#black rose arc kinda shows it

[scramratz]

Oh poor anthy

[inaflashimagine]

SINCE LAST TIME

You’ve never seen this man before in your life. He’s quite large, a towering figure with shadows that threaten to swallow the two of you whole. These facts make for a deadly combo and provide more than sufficient material to create a nightmare even a grown adult would struggle to escape from. But you’ve seen that smile. You know that smile. It’s a hard one to forget. Clearly.

pairing: nagumo yoichi x reader

wc: 9.4k

tags & warnings: (kinda) friends with benefits, suggestive themes, manga spoilers (sakamoto's past arc & assassination exhibition arc), light angst, reader was Nagumo's former spy classmate, no use of pronouns, instance of harassment/inappropriate behavior

notes: can be read as a standalone fic or the second part of a series found here. crossposted on ao3.

“Those are pretty!”

You can’t help but agree with the excited six-year-old holding your hand, though choosing the right words to voice your thoughts proves difficult. 

Your eyes survey the rest of your apartment. They seem to move quicker than your stiff tongue, less focused on the bouquet of roses on the dining table and more worried about locating the trespasser who put them there in the first place. 

The walk from the school back to the apartment didn’t take more than ten minutes. The television was still left on before you headed out. You didn’t realize how it was still programmed to the assassin channel until the JAA News anchors resumed their discussion of three wanted terrorists, their names when you first heard them a week ago as unexpected as the bloodred flowers currently staring at you.

In hindsight, wondering if you’d be able to find the culprit was a silly thing to fret over. Especially when the type of person to make such a grand gesture rarely decides to remain hidden. 

“I know, right?” exclaims a deep, jubilant voice from behind. “The florist freshly cut them from his garden, too! But how do we feel about the vase? Are the polka dots too flashy?”

The door shuts with a firm click, a sound you had already heard a few seconds ago. Because you closed the door yourself. 

You’ve never seen this man before in your life. He’s quite large, a towering figure with shadows that threaten to swallow the two of you whole. These facts make for a deadly combo and provide more than sufficient material to create a nightmare even a grown adult would struggle to escape from.

But you’ve seen that smile. You know that smile. 

It’s a hard one to forget. Clearly.

The hand enveloped by yours feels smaller than ever as you turn the curious girl around and shield her from the smiling man leaning forward to wave at her. The action gets her to peek behind your protective stance, her giggles growing louder the more your frown widens. 

“Yumiko,” you say softly, refusing to show the hint of panic beginning to seize your chest. “How about you do your drills first? I’ll review them with you in a bit.” It’s already that time of the school year when her class learns basic kanji. However, you secretly fear all those hours of practice still won’t correct her sloppy penmanship.

“But you said we’d watch Sugar’s Sweet Adventures first!” she whines, the rare protest paired with her doe-like eyes close enough to make you cave in. 

Yet your gaze remains on the smiling man in front of you. 

“We’ll do that after you finish your homework. I promise.” You give her hand two tight squeezes, your voice reedier by the second. “Please.”

“I’d listen if I were you,” he unhelpfully adds as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his white baggy pants, “because the one time I hadn’t was sooo close to being my last day on this planet!”

Yumiko laughs, a melody so light that you can feel your resolve chipping away. “You’re funny, mister!”

“Aw, you think so? Well, at least I have one fan in this household!”

“Wait, if you brought flowers, does that mean you’re staying for dinner, too?” Her black pigtails bounce with the rocking of her feet before she takes a step forward. She tugs on the strap of her limited edition Sugar backpack while you pull her behind you again. “We’re having Chinese tonight.”

“Oh, from that one place around the corner? Their pork dumplings are so delicious!”

As if to prove his point, he pats his stomach a few times and lists a few other of his favorite meals from the restaurant with a satisfied smile, leaving you stunned and Yumiko giggling once again.

“Yes! Please join us, mister!” Her gaze flits back to you, catching your mortified expression reflected in those excited dark brown eyes. “Can he join us, please?”

“Not if you don’t finish those assignments,” you cut in, the anxiety gnawing at you so intensely that you’re able to snap out of your bewilderment. Desperate for any solution that gets her far away from all this. 

But you’re not sure what shocks you more: Yumiko’s disappointed sigh or the ease with which she proceeds to simultaneously slip out her shiny black shoes and shrug off her bag. 

“Fine, I’ll do them. But only after I go to the bathroom.”

The moment you hear the pitter-patter of feet being muffled by the closing of a bathroom door is the instant you push the intruder against the apartment’s front door. The one he somehow managed to picklock without so much as uttering a sound.

“Nice to see you haven’t lost your touch,” Nagumo says cheerfully, his disguise gone within a blink. 

Though that smile hasn’t faltered one bit. If anything, you swear it’s gotten bigger.

“Seems like you’ve lost yours.” The grooves of your apartment key dig deeper into his neck, a tiny bead of red coloring the black spiral inked onto him. It’s a once-in-a-blue-moon achievement that would’ve made you insufferable to be around had it happened during your sparring classes at the JCC.

But when you see his pinned shoulders relax instead of resist, you remember how deftly he can flip himself out of this situation.

And how swiftly he can end yours. 

You snort derisively, trying your best to ignore the way his large eyes only seem interested in taking in the face that’s a hair’s breadth away from his. As much as his talkative nature drives you mad, you’d rather deal with his constantly running mouth over his silent one. “You call yourself a master of disguise but can’t change that obnoxious cologne you wear?”

He seems unfazed, the lazy stretch of his lips as he watches you with mild amusement infuriating you even more. “Obnoxious? How hurtful! And here I was worried that time made you softer.”

“The only thing you need to worry about is that target over your head.” Your eyes glance at the flat screen before returning to a slowly blinking Nagumo.

The tip of your tongue feels heavy with the number of questions you want to ask him. Why is he pictured in between an assassin who has long since retired and another who he swore he would kill? 

And why is he here, of all places? You already have enough on your plate to worry about. Are there others currently on his tail? The idea that more assassins may burst through this door while Yumiko is here terrifies you. 

You want to strangle him. 

“A target?” The confusion that tinges his voice is also seen in the exaggerated tilt of his head, the assassin uncaring that the action causes the key to poke further into his neck. “While I am flattered to be compared to that objectively attractive ‘Wanted’ guy, you’re confusing me for another Nagumo Yoichi. After all, I’m an upstanding JAA employee and obedient member of the Order, thank you very much.”

“Oh, cut the act,” you hiss, the flush of the toilet in the background proving how little time you have left. Leaning forward, you glimpse the silver key between your fingers beginning to turn crimson. “Or I’ll let the JAA know where their Special Class-A Extermination Target is…”

He dares to feign a pained gasp while mirth dances in his eyes. “You’d rat me out, even after I brought you these flowers? You have to admit that they’re an upgrade from last time.”

Despite it being the most inopportune time, his words bring back a rush of memories that you have no shot at ever blocking out.

The faint surprise your face undeniably showed upon opening the apartment door that one night over seven years ago–a shock that wasn’t caused by the all-too-familiar sight of long limbs occupying every corner of your couch but had rather stemmed from the bouquet of bright white roses he tossed between his hands.

White roses speckled with dark red splotches.

His thank-you gift, no doubt. 

At least his suit was clean. 

What remained uncertain was whether the present was for a favor in the past, or for a current one in his unlucky deck of cards.

You had grabbed it from him anyway, heading straight to the kitchen and swallowing a pleased sigh that threatened to leave you when soft lips grazed your neck and long arms wrapped around your waist. Ignoring the warmth in your constricted chest as fingers toyed with the hem of your shirt and strands of silky hair tickled your cheek, instead attempting to focus on the scissors in your hands to cut the flower stems at a sharp angle. “But please don’t tell me those dots are bloo–”

“Nah, of course it’s not my blood!” he immediately clarified with a chuckle, the deep sound vibrating through your skin and going straight through your bones. “How was I supposed to know the dude would bleed like some stuck pig?”

“Nagumo!” You hoped he’d surmise your gasp as one of horror over his indifference, but saying his name like that the minute his hand dipped below your pants is not something even the most naive could chalk up to coincidence.

“Now, don’t act all innocent on me,” he whispered into your ear, planting a lingering kiss on your shoulder. “Not when you’re the only spy who knows the whereabouts of one of my next targets.”

After placing the stained roses in a black vase, you managed to wiggle in his grasp, turning to pull on his tie before linking your arms around his neck. Unsure why the knot in your stomach seemed to tighten from his admission, one that you already saw coming the moment you opened the door. 

The more you thought about it, Nagumo rarely offered gifts of appreciation for services completed in the past. Perhaps a present of that magnitude could only be received for accomplishing a wish not even a god could grant.

If that was the case, that wouldn’t be happening anytime soon. The latest trail you caught wind of went cold months ago. At the very least, it was likely she was still alive, but providing him any further details would be pure speculation or straight-up lies. Despite all the classes Nagumo skipped when you two were in high school, one particular lesson always stuck with each student in the intelligence-gathering and assassin programs: a stiff body is easier to find than a constantly moving one. 

But if she wasn’t dead, then it was also very likely that she didn’t want to be found. 

Neither of you had ever discussed that last scenario—such hypotheticals were pointless in this profession, after all—but you’re sure he already knew. Even then, he still acted like a stubborn dog that refused to let go of the worn bone, as if hopeful that, maybe, just maybe, he could eventually trade it in for something of higher value. 

Hope was the last thing assassins should hold onto. Civilians who did so were often seen as optimistic or naive. But for those in your field, it got you killed.

Shaking your head, you sent him an unimpressed look. “Contaminated roses in exchange for valuable intel? Talk about unfair exchange.”

He merely blinked, blank eyes staring evenly at you before giving you a boyish smile. “Ah, of course, my bad! So would you prefer red ones next time?”

“You’re ridiculous!” And like last time, you laughed against his lips, closing the distance to push away the sinking feeling that this transaction, along with the previous ones, would never extend beyond that. Perhaps if he squeezed his eyes just as hard as you were then he’d be able to picture the one target that’s never been able to leave his mind.

Upset at Nagumo for evoking such unwelcome thoughts, you tighten your grip against him and repeat those two words.

What favor does he want now? Wasn’t last time enough?

Does he know how much you’ve risked for him? How much is at stake just because he stepped foot into your haven?

“You know, it’s quite rude to treat a friend like this!” he chides, grabbing your wrist with the key before wagging a finger from his other–now free–hand. “Especially one who saw their best friend fake-resurrect from the dead before nearly getting sliced to pieces by a senile man with a sword.”

The key clatters to the floor as your jaw goes slack, attempting to piece together the bomb he so casually dropped.

Akao Rion?

“She’s alive?” you ask, dumbfounded. Even saying it now is a foreign sensation. How? “And that’s made you a wanted man?”

