#and refuses to acknowledge the core problems

[clonerightsagenda]

("Pan Pan")

LOVELACE I will never understand you people. How can you stand to be around him? HILBERT Because they understand what you never have. You do what you need to. You adapt. You survive. Sometimes you have to work with the devil, but - MINKOWSKI Hilbert, stop talking. HILBERT Why? Am I being too indelicate? MINKOWSKI No, because if you don't shut up right this second she's not going to get a chance to kill you.

("Happy Endings")

HILBERT Captain? Slowly, three heads turn towards the other person in the room. HILBERT (CONT'D) You have been very quiet. So she has. For a BEAT she just stares at Hilbert evenly. HILBERT (CONT’D) You understand. You know how bad things will get. You are not like them. You are - LOVELACE You have ten seconds to get out of this room.

Love that Hilbert just keeps trying the exact same thing on different people. Actually that's his entire character isn't it

[fantastic-nonsense]

I think people who genuinely wanted Percy to rebel against the gods and overthrow the system kind of...miss the whole point of the series

The question is not whether or not the gods deserve to rule; the books are kind of unambiguous that they don't! That the gods are generally undeserving of their children's loyalty is the one thing that Percy and Luke both agree on! But PJO is less about divine right to rule vs. ruling via consent of the governed and more about improving dysfunctional family systems. It's not about whether unfair rulers deserve to continue ruling; it's about forcing the gods to be better, fairer rulers and a better, fairer family given limited alternatives.

Because what are the alternatives, as presented to us within the scope of the original PJO series?

Option 1: allow Kronos to topple Olympus and take over. Clearly not a viable alternative for all of the reasons the books show us.

Option 2: the demigods overthrow the Olympians and rule the world themselves. Okay. How's that going to work out long-term, given demigods are mortal and cannot control or protect their parents' domains? Demigods will die out within a generation or two, so that's potentially a one-generation short-term solution, and then everyone's right back where they started. Except worse, because now the world has been out of divine balance for a century and the gods have a completely legitimate bone to pick with all demigods. Materially worse outcome.

Option 3: demigods ignore the gods and their will entirely. They integrate into the mortal world, refuse to participate in quests or talk to their parents, and pretend prophecies don't exist. Except that's clearly not a viable option, since we see that demigods usually can't safely exist in the mortal world without monsters coming after them, the gods are cruel enough to use blackmail and engage in hostage situations to get demigods to act as heroes, and prophecies have a way of coming true regardless of everyone's best attempts to circumvent them. Again: materially worse outcome.

And for Percy, for the demigods at Camp Half-Blood, for Luke and for everyone else who defected....for the most part, they don't actually have an inherent problem with the gods ruling them. They just want to be acknowledged, valued, and loved by their families, to be treated as more than a tool for their parents to wield whenever their services are needed. That was the core thesis of the demigod rebellion, which was wholly separate from Kronos' specific motivations for overthrowing the Olympians, and it's why Percy's asks at the end of TLO were what they were.

The point was always that had Percy grown up in a slightly more dysfunctional family environment...had he grown up with Frederick Chase's seemingly conditional love or May Castellan's madness instead of Sally Jackson's steady, quiet, unconditional love...he could have turned out like Luke. Like Ethan. Like the dozens of demigods who defected from camp to join Luke's cause. Percy could have turned out just as a bitter and angry and vengeful. Just as ready to tear down the system. Just as willing to betray and kill his own family for the sake of making a point.

But instead, Percy openly reprimands the gods for abandoning their families and using them as cannon fodder in their own petty disagreements. He forces them to acknowledge and claim their children. He demands that everyone who is part of the godly family be recognized and accepted, not just those related to the Twelve Olympians. He asks for those unjustly punished (like Calypso) to be set free and accepted back into the family. Because that's the point at the end of the day: not forcing bad rulers to step down, but changing an insanely dysfunctional family system that the gods and demigods are all members of into a better, safer, and more accepting environment for demigods to grow up and live in.

Overthrowing the gods wouldn't solve the problem at the heart of the series, which is the gods' shitty parenting and family management skills. It would only exacerbate the massive familial fault-lines that Kronos exploited and leave the demigods open to more godly manipulation. Which is why the series ends as it does, with Percy using his wish to tangibly improve the lives of his family instead of selfishly improving his own life (via accepting immortality/godhood) or overthrowing the gods. Because the conflict isn't about the gods as rulers. It's about the gods as parents.

PJO's core thesis is Percy, who grew up knowing unconditional familial love, looking at this whole world of children who didn't and saying "that's not fair. Gods should be better than this!" But instead of destroying them the way Luke wants to, instead of overthrowing them and putting himself on the throne, he instead challenges them to be better parents and family members. To be part of the solution instead of the problem. And Percy's demands don't solve everything, but they were necessary first steps! Without forcing the gods to acknowledge a bare minimum floor of inclusion, the cycle would simply begin all over again the next time a major conflict popped up.

So that's the problem Percy solves and how he successfully fulfills the prophecy: by believing that the gods had the capacity to change and forcing them to break the cycle of familial abandonment, he preserves Olympus and takes the first steps towards a new status quo, one that is objectively better for demigods than the one he grew up in. That's why he succeeds, and it's why Percy overthrowing the gods would have made for a much less satisfying ending than what actually happened.

[aroaceleovaldez]

I think one of the best examples of what went wrong with TSATS is from the book tour I attended -

At one point during the event, Mark Oshiro made a comment about Nico's card collection. Specifically, they joked that Nico collecting cards was a sign that he was gay, because clearly he was only collecting the cards to look at the men on the art (which ends up being a note made in the actual book itself).

I've said a lot that you cannot divorce PJO from neurodivergence and disability. You just can't. And I stand by that. If you remove the neurodivergence and disability aspects from PJO it is no longer PJO because that's the foundation the entire series is built upon - representing neurodiverse and disabled students and kids. If you do not understand that or try to ignore it you have missed the most fundamental aspect of PJO as a series and everything else falls apart. (This is actually a trend that begins occurring mid/late-HoO and throughout TOA and that's where I say the main series begins to feel like it's no longer itself, but that's a rant for another day.)

You cannot divorce any of the demigod PJO characters from being ADHD/dyslexic. It is a core part of their characters. You cannot separate Nico di Angelo from the fact that he is ADHD/dyslexic. If you agree with Nico being autistic-coded or not, he is explicitly ADHD, and MythoMagic as we're introduced to it with him is clearly his hyperfixation if not his special interest. It just is. MythoMagic with Nico is the main ADHD/autistic trait we see presented with him. You cannot erase that. You cannot say "Nico only collected cards because he's gay" because then you are removing the fact that Nico is ADHD and you have missed the entire point of the series. Failed step 1.

TSATS does things like this so often throughout the book. (Ex: None of the characters stim, ever. The closest we get is Will bouncing his leg in one scene, but that's heavily implied to purely be him feeling anxious in that moment and nothing else. Nico even gives up his most iconic stim object and it's replaced with a coin he explicitly never stims with. He only ever touches it, never stims with it.) The book refuses to acknowledge that Nico and Will (and Annabeth and Percy and Piper and etc etc etc) are ADHD and dyslexic (and autistic-coded, in Nico's case). And if it does even remotely acknowledge those themes, it does so in the most ableist ways possible (infantilizing Nico, blaming Nico for his own ostracization, magically healing all of Nico's problems, implying Percy is only bad at school because he's disinterested and lazy, etc). And that happens because they started on the wrong foundation. They treated the characters' neurodivergence and disabilities as secondary and optional rather than the literal foundations the entire series was built upon and it shows.

[spiriteddreams]

Evermore

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Reader Warnings: angst, fluff, happy ending(? yea i'm pretty sure it is) Word Count: ~2.3k A/N: my flex is that i heard rwylm live so i won at life :D

seventeen — champagne problems Gojo Satoru slips through your fingers before you even register it happens. One moment you are dancing in the rain, Infinity not yet perfected as the cold seeps through your clothes. At seventeen you are both young and free, blissfully unaware of the consequences of your own actions as you fall in love. You may have fallen first, stumbling over the uneven cobblestone that protruded from the ground of Jujutsu High, but Gojo Satoru fell harder. Head over heels and far too arrogant for his own good, the holder of Limitless and the Six Eyes sweeps you off your feet and swears to offer you the world. He’s the strongest, and with his best friend at his side, there is really nothing that can stop the two of you. He spouts cheesy poetry with roses behind his back, looking away when you poke fun at the red that rises on his cheeks. You think you could bask in this moment forever, caught up in the adolescent innocence that was running from Principal Yaga during school hours and baking with Shoko in the middle of the night.

“This dorm is a madhouse,” you laugh, hand in his as you stumble to his room after narrowly avoiding being caught. 

Gojo grins back at you, “Well, it’s made for me!” A smile stretches across his face as he tugs you through the hallways. You ignore the way your friends watch with knowing looks, purposefully turning away to give the two of you space. When Gojo Satoru was seventeen, he didn’t quite grasp Infinity just yet, so the idea of space between the two of you, was impossible.

It is shattered in an instant and Gojo’s eyes become clouded with the weight of the reality of the jujutsu world. He drops your hand in the midst of dancing, leaving you standing in the rain, nothing to block out or distract you from the biting cold that stings against your skin. The death of Amanai Riko shakes Gojo to his core; both him and Geto, and he slips far beyond your reach. He’s there but he isn’t, and when you try to reach out to him, you feel as if he’s raised Infinity against you too.

The weight of the world seems to crash upon his shoulders as the applauses that he once reveled in became a dull roar in the back of his mind. Blurred faces haunt his memories and when you try to ask, Gojo shakes his head, mumbling that he doesn’t want to talk about what happened.

You don’t break up, but sometimes, you think that maybe, it would have been easier if things had ended then.

twenty — tolerate it Your heart drops when you hear that Geto has now been labeled as a curse user and is to be executed on sight. You refuse to believe that this boy that you’ve spent the last few years with in high school had suddenly turned his back to you, to Shoko, to Gojo. Gojo. 

“Satoru?” your voice is quiet but it cuts through the silence of his dorm room. You poke your head into the dark room, barely making out his figure leaning against his desk, head in hands and hair falling over his face. He doesn’t acknowledge your presence and when you step into his room, you feel as if you’ve fallen into a trap. The tension is thick and choking and you hold your breath as you approach him. His eyes are closed and you watch the steady rise and fall of his chest. The soft huffs of breath are the only sound that accompanies you in this silence.

“Satoru?” your call of his name for the second time makes his head raise, just barely tilting to acknowledge your presence. At twenty, you are caught between a teenager and an adult and amidst your own struggles, you realize that you don’t quite know what to do anymore. It shouldn’t have taken you this long to try to talk to him, because now that the distance has begun to stretch thin, you find that you are running out of things to say. How does one comfort a loved one who has lost another when, to him, you would never understand what it feels like to grapple with this turmoil. His words, not yours, remind yourself, mind flashing back to the last argument you had, one that ended with heaving chests and two stubborn teenagers. Only this time, you had Shoko to turn to, and Gojo had no one else. 

“Please, stop trying,” his voice is raspy but it hurts to hear. You realize that he’s far gone from your reach and this distance that you had once thought might be good for both you and him has instead come back around to tear you apart. “I’m fine. You don’t need to worry about me.” The cycle repeats and he shuts you out once more despite each tallied attempt.

You say “I love you” to a seemingly empty room, the words clinging to nothing but the dust and shadows that you feel like you’ve been talking to this whole time. 

twenty-one — happiness Gojo Satoru never flinches. He takes the punches without batting an eye and strikes back even harder, knowing exactly where it hurts. He knows which cuts will bleed the most until you are left with nothing but pride to grapple with. 

You break up with him when you are both twenty-one. Four years together is shattered in an instant. Your voice doesn’t waver, doesn’t break, and neither do you. But he just stands there, eyes covered by sunglasses and takes it. It’s not messy, there are no raised voices, just the weight of exhaustion of two lovers who have pulled a string taut. Loving turns to waiting for the other to take the scissors and cut the string, but both are too stubborn to make the first move. And when given the opportunity, when he slips you the scissors behind your back you make the final decision. Emotions feel like a whirlwind in the moment as you grapple with knowing that you are the one to end four years of happiness. 

“I’m moving to Kyoto, I want a new start and Utahime is looking for a new roommate,” you say when the worst of it has passed. A few months down the line and you find that staying in Tokyo is only doing more harm. You become caught between growing tensions and your own internal conflict. So when Shoko offhandedly mentions moving somewhere new, but still with hesitance in her tone, and Utahime reaching out with regards to her new apartment, you jump at the new opportunity. For some reason, Gojo is the first person you decide to tell. He glances at you with a smile, teeth peeking out between his lips. You freeze at the sight, horrified at the cruel realization that you can’t quite tell if Gojo is truly happy for you to be starting anew, or if this winning smile of his was already starting to turn into a smirk.

“Don’t miss me too much!” ever the tease, Gojo tilts his head down so he can make eye contact, as if giving you one last look at those beautiful eyes of his before he hides them away. You’ll miss those eyes of his, you think; those ever knowing eyes that seem to see through you and break past every wall that you’ve built.

He does see through it all, so in tune with your emotions and every little twitch of your eyes and lips. Gojo is well aware of his own faults in this fall, but stubborn as he is, and selfish in his want to keep things civil, he doesn’t say anything else. His heart drops at the news of your departure. He can keep himself emotionally distant but physically? Perhaps this time you’re the one slipping beyond his reaches.

twenty-eight — long story short Utahime tells you that Gojo has taken in a new kid. You choke on your tea at the words until she clarifies that he’s simply taken in a boy to Jujutsu Tech (not custody over another kid, you hope that poor Megumi is doing well dealing with this man-child). At twenty-eight you know you’ve moved fast past your teenage romance that was Gojo Satoru. Now, you laugh at the memories, looking back on faded photos and scrawled love letters that once swept you off your feet.

