effective than everybody chipping away and working independently in their own backyard.”

“And so really, it’s to manage the whole 3 million acres cooperatively and collaboratively and be more effective in conserving and recovering the desert tortoises, and that’s pretty much it,” he said. “Just team up and take care of these critters.”

The stretch of desert includes at least 40 other protected species, including the Western Joshua tree, which California has protected with a conservation plan, and the Mohave ground squirrel, which the state lists as threatened.

But perhaps none is as imperiled as the desert tortoise, which California recently listed as endangered.

The species is facing pressure from a number of fronts, MacDonald said. The slow-moving reptiles are vulnerable to being hit by cars. Development has carved up previously wide-open stretches of desert into parcels that are in some cases too small to allow for the breeding and genetic diversity needed to sustain their population health. Drought conditions meant the wildflowers they like to eat never grew some years, and invasive species outcompeted them in other years.

#desert tortoises #Mojave Desert #sentinel landscape

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k-dokja · 1 year

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Summary: You've managed to convince your parents to be with Daniel this Lunar New Year, now what? [Chapter 432 - New Years arc]

Daniel knows under no certain terms should he be worried about bringing you back to his hometown. For once, it's nothing you haven't seen and for another, his mother likes you. He shouldn't be worried. There's nothing to worry about.

...Except for all the plans he has in mind about his investigation, none of which he finds fitting to share with you. Not when the holidays are coming up and you'd probably tear him a new one for working again. And you'd always understand, at the end of the day, you're more sympathetic than your complaining lets on.

That's probably the worst of it. Every time it happens, he cannot help the feeling that he's taking your kindness for granted.

Especially when you go out of your way to do things like this... "Isn't this too much? You really didn't have to..."

"What? Didn't you mention you have a lot of relatives, too? I think it's enough," you cross your arms and level your eyes with his, challenging him to contradict you. It's a losing battle, he knows, and he's not in the habit of picking fights he can't win. Not after a month of getting beaten back and forth, anyway.

Daniel chews down on his lower lips while watching the stack of boxes and crates you prepared for the trip home with him. His brows furrow further while he works out the logistic of bringing this back. Supposedly, he can carry them...

"What's with the dumbfounded look?" You ask before a grin breaks out on your lips. "Wait, do you think we will carry all of this back? Honestly, you're too simple sometimes..."

Your words don't sound chiding, but he cannot help feeling silly when the delivery service arrives moments later to take the packages away. You have a triumphant look on your face afterwards that uplifts the weight in his heart, still, another matter remains. "You didn't have to splurge that much on my family, you know."

"Nonsense," you wave his concern away like it's an afterthought, "this is from both of us, we're a team, remember?"

"Right, of course," he puts on what he believes is an honest smile and does his best to mask the strain in his voice. Fortunately, you're too happy about the occasion to notice something was amiss, but he doesn't think he can deal with the guilt of keeping things from you any longer.

The car ride back home is blessed with relative peace in the short duration of it. Your giddiness with being at his side has elevated much of your mood, and Daniel knows he'd feel the same had he been transparent with you. After the recent development in his life, he cannot say he has been altogether a good boyfriend, but he'd be damned before he makes it any worse.

With how happy you are at this very moment, he'd be committing a heinous crime if he ruined your good moods by unravelling the truth.

A forlorn sigh skips past his lips at the thought. Immediately, he regrets it. Daniel turns to check if you noticed, only to see you smiling at him, your eyes narrow at his little slip-up.

"Uh..."

"If you have anything to confess, better say it before you create collateral damage~" Your tone is playful but the gleam in your eyes is anything but.

Daniel sighs again. He knows better than to argue with you. "Uhm, well," he swallows, suddenly nervous, "you know about the whole business with the Park Jinyong, yes?"

He takes your hand into his own, fingers threaded together in the hope of assuaging whatever coming next.

"Mhm."

"Well... I haven't gotten the chance to tell you yet," Daniel rubs his thumb on the back of your hand, exhaling a long breath before facing you, "but DG recently informed me that my mother has known him since I was very young, so..."

He doesn't have to finish the sentence for you to understand. The familiar recognition in your eyes is enough for Daniel to see that you've comprehended the gravity of the situation. He watches you carefully, waiting for any infinitesimal change in your expression. And yet, he's caught completely unaware when you flicker his forehead.

