#as an. explanation. for the dream sequence

[1loer]

HI HELLO!! How are you doing?

Can you please share some snippets of that fic you mentioned you were writing but abandoned it? (If you want of course no pressure!) I'm so interested :D

well, since u asked so nicely.

((warnings for references to self-harm, homophobia, child neglect, and descriptions of blood and violence))

Its about 12k words in length and very choppy because i just grabbed together whatever pieces were 1) done 2) i felt were needed to get some sort of "story" here.

this is quite old now so its not the best written and im not sure how i feel about it overall but i hope u get something from it anyway :')

Nagito Komaeda wasn’t normal. He knew this much but couldn’t understand why. 

He knew because Komaeda liked to watch people. No one really bothered to talk with him much, so it was all he could do. This was one of the reasons he knew he wasn’t normal. Other people talked to other people, and it didn’t seem like it was a very big deal at all. People didn’t talk to him, and people very much did not smile at him when they talked, and if they did, it would definitely be a very big deal to him. Normal people had people around them. Some had only a few, others had loads. Komaeda had none. 

Not that he minded. It was to be expected. No one wanted to be around someone who wasn’t normal. It wasn’t like it was only these things that made him different. He figured the list of ‘whys’ probably didn’t have an end and grew a little longer every day. 

Plus, he supposed he was lucky in this way. He’d seen what the other option looked like. He’d much rather be ignored completely than gain negative attention. 

He thinks. 

Then again-

The bell rang, and the thought cut off. The others in his class who had been talking with their friends moved back to their seats as his homeroom teacher, Mr. Yoshida, walked to the front. The class representative called for them to bow, they did, then took their seats.

“Before I take attendance, I want to introduce a new student into our class.” 

Komaeda raised his eyebrows. He didn’t think he’d ever been in a class that had had a new student transfer like this before. He sat forward a little in his seat. This was an amazing precedent for hope. His palms sweat a little where they gripped his seat. 

The door to the classroom slid open, and a boy walked in. The first thing Komaeda noticed about him was that he was tall. He figured that was probably what everyone else noticed too. The two girls who sat in front of him shared a look, then stifled their giggles. 

“Introduce yourself to the class.” 

The boy bowed, raised his head and smiled. 

Komaeda’s eyes widened. 

“I’m Hiroto Ishikawa. I hope we can be friends.” 

A rush. Small, but strong enough you couldn’t ignore it, more like a tickle or a shiver, one that started right at the base of your skull and spread down to the tips of your fingers; made you curl your toes. Like that primal instinct humans never managed to extinguish when you know someone is staring at you. You turn your head to stare back before the thought has even processed. 

Hope. Ishikawa was brimming with it. 

This was something else that Komaeda knew made him not normal. 

He wasn’t sure why, but he’d always been able to sense it. Hope and despair. The feelings were different, yet still so powerful, and Komaeda seemed to have senses finely tuned to differentiate between both. Special people, people with talent, they were filled with hope. It seemed so obvious to Komaeda, it made him wonder why no one else could sense it if it was so easy for someone as useless as himself. 

Someone with talent. Someone blessed with hope in its purest form, and they were in his class. Komaeda swallowed thickly and gripped his hands into fists in his lap. What an amazing turn of events. 

How much more amazing then, that Ishikawa was assigned to sit next to him. 

Sometimes Komaeda seriously couldn’t believe his own luck. 

He’d never had much interest in the rest of his classmates. So, them not particularly having an interest in him either didn’t matter to him. They were all the same. All of them were destined for nothing. The best any of them could hope for was to at least become something that could assist Ultimates in their goals and bolster their hope. The difference between him and the rest of his classmates, however, seemed to be that Komaeda was the only one who understood this.  

But Ishikawa was special. Komaeda desperately wanted to get to know him. 

— ((Ishikawa treats Komaeda like he's a normal person, and extends basic human kindess towards him (greeting him every morning, doing small talk). Komaeda's obsession with him only gets worse))

Talking to Ishikawa was easy, because Komaeda didn’t have to do much talking at all. Ishikawa just told him everything about volleyball, explained the rules, talked about the Olympic team’s strategies and his opinions on them. Komaeda didn’t understand any of it. He hadn’t even seen a volleyball game before. 

Komaeda revealed this fact to Ishikawa, only realising how embarrassing it was to admit once it was already out of his mouth. 

But that didn’t stop someone like Ishikawa. 

“Man, you’re missing out! How the hell have you never seen a volleyball game before?! That’s insane.” Before the disappointment could set in Komaeda’s chest, Ishikawa shook his head, “I can’t let you go on like this. You’ll just have to come to the try-outs tomorrow and watch me play.” 

Komaeda’s breath left him. 

“W-What?” 

Ishikawa shrugged, “Well, if it’s going to be your first game, I want to make sure you’re watching someone who actually knows what they’re doing.” He finished with a wink, and a smirk, and Komaeda laughed much too loudly. He smacked a hand over his face and turned away, swallowing down the nervous spit that had gathered in his mouth. 

This was unbelievable. This was- 

Amazing. 

“I’d be more than honoured to see your hope shine at such a pivotal moment! I-I’m so happy you’d even think to invite me-” 

Ishikawa’s face morphed, a quick twitch of his lip, and it shot anxiety through Komaeda that made him cut off his words. 

He swallowed and took a deep breath, corrected his smile, and said, “I’ll definitely be there. I’ll definitely watch you play, Ishikawa.” 

“...Good. I’m glad.” Ishikawa answered with a smile, but somehow it still felt wrong. 

Komaeda did his best to understand the rules of volleyball before the game. The setter, the position Ishikawa played, seemed to be the most pivotal role in the whole system from what Komaeda could understand. They controlled the ball, set it up for the spiker, who scored the points. A role that perfectly suited someone as reliable and strong as Ishikawa. It wasn’t the flashiest, but it was the role that set up the rest of the team for success. It was something that Komaeda could sort of relate to.  

Not that Ishikawa was anything like Komaeda, on any level at all.

…But it was nice to think that maybe, like this, they were similar. All Komaeda wanted was to be useful like that, to be the reason someone else could shine. Maybe Ishikawa also understood that. The thought made him blush. 

He stood quietly in the stalls, watching amongst the girls who had also come to support Ishikawa. Of course, Ishikawa had become very popular ever since he transferred, so his fan club was quite sizable already. Pretty girls with bright eyes watched raptly and squealed and yelled his name when he made a good play, which was pretty often. Komaeda stayed back, not wanting to get in their way. Despite not knowing any of the team members Ishikawa moulded to their needs in record time. Even someone as stupid as Komaeda, who knew nothing about the sport, could understand how well he was doing. 

One of the players, one Komaeda was sure would be selected alongside Ishikawa for the team, delivered another earth-shattering slice that cut through the opposite team’s wall of defences, set up perfectly by Ishikawa. The whistle blew to announce Ishikawa’s team’s victory for game, 25 to 20. 

The girls screamed in joy as the team celebrated, and Komaeda clapped along in the background. He was ecstatic, but it was no surprise. Komaeda was sure that any team Ishikawa was on would win. 

The girl in the centre of all the others, with long legs and even longer hair, leaned against the railing and called for Ishikawa. Komaeda had been watching her more closely lately. She was also in his class. She was smart, her grades beating his easily, but even that was saying something because Komaeda tended to rank pretty highly, all things considered. She was always around Ishikawa. Ishikawa seemed to like the attention she gave him too. Komaeda figured that if Ishikawa was going to choose any of them to go out with, it’d be her. 

Which was fine. 

Ishikawa could totally do better than some hopeless, meaningless civilian like her, but who was Komaeda to judge? He was nothing better. If anything, he may have been worse. He wasn’t even a girl. Ishikawa definitely wouldn’t be so perverted. 

At least she was pretty. Ishikawa probably wanted to date someone pretty and popular like her. 

…What a strange train of thought. Even stranger was the lump that formed from nothing in his throat after it. 

Komaeda waited for him outside the gym after that. Part of him felt silly for it. It’s not like Ishikawa would want to see him, and he certainly hadn’t asked, but still he waited. He just wanted to see Ishikawa. Maybe, if he was really lucky, they’d walk home together again. 

Eventually, Ishikawa emerged. Surrounded by his peers and smiling brightly, the evening sun wrapped around him in golden ribbons, he looked to Komaeda the picture of a hero from a story book. The light his hope produced made even the worthless people leeching on him look picturesque. 

Komaeda watched them from the shadows and wondered what the hell he was even doing.  

But still he didn’t move, enraptured by the hope shining out of Ishikawa without him even trying. What he’d give for one more glance, one more smile thrown his way. It was too much to ask for, but even so he couldn’t help but yearn for it. 

“A-Amazing performance, Ishikawa!” Komaeda choked out as he approached him. The rest of the group stopped and turned to look at him, but Komaeda hardly paid them any mind. 

Ishikawa looked at the rest of the group, and they shared a look that Komaeda didn’t fully understand. But then Ishikawa turned back to him, and the rest of the group dispersed, 

“Did you expect anything less?” Ishikawa replied with a smirk, and Komaeda’s smile stretched wild. 

“Of course not, but even so, seeing it up close and personal was something entirely different!” 

“Psh, of course! I told you as much, didn’t I?” Ishikawa smirked handsomely, and Komaeda found it hard to swallow. With a chaste punch on his shoulder, more a tap than anything else, Ishikawa said, “I’m glad I got to be your first.” 

He didn’t mean it like that. There's no way he meant anything even close to where Komaeda’s brain went but- 

Ishikawa winked, and Komaeda burst into loud embarrassed laughter, his face steaming from the intensity of the blush he was sporting. This was- Oh this was just the worst. This was the absolute worst thing ever he was so stupid- 

The girl, the one with the long hair that liked Ishikawa, was suddenly calling for him from the door to the school. With that, Ishikawa was leaving, waving at Komaeda over his shoulder, and Komaeda was left alone, stiff and warm and waving jankily as he walked away. 

Once he was out of sight, Komaeda ran until he reached the bathrooms, entered a stall, slammed the door, shakily locked it, and collapsed to the floor. 

How humiliating. 

He clawed his hands into his face, scorning the heat that still emitted from it. 

But it wasn’t enough. Even as his nails clawed down his face it didn’t disrupt the events repeating on loop in his head. Komaeda felt himself burn up, Ishikawa’s words and his responses rushing and crawling like fire ants biting through the folds of his brain.

The burning increased as the walls of the cubical closed in on him. He hoped they did. He hoped they crushed him. No, something worse than that- It needed to be bad. A death so horrific that whenever anyone thought of him that’s all they’d remember, so every other torturous moment of his life would be entirely erased in its wake. 

He dug his nails into his flesh, until it hurt, then harder still, until the pain didn’t register anymore, until it was almost soothing. 

“I’m glad I got to be your first.” 

He needed these thoughts to stop. He was being eaten alive. Fire ants in his brain, in his skin, in his lungs, in his throat-

The stall door closed gently behind him. He dusted off his trousers and washed his hands. Only when he was at the sink did it occur to him that there very well could have been someone else in the toilets that heard all that. Looking now, there was no one around. It was after-school hours, but clubs were still running. He was lucky no one had walked in on him. He double checked in the mirror. There was some evidence, but none that couldn’t be shrugged off. He’d probably regret all this later. But that was for later.

He walked home in a haze. He didn’t even remember taking the train.

– ((Komaeda becomes really sick, but manages to make it to the finals of a volleyball tournement match Ishikawa is playing in))

They won, the final scoreboard reading 21-19. 

The entire team was ecstatic. The stadium boomed with an uproarious cheer at their success. Komaeda felt it on his skin like a rash, all goosebumps and raised hairs and static on top of static. It enveloped him, to the point he almost felt like he was floating, like the win was somehow his own. 

Hope. An unprecedented amount. 

Komaeda knew it’d be good. That's why he had to be here; why he dragged himself despite the nausea and the pain and the exhaustion. His head felt full of air, static on static on static like the most all-encompassing pins and needles. Komaeda couldn’t get enough breath in his chest; it all went to his head. He gripped tight at the bar of the rafters, eyes wide as he watched Ishikawa’s team celebrate. But, the other side of the net, the other end of the spectrum. The losing team, their dreams crushed, third years who would never see their team through to nationals before high school, crowded as well, joined not in hope, but despair. Both sides of such a tumultuous spectrum, painted here in front of him in bright and dazzling colours. A clear presentation of how despair must fall for hope to raise those who deserve it up higher. As always, as it always and reliably did, hope conquered despair, and those deserving basked in the glory of the aftermath and it was amazing, spectacular, he absolutely couldn’t believe what he was witnessing. To think he almost missed all of this- 

“What the hell are you talking about?” 

His head snapped to the side. 

Ah, had he said all that out loud? 

That girl, the one with the long hair, and her friend, the one who wore too much makeup and too many accessories, were standing next to him giving him strange and mildly frightened looks, 

“Um…Are you, like, okay?” The girl’s friend asked, “You look, like, paler and sweatier than usual.” 

“It’s not anything that should concern someone like you.” Komaeda mumbled, but right now, even that much was a struggle. 

“Oi.” The main girl’s voice went lower, quiet yet threatening, “She was just being kind. Don’t think you can just ignore her so coldly.” 

“I don’t need kindness from the likes of you.” 

“What, you think you’re better than us or somethin’?” The girl’s friend interjected. The girl held out an arm, and Komaeda thought that it was the only thing keeping her from jumping him. 

“Oh, please, don’t be mistaken. You’re absolutely no better or worse than I am.” 

“Hey-” she growled but cut herself off when she was interrupted by Ishikawa calling from below. 

Komaeda turned, he wanted to know what Ishikawa would say, but he might’ve turned a bit too quickly, because his world went fuzzy, stars popping and exploding in his vision, and he had to steady himself once more to stop from almost passing out. 

Or that was the plan. Despite what his intentions were, his hand slipped, missed the barrier, and before he’d even hit the floor, everything went dark. 

-

Rocks under his feet skidded across the concrete. He scrambled, corrected his stance, and continued onwards. The small slip did nothing to slow down his excited pace as he ran up the winding tree lined path of his driveway towards his house. He did have to slow down, though, when he got to the steps of his front porch. The dark wood steps were a bit too tall for his small legs. He put utmost concentration into climbing them, both feet on each solid step before moving to the next. Eventually, he made it. He reached up, opened the door, and pushed into his house. 

“Mum! Mum! I’m home!” 

He shrugged off his backpack, almost falling backwards with the weight of it. He pushed the heavy door shut behind him, before gently placing the paper in his hands on the floor and taking off his shoes. His tongue peaked out a little as he struggled out of them, a task made harder as he didn’t take the time to undo them properly. He picked up the paper, and started running again-

Only he forgot how slippery his floors were, and his socks made his feet fly from under him and he crashed into the floor headfirst. 

He flopped onto his side groaning, his hands pushing into his head as tears pricked the corner of his eyes. That really hurt, and the stars in his eyes were scary and the feeling was scary too. He sniffled, corrected the black cap on his head, and stood up shakily. Despite his fall, he hadn’t dropped the paper in his hands and, luckily, it hadn’t ripped either. Komaeda shook away the tears and continued on his quest. 

“Mum?” 

His call echoed across the wide, white, empty halls of his big, big house. He peeked his head into the kitchen. Nothing. Living room provided the same, as did the guest room. He pushed open the heavy doors of their library but stopped short. No music. If mum was in the library, she’d be playing violin, or she’d be listening to her records. She wasn’t in here either. Weird. 

He let the door swing closed behind him and ran back down the hallway to continue his search upstairs, careful this time not to slip on the shiny tiles on the floor. He flinched a little at the sound of the library door slamming shut. He always got told off for doing that. It wasn’t his fault the doors were so heavy. Who cared about a little loud noise anyway? It was so stupid. 

But no one was around to tell him off this time. So, he forgot about it quickly. 

He traversed up the stairs, one hand gripping his paper, the other holding onto the railings curving up their side, switching between each curling black iron bar the higher he climbed.

He reached the landing and instantly made his way down the long corridor to his parent’s room, the taps of his feet rendered silent as their sounds were swallowed by the thick carpet stretched across the floor. He hesitated in the doorway for a little. He wasn’t really allowed in here, but this was really important. He knew it’d make his mum happy, his teachers had even said so. He needed to show her right now. 

It was only when he walked into the room and saw the heavy curtains drawn and the lights off that he realised how quiet the house was. He slowed to a stop at the end of his parent’s massive bed, his feet sinking into the plush rug on the floor. 

A weird feeling dropped in his tummy. His shoulders and back felt shivery. This was…not good. It was never good when mum was in bed like this. He definitely shouldn’t be in here. He was definitely being naughty right now. But he really needed to show this to mum. He’d told his teachers he would. He was so excited to show her. 

They’d had an art class today, and they’d been told to draw a picture of their best day ever. Komaeda hadn’t been able to think of things as exciting as his classmates did, so he just drew what was truthful. A picture of him, his mum, and dad, all together at the park. They hadn’t done that in ages. Komaeda really wished they could, though. His teacher had been really happy with it, and she showed it to the rest of the class and everything. So, he needed to show his mum, because his teacher said it’d make her happy. Mum wasn’t happy often. Komaeda wanted really badly to be the reason she was happy today. 

But now, Komaeda wasn’t so sure of himself. 

Maybe, if he showed her, it’d make her feel better, and she’d get out of bed and open the curtains, and then he could read to her too. Maybe this time, it’d be different. 