And if Akao Rion is alive, then why is he here?

“Mister, how did you lose so much weight?”

Hearing Yumiko makes you recognize what else you missed amidst the chaos: the creaky sound of the bathroom faucet turning on and off; the echo of the bar soap she always drops into the sink when washing her hands; the shuffling of her feet when she opens the door.

Maybe you are losing your touch.

It doesn’t matter that for the length he was gone, you carried on normally. And it doesn’t matter that in those years you almost forgot how important he was to you. Because it makes no difference now. The time and distance apart lulled you into a false sense of security, and created an illusion that is so painstakingly obvious now– 

Everything is thrown out of orbit whenever he inserts himself into your life.

“That’s a good question! Well, you know how 70% of our bodies are made up of water? Mine is stored in all these mini balloons and your mom just happened to pop a few by accident. Crazy, right?”

“Just because I’m six doesn’t mean I’m dumb.” Standing beside you once again, she reaches for a scratched-up MP3 player and a pair of oversized headphones that are all neatly tucked in her bag before peering at you instead of the bleeding man in your apartment. “Can I go to my bedroom instead of the guest room? I forgot that I left my drill book there.”

Your mouth drops momentarily before you come to your senses. The fact that she might be safer alone than with you is pathetically insulting, although that might speak more to her capabilities than yours. Oddly enough, she’s probably the wisest child you know. Not that you run across many children with your career. “Uh, sure. Do you have the spare key?”

She nods wordlessly, opting for a cursory thanks before she excuses herself, puts on her shoes, and politely asks a perplexed Nagumo to step aside. As she opens the door, the small girl cranes her head upward to spare him a plain look before she leaves.

“And my mom won’t be here until dinner. But I’ll be done with homework before then.”

You think it’s one of the few times you’ve seen someone steal Nagumo’s last words. And based on how wide his bemused eyes are, it might be his first as well.

But the pride that swells in your chest is quickly deflated with another realization.

“Wait…you thought Yumiko was my daughter?”

“Not just your daughter,” he mutters as he loosens his hold around your wrist, the action–or rather, the absence of it–reminding you how warm his touch is. 

It’s your turn to be rendered speechless, taking a step back as you fix an incredulous stare at the former-spy-apprentice-turned-rogue-assassin whose blood continues to drip onto your typically spotless floor.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that!” he teases with the corners of his lips tugging into a knowing expression. He looks way too happy at the possibility of being a deadbeat. “You can’t deny that we look alike. Plus, you can do the math. She’s six years old, has my humor and intellect…”

You wonder if he realizes that comparing his intelligence to that of a first-grader isn’t the best demonstration of his mind at ‘its brightest’. Then again, his childish frivolity might also explain why kids seem to cling to him like a magnet.

Despite the roll of your eyes, you grab his hand and direct him to put it over his wounded neck, uncaring for how he winces at your rough treatment. As melodramatic as ever. You swore you had just nicked him, in spite of the mess he’s made with your clothes and apartment. “Just shut up and stay there.” 

“–And then you disappeared a few days after our little spat. I also remember the condom break–”

“What a spot-on analysis, Sherlock,” you spit out, picking up your dirty key before making your way to the kitchen drawers. “But you were the one who disappeared, after that night”–you falter, shaking your head furiously while grabbing a clean rag–“anyway, it’s not my fault I was assigned a two-year mission in Singapore. And you could’ve reached out anytime, especially for work matters. Other Order members have.”

Yet that number seems to be dwindling more with each passing day. You feel your fist slightly curl around the cloth when Hyo pops up in your mind. He always provided updates on how Nagumo was doing, no matter how reluctant he was to deliver them and no matter how awkward you felt receiving them. You think you would happily endure a thousand more of those embarrassing moments if it meant he could still be alive.

You guess that’s why it’s called wishful thinking.

Nagumo takes the rag from you, immediately offering a good-natured grin when he catches your eyes narrowing at how long his fingers linger on yours. “Ah, you’re no fun anymore. I was just kidding about all that!”

Your huff of disbelief is less than flattering. “Well forgive me for not being able to tell the difference between the truth and your shitty jokes after seven years of radio silence.”

His whistle rings far and low. “Wow, seven years? Has it been that long?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.” Folding your arms, you fling his words right back at him. “You can do the math, right? After all, I’m the one who doesn’t ‘know anything’.”

Nagumo sighs upon seeing your air quotes, scratching the back of his head with one hand while staunching the slower trickle of blood from his neck using the other. “So you are still upset over what happened that night.”

And for every subsequent night that he seemed to forget you exist.

“No, I’m upset that you show up at my home while you’re being hunted by every single assassin and spy in Japan.”

At least it’s not a total lie.

“Well, not every single member.” You can only scoff at the direction of his pointed finger.

“And what makes you think I won’t alert them of your whereabouts?”

“Because you already would’ve done so.” It’s a fact that seems to please him, based on that smirk plastered on his face. “Guess I can still call you a friend, even if you won’t formally invite me into your place.” 

There he goes with that word again. 

“No, don’t think about taking another step. I refuse to be an accomplice to whatever mess you dragged Sakamoto into.”

“Immediately taking his side? I see how it is.” For someone who sounds offended, his carefree laughter indicates otherwise. “I’ll have you know that I was the one trying to stop Sakamoto-kun. Not to mention he was the one with the billion-yen bounty! But you always did have a soft spot for him.”

“That doesn’t explain why you partnered with Uzuki. And after everything he’s done?” Though with Akao allegedly being alive, you’re still not sure what to make of any of this. It feels like you’re trying to solve a puzzle with lost pieces and several wrong ones. 

The smile on his face immediately hardens into a straight line, and like last time, that’s when you know you asked the wrong question.

“You’re missing the full story.”

Aware that you’ll fail, you futilely try to see anything past the void he expertly maintains in those eyes. Eyes that are cleverly hidden by long strands of hair. 

Against your better judgment, you take back the rag from his hand and nod, unable to suppress the tired sigh that leaves you. Or the splitting headache that follows. “I know. So tell me.” 

Once Nagumo reassures you that no one followed him (“Please, I’m a wanted man, not some half-baked assassin!”), you leave him in the living room area, make a pit stop at the laundry basket, and head to the apartment next door after letting him know that you’ll be back in a few.

“Hey there, I’m checking in.” You wonder why you bothered knocking on her bedroom door, considering Yumiko only responds after you remove her headphones, the young girl accepting your greeting with a bored expression on her face. “Are you done with your drills?”

“Hmmm, not yet. Is your strange friend still in your home?” 

You do your best to hide the twitch in your eye with an enthusiastic nod. “He is. We’ll be catching up on a few things but shouldn’t take long. I’ll come back here to review your book when we’re done.”

“And then Sugar’s Sweet Adventures?”

“Only if we have time.”

Shockingly, she doesn’t look too disappointed. “Okay. I also think you should get him a new shirt.”

That makes you pause. “Why do you say that?”

“Because of the stain,” she answers plainly, like you asked her what color the sky was. She must mistake your furrowed brows for bafflement because she elaborates with a small, uncertain smile. “It’s probably more difficult to scrub out blood on a black shirt than a white shirt because it’s harder to see where it ends and begins.”

Her mother is going to kill you.

“Right, thank you, that’s a kind suggestion for you to make. I’ll follow it.” 

“And is…he…coming for dinner?”

Pursing your lips, you search for any signs of anxiety or fear on her face. When her calm expression betrays neither, you sigh wearily. “Honestly, I’m not sure. He hasn’t told me. But I can see if he will.”

“If he does?”

“Then we’ll have to order some more dumplings.”

Yumiko smiles widely at that, her delighted laugh contagious. Her adult front tooth has started to fill in the gap of the baby tooth that preceded it, and you briefly wonder if you’ll live long enough to see when they all come in.

“Can some of them be fried then?”

“Sure thing, kid,” you say without hesitation, lightly tugging on one of her pigtails before ruffling the top of her head. “So long as you come up with a story on why we couldn’t get the steamed ones. And it better not involve me or so much mention my name.”

“Deal,” she says just as seriously, throwing in a solemn nod to demonstrate her commitment. But her toothy grin shows no sign of leaving. 

Standing up from your kneeling position you ask her one more question. “Also, can we make sure this conversation just stays between the two of us?”

But she’s already slipped her headphones back on, pop music blaring out as she resumes her writing.

As you return to your living room, you catch him holding a certain photo frame. He wiggles it in front of you with gusto, as if you don’t know what picture you placed there yourself. 

“Wow, you didn’t tell me Yumiko’s mom was a total bab–”

“...”

“I mean, a totally responsible-looking and contributing adult to society!”

“So I’m just going to ignore everything you just said,” is your surprisingly measured response, tossing him a large white shirt that you grab from the pile of clean clothes you thankfully laundered a day ago. “Yumiko thought you might want something cleaner. I’m not washing that black one for you though.”

He catches it with ease, already peeling off his baggy shirt as he puts on the new one. “So she did see the blood. Man, I bet she and Hana would get along swimmingly.”

Who? Your face scrunches in confusion, attempting to ignore the sharp stab you suddenly feel on the side. “Hana?”

“And a non-squeamish six-year-old sounds like the kind of promising candidate the JCC loves. You’re sure she’s not yours?”

You hum absent-mindedly, finding your gaze set on the new ink that accompanies numerous bruises on pale skin. He looks more banged up than normal, a strange sight to behold and one that makes you so unusually queasy that you try to brush the thought aside. Parts of the quote on his torso are blocked by thick bandages, some of which turn redder the more he moves around.

The number of assassins and spies you know with tattoos is so few that you can count them on a single hand. You always wondered why such a mysterious person whose life and career depend on the utmost discretion would willingly paint his body with such permanent identifiers. When you had first seen them–starting with seemingly random numbers on dainty fingers–you figured it would be best to stray away from such an arrogant spy apprentice. If a rookie did the same thing, they wouldn’t last longer than a month past graduation. Yet such concerns always fell on deaf ears–even during the JCC days, professors from the intelligence gathering program would chew him out whenever he walked into class with new ink. (“Oh, this? I must’ve forgotten to wash it off this morning! What a drag. Mind if I go to the bathroom to get it off? I swear I’ll be back in a few!”) 

Maybe that’s why he also transferred to another department.

“You know, you didn’t have to use the bloody shirt as an excuse to see me half naked,” he chirps with a close-eyed smile, a statement that is mortifying to hear alone, much less have it directed at you. Particularly when the new shirt hugs him tighter than you’d like. “If you politely asked, I might’ve even let you take it off me.”

Your face blooms with heat and for some unknown reason, you feel like a clueless teenager again. “Yumiko is not mine,” you reply through gritted teeth, trying to remember his original question before he nearly made your spiral. “But she is my neighbor. Her mom's a nurse with long shifts at the hospital, so I pick Yumiko up after school to make sure she’s not alone.”