"Ah!"

"What have I told you about transparency?"

Daniel pouts, "That I should be honest with you no matter the bad and the good?" He quickly adds. "Sorry, I just, I know this is the holiday after all and I shouldn't be caught up with work but—"

You flicker his forehead again, "Seriously, you, don't fret," you smile indulgently. "It's fine, okay? Things like these come up, as long as you're honest about it, there's no problem."

"But..."

"I'm not happy, don't get me wrong?" You keep your voice even, but he can hear your displeasure in the matter-of-fact tone you put on. "But no matter, it's not like I'll be wanting for things to do. Lunar New Year tends to be busy, after all."

"I'm sorry..." He apologizes anyway, despite your reassurance. The words come out of him on instinct.

You huff, face upturned, "Yeah, you'll be sorry when I become your mom's favourite. Get ready to lose your spot once you're done with your silly investigation."

"Hey, now—"

Once again, you catch him by surprise with your attack. This time, it's gentler, a kiss on the nose that leaves him gobsmacked and stuns him into silence. "So don't worry about me, worry about yourself first please."

"Hmph," he smiles with pressed lips, "honestly, you're too good to me."

Once again, the triumphant grin returns to your face and pride surges in his chest at the sight. "Yeah? If you know that then you better do your best to cherish me."

"But I already do~"

"Not enough, you don't!"

"Aw..."

And despite your protest, seeing the cheer remaining on your face even after he has come forth with the truth relieves him somewhat.

Although he cannot say all will be well in his further investigation, he knows that he has to do his best when your support means the world to him. You're his most precious, whether you know it or not, and the world would end before he intentionally gives you cause to think otherwise.

He just hopes that all of this will blow over soon, for you as much as it is for him.

#daniel park #daniel park x reader #lookism #lookism x reader #fics

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cal-writes · 5 months

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some fun stuff from the drafts. thought it would interesting to see the evolution of scenes! this was how a scene from chapter 3 of law's eleven started (literally couldn't find it in my docs but thankfully i send most of my excerpts to @blithe-bee on discord so i found it there)

“I can't tell him.” Law whispers into the dark and he hears a wet snort.

“The fucking don't.” Zoro says, gurling ugly before he spits onto the ground. Law doesn't need to look between the bars of their cells to know it's blood.

His hands ball into fists until he feels his nails dig into his skin. They’ll both die here then. The thought washes over him like ice. He couldn't even get halfway through his plan before it was ruined. Corazon would be spinning in his grave if he had been granted the luxury of one.

“What happened to your eye?” He asks and it rings in the quiet. The scrape of chains, Zoro’s labored breathing and out of the corner of his eye Law sees the other man press against the bars to glare at him.

“Are you really asking me that right now?” Zoro’s remaining eye is clear and blazing with rage. It’s almost comforting. Law focuses on the heavy weight of his gaze instead of the blood mattered in his hair.

“It was stupid to come here alone.” He says because it's true, staring at the wall. Law made a miscalculation that ruined his plan and Zoro’s misplaced chivalry ensured that neither of them would survive it.

Zoro’s cuffs hit the jail bars loud enough that Law flinches. “Who says I came alone, asshole?” Law’s mouth opens in retort just before a distant explosion makes the ground shake. “Unlike you, I trust my crew.” Zoro says and Law knows him well enough that he can't hide the underlying hurt.

then while writing some of the logistics and emotions changed with context so the finished result is this

“Then don't,” Zoro replies. He seems to have given up on trying to mutilate himself with the handcuffs, sitting there a little hunched, but at least he’s swaying less. He says it so easily that Law has to wonder if he understands the implication. They’ll both die here. Law, getting someone else killed for the crime of trying to help him. (Corazon would be spinning in his grave if he had been granted the luxury of one.) This is what Law had tried to avoid. It was only supposed to be himself . Law has been on borrowed time his entire life and it was time to give it back.

(Zoro has always clung onto life so fiercely, since the moment Law had met him, to every day after. He had almost turned Ms. All Sundays down when he’d seen the injury Mihawk had left because what was the point in stitching up a soon-to-be corpse? And then Zoro had survived and thrived and lived. No matter the odds. Maybe it was fitting that Law would be his undoing in the end.)

They sit there, the silence only broken occasionally by Zoro’s heavy breathing. Long enough that Law eventually thinks, eh, what the hell?