“Mum?” he whispered. He was too scared to be louder than that. Mum didn’t like it when he was loud, especially when she was like this.

There was no response from the lump on the bed. Komaeda’s hands gripped tighter onto the paper in his hands. He crept closer, 

“Mum?” 

“What?” 

He was startled a little at the sudden, sharp response. Even though this was what he’d wanted, he still couldn’t shake the feeling that he was doing something wrong. 

“I got something to show you.” he mumbled, and did his best to ignore the squirming, bad feeling in his stomach. 

For a long time, she was quiet. The longer she was quiet, the tighter his chest felt. Though it probably didn’t help that he was hardly breathing. He didn’t want to make more sound than really necessary in case it made mum shout. Right before Komaeda tried again, he heard her mumble something. He took a step forwards, 

“What?” She didn’t respond. He leaned onto the bed, “What did you say-” 

“This is all your fault.” Komaeda froze, fear shooting through him, icy and sharp right down his spine, freezing him in place. The less movement he made, the less noticeable he was, maybe then he’d be safe. 

It was for nothing. She turned around, sat up in bed, glaring down at him. He’d never seen mum look like that before. He wished he never had, “If you hadn’t ripped out my soul when you were born- Now they’re after me.” She gripped her hands into her flaxen hair, usually soft and tidy, now it was rough and messy, her fingers pulling through it messing it up further. Komaeda felt his bottom lip quiver, “They’re going to kill me and it’s all your fault.” 

He trembled, wanting desperately to leave, hating the way his chest rose as he breathed because he never wanted to make another movement ever again in his life, “I-I’m sorry-” 

“Nagito! What are you doing in here?!” 

His dad’s voice was so loud, it shot a new spear of fear through him, he trembled, despite how bad he just wanted to freeze just stay still just don’t move- 

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry-” 

Dad was picking him up, and he was rushed out of the room and dropped again in the hallway. He tasted salt. He hadn’t even realised he’d been crying. Now he had realised, he couldn’t get himself to stop. 

“Damn it kid!” His dad ran a frustrated hand through his dark hair, then was bending down to his level. He gripped him by the shoulders, “No, look- shh! No, it’s okay, don’t cry-” Komaeda sobbed and hiccupped. He couldn’t breathe properly. He was crying so hard his chest hurt. His dad shook him a little, voice panicked and that just made him even more scared. “Come on kid. Stop it. Stop it!” Komaeda wanted to listen, he wanted to stop, but he couldn’t. He didn’t know why he couldn’t stop. It made him cry harder. He wanted his mum- his mum was scary; he didn’t want to be with her- he wanted a hug- he wanted to be as far away from everything as possible- he wanted someone to take him away- he wanted to never be seen again- “I don’t need this right now.” 

Komaeda’s stomach went funny, and his chest went tighter. His dad was angry now too. All because of him.

“I-I didn’t want to k-kill mum-” Komaeda managed between sobs. 

“What? No one’s killing your mum.” 

“I don’t want mum to die-” 

“What are you talking about?! Look- Fuck! Just stop crying!” His dad’s voice was so loud, it shocked the tears out of him. He hiccuped another breath, eyes wide, still spilling tears. As soon as he stopped, his dad smiled at him, that jokey tone in his voice that usually made Komaeda laugh. He didn’t feel like laughing right now though. “Come on, where’s that smile? You know I love that smile. Show me!” 

Komaeda didn’t want to smile, but maybe if he did, his dad wouldn’t be so angry anymore, and maybe this could all stop and they could go back to normal again. He wiped his eyes, and rubbed the wet backs of his hands on his stiff uniform shirt then shakily forced himself to smile. Then, his dad smiled back, and it felt a little bit worth it. At least he wasn’t bothering him as well now. 

“Atta boy. Just keep smiling, kid. A strapping young man like you can’t cry like a little baby.”

He sniffed and wiped his eyes again, “Okay…” 

But he didn’t feel okay at all. How could he feel okay when his mum was going to die because of him? 

But, if dad was smilling, did that mean everything was okay? Komaeda wasn’t sure. It just made him feel even more scared. At least he was here. His dad could keep him safe at least-

“Brilliant. Now, go with Nanny Kaneko.” 

Dad was gone, and Komaeda felt all the tears he’d just wiped into his school shirt rush back. 

“Come on Nagito.” Nanny Kaneko grabbed his arm and dragged him away, down the hall, away from mum, away from dad. A stern look creased her tired face, “You know you aren’t allowed in your parents room. That was so silly of you!”

He tripped over his feet as he tried to keep up. His heart pounded, “Nanny, mum said she’s going to die because of me.” 

Nanny slowed down, and the look she gave him made him think he shouldn’t have said anything at all. He gripped a hand into his uniform and sniffed to hold back the tears. He was a big boy now. If he cried anymore dad would just get more upset. 

Nanny squeezed his hand, and when he looked at her, she looked very upset. He didn’t even know what he’d done this time to make that happen. She was probably sad as well that mum was going to die because of him. 

She squeezed his hand a little tighter, the thin, dry skin of her hands shifting under his fingers. It didn’t help. 

“...Your mother isn’t well, Nagito. But she’ll be okay.” Her voice sounded funny as she said it. Komaeda didn’t really understand what she meant. Maybe Nanny didn’t either, and that’s why she sounded so weird. The sicky feeling in his stomach got worse. “She’s not going to die. The doctor is coming. That’s why you need to be good.” 

Be good. 

Being good meant not crying and staying quiet. 

Maybe if he did that, mum wouldn’t die and dad wouldn’t be mad.  

Nanny took him to his room. He turned around and looked up at her, and when he did, she looked even sadder. She took off his school cap and ran a gentle hand through his hair. It was nice. Maybe now he wasn’t crying and was being quiet Nanny might stay and she could read to him- 

“Now stay here, like a good boy. Don’t bother your parents again.” 

Nanny shut the door behind her, and Komaeda listened to her footsteps get quieter as they walked down the hall. 

Komaeda sniffled and rubbed at his nose. In his other hand, he still held his drawing. He’d almost completely forgotten about it. He looked at it, and the glow-y nice way that he’d felt before when he looked at it was gone. Now, he just felt hot. Hot with a weird, harsh feeling that made him want to scream and punch something. Anything. Maybe himself. But he couldn’t. He had to be good. 

He pinched his mouth tightly closed and breathed harshly. He wished he’d never drawn the stupid thing in the first place. It was a stupid, dumb idea. Only good boys got to go to the park. If he was a good boy, he wouldn’t have killed his mum. 

He threw it away, across the room, and the hot, nasty feeling only got worse when it didn’t fly as far away as he wanted and instead fluttered down to the floor lamely. 

Be good. Don’t yell. Don’t cry. 

He wiped away tears that wouldn’t stop and muttered it to himself. The feeling didn’t go away, it only grew. It grew too big, bigger than he knew how to deal with and he just couldn’t stop crying no matter how hard he tried - 

The bang of the front door closing startled him, and the feeling disappeared to make room for fear instead. There was yelling, and talking, one of the voices was his dads but he didn’t know the others. He quickly crawled to his bed and pulled his knees up to his chest. Outside his room, he listened intently to the muffled sounds of people walking around his house. He tried to hear what they were saying, but it was too quiet. 

Komaeda buried his head into his knees, and as his mother screamed, he only cried harder. Big boys don’t cry, and he was a big, strong boy. But maybe, if he was quiet, no one would find out he had been, and then no one would be upset with him, and maybe then, it didn’t really count anyway. 

When he realised that everything had gone quiet, he lifted his head again. Somehow, even though he’d only been sitting there a few seconds, hours had passed. He didn’t have proof of this. It was more a feeling he had. When he looked out the window, and saw it was nighttime, it only made the feeling deepen. 

He got off his bed, and his feet hit the floor a lot quicker than he expected, and when he stood up, he was older. Older than made sense. He didn’t question it.

He left his room, as quiet as possible. Something felt strange, like he was trespassing somehow, even though this was his house. Downstairs, he heard the sound of music, the sound of chatter. He searched for it. Every light was off in the house. A cool, uncomforting dark soaking everything, pulling fears into dark, uncertain corners and dangers into every loud creak his feet made against the floor. 

Golden light silhouetted the door to the library, and when he pushed it open, it spilled over him. 

A party. 

The library was full of people, people he didn’t know, people much older and wiser looking than he was. People who oozed professionalism and wealth and poise. Piano song danced through the room, its notes swaying through the small gaps between the crowd of people, and his father’s warm laughter squeezing in alongside it. Komaeda stepped into the room, and shut the door behind him. 

Why hadn’t they warned him they were having a party? He couldn’t remember them telling him. They usually didn’t shut up about them before they happened. Komaeda looked down at himself, and embarrassment coated him; slick and uncomfortable. He was completely under-dressed. Wearing only a sleep shirt and his boxers and nothing more. He tugged his shirt down further and just prayed that somehow no one would notice. It was too late to go and change now. 

He found his spot, the spot he always sat during these things, quietly out of the way, but prettily in view of anyone who cared. Not that anyone did. Here, on this sofa, his designated safe zone in the middle of a battle ground, he felt at least a little less like an obvious and embarrassing eyesore. 

His comfortable solitude didn’t last long. His father found him, a rowdy yell of excitement burst out of him, 

“There he is! My miracle boy!” 

He rose to his feet obediently, clenching his jaw, praying that no one would notice his ruffeld and unkempt state. Somehow, no one did. His father continued to sing his praises, a solid, warm hand gripping into his shoulder and jostling him, 

“Just you wait, one day my boy’s going to turn out to be an outstandingly talented, I just know it!” His dad shook him a little more roughly, and Komaeda had to work to keep standing, “Why, his teachers already say he’s showing massive potential!” 

Despite it all, the praise filled him, warm and squirming yet embarrassing, but still good. It made him bite back a smile. 

As usual, the feeling didn’t last long, 

“Potential for what?” Someone said with a snort, “Ultimate Catastrophe, maybe?” The crowd snickered, and Komaeda’s chest went cold as the feeling drained, “Though then again, I think it does take talent to be that incompetent!”

Laughter burst from the people in front of him, loud and uproarious and never-ending. Komaeda looked at his bare feet and pulled at the bottom of his t-shirt. His father’s hand squeezed into his shoulder harshly, and when he looked at him, he was still smiling, and he was laughing along with them. A stiff laugh, but a laugh all the same. Komaeda swallowed harshly, and laughed along as well, before excusing himself, turning away, and dropping the smile from his face. 

He found a new, unpopulated corner, further away from the piano, further away from the jeering crowd, and he clenched his jaw against the shame. Whatever. He hated these stupid parties. One day, he’d show them. 

He pulled a book off the shelf, and hoped that if he looked busy enough, he’d be left alone.  

No such luck. Though, this intruder was a lot more welcome than the last. 

“What are you reading, darling?” 

His mother sat primly beside him, glass of wine in her hand cupped professionally. Her smile was soft, her green eyes even softer, even if there was a certain, hazy look to them. There always was, nowadays. She brushed a thin hand through his hair, and it warmed him tip to toe. He told her the title, and her smile only turned warmer, 

“Like mother like son.” She murmured, her hand still brushing lines through his hair. Komaeda’s heart kicked into gear, pounding as his cheeks warmed with a blush.

He couldn’t help it. Something about the touch pulled something out of him. Jittery and wild in its naivete; a puppy let off its leash. The babbling began. He explained the book, the plot, the characters, what he liked, what he was excited about-

He looked up and his mother was gone, already up and talking to someone he didn’t recognise. 

Cold seeped back into him, replacing the temporary warmth her attention had given him. Oh well. He didn’t know what he’d expected. 

A drop onto his bare leg. 

He looked down. Red. Crimson, wet and sticky. 

He rubbed his mouth and when he pulled back his hand, it was smeared with it too. 

His throat clogged, and he choked, and when he managed to cough, hands firmly covering his mouth, he felt a splatter against his palms. 

Red. Crimson, warm and shining. 

A strange sensation, one other than the dread and confusion slowly engulfing him, made him look down at his stomach. His t-shirt, once only wrinkled with sleep, was stained with it, and it spread, soaking in, getting deeper, and deeper. Thicker. Stickier.

Blood on his hands, blood in his mouth, on his shirt, staining his clothes and his skin and his teeth- viscous and smothering him with the smell of death and taste of iron. He called for help, but the party continued. He grabbed onto someone, and they walked away as if he wasn’t even there. 

It was only getting worse. He didn’t know what to do. 

He felt it seeping out of him, felt it filling his throat once more. Exhaustion set in as the blood rushed out of him, but fear kept him moving despite it. He begged at someone, and they pushed him away. Even though it was light, his head was lighter, his body even more so with the lack of blood, it was enough to send him to the floor. He skidded across it, a smeer of blood ruining the dark hardwood floor his parents adored, before he landed at two pairs of feet. He looked up as his parents looked down at him. Affectless. Bored.   

He gripped weakly at the leg of his dad’s suit trousers, 

“Please-” he choked out. Blood splattered against his polished, brown leather shoes. 

His mother’s mouth lifted in a sneer. 

“Mum, dad-” 

They turned away.

He sobbed- or tried to. His throat was too blocked up with blood. Surely this was too much. How could there be this much blood? How could he be bleeding this much? He choked on it, tried to swallow it down, but the acidic, metal taste just made his stomach flip, and he hacked it back up, wet and thick slopping onto the floor, the sound gruesome and echoing in the empty library. 

He looked up. Empty. Empty even of light and warmth. Everyone had gone. Nothing but empty blackness pressing harsh against the tall windows of the library. Alone, completely, once again. Not just in this house. He didn’t know how, but he knew, easy to know as breathing, as his heartbeat. He was the only one on the entire planet. An entire, empty existence, of only him. The last, pathetic human on earth, left lying, bleeding his life out onto a cold, uncaring wood floor. 

His crying echoed, and despite it all, the sound of it bouncing back at him embarrassed him, and he tried to do it quieter, but it was hard. He collapsed onto his side, pulling his knees up to his stomach in response to some primal need to protect what was most delicate about him. Like it would do him any good. He couldn’t protect from what was inside of him. 

He hugged himself closer and watched the blood creep across the floor away from him, and closed his eyes, too scared to die. As he lay, he wished for someone to hold him. Even if it was pointless. Even if it was only until he died. It was too cold. He wished there was someone here. But there wasn’t, and there never was. Now, there never would be.  

–

Another day off for rest, and then he was back to school. Such an event wouldn’t usually put a skip in his step, but this was different. Now, school meant seeing Ishikawa. There was no way Komaeda couldn’t be excited for something like that. 

By a brilliant stroke of luck, he managed to catch Ishikawa just as he was parking his bike on the racks outside the school. 

He found himself calling out before he’d even realised it. 

“Ishikawa!”

Ishikawa stopped and turned, removing an earphone and searching for who called him. His eyes caught Komaeda, and he smiled. 

“Oh, hey Komaeda.” 

Komaeda felt more alive than he had in days. 

“Congratulations on your win the other day.” Komaeda praised, squeezing tighter than necessary onto the handle of his bag. Ishikawa laughed through a thanks and continued locking up his bike and removing his helmet. Komaeda kicked at the ground and watched a small stone jump away from him, “I’m sorry I caused such an issue for you. On such an important day too. I can never forgive myself…”

“Psh, it’s whatever.” Ishikawa shook out his hair, and ran a hand through it to fix it, “Glad you’re feeling better though.” 

Komaeda swallowed hard. Ishikawa’s words pinballing off the corners of his mindso hard he felt his head spin along with it. 

“Still I-” 

“Ishi!” 

Then, Ishikawa’s eyes were off him, and a rough arm looped around his neck. One of the boys from his class, one of Ishikawa’s friends, was dragging him away rowdily. 

Komaeda sighed. He supposed manners like that were to be expected of someone so hopeless. If only everyone else could understand how important Ishikawa was, then maybe they’d treat him with the respect he deserved. He was sure it must drive Ishikawa to madness to be treated in such a way. But Ishikawa didn’t voice his distaste. He laughed along with them, bantered back. 

Komaeda couldn’t stop watching them as he walked behind them to their classroom. Their playful bickering, the familiar tone they talked to each other with, the ease at which it all played out between the two of them, all of it carved a hole into Komaeda. It felt like hunger. And while he was only a few paces back from the two of them, he couldn’t have felt further out of reach. Ishikawa’s friend told a joke, and Ishikawa laughed and ruffled a hand through his friend’s buzzcut. The hunger panged. 

Komaeda gripped his bag a little tighter as his hands shook, swallowing down the spit that had gathered in his mouth. This dreadful feeling of despair he was consumed by surely only spoke to the marvellous hope their relationship possessed, and that could be due to no one other than Ishikawa. His kindness knew no bounds. To have such a close and personal relationship with someone so beneath him, that was a truly powerful hope. His nails cut crescents into the palms of his hands. 

Komaeda watched them and thought about killing himself.

His mind spun the idea in his head, a ceaseless repetition of moments Ishikawa had shown kindness and closeness with others as the despair in his chest grew and grew. It was worse than normal today. Ishikawa seemed to be particularly magnetic, for some reason. People crowded him, praised him. Komaeda couldn’t make out the details, no one was being specific enough, but Ishikawa basked in it. As he should. Ishikawa deserved every second of the praise they drowned him in. It wasn’t any of Komaeda’s business why everyone was particularly excited about him today. Even if they were being particularly annoying, taking up so much of his space so early in the morning. He also didn’t see why he was the only one who didn’t get to know. He deserved the opportunity to praise Ishikawa as much as any of the other meaningless spawn that filled his classroom. 