“Helping your neighbors, for free?” he asks, unsure how to interpret the slight tilt of his head as he sends you a small smirk. “Maybe you have gone soft.”

“I have not ‘gone soft’,” you say defensively, shoulders taut. “Contrary to what you think, I like to help people.”

Besides, you’ve been told that you’re a nice person. You like to think you’re affable than most. Or at the very least, as approachable as a spy can be in this world. 

“Is that so? Tell me, does helping people also include killing innocent assassins on the run?”

But it doesn’t help that you always feel like you’re teetering on the edge of a cliff whenever you’re around him.

If there were a way to weaponize your glares toward assigned targets you’d be the richest person in the assassin world. And the man cheekily smiling across from you would be dead a million times over.

Because if that’s an innocent assassin, you don’t want to see a guilty one.

“Hey Nagumo, has anyone ever told you that you’re a living oxymoron?”

The loud laugh he barks out sounds so nice that it grates your nerves. “As funny as ever! But on second thought, since the grannies at your last place made quite the snoopy bunch, I so get why you were reluctant to help them out.”

The mention of your previous neighbors gets a begrudging eye roll out of you. Nagumo had become such a frequent visitor at your last apartment that he, unsurprisingly, won the hearts of the two nosy, old ladies sandwiched between your unit. If he wasn’t at your place but you still heard rowdy laughter permeating the walls, you instantly assumed that he was gossiping with them over who knew what. Based on the frequent–and unsolicited–reports those two women provided you, he occasionally felt charitable enough to sort their trash and cross off a few items from their grocery lists. They had promised to not snitch on you for breaking the lease terms of authorized occupants despite your insistence that Nagumo–or as they liked to call him, the pretty boy with way too many tattoos–was not living with you nor was he your boyfriend.

“And after seeing this picture”–he, once again, waves the picture frame you repeatedly told him to return to the end table–“I completely understand your newfound passion for community service. She really is a total babe–”

You wack him in the head, which he smartly knows not to block.

“Anyway,” Nagumo says while nursing the newly formed bump on his head, “speaking of being neighborly, mind if I treat myself to some snacks in your pantry?” 

Squinting, you suspiciously eye the gleam of aluminum poking out of his pant pockets. “Good to know you still follow the values of ‘ask for forgiveness, not permission’.”

That youthful grin on his face never leaves, his simple shrug providing a sufficient answer when he pairs it with a familiar can of white peaches that he whips out. “Actually, I wanted to ask for a can opener. Couldn’t find it in your drawers. I’d use my handy weapon, but a juvenile delinquent ruined it the other day.”

“Oh no,” you draw out slowly once you make your way to the kitchen, deciding to hurl a chef's knife toward him despite fully knowing where the can opener is. “How will you entertain the masses without your party trick?”

Like a thrown dart, it sticks to the white wall next to him, taking some jet-black strands of hair for company. He sends you a flat look before he uses the heel of the knife to pry open the can. “At least sound a bit more devastated, will you? I doubt I can get my usual weapons maker to make another one for me right now. It truly is a tragedy.”

“The real tragedy is the little remaining time you have to tell me why your face is not only here inhaling all my food but also currently on my TV.” Pointedly peering at the clock hand that gets closer to six with each passing second, your fingers impatiently tap the kitchen island you’re leaning against. 

“So I’m taking the roses didn’t win you over? Was it the vase?”

You can only stare.

Changing into a clean shirt, being fed, and fulfilling the hasty catch-up have all been done. He’s run out of distractions and excuses, a fact he resigns to with an annoyed sigh.

“Fine.” Or at least that’s what you think he says, mouth still stuffed with food. He jumps onto the couch, patting the seat next to him. “But trust me that you’ll want to be sitting down for this.”

It’s a suggestion you’re glad you heed, unable to mask your shock as he spares no detail in his account of fighting a formidable member of X’s group; of thinking he finally killed Uzuki, only to hear the voice of his deceased friend come out the body of her executioner; of learning that Sakamoto knew about this ‘copy’ Akao since Thailand and deciding to not tell Nagumo about it; of losing his status as an Order member the moment Chairman Asaki placed a hit on the inadvertent trio; and of nearly dying from Takamura’s blade until X copied the old man as well.

It’s too much to take in. This might be the only time you wish that everything the trickster just told you was fabricated lies rather than the cold truth. And there’s no way he’s lied to you about this or even embellished a detail or two. Not when you can’t recall the last time he’s ever looked this grim.

You’re not sure how much time has passed, with you just sitting there, staring at an empty aluminum can on the coffee table. Watching how the mouths of the JAA news anchors on the TV screen move soundlessly, having muted the channel long ago. 

You don’t even know where to start. Everything feels too convoluted to begin to process.

And you can tell Nagumo is feeling the same. This is the most expressive you’ve ever seen him–the way his brow knits furiously as he provides a recap of his conversation with Uzuki’s Rion, almost as if committing each word to memory lest he forgets or misses a major clue. How his eyes harden and knuckles turn paperwhite when mentioning Asaki, who claimed to have seen Rion’s death. How his face seems to lose its tension when he relays some dumb joke that Uzuki’s Rion made about Sakamoto’s weight, only to regain it when he recounts his morning encounter with Oki and the two newest members of the Order.

Meeting X was supposed to solve the biggest question that’s plagued Nagumo’s every waking moment. Yet none of this makes sense. Now, it’s only introduced more cryptic puzzles and an increasingly higher risk of death.

“I fear you’ve told all this to the wrong person,” you admit with a sardonic smile. 

Nagumo’s gaze on you is steady, unwavering. “Why do you think that?”

“Because I don’t know how I can help you with any of this.” Pinching the bridge of your nose, you exhale deeply and try to ignore the mind-numbing panic that begins to trickle its way into your chest. “I don’t know anything about Uzuki or X or Slur or whatever the fuck his name is other than what you’ve told me. And I have no idea where he and his lame posse currently are. I don’t even know what you should do next.”

For the amount of stress he’s under, Nagumo sure doesn’t show it with his easygoing smile. “I’m not asking you to do any of that.”

“Then what do you want from me?”

It comes off more petulant than you’d like, and perhaps if he strained his ears, he might be able to hear the concern tinting your voice. Yet one thing is certain–you’re far from the professionally composed person you typically are during work meetings.

But when has anything ever stayed professional between you two?

He leans forward, eyes locked onto yours so that you can’t avert your gaze.

You don’t.

“The only people who know where Sakamoto and I are hiding include his ragtag group of wannabe pacifists, sweet ol’ Granny Miya, and you.”

You?

“Me?” It comes out as a whisper, and in its meekness, you’re relying on him to understand the implicit message.

Why?

“Yup!” he exclaims with an eager nod. “And hopefully, it stays that way!” Which roughly translates to ‘don’t snitch’. You’ve seen that threatening glint before. You’ve heard the hint of finality in that trademark sprightly tone of his before, his sunny disposition softening the blow that targets would undoubtedly feel just a brief moment later. However, none of that has ever been meant for you.

Until now. 

“But I will say, I’m surprised no one else from the Order has paid you a visit.”

“Well, they have, but no one’s asked for you. Oki-san needed the contacts for the two new members he recruited.” You bite your lip, mulling over your next choice of words. “Unless you’ve blabbered to Shishiba or Osaragi, I think only Hyo knew that we were…acquaintances.”

His lips quirk ever so slightly. “Hah! Not the acquaintance card. What will it take for you to say ‘friends’? Do you know how to say it? I can spell it for you.”

Your grimace is far from subtle. “Too bad I don’t have pen and paper,” you weakly joke, trying your best to not roll your eyes for the umpteenth time today.

He licks his lips, lidded eyes refusing to leave yours when he lets out a low, contemplative hum. “That’s for amateurs, which we are not. There’s other ways to teach you.”

Blood rushes to your face, and you blow out an indignant puff of air to focus on anywhere but that coy smile.

“Switching the subject once again,” you say with a dry laugh, relieved that the only stuttering that’s present is tucked away in the staccato notes of your heartbeat. “That’s when I know you’re hiding something.”

He bows slightly, eyes smoothly blocked by unruly hair. Yet his smile only grows. “Is that so?”

“What’s the other reason you’ve told me all this?” A hesitant pause before your voice lowers. “The real reason.”

You’ve always hated how he can quickly school his expression into a blank canvas when it’s impossible for you to do the same to him. It’s a skill that might be even more frustrating than your inability to read him, to break past the wall he effortlessly puts up. 

And you’re a good spy; deep down, you know this. But when your usually astute perception is impervious to his shield at every single angle, the only viable course of action is to take his next words at face value.

“Because who else will tell the truth once the JAA silences everyone?”

It’s the last thing you’re expecting him to say. Words said so breezily as if inquiring what day of the week it was.

And all you can picture is his lifeless body.

Another sharp inhale, followed by a shaky breath. Your stomach continues to drop, and you’re uncertain when you’ll be fully sunk. Every fiber in your being knows this is the wrong reaction, a sign of weakness that goes against all the training that’s been ingrained into your body since your family explained what they do for a living.

But the idea of a life without Nagumo in it feels worse than death itself.

“Hey. Hey, look at me.”

Anything that reaches your ears sounds muffled, trapped underwater until two hands grab your face and pull you back to the surface.

His thumb strokes your cheek gently as he softly repeats your name. One. Two. Three times.

“You can’t die,” you finally say. Slowly, quietly. Almost as if you’re reassuring yourself. Your face hardens, a sharp edge to your voice. “You won’t die.”

He meets your stare unabashedly, an amused smile making its way back to his lips. “Who said anything about dying?”

“Nagumo, I’m serious.” You find your breath steadying, only for it to quicken the moment your fingers lock around his wrists. “You can’t leave…leave me.”

“I never left,” he says decisively, and right before you can get a retort in, he won’t stop talking.

“Your mission in Singapore was not only two years but two years, seven months, and twenty-nine nights. You went back to your old place but immediately found and moved into this one. Maybe because you wanted to get away from those annoying grannies, or maybe because you were afraid of me breaking in again–which I didn’t, by the way!–but I think it’s because you wanted to be closer to that used bookstore, which you visit every Saturday and only after ordering your tea latte and a chocolate croissant from the cafe next door. 

“You say you only pick up Yumiko after school, but I’ve seen you take her to each of her soccer games and sometimes to the Science Museum in Ueno whenever it’s rainy. Assassins and spies of all levels seek your intel, but you only let Order members and the Chairman into your place. Not that you have much say in that, I guess. Though what you do have control over is who you go on dates with and boy, do you go on a lot more shitty dates than good ones. That Ren was a character.”

You can’t tell if the urge to slap him is stronger than your desire to smash his lips with yours.