But still, you find that it’s easy to fall into bad habits. And this one just so happens to be named Gojo Satoru. Ever cocky and teasing with his words and touches, you find yourself spending more time at Jujutsu Tech under the guise of working with Okkotsu Yuuta. Gojo finds his ways to slip back into your life, whether it's to bring you sweets he picked up as he was coming in late to work, or try to pester you about what it’s like to live with Utahime. There are no issues with humouring him, after all, you’ve had seven years of reflection. 

But seven years later you find yourself in his presence again and Gojo seems to be making every attempt to win you over again. He makes no attempt to hide what he’s trying to do, and you’re horrified to learn that Shoko knows all about it and she finds it rather amusing. 

At twenty-eight, both you and Gojo have had a myriad of experiences under your belt. Maturity comes with age, and while that may be said about the both of you (for the most part), you realize that Gojo still holds onto some of that childish innocence and energy that he did when he was younger. You see it in the way he raises Megumi who responds to his guardian’s attempts with eye rolls and glances over at you for help. You see it in the way he teaches his first years, poor Inumaki, Panda, Maki and Okkotsu staring blankly as their teacher brandishes extra sweet pastries as if it were some sort of reward. 

It is that energy that he brings back into your life that has you stumbling back, indulging in late night invitations to grab food and reminisce about your teenage days. Now, with the alarming lack of physical distance between the two of you, you would be lying if you said the thought never crossed your mind, that if you had stayed, what might have been. 

And one night, when you find yourself tangled up in his arms, you run, cursing his name through confusion and frustration. Seven years down the drain and you feel foolish.

When Gojo wakes to the distance reinstated, he wonders if you both will survive this when it all ends.

twenty-nine — right where you left me You return to Tokyo Jujutsu Tech under Gojo’s request. He texts you out of the blue with emoticons that contradict the severity of the situation at hand. You return with hesitance, walking through old hallways lined with dust and memories of teenagers that ran through with no care in the world. The trek back to your old classroom is one that brings back memories in waves and you can only wonder why Gojo has asked you to meet there. Your old classroom, the one that he now teaches in, with chairs that groan when you sit on them and desks that have markings from your teenage days looks nothing new, and yet it’s unfamiliar. 

Gojo sits with his feet propped up on the desk, chair tipping back precariously as he rocks back and forth, head turned towards the open window with blindfold over his eyes. He sits there, not yet acknowledging your presence, as if he’s been there for ages. The dust from the room seems to swirl around him, but never quite settling on his hair and skin because you know that he has Infinity raised. You wonder when the last time he let it down around you was. 

“What a sad sight,” you joke, “I never thought you would willingly sit in those seats again.” Gojo turns at the sound of your voice and a smile crosses over his lips. You know that he could have sensed you from a mile away, so you can only wonder why he decides to play stupid like this, minding his own business, seemingly caught up in his own thoughts. 

“Sometimes I like to indulge in old memories,” he doesn’t make any effort to move so you take the step forward, crossing through the doorway to enter this room of memories. You’re both older and wiser now and yet you seem to abandon it at the door. 

At twenty-nine you both know what’s coming next. The world has gone to shit and it’s impossible not to see the exhaustion that weighs down upon Gojo Satoru. Your feet move first, then your hands and your body as you embrace him tightly. For a moment you are thrown back in time, locked in the fantasy of seventeen with your arms wound tight around him. To stay here forever, like this, together, is all either of you dreamed of when you were young and stupid.

Fast forward to the present and you find yourself in this same old familiar position with years of history to separate the two of you. In the back of your mind you wonder if this is the right decision to make. You know that Gojo has been trying to return to your life, attempt after attempt chipping away at ivy covered walls as you take every chance to run. But as October peers around the corner, you let yourself fall back into his arms.

And when it’s time to go, when the world calls for the strongest, when it asks for Gojo Satoru to once again make another sacrifice, you hold his face close to yours and throw out all thoughts that this could end badly. 

“I’ll be here, right where you left me.”

reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! <3 a/n: spirit appears, spirit writes, spirit disappears (hopefully not)

[ladyblueberrymuffin]

I don't like how little faith Percy has in Nico.

Like, when Nico helps him get the curse of Achilles, Percy has no problem instantly believing he betrayed him, when this is clearly not what Nico wanted, and then Percy threatens this twelve year old with a sword.

Then when he gets his memories back, he is completely fine with his closest friends and allies making up all these scenarios about how Nico might be their enemy, like completely proving Nico's point that demigods are prejudiced against children of Hades. Even when Percy kinda defends Nico, it's more like "Hazel vouches for him". Percy, this kid saved your life, without him you'd be dead ten times over, you should be vouching for him.

Nico has proven himself time and time again as Percy's friend, but Percy refuses to call him that. In his narration, his most inner thoughts in HoO, Nico is always referred as "that guy" or "the guy", and "Percy had no idea what to think of that guy".

And on paper, this is an amazing set up. Percy putting up this wall between him and Nico, because he's afraid of letting him close. Like he never got over that initial resentment, or he's afraid that Nico will get too attached to him. You could tell an amazing story with that. You have a character flaw for Percy to overcome.

But... we don't get that. We don't get anything like that. Percy keeps drifting away from Nico's life further and further.

The confession scene is so frustrating, because I didn't want it to be a joke, I wanted Percy to finally open up to Nico. I wanted him to have a heart to heart, finally acknowledge that he does care about Nico, because he should care about Nico.

To me Percy's treatment of Rachel and Nico feels less like he's oblivious of their feelings, but rather he's in denial of their feelings. Like, of course he wouldn't know Nico was gay, but the kid so clearly looks up to him, and wants his approval, and Percy is still like "Nope, not acknowledging that".

On another note, the way Percy kinda just lets Nico walk away after the confession is a consistent problem with how Percy is written, he neglects his friends a lot. He doesn't really spend time with Rachel after she becomes an Oracle, he doesn't really talk to or think about Grover in HoO, he lets Nico just walk away. It's like now that he has a girlfriend he doesn't care about anyone else, and that kinda feels out of character? Or maybe I just want this character to be better, and this is totally consistent with what Percy always was since PJO. I dunno. But it at least feels antithetic to what the core of this character is supposed to be. If he's loyal to a fault, shouldn't he care about his friends more?

It's the one thing that I know the TV show will get better, because already a lot more focus is placed on how much he cares about people around him.

[aisclosed]

it's over (& over) - y. jungwon x reader

regret tastes better than the taste of nothing at all

PAIRING: idol! y. jungwon x idol! reader GENRE: idol au , unofficial exes to lovers?, angst WORDCOUNT: 2.5 k WARNINGS: slightly suggestive , semi toxic relationship

Stop. Baby don’t stop. 

The music trails to an end and you both affix your gaze to the floor, the silence filled only by the puffs of air that slip past your lips, chests rising and falling in tandem. “Holding the ending pose, I guess we really are proper idols now,” you muse silently as you subconsciously count the remaining seconds in your head. 2. 1. 

Jaehyun raises his head, yours following in unison to meet his round eyes. They crinkle in prideful glee, and he reaches out to lift you into a spinning embrace, “Ahhhhh, that was our best run yet! We’re gonna fucking eat up the stage,” he cheers, ignoring the way you shriek at the sudden motion.

Your pleas to be put down seem to only fuel Jaehyun further, his boundless energy leading him to speed up until your laughter and screams ring in his ear. 

The sound of applause cuts through the air, bringing the both of you to a halt. It’s unenthusiastic, a slow echoing pace that seems more mocking than anything. It seems in your focus and delight, Jaehyun and you had both neglected to notice the audience who had managed to slip into the room. 

Jaehyun sets you down gently, observing the way your gaze is transfixed upon the intruder, the subtle curl of your palm into a trembling fist at your side. The man lets his applause cease but his stare holds, a palpable tension as both parties refuse to look away. 

Coughing awkwardly, Jaehyun bows in greeting, “Hello, Jungwon sunbae-nim, I apologize for not noticing you sooner. I’m not sure if you remember me but I’m BoyNextDoor’s leader Jaehyun.” 

“Ah.” Jungwon turns slightly to acknowledge him, his face twisting in subtle disdain at his interruption. “It’s no problem. If anything I apologize for intruding unannounced, it’s nice to see my juniors practicing so diligently. I almost feel sorry to cut it short but I’ve booked out this practice room for the remainder of the night,” the polite smile pasted on his face nearly fools Jaehyun into disregarding the iciness that clings to his tone. 

“If you don’t mind me saying though as your senior, you both should be careful about practicing alone like this without staff. Don’t want to cause reason for a scandal, especially as the respective leaders of your groups.” 

The advice is aimed with a pointed glance in your direction and rage bubbles at your core, the sting of your nails digging into your palms doing little to quell the emotion. You snort derisively, “I don’t think you have much room to be talking given our-” 

Jaehyun cuts you off with a bright smile, “Thank you for your advice. We’ll keep it in mind.” You shoot a furious glare at Jaehyun but he simply brushes it off, continuing to address Jungwon animatedly, “It seems I’ve lost track of time, I’m expected back at our dorm soon, early schedule tomorrow, you know how it is! Enjoy your practice.” 

Jaehyun goes to gather his belongings and you grasp his wrist tugging him back to hiss into his ear, “Jae what the fuck are you doing? Don’t just leave me, you don’t even have a schedule you liar.” 

“What I’m doing,” Jaehyun drawls quietly, “Is giving you a chance to talk to him. There’s only so much whining and pining a guy can take from his friend before he starts to go insane, no matter how cute that friend might be.” You’re left gaping as Jaehyun leaves you with a swift pinch to your cheek and a side hug, smirking at how Jungwon’s gaze narrows further at the contact. 

You turn, desperate to avoid the eyes that burn into your profile, walking over to the speakers to disconnect your phone from the outlets. You curse the way your fingers tremble, skin prickling with apprehension. Apprehension that Jungwon would speak up, or worse, he'd stay silent.  

“Replaced me so quickly Y/N? You sure move on fast.” Jungwon says lightly but you don’t miss the way the chuckle at the end of his sentence sounds empty, pushed out forcibly as if to prevent harsher words from escaping. 

“Can’t move on from something that never existed,” you mutter bitterly, eyes flickering up at the mirrored wall at an untimely moment, catching the hurt that tinges Jungwon’s features in the reflection. You wind up the cords quickly, ignoring the way guilt winds similarly around your lungs, constricting until your breath feels stilted. 

Scolding yourself mentally for letting your feelings slip, you school your expression into the formal mask reserved for your superiors. “I’ll leave you to it then sunbae, sorry for taking up your time.” 

Hastily zipping up your bag, you turn to exit but instead you nearly crash into the breadth of Jungwon’s chest. You stumble back, the cool expanse of the mirror meeting the flushed skin of your back. The jarring sensation does little to distract you from the heat that emanates from Jungwon, the breath that tickles your cheeks as you turn your head in panicked defiance, unwilling to face him. 

You feel akin to helpless prey, unaware of when Jungwon had crept up behind you so deftly. He does nothing to restrain you from leaving and yet you’re glued to the spot, mute and frozen as Jungwon breathes you in. His hand grasps your chin gently to guide you to meet his eyes and you’re putty at his touch, relenting easily.

“Stop it Y/N. I know things are different. I know it’s my fault but don’t. Don’t treat me like a stranger,” Jungwon pleads softly. Your fingers twitch with a desire to smooth over the crease that forms between his brows but you refrain, steeling yourself with memories of hurt. 

“Things change Jungwon, it’s been over a month since we last saw each other.” 

“Forty six days, and some odd hours. I know” Jungwon responds swiftly, recounting all the days on tour he spent staring at your chat log, scrolling through past conversations, willing himself to press the send button, watching the typing bubble appear on your end only for it to disappear. 

The reply makes your chest tight with emotion, “Don’t fucking do that,” you snap. “Don’t try to trick me into thinking you still care. That you ever did.” 

“But I do,” Jungwon says simply, eyes sincere and head tilting as if to ask you how you could ever doubt him. It hurts. To know that despite the distance and the days that had passed, Jungwon still felt for you as much as he did the day he had left your heart shattered in pieces on the same floor upon which he stood. 

“Not enough,” you whisper, lips pressing shut as the quiver of your voice betrays you. Voicing your doubts makes them real, tangible. Forcing you to face the truth that Jungwon might care for you, but not enough to stay. 

“Baby,”  Jungwon chides and the familiar pet name has your eyes scrunching close, tears slipping past the feeble barrier your lashes provide. The soft pads of Jungwon’s thumbs swipe away the tears that track lines on your cheeks, and if he swipes a bit lower to erase the trace of Jaehyun’s touch from earlier that’s between him and his conscience.

“You know, it’s been so hard for me to stay away from you too, love. At first I was grateful to have the tour and concerts as a distraction but each day I’d find myself craving you more and more. It got harder to deny how much I missed you when I was exhausted to my bare bones and all my mind could supply was memories of you. Missed the way you felt in my arms, even started eating those candies you like so much just to get a hint of the way you tasted on my lips.”

Your eyes flutter open at the rueful admission, finding so much longing and desire pooling behind Jungwon’s darkened eyes that you fluster. It’s reverent the way Jungwon regards you. He’s deified you in his mind, reduced you to a divine being forever out of his reach. Someone he could dedicate his hours to, body and mind but something he couldn't allow himself to indulge in. 

And yet you stood in front of him the embodiment of forbidden fruit, begging him to let go of his every inhibition and just give in. “Let's just stop this stupid game then Jungwon, please. If you really care about me as much as you claim to, stop depriving me of you, of us.”

“It’s because I care for you so much that I have to do this darling. I can’t let myself ruin this for you. You’re just starting out, you would get into so much trouble. We’re both leaders, love. You know what that means, we have to carry the weight of the group on our shoulders,” Jungwon reminds you of the same sentiments he’s echoed so many times in the mirror to convince himself of the validity of his actions. 

Your skin crawls with shame, you know he’s right, you’re being immature and unreasonable. But how can you respond to reason when sweet confessions and bitter rejections fall from Jungwon’s lips with equal frequency. 