The bell rang, and Mr. Yoshida stood up from his desk. He called for them to settle, and everyone scarpered to their seats. 

“Seems the news has spread, Ishikawa.” 

Ishikawa smirked, and the guy that sat on the other side of him roughly pushed his hand into his hair. 

Even the teacher knew, huh? He really was the only one out of the loop. He didn’t think he’d been out of school that long. He glanced at Ishikawa, and he seemed to just sparkle.

“Though with your performance at the tournament last week, it’s of no surprise.” Mr. Yoshida adjusted his glasses, “I’m sure I speak for all of us when I say we’re immensely proud to be sharing a class with a future student of Hope’s Peak Academy-”

The words were like a cold-water dive. 

The sound of Komaeda’s chair screeching against his classroom’s wood floor sliced through the cheers and applause of his classmates. It didn’t matter to him. He was deaf to all of it. All he could hear was his heartbeat in his head. He stared at Ishikawa, and Ishikawa stared back. 

“Y-Yo-” 

“Komaeda, sit down-” 

“Ishikawa, is that true?” His voice was a whisper, shaking, almost indecipherable. He swallowed heavily, and his voice returned to him, “Ishikawa- Ishikawa you really got into Hope’s Peak Academy? You’re going to Hope’s Peak?! They asked for you there?!” 

Ishikawa looked away, then back again, shrinking away slightly in his seat, “Y-Yeah. Uh, a talent scout saw me play at that volleyball game-” 

Komaeda’s hands slammed onto Ishikawa’s desk. Ishikawa almost fell out of his chair in his attempts to get away, 

“I-It’s for your volleyball?!” Komaeda couldn’t control his breathing, “Y-You’re ultimate- You- You’re an- You’re an Ultimate! Ishikawa! Is this true?!”

Ishikawa held up a hand, “D-Dude, calm down-” 

“What’s your Ultimate?! What did they say!?” 

Ishikawa moved further away, “Komaeda, you’re freaking me out man, back off-” 

“I knew it.” He laughed, quiet and breathless for the lack of air he was managing to keep in his lungs. His head spun, his fingers tingled, he felt like he was on the verge of explosion, he gripped himself, as if it could keep him together, help keep in all the emotion crashing and rushing through him threatening to tear him apart completely, “I-I knew it! I knew it! Yo-You’re amazing Ishikawa! I always knew you were special. I could tell from the moment I met you. I knew you were someone amazing-” 

A hand smacked across his cheek, flinging his head to the side, and scattering all of his thoughts and words to the floor beneath him. 

“Komaeda, you will be silent in my classroom when I demand it!” 

Komaeda brought a hand up to his cheek, eyes wide and wet as he stared at his teacher, 

“Do you think any of this is appropriate? Do you think what you have to say is worth more than my teaching?” 

Komaeda stared at Mr. Yoshida, “No.” 

“Then I suggest-” 

“Only what Ishikawa has to say matters anymore-” 

The teacher’s hand slammed down onto the top of his desk. A girl across the room yelped, others flinched in their seats. Komaeda stared down his teacher without blinking. 

“Get out of my classroom. I will not allow you to waste any more of your classmate’s time with this! Stand outside in the hallway until I call you back.”

Komaeda thought about retaliating. Who the hell was some nobody teacher to tell him what to do when an Ultimate was right there? 

But his cheek still stung, and when he looked again at Ishikawa, he didn’t say anything, just stared at him. Komaeda’s stomach turned cold. He lowered his head, and left the classroom without a word, hand still nursing the burn from the slap. Murmurs flitted through the class as he left. He caught a few choice words in between the stifled giggles; ‘freak’, ‘weirdo’, ‘faggot’. 

He didn’t see how the last one was relevant. 

The way Ishikawa had looked at him haunted him as he stood outside his classroom, obedient and stiff. He’d stared at him like he was a stranger. He looked terrified. He stared at Komaeda like he was some kind of monster. 

Komaeda blinked away the stinging in his eyes. 

He didn’t care about the rest. About his teacher, about the things those people said. He didn’t care if people knew he was weird and off-putting. But Ishikawa was different. He was the one person he hoped would never look at him like that. 

He’d only been happy for him. Everyone else had spent all morning praising him for it. Why was it so different when he did it? Was he truly so hated? Even by Ishikawa? No one else understood him like Komaeda did. No one else understood the magnitude of the power he held, of just how important he was. So why was he the one shamed?

If he wasn’t going to have a talent, then why couldn’t he at least just be normal through and through? What was he doing wrong?

Komaeda’s legs ached. His feet felt hard and hot. He shifted, foot to foot, to try and relieve it. It didn’t do much to help. Teachers came and went between classes, but other than asking why he was standing outside, none of them told him to move. 

After too long, way, way too long, the lunch bell rang, and Mr. Yoshida finally re-appeared. The frown lines had only gotten deeper over the year. Komaeda had watched it happen. The same with the grey in his hair. It had been minimal at first. Now, he was more grey than black. He pushed his glasses up his flat nose bridge, and they instantly began slipping back down his face. 

“Faculty office. Now.” 

Always straight to the point. Unlike his appearance, that didn’t change. 

He stood silently next to his teacher’s cubical. Mr. Yoshida took his sweet time dealing with him, brewing himself a cup of coffee, and filling a Cup Noodle pot with boiling water from the office’s dispenser. He wrapped it in napkins and carried it over to his seat. Komaeda watched him take out a pair of wooden chopsticks from his plastic combini bag. He snapped them and they broke unevenly, splintering at the top. He clicked his tongue, then sighed, setting them on top of the pot, and pulling out a file from his drawer. 

“Komaeda Nagito.” He said, with the same tone someone announces they have to get out of bed early on a cold winter’s morning, or how they forgot milk after travelling all the way to the shop and back. He rubbed his face roughly, his loose skin pulling and shifting under his rugged hands, paying no mind to how the movement almost hit his glasses off his face. He just corrected them, and sighed heavily once more, before glancing over the files in his hands once more. 

“Underweight, little to no athletic ability, no history of participation in club activities, little to no participation in classroom activities, no relationship with your peers, a consistent string of absences due to sickness or otherwise, and despite your stellar academic abilities, no prospects and zero ambition.” 

He glanced up at him over his glasses. Komaeda stared back. He didn’t know what he was supposed to say to that. 

“What am I supposed to do with this, Komaeda?” 

Komaeda smiled sweetly and chirped, “Nothing, I suppose.” 

Komaeda watched his teacher’s jaw tighten. The file hit the desk with a slap. 

Ah, the wrong answer. Oops. 

“I try to be sympathetic to your…” His hand stopped rubbing his eyes, only to spin in the air as he drew out the word, “situation.” 

The word weighed heavy in his stomach like a lump of burning rock. He looked out the window instead. It was raining. The weather channel had said it was going to be sunny all week. How convenient, that someone had mistaken him this morning for someone else and insisted a lost umbrella upon him. He would’ve been stuck otherwise. 

“But there’s only so much I can do.” He continued, “Have you been meeting with your social worker?” 

“Of course.” Komaeda assured him truthfully. The consistency of the meetings and whether they were actually of any use was another thing entirely.

“Of course.” Mr. Yoshida repeated, defeated. A timer went off on his phone, and he stopped it’s beeping with a heavy hand. He sighed, once more, a third time just since he’d sat down then stared at Komaeda. 

Just as Komaeda wondered if maybe he was supposed to leave now, Mr. Yoshida asked, 

“What do you want to do, Komaeda?” 

He scrunched his smile in something apologetic, “Ah, pardon?” 

“How do you envision your future? What’s the end goal here?” 

Komaeda blinked. For a second, his smile faltered. 

“End goal?” The phrase felt strange on his tongue. He turned to look out the window once more.

Future? A future, for someone like him? What a ridiculous concept. How was someone as useless to society as him even supposed to consider a future? What was the point in someone like him having aspirations and goals? Such a thing, it’d only be insulting. 

“I suppose…I haven’t really considered it.” He replied, quiet, his mind still buried under the strange and confusing question. 

“Do you even know what you’re going to do after middle school?” Mr. Yoshida asked, exasperated, tapping a pen mindlessly on his desk. 

His only goal in life was to do whatever was needed to ensure that those with talent could thrive as beautifully as possible, so they could produce as much hope as possible. To lay the groundwork, and hope it was his back their feet pushed off of as they elevated everyone else into a better, brighter future. One better than the misery he existed in now. Anything else was just a waste. 

Though he supposed ‘Human Springboard’ wouldn’t be an acceptable answer. 

Komaeda’s smile turned sharp, before he softened it to something playful, 

“Maybe I’ll apply to Hope’s Peak Academy. I hear they have a reserve course now!” He laughed, bubbly and light, but it slowly died as his teacher’s expression only turned stonier. He swallowed, then smiled nervously, “Sorry, that was a joke.”

“This is a joke to you, then. Is that it?” The low tone he spoke with made Komaeda swallow hard. Mr. Yoshida’s gaze drilled into him harshly.  Then, he sucked his teeth, and flippently threw the pen he was fussing with onto his desk, “What a childish way of conducting yourself.” He shook his head. His hand made a fist on the desk; Komaeda tensed, “Your classmates are working hard to build a future for themselves, and you’re standing here, getting grades some of these kids would die for without even trying, and it’s all one big joke to you. How do you think that makes them feel? To have their efforts disrespected like that, by someone who's supposed to be working with them to lift them up?

“Do you think because your parents died you can get away with acting so selfishly? Then you wonder why they’re so hesitant towards you. I think you need to take a good, long look at yourself, and wonder if this is really how you want to conduct yourself. Because one day, you’ll be looking back with regret over all the opportunities you let pass you by because you were too busy laughing at your own, childish joke, and there will be no one around to blame for it but yourself.” He picked up Komaeda’s file, tapped it roughly on the desk to straighten out its contents, before dropping it back into his drawer and slamming it shut. He leaned his head on his hand, his elbow creasing a loose pile of papers on his desk, “Get out of my sight.” 

 Komaeda breathed. In, then out. He smiled, and bowed, low and polite, 

“Thank you, sir. Sorry for disrupting your class, and now your lunch too.” 

Mr. Yoshida didn’t respond. Just hooked some noodles onto his chopsticks and slurped them up, eyes already on his computer. 

Komaeda bowed once more in the entryway of the office and softly apologised again for his intrusion in the office, then closed the door behind him. 

After that, he breathed. He stood in front of the doorway and just breathed. 

Then, the moment was gone. He lifted his head, his hands relaxed from their fists, and he smiled serenely. 

He should go and buy Ishikawa lunch to celebrate, and to apologise. He was sure he’d appreciate that. 

-

Komaeda bought Ishikawa lunch every day from that point on. It was only right. Someone destined to be an Ultimate deserved to eat as well as possible to ensure he had the energy to perform at the top of his game. If Komaeda had the ability to assist him in that way, it was his place to do so. 

Ishikawa never asked, but Komaeda started helping him in any way he could. Ishikawa had been spending more time with other people in his class recently, but still, he sat next to Komaeda, and still they greeted each other every morning.  

During their chemistry class, Komaeda noticed Ishikawa struggling with the questions next to him. Komaeda spent the next few days neatly copying his notes into fresh notebooks, adding in extra information not included in classes that could help, and his own explanations for more complicated subjects. 

When Ishikawa walked into the homeroom to see the books waiting for him on his desk, he’d at first refused them. When Komaeda insisted, he tentatively glanced through one of the books. Komaeda’s hands hugged each other tightly on his lap, shoulders stiffly neutral, and smile detached but polite. Ishikawa’s jaw slowly dropped as he flicked through the book. Komaeda hoped that his explanations were at least a tiny bit understandable. He was sure it was probably pointless, that he’d probably end up confusing Ishikawa more than helping him, but before he could change his mind, Ishikawa accepted the notes gratefully. Komaeda played it off, but he was sure he was moments away from passing out yet again. 

When Komaeda caught him at lunchtime showing the notes to the others he hung around with, he suppressed the annoyance that struck through him. 

But he supposed it was just further examples of Ishikawa’s boundless hope, that he’d waste his precious time trying to help people so below him to improve themselves. Ultimates were truly amazing. 

So, when Ishikawa came to him and asked him for notes like that on other subjects, how was Komaeda supposed to refuse? It was everything he’d ever wanted. Komaeda was ecstatic, holding the conversation close to his chest through the rest of the day. He was so distracted by his joy; he failed to pay attention in class. 

It took him all week, but he did it. He handed them all to Ishikawa, colour coded and labelled.

“Woah, this is crazy dude! You’re so good at this stuff.” He skimmed through the books, and Komaeda breathed through the earth-shaking joy that threatened to tear him apart completely. 

Then, Ishikawa smiled, reached over, and ruffled a hand through Komaeda’s hair. 

There and gone. A warm hand tangled in his hair, jerking his head side to side, shivers tumbled down his back, down his arms, tickled his neck. Goosebumps consumed him as the shivers repeated, flowing back up, rebounding on themselves. Komaeda’s brain went numb as his cheeks flooded with heat, but Ishikawa didn’t seem to notice. 

“You’ve totally saved my ass, bro!” He praised, then looked at the books and sighed, “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” 

Komaeda almost didn’t hear him. He was still reeling in the aftermath of his touch. 

When his words finally processed, tensed his jaw to keep the giggling laughter that threatened to burst free contained. He breathily replied that it was no problem, no issue, but even that sounded too happy. 

He could still feel his hand in his hair. Even as he lay in bed that night, staring blankly at the ceiling, the feeling of his fingers ghosted through his hair. Tentatively, Komaeda touched the area, as if it’d feel different. His hand mimicking Ishikawa’s only made the feeling worse. Komaeda covered his face and giggled. 

–

((Ishikawa asks Komaeda to take the bins out for him, Komaeda says yes, and returns to the classroom))

“I don’t get why you hang around him so much.” 

Komaeda recognised that voice. It was Ishikawa’s girlfriend’s friend. The fashionable one. She’d been there, that day that he’d collapsed. He’d recognise her whiny tone anywhere. 

“Are you really that desperate?” 

Ishikawa’s closest friend, that guy with the close-cut hair. Komaeda could imagine the annoying smile he sported as he spoke. 

“Shut up.” Ishikawa mumbled. A chair moved, and there were footsteps. 

“Well, what then?” The girl asked around the gum she was smacking in her mouth. She sounded annoyed, “You keep ditching us to hang out with him instead. You’re, like, the only person in the whole of the school who’s ever done that.” 

Ah, he was right. They were talking about him.

“He so has a crush on you too.” Ishikawa’s girlfriend drawled.

Komaeda’s eyes widened.

No, he didn’t he- He would never-

But that didn’t matter, Ishikawa would think so now regardless. 

“Oh, come on.” Ishikawa scoffed, 

The boy snickered louder. There was a sound of a gum bubble popping, and outside the door, Komaeda’s heart got heavier until it sank to the deepest part of his chest. 

…Did he have a crush on Ishikawa? Was someone like him even allowed to feel like that? 

“No like actually though.” Ishikawa’s girlfriend continued, “He’s so obvious about it.” Snickers sounded amongst them all. Ishikawa stayed silent, “It’d almost be cute, if it wasn’t so gross.” 

No, of course not. Especially not for someone like Ishikawa. 

“Oh, is that why you keep leaving us, huh?” Ishikawa’s friend’s chimed, voice smarmy and greasy with double meaning, “Doing a little more than talking in the back of the class is it-” 

Komaeda blushed as his stomach dropped. His hand gripped his uniform more firmly. He felt sick. 

“Hey, fuck you man!” Ishikawa exclaimed. There was a sound, like commotion. Ishikawa’s friend and that fashionable girl laughed and yelled. Then, the commotion settled, “Augh, why would you even make me think of something like that.” 

He spat it, like the words tasted sour on his tongue. 

Ishikawa would be disgusted at even the thought of something like that. Anyone would. He knew this.  So why did it feel like a knife in his back?

“Well, at least you’re still batting for the right team. Or…Serving? Is that a volleyball thing?” The girlfriend’s friend added stupidly. 

“You should see him when he watches you play.” Ishikawa’s girlfriend. Her voice was low and smooth, before turning a little wistful, “It’s like there’s no one else in the room.” It snapped, turning sharp, as she ground through her teeth, “It really pisses me off.” 

Komaeda collapsed into the wall behind him. This was…This was humiliating. 

His mind flashed back to every game he’d attended to watch Ishikawa. Had everyone there known? They were probably all laughing at him, just to deal with the disgust they felt. 

He hadn’t done it on purpose. He didn’t even know. He hadn’t meant to- He didn’t mean to- 

But none of them would know that. Everyone must have thought he was so audacious and stupid. He must’ve looked so starry-eyed and pitiful.

Komaeda knew his place. He knew. He knew. 

“Didn’t you have a crush on him before?” Her friend dropped, and the words caused an explosion within the classroom. Loud, uproarious laughter, the sound of chairs and tables scraping, rushed footsteps and yelling all collapsing on top of each other. 

A crush on who? 

Him? HER? 

That…Had to be a joke. A mean, callous joke but a joke all the same.