“Are you done?” is all you can muster. Yet in the time between you find yourself inching closer toward him, noses brushing as you take in his overwhelming presence. The smell of Granny Miya’s arnica tincture with the heady scent of smoky amber makes your head feel light and your clammy hands all tingly. 

But you can’t stop smiling.

“Hmmm, that depends,” he muses, a glance to your lips causing your stomach to flutter. “How much more time do I have before you kick me out?”

“You’re ridiculous.” More like insane.

You kiss him anyway. 

It starts slowly, hesitantly. Like you’re back to being clumsy teenagers, curious to explore what it means to carry out a mission of seduction.

Then his tongue swipes over your lips before parting them, and hunger takes over.

His mouth tastes sweet, and addicting, a warmth wholly inviting and so easy to get lost in that you can’t stop your content sigh. It’s all-consuming, and you pull him down with you, grabbing onto the front of his shirt as you sink into the couch together. 

His arms keep you trapped, though you don’t think you mind, legs wrapped around him as you indulge in a stolen moment.

Until a flash of bright blue hair pops into your mind.

You open your eyes, unclenching your fist from his shirt and recoiling like you’ve touched a hot stove. And all of sudden something that felt good feels so incredibly off.

“What?” He’s as breathless as you are, though his body still hovers over you, long hair tickling your forehead while you’re surprised to see the worried crease form on his. “What’s wrong?”

“Us,” you blurt out, cheeks hot from shame. “I can’t be her. I never will be.”

Dark eyes study your face as you feel his hands drift to your back. He lifts you with him until you’re back to sitting across from one another, and for a second you think he might leave right then and there.

And then he captures your lips again.

This kiss is fleeting, but softer, a tenderness that you didn’t think he had. A gentleness you don’t deserve.

He parts to look at you once more, a lone finger tracing your cheek with the caress of a lover.

“You don’t need to be her,” he murmurs against your lips, feeling the flutter of his eyelashes and his unyielding gaze. “I don’t want you to be her.”   There’s a gradual levity in your chest, a foreign sensation that makes you realize how weighed down you were.

You want to bask in it, drink in more of the giddiness he seems to get out of you so easily. And when he leans in to gently nip at your bottom lip, you find yourself caving in.

A feeling short-lived when the timer in your phone goes off. 

Nagumo doesn’t take the interruption to heart, a breathy laugh fanning your neck as you reluctantly peel away from him to stop the alarm. “So you did set a time limit.”

The grin you send as consolation is half sheepish, half nervous. “Didn’t think we would go past it if I’m being honest.”

He raises a brow, hands back to sliding all over you. “Ouch! Sounds like I’ll have to prove you wrong.”

Your thighs press uncomfortably when feather-like touches brush over your hip.

“As much as I’d love to, we’ll have to take a rain check,” you mutter, quite begrudgingly. Struggling out of his iron-clad grip is a challenge enough, legs wobbly as you stand abruptly. When you lick your swollen lips you can instantly taste the faint sweetness of white peaches. “I have to stop by the restaurant with Yumiko before her mother arrives.”

Yet your attention keeps finding itself on the clock, the incessant ticking of the big hand seeming to mock you as you realize how little time you have left.

“So what’s actually rushing you?”

Your shoulders tense, but you shoot him a casual smile that you’re confident could rival his. “What do you mean?”

He tilts his head, his scrutiny intense as he stands up to observe you. “I don’t know, you tell me. I thought we were done with giving each other the cold shoulder.”

Your eyes narrow. “Maybe lay off? Sorry if I don’t want Yumiko’s mother walking in on us going at it like some horny teenagers.”

Based on the way he purses his lips, he doesn’t seem convinced. You feel like you’re being examined under a magnifying glass, an unpleasant sensation that makes your body itch all over.

And then all your ears can hear is his boisterous laughter. 

Nagumo slaps your back, hard, right before he doubles over. Pretending to wipe a fake tear, he airily says, “Civilians see us killing from left to right every day without fuss, and you think she’s gonna bat an eye at two consenting adults kissing? Gee, maybe you’re more of a prude than Sakamoto-kun!”

“Oh, shut up!” You shove him near the edge of the step to the genkan, wondering if your chuckling sounds as nervous at you think it does. “I think you’ve overstayed your welcome, don’t you think?”

“Ah shoot–did I just fumble my shot at a date?”

You open the door for him, trying to ignore your embarrassment with how your stomach flips from that question. Your small smile will have to be enough for him. “Yes. Yet if you focus on staying alive then maybe we’ll talk.”

“Good to see you’re still a terrible liar. But sounds like we have a deal,” says a larger man who bears no resemblance to one of JAA’s most wanted men. His voice is gruffer, but the lips that chastely brush yours hold a softness you already find yourself craving.

Then he’s gone in a blink. 

—

After making sure Nagumo didn’t swipe your phone or other valuables as he sped off, you take a few extra minutes to regain your composure before visiting Yumiko. Resting your head against her bedroom door doesn’t subside your pounding headache, and when Yumiko’s stomach begins to grumble in the middle of reviewing her homework, you finally think it’s time to eat.

“But why are we going back to your place?” she inquires, exasperation evident.

“Because I forgot my wallet,” you reply with a weary sigh. Your hands feel aimless, afraid that Nagumo’s one-liner on repaying Sakamoto for eating Hana’s ruined birthday cake was more than just a foolish joke. 

“Forgot, or lost?” 

You look up from your bent position near the coffee table. “I don’t appreciate the sass, kid.”  

“You seemed to like it when your friend acted that way.”

Mouth agape, you’re ready to rescind your offer of fried dumplings when you hear a familiar voice.

“Didn’t anyone teach you ladies how to close the front door?”

“Mother!” Yumiko calls out as she hugs the older woman’s leg. “You’re home early!”

“Wanted to make sure I made it in time for dinner. Chinese, right? Were you two about to head there?”

“Yes!” you answer with a triumphant smile as you shake the wallet in your hands. “And tonight’s on me!”

“That’s not necessary, I don’t mind paying our share…”

“I know, which is why I insist.” Just as you make your way toward the front entrance, the door still ajar, Yumiko drags her mother to the vibrant roses on the table. “Wait, what are you–?”

“I want mother to see the flowers!” The child looks at you before gazing back at the woman beside her. “Don’t you think they’re pretty?”

“They’re beautiful,” she agrees, smoothing Yumiko’s hair as she sends you a wink. “A gift from your boyfriend?”

Your heart nervously skips a beat. A white lie wouldn’t hurt anyone, right?

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you open your mouth and begin to speak.

“–while the red roses are a classic option, that vase is too garish for my taste. Should I have to worry about a secret admirer?”

A shiver wracks through your spine the moment you feel his hand on the small of your back. Cold fingers linger around your waist, and it takes all your strength to look up at him and not suffocate under his bloodlust. There’s so much of it that you wonder how fast he can masterfully hide it without raising any alarms.

“Well?”

“Of course not,” you quickly assure with a shaky smile, your cheeks hurting from how wide your lips stretch.

“The flowers are from my secret admirer, Asaki-san,” Yumiko pipes up, her voice tiny among the adults. “They were too heavy to carry back home so I had some help. He told me that the florist freshly cut them from the garden, too.”

“Your what now?” gasps her mother, though Yumiko’s innocent gaze remains on you.

Is…he…coming for dinner?

You wish your eyes could convey how apologetic you are. How guilty you are for involving two completely innocent civilians into this.

Yet only adrenaline and fear course through your veins, preventing any other flood of emotions from rushing in.

“Being outdone by a child? That won’t do,” Asaki says after an impatient click of his tongue, his long earrings dangling with a slight shake of his head. He offers you a smile, but it appears more like a grimace. “I’ll have Watarai deliver a fresh bouquet of my preferred arrangement to both this apartment and my office tomorrow.”

You should change the door lock sometime soon.

You blink instead, opening your mouth before shutting it promptly. “Sure. Thank you.” Entirely cognizant of the arm snaked around you, you look at the bag in his other hand and do your best to not think about the cage you’re currently in. “What do you have there?”

“Ah, yes! I know you mentioned Chinese, but that place you go to looks pretty dismal, not to mention dirty. So I got tapas from a restaurant that just so happens to have a Michelin-star. Their food is exquisite. Watarai, you can prepare the table now, thank you.” 

The smug smile Asaki boasts seems more genuine this time, especially as his assistant–who, to no one’s surprise, materializes out of nowhere–carefully grabs the bag from his boss and begins to set the table. 

The roses are nowhere to be found. 

“You’re too kind, Asaki-san,” Yumiko’s mother says after an uncomfortable silence, the overt wringing of her hands making you wince. “But perhaps this dinner is best left to the couple?”

“Nonsense! The more the merrier!” are words he’s probably never uttered until now. 

Despite her appreciative bow, she exchanges a wary look with you before grabbing her daughter’s hand. “Well, thank you very much for thinking to include us. If you may excuse us, Yumiko and I will wash our hands.”

“But I wanted dumplings…”

“Yumiko, hurry along now!”

Once that door closes you pry his hands off you, uncaring for the disgruntled frown that tugs his thin lips downward.

“I’ve grown quite wearisome of your antics.”

“How did you know we were getting Chinese?” you focus instead, distress churning in your stomach. 

Asaki gives you an unimpressed look, like you’re roadkill that the tires of his car had the misfortune of running over. “Now, we’ve gone over this before,” he sighs despondently, already trying some of the cured meat on the plate Watarai had placed. “Don’t ask questions you know the answer to.”

Your mouth feels like sandpaper, finding it harder to breathe while he appraises you chillingly.

Two times a day. That’s how often you check each corner and room of your apartment for anything amiss, how often you look through each gap and crevice for a camera, and how often you run your finger along each smooth surface for any hidden microphone that might’ve been placed in the time between those two moments you check daily.

The first time you removed the small mics placed in your rooms was his last attempt at bugging your house. Or at least, to your knowledge. 

Your phone rests in the back pocket of your jeans, the device feeling particularly heavy. You take it out and think of all the conversations he’s heard. All the messages he’s read. 

How silly of you.

Despite the urge to chuck it against a wall you remain frozen, save for the slight tremble of your fingers that can also be heard in your voice.

“I don’t know anything.”

Asaki walks, the click-clack from his Italian leather derby shoes reminiscent of a clock ticking away the last precious seconds of a bomb about to go off. You watch him through the mirror that faces him, but his eyes only look forward. He adjusts his black tie and wrangles a loose dark streak of his hair back into place. 

“Now might serve as a perfect reminder that lying to the Chairman is a JAA violation punishable by death.”

Clearing your throat makes the dryness in your mouth worse. “And what if I’m speaking to my…boyfriend?”

Black eyes shift to meet yours, examining you with a coldness that makes winter seem like summer. 

“Then perhaps I’ve far overestimated your abilities, and your use to me.”