“I get it. I owe it to my team to be more responsible. I can’t ask you to risk everything for me. I get it. But you can’t just tell me we can’t be together and leave me in shambles. Then come back and treat me like this. You doing this just makes it harder for me Jungwon, I don’t deserve this, to be left chasing after whatever bits and pieces you find it acceptable to throw at me,” you swipe at your eyes roughly , pushing his fingers off your face. You refuse to feel the soft touch of Jungwon’s hands on your skin while his words drive daggers into your heart. 

Jungwon’s gaze is sorrowful when gently holding your wrists to halt your movements. “I know love, I’m sorry. You deserve better, I’m sorry I can’t give you what you want.” 

The apologies do little to soothe the ache of rejection and you look at Jungwon in defeat, “Then let me go. Please. Stop talking to me, stop reaching out to me. Just let me go,” you whimper. 

Jungwon hesitates, closing his eyes in resignation as he whispers, “I can’t.” 

You scoff, twisting your arms out Jungwon’s grasp, irritation pinching at your nerves, “Are you so cruel that you won’t let me have you and you won’t let me move on either?” You attempt at pushing past Jungwon only to find yourself caged in, his hand firm on your waist.

“Move on? With who? That guy from earlier? I can’t accept that either baby, you’re mine. And I'm sorry for being so greedy but I can't stand the idea of you with anyone else but me.” With each sentence Jungwon creeps closer, until you're unsure where his exhales end and your inhales begin. 

“I don't want you showing your smile to anyone but me, I don’t want these pretty lips on anyone else's but mine.” His last words are whispered, each syllable leaving a ghost of a breath to sweep against your lips, a silent plea for contact. 

You give in, you always do with him, Jungwon has already bridged the distance and all that’s left is for you to let your lips brush against his hesitantly. It’s enough for Jungwon to abandon every principle he’s drilled into his head, pushing you against the mirrored surface with an insistent press of his lips against yours. 

The inevitable regret, apologies and goodbyes are forsaken for a fleeting moment when your fingers curl into the strands of hair at the nape of his neck. All that matters is the gasps he draws from you, the soft noises that slip past as Jungwon nips at your bottom lip. 

You don't have to open your eyes to feel the weight of Jungwon’s gaze as he pulls away to catch his breath. He takes you in, puffy lips and tousled hair, soft lashes resting against blazing cheeks from the effects of his ministrations. Jungwon's heart swells with a sick sense of pride and relief, knowing that no matter the time or distance that you were apart, he could still reduce you to a smitten mess. 

The darkness your closed lids provide amplifies the feeling of the drag of Jungwon’s lips against your skin, trailing kisses down your jaw. “Say you're mine, love. Even if it's not true anymore I need to hear it from you. Please, just one last time.”

You know you should push him away, that this heated moment would become nothing more than another bitter memory. But against your better judgment you could only pull Jungwon closer. “I'm yours,” you admit softly, “I think I always will be.” 

The confession feels bitter on your tongue but it's easy to swallow back the shame as Jungwon gives a satisfied hum, latching back onto the base of your throat. At least when he is gone tomorrow, you'd still carry the marks of today, you comfort yourself sullenly. 

And maybe it's the bitterness that has you speaking up unwittingly, “I never thought you could be this selfish Jungwon.” You regret the words before they even leave you, and you regret them even more when Jungwon pauses, pulling back up to rest his forehead against yours.

His face pulls into a frown, eyebrows knitting at the ugly realization of how uncharacteristic his behavior was, how he had succumbed to his cravings like a child. “I never knew I could either,” Jungwon starts slowly, taking a step back and swallowing harshly, “not until you.” 

His fingers weave through his hair, pushing back the strands harshly, “We shouldn't have done this,” Jungwon mutters and then with renewed steely vigor continues, “We shouldn't be doing this.”

The chill of the air conditioner bites harder without his proximity and you feel the frost settle into your bones. Say something. Ask him to stay. You will yourself but your body refuses to obey, a futile twitch of your fingers is all you can conjure. Instead you opt to chew on the inside of your cheek, the sting providing a distraction for spreading dull ache in your chest. 

Jungwon doesn't miss the quiver of your lips, or the tightening of your fingers around your sleeves. His expression twists until his guilt is written all over his face, and somehow that hurts even more.

“I’m yours too Y/N, always-,” he utters pleadingly, and your brow pinches as you wait for the imminent but. 

“-but we can’t do this right now, and I'm sorry for being selfish and making this harder on you-”

“Jungwon,” you interrupt quietly, “just go.” Jungwon moves to protest, to step forward and wrap you in his arms again with promises of a future us but you stop him with a firm shake of your head. 

And you stand firm, rigid as Jungwon gathers his things, unyielding as he casts you one last helpless look and a whispered apology and turns to leave. It's only when you hear the resounding click of the door slamming shut that you allow yourself to crumble.

a/n: unedited bc i've been putting this off and we go down like men ( i will regret this ik) but i've missed u all lots n i hope u enjoy <3

perm taglist: @hoonsunivrs @pkjay @thatfeelinwhenyou @lacimolela @ttalgi @cieluna @ahnneyong @luvlee1313 @meowmeowhoon @llama-lyna @dmoki @w3bqrl @16doie @itsvynnie @tniastwon @given8taken @yakjw @miukityy @meowwonie @simp4jakesim @teddywons @flowertothejungwon @skywithf1 @yur1a1 @nyeonglover @fallingenluvv @run2seob

*if you changed ur @ pls send in another submission :(

[utilitycaster]

Ok I'm probably going to regret reinventing 17th century European religious philosophy here but:

Ludinus's issue with the gods as stated to Imogen and Fearne (and I will state right now that we know he was lying or deliberately misleading at points in that conversation so I don't exactly take him at his word, but let's assume he does mean this) is that they did not prevent the Calamity. I have the following questions.

Does he have any loyalty/feelings about the Titans given that they would have killed all the people in the era of the Schism, ie, the gods averted that Calamity? My guess is no, which means that whole avenue of discussing the Titans was something of a dead end.

How should Calamity have been averted? The Prime Deities during the Age of Arcanum largely let people do what they wanted, which is what led to one of those mortals releasing the Betrayer Gods. Should the gods have struck down Vespin Chloras before he actually did anything, Minority Report style? Can the gods even predict based on the actions of a single individual or small group, because my guess is they can't, particularly since within the current stream of gameplay they absolutely cannot [ie, the reason the Changebringer can't tell FCG to stay or run is because Matt Mercer is the Changebringer and he doesn't know how people will roll; you do need to consider the medium here]. But if they could: so you think they should strike down mortals on the basis of thoughtcrimes? Or control them? In that case, why is Aeor a problem? There's a lot you can argue is justified once you permit the gods to override free will and kill people over mere potential for catastrophe.

On that note, Laerryn both was an unwitting architect of the Calamity (shorted on energy and then killed the Tree of Names, which served as a core planar defense system) but also averted the worst of it. Did the lives she saved by preventing the rise of Rau'shan and Ka'Mort outweigh the lives she took by destroying the Tree of Names? How should the gods have reacted?

Should, perhaps, the gods have all sealed themselves away earlier - perhaps post-Schism? If so, then the issue isn't the Divine Gate, now is it? Should the gods intervene or not intervene? Should they remove themselves or no? It feels like the issue isn't that they distanced themselves so that they can do less in the world, particularly if you wish to kill them, but that you really want to fucking kill them and they made that somewhat more difficult.

How do we know the gods (for example) didn't save Laudna? She was hanged and she's still alive; Morri would probably count this as saving her and I don't see the same desire to wipe out all Archfey. [real talk I find most discussion of Laudna specifically to be...incomprehensibly ignorant in its refusal to acknowledge that everything about it is player agency related, whether it's the story that the cast played out for Vox Machina or the decisions Marisha specifically made in creating the character, ie, do you think Matt should have said "well you can't play a Hollow One because that would mean the gods didn't save you" not to mention the fact that again, we are playing this within a game system where the existence Deus Ex Machina would in fact fucking suck ass; but even setting aside those reasons why this argument is stupid, it's still stupid. It's like a layer cake of stupid.] Again: do you want more intervention or less? Killing them guarantees less.

I'm assuming the problem with the Calamity is the vast loss of life, in which case, what's the math on how many people have been killed by the Vanguard or Imperium in the pursuit of unleashing Predathos? How many more will die?

If the release of Predathos doesn't result in the immediate demise of all the gods, and the Divine Gate is down, why isn't this a recipe for Calamity 2? What was the motivation for killing the gods again?

Should we kill mortal diviners who do not do all within their power to stop terrible things that may come to pass? If the issue is that some people have power without working for it, why haven't we killed all the sorcerers?

Should we be listening to a single word from someone who consumes random fey to live longer, and that's just the start of the CVS receipt of atrocities?

Is there a point where one's deeply held beliefs due to one's own personal trauma become invalidated due to one's actions as a result of that trauma? If so, why is the limit for Orym "is okay with killing people who are trying, directly, to kill you (which, frankly, isn't even a trauma response, that's just called not wanting to die, which I highly recommend as a personal philosophy), and gets upset when people defend those knowingly collaborating with his family's murderers" and the limit for Vanguard generals "family abandonment/just. buckets of murder of innocents./child soldier recruitment in multiple different contexts/eating fey as biohacking/destroying an entire city and the surrounding forest for hundreds of years (ongoing)/imperialism in multiple different contexts/I was going to make a gallows humor joke about how while neither exist in-world they've violated the Geneva Convention AND the IRB for testing on human subjects multiple times over but actually those both are in fact written in a lot of the same blood/probably some others that I'm forgetting"

[tzilatza]

NATLA Review - spoilers

Woke up today still feeling annoyed after finished the Netflix ATLA remake last night, and I think I've figured out the core reason.

It's the fact that: If they had held truer to the original source material, we could have had a truly great show. I disagree with those calling it a complete disaster. The acting was good, great in some cases. The effects were very well done, the bending looked about as good as it can in a live action media. The scenery was lovely.

But what happened in the writer's room?! The way they just reveal all the back stories up front EVERY TIME is honestly insulting to the audience. It's like they're so terrified that smartphone culture has made the public so accustomed to instant gratification that they have no faith we will stick around and keep watching if they make us wait for anything.

They're also clearly terrified of complexity. One of my biggest gripes with this remake is Jet's story. They completely took out his plans to murder a whole town of innocents in order to get a few enemy soldiers. Now, Jet isn't my favorite character, but his story is so important. Because it is real. The world is full of people who have been so brought down by injustice that they lose their sense of right and wrong, and we need to see that on screen. If Jet is too complex for them, how will they handle Ba Sing Se in the second season.

This goes along the same lines as removing Sokka's sexist moments. They felt they had to do it to make him more 'likable.' Yet the writers themselves went full sexist on Katara's character. They've taken out so much of her spark, her righteous and justified anger, and they've done it because even in 2024, people expect women to be more passive to be palatable. Enough people have already commented on them removing Aang's choice to run away. Heaven forbid the main character not be an absolute paragon. Did y'all notice that they even made Hahn likable? Hahn?! What reason do you have for making Hahn likable Netflix?! His role in the narrative is to be an example of toxic masculinity that is clearly the bad choice compared to Sokka who has learned and grown out of his own.

Don't even get me started with what they're doing with the fire nation family, I'm not ready to tackle that. In general, I have no problem with Azula getting a little more backstory and humanizing, but why season 1? Throwing in all these extra scenes just sacrifices screen-time where they could've actually fleshed out the real season one plots instead of rushing through things at breakneck pace. (ex: Aang escaping Zuko's ship in about 2 minutes flat)

At the end of the day, the scenes I most enjoyed were those that held true to the original like the Blue Spirit sequences. They could've easily done more of this, held onto the important plot points and even more important character complexity, while maturing it for an adult audience. I'm not disagreeing with every change they made. Go ahead and take out the silly Nickelodeon gags, add cussing and more realistic violence to get your mainstream viewers. Go ahead. They could've easily made a darker more mature version of the show and still held onto all the old fans in my opinion. But claiming that you're making a 'more mature' version and then removing the complexity and subtlety because they didn't think viewers could handle it...

What makes me most sad is that there are a lot of people who will experience ATLA for the first time through this show. There are a lot of adults who are not willing to watch original ATLA because they refuse to acknowledge an animated series can be anything other than a kid's show. Those people will watch this and think it's the real deal, and that just makes me sad.

If you've read this far, a very sincere thank you for listening to my rant. If you're an OG fan who enjoyed it, I have no problem with you. It was a fun watch, I was just hoping for more. If you are a new viewer who has never seen ATLA before, I sincerely want to hear your opinions. Is it a great show to someone who isn't holding it against the context of the original? And do you plan to watch the original now?

[dadsbongos]

carrie - s.geto

part of the jjk movie marathon event / movie selection

…

warnings - reader is fem core, and also not a very good person as it turns out, blood and gore, bullying, vague religious imagery, material emotional abuse (light), kinda rushed towards the end (i wanted to be done already lmao)

word count - 8.6 K / rating - PG-13

The dark doesn’t scare you much. Since you were little, the jitters everybody else described when their parents dared to shut their door for bedtime were simply lost on you. Suguru explained it to you once - the dark itself is not scary, it's the mystery of what's inside those shadowy pockets. Again, however, that dread is nowhere to be found in your beating chest.

Because you know what’s inside - you can see their twisted expressions and the vein-like sprawls of black tendrils. Their eyes that are impossibly sunken or painfully bulging. Teeth that clack and gums that suck and stick against one another. Limbs in plenty, or none at all, wrapped in paper skin that exposes every divot of bone, or sometimes fleshy and fat and full. You can see them, you do not fear the dark. And you do not fear any mysteries.

You fear the creatures that stare back.

Acknowledging them did not make them disappear. Ignoring them didn’t either. Telling your mother made her seek out ways to prove her spiritual devotion. You can’t - and refuse to - imagine sharing with your peers.

They would hardly lend an ear anyway.

You’ve done a good job enduring. Until you don’t.