“Oh, shut up, you did too! Everyone did!” The girlfriend’s voice was rushed, obviously embarrassed as she tried to defend herself. Even still, her friend’s and Ishikawa’s friend’s snickers continued to sound, “Then he went and opened his mouth and ruined it.” There was a sigh, and the laughter settled. Ishikawa’s girlfriend still continued to fight, “Plus he’s like, totally creepy. Not just his personality like, his whole vibe. It's like a bad smell. You can’t get over it!” 

“I’ve heard he’s cursed.” The fashionable girl mused, “If you touch him, you get like, 7 years bad luck.” 

“That’s breaking a mirror, moron.” Ishikawa’s girlfriend replied.

“Whatever.” 

“I bet he’s into some freaky shit.” Ishikawa’s friend pondered, then, more excitedly, “You could probably make him your slave, Ishi. Is that it? He’s already your little errand boy.”  

“More than errands-” The girlfriend’s friend murmured,

Komaeda snatched his hands away from his neck and hugged them across his chest, tucking his fists under his arms. He felt caged. Trapped with his feet glued to the floor. He felt the walls closing in around him. 

But then, 

“That’s not it!” Ishikawa yelled. His voice was strong and righteous, splitting through Komaeda’s spiralling turmoil like a soft beacon of light. “I can’t- Ugh you’re so gross!” 

He held his breath tight in his chest.

“Look, I just felt bad for him, okay? He’s always on his own-”

A hush fell over him. He strained, attempting to hear through the door more clearly. But it was no misunderstanding. Komaeda couldn’t hear anything else but anger at his friends, for his sake. 

A lump formed in his throat. A cool, hopeful feeling washed over him; his heartbeat rushed. 

“Yeah, because he’s weird.” Ishikawa’s girlfriend insisted. 

Komaeda huddled closer to the edge of the door. His hand gripped into his chest, creasing his uniform. 

“Well-” Ishikawa started. Komaeda held his breath. 

Ishikawa sighed, heavy and long. Komaeda didn’t even blink. 

“Yeah,” Ishikawa sighed. A beat of silence, then, quietly, “He really freaks me out most of the time…”

Komaeda’s heart stopped. 

“You think I haven’t noticed how he looks at me?” Ishikawa continued, voice picking up confidence the more he spoke. Disgust bleeding further into his tone with every word, “It makes me feel so…Ugh. And the shit he says, you wouldn’t believe half of it. He’s like, really messed up in the head. Nothing he says makes any sense. He keeps going on about like, hope and despair or some shit. I don’t even know. It’s so weird and boring, I don’t get it at all. The constant praise too- even I’ve started finding it annoying.” 

“That’s when you know it’s bad.” Ishikawa’s friend.

“But like, it’s the nice thing to do, right?” Ishikawa continued, “I can put up with it. Everyone needs someone.” 

“Awww, you’re so charitable.” His girlfriend sang teasingly, 

“Oh, so it’s all to get in the good books with the ladies, eh? Like helping a crying puppy. You look better the uglier the puppy is.” Ishikawa’s friend joked. It was a hit. They all laughed along with him. 

“Whatever.” Ishikawa replied, his voice strained from laughter, “When he finally loses it and blows up the school, don’t come crying to me when I’m the only one he spares.” 

“Oh my god Ishikawa!-” 

The door slammed as it hit the end of its track, bouncing back closed slightly before rolling open once more. It commanded silence across the room. Four heads shot to the door and stared, wide eyed.

“Oh, hello there.” Komaeda said pleasantly, tilting his head with his smile. 

Guilty silence choked them. Komaeda paid it no mind, walking past them and towards his desk. They looked between each other. Komaeda played along, and pretended he couldn’t hear them mouthing comments between them. 

The three side characters left. Komaeda glanced up as he gathered his things. Ishikawa’s girlfriend met his gaze and held it. Komaeda stared back, until she turned away, nose high as she left, her friends chittering behind her. The fashionable girl coo-ed at Ishikawa, then continued to laugh as she closed the classroom door behind her. 

Komaeda stared at the door, but it stayed closed. He closed his bag, locked the latch. He meant to pick it up and leave. But when he grabbed it, he stalled. He gripped it tighter.

“...Uh…” Ishikawa voiced. He’d approached him, standing a table away, his hand nervously picking at a dent in its wood. 

Komaeda didn’t respond. He just stared at him. The evening sun was dark. Its light was a warm, deep orange cast over the classroom. It was cloudy outside. Slowly, a cloud covered the sun, and the colour faded. 

Ishikawa cleared his throat, then smiled weakly, “H-how was bin duty, bud?” 

Komaeda smiled, his eyes squinting closed softly, “You don’t need to do this, you know.” 

“I-” 

“It’s fine. I completely get it.” Komaeda shook his head, his smile persisting. He turned his gaze back down to his bag. “You’re right. It’s not like I ever really thought someone as amazing as you would ever think positively of someone like me.” 

“...I-It’s not like that-” 

“I really appreciate the effort though. They’re right. They’re completely right.” His hand gripped into his bag once more, the bones in the back of his hand pushed against the thin skin covering them, “You’ve done more, so much more than I ever deserved.” His voice shook, but still he smiled, even wider, and said softly, genuinely, “Thank you.”

Ishikawa paled. He looked away, his hands in fists, “...D-Don’t thank me…” 

Komaeda blinked, eyes wide, “Why not?” Ishikawa didn’t give him an answer, “She was right. It was a charity. You’ve done so much for someone as needy as me, you deserve all the thanks I could provide.” He stepped forwards, tilting his head further into Ishikawa’s view. Ishikawa avoided his stare. “Is a servant what you want?”  That made him look at him. A hot flush replacing the blood that had previously left his cheeks. “I could carry your books for you-”

“D-Dude-” 

Komaeda stepped further forwards. Ishikawa stepped back, “I could clean your shoes,” His breathing picked up, but his voice didn’t waver. He held his stare on Ishikawa, “I could even use my tongue, anything you want-”

“Hey-”

He stepped forwards again. Ishikawa tried to step back but had to catch himself on a table as he stumbled. Komaeda’s stare bore into him, wide and unblinking. His breathing shook, but despite how much he took in, he didn’t feel any of the benefit from it. His head felt light. His fingers tingled. A static filled his brain and shut out his thoughts. 

“Anything you want.” Komaeda’s voice trembled, he swallowed back the spit that had gathered in his mouth from breathing so hard, “Anything you wanted from me I’d do it for you.” Ishikawa stumbled further backwards, hand up, as if to ward him off,

“Dude-” 

But Komaeda just advanced on him. The tremor in his voice taking over his body as the static increased, swallowing him, until he couldn’t feel anything but the tingling stinging sensation- pins and needles fuzzing his fingers plucking against his nerves. His speech rushed, his words tripping as he slurred out, “I’d do anything you ask of me, no matter how shameful. I’d even let you kill me if it meant it’d make you happy-” 

The fist hit him square in the cheek and sent him flying. He crashed into the tables beside them, their hard edges smacking into his side, catching his ribcage. He caught himself on a chair, but it did nothing but smack pain into his elbow as he smashed into the floor, chair and table legs scraping harshly across the wood floor and clattering together in the collision. 

He stared up at the ceiling tiles of his classroom, dazed. 

“Shit-” Ishikawa gasped; his own breathing now laboured. He stumbled back a step, falling into a table and scrambling upright again as it screeched across the floor. “Shit I-I didn’t-” He panted, swallowed hard, “You’re just really fucking freaking me out dude!” 

A strange feeling bubbled up inside him. It pushed behind his eyes, clogged his throat, constricted his chest, and continued to bubble and bubble. Komaeda opened his mouth, and the bubbles rushed out as laughter. 

It started slow, but snowballed, rolling quickly out of his control, louder and louder. He pushed himself onto his elbows, dropped his head forwards, and his laughter shook him. He brought a hand up to his mouth, touched it lightly, then winced. When he pulled back, he saw red. 

His laughter halted; he turned to look up at Ishikawa. The boy stared down at him, eyes wide and shaking, face pale. Komaeda slowly held up his hand and showed him the blood. He smiled, and it pulled the cut further. Blood tickled as it dripped down his chin, his stomach flipped, and he gagged against the taste of it filling his mouth. 

Ishikawa ran away. 

His breathing stuttered, then was snatched away once more by a loud, screeching laughter as blood seeped out of his cracked lip. Komaeda couldn’t even feel it. The blood dripped onto his uniform and Komaeda sat on his classroom floor and laughed. He laughed until it made him gag, then he laughed some more. His laughter bounced off the walls and echoed back at him. The classroom, laughing at him as well. He stopped only to spit more blood, and the sight of it splattering against a floor his classmates had just put so much effort into cleaning made him laugh harder. 

The cloud that had moved over the sun passed by, and the sunlight shone down into the classroom uninterrupted once more. 

[just-absolutely-super]

Cybertron?

In Earth's atmosphere?

In the center of Detroit?

ON CHRISTMAS?!

[lyrebirdswrites]

I had a dream that the leaks came out a day early and they were so bizarre and nonsensical nobody could make sense of them LOL. Whatever the real chapter ends up being, it won’t be as stupid as that dream was

[iamthedukeofurl]

Scott Pilgrim is, I think, the best example I can think of for establishing a setting's Nonsense Limit. The setting's Nonsense Limit isn't quite "How high-fantasy is this". It's mostly a question of presentation, to what degree does the audience feel that they know the rules the world operates by, such that they are primed to accept a random new element being introduced. A setting with a Nonsense Limit of 0 is, like, an everyday story. Something larger than life, but theoretically taking place in our world, like your standard spy thriller action movie has a limit of 1. Some sort of hidden world urban fantasy with wizards and stuff operating in secret has a nonsense limit around 3 or 4. A Superhero setting, presenting an alternate version of our world, is a 5 or 6. High fantasy comes in around a 7 or so, "Oh yeah, Wizards exist and they can do crazy stuff" is pretty commonly accepted. Scott Pilgrim comes in at a 10. If you read the Scott Pilgrim book, it starts off looking like a purely mundane slice of life. The first hint at the fantastical is Ramona appearing repeatedly in Scott's Dreams, and then later showing up in real life. When we finally get an explanation, it's this:

Apparently Subspace Highways are a thing? And they go through people's heads? And Ramona treats this like it's obscure, but not secret knowledge. Ramona doesn't think she's doing anything weird here. At this point, it's not clear if Scott is accepting Ramona's explanation or not, things kind of move on as mundane as ever until their Date, when Ramona takes Scott through subspace, and he doesn't act like his world was just blown open or anything, although I guess that could have been a metaphor. there's a couple other moments, but everything with Ramona could be a metaphor, or Scott not recognizing what's going on. Maybe Ramona is uniquely fantastical in this otherwise normal world. And then, this happens

Suddenly, a fantastical element (A shitty local indie band finishing their set with a song that knocks out most of the audience) is introduced unrelated to Ramona, and undeniably literal. We see the crowd knocked out by Crash and The Boys. but the story doesn't linger on the implications of that, the whole point of that sequence is to raise the Nonsense Level, such that you accept it when This happens

Matthew Patel comes flying down onto the stage, Scott, who until this point is presented as a terrible person and a loser, but otherwise is extremely ordinary, proceeds to flawlessly block and counter him before doing a 64-hit air juggle combo. Scott's friends treat this like Scott is showing off a mildly interesting party trick, like being really good at darts. The establish that Scott is the "Best Fighter in the Province", not only are street-fighter battles a thing, Scott is Very Good at it, but they're so unimportant that being the best fighter in the province doesn't make Scott NOT a loser. So when Matthew Patel shows off his magic powers and then explodes into a pile of coins, we've established "Oh, this is how silly the setting gets". It's not about establishing the RULES of the setting so much as it is about establishing a lack of rules. Scott's skill at street-fighter battles doesn't translate to any sort of social prestige. Ramona can access Subspace Highways and she uses it to do a basic delivery job. It doesn't make sense and it's clear that it's not supposed to. So later on, when Todd Ingram starts throwing around telekinesis, and the explanation we're given is "He's a Vegan" , you're already so primed by the mixture of weirdness and mundanity that rather than trying to incorporate this new knowledge into any sort of coherent setting ruleset, you just go "Ah, yeah, Vegans".

[confused-alot]

luthor flying around in a gloating dream sequence imagining himself as superman but with “LEX” on the insignia giving smug little chuckles at all the shit he’s stirred up

it’s so unserious god i’ve missed network tv

[cyanmagentayellow]

No no no, I want to see them work product placement into the Wang Zanghai prequel. Pretty please.

The crazy thing about the DMBJ franchise (well, one of many) is that everyone has been in it at some point. Literally the last six dramas I've started -- many of which have been languishing on my watchlist for years, since before I even caught up on DMBJ -- have turned out to star DMBJ cast alumni. Some (e.g. Mysterious Lotus Casebook) featured more than one actor who had played a member of the Iron Triangle. And that's without even considering the A-listers who came into the franchise later, like Zhu Yilong and Xiao Zhan (proving that if nothing else, the production budgets have improved. Hopefully they'll stop shilling for anti-itch cream and mobile shopping apps in next year's Wang Zanghai prequel).

It's gotten so ubiquitous that I'm no longer starting a drama and thinking, "Have I seen this actor in something before?" but rather, "Okay, was this guy a Wu Xie or a Xiao Ge?"

[fangswbenefits]

Comfortable

Summary: Astarion walks in on you in a rather compromising situation. Naturally, he offers to help, but then you ask him to promise you something that he was not expecting…

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. Astarion's POV. Fluff. Aftercare. Oral sex. Pillow humping. Innuendo. Mentions of masturbation.

Word count: 3.3k

It's a wavering sequence of whimpers that catches Astarion's attention just as he arrives at camp after a late night hunt.

The blood on non thinking creatures seldom presents itself as a decent meal, but he finds it unfair to depend exclusively on you.

The boars in the outskirts of Baldur's Gate are delectable enough to blind his hunger for a few hours – maybe a full day, if need be.

The camp seems peaceful and quiet with everyone still catching some rest after in their respective tents, and as the pale moon glows up high in the dark blue sky, he notices the dawn isn't breaking for at least a few more hours.

Maybe he can indulge in a trance to ease his mind and body after feeding, even though it's not a dire necessity.

But it seems that the night has other plans reserved for him.

His steps are light and sure, following the crescendo of sounds that seems to come from near his tent.

He would recognise that voice anywhere.

You.

As he draws near, trying to make out the origin of said whimpers, he vaguely wonders if you're having a dream.

That is the most reasonable explanation.

But then he hears what resembles a muffled groan.

A nightmare?

Instinctively, an eyebrow quirks as he approaches your tent.

And then he freezes.

Even through the obvious failed attempt at reining yourself in, he knows exactly what he heard.

His name. Muffled and barely intelligible, but his name, nonetheless.

An amused smile tugs at his lips as it dawns on him that you are indeed pleasuring yourself. Risky and unexpected, but beyond a shadow of a doubt.

Cheeky…

He could simply entertain this, and leave it to you to reach your peak on your own.

Unfortunately for him, he has just fed.

And unfortunately for you, he has every intention of interrupting your solo endeavour.

His usual cool body now flooded with the warmth and vigour that make it extremely easy not to succumb to your sweet and melodic whimpers.

As such, he tugs at the strings that hold both flaps together, successfully drawing a surprised gasp from you.

“You scared me!” 

He finds you propped up on one elbow before rushing to sit and pulling a blanket to cover yourself, a mortified look splattered across your face.

The sight in front of him is enough for the recently drunk blood to rush downwards at record speed. 

Predictable, but such is the nature of his body when it comes to you.

Flustered and quickened breaths. His senses are so sharp from the recent blood intake, that he can hear your heartbeat drumming fast in your chest.

By now, he knows you well enough.

So well, that he's sure he has just interrupted your climax.

The confirmation comes in the form of a low growl of frustration.

He almost feels sorry for you, but what crosses his mind is the offer of a moment of pleasure so great only he can provide.

“You were close.”

It isn't a question and he doesn't expect an answer.

But you're so visibly irritated that you scowl deeply. “Yes! Yes, I was. Thank you so much for interrupting.”

“My pleasure,” he retorts, knowing fully well he's about to set off a bomb if he doesn't choose his words carefully.

You have a temper he adores to test. He's used to dancing to your tune and knows exactly which strings to pull to get you riled up in ways that often lead to very enjoyable outcomes.

His cock welcomes your huff of annoyance with a faint twitch.

“Why didn’t you just… wait…” you almost cry out in sheer frustration.

He lets out a taunting laugh. “What, and miss out on all of the fun, darling?”

A dramatic pout settles your lips and it takes all of his self-control not to wipe it off your face with a kiss in an instant.

“How many did you take this time?”

It is a glaring taunt.

And your mouth drops open.

Maybe he should have eased his way in, considering the current predicament.

But the way your body is all flustered and heated from your own touch is enough to flare desire inside him. And whenever desire begins to swell inside him, the fine line between reason and pleasure begins to blur. 

Mostly because he knows he was the one on your mind when you had your fingers deep inside you.

Your eyes widen slowly, and you clutch the blanket closer to your lower half, still hiding the proof of your arousal from his prying eyes.

You don't reply at first, your pride keeping you silent.

But Astarion doesn't mind. In fact, he enjoys your resistance at first. Makes it all the more enjoyable when you finally give in.

“How many, darling?”

You frown, averting your eyes.

So stubborn…

His cock adores it.

“How many?” his tone is firmer this time and you slowly meet his eyes again.