You’re fine with dying. Ever since you were a student, all the training you’ve received was concentrated on preventing it. But you’ve experienced far too many brushes with death to sincerely believe that the job you love won’t be what kills you. If anything, the JCC only taught you how to delay death, not avoid it entirely. 

And so you’re fine with dying. With each close call, you update your will. Yumiko and her mother will receive the majority of your assets because you don’t really have other friends and family to give it to. Maybe some assassins and spies you’ve worked with will take a second to say your name when they hear the news in some passing conversation. Have it linger on their tongue as they maybe recall a foggy memory of you before they continue with their day. Death is simply a sped-up inevitability for you all, so you’ve long accepted that it can happen today. Tomorrow. Or now.

But he can’t die. Losing him once was enough.

“Is everything alright?”

You want to tell Yumiko it will be but as he continues to stare at you with an unreadable expression, you figure it might be best to stop lying to the child.

“Sir,” Watarai interrupts, standing behind Asaki and bowing curtly, “I apologize for the interruption, but your presence is requested by the executive board.”

A sigh of instantaneous relief bubbles up in your throat until you glance down at your phone and spot the alert that appears on the screen.

JAA NEWS: TERRORIST ATTACK ON JAA-OWNED WEAPONS FACTORY

Your heart drops.

A lax smile rests on Asaki’s passive face. “I see. Then I’m afraid I’ll have to cut our visit short.”

“You won’t be taking the food with you, right?”

“Yumiko!”

He tilts his head toward the young girl and her scandalized mother, his closed-eye smile an off-kilter sight to see. “Well, aren’t you…precocious. Treat yourself to whatever! You’ll find the taste is much better than those greasy dumplings. Watarai, let’s hurry along now.”

“Yes, sir.”

Yet his smooth strides don’t betray any urgency, eyes focused on the prey he approaches.

He kisses your cheek, your skin burning from the contact. It’s a clever position he’s placed himself in, the tall man blocking your figure and preventing others from seeing the exchange. Mere seconds feel like an eternity as a horrible combination of shame and cold dread wash over you.

“Next time, tell our friend to stop wearing that obnoxious cologne,” he whispers into your ear, his disgust ringing loud and clear. “I can smell him all over you.”

You can’t breathe.

He straightens and pats your tense shoulder. And then he leaves, the door finally locking with a short click.

Your head is spinning, panicked and scattered thoughts leaking out the tiny box you thought you could contain. You think you hear your name being called but your body seems to have lost all function, knees striking the floor. And that’s when you see it, just an arm’s distance away. 

A fallen rose petal.

end notes: me struggling to come up with a name for this fic: [insert preposition here] + last time. and you can bet i'll do it for the next one

i was rereading the manga and nagumo's comment about the chairman–"he does whatever he wants. and he'll do whatever it takes to achieve his goals"–inspired me to include that horrible man here. idk it just felt fitting :)

[cryptidclaw]

Redtail!

Design Notes:

Redtail's red and more slender build came from his loner sire, but he got his dark black from his momma Rosebush! I gave him some pinker hued coloring as highlights (like on his tail tip) to reference Rose!

Also, the Redtail red tm skipped a generation to Squirrelflight hehe

Character Bio:

Redtail

Gay; Trans Tom; he/him

Age as of 1st arc's beginning: 3 cycles, 1 moon; ~28 Hys

Title meaning: -tail =  a cat with great balance and who always lands on their feet; often a jack of all trades as balance is used in almost every skill

Second of Thunder Order; was in line due to being Star Bluefrost's apprentice.

Mentor: Star Bluefrost

Mother: Rosebush

Father: Donor Outsider

Siblings: Spottedleaf; Willowchime

Mate: Birdflight

Kit: Sandstorm; Poppy; Flint

Grandkits: Squirrelflight; Leafpool; Foxleap; Icecloud; Briarlight; Bumblestripe; Blossomfall

(note Leaf, Fox, Ice and Briar are not grandkits by blood)

Other notable kin: Darkstripe (nephew); Graybelly (nephew); Sootfur (nephew); Sorreltail (niece); Rainwhisker (nephew)

Extra notes: Overall I like the idea of Redtail having a kinda sassy in a joking way personality, but he can be serious and knows when to make the tough calls for the good of the Order, which is why Blue chose him as Second.

Redtail was one of the cats to assassinate his sister's abuser, Thistleclaw. This was the only time the tom ever killed, and he felt no regrets.

Sandstorm had two littermates, Poppy and Flint, but they passed as young kits, this was very painful for Redtail and Birdfilght and they ended up spoiling Sand a bit too much. Sand's attitude was born from 4 things: 1: the trauma of her siblings dying, 2: the pressure from her dad being deputy, 3. her dads spoiling her, 4. Redtail dying.

....

[Image ID: A digital drawing of Redtail from Warrior Cats. He is standings with his left side showing and he is smiling with one eyebrow raised in question. He is a sleek long furred tortoiseshell tom, he is mostly black with dark vibrant red tabby patches covering his tail and flank, his left leg, the right side of his face, and as a spot over his right eye. He has a red nose and orange eyes/End ID]

[miela]

Shattered Memories • Chapter VI: Two Spiders, One Sorceress • {Peter Parker x Stark!Reader}

Chapter Genre: Fluff Chapter Warnings: I know i said updates on Fridays but I'm clearly not a truther / pov is so ambiguous in here I'm so sorry Extra: Make sure to check out the Playlist and Pin Board!

Masterlist

↪ divider by firefly-graphics

The rest of the car ride was small talk and life updates to each other. You talked about your days at work and your lack of a social life and Peter talked about his days at school, work, and the shit he sees on patrols. Once you guys got to the place you both sat down at a booth. It was a small sandwich shop that Peter recognized but had never been inside of. 

You took off your jacket and folded it next to you. Peter looked at the tattoos on your inner forearm that caught his attention. Three arc reactors inked down your arm with the words "Proof that Tony Stark has a Heart". There were words with each arc reactor and blue roses blooming around them. You noticed Peter studying the tattoo.

"It gives me strength," you smiled and extended your arm to show him more of the unique tattoo. They were the three different arc reactors that Tony had made, each with different designs but all correlating together in a perfect trifecta. 

“It’s pretty,” Peter smiled. 

“Thanks,” you smiled back and moved your arm back to its place on the table. “What about you? Any ink?”

“Nah,” he responded. “Not yet anyways,”

“Have any ideas of what you want?” 

“I have some but nothing really hashed out just yet. I’m kinda worried about getting one. It’ll be easier to identify me that way,” he explained.

“Huh,” you had an expression of realization and deep thought. “That’s actually a really good concern.”

After ordering your food you guys talk a little bit to get to know each other better. You found out about his favorite movies and that he likes skateboarding sometimes. He learned that you still play guitar, you picked up on lyrical and contemporary dance, and that Morgan liked to bully you. It was a sweet conversation of you relearning about him and him learning more about you.

Peter felt like it was a strange power dynamic where he had to upper hand, and he didn't like it. But it balances out with you knowing so much information about him from your month-long deep dive.

“I noticed that your style is different than before,” Peter commented. “You got this whole badass leading lady movie character thing going on.”

You chuckled in response and sipped your lemonade. “Some of it is from Natasha, others from Wanda, and most from my friend Celina’s ThredUp,” you explained. “Secretly though. If she knew I bought the stuff she would be like ‘I could’ve just given it to you!’ even though I can very much afford it.”

Peter perked up at Celina’s name. It's been a while since he last saw her due to her being at the Sanctum Sanctorum. You noticed how Peter reacted to hearing her name. 

“She needed money for equipment and I couldn’t just let her give me her things that she was trying to sell to get the money for it," you continued.

“Equipment?” Peter asked.

“Mhm,” you hummed. “She’s got a YouTube Channel and a Podcast about Mythology and Folklore and stuff like that.”

Peter looked at you confused. YouTube is one thing but a Podcast? Did she work with someone else who does the talking?

“What?” You asked before realizing it with wide eyes. “Oh, shit! You have no idea, do you? She can talk now.”

Peter’s heart nearly stopped.

“She…can speak?” 

“Yeah! She’s a chatterbox and can talk to you for hours. She’s great company. She's also the kind to have life-changing conversations.”

Peter thought back on how he remembered Celina. A quiet girl with a personality loud enough to brighten a room. Her straight forehead bangs never blocked out the shine in her eyes when she was excited about something and her usual academic style of black turtlenecks, sweater vests, and plaid pleated tennis skirts contrasted her bright persona. Although she was a stellar student herself, she was also very creative and loved creating artful things. 

She knew sign language. Peter learned it with her so she could better communicate with him. Uncle Ben and Aunt May had done the same so they could understand her. Ned, Michelle, and you had eventually learned it too so Peter didn't always have to worry about translating if he wasn't around. 

He remembers when people actually thought Celina was deaf, and a group of kids were making fun of her. You stepped in and told them all to go fuck themselves. That is actually how you and Celina met and became friends.

“Do you wanna go see her?” you asked knocking Peter from his thoughts.

He blinked. “Like…right now?” 

“Yeah!" You chirped, took out your phone, and started typing. "I can ask her if she’s home.” you chewed your lip. "How do you feel about getting a reading?"

"A reading?" Peter asked a bit confused.

"Like fortune telling, tarot reading, all that," you explained. "Celina does all that."

Peter shrugged. "Sure."

Celina~

Hey (Y/N/N)! What’s up?

Are you busy?

No not at all, I’m just kinda hanging out with the furbabies~

I want you to meet a friend of mine who needs a reading.

Oh? Does it happen to be complicated guy?

You note that Peter has several different nicknames from people.

Yes, but things are…less complicated now.

OMG, that’s good to hear! Okay yeah! I’ll get set up! See you soon! 

“She’s down,” you smiled. 

Once you guys arrive you park outside of her apartment building and wait for her to text you when she’s ready for you to come up. The top is up on your convertible giving you and Peter more privacy. You had the music on low and the windows tinted. 

“So since I don’t remember jack shit,” you began. “How do you know Celina?”

Peter took a deep breath and turned to you slightly.

“Both of our parents were killed at the Stark Expo. We were stranded together when it happened and when they found us standing over the bodies of our dead parents…it was like so weird trauma bond that we had at the moment and she took my hand. We were put in a daycare for lost children until Uncle Ben and Aunt May came to get me...and I couldn’t just leave her there, she didn’t have any other family. They were kind enough to take her in as well and we were raised as cousins or siblings.”

You nod listening. “I’m sorry about your parents." You look down at your hands in your lap. "That’s really heartbreaking.”

“It’s okay. I’ve made peace with it.”

You both sat in a peaceful silence for a moment before Peter spoke again.

“You mentioned earlier that Celina can have life-changing conversations," Peter stated. "After all the shit we've seen as Avengers, I'm curious to know what you mean."