Chin pressed to your chest, you curl both arms tight around yourself as you and your fellow students flood from the school gates. Your fingers pull tightly at your uniform sleeves as a pack of boys comes blaring past, shouting excitedly about whose house will be ransacked for the night. Your eyes track each crack in the pavement below you. The sun bounces violently into your eyes, stinging them. You clench your eyes, opening them again when your body collides with a bigger one.

Tilting your head up on instinct, the shock of it all renders your previous years of haunted, terrible figures utterly useless.

Your throat swells, gut hitching tightly. Your skin shreds up into millions of little bumps at the sudden cold.

Lumps twitch under midnight skin - piled together lazily like a child’s drawing of a bodybuilder. Two arms, two legs, and two eyes, a shaking humanoid mimicry that leans down to press its flat face closer to your stilled one. Sweat beads down your forehead despite the chill. Its plump lips stretch up, misaligned rows of jagged teeth on display. And it giggles down at you - wavering and layered with the reflection of little girls and teenagers and old men.

Finally, you break from your stunned state and stumble back. A wordless scream rips at your throat, both arms flying up in front of your face as if to guard it.

Little girls and old men laugh again, but this time the sound of teenagers has amplified.

Shakily, your arms fall into your lap and you look around as upper and underclassmen point and howl. Your lungs feel pressed, yet moments from popping at how you heave at the same time.

“What’s your problem?”

“Seeing things?"

“What the hell was that?!”

Your hands clap over your eyes again when the hulking mass of rippling bumps and muscles refuses to trample away.

“Go away!” you scream, “Go away, go away, go away!”

Two arms pull you into a warm chest, a hand petting your head over the heart beneath. The body rocks you as one would a baby, “How can you all be so callous! Someone get Principal Machigae! Now!”

“Hey,” you hear your name faintly, the hand on your head moving to wipe stray tears from your burning cheek, “It’s alright - you’re alright!”

The bigger body pries your hands down, and you peek an eye open to find the malformation gone.

Then you see them. The eyes that take form. That blink. Upper and underclassmen murmur amongst themselves. Their eyes cut across your body, serving the slices of meat up to one another to pick at. Tear away the skin and dig into your fat.

Your chest sputters, burrowing into your self-induced ball of safety and blocking out the whispers. The scraping of sharp knives across the silver platter. The stronger voice above you, trying to coax you from your chamber.

Into the back of your mind, you retreat. Big, colorful flowers that release no itchy pollen. Warm meals that soothe your soul. Suguru’s big hands holding yours so assuredly. Suguru’s sweet voice singing your name.

…

The chairs in Principal Machigae’s office are too squeaky for your liking. It isn’t even the pleather - which would cling to any given skin, were you not wearing tights - it’s the weak joints in each leg. Loose screws and old bones.

Your mother sits straight, legs crossed at the ankles and knees pressed together, beside you, “I don’t understand, she’s never displayed this type of behavior before.”

Her eyes slip to you. Nails burying into her handbag.

Your eyes are still glazed and wet, ears burning with the echoing laughter.

...

“She thinks I’m seeing devils,” you sigh, an arm thrown over your eyes as you lay in your bed - your other hand pressing your phone to your ear.

“You’re kidding…” Suguru has never liked your mother, “Why doesn’t she take you to a doctor?”

He wishes he could tell you everything. Puke up his guts and then some. But Shoko is staring him down, shaking her head.

“I dunno…” but you sound so distraught as you describe every mutated body you cross nowadays, “She thinks it’s all hocus pocus bullshit.”

“Hm? And seeing actual devils isn’t?” he snickers, pointedly looking away from Shoko.

Shoko has explained to him the same thing, in the same way, that Yaga has. Telling you the truth runs the risk of you telling others the truth in an attempt to end your torment. One that they each deeply understand, but cannot risk the incoming wrath of people with more authority than both of them combined.

“Right?!” you whisper the exclamation, and he can just imagine the way you twist on your bed. Rolling onto your stomach on your sheets, propping your head up with a hand, “It’s so… ugh!”

“You know you can always come out to Tokyo,” Suguru shoves Satoru away when the pale fool makes kissy noises at him, Shoko joining in soon after, “Stay with me. I’ll pay for it all.”

“No, no,” you like that he offers, “You’re coming home soon anyway, I’ll get you to myself then.”

“Soon isn’t soon enough,” he stands up from Shoko’s bed when his friends coo and clap, “Sorry, I have to beat up some idiots. Call you later?”

“Hm, I might just head to bed… try to sleep off whatever happened…”

It helps that you can’t think of another better way to spend your time.

Suguru bids you his final goodbyes before you hang up. He clicks his phone shut and bats a fist hard into Satoru’s shoulder, then huffs and rolls his eyes over Shoko’s teasing.

Those next days leading up to Suguru’s return are no easier than the days before.

Your daily schedule has manifested into something completely new. Rotten and putrid flesh bleeding over into normalcy.

In the morning before school, you pray at your mother’s feet. At school, you take longer routes from class to cafeteria to home to avoid as many people as possible. The people you cannot avoid scream in your face - crying for you to go away in the way you did that monster. You scrub black marker from your desk after school and pretend to not be able to recall every dirty name scrawled over the wood. At home, you pray again before doing homework and calling Suguru. When Suguru has to hang up, you go to sleep.

And you do the very same thing the next day.

And the next.

And the next.

And the next.

And the next.

And on Saturday, before going with the Geto family to pick up Suguru - your mother shoves you to your knees at her feet and forces more prayers from your quivering lips.

In the car, Suguru surprises you - declaring that he’d like to stay with you tonight.

His parents seem uneasy at the suggestion before giving in. They’re less comfortable with you now than they used to be.

Suguru is allowed in your room, but your mother very firmly states that he’s to sleep in the guest room down the hall.

Something Suguru has grown increasingly fond of since being sent to Jujutsu Tech is physical contact. Coddling you to his broad chest and feeling the thrum of your blood beneath your skin. Switching positions and hearing your heart still beating. He told you once that it was hard to ground himself at school - that the dwindling class numbers and surrounding forest were driving him crazy. It doesn't hurt that you don’t mind the additional heat swarming you in his arms.

“Sorry I’m so boring,” he’s quiet, but light with humor, “right when I get here.”

“‘s fine,” you burrow into his chest. He’s oddly filled out since going to Tokyo. Bigger and bulkier, “I like this.”

Suguru breathes deeply, your head lifting in time with the smooth motion. If you were to slide your head up and glance at him, you’d see the gentle smile on his face, “I do, too.”

He’s a lot clingier now. Calls you every day and texts you at odd hours. As if you may disappear without him ever knowing. He’s desperate to know you still exist.

Another big breath warns you that he’ll start talking again, “I meant it. You can stay with me in Tokyo,” this time you do slide your head up to look at him, but he’s already staring down at you. Thick eyelashes gently bat at his cheeks, dark obsidian eyes so warm on you, “I’ll make it happen.”

You snort, curling the arm settled on his chest around his waist and squeezing, “Yeah? What if your principal kicks me out?”

Stubbornly, he shakes his head, bangs falling across his forehead, “I wouldn’t let him.”

“Oh? You have that much influence?”

“Mhm,” he smiles thinly, always so certain of himself, “You’d be surprised.”

Suguru has never really liked your mother. He thinks she does a rotten job of loving you.

You don’t like the air conditioning in Counselor Haiboku’s office. It rattles obnoxiously and spits freezing air that not even the long sleeves of your uniform can combat.

She clears her throat, wiry glasses slipping a little down the bridge of her nose, “So, what I can do is recommend a therapist through a third party,” her voice is tinny and strained, as she's at a consultation desk rather than a school, “We can organize it so that you’ll be able to meet in my office, likely during your gym block.”

“My mom probably wouldn’t like that…” you know what you hope she’ll do with that information.

“Hm,” she hums, head tilting and hands scrambling to even a stack of papers against the surface of her desk, “I can scout a professional preemptively, and all she’ll have to do is sign to acknowledge that you’re meeting.”

Before she could even finish speaking, you’re already shaking your head, “My mom definitely won’t sign.”

You know what you want her to ask. You know how you would respond. You just don’t know how much more you’ll have to say before she finally asks.

Are you okay at home?

Instead, she sighs with a forced grin, shaking her own head, “Don’t give up hope. She seems harsh, but your mother loves you. Try bringing it up and we’ll discuss it further.”

What else you don’t know - is if you respond to that.

It seemed like a blur with the way your gut swirled and head pounded. Heart squished down to your feet. The organ splurted wetly against the floors with every step back to your gym block.

Once you arrived, after dragging yourself through changing into your uniform, the other girls had no interest in letting you join their teams. They usually don’t, though. And this time, Coach Teru permits you to find a solitary activity.

It’s reassuring, at least, to know that not all teachers are blind to the goings of students.

By the end of the hour, as with every day for gym, you and the other girls are piled into the showers. Eyes darting away to the tiled walls and floors and arms fastened around belly pouches and plump thighs as those parts of you all are unnatural. A blobby, juniper green thing with arms that shiver with each stretch lingers around flustered girls trying to cinch the flimsy curtains closed. Short, stubby legs let it slowly wobble between each uncomfortable body.

You’re trying to hurry through every automatic motion, scrubbing the soap from your locker into your skin like it could wash away the slimy feeling this spirit leaves behind. Eyes clenched shut and head perfectly straight. Water drips over your face, pooling around your cupid’s bow.

Quick fingers sink soap into your thigh before the bar slips from your grasp. And for a moment, your immediate instinct is to deny that it even fell. Until that dull thunk hits your ears, you are in blissful ignorance of your terrible mistake.

Frostbitten bitemarks tingle up your shaking thighs, sharp points threatening to break the skin. You can feel pudge press against the rounded base of your stomach, slithering arms jiggling around your waist.

“Look away…!” it’s squawky voice cries, teeth scraping against your soft flesh, “Look away…!”

“Stop it!” you welch, hands slamming over your ears and body tucking out from under the water and sliding against the wet wall until your bottom meets the ground, “Stop, stop, stop!”

A distinctly girlish, throaty groan rises from the stall in front of you, your eyes peeling wide in time to catch her peeking over the separating board. But most of your attention is on the limping, wobbling devil in front of you. It reaches out with long, unbalanced arms and razor-sharp nails that clack together. Its own eyes are popping out from its face, staring at you despite its pleas for you to divert your attention.

“What’s your problem?” the girl asks, sneering. You fail to reply, hands tightening around your ears and legs pressing against your chest, “What? Got your period?”

Chest heaving and broken whimpers leaving your lips, you merely drag your stare down to the tile by your bent legs.

“Oh my God…” the same girl looks out at the audience she’s conjured. Shrugging at each questioning face.

“Her batshit mom didn’t say anything,” another girl snickers, reaching into her bag and plucking out a tampon before tossing it at your aghast face. Laughing when you flinch away.

A third pops up behind her friend, long black hair flowing behind her as she creeps towards your stall. She maneuvers her hand back behind the steel shower head and angles it back towards you. More girls have gathered, some towards the back and some eagerly shoving their way to the front. The girl with black hair laughs with more twisted intent than the devil before you as she sprays you with water, twisting the temperature knob to icy cold.

“Still wanna keep clean, ya know?” you tuck your head between your knees, squealing as the chilling water hits your bare skin. Your hands slide against the tile as you try moving out from under the flow, “Don’t wanna get any sicker than you already are!”

A new chill breaks across the skin of your shins, ripping down - “Look away! Look away!”

“Stop it!” you screech, kicking out against the curse. It flies back and a new ring of laughter escapes most of the gathering girls, “No, no!”

“Ah- !” a scream, then the harsh thud of a back meeting the wall, and the water stops.

A warm body scoops you close. Coach Teru’s voice breaks out across the locker room, “How could you all stand there?!” she presses you close as your shivering gets worse, “You should all be ashamed of yourselves,” you are, you know that, “All of your parents will be hearing about this, and I hope you all expect big punishments!”

“Hey…” a girl from the middle of the crowd steps forward, “She’s not even bleeding…”

Instantly, your legs seal back to your chest.

“She’s really as crazy as her mom!”

Your eyes weakly peel open, catching the curious gaze of the uncanny thing before you. Its arms are loopy at its sides, its whole body tilting to the side on untrained feet. You sniffle, trying to wipe away the building tears but only smearing more water across your face, “Help me…”

Its watching eyes go eggshell white. One of its arms unlatches from the floor and flings up into one of the lightbulbs above you. Breaking the light and casting shadows across your naked form as the girls scream. The dark is momentary relief, knowing that the crowd is no longer as focused on you as they were.

...

Suguru bursts into Counselor Haiboku’s office seconds before your mother does. His large hands gently pet over your shoulders, eyes scrambling over your body as if assessing damage. Your mother loudly demands information from Haiboku - what have you done, where were you, why was she called from work - as Suguru helps you to stand.

You’re rattled, undeniably. But you’re grateful, too. For that spirit.

Not soon enough, you’re in the backseat with Suguru. He still holds you, as if he’d almost lost you, as if you're precious. It’s funny, in a way.

“What even happened?” your mother cuts you off prematurely with a scoff, “I know what happened - you and your devils. Your devils,” she murmurs, “Pray as soon as we get home. You’re getting worse.”

You nod listlessly, “Yes, Mother.”

Suguru grunts, deep in the back of his throat in protest. Despite being sent to a private religious school, you don’t know him to be a pious man at all. He goes to speak out, but you clasp your hand over his and subtly shake your head.

He wants to tell you everything. It physically sickens him, he gets so nauseous that he can barely keep down anything he eats. Or perhaps that is because he knows where your mother hides you away when she demands that you pray. A cramped closet with low, exposed candles and creeping spiders in each corner.

The next morning, you realize the girl with black hair is Rinko Ayashi. A girl you remember from junior high. She never seemed to like you, but you didn’t care for her either.