“... two.”

He clicks his tongue, crouching before you. “Oh, darling…” 

Two fingers are not nearly enough to provide the fullness and stretch that only his cock can. But he appreciates your effort nonetheless.

It's quite adorable and enough to have his cock hardening even more.

Your fingers still glisten in the faint candlelight and he feels the sudden urge to have them in his mouth. He never tires of tasting you in more ways than one.

“You do not need to hide from me,” he says tenderly, but still not moving an inch. He wants you to feel comfortable enough under his gaze. “You've bared yourself to me many times, love.”

Still, you don't let go of the fabric, a slash of defiance crossing your face. “You took too long.”

Ah. “Did you miss me?”

You bite your lip, face softening as you nod twice.

And you were so desperate for him that you just couldn't wait?

Gods.

His cock stirs even more against his trousers at the silent realisation.

“And I am here now,” he says, dropping to his knees, as a wicked smile turns his lips. “So, allow me.”

He reaches out with his hand to tug at the fabric, silently looking for your permission.

A shaky sigh parts your lips and he spots a shiver as he pulls the blanket that keeps you from him.

His eyes drop to the sweet spot between your legs and he almost regrets having interrupted you.

Almost.

Your clit is so swollen it deliciously peeks from between your folds, parting them gently. It throbs faintly as he catches your clenching a few times, wetness dripping out.

After a moment, he manages to tear his gaze away, ignoring the twitches of protest from his cock.

He finds your half-hooded eyes. “May I?”

You hesitate at first, nearly pressing your thighs together, but he stops you with both hands on your knees, a reassuring grip that has you slowly but surely loosen up under his touch.

“You don't have to…”

No, he doesn't.

But he wants to.

In fact, he thinks he needs to.

He rubs circles along your flushed skin, wanting your full attention on him before he speaks, “I appreciate the concern, darling, but I'm impossibly hard and you look incredibly delectable.”

It's more than enough to have you yearning for more, as a surprise gasp parts your lips.

You finally nod, spreading your legs and leaning back as you settle on your elbows.

He offers a sly grin, lowering and positioning himself right where he craves to be.

But not before he eases some of the growing tension on his lower half. The blood coursing through his body is more of an inconvenience for now, and he's sure, under different circumstances, he'd have better control over this.

Or maybe not.

Maybe you're just that good for him.

You jerk slightly when his mouth draws near your slick folds.

“Wait.”

And he does, his concentration slightly shaken as he promptly scans your face for any cause for alarm.

“Just… don't leave afterwards.”

Don't leave–

Astarion's lips are so close to your clit, he has to pull back slightly so he can have a proper look at you, his hardened cock still straining against his undergarments.

“What do you mean?” he asks, perplexed. 

There is hesitance in your eyes. “You tend to leave after… like you don't want to be here with me.”

That sounds like a whiplash to him, because it is not true at all.

Your words take him by surprise  and he immediately worries he may have said or done something that could be interpreted as mixed signals.

“Darling, I–”

But you immediately shake your head. “If you can stay after… I'd appreciate it. Only you want to, of course,” you quickly add. “It doesn't feel right otherwise…”

It isn't a request. Nor a plea.

It's just what feels right.

He's done this many times to the point of instinct. It comes natural to him to please others. The aftermath, though, is something that he's also used to forgoing. The mess, the sweat, the fluids… the unnecessary and forced talk…

But you are different, aren't you?

You are not… the others.

And after all you've been through, he feels his mind nearly snap in half as he realises just how much he's still holding back with you.

Even something as simple as just staying still felt… tainted.

Slowly, he nods. 

And slowly, your lips turn into a tender smile that he's grown to adore beyond comprehension.

“I'll stay.”

You heave a deep sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

Astarion counters the impromptu detour with unmatched expertise, lowering his head and admiring just how eager your body is for him.

Before he drags his tongue along your folds, he slithers his hand down to reach for the front of his trousers, hurriedly undoing them.

It's his turn to sigh in relief as his cock is set free.

But now he misses the friction and the carpeted floor of your tent feels too rough.

His eyes roam around in search of something – anything – more comfortable.

And then he's caught off guard by your offer.

“Maybe this will help.”

A pillow.

He chuckles deviously, appreciating your creativity in moments such as these. Promptly, he takes it in his hand and positions it under him, his cock welcoming the soft surface.

“I adore that mind of yours,” he says cheekily.

You are about to voice a reply, but no word comes out when his tongue hits your entrance. 

Immediately, your hips buck and his smile never wavers.

He knows what you crave, but he will take his time even if you're already close to the edge.

After all, he's addicted to his devotion to you even if he never utters it out loud. He prefers his actions speak for themselves. Words are treacherous and deceiving. Actions speak louder.

And so he indulges in you. He indulges you, because that is what keeps him from reaching the frayed ends of his mind. 

You're what grounds him these days.

And he will ground you with him.

As such, he drags the tip along your folds, collecting your wetness and he only stops once it finds your clit.

A soft moan escapes your lips and he hopes you have it in you to keep it down so as to not wake the others. 

He locks eyes with you one last time. “Are you ready, darling?”

Your hips roll twice, but he knows you're not ready. You never are for the pleasure he offers to you so passionately. 

Another roll and he knows you're growing impatient, so he gives your clit a quick swipe of his tongue before he latches.

He doesn't begin suckling hard right away, as he needs to ensure he can steady you for what's to come. Both arms loop around your thighs and he allows his eyes to flutter shut, losing himself in you.

It amazes him how your body responds to him, and your hips try to find a desperate rhythm as if you're riding his cock.

The pillow under him provides enough friction for him to roll his own hips, eager to match your tempo.

He could feel the wetness drenching the fabric, but he can't bring himself to care.

Your hand finds his curls and he growls against your clit as you tug gently, but evidently craving more.

And more he gives you.

He's sucking more fiercely this time, taking his time to savour the swell in between his teeth. From this angle, he can feel your wetness coating his chin. He can't directly feel it, but he just knows you're clenching desperately around nothing.

Maybe he should take it slower.

Maybe he should pry you open with two of his fingers, even though you're wet enough to take a third one.

But the unexpected friction caused by the pillow is begging to edge him beyond belief.

Is it from the blood he drank? Is he just so ridiculously aroused? Why is your clit so swollen this time? Is it from his incessant suckles? 

His mind turns into haze and he decides he's not looking for any logical answers.

He simply allows his hips to move on their own accord, matching the face with each suckle.

“Astarion… Gods…” 

You're fortunate his mouth is kept busy, or he'd hurl a snarky reply. Gods have no place here. The delicacies of carnal bliss are reserved for those who tread the earth.

He's the only one who'd ever worship you, and you'd worship him right back, because that's how it's meant to be.

Precum drips from his tip at an alarming rate. He's too hard. He's too aroused. His body is seeking to be inside yours.

But he decided against it.

No.

He wants to see you unravel for him and in front of him.

His eyes open once again and he takes in the sight of your body undulating. Skin all flushed and eyes read to drop close as you near the precipice.

As always, his latch is impeccable. He never lets go and takes pride in leaving you dripping for him.

A few droplets run down his chin and dangle from it, bestowing upon him the most enticing silent praise he could ask for.

He knows you're close when your fingers close around his curls, desperately rocking your hips against him.

A low growl of approval rumbles in his chest and he's starting to struggle to keep his pace.

He has to find a way to still his hips before you reach your climax in fear you'll drag him along with you far too soon.

And so he does.

This time, he wants to see it.

He wants to see you as you come for him.

He's mostly perplexed that you found a way to muffle your moans, your shirt rolled up and captured in between your teeth, granting him the privileged view of your heaving breasts and hardened nipples.

Momentarily, his hips threaten to buck driven by pure instinct.

But he manages to hold back.

And when he's sure you're too far gone, head tilting back and legs shaking ever so slightly, does he unlatch from your clit.

He pulls back enough to witness the first sets of contractions course through your body. 

Wetness drips from his chin, and he can't tear his gaze from the mesmerising way your entrance clenches rhythmically before him.

He's felt those contractions many times. He is well aware of just how vicious and relentless they can be around his cock, never failing to draw every last drop of his cum deep inside you.

Your muffled cries and the way your hips still momentarily, are all he needs to get lost in his own pleasure again.

He props himself high enough to place his hips at the right angle, rolling them urgently against the soft fabric of the pillow.

He's so close… so deliciously close.

Your taste lingers on his tongue and the vision of you still writhing under him holds his gaze almost painfully.

Your fingers ease on his curls and he feels the familiar tightening of his balls warning him that he's about to reach the point of no return. 

It comes and overtakes his body so violently his mind blanks for a brief moment, as his mouth drops open.

He wants to groan and growl and hiss, but no sound comes out.

The friction is so overwhelming, he can't help but to lose balance, his lips finding your swollen clit once again.

And just like before, he latches instinctively and you try to jerk away from him, definitely being hit with a sting of oversensitivity. 

He comes undone, suckling on you harder than ever before.

Ropes of cum spill from him rhythmically, his own contractions taking over. He can feel the fabric underneath him drench with each thrust, and he vaguely wonders how much of it he still has left in him.

Your clit is now the only thing grounding him as he rides out his climax and, in the far corner of his hazy mind, he's thankful that you eased into him once again, granting him the solace he is seeking so desperately.

There's only so much he can withstand as his senses are flooded with overwhelming pleasure, and he finds himself unlatching and almost slumping against your lower abdomen.

He's spent.

Utterly spent.

He thinks he hears a tender giggle, but maybe it's simply his mind playing tricks on him.

With effort, he hoists himself along your body, collapsing, the side of his face resting against your stomach.

He wants to say something, but he's rendered silent by the aftershock of his climax.

And that's when he feels your fingers again, raking along his scalp and through unruly curls. 

“Are you leaving?”

He says nothing.

Your fingertips work their magic along his skin and he's sure you can lull him into a trance if you so wished. 

You're too powerful and he's too in love with you to care.

“Astarion.”

Your voice is low and sweet and he hums in return, arm wrapped around your waist.

“Can we stay like this for a while?”

Who's he to deny you of it? Or himself?

He's sweaty and his cock drenched in cum and precum and you're a mess yourself. Hardly the epitome of romance.

Or maybe he's wrong because when you bring a soft piece of cloth to his temple and drag it along his face, he suddenly gets it.

He finally understands why you want him to stay.

Why it makes sense.

His eyes flutter shut as he basks in your tenderness and adoration. 

You hum a soft tune under your breath, cleaning him up.

Face and neck first.

“Can you shift higher?” you ask.

He realises your intentions and lifts his head to stare at you.

“You don't have to.”

All you do is offer him a smile. Your smile. “I want to. Allow me, lover.”

No one has ever taken care of him. No one has ever bothered to. Not until you. 

He silently does what you asked, too stunned to come up with a clever tease.

His eyes flutter shut in what comes close to embarrassment. For some reason, he feels more exposed than ever when you wrap the cloth around his cock.

“Tell me if it gets too much,” you say, your voice but a whisper.

He immediately shakes his head. “Not with you.”

A hiss parts his lips as you tenderly take care of him.

Astarion rests his head just above your breast and 

“Do you wish to talk?” he asks.

Your lips find their way through his damp curls, placing a kiss atop his head.

“Do you want to?”

He chuckles, feeling his cock soften in your hand – definitely a first. “I fear I'm too drained to do so.”

“Silence it is,” you say and he feels your warm breath against his skin.

Not just any silence.

Comfortable silence.

The rare type old romance books mention in passing and that many seek to no avail.

But he's found it because he's found you.

Masterlist

[wordsofwhimsy]

❀ꗥ～𝐁𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭, 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐬𝐨𝐧 ～ꗥ❀

❀ꗥ～ Part Six ～ꗥ❀

Pairing: Main!Mark Grayson x Southern Belle!Reader

Warnings: Eh, a brief fight scene, nothing crazy

Tags: Fluff, slice-of-life, Meemaw with a gun

Word Count: 2,115

Synopsis: Mark swears he’s living in an old southern romance and what’s better – you and he are the stars. The only problem: he’s still hiding his hero identity. Things come to a head however when a gaggle of alien villains decide to take their fight to YOUR street.

a/n: I. LOVE. THEM. like, feral about it!!! grrrr

read part five ❀ꗥ～Here! ～ꗥ❀

Mark wasn’t sure when exactly his life turned into a dream sequence, but he wasn’t asking questions.

Maybe it was the way you always looped your arm through his when you walked together—like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like you’d been holding onto him your whole life and just picked up where you left off. Maybe it was the way you leaned into his side when you laughed, or how you still packed him little Tupperwares of cornbread like he might forget to eat if you didn’t.

Whatever it was, Mark was blissfully, absurdly, unapologetically in love.

He knew it the first time he saw you crouched in the chicken coop behind your Meemaw’s house, apron tied around your waist and boots sunk ankle-deep in straw, cooing at a hen like it was a baby while expertly plucking eggs into a basket. He definitely knew it when he watched you haul a bale of hay over your shoulder without breaking a sweat, your hair tied up in a red bandana and your smile radiant under the morning sun like some kind of farm goddess.

And he absolutely, beyond a shadow of a doubt, knew it when you offered him a peach scone one Saturday morning and said, “Mornin’, sugar,” like you didn’t just casually own his entire heart.

Mark found himself spending more and more time out at your house. Sometimes you studied together on the porch swing, your notes color-coded and neat as a pin. Sometimes you roped him into helping with chores—well, “helping” was a generous term, given that you moved like you’d been born doing this and he nearly broke a toe tripping over a goat.

He loved every second of it.

What he didn’t love was lying to you.

It wasn’t even really lying—just… strategic omission. You didn’t know the full truth. That the bruise on his jaw wasn’t from gym class or a bad fall. That the occasional limp, the mysterious cuts, the fact that he sometimes disappeared for a few hours with no explanation—all of that was part of a much bigger picture.

A picture with a mask. And a secret name. And a whole lot of responsibility he couldn’t exactly hand off.

He hadn’t told you. Not because he didn’t trust you—God, he trusted you more than anyone—but because the idea of looking you in the eye and saying, “Hey, by the way, I sometimes sneak out and fight crime in a spandex suit” sounded like the fastest way to lose the best thing that had ever happened to him.

Which is why, when you reached up one lazy Sunday afternoon and brushed your thumb gently over the bruise just below his collarbone, he panicked.

“Oh, sugar…” Your brows furrowed. “What happened here?”

Mark froze.

Shit.

“Oh, uh—nothing,” he said, way too fast. “Just… gym. Took a bad hit in dodgeball. You know how it is.”

You tilted your head, not buying it. “Since when do y’all play full-contact dodgeball?”

He laughed—awkward. “It’s a new thing. Experimental. Real cutting edge.”

“Uh huh.”

You didn’t press, but your touch lingered just a second longer than usual. Soft. Concerned. And it made something twist hard in Mark’s chest.

Because you were smart. You were always watching. And eventually, he knew… he’d have to tell you everything.

But not yet.

Not today.

Today, he leaned down and kissed your forehead instead, whispering something about being more careful next time, and you smiled like that was good enough.

He wasn’t sure how long he could keep this up.

But he’d sure as hell try—for as long as you’d let him.

—

The sun was low in the sky, casting golden streaks across the dirt road as you wandered with your parasol tilted just so, the lace edges catching the light like halos. The crickets were chirpin’, and the breeze carried the smell of cut grass and peach blossoms.

You were mid-hum—some old Patsy Cline tune, real soft—when a BOOM cracked through the air like thunder straight from the pits of hell.

You barely had time to scream before something—a man? a thing?—came crashing down the street, tearing a rut through the dirt and flipping a pickup truck like it was a toy. You froze. Heart jackhammering. The only danger you were used to back home was an ornery possum or the occasional fistfight at Uncle Bobby’s bar on Saturday night.

This? This was not that.

You ducked instinctively behind a mailbox post as more figures landed in the road, all snarling and glowing eyes and God-fearing chaos. You were halfway to panic when a blur of blue and yellow zipped in front of you like a comet, knocking one of the villains clean into a tree.

“Stay down!” the hero barked—voice strained, deep, familiar.

The blue and yellow clad savior hit the first villain like a freight train, knocking him sky-high and flipping the second one with a bone-rattling crunch. You peeked out from behind the small post, jaw slack, parasol hanging limp at your side.

Another hit. Another flash. And just like that, they were all down.

The wind settled. Dust floated in the golden light.

He turned, breathing hard, blood at the corner of his mouth.

“You okay, miss?”

His voice.

That voice you’d heard whispering to you in the kitchen just this morning. The voice that called you darlin’ when he thought no one could hear.

Your breath caught. Your spine straightened. And you started walking.

The hero froze.

Just—froze.

You stepped right up to him, boots crunching softly in the dirt, and stopped a foot away. He didn’t say a word. Didn’t move.

You reached up—real gentle—and tugged the mask up past his eyes and into his hairline.

And there he was.

Messy hair. Busted lip. Brown eyes wide and terrified like you’d just caught him sneaking in past curfew.

“...I knew it,” you whispered. “You dummy.”

Mark opened his mouth.

You stared at him. Blinked again. And then just let out a stunned little laugh.

“I thought you were in, like… some underground fight club or somethin’.”

“…What?”

You hit his arm—not hard. “I dunno! You kept showin’ up with bruises, and I figured maybe you were just real bad at MMA and too proud to tap out.” You shook your head, eyes flicking down to his suit then back to his bloodied face. “You’re some kinda crime fightin’ Superman?! And you didn’t tell me?”