“What happened to your eye?” He asks. The question rings in the space between them. Zoro stills.

“Are you really asking that now?” Zoro makes a sound between a laugh and a growl. It sounds like it hurts his throat. He shakes his head. “You’re a fucking piece of work.” Law blinks. It must be the concussion but Zoro had sounded fond. He’s not sure how to respond. If he even should.

Before Law can make his decision, they get company.

Click-clack on the marble tiles. Law closes his eyes and tries to get his mind to escape his body so he doesn’t have to be here for what’s to come. Then he remembers that Zoro is still here and it feels cowardly to abandon him (again).

#laws eleven au #op #moi #drafts #oceans verse #wips

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batboyblog · 6 months

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Vivian Silver was a universally admired Israeli peace activist who advocated for Palestinian rights. She was murdered by Hamas during the massacre of her kibbutz, Be’eri, on 7 October. Amal Elsana Alh’jooj , a Bedouin Palestinian Israeli feminist, peace activist and community organiser who worked closely with Vivian for a quarter of a century, writes in memory of her friend.

Our 25-year friendship is something from the realm of the extraordinary. In our dynamic as co-executive directors of AJEEC(The Arab Jewish Centre for Equality, Empowerment, and Cooperation), Vivian was the practical one. I was the one with the big ideas. She used to say, ‘I don’t want to chase you,’ and she’d urge me to slow down. But the minute she knew the idea could be implemented, then I’d be chasing after her while she committed every ounce of herself to making my big idea a reality.

Our paths first intertwined in Gaza City in July 1998, at a time – which, at this very moment, feels difficult to imagine – when the collective belief in the attainability of peace enveloped us. We conducted a workshop on the pivotal role of women in peace-building and then spent the next 24 years, side by side, as co-executive directors of AJEEC, shaping programs for the empowerment of the Arab Bedouin community in Israel and tirelessly advocating for equal rights and justice for our people.

Our partnership was full of arguments. Sometimes it was between my big ideas and Vivian’s sense of logistics. Other times we argued about identity, majority-minority relations, and how to work together amid violence and war. Whenever we fought, our arguments travelled from our office into the small elevator in our building until the moment we drove off in our respective cars. We’d argue until we were both in tears, but even then, neither one of us would budge. Later, while I’d be driving home to my village in Laqiya and she to her home in Kibbutz Bari, we’d call each other. If we were still charged, we’d turn around and meet up for coffee until we felt resolved. If we weren’t, we’d say goodnight and continue the debate in the morning.

Our friendship worked, our organization worked because we were able to bring our whole selves. AJEEC was built on the premise of creating a truly shared space for Arabs and Jews. In order for this space to be solid, we couldn’t just show each other the parts that fit. We needed to bare the things that didn’t seem to fit. Only by shedding light on those things could we ensure the sustainability of our vision.

Together, Vivian and I advocated for early childhood education in the unrecognized Bedouin villages, we planned and implemented youth volunteering projects, and led women’s empowerment initiatives. We stood together in road junctions advocating for peace and Arab-Jewish shared spaces, and chanted against discriminatory policies. During times of war and conflict, Vivian always stood her ground and advocated for ceasefire. She believed that, ‘an eye for an eye will leave the whole world blind’ and that only peace would grant the safety for both our people, for both the Palestinians and Israelis. Vivian, a true woman leader, embodied assertiveness, tenderness, strength, and sensitivity. She demanded to be challenged, knowing that a good leader needs to be surrounded by people who challenge her in order to make wise decisions, especially decisions about the people who are different from her.

Vivian’s life, a celebration of unwavering commitment, blurred the boundaries between the personal and the political, seamlessly weaving her professional endeavours into the fabric of her personal existence. We raised our kids together, shared our experiences as mothers together, and consulted each other on our respective family dramas. When airstrikes fell on Gaza in 2009, we cried, we hugged, but never, for an instant, did we stop believing that peace is possible. She cultivated connection. She built trusting relationship. True relationships. Vivian will be missed, not just by her family and her colleagues, but by the people she worked with. Women in the unrecognized villages know Vivian.

Children in Gaza know Vivian. Israel and Palestine know Vivian. May Vivian’s life, marked by profound dedication, stand as a testament to someone who fervently pursued her own vision, a vision anchored in justice and peace. Vivian is no more, but her face remains a beacon of hope for me.