Also that next morning, you’re bidding Suguru a final farewell before leaving for school. His hugs dawdle, soaking up what remaining time he has before his parents take him back to the train for Tokyo. He reminds you once again - I’ll make it happen - before watching you begin your trek to school, a heavy sickness resonating through his whole body.

You can sense this creature faintly before you see it. A bulbous head and teeny, gossamer thin wings with a yellow little body. Insect-like. Almost cute. It doesn’t fly too close nor does it make you uncomfortable.

Two passing boys reach out to yank your hair and call you creepy for staring off.

Just as you begin to wilt, this insect-like spirit flies closer. It pauses just short of landing on your shoulder until you bump the muscle and nod for it to flutter down.

“C’mere.”

The creature’s eyes sheen in flat white before daintily positioning itself on your shoulder. The added weight is comforting, somewhat. Like the strong hand of a parent, guiding their youngest child to their class.

...

By the time you reach your gym block, your new friend is still clinging to your padded uniform shoulder.

Coach Teru intercepts your approach, but you can still spot the glares over her shoulder. She tells you not to worry. That the girls are only bitter over consequences of their actions - stripped privileges of attending the school festival. She moves aside, and you creep into the gymnasium. It smells strongly of lemon and raw chemicals. You prefer that to the maliciousness that rolls off your peers in thick curds.

Rinko lurches forward sharply, letting out a growly yelp in your face before huffing, “I wish I could make you bleed for real.”

Teru overhears, naturally, “Hey! Ayashi, thirty minutes after cleaning - you’re in here doing laps.”

Rinko glares at you again.

“Come on!” Teru calls out across the room, “Let’s get changed and start class!”

The spirit on your shoulder nuzzles into your cheek, pushing against the downturn of your lips and humming lowly. On your other shoulder, a soft, lithe hand lands. You follow the polished pink nails up, climbing along the long, black uniform sleeve, and finally to the flustered, red face.

Yonaka Hokori - Rinko’s former best friend - her bottom lip tucked between her teeth, her hand draws back and she lowers her head, “I’m really sorry,” her voice wobbles, arms trembling, “You shouldn’t have been treated that way by me and the others. It was nothing but evil!”

“No, it’s…” you press your lips, fingers knotting together. Your shoulders bow, eyes flitting from Yonaka’s face to your shoes, “I’m sorry you can’t go to the festival anymore…”

“What? No way!” Yonaka has curled hair that bounces with her movements, she insists it’s inherited from her mother, but nobody knows for sure, “You should be able to enjoy it without us being there to remind you of… well. You know.”

Yonaka is just as bouncy as her hair. Big smiles that show off her pearly teeth.

“I dunno,” you scratch your elbow even though there is no itch. The spirit pulls back, now hanging off your hair like a monkey to vines, “It isn’t like I have someone to go with…” Yonaka walks with you to the locker room, her round face tilting curiously, “My only friend just went back to Tokyo, I’d feel bad asking him to make the trip again.”

Rinko’s melodic laugh rings through the space, a wobbly green thing peers around the corner leading to the showers, “Doubt you have a friend out in Tokyo. Much less a him.”

You fold your arms and Yonaka’s lashes narrow at the girl, “I do, too. It’s Suguru.”

Again, she laughs. Nose wrinkling in a snarl, “No chance. Geto was too cool for you, the only reason he was nice to you was ‘cuz your moms were friends,” her brown eyes scrawl lazily from your feet to your face, “Emphasis on ‘were’, since your mom’s gone off the deep end nobody wants to be her friend anymore,” she grins suddenly, “Just like you.”

Your body snaps around, rushing out of the metal doorway and towards the closest bathrooms. The insect pulls closer, bitty hands clinging to the warm skin of your embarrassed face. It’s cold skin cooling you.

In the changing room, Yonaka’s raspy voice is cracking out harshly as she yells, “What is wrong with you?!”

“What?” Rinko rolls her eyes, “It’s what she gets for trying to attract so much attention. She wants it until she can’t handle it - that’s not my problem. Nutjob’s been like this since junior high.”

Yonaka rolls her eyes and scrounges for her phone, pushing all the way to her boyfriend’s contact, and digging out each character. Normally, she’d skirt the long process of texting via notes or verbal passage, but this is urgent.

we need to talk. don’t freak out i’m not breaking up with you.

…

“She obviously needs more friends than this ‘Geto’ guy.”

“It just won’t be the same if I’m not going with you…”

“You’re so sappy. Now use that to make her feel better, hm?”

…

Suguru is very warm. His body runs hot naturally. And he's very level-headed and mellow, like gentle sunshine. He likes to care for others, to uplift and blow away the dust. He’s been that way since you were both little. Does he use that kind soul just to placate your loneliness?

Another, practically identical, insect-like spirit comes to your other shoulder. Its hands scrape against your lower lids, desperately cupping the tears that fall from your lashes.

When you want it the least, a new presence descends upon you. A cheery voice, and you find it to be Yonaka’s introverted boyfriend.

“So, I heard that you don’t have anyone to go to the festival with,” he starts, dodging your stare entirely, “And since I’m already out of a date, I figured that we should go together.”

You wonder if he knows your name. And if he does, then is it only because of his girlfriend? Or did he notice you before?

Did he pity you?

Did he think about stepping up?

Did he think about joining in?

“Did Hokori put you up to this?” you ask.

At the mention of his girlfriend, the boy lights up. His cheeks flush and his whole body straightens up, as if she may appear at any moment, “Honestly, yes - but! It could be fun to get to know each other.”

You kick the toe of your shoe down into the ground, looking at the impact in the dirt, “It’ll be social suicide.”

“I don’t care,” he scratches the side of his nose, “It’s just high school.”

The sound of a giggle surprises you, what surprises you more is that it’s your mouth the sound comes from. Both spirits are startled away, buzzing off into the distance. And you hardly notice.

“Yeah,” you lock your hands behind your back, suddenly bashful under this foreign attention, “Okay. That could be fun.”

Thumb hovering over the call button, you breathe in deeply before committing. It rings once. Twice. Three times.

Four.

Five…

It rings until you hear the robotic woman on the other end, “The number you have dialed- “

You hang up before the message can start. You redial Suguru’s number.

It rings once. Twice. Three times.

You hang up just as the woman starts speaking again.

”The number you have dialed- “

With nothing to placate this loneliness, you turn over in your sheets and let slumber snatch you away as the sun begins to sink below the mountains.

.

.

.

You’re startled out of bed by the techno ringing of Pac-man’s main theme. Throwing your sheets off, your hand beats around your nightstand to (eventually) find the source of the sudden noise. You silence it by accepting the call before you can see who’s name - or number - was printed across the screen.

“Hello?” your voice is dry, cracking towards the end - and subconsciously, you reach out for the water bottle sitting at the edge of your stand.

“Hey, sorry…” it’s Suguru, he sounds drowsy, words lilting and slurring on the edge of sleep, “I saw you called and didn’t wanna sleep until I made sure you were okay.”

“Aw,” how could someone so tender be so willing to be around you, “I’m fine, Sugu, just missed you…”

A humiliating admission, you fear.

But Suguru would never want to humiliate you.

“I missed you, too,” you can hear his bed creak on the other end of the line, he groans faintly as his sore muscles settle in the new position, “Satoru and I have this new project - it’s been keeping us busy,” you know of Satoru, you used to get so jealous at the prospect of him stealing away Suguru’s attention - but Suguru was always quick to assure you that he preferred your company, “We were tied up all day and then I passed out as soon as we got back to- “ he clears his throat, “our dorms. Ah, shit, it’s late. You were sleeping.”

You must be on some humored roll today because you’re giggling again, looking down at the blaring crimson numbers scorching your eyes. Quarter past midnight.

“I’d rather talk to you than keep sleeping,” you admit, and it’d be so much more shameful if it were to anyone but Suguru.

“Better not be sleeping in class tomorrow ‘cause of me, your mother’ll kill me,” he groans quietly and the bed creaks again as he tries getting comfortable, “How has she been since I left? Any better?”

And from anyone but Suguru, that could be misconstrued as concern for her but you know better. He’s worried about you because it’s you that’s important to him. He cares. You don’t remember why you thought otherwise.

“If things are getting to be too much,” he continues when you’re quiet for too long, “Just let me know. I’ll - I’ll make them better.”

“Hm? And drag me to Tokyo?”

“Maybe. If you’d like. Or I could stay down there.”

You’d never ask that of him, but he’d still do it anyway.

“Don’t worry about any of that,” you lay back down, pulling your blankets back over your body, “I actually might be making a friend. And someone wants to go to the school festival with me.”

“What?” you can practically see the playful pout on his lips, “Didn’t wanna go with me, huh?”

“I would’ve felt bad keeping you here! Especially when you’ve got exciting projects in Tokyo.”

“None of that even matters compared to how much I like being with you,” he says very seriously. You’re tempted to ask what has him so sentimental tonight.

But you don’t, mostly because the words are trapped in your chest. Right next to your thundering heart, all words and thoughts rattle around - clawing to get out all at once. Eventually, the ones that escape are, “I like being with you, too.”

It’s still. Both of you are in bed. One of you lying about where. Suguru doesn’t want to think about what a bad omen it may be that he’s flirting with you while lying about many facets of his life. You don’t think Suguru could be capable of such lies.

So when he easily insinuates that he’s still at school in Tokyo rather than a hotel in Okinawa babysitting a junior high student, you are none the wiser.

“It would’ve been fun,” he begins again, “We don’t do any festivals here. Just the exchange event and that’s…” he groans heartily and you laugh, “I don’t like the Kyoto students.”

“Well, there’s always next time!” you offer, curling your warm blankets tighter around your body, “I’ll make sure you can come to the next one.”

Suguru doesn’t consider the logistics of how a relationship would work out with you when he’s kept a large portion of his life hidden. But he knows you well, takes pride in it, and he knows you won’t turn your back on him when he does come clean. At some point, Yaga won’t be able to argue against his decision to tell you.

“Can it be a date?”

You turn your head and press your mouth into your pillow before letting out a girlish squeal. Returning to the conversation, you nod even though he can’t see it, “That would be fun!” your heart hurts, it’s pounding so hard, “I hope you don’t plan on making me wait that long for a first date, though.”

He sounds tired as he speaks, but you know he means what he says, “No way - you’re too special.”

For the first time in a long time, you’re dreading going back to sleep. You don’t think you even could right now - body too electrified with excitement.

“Have you seen more of those devils?”

“They don’t feel like devils,” you don’t want to see how your mother looks at you, “They don’t feel evil.”

You don’t need to see how your mother looks at you. You already know she’s horrified. Especially when she fists a chunk of your hair and begins dragging you toward the rickety closet with her altar in it. She’s muttering to herself, eyes darting around the kitchen as if to find one of the creatures that has apparently possessed you.

“Mom!” you claw at her hand, caught between wanting to free yourself and still being too terrified to cause her real damage, “I’m fine! Really! It isn’t- I’m not evil!”

“You’ve changed,” her bug-eyed stare comes down to you through the side of her eyes, “You are not my little girl,” she yanks your hair hard like she’s trying to pull it out, “Not my little girl anymore.”

She pulls again. Harder.

So hard you briefly consider that she might’ve tugged skin straight off your skull.

On the creaky stairs that lead up to your room, creeps down another spirit. It rolls like melty, red Jell-O with a massive eye rotating on the axis. You reach out with one hand while still trying to pry your mother’s hand from your hair. Your feet slip against the linoleum floor, your scalp burning under your mother’s hand.

“Help me!” you whine, your mother pulls harder, you sniffle and claw out for the mushy spirit, “Please, help me!”

Its eye washes over with a milky hue, body jiggling down the stairs rapidly and bowling right into your mother’s legs. She scrambles back, hands now trembling as though you’d been the one to deal the blow. You feel something surging through the tunnels of your veins. A vat of frozen water poured over the sludge clogging your pores. Washing away muck and leaving behind only chills of rejuvenation.

Your mother’s frame withers beneath your gaze. She holds up her hands, clasping them together and murmuring against the shaking appendages. You don’t know who she’s praying to, who she’s asking for forgiveness - it makes you feel something that scares you just a little.

“You won’t mistreat me anymore,” you swallow the lump in your throat, “I’m excited to be happy, and to live! And I won’t let you ruin it!”

She only continues her prayers. You hear your name faintly.

The curse slithers up your body, licking away the salty tears that’ve begun dripping down your face.

“And I’m going to the festival… And you can’t stop me.”

Her eyes clenched shut, lips moving faster against her hands.

You sniffle and the spirit slurps faster at your leaking tears.

“I was planning on taking Yonaka to this one,” the girl's boyfriend - Aoto, you learned - admits shyly, pulling the classroom door open for you, “But I think it’d be a shame to waste.”

“Ah!” you glare over at Aoto lightly, “You should’ve told me we were coming here, I would’ve worn something nice!”

“You are wearing something nice,” he shrugs, “Besides, it isn’t like I’m exactly dolled up.”

It’s corny, undoubtedly, but you can’t help but admire the pink and purple decor. Color-shifting lights and shimmering streamers tacked to the ceiling. White balloons litter the floor and float aimlessly against the ceiling. The hosting students are easy to spot, decked in flowy or poofy ball gowns and sleek tuxedos.

Some other students with previous insight into this exact event are similarly dressed up. Pins and sparkles and stained lips.

Modeled after a cinematic, inauthentic, American prom.

A cold waft of air brushes your back. Two spirits wander in with a third limping in behind them.

Aoto takes your hand and guides you through the crowded classroom until you meet the dance floor; keeping his hands politely on your waist and yours on his shoulders. It’s ridged and you can tell he’d much prefer to have his girlfriend’s head tucked against his chest and under his chin. But that’s okay, you’d rather have Suguru’s hands explore the dips and curves of your waist. You close your eyes and pick yourself up, placing yourself back down in a different world.

One where it is Suguru. His hair is down, inky strands gliding along his shoulders. His hands are tugging you closer and he simply laughs when you accidentally step on the toe of his shoe.

“I know we aren’t close or anything, but I have had a nice time.”