Mark blinked once. Twice.

And then—despite the split lip, despite the scuff on his cheek, despite the sheer chaos around him—he smirked.

A slow, crooked little thing that made your stomach flip and your glare deepen.

“You think I’m Superman?” he said, all faux-innocent, voice dropping an octave like he hadn’t just body-slammed someone into a tree stump. “That’s… kinda hot.”

Your mouth fell open. “Excuse me?”

He gave a weak shrug, clearly pleased with himself. “I mean, I’m not that good…”

You stepped closer, brows raised, voice deadpan. “Markus.”

“Yeah?”

“I just watched you destroy a stop sign with a man’s body.”

“Okay, in my defense—he was being very rude.”

You let out a long breath through your nose. “I swear to God, I should’ve known. Nobody that pretty gets bruises that often without bein’ into somethin’ stupid.”

Mark grinned—teeth bloody, smile blinding. “So you do think I’m pretty.”

You just stared at him, then muttered, “You’re lucky you’re cute,” and turned on your heel, parasol bouncing at your side as you marched back home.

Mark stumbled after you, still grinning. “So that’s a yes on Superman?”

“You keep talkin’ and I’m tellin’ Meemaw.”

“...Right. Shutting up.”

You crossed your arms, parasol still dangling from your wrist like the world wasn’t upside down. “You do realize you knocked over Mr. Fenley’s pecan tree, right?”

Mark groaned. “Aw, man. He loves that tree…”

—

You were halfway up the porch steps, dragging Mark behind you like a misbehaving child at Sunday school, when the screen door slammed open with a bang that nearly knocked your parasol out of your hand.

And there she was.

Meemaw.

Hair up in curlers, apron dusted in flour, house slippers on like battle armor—and a .22 rifle resting casually in the crook of her arm like it was just another casserole dish.

Her eyes swept over the wrecked road, the unconscious villains scattered across the front lawn like poorly placed yard decorations, then landed squarely on Mark.

She squinted.

Then, in a voice loud enough to rattle your molars: “What in the HELL happened out here?”

Mark froze behind you, spine stiffening like he was back in math class and forgot his homework.

You cleared your throat, dusting gravel off your skirt like this was just any ol’ day. “Well, Meemaw… turns out Mark’s been gettin’ those bruises not from football or gym class like he claimed—” you shot him a look, “—but from throwin’ hands with actual monsters.”

Mark shifted behind you, muttering, “Technically it was aliens this time…”

You held up a hand without looking at him. “Hush. I’m talkin’.”

Then back to Meemaw, deadpan: “Apparently my boyfriend’s some kinda superhero. Like the real kind. Tights, punches, midair backflips—the whole shebang.”

Meemaw paused for just a beat before she spoke. “Of course he is. And here I thought y’all were sneakin’ off to kiss behind the barn.”

Mark lifted one hand. “Hi, ma’am.”

She didn’t blink. “Boy, you just threw a grown man into my begonias.”

“…Sorry.”

Meemaw exhaled slowly through her nose. “You’d best be explainin’ everything before my pecan pie cools. And you—” she pointed at you without looking, “—bring the peroxide.”

He whispered, “Is she gonna shoot me?”

You sighed, linking your arm with his as you tugged him inside.

“Only if you lie again, sugar.”

Later that night…

“You sure this is safe?” Mark asked, eyeing the mason jar in your hand like it might sprout legs and bite him.

You knelt in front of him on a little woven mat, hair pulled back, sleeves rolled up, utterly unfazed.

“It’s somethin’ my great-auntie used to swear by,” you said, unscrewing the lid. “Vinegar, turpentine, cayenne pepper, honey, and a dash of prayer.”

Mark’s eyes went wide. “...That sounds like it belongs on barbecue.”

“Don’t sass the remedy, sugar.” You dipped a rag in the mix, wrung it out, and without warning, pressed it gently to the cut on his ribs.

“HOLY—” he hissed, nearly levitating off the tub.

“Don’t move,” you warned, steady as a surgeon. “It’s supposed to burn. That means it’s workin’.”

“It means I’m dying,” he wheezed. “Why does it smell like a fire hazard?”

You just smiled sweet as pie. “Old southern secret. Been usin’ it since before electricity.”

He groaned, head falling back. “You’re trying to kill me.”

“If I was tryin’ to kill you, baby, you’d already be dead.” You paused, then leaned forward and kissed the spot you just treated—soft and slow. “There. Better?”

He blinked. Breath caught. “...Yeah. Much better.”

You rested your hand against his jaw, thumb brushing over the bruise near his cheekbone. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Just the low buzz of cicadas outside and the faint clink of glass as you set the jar aside.

“I was scared,” he said finally, voice low and raw. “To tell you. I thought... if you knew what… I do… you'd leave.”

Your gaze softened, but you didn’t pull away. “Mark.”

He looked down.

You took his face in both hands, lifting it gently until he met your eyes. “If you think I’m lettin’ go of a man who can lift a tractor and still gets shy when I kiss his cheek, well then honey, I’ve got an ocean front property in Kentucky to sell you.”

Mark let out a breath, lips parting like he might laugh—might cry—but before he could say anything, you gave him a look. One brow lifted, the hint of a smirk playing on your lips.

Then you tapped a finger gently against your mouth. Once. An expression on your face that said, I’m waiting.

He didn’t hesitate. Leaning in to kiss you—slow, reverent—like you were the only real thing left in the world.

When you pulled back, he was breathless.

“...I love you,” he whispered.

You smiled, soft and sure, and cupped his cheek in your hand.

“Oh, honey,” you murmured, leaning in to kiss him again—gentle, sweet, and just a little smug. “You just figurin’ that out?”

read part seven ❀ꗥ～Here! ～ꗥ❀

[cube-cumb3r]

part 2: What's the deal with Manneq- SIMULTANEOUS PARALLEL REALITY THEORY IM CRAZY IM CRAZYIM CRAZY IM CRAZY

This is the second part of me trying to make sense of the Mannequins in ENA. Read pt. 1 here, if you want. Or don't!

I'm not entirely satisfied with the explanation of "Mannequins are spawnpoints" because it doesn't really explain how the Mannequins got there in the first place. How did so many Mannequins coincidentally end up near locations where it just so happens that Ena is likely to respawn?

I pondered a little bit about the role of Mannequins in the Youtube series as well, and if I could tie that into their role in the game. To my knowledge, there's only one episode where the Mannequins make an appearance, and that's Temptation Stairway.

I don't think about Ulysses often. The most I think about him is the fact that the song that plays when Ena talks to him is such a peculiar banger. But, given that he's the first character in the Youtube series to mention Doors before their existence got fully elaborated on in the game, perhaps more of his dialogue isn't just ominous and strange nonsense.

One of his lines is (paraphrased) "But heed this warning: desires are never fulfilled, nor quenched. You will fail. Like the rest of them."

So who is the rest of them? (other than Moony?) Taking the video at face value, the answer seems pretty simple, it's the Mannequins. They can be seen climbing the Great Runas in the beginning of the episode, and then later on her way, Ena walks past some lifeless ones in various places in a similar manner they are found in Dream BBQ, or they're... lamenting? In this strange space?

Other than that, without any further context, there doesn't seem to be that much to say about the Mannequins in Temptation Stairway, they seem to just be Mannequins. They're these sort of anonymous and ambiguous figures that also seem to have the same goal as Ena, reaching the Great Runas. All of which are failing, it seems.

After Ena meets Ulysses, she of course meets the Shephard who says her infamous "Arghh... another ENA troublemaker." line, which has of course been interpreted to mean millions of things. That being said, literally moments after this scene, we see other Enas when Ena enters the holy code. It seems sensible to assume these are the Enas she's talking about. (Because of Species Theory TM, no one ever really asks how they got here, why they look nearly identical to our Ena, and why they're unmoving. But that's besides the point.)

Most importantly for the purpose of this post, for some frames, they glitch into Mannequins.

(I would be remiss if I did not mention that right after this sequence, there's a data matrix on the wall that when decoded says "FORGET YOUR PAST". Make of that what you will.)

We already know there are multiple simultaneous instances of Ena in some manner, given that the Shepherd has met multiple of them. Given where the Shepherd is located and based on her dialogue, it's likely too that the Enas she met were also attempting to reach the Great Runas as well. That's another set of individuals that are attempting to reach this divine being, other than the Mannequins (and Moony).

So, when Ulysses says "You will fail, like the rest of them", maybe he's talking about the lifeless Mannequins that Ena walks past on her way to the Great Runas. Or, maybe he's talking about the other Enas that can be seen in the holy code. Or you know, both.

Or, perhaps, there's no difference between the two.

Time and reality seems to be a bit weird in the world of Ena. When talking to the remnants of the former Genie, she will offer her memories, to show Ena a reality where Ena did succeed. And this "reality" is (presumably) the reality where Ena had successfully reached the Bathroom, and the events play out the same as if you had done so.

This seems to imply that despite the fact that the sequence of events that led to Ena successfully reaching the Bathoom was not something the Ena you're currently playing as ever experienced, given that the Genie describes it as "her memories", from her perspective, it still happened. Both realities seem to co-exist.

What does that have to do with Mannequins? Well,

Here's my crazypants Theory. Rather Mannequins being a "spawnpoint", they're rather sort of... glimpses of other realities or timelines.

This Mannequin is found on the path that Ena was quite literally walking on before she stops, and she nearly gets caught under the falling structure from above. Perhaps in another alternate sequence of events she didn't stop, and kept walking. And that's what that Mannequin is.

Or this Mannequin found on the other side of the bridge, underneath the floating platforms leading up to the Orb. Perhaps in alternate sequence of events, Ena did end up falling while attempting to ascend to the Orb.

In fact, you can even experience this in-game. If you fall while attempting to climb up, you will "teleport" back to various checkpoints at different points of the ascent. So what if it's not "teleportation" that is happening, but rather you are being "transported" to a version of reality where she didn't fall. Whatever you just experienced did not happen to this Ena. But, you can still see evidence of this having happened, in some version of reality, when you look at the tops of these buildings.

(edit 5/5/25:) A new patch came out today which added a new interaction with the file compressor, where you can compress files more and more until they explode, causing Ena to stumble backwards after which you "respawn" in the center of the roundabout again.

Interestingly enough, with this new interaction they also a new lifeless Mannequin, which can be found dismembered exactly where Ena would've been blown up by this zip bomb. Even more interestingly, this dismembered mannequin is already there even before you've interacted with the zip compressor. As if it's already happened. But not to you. (Yet.) (end of edit)

(Now, I am aware that it's an absurd claim to suggest every single Mannequin here is parallel Ena. That might not be plausible. But I think it's sensible to assume at least some of the Mannequins we see across the series and game may be.)

When the broken Genie shows you a different reality, if you talk to Unforgiven Frank next to the ship, he will still recall your earlier interaction, despite the fact that in the reality where you succeeded in reaching the Bathroom, you would've never encountered him in the Lost Village.

So, it seems these are not distinct and separate realities, but somehow both true at once. Similarly to how the realities where Ena fell in a river or a pit, and the realities where she didn't, are both simultaneously true. And similarly how the Shephard has already met Ena, even if this Ena has not met the Shephard.

Does she retain anything across iterations? Does she collectively experience all of them at once, or just one at a time? It seems for the most part, Ena does not have information that she would've obtained in any parallel iteration of herself, because she needs to ask for it, this is the case in both Temptation Stairway and Dream BBQ. But it seems in some cases she does have information from sequences of events she herself has not experienced, like how she can aspire for Frank's forgiveness despite never having met him (though of course, maybe they already met prior to the events of Dream BBQ.) Perhaps it's as the Shaman said, while perhaps she can, if she were experiencing all of them simultaneously, she would be lost in her own mind.

This theory is not rock solid, there's some things that still don't quite make sense. If you're up on the Orb Island after ascending, you can quite literally jump down all the way to the bottom and be fine, so why would another iteration Ena not make it from falling during her climb? Or, if Mannequins are supposed to represent Ena from other versions of reality, wouldn't you expect lifeless Mannequins to be found at, say, the bottom of the rivers and pits, rather than hanging off the edges? Though, since the Mannequin "inside" Ena seems to be able to "emerge" from her body, perhaps that could be the explanation for this conundrum.

With all this said, there seems to be a natural conclusion to this theory. Under the assumption that the Enas we see suspended in the holy code in Temptation Stairway are Enas that "failed" in their task, like the rest of them (like the rest of them) like the rest of them... What does that actually mean for Ena at the end of Dream BBQ?

I'm sure everyone has noticed the shot we see at the end of the game is nearly the exact same as the one in Temptation Stairway. There's other Mannequins as well, also suspended in the holy code. The conclusion of this theory seems therefore to suggest that the Ena we see at the end of Dream BBQ never actually made it out of Uncanny Streets at all. She got stuck behind the Lonely Door. Failed, like the rest of them, alongside the other Mannequins we see floating in that space.

It's a sensible assumption that the hand that reaches out and grabs this Ena-Mannequin is "taking" her and "placing" her back in the body of the Mannequin in the hub. But what if even that isn't true? What if the Ena "emerging" out of the Mannequin in the Hub isn't her "respawning", but rather, she is an entirely different instance of Ena that never left the Hub in the first place? Whatever happened to the Ena in the Lonely Door still happened, but not to this Ena.

Which seems to prompt a question that no other theory would need to ask. Where is that hand taking this other Ena?

[sylusjinwoon]

{ 163 }

anomaly.

jinwoo sung x isekai’d!fem.reader

{ you think your days are uneventful | and no one ever thinks about you… }

you had no rhyme or reason, not even a mere explanation, as to how this was possible.

you found yourself in the fictional world of solo leveling; a world that you adored with all your heart.

back in the real world...

you recall spending hours of your days binge reading the chapters of the manwha on your phone, falling in love with the amazing art style and the action sequences. it was embarrassing for you to admit, but in the midst of you reading the comic, you ended up developing quite the crush on the main protagonist, sung jinwoo.

of course, you were well aware of how he already had a canon love interest, but a part of you truly didn't care. when your emotions became too much for you to handle, that was when you would constantly search for any inserts pertaining to him, drowning yourself in such wonderful daydreams while saving each and every story you came across within the safety of your phone.

and when solo leveling's mobile game was announced-

you were the first to sign up for it immediately. once the game had launched globally for you to enjoy, you quickly dove into the game while doing your best to care for jinwoo. sure, there were some hiccups along the way, and you accidentally made him 'die' on some occasions, but still, you allowed your love for jinwoo to push you forward.

you spent some of your money on purchasing better items and weapons for jinwoo, slowly leveling up jinwoo in a more safe and efficient manner. and while you were simply enjoying the game, the last you you remember was working on grinding up jinwoo's level before falling asleep within the comfort of your bed-

only to find yourself in an unknown bedroom within an unfamiliar apartment. a gasp escapes from your lips when you look down at your hands, realizing that they looked... more colorful and bright-

almost as if you had been drawn and colored in.

a sudden knock heard on your door breaks you out of your thoughts, trailing your eyes to see your mother opening the door for you, "morning sweetheart, it's time to get up and go to classes!"

you were shocked to see that it was actually your mother who greets you with a sweet smile on her face. she was dressed in soft clothes consisting of a sweater and jeans with her arms crossed over her chest, waiting for you to get up.

"mom, i- where are we right now?"

she frowns upon hearing your question, "what do you mean? we're in seoul, your father got promoted as a hunter and was transferred to the korean hunter's association branch, remember?"

your mind was spinning. there was no way in hell this was real! your parents were both regular office workers. you had never once seen your dad with any combative abilities-

were you dreaming?

had your daydreams pertaining to solo leveling's world made you hallucinate this much?

as if sensing your confusion and discomfort, your mother goes inside your room and settles herself on your bed, reaching out a hand to you as she brushed back your hair. "honey, are you alright?"

you swallow thickly and tried to even out your breathing. "i-i'm fine! but uhm... just to double check... do you and i have any... abilities?"

your mother shakes her head and continues to gently brush back your hair. "no, we are normal civilians, but don't worry! your father will protect us..." she meets your gaze and asks in a warm and concerned manner, "did you wish to skip classes for the day? i'm sure your professors won't mind as much, since you are a university student."

you shake your head at the offer, actually feeling quite eager to explore the world of your beloved webcomic. "no mom, it's okay! i just had a strange dream... and was a little confused, that's all."

she gives you another bright smile before leaning in to press a kiss against your hair. "alright then, i'll make some breakfast for you, and you can head out to your classes afterwards."

she finally leaves you alone then, heading back out into the kitchen as you bolted out of bed to look at your reflection in the mirror. your features remained the same, yet now that you were 'drawn' into the art style of solo leveling, you knew that you were much prettier than usual.

gone were the acne scars and blemishes, and despite your figure remaining the same, you felt quite confident in it. as you touch at your face, admiring the bright quality of your eyes, you couldn't help but sigh to yourself.

"i may look better, but i still don't think i'm a match for cha hae-in."

despite how you could feel your heart pounding with excitement and anticipation at the thought of meeting sung jinwoo someday, you knew better than to get your hopes up. after all, he must have had his second awakening already and was simply doing raids and attending meetings and conferences throughout the world (as per the plot). you knew that his romance with cha hae-in would start to blossom soon, and you didn't wish to acknowledge or even be a witness to it.

in this world, even though i love it so much and would LOVE to be a badass hunter or a healer, i'm still just a civilian.

you continue admiring yourself in the mirror with an almost wistful expression. "maybe it's a blessing that i am a civilian and jinwoo is a hunter..."

that way, i don't have to meet him; i can save myself the heartache and forever remain out of his personal orbit.

you hear your mom calling out to you to come get ready and come to eat breakfast, breaking you out of your reveries as you walked out of your bedroom with a newfound eagerness.