Beneath all of our identities lies our essence. This essence with one voice and one face. This essence called ‘humanity’. Vivian, your smile will always shine, reminding all of us who have dedicated their lives to advocating for a shared society on that piece of land, all of us who feel lost, all of us who don’t know what to do, to still believe in humanity.

May your soul rest in peace.

#vivian silver #Israel #Palestine #Hamas #Peace

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scarabbai · 7 days

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What would the fight against Kalim's Overblot look like in rr au? And how will Jamil and Kalim's relationship look after Kalim's Overblot?

*looks at date sent and SWEATS*

Okay ngl at this point (since I haven't played the game in a longgggggg time, have lost my au notes, and kinda just havent thought about this au for a while) i KINDA forgor BUT I can tell you what I remember the most from my original plans (they may change... or just not be written at all lol! I got other stuff going on unfortunately)

I don't quite remember the logistics of how they get back into scarabia aside from the octavinelle trio helping jamil and the yuu gang navigate the floodwaters (think something reminiscent of ch3 where the yuu gang had waterbreathing potions and such) and they swim up and up from the portal to the last remaining bit of dry land in the desert (which is likely the highest roof/balcony of the dorm? I kinda never fully knew the scarabia layout)

rr au kalim has always been best represented in my mind as "the genie who desperately wished to become iago" where in his heart of hearts all he ever wanted was to be kind and grant others happiness but to stand by jamil's side forever he turned to more sinister tendencies (this is reflected in his undying support of jamil despite the dorm tyranny and his guard duties but also his internal struggle of helping the struggling students anyway) SO BECAUSE OF THIS i imagine his overblot monster actually does take on most of the characteristics of the good genie but may be all warped with bird features since kalim himself is trapped in this in-between state of "purehearted wishgranter" and "right hand to the sorcerer of sands"

I also like to imagine that even though kalim and jamil had been skirting around their feelings prior to the overblot (and continue to do so after bc WHEW awkward), during the overblot itself kalim ends up expressing his hidden desire to love and protect jamil forever while overblotted and thus may take jamil "hostage" for the fight to have him to himself, keeping him away from the yuu gang (+octavinelle) for most of the fight until they wear him down enough and jamil can either talk him down or Snake Whisper him into submission to stop the overblot and make sure kalim doesnt injure himself beyond saving with his magic consumption and mental turmoil (there was also the background fear that since i hc the scarabia dorm/all dorms exist in a "pocket dimension" of sorts, eventually it would reach capacity and kalim would drown himself from all the rainwater he produces, which was why time was of the essence even though kalim's UM doesnt consume much magic comparatively)

after the overblot (when kalim falls unconscious) jamil gets overwhelmed with emotion at the thought of losing kalim and kisses him briefly, which jamil REFUSES to address afterward despite the yuu gang literally losing their MINDS over how stupid jamil is being but no siree hes not about to address that bc then hed have to admit he kissed kalim and that he liked him this whole time and how terrified he was- jamil does NOT wanna deal w all those emotions yet he needs to sort himself out and get over his superiority complex first AND resolve the whole master/servant power imbalance they got goin on yanno

Speaking of which, kalim and jamil do end up spending much more time apart so that they can learn to be more independent... they have a LOT of codependency going on where kalim feels like hes useless if he isnt able to serve jamil while jamil trusts absolutely nobody and is way too paranoid about everything to the point of basically not letting anyone into his life aside from kalim so they do need to separate for a bit to be healthier, both for themselves and each other. Since rr kalim, unlike canon jamil, kinda doesnt mind acting as a servant all that much (which has to do with a whole lot of childhood indoctrination and such we do NOT have the time to talk about here lol), I imagine rr jamil takes matters into his own hands (to his chagrin, bc ideally he wants kalim to be able to recognize his own personhood and stand up for himself bc he loves him dearly) and dismisses kalim from his duties for the time they spend apart so that kalim can heal and jamil can work out his trust issues properly

And thus, the genie is free...