You grin, eyes opening, “I did, too.”

“Yonaka, uh, wanted me to ask you something.”

“Yeah?”

“Would you want to go with us- ”

He’s abruptly stopped when the music pauses, both of your heads snapping towards the front of the room.

More spirits are piling into the room, stomping over one another and clawing each other’s flesh as they race into the space.

Two boys struggle to pull the door shut as a final, boarish creature squeezes inside. The door slams loudly and your attention is drawn there before you feel Aoto tense completely against you - his breath hitches and he curses quietly. Slowly, with dread filling your stomach, you look back to the front of the makeshift dance hall.

“Let’s go,” Aoto tries tugging you away, but you remain frozen.

You want to see her as you saw your mother. On the floor and wavering. Asking for forgiveness. You want to feel that scary feeling again. You want Rinko to regret sneaking into school tonight.

The two boys that shut the door now bind Aoto by his arms, Rinko makes a show of your presence. Pointing you out, grinning snidely, “Aren’t you so brave? Coming out tonight when nobody likes you,” many eyes linger, human and spirit, they burn you, “And I think you need a reward. Like a real dance, we need a queen, don’t you think?”

The eyes all feel malicious. Even the creatures only you can see, their gaze feels just as evil as it previously had. Their gaze feels like that of devils.

“You’re not usually so cleaned up, though,” she reaches out and drags you forward, and now you’re not so certain, “I’m more used to you like this.”

Cold water sloshes down your back, gasps retching through the room’s collective chests. Your clothes slick down against your body and chills course up your flesh. Feet patter away from behind you, and a new body approaches from the front. He heaves a bucket up by his shoulder.

The eyes are unblinking.

The abyss stares back.

And you are afraid.

“No, if we really wanted to relive that fantasy then maybe you should actually be bleeding this time.”

The bucket in the boy’s hands tips, and vile red pools to the metal lip before flying out. Red sticks over your skin, plastering your clothes to your body, it drips down your face with grotesque slowness. If you weren’t sure that it’d slip onto your tongue, you’d be screaming. But you can already taste the iron. What you don’t taste, stings your nostrils.

You see that Aoto is released, but you don’t feel relieved. He rushes over to you, ungracefully crashing on his knees at your side. His hands catch yours as they fruitlessly attempt to scratch off the blood - you hadn’t realized you were even doing that. You don’t realize when people begin crowding around you either.

Aoto rips off his jacket to wipe off as much blood from your face as possible. He’s speaking, fast and breathless, and you have no idea what he’s saying. Your ears are ringing. You look at the forming group. Some are smiling. Some are frowning. Some are stuck in the middle. Every devil giggles, though. Loudly,

The door squeaks open, and whoever planned on entering slithers back out when they spot your predicament.

Your devils follow your command, but they will not help. Your peers will not help. Your mother will not help. You are alone in the dark room, and your fear fades. You control the things that stare back from the shadows, you don’t have to be afraid.

Aoto tries to assist you in walking away, his hands are soft and his jacket is left on the ground. Stained in blood. You shove his hands away and look at Rinko, she laughs. Her friends laugh. Aoto is still speaking, but the ringing has yet to stop.

Rinko’s pin-straight hair shines under the dim lighting. You hate her.

“Just wanna…” your voice croaks, Aoto leans closer as if you’re talking to him, “get rid of her…”

The spirits’ giggles abruptly end. Eyes flashing over milky white.

Lightbulbs shatter from behind colored veneer and the emergency red lights flash on. Every body is painted in crimson. You watch Rinko. The ringing grows. She looks up, wide-eyed at the lights. The ringing grows. A stiff, rectangular body with a banging, metallic jaw steps forward. The ringing grows.

The rectangular devil swings its jaw open and practically inhales the top half of Rinko’s body as she screams. The misaligned mouth swings shut with a loud clang and her screaming is cut off. Her body’s bottom half - a quarter of her pelvis and both legs - fall uselessly to the ground in a bloody heap. Stringy, choppy ends of muscle spread over the ground.

Aoto stiffens beside you, his hands tighten around you and he tries yanking you towards the door, “We have to get out - oh, God- what? What was that? What was that?!”

Teenagers sound like squealing pigs as they scream. You hear the classroom door’s hinges squawk and turn towards the sound. The boy that’d dumped blood on you is trying to escape.

“Get rid of them all…” you mutter. Catching Aoto’s attention.

The door snaps shut, a brutish, pear-shaped devil responsible. The peachy flesh monster pushes and pushes and pushes, uncaring that the boy is trying to drag himself through the squeezing doorway.

The boy’s head pops, body slumping against the jammed door. Pigs squeal as they’re locked inside the pen.

“Are you- no,” Aoto sounds winded, air unable to get to his lungs, “Are you doing- ? Are you doing this?”

Claws shred clothes and raw meat. Teeth gnash and tear. Blood falls to the floor from bodies that aren’t yours.

“Would you have helped me?” you don’t look at Aoto, voice frail and dry, “If Hokori hadn’t made you, would you have helped me?”

His mouth opens and closes. Like a fish to be gutted. His chest rapidly moves with his hyperventilating. He reaches out for you, but you’ve stepped back. He sees a girl have her legs twisted like putty over your shoulder, and he runs to the door.

The peachy spirit stands guard, roughly slapping Aoto away. His body flies into a table and he stays down. You look up at the creature and he clears your path before slamming the door shut behind you. You trail blood into the hall, looking out at the gathering student body in the narrow space. Teachers are at the frays.

Wet, strained eyes of devils watch from every corner.

The ringing has subsided. You can hear the screams behind you more clearly now.

And you can hear yourself as you tell the devils, “Make them bleed.”

Fly-like devils swarm to your sides. They suck up the blood still clinging to you. You collect more as you wander out of the school.

You pass Coach Teru. Her body is pinned to the wall by a lanky devil with sagging, baggy skin - like a deflated beach ball stretched around a stick. Her chest only lets out wheezy little whines. You could free her, but then once the euphoria of having a savior wavers, she will realize what you are. The very devil-conduit freak your mother and peers feared. She will hate you just as much. So you walk away as she is crushed, desperately flinging out weak cries of your name.

Real flies join the buzz around your bloodied form as you walk home.

…

As you watch blood mix into water and flow down the shower drain, you hear your bathroom door creak open. A shadow casts over the white shower curtain. Your mother attracts the fly devils. They tangle in her hair and lap at her face with long tongues.

You can see her hands tremble. The shape of something angular and sharp rests in her grasp. It means nothing well.

You want for your mother to sweep you into her arms. To cradle you and promise better days. To seek help for you that does not come with scorching candles and splintered knees in a cramped closet. Yet, you already know you cannot have that. You wonder if maybe in a different world, you could have. If maybe there is another version of you that isn’t plagued by visions of evil and has normal breakfasts with a family that loves you.

You wonder. You will never know.

“Get rid of her,” you command coldly.

The flies flock around her throat, laying pressure from all sides. They’re weak individually, but en masse, they manage to pry the oxygen from your mother’s lungs. Strip away the cruel beat of her heart.

Her knife clatters to the ground, body thumping to the ground soon after.

It hasn’t hit you yet as you towel off and change post-shower, what you’re going to do about the carnage left in your wake. But returning one of Suguru’s many, many missed calls seems like a good first step. It rings once.

Then his voice, weaker and shakier than you’re used to, “I’ve done something bad,” he sucks in a sharp breath, “Terrible.”

You’re snapped from whatever sinister haze had taken over you. Suguru’s confession rouses the warmth of your chest, you clutch the phone tightly to your ear, “I have, too.”

If you try hard enough, you can still smell the iron in the hallway. And you can still hear the screams of boys and girls and mothers and fathers and lovers and friends. You sniffle, the memories burn your eyes, “I- Sugu…” you really have done something unbearable, haven’t you?

Your mother’s body will be cold by morning.

“I killed them,” you gasp, hoping to feel the air fill your lungs - you don’t, “I killed them all…!”

And the scariest thing about it, is you don't know if you even regret it.

Suguru is warm and kind, you know this hopelessly. You’re reminded now because he pushes aside whatever sin he’s borne tonight to ease your breathing. His voice is gentle as he coaxes you into calmer breaths. Only then, does he continue, “What happened? You killed people?”

“I- “ he doesn’t sound afraid, that should alarm you but it doesn’t, “They hurt me, Sugu. I couldn’t- I can’t- I just wanted them dead. I wanted them all gone and I made the devils- “

Suguru cuts you off abruptly, “Curses.”

“What?”

“You’re a sorcerer, too,” he hums quietly, “That’s good…” you’re tempted to ask, but he’s already speaking again, “I killed a village; burned them all… they were hurting children. Two girls,” he groans, sharp and throaty, “Locked them in a cage- they weren’t eating. They’re all bruised.”

“Sugu,” you trust that he’s done right by the girls because that’s simply who he is, “can I see you?”

“Yes, yes,” you hear rustling, his words rushed like he’d forgotten something, “Pack light. Hide in my room. God, God…” he starts murmuring and you aren’t sure you’re supposed to be hearing what he says now, “If the higher-ups don’t know yet then they will soon. A whole school… yeah, they’ll know by morning for sure.”

He sounds frantic. You’re sure if you could see him now he would look even worse.

“Will you be here soon?” you’re realizing you don’t know where he is. You look back and wonder if he’d truly been in Tokyo this whole time like he said.

“Fast as I can,” he turns away from the receiver to call out to an unseen company. The girls, you figure, “Don’t see my parents. Just climb through the window like you used to.”

You want to ask. The question digs into the meat of your bottom lip. You hang up instead.

You’re unable to sleep. Hyper on the paranoia that someone will find you. That Suguru’s sleeping parents will spontaneously awake and creep into their son’s old room. That police officers will kick the door down and take you away. That God Himself will smite you.

The sun barely peeks over the mountains when Suguru sneaks into his old room. A faint thud echoes from his parent’s room followed by the squeak of a mattress. He pays it no mind, cupping your cheeks and tilting your head to inspect for marks. He’s gentle with you.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this? About any of this?”

Suguru pulls back, melancholy eats at the skin of his face, “I wanted to, but nobody above me would budge,” his shaky hands find yours, he exhales and the shaking eases, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I couldn’t get my teacher in trouble, and I didn’t want you to be a part of this if I could help it,” he looks down at your locked hands, “I just wanted you to be happy, away from curses... I love you,” he says it so plainly, unashamed and with no embarrassment, “I love you so much, I can’t bear the idea of you getting hurt by these curses. And I ended up letting you get hurt by these monkeys.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Sugu,” you lean forward, pressing a kiss to his cheek and hoping it soothes his aching chest, “Not your fault at all.”

He smiles softly, standing and bringing you up with him. His hands are wound tightly around yours and he takes the moment to look at you; he hated how upset you sounded last night. How tearful you were over the bloodshed of people that tormented you. How terrible that sound was, “We should go. We’re both in trouble with some powerful people right now.”

Your shoulders droop at the thought, eyes widening, “More powerful than you?”

You know nothing of the sorcery world that Suguru hails from, but you know that he would be discontent being low on the totem pole.

“No,” he hums, “Well, one. But he’s not a concern,” he grabs the bag you’d packed last night and throws it over his shoulder, “There’s lots of work I have to do if I want to change this world. And I want you with me.”

There’s nearly an endless amount of work to be done if Suguru wants to change the world that ousted and hurt you. Hurt Nanako and Mimiko. Hurt Riko. Hurt Satoru. But he’s a Special Grade, capable of raising a cursed army to wipe out the parasites that feed off his loved ones. He’s certain that, if you’re willing to share, you could raise an army, too.

You nod excitedly, turning towards his bedroom door until Suguru clears his throat.

He shakes his head, bangs falling over his pale, weary face, “That’s not a good idea. We’ll use the window.”

He doesn’t know if the gore has reached outside his parents’ room, but he doesn’t want you to be one to find out.

Suguru is the first to jump down, catching you afterward and tucking you both into his parents’ car. You’ve always known that Suguru is good with kids, he’s been babysitting around the neighborhood since he was in grade school, but seeing it again now sets your whole chest ablaze. His compassion and tenderness - your Suguru is just as sweet as you remember. You think you love him.

“I trust and adore her more than anyone in the world,” he says to the frightened girls, having shied away from you, “You’ll never be harmed by her, we promise you that.”

Suguru clings to you as he drives, a hand settled on your leg as if to make sure you won't jump from the car. Soft and sweet and gentle-hearted Suguru. You’re sure you love him.

One day you will tell him.

That day, he will say it back.

For now, you two sit in the front seats of his parents’ car - and in dim offices in Tokyo, your death sentences as Special Grade threats are being signed by men you’ve never met.

[cowboylikemeaaron]

There is a war between fucking hetlors and gaylors rn on stan twitter regarding Halie Torris' vigilante shit oil painting (which is literally perfect btw) and hetlors are mad as fuck that the painting is sexualizing taylor (?) I'm not gonna get into why this makes no sense at all because my fellow gaylors are doing this but let me just talk about the core problem here:

Swifties whether they're straight or queer most of them has this idea of Taylor being a "good girl" and I can't blame them because she tried to paint this picture of herself when she was young, and the way she used to dress and her songs not being explicit or talking about sex (I'm not saying it's wrong but most female artists rely on sexuality for a big part of their art (which is also not wrong at all)) so in their head taylor don't want to be 1% preceived as a sexual being, and while Taylor has changed that idea to the core so_it_goes.mp3 , i believe swifties still think that she's disgusted by being sexualized, it has nothing to do with homophobia in their mind but they have their idea of baby taylor and refuse to believe she's now a grown woman that has sung about sex, is starting to be comfortable in her own body and wants to feel and look sexy, and who's most of her fans are women so she knows she's not being sexualized to the core by them. Just because she's not stripping or singing explicitly about sex doesn't make her the virgin saint of the Vatican that you're not supposed to acknowledge her sexuality?