{ ... }

[ ANOMALY DETECTED. ]

jinwoo was simply settled within his office, looking over some reports when the system showed him a new notification. he frowns at the translucent screen, hands reaching up to tap at it.

[ ANOMALY DETECTED. WOULD YOU LIKE TO VIEW IT?

YES / NO ? ]

he could feel his eyes flash purple in response, filled to the brim with concern at the thought of a brand new threat that appeared in his world.

"yes." was his simple answer, eyes becoming glued to the screen as he waited for what the system would show him-

only to feel a bit dumbfounded upon seeing a young woman walking out of her apartment. she was dressed casually with a bag slung over her shoulder, clearly a student as she made her way to the station.

"system, what makes this woman an anomaly?" he asks it casually, waiting for yet another reply. within seconds, a new screen was seen.

[ DIFFERENT UNIVERSE. ]

this message made jinwoo's eyes go wide, his anger quickly being replaced by curiosity. "and how are you certain she's from a different universe?"

[ SHE IS AWARE THAT SHE COMES FROM A DIFFERENT UNIVERSE. SHE IS THE ONLY ONE WHO IS AWARE. SHE IS AN ANOMALY. ]

jinwoo was intrigued now, hands remaining folded against his desk as his glowing, purple eyes continue to watch the woman go on with her day.

interesting... very interesting indeed.

{ ... }

even though you were simply making your way to class, you were honestly having so much fun. even though you technically haven't been out exploring seoul before, it was like you were running on autopilot, with your legs having no issue taking you to the university you attended.

there was a strange sense of familiarity that washes over you, and it almost felt like you were a character that was meant to be within solo leveling's world-

almost.

upon arriving at your university, you greet the two girls that you assumed were meant to be your friends, joining them before and after classes as you managed to enjoy lunch with them. during your classes, you were pleasantly surprised to find that you could understand the textbooks and the professor's written notes as you copied them diligently within your own notebook.

with your classes completed later that afternoon, you decided to spend some time exploring the city, basking in the beauty of the late afternoon while enjoying the sunset. as you stopped in the middle of the sidewalk while admiring the warmth of the setting sun, your phone began to ring with an incoming call from your mother.

picking it up on the second ring, you answer, "hello? hey mom, what's up?"

"you're finished for the day, right? do you mind coming home so that you can help me prepare dinner?"

"of course. i'll see you soon. i love you, mom!"

you hear her laughter on the other end. "i love you, too. stay safe, and come home soon!"

after hanging up the call, you walk with your head held high and a bounce in your step.

even knowing the dangers that were to come-

(the monarch's invasion settled within the heart of this city)-

you held no anxiety or fear because jinwoo would ultimately take care of the war, protecting everyone and everything that lived on this earth while taking on the burden all on his own.

{ ... }

jinwoo had been watching the young woman for quite a few weeks now, and he was fascinated by her carefree and happy nature.

had those who came from a different universe always remained this happy?

even when she was simply doing mundane things like...

attending classes,

helping her mother cook,

eating dinner with her parents the moment her father came home,

and simply studying-

jinwoo couldn't look away.

it was like her finding joy with the simple things in life was like a beacon of light to him. she had an inner beauty that called out to jinwoo, and he found himself desperate to know more about her.

i should meet her soon... and place a shadow soldier on her.

he swipes away at the system's screen the moment he sees her get into bed. knowing that she had class the next day, jinwoo decides to make some time to meet her once and for all.

{ ... }

"oh my god, is that who i think it is?!" one of your friends was heard crying out to you, hanging on to your arm in a tight manner as she stops you from crossing the gate.

"hm? what are you talking about?" you ask with a yawn.

"it's him! the latest s-rank hunter, sung jinwoo!" your other friend was practically freaking out, too, eyes going wide as a dreamy expression crosses her features.

of course, how could you forget? in this world, powerful hunters were viewed and treated like celebrities. as you strained to look toward the gates, you saw that it was indeed jinwoo settled near the gates. he was dressed in his usual coat and suit with what looked like a bouquet of flowers in his hand.

strange, does cha hae-in attend this university, too?

you thought to yourself, even though you were 100% certain that she only worked as a hunter-

but why else would jinwoo be here with a bouquet of flowers?

"you guys go ahead and meet him." you slowly back away from your friends, adjusting your bag as you looked toward the other gate of your university, "i just know that he is going to have a whole group of fans flocking to him, and i don't want to be late. i made plans with my parents." you lie through your teeth before making a dash away from the gate, not even bothering to reply to your friend's protests.

you were determined to never meet with jinwoo-

after all, you didn't want to even fall any more in love with him than you already were-

especially when knowing that he had always belonged to someone else.

however, in the midst of you running away, you were unaware of a pair of glowing, purple eyes that followed your every movement.

{ ... }

she's avoiding me...

jinwoo finds himself back home, barely touching the dinner his mother had prepared for him. his chopsticks kept picking at the rice, eating it a single grain at a time while deep in thought.

"oppa, if you keep going at that pace, you'll be stuck here forever." jinah teases him between bites of her own food, "seriously, what's up with you?"

not even jinah's teasing could break him out of his intrusive thoughts, earning a concerned look from his mother. "jinah, could you give me a moment to talk to your brother?"

she rolls her eyes playfully, but ultimately listens to her, standing from her seat with her bowl of rice and side dishes in hand, giving them some privacy. unable to find his appetite, jinwoo puts down his bowl and pushes it away from him. feeling her touch as she reaches across the table toward him, his chin was suddenly being held by his mother, her own dark eyes filled with concern for him.

"what's wrong, my love?"

he swallows thickly, trying to hide how he was feeling. "nothing is wrong..."

because she was his mother, he should have known better than to lie. "you're heartbroken."

jinwoo stiffens completely when he hears her words. "n-not exactly when she... ah... she doesn't know that i exist. or rather... she doesn't even wish to acknowledge me."

his mother remains silent for a few beats before letting out a soft laughter. "well, perhaps the young lady is a bit intimidated by you, jinwoo."

he could feel his eyes going wide upon hearing her words, feeling shy when she kept on laughing, "in fact, you remind me of your father. when i first met him, i was filled with such joy and love at the mere sight of him. yet... because i had never felt such a powerful sense of love before, i tended to shy away from him a bit."

his mother continues to speak with her eyes closed, "but despite my distance, your father was persistent. he never once gave up on me, always sending me sweet gifts and taking me out on fun little dates. it was through his kindness alone that he had captured my heart completely, getting rid of my doubts since i knew that he was the one for me."

jinwoo smiled at his mother, allowing her to bask in her memories with a hint of sadness felt within his heart.

"so, what are you suggesting that i do then?"

his mother finally opens her eyes before giving him a wide grin, "if she means that much to you, then you need to capture her heart... turn whatever anxieties she has for you into something softer and warmer... like love. you are your father's son, and i know that you not only inherited his appearance, but his tenacity as well..."

he could feel his heart grow lighter in response to her words, now being filled with a newfound courage. letting out a light chuckle when he stands from his seat, coming towards his mother so that he could press a kiss against her hair.

"thanks mom... for the advice. i know exactly what i need to do now."

{ ... }

ever since you first caught sight of jinwoo lingering outside of your university, you had been extra cautious of your surroundings. sure, you were well aware that he had the power to keep track of you through inserting his soldiers within your shadow-

but if you were nowhere near his periphery, then he could not insert them into your shadow, therefore, making it unable for him to watch you fully.

so in your head, there was no way jinwoo could possibly keep track of you.

about a month had passed since you and your friends saw jinwoo, and ever since then, you didn't see him (thank the rulers above). since you were much more relaxed right now, completely convinced that jinwoo being close to your campus was a mere coincidence. and who knows? maybe that was the chosen meeting place he and hae-in had agreed on.

wishing to enjoy your saturday, you finish eating breakfast with your parents before telling them about your plans of enjoying the city. of course, they let you do as you pleased while making you promise them to be home by 9pm at the latest. sealing your promise with them, you grab your bag that held your phone and wallet before leaving your apartment.

the weather was so nice, and you could feel the gentle wind coursing through your hair, making you let out a happy sigh. you stop walking and take a moment to enjoy the weather. "i knew it was a good idea to come out of the house."

"about time."

you freeze upon hearing a deep chuckle settled a few feet away from you, making your eyes go wide as you saw what appeared to be shadowy wisps forming before you.

you were left gaping when jinwoo reveals himself from the shadows, giving you a smug expression.

"did you think you could hide from me forever?" amusement was seen shining within his grey eyes, appearing as bright as silver with the way the sun was seen against them. you were caught off guard, whispering to him in a shocked manner, "you wasted your shadow exchange for this?"

jinwoo's eyes were tilted upwards in question, "oh, so you know a lot about me then?"

he ignores your flustered expression, coming closer to you as he held your chin tightly with one of his hands. he forces you to look at him, a look of annoyance with a hint of anger shimmering within his now glowing, purple eyes.

"why have you been avoiding me?"

his question comes out as strained, and you had no clear answer to give him without spilling your own secrets.

because i'm not from this world?

because i'm half in love with you due to the fact that you're my comfort character?

because i don't want to see you falling for cha hae-in and feel hurt and envious at the same time?

yet none of those words fall from your parted lips, and you couldn't stop yourself from meeting his gaze with a pout. seeing your expression, he sighs and immediately lets go of your chin. running a hand through his hair, he appears disappointed in himself when he meets your gaze again.

"i'm sorry, i was supposed to treat you gently..." jinwoo apologizes to you before taking a hold of your hand. "come on, let me take you out on a proper date."

by now, your mind was spinning, sputtering out weak protests as you could feel the heat against your cheeks. were you dreaming again? was this actually happening?

did your fantasies just come to life?

still caught in a daze, you and jinwoo had been walking for quite some time when he finally stopped at what looked like an amusement park. you look behind you to double check yourself, taking note that the skies were still perfect and sunny-

not at all swallowed up by a looming, purple gate.

a knowing smile crosses your features when jinwoo purchases tickets for you and him to go into the park, making you bask in the sweet scents of cakes, candies, with a hint of buttery popcorn. of course, thanks to his status as an s-rank hunter, he was allowed entry with you within mere minutes.

as you both walk into the amusement park, the crowd of people that once lingered quickly parted ways, their excited whispers could be heard while jinwoo kept your hand held tightly within his.

"no way, it's hunter sung jinwoo!"

"who's that with him?"

"i don't believe she's a hunter..."

"hunter sung with a regular civilian? wow, that's unheard of."

you felt your anxieties beginning to mount when jinwoo suddenly gave your hand a squeeze.

"just ignore them and don't even worry about it." jinwoo's smile manages to captivate you, and you had to look away from him (unless you wished for your heart to burst from the confines of your chest!)

why didn't you go with hae-in instead, like you were supposed to?

you didn't allow your jealousy to ruin this seemingly perfect moment with him, deciding to ask instead, "why did you want to go here with me?"

jinwoo shrugs while looking straight ahead. "i've always wanted to try and go here once... while taking a chance to get to know you better."

you blink up at him, detecting what he was hinting in his voice.

had he been watching you after all?

did he know that you weren't meant to be here-

is that why he held an interest in you?

because you weren't normal-

because you were an anomaly?

"do you want to get on that ride first?" jinwoo breaks through your thoughts, making you look up to see one of the rollercoasters. with a smile, you knew that you would enjoy each and every ride more so than cha hae-in ever could since you were still a mere civilian. such cheap thrills were still very much entertaining to you.

"yes! if it's at all possible, i'd like to ride everything at least once!" you tell him with a wide smile, squeezing his hand in response when he smiles down at you.

"sure, let's go on every ride, then."

so you spent the next several hours getting on each and every ride. while jinwoo maintained a blank expression, you raised your arms up and continued to yell with joy and happiness. each ride filled you with an exhilaration you hadn't felt in a long time. 

and with jinwoo follwing you every step of the way, you only felt your happiness increase.

after tiring yourself out with all the rides, jinwoo buys you lunch consisting of a cheeseburger meal. you look over at him, seeing him sipping at his soda while not even eating. between bites of your burger, you asked him why he didn't get anything to eat.

in response to your question, jinwoo simply rests his cheek against the palm of his hand. "i'm not hungry... because seeing your happiness and smile is enough to fill me."

your eyes go wide, not expecting jinwoo to say such a thing to you. as your heart began to race in response, you saw jinwoo looking away from you with a blush and a grin. he remains quiet, allowing you to finish your meal when he suddenly asks, "i know you're probably tired from all those rides, but... do you think you can handle one last ride with me?"

your breathing becomes labored then, heart already beginning to skip beats when you realized what was going to happen next...

{ ... }

your screams could be heard as you practically cling to jinwoo while riding on kaisel's back. as the shadow monarch kept laughing at your terrified screams, you were doing all that you could to keep from puking up your lunch!

the wyvern's wings seemed to cut through the skies, picking up speed at jinwoo's commands as you held on to him in an even tighter manner. after what felt like an eternity, kaisel began to slow down its flight, landing in the midst of a forested area while jinwoo carried you down its back.

jinwoo lands against the plush grass with you still in his embrace, still giving you an innocent smile while admiring your scowling face.

he calls out your name in between his laughter, "are you alright?"

you shake your head and fought back the dizziness coupled along with the contents of your food felt swirling in your stomach. "n-no... that was practically maniacal of you, sung jinwoo."

jinwoo's laughter becomes louder now, still keeping you in his arms when he tells you with a hint of arrogance. "consider this as payback for purposely ignoring me for so long."

his words only makes the nausea get worse, filling you with anxiety when he continues to walk even deeper into the forest, not stopping until he reached a clearing that you were all too familiar with.

your heart clenched with pain at the memory of hae-in with jinwoo at this exact location, watching as a shooting star was seen decorating the night sky.

yet, with you still in his embrace, the scene was a little different.

jinwoo settles himself against the grass, placing you on his lap with his arms wrapped around you. he presses your back against his chest with a hum, never once looking away from the skies while keeping you close to him.

your heart was still racing painfully, but you struggled to find the right words to even say to him. and as you were stewing in your thoughts, you knew you had to tell him the truth.

"do you realize that i am not originally part of your universe?"

jinwoo doesn't look away from the skies, only letting out another hum as his grin seemed to widen in response to your question. "of course i know... but don't worry. it doesn't matter to me where you're from... as long as you agree to be mine from now on."

your mouth turns dry at his answer, making you turn around to face him, "w-what? how can it not matter to you? i...i tried so hard not to get in the way of your life, b-because you deserved to be happy with cha hae-in..."

he meets your gaze then, eyes glowing purple once more, "you thought that was best for me?"

your throat clenches painfully and you look away from him, only managing a nod in response.

"...is that why you were so dead set on avoiding me?"

you shut your eyes and let out a shaky "yes, i didn't want to fall even more in love with you... knowing that you belonged to her originally."

"don't be ridiculous... i am my own person and can very much choose who i wish to be with." jinwoo reassures you in between bouts of his laughter, tightening his hold on you before continuing, "i've said it before, and i'll say it again, it doesn't matter to me where you came from."

he shifts the way he held you just then, turning you around so that you were now fully facing him, with your hands against his shoulders. your face was getting hotter by the minute, and from the way jinwoo was holding you in place, you couldn't even look away from him.

"when the system alerted me to your presence, i thought that you were a threat... but the more i observed you, i came to admire you..."

shutting his eyes, you felt jinwoo gently delving his fingers into your hair before continuing, "i was honestly so mesmerized by your presence... and i kept thinking to myself... 'how are you able to be so happy all the time? how are you so filled with love for your family and friends? why did you exude so much light...?'"

jinwoo opens his eyes once more, now framing at your face with his two hands, "you being in my universe was the best thing that ever happened to me... and you being here makes me happy, do you understand?"

"jinwoo..."

your whisper of his name was all you could manage when he suddenly tightens his arms around you, bringing your head down closer to his when he perfectly slots his lips with yours, kissing you with a passion you had never once felt before as you basked in this moment with him...

a.n. - ahhhh i'm so happy at how this came out! i've wanted to do a story like this for a while, and i hope that you readers have enjoyed it as well 🥹

edit: i'm trying to make this appear in the tags, so i'm sorry if this is a double post to you! 😭

all stories are written by rei; reposts, translations, and plagiarism are not allowed.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Do you think that the Great Seven are actually just better people in the TWST universe, or a big case of historical revisionism?

Been wondering since in the dream sequences "Yuu" gets, I'm pretty sure the story plays out as they were in their original stories? I originally thought this might just serve as a gameplay purpose rather than a narrative one, in case the player doesn’t know the original story or needs a refresher. But doesn't "Yuu" acknowledge their dreams in the story?

From their dialogue I'm pretty sure they don't recognize any of the Disney characters, or their stories, so from a narrative perspective I wonder if these are dreams they’re getting of the past.

Both concepts are fun to explore, but I gotta wonder which one is closer to twst canon.