#twisted wonderland #twst #jamil viper #kalim al asim #twst jamil #twst kalim #scarabia #scarabia chapter #twst chapter 4 #role reversed au #my stuff #responses

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partyanimal167 · 8 months

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Hello

If you don't mind I'm here for the spy AU event

Eustass kidd x fem reader for 🎱.. maybe nsfw-ish? Some rivalry thing between him and the reader but him being unlikely soft is my weakness! I read your rules I hope I did this right😭

(Still straightening up the event space...hides duster) HI! Welcome! I totally don't mind! You're my first request for this event, so thanks for swinging by! I totally love a rivalry trope, and Kidd has some softness for sure. I hope you enjoy!

🎱 Fun, Games, Risks, and Action- Kidd x F!Reader

cw: nsfw-ish, suggestive, fem reader, cussing, mdni

He was already in a piss-poor mood. His partner was out of commission. He was stuck doing boring intel work. And he simply wanted to bash someone's head in. Lucky (or not) for him, he'd get some type of action in...just not how he would have planned.

Kid was not one for logistical, calmer missions. That was other' specialty--a guy who would enjoy sitting behind a desk all day while looking at computers. When he was recruited, all he heard was guns, fights, money, and risks. However, with Killer being out and a lack of evil schemers threatening to blow up whole cities, Kid was stuck hiding in the dark praying that some asshole would recognize him and be dumb enough to point a gun at his head.

Kid sat bored and grumpy in a dimly lit red-light district bar half-listening to those around him and praying that someone would start a fight.

There was some information the higher-ups want to check on, and while he normally wouldn't be the first person on the list, this was located in his mother-country which meant he knew the language and blended in well-enough. It wasn't exciting work though. There was always some big-shot who was selling god-knows-what super drug to the unlucky masses while investing in some crazed-genius' dreams.

He would rather be breaking into said genius' headquarters and causing a ruckus.

However, there wasn't enough concrete evidence for that type of mission yet, so this is where he found himself.

You sauntered throughout the tables collecting glasses and tips while wearing probably the skimpiest thing owned by the disguise department. The dress barely covered your ass, and the neckline ended just above your bosoms. Your lips were painted a dark red like his own, and the eyeshadow was smoky and thick.

Kid had half the mind to go storming upstairs where the mob's higher-ups would be meeting, but then something caught his eye, and somehow, his night was turning into something far more entertaining.

It was definitely the most makeup Kid has ever seen you in and maybe the second or third time he's seen you in a dress.

That was the first reason why seeing you was surprising. The second was the fact that if you were there doing some undercover gig, that meant that these guys had something more valuable than some fancy drug or plans to bribe a politician. That was the kind of thing Kid needed to bring home.

He easily knocked back the drink he was nursing and walked up to the old house madam. He hid his face as you stepped behind the bar to put up the dirty glasses.

The old lady blew smoke in Kid's face and dismissed him with a wave of her hand. "Can't afford her." she gruffed.

"Hey, how much for the girl?" You and the old lady looked up at him. The madam sized Kid up unamused, but the look of shock on your face was what made his grin meaner. You turned away and continued to clean.

That made you chuckle to yourself, and Kid felt a vein twitch.

"Yes ma'am!" You replied before walking off.

"Oi! I ain't askin' for a discount or nothin'." He flashed a wad of cash. "Don't be stingy hag."

The money caught her interest. "Alright sonny, the girl's got an appointment with someone way more important than you, but you c'n see if you c'n handle her for an hour. Sheba! Go freshen up for the gentleman." the madam called out.