You smiled and leaned your head on your hand as your elbow sat on the steering wheel. "She got me to stop hating magic."

"What?!" Peter asked in a high-pitched voice. "Bullshit."

"I'm serious!"

"Okay, who are you and what did you do with (Y/N) Stark?" Peter chuckled softly. "Miss (Y/N) 'magic has limitations, science has solutions' Stark?"

You laughed. "No seriously hear me out."

"I'm all ears."

"Alright, check this out, you ready?"

"I swear to god if you conjure something up or have a sling ring, I'm gonna believe you're not really who you say you are," Peter laughed.

"Fuck no," you exclaimed. "Never."

"Okay, okay," Peter sat back and crossed his arms giving you his full attention. 

"Magic is just undiscovered or misunderstood science," You stated. "Celina's words."

Peter thought on the words for a second and let the words bounce around in his head. "Okay, I can see that, yeah," he looks at you with squinted eyes.  "But has she ever met Wanda?" 

You both laughed. 

"No, but she trained with Sorcerers." 

"Okay, fair point."

Peter thought about how that conversation went down with you and Celina. Celina has always been interested in Magic, Occult, and Mythological things. It was a hobby of hers and she loved watching Movies and shows that surrounded those things. He remembered when she showed Him and Ned someone on YouTube who talks about conspiracy theories.

Speaking of…

"Did she and Ned ever get together?"

"Yep, four years now."

“Really?” Peter chuckled. "Finally. They liked each other since the 3rd grade."

“I know right?” You replied. "Oh yeah, they're engaged as of recently too"

"Huh?!" Peter squeaked. 

"Yep!"

"Jeez, I missed so much." 

“You have no idea,” you gave him a lopsided grin.

He smiled and looked up at the apartment building for a moment. This all seemed like some weird dream. It was as if this day wasn’t real. You guys went out and spent time together, sang to your love song, and now he’s here ready to remeet Celina after five years of not seeing her. You must have noticed him staring or sensed his emotions.

"If it's too much too soon we can wait," you said. "I know it's a lot at once."

Peter sighed still looking at the building and shook his head. " It's been 5 years and it's long overdue." He looked at you and smiled softly. "I'll be fine"

Celina then texted you and told you that she was ready for you guys to go up, and so you did. The only issue is that she lived on the 11th floor and the elevator was broken. She could’ve easily sling ring portal you guys in, but considering you both are web slingers, you would do just fine. 

“Man, I haven’t swung in a while,” You say to yourself looking up.

Peter’s mouth spoke before his brain made a thought. “I could web us up there,”

“Y-You sure?” you asked a little sheepishly.

Peter nodded with a smile. “We’ve done it before.”

“Okay, Parker,” you bounced on your feet a little like you were preparing yourself for high-intensity movement. Peter found it cute. 

You walked over to him and clasped your hands around his neck. Your senses were buzzing at the closeness of you two. Peter’s mind was buzzing just as much. 

“Here let me just…” he trailed off as he lifted you off the ground and your legs around his torso. 

You yelped softly at his actions. You looked down at him with wide eyes and a face on fire. You could feel his muscles through his shirt and it was messing with your head. And you were so close to his face. His extremely cute and handsome face. You could smell his body spray. Sandalwood and Vanilla. You decided it was your favorite scent. He was warm and you couldn’t tell if it was from the fact that men are naturally warmer or the fact that he was blushing profusely. He looked at you gingerly as he wrapped an arm around you. You could feel his biceps and you had to shut your mind up before you drove yourself insane. You smiled softly in response and nodded.

 “I’m ready,” you said softly.

“O-okay,” He squeaked. God, he’s so cute.

Next thing you know you’re both being lifted off the ground. You hang onto him tightly and lean your head on the side of his as you close your eyes. You could feel his silky curls on your cheek and you were beaming at how soft they were. You wanted to shove your whole face in his hair. 

Peter decided that he liked you holding on to him like this because of how close you both were. 

He landed on the 11th floor gracefully to his surprise because of how his mind was racing with you being wrapped around him and in his arm. You looked at each other longingly for a moment as your eyes shifted down to his soft pink lips and his shifted down to your lipstick-stained ones a few times. 

You were knocked out of your moment when you heard the door next to you open and you reflex and jumped from his hold with ease. You both acted awkwardly and naturally as two children ran out of the doorway and down the hall giggling, not caring about your or Peter’s presence there. You guys stood in silence for a moment processing what just happened. 

“We should…you know.” You began with an awkward smile.

“No, yeah, yeah, we should…you know,” Peter responded in the same manner as he rubbed the back of his neck. 

“Yeah!”

“Mhm!”

And with that, you walked towards Celina’s door quickly and ahead of Peter as your face burned and a big grin appeared on your face. Little did you know that Peter was also smiling from behind you. 

Once you reached the door, you rang the doorbell.

“Um…” You looked at him. “Are you ready?”

“I-I think so,” He smiled softly at you. “Don’t really have a choice now.” 

And with that, Celina answered the door all excitedly and hugged you happily. 

"Hey! It's good to see you, girlie!" She chimed with a soft and welcoming voice.

“Hey, Celina,” You replied and hugged back. 

“It’s about time you come and visit me,” she giggled pulling back. “Ned is at school late today.”

As you guys did a bit of small talk a wave of emotions hit Peter like a hurricane as his eyes glossed over threatening waterfalls to fall from his soft and dark orbs.

He was hearing Celina speak for the first time.

He sniffled and you both looked at him with concern. He turned his head away and then turned his entire body. 

"Ahh you said he needs guidance,” Celina concluded.  “Let me go get my stuff. Come on in when you guys are ready." Celina smiled and walked inside leaving the door open. 

You turned to him and walked over by him. “Peter?”

He turned to look at you with watery eyes and his lips pressed together. He was holding back from just bursting into sobs.  It broke your heart.

You laid a hand on his cheek and he closed his eyes with a sigh of relief and leaned into it. You stroke your thumb over the apples of his cheeks gently with a concerned expression. The feeling of your hand on his face, helped him calm down slightly. Like ice to a wound.

"What's wrong, Peter?" You asked with a soft voice. “Are you okay?”

"Y-yeah," he sniffled. "It's just that growing up I've been helping Celina with talking and when everyone gave up on her I never did. And hearing her talk just triggered something…like…. right in my heart, y’know? And I couldn't help myself." 

You pouted slightly and wrapped your arms around him. He hugged back as you swayed him from side to side comfortingly. You echoed a string of "it's okay" and other encouraging words as he softly cried. He nuzzled his face into your neck and took a deep breath at your warmth and scent, just like he used to do after a hard mission years ago. 

He wanted to stay like this forever.

After a moment you pull back slightly and give him a soft kiss on the cheek. His eyes shot open as he looked at your equally shocked expression. He could still feel the linger of the peck on his cheek and he wanted to grab your face in his hands and kiss you.  But you both were frozen in place and looked at each other for a long moment. Then tension was high, the senses were racing as you had a silent conversation with your eyes. Before you knew it, you both leaned in. 

But before you could you felt a soft feeling against your leg and heard a tiny meow and purring coming from below. You both Look down to see a big fluffy orange cat with big round blue eyes looking up at the both of you.

"Thor!" Celina exclaimed, “Just because the door is open doesn’t mean you can walk out!” She ran out she ran out and saw both of you super close to each other. “Oop-...I’m sorry.” she said before she outburst into exclamation again with, “Loki!”

Peter felt something climbing his leg, shirt, and shoulder. A trill and purrs rang in his ear and he felt a weighted fur on his shoulder. He looked over to see black paws on his shoulder. He concluded it was another cat.

“Awww he likes you,” You smiled. “Lokitty approved already, that’s a record.”

“Does he not like other people?” Peter asked raising an arm and petting the cat.

The dark cat rubbed it’s face on Peter’s hand causing more purring.

“No, he only likes me Ned and (Y/N) and now you.” Celina explained taking the cat off of Peter’s shoulder.”Thor here loves everybody though.”

You picked up the fluffy orange cat and scratched under his chin with your painted nails. “Thor’s a big baby. Loki is a grumpy old man.”

Peter smiled and petted the orange bundle of fluff in your arms. 

“I’m ready when you guys are,” Celina smiled.

You looked up at Peter and he nodded in response. You both followed Celina into her apartment and she closed the door so you could set the cats down. As you took off your jacket, Peter took the time to glance over the apartment. It looked like a Dungeons and Dragons themed home. There were shelves filled with books about myths around the world, spellbooks, and tomes. There were plants in almost every corner and vintage decor everywhere. Peter smiled at the glass case full of Lego builds that he remembers building with Ned and his eyes focused on the death star with the missing Darth Vader that’s supposed by on top but instead is sitting on Peter’s desk in his apartment. The place was very Celina with touches of Ned which Peter found amusing. 

“I baked some cookies,” Celina started. “Feel free to make yourselves at home.”

“Thanks, Celi,” You smiled and hung your jacket by the door. 

“Can I use your bathroom?” Peter asked. 

“Sure!” Celina chimed as she pointed to a hallway behind him. “It’s over there, last door on your left.”

“Thank you,” and he goes to the bathroom to wash his face off from the seven different emotions he felt in less than fifteen minutes. 

He sighed before his superhearing picked up on the conversation you and Celina were having.

 "He's a cutie!" He could hear the smirk in her voice. 

You hum a giggle. “He is, isn’t he?” 

It was Peter’s turn to smirk with a blush added to his face. He then crossed his arms and leaned against the wall to listen. He knew it was wrong but it wasn’t his fault that he was a spider mutant with enhanced senses.

“How long have you guys been together, together?”

“Hm? Oh, we….we aren’t-” 

“Oh, please, I saw you two out there. I thought you said it wasn’t complicated anymore?”

“I said, it was less complicated.”

You were talking to her about him.

“Well, how about making it not complicated and making a move or something.”

“Celina, There’s such thing as taking things slow.”

“I dunno,” Celina sang. “You two have magnetic energy. I say act on it.”

"How?"

"Ask him to the gala. You need a plus one, no? Take him!"

"...I was gonna ask him actually."

Oh?

"Really? What changed your mind?"

"He's…a busy guy."

"He won't be once he sees that dress you're wearing. He'll be busy with you…hopefully taking it off."

Peter blinked rapidly at Celina’s response. I mean, she’s not wrong. Only if you consented of course. 

"Celina…!"

"What? That's what you want right?"

You went silent and that was all the answer Peter needed to know to solidify your feelings for him. His mind was wandering to places it shouldn’t.

"See?"

You sighed. "Nika will give me shit for it." You whined.

"Well tell Nika to remove the giant stick from her ass because it's true love. I can feel it."

“Like actually, or…?”

“I don’t need magic to feel the crazy tension between you two.”