Based on what I have seen so far, I think Twst is trying to hint at its history being revised. The latest two books (6 and 7) have strong themes of lingering on the past/a strong desire to maintain a happy lie rather than accept a harsh truth or change from that status quo. Additionally, Lilia drops this suspicious line in book 6: “[…] different cultures and species pass down lore in different ways—not every truth is written down. There is no shortage of historical narratives that have been twisted to suit someone's agenda.”

Yuu then has two dialogue options. The latter of these seems to imply the disconnect between the reality of their Disney dreams and the reality of Twisted Wonderland:

“Twisting historical narratives, huh...”

(For some reason, I've got butterflies in my stomach.)

Yuu doesn’t seem to indicate familiarity with the true Disney versions, but this could be for a variety of reasons such as serving more as a narrative device for the players, Disney not existing in Yuu’s Earth (since they don’t recognize the icon that is Mickey Mouse either), or maybe convenient amnesia. They do have small moments of confusion when faced with Twisted Wonderland parallels of elements from their dreams but only start making the direct connection between their dreams and irl events starting late in book 5. This is why they anticipated “something bad happening” and feel compelled to follow Vil (who, at the time, was intending to poison Neige). Yuu also suffers from several headaches and visions of their Disney dreams while conscious in books 6 and 7, They appear to consistently treat the dreams as premonitions and not as material they are familiar with or see as the truth.

There are cases where the non-villains appear as important historical figures. This includes the original heroes of the Disney films, who are still largely portrayed positively—it’s just that the roles of the villains have changed into positive ones as well. There are also cases of the same story diverging to create multiple variations, which implies that stories do warp and change over time. For example, we are told that the Sorcerer of the Sands exposed a fake prince for lying about his status to win the princess’s hand. At the same time, there’s another story about how a street rat happily married a princess.

I do want to point out that altering history isn’t always done intentionally or with malice. Some stories just naturally change over time or get forgotten if they aren’t recorded properly. Oral retellings tend to get altered as they spread or get painted with bias due to who is sharing it, and variations of the same story can emerge from different cultures. Sometimes it is the case where people want to hide information or are acting out of ill intent, it just isn’t true of all cases.

Maybe this will be something they address in the main story ^^ Personally, I really do hope it’s the revisionist history explanation, as it would be really interesting to see explored. If the truth is that the Disney villains are just good people in Twisted Wonderland 💦 it’s convenient for sticking to the status quo, but ultimately far less nuanced.

[starbop]

How SMELLY all the Honkai Boys are...

Here's my ranking of HSR boys based on how much I think they smell. Explanations + headcanons below the cut!

The Top Stinkers

Caelus literally digs through garbage for fun. I don't think I need to defend their spot as the #1 stinkiest mf in this whole game. 11/10 on the stink scale.

Sampo also has the energy of someone who enjoys garbage. I, for one, have no idea where that thing has been and I don't think I want to know. He is also known to hide in piles of snow when need be, meaning he's just out there rolling around on the ground sometimes. 10/10 would not sniff again.

Luka is the sweatiest man alive. But he looks SO good doing it. The sparks and smoke his arm produces, while very cool to look at, do not help his smelliness rating. 8/10 because he at least has good reasons for smelling funky.

I do not think Blade has ever taken a shower. You could fry a whole chicken with the oil from his hair. 9/10.

Boothill smells like a mixture of motor oil, grease, and sweat. Not a smell I would personally hate, but objectively not a good one. Yeehaw/10.

The Smelly

I feel like, in theory, you could smell like anything in the Dreamscape. I just also feel like Gallagher would not choose to smell good. 7/10.

I really want to believe that he'd smell good, but the second he finishes his magical girl transformation sequence, Imbibitor Lunae reeks with the smell of seaweed. I will deduct a stinky point from my initial rating because some people may think this smells good. They are wrong. 7/10.

Neutral Smelling

Yanqing should reek from all the time he spends fighting and training, but Jing Yuan is not letting that boy leave the house without taking a bath. 6/10.

Arlan bathes regularly, but I can't imagine him having a particularly strong smell. Asta will occasionally gift him some lightly scented soaps, though. If anything, he smells vaguely like Peppy. 5/10.

Gepard might get a little sweaty under all those layers, but he doesn't have a strong scent one way or the other. 4/10.

I Am Sniffing Respectfully

I just KNOW that the Astral Express has the nicest bathrooms in the universe. Dan Heng and Welt stay smelling FRESH. 3/10.

(Though Dan Heng has ended up smelling like bubblegum on a few occasions after borrowing March's shampoo...)

Misha smells like a sweet dream. I don't know what dreams smell like, but that's the only way to describe Misha's scent. Vaguely like cotton candy, perhaps. Ethereal/10.

Jing Yuan takes bubble baths with Mimi and you can NOT change my mind. I can totally picture him dozing off peacefully after a nice, warm bath. I-can-overlook-the-cat-hair/10.

We've seen Ratio take SO many baths at this point that I don't think you could find a single speck of dirt on that man's perfect body if you tried. How are his fingers not just permanently pruney? I hate him so much. 1/10.

I AM SNIFFING DISRESPECTFULLY

Argenti smells like roses and sunshine. 0/10 smelliness can I please bottle your sweat sir

Luocha has to smell great with all those flowers he summons. I would grind him down to make potpourri. Not sure about the coffin, though. -2/10.

And as for Aventurine? Cologne. SO much cologne. Whether this is a good or bad thing is up to you, but he certainly has A Smell. Subjective/10.

[steterweek]

Steter Week 2025: Steter at the Cinema Prompts

This year we are trying something new: an overarching theme. 

Steter at the Cinema

Each day’s prompt is a specific genre of film, complete with a short explanation of the genre, and some more detailed prompts that fit into that genre. 

As always these prompts are just suggestions. Take them as literally as you like, use some element in your story, or ignore them all together. The goal is just to get a lot of wonderful Steter work into the world. 

SUNDAY, JULY 27

ROMANTIC COMEDY: Romantic comedy, (or rom-com), focuses on lighthearted, humorous plot lines centered on romantic ideas, such as how true love is able to surmount all obstacles.

Did one of them just get dumped? 

Did they have a meet-cute? 

Are they the subject of a will-they-won’t-they bet with all of their friends? 

Or are they the two side-characters in someone’s else’s love story? 

MONDAY, JULY 28

HORROR: Horror is a genre that seeks to elicit physical or psychological fear by exploring dark subject matter and dealing with transgressive topics or themes. Broad elements include monsters, apocalyptic events, and religious or folk beliefs.

Are they dealing with the never-ending stream of monsters that come into Beacon Hills? 

Does Peter live in a haunted house? 

Are they being stalked by a killer? 

Is one of them the killer? 

TUESDAY, JULY 29

ACTION: Action is a genre that predominantly features chase sequences, fights, shootouts, explosions, and stunt work.

Are they on the run? 

Is one of them a fugitive? 

Are they into fast cars, or fast planes, or martial arts?

Are they on the hunt for megafauna or a rare treasure? 

WEDNESDAY, JULY 30

SCIENCE FICTION: Science Fiction (or sci-fi) is a genre that uses speculative, fictional science-based depictions of phenomena that are not fully accepted by mainstream science, such as extraterrestrial lifeforms, spacecraft, robots, cyborgs, mutants, interstellar travel, time travel, or other technologies.

Are they in space? 

Did someone experiment a little too hard and create something new? 

Has the world ended? 

Is one of them a robot? 

THURSDAY, JULY 31

INDIE: Indie movies are not a genre in themselves; rather, they are characterized by a distinctive attitude about telling stories that might not fit within the mainstream studio system, exploring unconventional themes, and embracing the freedom to take artistic risks.

Do they live in a small quirky town? 

Does one of them only talk in quotes? 

Is Stiles a manic pixie dream boy? 

Does Peter have some obscure obsession that is taking over his life? 

FRIDAY, AUGUST 1

FANTASY: Fantasy is a genre with fantastic themes, usually magic, supernatural events, mythology, folklore, or exotic fantasy worlds.

Is one of them a mythological creature?

Do they live in the fairy realm? 

Does Stiles actually have magic powers?

What if any of the lore on the show actually made sense?

SATURDAY, AUGUST 2

CROSSOVER/FUSION/AU: A work in which two or more fandoms are combined in some way. A Fusion or AU may transplant a given source work's characters to a radically different setting, shift the genre in which their adventures occur, and/or alter one or more of their professions, goals, or backstories.

Write Steter into your favorite film plot. 

Are they suddenly fully living out the plot to Point Break with Peter as a criminal/surfer and Stiles as an FBI agent? 

Do they have Daemons?

What if they met the characters of your favorite film? 

Are they now hanging out at Empire Records on Rex Manning Day with everyone else? 

Check our our visual prompts here.

Fin

[tragicvampireromanceisland]

heyyy what happened to my superman comic? did i pick up the wrong one? who the hell is this solarflare girl.... 🤨😳

OKAY but in all seriousness! HI HI HI!! the FIRST chapter of the superhero au is now up to read!!

COLLATERAL DAMAGE: PART 1 AND PART 2 !!!

told from the perspectives of our hero besties sol and xenia :)

split into a two-parter for convenience, as this...got a lot a bit lengthier than i had initially expected. you know how it goes LOL. but i am SO excited to finally, officially share it with you all (and super excited to share the mock comic cover as well. had a blast doing it)!!

some names here may be a bit familiar...and some may not! i'll keep it short, but here's some explanation and context under the cut (completely optional to read! just thought it may help supplement the story if needed). i still need to draw Official designs for a lot of these guys, so keep an eye out for those too, eventually!!

a little world and character glossary:

Gestalt- The name of the primary city in which the main story takes place. named after the Gestalt principles of psychology! something something the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. Surely that means nothing for our hero team...

Mutants vs. Magic Users- A very minor part of this chapter, but still introduced. All powered supers (well, aside from Sol) have either biological or magical origins for their powers. Now, who's what is something (mostly) yet to be revealed!

Boomsday- One of the henchmen introduced in this chapter! His whole gimmick is based off of how some of the concept designs for Guilt involve him carrying around a giant backpack.

Doppel Danger- The other half of the henchmen in the first fight sequence. Not much to say here for him yet, except that he's based off of the scrapped emotion Doubt!

Janelle- Of Dream Productions fame! She's a hero talk show host here!

Jean- Sigh...of Dream Productions...infamy. Chief department editor of Hero Affairs, which also means she's both Jane and Sammy's boss. Fun!

Gretchen- ??? Supposedly, she's Sammy's boss. And Jean's boss. a higher-up of the higher-up. We have yet to truly meet her... 😳

Tally- My own mind worker oc LOLLL. She's one of Xenia's college professors.

Anj- A newbie Hero Affairs reporter. She's actually a scrapped mind worker character from the second movie! You can find her concept design (along with Gail, the next entry) here.

Gail- Captain of the Magical Interference and Neutralization Division (MIND) of the Gestalt Police Department. So basically a fancy cop LMAO. I wonder what their deal is...

MIND- As mentioned above, the Magical Interference and Neutralization Division! They're a branch of the police department that focus on taking down magic-based villains and threats.

Old Lady Who Crossed the Street in Part 1- ...I think we all know who this is. ABDHKJKGDA

PHEW okay, that should be all the major stuff, but i'm always open to answering questions on any other details! i've got some more major story stuff in the works as well, but. gonna take it easy with that for a little bit LOL. but THANK YOU SO MUCH to anyone who made it this far. i'm surprised how much support this au has gotten, how much that's inspired me to keep creating, and it means the world!! you guys make it all worth it.

hahaha that's it. i promise. hope the wait was worth it!!! 💖

[cassiasims]

NO YOU’RE RIGHT. YOU’RE SO RIGHT. i love hilson as much as the next guy but the fandom tendency to completely devalue the lives of female characters is unbearable. killing amber off in the first place was a pretty egregious example of fridging but the fandom almost celebrating it for the hilson potential is just like. come on guys.

on another note, i would’ve loved to see an AU where amber lived and we got to see more of her and house’s dynamic when they were social equals (eg. when she was dating wilson and not employed at PPTH). do you think they ever could’ve been friends?

yeah this is the thing. on the one hand, it’s hard to give the fandom too much shit for this when so much of amber’s writing in canon is just straight up misogynistic anyway—the fridging, everyone calling her ‘cutthroat bitch’ (which, come on, is not being used in the funny ‘lol slay queen’ reclaimed sense that it might be today and that i think a lot of the 2025 fandom interprets it as; it’s a derogatory nickname coined by a man that is clearly meant to put her down), being punished by the narrative for pulling the exact same shit as house and other male characters, etc. on the other hand…try harder, lol.

and like: we find out a lot of fascinating things about amber. i think there's probably a kernel of truth in her frustrated 'mommy didn't love me enough, daddy expected too much from me' explanation as to why she loves to win so much in games, given her later claim that before wilson she thought she had to choose between love and respect. if there is, that's a massive parallel to chase--who explicitly tells house to hire her and who she openly schemes with in 97 seconds, why does nobody talk about that--but even if there isn't, it's still fascinating that THAT'S where her mind goes to for an explanation that'll get house off her back, right? she goes through this whole off-screen character arc--she leaves games 'trying not to care', and returns relatively well-adjusted as wilson's new girlfriend a few episode later--and nobody seems interested in what happened there, what drew her to wilson specifically. part of the whole perversion of her hallucination form in s5 is that even at her worst, amber was never that cruel. there is so much to go off of here. i guarantee if she were a man she'd be a top 5 fandom character. can anyone fucking hear me. hello....

anyway: could amber and house ever have been friends? i'm gonna say something controversial: i think by the time amber died, they already sort of were. something nobody talks about AGAIN is that house's head specifically really...toys with this idea that house was attracted to amber. the woman who takes her place in his hallucinations is objectively very attractive. there's that whole eroticised tying-the-scarf-around-the-leg lap sequence. house fumbles and gets flustered when she pops up during the hypnosis session, and doesn't refute wilson when he points out that this is because house genuinely respects her. even that night at the bar: he doesn't shove her away. he goads her to stay for a drink. he sits and talks with her on the bus. this is what i mean when i say i think house wanted amber to live for her own sake: by the time she died, he'd stopped seeing her solely as a reflection of himself. he liked her. in that dream-vision on the bus after her death, he confides in her as an equal: wilson is going to hate me. i've often wondered if what might have driven the wedge between house and wilson in an alternate s4 ending where amber lived is house liking her too much, as a flipside to the whole 'mom said it's my turn on the xbox wilson' custody dispute he has going on with her in s4; we never do find out why house got so drunk that night in the first place, and i suspect in a longer s4 it might've been more heavily hinted that he had feelings for her with zero intent of acting on them. all this to say: yeah, i think they would have been friends.

[espanolbot2]

Generally speaking I'm not really a fan of the trope where it turns out that something previously established as being magical turns out to have a science fiction explanation instead.

For example, like how in Ben 10, I believe a character in one season thought that they were learning magic, only for in another for them to learn that it's actually more like a mutant power resulting from them being related to aliens somewhere.

Similarly, as HP Lovecraft's work shifted from fantasy-horror to dark science fiction, things that previously described as being magic (the Dreams of the Witch House, for example) were later reframed as people accessing a kind of math or science that enabled them to bend space-time. The Necronomicon becomes less of an evil spell book, per se, and more a reference book about aliens and their abilities as interpreted by an old timey person who couldn't conceptualise such things.

I don't know, I think that it cheapens it somehow?

I'm somewhat more ambivalent over the Clarke's Law idea (where any sufficiently advanced technology is distinguishable from science), as depending on how it is used it can still act as a overlapping with actual fantasy still. For example, the way magic (and how specifically wizards study/use it) in Terry Pratchett's Discworld series is informed from his time as a press officer for a nuclear power station. Magic is treated in a similar manner to radiation and the like, but still operates AS magic would do.

Interestingly, the manga/anime Dungeon Meshi also puts a tone of worldbuilding into both the ecosystems of magical dungeons as well as the physics of magic itself (the biology of magical creatures, how the energy that powers magic is theorised to come from an alternate dimension "where infinity exists" etc.). It's emphatically still a fantasy setting, tropes and all, but it uses a form of science to explain how magical stuff works while maintaining that it's still all magic, if you get me?

The third option, which tends to be more rare, is the idea that something scientific turns out to have a magical explanation rather than the reverse. So, for example, in the Rivers of London novel Foxglove Summer, protagonist and trainee wizard Peter Grant ends up in part of the UK which tends to have a lot of UFO sightings (rural Herefordshire)... only for it to turn out that the alien sightings and abductions area actually caused by elves very similar to those from the Discworld novels (who exist in a pocket dimension that can only access other worlds at certain times of the year).

This is, itself, an inversion on the theory among UFO enthusiasts that stories about fairies and such in folklore were more primitive folk describing UFO encounters, with it turning out that it was ALWAYS fairies, it's just folks' frame of reference changed for the more "logical" scientific explanation (aliens) instead. This was itself referenced within the Discworld novels themselves, with the coming of the elves being forecast with a sudden spike in crop-circle activity (a phenomena claim is caused by aliens, rather than bored rural folk making Art).

I don't know, it basically comes down to how it's done in all honesty. Personally I like it when Science and magic are defined as two separate things, but I can appreciate when people use science as a way to help conceptualise how magic works in-universe? Such as the time in the comic Planetary where a character uses simplified computer analogies to describe the physics of magic to someone.

Reality has a form of operating system, and magic is the means to manipulate it to the user's own ends via a specific method or sequence of actions.