Kid didn't miss that annoyed, threatening look you sent him.

~~~

Kid entered the private room when granted and met the sight of you fixing your lipstick in the mirror. He smirked.

"Gettin' all pretty f'me?"

You didn't spare him a glance. "Not at all." You switched to reapplying your mascara. "Since you spent all your mission's budget on my time, what do you want? I don't have time to play around with you." You didn't flinch as you felt his presence move close behind you.

"Just curious is all. Not everyday I see you looking like such a slut for the job. Must be a big deal whoever you're dishing out to." Kid answered meanly.

"That's none of your business." you shot back. "He couldn't afford this cat even if he tried."

"Oh, so I'm just lucky?"

You rolled your eyes. "Don't flatter yourself. The only reason why you aren't bleeding out right now is because I have a meeting to listen in on after this." you went on, "I don't want to mess up my outfit." you turned towards him finally and stuck out your tongue.

Kid went in for the kill.

You gasped as he held your chin and looked meanly at you. "You really think you could one up me?"

You only grinned. "I know I can." he felt something press up against his torso and didn't need to look down to know what it was. "You're in my room after all."

Kid grunted but didn't move. "Who's the guy?"

"What's it to you?"

You giggled. "Aww, am I that much of a big deal?"

"I'm doing a little data collecting. I didn't think it'd be that big of a deal until I saw you waltzing around."

"Don't act stupid. You only get sent out if there's something important going on." Kid continued.

You swung your legs and shrugged. "Well I guess that's just for your bosses to figure out. Not my problem." You tried to turn away but yelped when you were easily lifted from your seat and placed in Kid's lap. You were pressed between his chest and the vanity dresser. "Eustass!"

He grabbed at your hips and bucked into you teasingly. "What's the problem, doll?" His hands ran down your thighs. "You working aren't you?" He leaned by your ear. "I don't mind giving you something for your help."

You bit your lip and continued to fight. "We aren't allies."

"Want me to order you around?"

"Yeah, yeah, but we can make something work. I don't forget favors." he slid your sleeve out the way and pressed a kiss. "I can make it good for you."

You felt your face warm up and looked away. "You sound like you're begging." you grumbled.

"Go to hell."

Kid snickered. "Alright alright, I'll shut up for now." He then went to work kissing your neck and rolling you slowly in his lap. You gasped and held onto his shoulders.

"Kid-, I don't have time for,"

"Sssh, you worry too much. I won't mark you up. Nobody's gonna know I'm here."

Your resolve crumbled. You huffed before reaching around into his hair and pulling on it. You met his lips hungrily and ignored the sweet feeling of your core warming up and dampness starting to peek through your panties.

"20 minutes left!" was called from behind the door.

"Kid," you whined when his fingers teased on your clit, "You need to go," you panted out.

"Tch, since when did you care about manners?"

"You sure, princess? It'd be rude to leave this unattended to."

You puffed your cheeks. Fucking munch. "Hurry up."

Kid shrugged but lifted you up to sit on the vanity. Your eyes grew as you watched him push back the bench and knelt between your legs. You were weak at the sight. He licked up your leg and bit behind your knees. "I don't, but I'm making an exception." He looked up at you and winked--asking for permission.

~~~

Things were going well. You say in the lap of that skin-and-bones leader and took mental notes of locations and names while you looked pretty and dumb. You chuckled to yourself how it wasn't smart how easily this man let you into these meetings, but that wasn't your business any way. He was known for having a type, and you were the girl to get shit done.

It was nearing the end, and people were talking casually when a loud radio static sound was heard throughout the room. The room immediately tensed.

"We got a rat!"

People immediately stood from their seats pointing guns and flipping over furniture. You ended up on the floor and let out an award-winning shriek before scrambling to the door amidst all the commotion.

You ran to your work room to grab your items before making an escape along with the other clueless patrons.

What the hell was that noise? You headed for your safehouse and looked around. Up on a roof, you saw an amused Kid grinning down at you and pointing at his shoes. You gasped before shotting him the finger and running off.

When you got to safety, you threw your shoes off and noticed a small metal disk on the arch of your heels. Kid was definitely listening in on what was said. When did he even- you groaned once you remembered your little fun right beforehand. Damn the bastard was smarter than I give him credit for.

A knock was heard, and you cussed as you smashed the device with the heel of your shoe. You opened the door and yanked the man in by the collar of his shirt. You pushed him against the door.

"I hate you." you hissed.

Kid snickered. "I just made things work. Not my fault you were distracted while cumming on my tongue." Such a vulgar man.

"You owe me damn it. If you pull something like that again, I'm collecting the bounty on your head." you fully meant it too.

Kid grinned and shrugged. "I already got something coming your way, princess." he took a step forward as you turned away to change. "But don't worry," he lifted the hem of his shirt and tossed it away, "I'll give you something now." you moaned as you felt his hands engulf your waist and pull you close. "It'll be more than worth it."

~~~

Whew! Kid's such a spicy character. I know he's a beast at make-up sex. Thanks so much for requesting! I'm excited for this event. I hope you enjoyed it~

#one piece #one piece x reader #eustass kid #eustasscaptainkid #kid x reader #kidd x reader #spy au #international agents #femreader #writing prompts #requests #one piece fanfiction #stewies spy au event #partyanimal167

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