I'm also not going to talk about how female gaze is 180° different than male gaze but i might add that also part of the early queer experience is you also feel guilty when you sexualize another woman you feel like you're no different than a man when it isn't true but it's just another thing we get to feel guilty about because it's tied to society norms and that we need to learn that it isn't true by time and reading.

[viterbofangirllovestheuntamed]

why just say the jiang have an unnatural tolerance for spice? why not all flavor? Poisonously bitter, super sour, ultra sweet, the burn of the strongest alcohol, the jiang adore the extremes of flavor and still have very discerning palates and people with iron stomachs are WIMPS compared to the stomach resilience of the jiang, it wasn't on purpose but a true jiang is next to impossible to poison (which definitely helped Jin Ling when he's in Koi Tower)

Despite knowing that they were in the deepest, most isolated safe room in Koi tower, Jin Guangtong couldn't help keeping his voice low. "Thank you for meeting us here. Your... services are greatly appreciated, we assure you."

His fellow conspirators ducked and bowed their heads in agreeing acknowledgements, which went ignored by their guest who sprawled on his cushion like a drunken commoner. "Glad to be here," he grinned, vaguely sarcastic. "What services did you have in mind, exactly?"

"The new Jin-zongzhu." Jin Guangtong didn't think beating around the bush would get them anywhere.

Their guest---blast the man for refusing to give his real name---blinked. "Wow, I didn't think you Jin were capable of being that direct. You want the brat snuffed, eh? Not gonna just use him as your figurehead? Seems like that'd be more your type of thing. What, did his spirit dog shit in your shoes or something?"

The handful of other nobles around the table started blurting out their complaints, heedless of order or dignity. "He's punishing bribery!" "Had my nephew executed for a harmless bit of fun with a servant girl!" "He's auditing the tax collection!"

Jin Guangtong cleared his throat. "The brat is, unfortunately, intractable. Comes from being raised by that asshole of an uncle in Yunmeng. I'm afraid the boy is... idealistic and unwilling to adapt to the realities of ruling such a large and complex network such as Lanling Jin."

Their guest nodded pensively, scratching at his jaw. "I can see your problem. I've got one more question, though. Not to be ungrateful for your admittedly generous payment offer, but why not do it yourself?"

"His lineage is extremely strong," Jin Guangtong sniffed. "The highest pedigree, which means that his golden core is exceptionally strong."

"Plus he's been trained by that paranoid maniac since he was toddling around that backwater swamp," someone to his left muttered.

Jin Guangshan threw a quelling glare over his shoulder, though of course, they had a point. Jiang Wanyin's training had been rigorous to the extreme due to both his and his nephew's insistence that the latter be able to wield the formidable Jin Zixuan's sword when he came of age. And since Rulan would be unlikely to match the sword's strength at first, those Yunmeng bastards had taught him to be deadly with a bow. Because apparently there was no kill like overkill at Lotus Pier.

And speaking of overkill. "We in Lanling Jin are certainly not... unfamiliar with poisons. However, between the strength of the boy's core and the inevitable wrath of Sandu Shengshou, it is imperative that the poison be untraceable as well as effective. Preferably something innocuous that can be chalked up as a tragic accident. A food he is allergic to, perhaps."

Their guest barked out in laughter. "Wait! Wait a minute... you said the kid was raised in Yunmeng, right? And you think he has a food allergy?!"

Jin Guangtong drew himself up in irritation, unnoticed by the cackling man in front of him. "I don't see why not! In fact, noble though our lineage is, our blood has always had a weakness to-"

"Look, look, I understand where you're coming from, I do!" the mysterious man wheezed. "It's just... well, I've spent some time in Yunmeng. In fact, I've even known some Jiang disciples. Frankly, I'm not sure anyone from Lotus Pier can be poisoned!"

"Ridiculous!" another voice scoffed.

"Look," their guest continued, still trying to contain giggles. "The only region that can even compare to Yunmeng for spice is Meishan, and the ruling family of Lotus Pier is half Yu. The whole sect is used to a flavor profile that could kill a Lan at fifty paces, and that's not even taking into account the dares."

Jin Guangtong blinked. "Dares?"

"Oh yeah," their guest drawled, somehow managing to lounge even more. "Those Rangers are insane. The butcher sect might run their people through a crazy level of training, but nothing and no one can survive crazy like a Jiang. They don't even train for it- it's just how they live. Those bastards challenge each other to lick poisoned toads for fun! They will eat anything that comes from the river, no matter how disgusting! And don't even get me started on the so-called 'twelve-day rule'..."

Jin Guangtong decided he didn't want to know. "But surely, as the Jin heir, Sandu Shengshou wouldn't have allowed-"

"Sandu Shengshou?" their guest scoffed. "The man who cobbled together then had to feed an army of massacre survivors and rogue cultivators? The man who spent the first decade of his rule rebuilding his home from a few burnt sticks poking out of---how'd you describe it?---a backwater swamp? The man with the bottomless stomach? Seriously-" he added, abandoning his slouch to stab an emphatic finger into the table. "That man can pack it away like nobody's business. I think his fucking legs are hollow or something...

"Anyway," he continued, lounging once more. "The point is that Sandu Shengshou's perception of what is and isn't edible is... flexible. Especially knowing his shixiong's penchant for supposedly intolerable amounts of chilies."

"Then how do you plan on killing Jin Rulan?" Jin Guangtong spat, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

"Oh, I'm not planning on killing Jin Rulan," their guest grinned, still scratching at his jaw. "I'm planning on killing you!"

Then his scratching fingers began pulling his own face off.

Jin Guangtong and his conspirators all recoiled in horror, a horror that increased one hundred-fold when their guest's discarded face revealed the damnable visage of Yiling Laozu himself!

The reborn master of demonic cultivation twirled the grotesque false face around on his finger. "Neat trick, isn't it? Picked it up from Xue Yang, of all people. Ah well; genius comes in all forms. Now!" He leveled a sinister smile at the gathered men as he raised a black flute to his lips. "Raise your hand if you wanted my beloved nephew dead!"

_____________________

Eventually, the screams faded away into gurgling, then silence. Jiang Cheng nursed a bottle of wine as he leaned against the secret meeting room's door, still glowing purple from his sealing spell. Some of those fuckers had really made a go at it, but none of these lazy Jin were a match for his own spiritual power.

After the silence reigned for a few moments, the wood against his back rattled with a brief knock as his brother's cheerful voice echoed out. "It's done, Jiang Cheng! You can let me out now!"

Jiang Cheng took another lazy swig. "What's the password?"

"Jiang-zongzhu is a little crybaby bitch who can't put his shoes on correctly," Wei Wuxian's voice snarked back, sounding decidedly annoyed.

"Nope, that's not it," Jiang Cheng answered, wiggling the bottle so that the sloshing liquid was audible. "Damn, this really is good wine."

"Jiang Cheeeeennnnnnggggg," Wei Wuxian whined from the other side. "You're so meeeeeaaaaaan! Making me do all the hard work-"

"You wouldn't let me kill them, you bastard! Said I had to keep my own hands clean even though they where plotting against my-"

"-while you lounge around drinking Lotus Pier's finest wine like a mean meanie who's mean!"

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes so hard he was pretty sure he got a good look at his own brain. "Gods, you really are three years old, aren't you..."

"Let me out, you asshole! You know my core isn't strong enough just yet!"

He considered the wine bottle in his hand. "Say that Yunmeng wine is better than Emperor's Smile."

A scandalized gasp sounded from behind the door. "You wouldn't!"

"What's the problem? It's true," Jiang Cheng shrugged.

"But Emperor's Smile is so delicate!" Wei Wuxian protested. "It's the perfect balance of-"

"Well I guess I'll just go and find someone who does appreciate Yunmeng wine..."

"Okay, fine! Bastard. Fine, Yunmeng wine is better than Emperor's Smile!"

Smirking, Jiang Cheng released the seal on the door. Wei Wuxian stumbled out of the room that now stank of blood and excrement. Jiang Cheng amiably held out an untouched bottle, which his brother grabbed eagerly.

The deviant spilled half the fucking bottle down his chin as the other half went down his gullet, but smacked his lips like a satisfied toddler. "Hits the spot," he crooned. Mischievous eyes locked with his. "Emperor's Smile is still better, though."

Jiang Cheng snorted. "Traitor."

"Barbarian," Wei Wuxian retorted loftily.

The two bothers clinked their bottles together and took simultaneous sips.

[m4rdb]

An insight into the characters based on their approach to the “Allie problem”

If good writing means that every scene has the potential to say something about a character at their core, then the girls' attitude towards the "Allie problem" is an interesting example.

Taissa

The one who comes up with the very plan. This establishes her as ambitious and extremely rational, but it’s the type of rationality that without grounded moral principles could degenerate into violence and cruelty at any time. It’s what we see with adult Misty and Walter, who are both so practical-minded that resorting to murder is nothing more than a smart option to choose to them.

Like Jackie says, Taissa has so much fight in her. The way she handles the Allie situation shows that if she has a goal, she’ll do whatever she finds necessary to obtain it.

How does that translate into their time in the wilderness?

Taissa’s the first to make the call that they should leave the plane and find water. She’s the one who sleeps in the attic when everyone else wouldn’t, she’s the only one who tries to tell Jackie she shouldn’t leave. And in season two, she’s the one who says, “We need to find a way to stay alive, and it can’t be her [: Lottie]”.

Then we see them drawing cards. We’re not shown how they get to that very decision exactly, but it’s important that we know that the two things are tied. The hunt that follows, their first conscious hunt (let’s not forget about Travis), wasn’t supposed to happen—it’s rather the consequence of the designed sacrifice refusing to take on the role.

Though there’s an obvious religious aspect to it, drawing cards isn’t just letting fate/the wilderness decide in their place so that they don’t blame themselves. It’s also the girls’ attempt to give the ritual some semblance of logic and structure—on a normal day, they would draw cards to decide who gets which task. They’re using the same mechanism, except that they’re now deciding who should die and get eaten. And it starts with Taissa’s very rational and straightforward remark about needing to survive.

Natalie

She openly and passionately goes against Taissa’s plan. Despite being presented as the outsider who doesn’t really engage with the team and disregards rules by smoking and doing drugs, she’s the one who fights to play fairly. She most likely doesn’t care about Allie personally, but she’s a teammate, and they should treat her as such.

While Tai’s ultimate goal is winning at Nationals, Natalie doesn’t want to win more than she wants to be a team (T: What’s your plan, then? / N: I dunno, play like a fucking team and win? It’s worked so far.).

It’s quite ironic—yet not that surprising—how, despite being opposites, Natalie and Jackie share a similar mindset about this.

The scene establishes Natalie as a sympathetic character with grounded and noble moral principles, no matter the adversities. In the wilderness, she’s the first and possibly the only one who acknowledges Travis’ grief and sees through his unsufferable attitude and understands that, as much as questionable his methods are, he’s trying to make sure Javi gets over their father’s death and wants to live on.

It's also meaningful that Natalie’s not there when Jackie and Shauna fight and Jackie ends up leaving the cabin. The night earlier, Natalie was the one who let her out when Lottie and the others locked her in and went to hunt Travis down. Natalie basically saves the girl who just had sex with Travis being perfectly aware that it would hurt her, and she doesn’t even know. Viewers do know, though, and we’re instinctively led to think of her as even more noble and deserving of empathy.

Jackie’s death certainly comes from an irrational choice, but the deepest reason is the others’ lack of sympathy towards her at the end of the season. It could be delusional, but I can’t see Natalie turning a blind eye on the whole thing, had she been there.

Jackie was their captain when they had a normal life. Natalie becomes their leader thanks to the constant effort she’s put into the group ever since they landed there—and possibly, as the matter with Allie shows, even before that.

Lottie

Lottie’s phrasing for her refusal is telling. She says, “It doesn’t feel right.” It’s not that she thinks it is, or that it seems like it is. She feels like they’re not meant to go through with it. A simple yet fitting choice of words foreshadows Lottie’s spiritual nature and her connection to the wilderness as well as her role of prophet/messiah.

It’s also important that she’s not shown as particularly proactive. She does express her opinion, but she’s not as passionate as Natalie about it, who instead actively tries to convince them what a terrible idea it is and interferes with Taissa’s plan on the field. This shows how Lottie never cared be a leader, but rather follows where her feelings lead her.

Van

We’re not really shown Van’s reaction until they’re in the locker room after the scrimmage. We just learn that she’s impressionable, as she almost throws up at Nat’s mention of Allie’s bone being visible, and that she’s so devoted to Tai that she won’t let Shauna talk shit about her at the party.

Laura Lee

Of course, nobody would even dream of telling Laura Lee about an act of such misconduct. She would never go along with Taissa’s plan, she wouldn’t even fathom doing something like this. She’s more clueless than Jackie, because Jackie at least did notice something was off on the field. Even at the party, Laura Lee is the only one who still has no idea there were such tensions.

Her blissful ignorance keeps her kind and pure, apart from the ruthless tendencies of the team. It doesn’t change once they’re in the wilderness—Laura Lee dies trying to help her friends, and she fortunately never gets to witness their worst moments.

Shauna

Unsurprisingly, Shauna’s a tough one. Her attitude towards the Allie situation is as ambivalent as it will be for the rest of the story towards everything else.

Shauna keeps her thoughts for herself until Nat and Lottie leave and it’s just her and Tai, and even then, the first thing she says is, “Jackie’s not gonna like it.” The moment she’s asked to make a personal decision, she talks about what Jackie would think, and it’s not because she herself doesn’t know what to think, it’s just what she chooses to say outright. If anything, Shauna isn’t against Taissa’s plan entirely, and bringing up Jackie rather sounds like an excuse so that she doesn’t dwell on her own dark thoughts.

When Taissa says, “Then we probably shouldn’t tell her,” we expect that to upset Shauna—she wouldn’t keep things from Jackie, right? They’re best friends. While it does upset her, it still doesn’t stop her. We understand why later in the episode, when we discover that she’s no stranger to keeping secrets from Jackie, between her affair with Jeff and the admission letter to Brown (it also recontextualizes their first scene together in Shauna’s car, where Jackie addressed literally both).