Peter smiled and splashed his face with water and decided it was a good time to walk out with a newfound confidence. You were sitting at the kitchen table on the bench with one leg folded under the other and leaning your face on your hand with your elbow propped up on the table. Your eyes shifted to Peter as you swung your unfolded leg back and forth. You smiled at him and he smiled back as he sat next to you. 

“Hey,” You greeted. 

“Hi,” He responded as he met your eyes. 

“Feeling better?”

“Much better,” his voice was soft as he got lost in your (e/c) eyes for a moment. 

The only thing that got you both the break the gaze was Celina putting a plate of chocolate chip cookies, a porcelain teapot filled with tea, and different things to put in the tea like sugar cubes, a saucer with milk, lemon, and honey. She sure knew how to romanticize her life. Even her outfit made up of a black ruffle off-the-shoulder top and a long, flowy, floral, maroon, maxi skirt, made her look like she was a witch in a Ghibli movie.

“So what kind of reading would you like….uh…” She looked up in thought. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Oh, fuck,” you cursed under your breath. “Peter. Peter Parker.”

“Oh!” Celina beamed as if his name rang a bell. “So you’re the guy she asked us about. Nice to meet you! I’m Celina.”

“Why does everyone remember? I asked you guys once like a month ago.”

“Because your lone wolf ass hasn’t talked about a boy in like three years unless it’s your dream boyfriend.” Celina retorted while picking up the pot of tea. “So when you bring up a guy we all get a little curious, y’ know?”

You rolled your eyes and waved your hand at her mirroring your father a lot and she hummed in amusement. 

“So Peter,” Celina began. “I have several options. I have Tarot cards, tea reading, and palmistry. I could do all three but it’s gonna cost you.”

“Oh?” Peter asked with a playful smirk. “How much?”

“Mmm, take (Y/N) on a date.”

“Oh my fucking god,” You hid your face. 

Peter snorted. “I don’t need to be bribed to do that.”

You looked at him flabbergasted. He only smiled at you before looking back at Celina who was eating all of this up with excited eyes. 

“I think I’ll do the Tarot.”

“Nuh-uh,” Celina responded. “You’re getting all three.”

“Thank you for everything today,” Peter smiled. “I didn’t know I needed all of that.”

You both were standing outside of his apartment building. After Celina did the full reading session on Peter, which he found insightful enough, she talked his ear off for three hours about anything and everything. It gave him nothing but happiness and he savored every word. You mostly just sat there and enjoyed the entire moment. You were leaning back against the wall with your hands in your jacket pocket and one leg crossed over the other.

“Anytime,” You smiled back.

You stood up straight and checked your phone before you tapped your phone on your hand nervously and looked like you were hesitating to say something. Peter could sense your nervousness.

“I…uh…also wanted to ask, if you would be my plus one for my charity gala? All your friends are gonna be there, I checked the list so I think it’s only fair that you’re there too especially because of your internship. Not that I’m only inviting you because of those things! I want you to be there and I want you to go with me…if you want. Don't feel obligated or anything. Yeah. You don't have to answer right away either, It’s like three weeks away and I’m babbling oh my god shut up (Y/N) please shut the fuck up.” 

You turned and leaned on the railing that was next to you both to catch your composure. Peter smiled big and chuckled softly. You reminded him of teenage Peter trying to ask out a teenage you. It was like you guys switched places and he was going to have his fun with it. Especially now that he knows for sure that you feel something for him. 

“You were holding that in all day weren’t you?” 

“...Yeah. I wanted to ask you when I first saw you today but I psyched myself out. You’re a busy guy and everything so I wasn’t sure if-”

He stepped closer to you, leaned his hand on the railing causing the muscles in his arm to flex, and smiled tilting his head slightly. Your noses are centimeters apart and he’s looking into your eyes deeply like he’s searching for something. Your breath hitched slightly at the closeness and it took everything in you to not let your senses take over and pounce on him. You weren’t sure if you were unseriously offended, turned on, or both.

Peter fucking Parker, you thought.

Peter fucking me. Your senses hummed at that.

“I would love to be your plus one,” He replied lowly. “But I’ll let you know for sure by tomorrow. Work schedule and everything.” 

“Y-yeah, yeah. Work schedule. “You pressed your lips together still looking into his eyes. Peter could tell you were holding back. 

“I’ll message you.” He finally had your number, that you gave to him at lunch. 

“G-great, I’ll let you know the time and everything when you do.”

“Okay,” He replied as he glanced down at your lips and stepped back slightly. “I should go inside now, and you should get going before it gets too late.”

“Peter?” you asked, almost desperately.

“Hm?”

“What you said earlier. Were we…” you started still trying to gain your composure. “Were we…you know more than friends…?”

He looks at you silently for a moment before opening his mouth to respond.

“You know what, never mind, ignore that.” You chuckled softly, shaking your head rapidly. “I shouldn’t think about these things or my brain might try to split in half again.”

Good point. He smiled. “Goodnight, Stark.”

“Goodnight, Parker.”

He walked backwards towards the door taking in your form before running back first into it and cursing under his breath. He then leaned back against the door with his arms crossed as if to play it off.

You giggled watching him. Such a dork. 

He blushed looking at you and smiled giving you a salute. You saluted back and walked to your car while he watched you to make sure you got in safely. Once you got into the car and drove off. Peter walked inside and leaned on the door with a happy sigh.

~

Tags:

@chrisevans-realwife @riordanness @peterdarlingg @thecrystalclarity @brckenmemories @paleprincesssxo @blackcanary130 @kindlover

[astral-nautical]

cant believe i havent seen anyone do this yet but. riptide pokemon au. heres my fucking thoughts

gillion's team is a solid mixture of electric, ice and water types. probably something built for competitive play but i aint that kinda smart so idk. BUT i do know his ace is a gyarados

gil's team was given to him by the elders over the years, and he was trained to be the best pokemon battler of the undersea

despite being told not to, gil is very close with his pokemon. he has a soft spot for all of them and can't Not be empathetic for them. theyre his babies :)

pretzel is a clobbopus. i know theyre not pink but listen. its literally a punching octopus. its also the cutest octopus pokemon LOL

pre-character arc gillion has a one track mind for competition Only. he loves his pokemon but they are also his weapons, in a way

as he spends more time in the oversea he adopts a more relaxed team. theyre still extremely strong and he still has his competitive pokemon but he stops caring about their stats and movepool and starts caring more about their personalities and bonding with them

chip didnt have any pokemon until he joined the black rose, where arlin gifts him an eevee

after the hole in the sea, it's just him and eevee against the world

his eevee refuses to evolve - especially during his time with price's gang, but even afterwards when theyre by themselves on the ocean eevee won't evolve

chip had his heart set on being a water type trainer, like arlin was, so he tries to convince eevee to evolve into a vaporeon. this is a running bit

its also a running bit that the team chip builds are all different types and use different strategies. members of the crew are pokemon btw i think gryffon is a pangoro LOL

his eevee is a little SHIT just in general. has cute privilege and knows it.

when gil is trapped in the dunjon, instead of taking his sword chip starts using his pokemon. he discovers that water types never really were his thing, after all.

its here, where chips at his lowest in a long time, demotivated and thinking of leaving his crew behind, that eevee evolves. into an umbreon - a dark type, but also a friendship evolution.

it evolves to show him that someone does care, that someone does want him around - his oldest friend, his pokemon.

chip learns to use all his pokemon to their greatest ability. i think he would have a bias for fire and dark types, but he becomes a well rounded and skilled pokemon trainer

jayjay! the ferins have a tradition where they breed their corviknights and pass the rookidees down to their kids. family pokemon :)

ava happens to get a shiny rookidee! she gets her rookidee right when she joins the navy and starts working under her father

this rookidee is...very nervous. greyhound energy. it's a shy little thing that has trouble battling and is very attached to ava and her little sister jay

ava takes the time to work through rookidee's issues and try and build it's confidence, jay acting as babysitter when ava is away at sea

at some point, after rookidee evolves into corvisquire, ava never comes home.

this ofc fucks with both jay and corvisquire. it puts corvisquire's training back by a lot and leaves jay grieving and angry

once she leaves with chip, she takes corvisquire with her. its too scared to battle and needs to be on or near her at all times, but it's a piece of her sister jay can't bring herself to leave behind.

jay ends up building a flying/steel type team, with corviknight growing and gaining its confidence as a pirate pokemon rather than a navy pokemon

its still got mega separation anxiety tho. it wears a nervous dog vest LOL

if anyone has anything to add i am all ears i fuckignlove my sillies and i love pokemon so. woe

[number1villainstan]

13 14 and 15 for the ask game?

13. character that you think is underappreciated by the fandom

Uhhhhhhhhhhhh jesus that's hard. It's RGU, it's a small fandom, SO many characters don't get the love they deserve cause there's simply not enough manpower--

But my (semi) serious answer is Saionji. Or Mikage. I like them both a lot, because they're both a lot like me--Mikage's a heavily neurodivergent-coded gifted-kid-to-burnt-out-adult pipeline victim like I am, and I see a lot of my own anger and frustration in Saionji. With Saionji in particular, I feel like a lot of people in the fandom kinda write him off as just a violent, misogynistic clown, which, to be fair, he is violent and misogynistic (for at least the first half of the show), but to write him off as a clown is to ignore the messages the show sends using and surrounding his character, about how toxic masculinity both is perpetuated by and hurts the 'average man' (<-badly expressed but moving on). But then again, this feeling could just be my biased ass going "HE IS SO ME" and being sad that no one likes him because [list of extremely valid reasons not to like him]. I tend to do that. A lot. In nearly every fandom I'm in.

14. character you wish had more screentime

WAKABA!!!!! ESPECIALLY IN THE SECOND HALF!!! because you KNOW saionji's rejection fucking wrecked her. and you KNOW she's got all of these Complicated Bad Emotions that she's suppressing in order to present herself as a Good Girl/a Good Friend. and like...I know her lack of screentime after her Black Rose duel was kind of on purpose, to drive home the idea that she has Failed To Be Special, but like--god. I know--I KNOW--that she's harboring some serious jealousy of Utena and Anthy. I KNOW that there are so many potential parallels to be drawn between the Wakaba/Utena canon relationship and the Saionji/Touga canon relationship, and between Wakaba and Saionji specifically, I go insane over those parallels (jealousy and low self worth and "you're my best friend and i hate you but i love you but i hate you" and desperately needing to be Special), and I just--I genuinely wish that Wakaba's character was explore more in canon. We got an incredibly enticing peek during the Black Rose arc, but we didn't plumb the depths, and the potential of Wakaba's character is just so *clenches fist*

15. character that you relate to the most

I already said it when answering number 13, but Saionji is the one I think about most (he's angry and too-blunt and confused and forever the laughingstock and he lashes out in ways that just make everything worse for him), and Mikage is one I also relate to a lot (that Shadow Girl play about the monkey-catching robot and loneliness hit HARD) as someone who's AuDHD and was an AP kid in high school and also utterly miserable and isolated in high school, not least because I was trained into Schoolwork Is Number One Priority and I didn't know I had ADHD at the time. (I definitely think Mikage has ADHD and self medicates with coffee and maybe also less-than-legal stimulants. He might also be autistic but he's definitely ADHD.)

the ask game this is referring to is here

[sicknessbysalem]

hi! i really love your fics!! can you write a fic for one of your female oc’s including the phrase “i don’t feel so hot”? preferably in a situation where they have to reluctantly admit that they feel sick, if possible.

oh this was so sweet!

meet natalia and scarlet. sunshine x black cat, lesbians, with a planned enemies to friends to lovers arc (we’ll see how that goes)

if you have any questions, comments, or requests, send them my way!

tw emeto, stomach upset, sarcastic bickering

It was just past noon when Scarlet realized in what was less than twenty minutes, she’d run her hands over the embroidered roses on her jeans at least five times each hand, if not ten.