On the field, when Taissa plays aggressive and forces Allie to play under pressure, Shauna tells her, “It’s not helping,” and once Allie’s on the ground, she’s one of the girls who runs to her first and tries to comfort her. Even though she didn’t openly disagree with Taissa’s plan, she didn’t want or expect things to escalate the way they did. She’ll make the same mistake when Jackie leaves the cabin, Taissa tells her to go talk to her, and Shauna just goes to sleep, underestimating the consequences of it.

Her ambivalence—if not hypocrisy—is shown later that night at the party, when she tries to pick a fight with Taissa while drunk. I think some part of her felt guilty to an extent, so she tries to fight with Tai out of remorse and because she wants to make her look like the only culprit, since she hates that she was so close to being complicit in it. Who calls her out when she defends Nat from Taissa’s slut-shaming at the party? Natalie herself slams in Shauna’s face that she is complicit.

If Shauna had told Jackie, she would’ve put a stop to it for sure. In the 2019 script for the pilot, Jackie says, “You should have told me about Taissa and Allie.” Shauna’s choice to keep the secret directly anticipates their falling out towards the end of the season. Shauna’s continuous lying drives Jackie mad until she explodes and they have that fatal fight.

Shauna’s the one who tries to act as a person who has it together but really doesn’t. She has the potential to be a good person, friend and mother, but she ends up flunking everything and she barely understands why.

Finally, she tells Tai that she’s “a fucking sociopath”, which, considering everything that happens later in the series, is sort of rich.

Jackie

Like Laura Lee, Jackie has no clue the whole “freeze Allie out” strategy is even happening. Shauna didn’t tell her, she was left out, and she doesn’t find out until Allie’s already hurt and there’s nothing she can do about it.

She watches the others as they rush to help and comfort her and handle the situation, but she doesn’t partake in it because she’s too shocked to move. After the scrimmage, she tries very hard to do as Coach Martinez told her—as captain, she’s meant to glue them together (“When it gets tough out there, these girls are going to be looking for someone to guide them. Can you handle that?”). It’s more than that, though—the way Coach put it, if Jackie can’t do that, then she isn’t really anything special. She’s not as fast as Shauna and her footwork isn’t as good as Lottie’s, and there’s something else that Taissa’s better at, too, though Jackie stops Coach before he can tell her that bit. But nobody seems to care about what she’s saying, and Natalie storms off.

Jackie’s inability to handle the Allie situation and lift the others’ spirits foreshadows her incompetence as well as her progressive loss of influence in the wilderness—in Lottie’s words, “You don’t matter anymore.”

Allie’s accident marks the beginning of Jackie’s downfall even before the plane crashes.

[mochiwrites]

what do u think are the most important parts of grian and scars characterization is? like what are important personality traits or quirks that are important, in ur opinion, to make them identifiable? i rlly love how u write them and i’d love to hear ur perspective and thoughts, good luck with ur assignments!

!!! wahhhh thank you 🥺

let’s see…. this is a really fun question :3c

starting with grian, I think the most important trait is his refusal to talk/acknowledge his problems. like to me that’s #1 most important because I think it’s a very big piece of his character. grian runs and hides from his emotions, he lashes out and snaps at people when he doesn’t want to talk about them. he has a million different defense mechanisms in place just to avoid talking about something going on. he’d rather try and push someone away before opening up

grian doesn’t like vulnerability, he doesn’t like confronting things

and something I see people get wrong sometimes is grian is subtle in his kindness, so people will tend to characterize him as a selfish jerk who doesn’t care. but that characterization couldn’t be more wrong. grian cares very much for the people around him and those in his inner circle. but he’s not always loud about it. there are times where he is, of course there are. but grian’s kindness is subtle

another really important trait for me is his tendency to feel guilty. grian has a very big guilt complex, and it shows quite a bit

following that, his tendency for mischief is something I try to hit on often. because grian is a very mischievous character at his core, and that’s an integral piece of him — along with his love for flying. but grian is also very impulsive, he’ll let that emotion lead him quite often

moving onto scar…. similarly to grian, scar isn’t… the best with emotions. he’ll trick you into thinking that he is, but when you really pay attention, you’ll notice that he deflects a lot. he uses distractions, masks, whatever he can to also avoid emotions. scar certainly isn’t on the same level of avoidance as grian is, but it is there

something really important to me when I write scar is that I capture his grandeur and his silliness. scar is someone hard to read, because most of the time he’s wearing a mask of a smile. he’s overall a pretty cheerful and goofy guy, of course, but he does have that “fake it till you make it” vibe about him

he’s also… very lonely. it’s a big piece of him, I think. he hides it well, but scar is a lonely guy. and that’s a part of his character that I love exploring

I always try to balance his cheerful and serious attitude carefully, and I think you can see that really well in songbird or like an arrow. he can be serious and strategic when he wants, but he’ll hide it

which brings me to an incredibly important point! scar is not stupid. like at all. he’ll play into a bit or make someone believe that he’s stupid, but it’s always so that he’ll have the upper hand. and that’s another thing people will get wrong sometimes. it’s something you see pretty clearly in third life. so it’s always really big for me that I highlight how smart and strategic he is when I’m writing him

and scar is mischievous too! he likes to prank and mess around with people. he can be impulsive like grian, but at times scar doesn’t think things through. oh, and I really love writing how easy he is to startle LOL

scar is also a very sweet person. he has an incredibly big heart, and at times he wears that heart on his sleeve. he loves his friends and his kindness is very loud and obvious <3

these are all usually the first things that come to mind when making the two of them identifiable in any context :D

[nesiacha]

Analysis of the French Revolution film by Robert Enrico and Richard T. Heffron

One of the (many) problems with films about the French Revolution is that in 1989, anyone wanting to make films about this period was required to adhere to the government's line, which dictated that the revolution could only be portrayed as leading to horrors, under threat of censorship. We can see this in the struggles Hervé Pernot faced. Even during de Gaulle's time, filmmakers who tried to make films as honest as possible about the revolution faced obstacles. Thus, there are inevitably significant historical inaccuracies in these films. Ironically, the leader of the country at the time of this cinematography, Mitterrand, who endorsed such thinking, had guillotined many Algerian revolutionaries, including some who never intended to harm anyone, like Fernand Iveton, or Algerians who were falsely accused. He endorsed parody trials of Algerians, far more significant and flagrant than those of 1794 regarding the Hebertists, Enraged, and Indulgents, when he was Minister of Justice in 1957, solely to please colonialist lobbying and secure a good political position. Therefore, he has no moral ground to lecture the Montagnards, who only abandoned their restraint once France's position was untenable both internally and externally. Most of them, along with other non-Montagnard members, courageously sided with the colonized.

I'll try to avoid delving too much into the absurd black legends unless it's unavoidable, such as when the film seems to endorse Brissot's statement that the "Revolutionary Tribunal is the Spanish Inquisition a hundred times worse." I know the Revolutionary Tribunal committed unforgivable acts in some of its parodies of justice, but the stupidity of this statement speaks for itself.

In the film, the "good guys" are Danton, Lafayette, and Mirabeau. It doesn't matter that they were all corrupt to the core, although Danton should not necessarily be lumped in with Mirabeau, as Danton may have accepted bribes but didn't necessarily fulfill his end of the bargain, and Lafayette, in my opinion, demonstrated more bloodthirstiness. Marat is depicted merely as a madman instead of showing that he was a man ahead of his time, an honest revolutionnary and brillant, sometimes , used inappropriate language due to the injustices he and the people faced. There's an interesting parallel here with the Algerian revolutionary Abane Ramdane, who shares many similarities on these points for me. Instead, we attribute this talent to Danton and potentially Desmoulins.

In the film, the French revolutionaries are portrayed as defeated, but victory is ultimately achieved, solely credited to Danton, which is false, reductionist, and even insulting to all revolutions. If revolutions succeed, it's certainly partly due to intellectual leaders, including figures like Saint Just, Le Bas, Lindet, Charlier, Billaud Varennes, Robespierre, and Hanriot, but it's primarily thanks to the people who supported them—the soldiers who held the line, the sans-culottes who persuaded the Convention to enact or repeal certain laws necessary to sustain the revolution, and the people who endured necessary but harsh taxes, who gave their shoes, sheltered revolutionaries—something most revolutionaries acknowledge.

The film reduces the Hebertists, Enrages, and Cordeliers to madmen united behind Hebert, portraying them without charisma, failing to show why they were popular, and omitting the split between Chaumette and the rest because Chaumette refused to join the insurrection against the Mountain after the Ventôse law.

On the other hand, during Danton's trial, the indulgents are cheered by the people. I know Danton delivered excellent speeches during his trial, but so did other factions, and there's no evidence of this particular scene. I've already discussed the differential treatment between indulgents, Hebertists, and Cordeliers in one of my previous posts. Apart from Hebert, virtually all Hebertists were executed with great dignity.

Marie Antoinette, to better exonerate Louis XVI, is portrayed as helpless during the trial, appearing scared before the scaffold. In reality, she showed courage and dignity that even her adversaries admired, which isn't depicted because she might come across better than Danton.

The Girondins sing the Marseillaise as they mount the scaffold. Regardless of whether one likes them or not, they showed great courage, which isn't shown because they might come across better than Danton on the scaffold.

Lucile Desmoulins and Marie Françoise Goupil, along with Chaumette, Gobel, and others, die with great dignity, but this isn't shown either. For Danton glorification the is the only except Louis XVI to face his death in dignity.

Robespierre is depicted as a coward fleeing his arrest with Saint Just and Couthon, whereas in reality, the gendarmes didn't want to arrest him, and he willingly offered his hands for arrest. The uprising of 17 out of 49 communes was spontaneous, but most revolutionaries hesitated because they didn't know whether to remain lawful or not, resulting in their losses (a Napoleon would have fewer scruples than them and for the wrong reasons) . Again because it will make them better than Danton ( let' s not talk about the glorification of Barras in this scene).

Morality: Only corrupt men act. The most selfless are depicted as grave fanatics who will execute you. It's no wonder the government approves of such films promoting these messages.

Not to mention the women erased from the revolutionary period—Manon Roland, Lucile Desmoulins portrayed as gentle without the political acumen of the real Lucile Desmoulins. Similarly tratment for Simone. Evrard Eleonore Duplay is depicted as personality-less fanatic , far from the real Eleonore Duplay. Louis Reine Audu, Pauline Léon, Olympe de Gouges, Marie Anne Babeuf, Albertine Marat, Charlotte Robespierre, and Elisabeth Le Bas, among many others, will not be shown.

I might write a second part soon if I have the time or in one month for a better analysis of the characters.

[shoezuki]

Doctor, the problem's in my chest

Chapter 8

The truth is, Gepard doesn’t want to die.

Death was an unavoidable constant, one he’d seen and faced throughout his career within the Silvermane Guards. Both before and after becoming the Captain, he’d seen countless Guards leave the city and not come back, seen the vigils held in their honour, names he barely recognized. 

It was different, though, being the one who didn’t return home, the one leading an expedition to their death. 

Sampo was… Sampo was a blessing, really. The last person Gepard expected to save him, to tend to him for days on end, to worry about him and comfort him and distract him. Gepard knows he would have been dead out there, frozen with his Guards, if Sampo hadn’t found him by chance. He knows he would’ve, should have died there, left to bleed out alone by that monster.

In that old house in the middle of nowhere, Gepard had realized at some point Sampo was just delaying the inevitable. When the pain didn’t recede, when he realized his wound wasn’t healing properly, when the shivers and shakes and hot-cold flashes set in, he’d realized he wasn’t ever going back to Belobog.

He made peace with it at some point. Maybe welcomed it, in some dark, dismal recess in his brain that he refused to acknowledge. Killing the fragmentum amalgamation was meant to be the last of him, one last act to avenge his Guards and keep Sampo alive. He didn’t want to die, but he had figured he had done what he needed to, after that.

Waking up again shocks him to his core. He shouldn’t be waking up.

Read the full thing on Ao3

[basilbots]

Platonic yandere Eclipse? Or self-destructive pushing everyone away despite craving their love Eclipse?

I imagine this is in reference to my tags about how I'd portray a still evil Eclipse as having toxic attachments. Both? Neither? Like okay in the show og Eclipse's whole thing was being obsessed with getting back at Moon And having his attention. Moon is living rent free in his head. Now I am going to. Extend that to the other celestials. At Eclipse's core I do think all of them start off with that problem of wanting attention/affection (even if he doesn't realize that's what it is) but sabotage themselves by lashing out. Lunar was supposed to be his own other half a bond like Sun and Moon's since Eclipse couldn't fit into that, but obviously he fucked it up and threw it away after Lunar's betrayal (and the fact it is his own fault is something he refuses to acknowledge in this scenario where he doesn't improve). And while an Eclipse who wins may get rid of Lunar without a thought and become a Lord Eclipse, an Eclipse who loses is going to dwell on that relationship. Especially if he keeps losing, Bloodmoon treating him like a toy, being stuck under Killcode's thumb, Sun of all people wanting to kill him. What I think of when I say a still evil Eclipse would have a toxic attachment to Lunar is he's not going to go and kill him, he's going to look back on the "best" relationship he's ever had and try to sink his claws in again. Stressing on a code connection he'd otherwise be embarrassed of as proof he's entitled to a sibling relationship, putting rose tinted glasses on their time together, convincing himself that Lunar is one of the only ones who doesn't want him dead. It's not the same as Eclipse genuinely being regretful and missing Lunar, and it's definitely not healthy. In practice this just means Eclipse has added "took my brother away from me" as a reason to harass Sun and Moon, and tries to welcome (or force) Lunar back into his claws with no promise of being actually better. He doesn't succeed, and if Lunar is aggressive enough in (understandably) shooting down Eclipse's attempts he'll go right back to acting like he wants nothing to do with any of them. But. Yeah. Piece of shit Eclipses being unhealthily attached to celestials outside of Moon.