Scarlet probably wouldn’t have realized it then, had it not been for Giselle, the girl from the run down, barely functioning apartment complex three blocks away who spent every Saturday in this old storefront.

It was a storefront at one point. And then a performing arts studio until the performing arts studio was growing so quickly they needed a bigger centre.

When that happened, Scarlet used what was left of her inheritance from her father to fix it and pay a year’s worth of rent at a time. It was still a performing arts studio, yes, but now it was Scarlet’s passion project. Teaching at risk youth the beauty and therapy of music.

“Did you hurt your wrist again?” Giselle had asked, “Well, no, you couldn’t have. You’re rubbing your hands, not shaking them.”

“I’m alright,” Scarlet said. Though, they wondered internally, were they really?

Scarlet tried to think back over the morning. Scarlet had nowhere to go for holiday, so she stayed on campus. Natalia was staying too, extra ice time or something, truth be told Scarlet didn’t care.

Natalia got up extremely early, too early for Scarlet’s taste. Scarlet had been out late, playing a show with the band, so Natalia’s five a.m. wake up and get ready for practice routine was not exactly on Scarlet’s list of favorite things to do.

When Scarlet finally did get up around eight, getting ready was slow. But that could’ve just as easily been because she didn’t sleep much.

She put her favorite jeans on, her favorite vest, the white top that always ended up showing some of her stomach. Not a full crop top, but enough.

Scarlet did think a little more of her stomach showed than usual, like she was bloated or something, but unlike Natalia, Scarlet couldn’t care less what she looked like. She’d be at the studio until the evening anyway. Everything seemed fine, didn’t it?

“Yeah, I’m alright,” Scarlet said firmly, “Try running back the chords of the chorus another time.”

Giselle did. Scarlet listened. Well, Scarlet tried to listen.

As Scarlet tried to focus on Giselle's chords, the discomfort in her stomach intensified. It started as a subtle churn, easily dismissed as nerves or hunger. But with each passing minute, the sensation grew, becoming a persistent ache that made it hard to concentrate.

She ran her hands over her jeans again, this time more forcefully, trying to distract herself from the increasing nausea.

Giselle paused mid-chord, noticing Scarlet's unease. "Are you sure you're okay? You look kinda pale."

Scarlet managed a weak smile, trying to downplay her discomfort. "Just a little off today, nothing to worry about."

“Did you play with your band?” There was an excited glimmer in Giselle’s eyes as she asked. It made Scarlet feel better, if only for a second.

“I did, we played a show about an hour away,” Scarlet said. The nausea turned her stomach and she turned her head away to cough softly. The cough, of course, only worsened the feeling in her stomach, but she shook it off. She had to.

“That’s so cool,” Giselle said, “I want to be in a band someday… it seems fun.”

“Oh it is,” Scarlet said, “Maybe when you turn eighteen, we can take you to a show as an honorary guitarist. Just as long as you don’t get so good you take my job.”

Scarlet forced herself to laugh softly, and Giselle beamed brightly.

“Alright, so you got the chorus pretty well so why don’t you…” Scarlet’s voice trailed off, a wave of nausea threatening to overwhelm her. She swallowed, laughed, “Sorry, I am so tired. What I was saying was… try playing the first half of the song. You have all the parts, try putting them together.”

Giselle nodded. Again, Scarlet coughed lightly, hoping to alleviate the pressure building in her stomach.

Just then, the studio door swung open, and Natalia breezed in with her usual exuberance. It made Giselle jump, and Scarlet roll her eyes.

“Hey, sorry I'm late!" Natalia exclaimed, oblivious to Scarlet's distress.

Scarlet gritted her teeth, her annoyance with Natalia bubbling to the surface.

“Late as usual, Natalia," she muttered under her breath, her words tinged with irritation.

Natalia raised an eyebrow, catching the tone in Scarlet's voice. "What's got you so upset already, Scarlet? Don't tell me you're still upset about the microwave incident…”

“The microwave incident?” Giselle asked softly.

Scarlet's jaw clenched, recalling the argument they had about Natalia's habit of leaving a mess everywhere and with everything.

“No, Natalia, it's not about the microwave," she snapped, trying to keep her temper in check. “You’re supposed to be here at noon.”

“I’m sorry!” Natalia said, but her apology was more sarcastic and accusatory than genuine, “Skating practice went over.”

“Don’t care,” Scarlet said, putting her hand up, “Your girls are in studio two, okay?”

Natalia didn’t say anything else. Well, not directly to Scarlet. She rolled her eyes and mumbled something, but Scarlet didn’t care.

Once Natalia left, Scarlet's discomfort escalated rapidly. The nausea that had been gnawing at her grew into an overwhelming urge to vomit. She coughed to clear her throat, to ease the pressure in her stomach, but it only served to intensify the queasiness.

Scarlet could taste acid in the back of her throat. Too much acid. One more cough and Scarlet would have to get sawdust for the studio floor.

“Excuse me…” Scarlet mumbled.

Feeling like she couldn't hold it back any longer, Scarlet bolted out of the studio, barely acknowledging the concerned looks from passersby.

She had a hand on her stomach, another hand clamped over her mouth. She retched behind her hand. It was dry, but another one wasn’t far behind and it most certainly would not be.

She hurried past Natalia's studio, not wanting to encounter her roommate in her current state.

The bathroom was thankfully empty when Scarlet burst in, her hand over her mouth as she rushed to the nearest stall. She barely made it in time before her body rebelled, heaving as she emptied the contents of her stomach into the toilet.

Acid burned Scarlet’s throat as she gagged up the remains of her small breakfast. Too small breakfast. But dinner was big, food yesterday was big in general. But especially dinner.

God, thinking about dinner made her more nauseous.

Scarlet leaned against the stall door, feeling weak and embarrassed. She was supposed to be teaching music, not retching in a public restroom. Well, semi public.

After what felt like an eternity, the nausea subsided, leaving Scarlet drained and shaky. She rinsed her mouth at the sink, splashing cold water on her face in an attempt to regain some composure.

As she leaned against the sink, trying to gather her thoughts, the door to the bathroom swung open. Scarlet froze, hoping whoever it was would just use the facilities and leave. But fate had other plans.

"Scarlet?" Natalia's voice called out, filled with concern. "Are you in here? Giselle said you weren’t looking so… oh my god what happened?”

Scarlet's heart sank. She couldn't face Natalia now, not after this humiliating episode.

“I'm fine," she managed to croak out, trying to sound composed despite the lingering weakness in her voice.

Natalia hesitated, then approached the stall where Scarlet was. "Are you sure? You don't sound fine. You sound like you just threw up.”

"I just... ate something that didn't agree with me," Scarlet shrugged, “I feel better now.”

There was a moment of silence, then Natalia spoke again, her tone softer now. "Do you need anything? Water, maybe?"

Scarlet's eyes stung with unshed tears, a mix of embarrassment and gratitude washing over her. "No, I'm good. Thanks, Natalia."

Natalia lingered for a moment longer, as if debating whether to push further or give Scarlet some space. Eventually, she sighed softly. "Alright."

With that, Natalia left the bathroom, leaving Scarlet alone with her thoughts and the lingering aftermath of her turbulent emotions and physical discomfort.

This was going to be a long day.

-

The evening settled in as Scarlet and Natalia found themselves in their shared dorm room, each lost in their own thoughts. Scarlet tried to brush off the earlier incident in the bathroom, convincing herself it was just a one-time occurrence due to bad food.

Natalia, on the other hand, seemed oblivious to Scarlet's discomfort, bustling around the small kitchenette area of their townhouse dorm and humming to herself as she prepared a simple dinner in the microwave.

The aroma of food slowly filled the room, a scent that would have been inviting under normal circumstances.

But for Scarlet, whose stomach still felt queasy and unsettled, the smell was overwhelming. She tried to ignore it, focusing on her laptop screen as if she were deeply engrossed in something.

Natalia glanced over at Scarlet, noticing her roommate's distant expression. "Hey, Scarlet, I'm making some pasta. Want some?"

Scarlet's stomach churned at the mention of food, but she forced a smile. "No, thanks. I wouldn’t trust anything you make even if it was between your food and starving to death."

“Yes well I wouldn’t take your fashion advice if it was between you styling me or walking around naked,” Natalia said.

“Wonderful, my clothes look better on me anyway,” Scarlet forced, “Your outfits have too much glitter anyway.”

“There is no such thing as too much glitter,” Natalia said, “But fine, suit yourself if you want.”

As the microwave hummed and beeped, Scarlet's discomfort intensified. She gripped the edge of her desk, trying to steady herself.

Scarlet felt dizzy. Not even just unsteady, but dizzy. Like the room was spinning violently. Or at least she was. Everything just felt wrong.

Natalia's voice continued in the background, chatting about her skating practice and upcoming competitions.

"Did I tell you about the new routine I'm working on?" Natalia asked, clearly excited.

Scarlet's patience was wearing thin, her head continuing to spin from the combination of nausea and Natalia's chatter, not to mention the overwhelming heat that seeped into Scarlet’s body.

“You know, not really interested, Natalia," she mumbled, hoping to deter further conversation.

But Natalia didn't seem to catch the hint. "It's going to be amazing, Scarlet. I'm incorporating some new jumps and spins. I think I have a real shot at..."

“I don’t feel so hot…” Scarlet says. It’s sudden. But Scarlet knows what’s about to happen. And yeah, Natalia gets on her nerves. But she isn’t a monster, she’ll tell Natalia she’s about to puke. Or try to.

“What do you mean you-“

Before Natalia could finish her sentence, Scarlet's stomach rebelled again. She quickly pushed back in her chair and leaned over her trash can next to her desk, retching as the sudden wave of sickness overtook her.

Natalia said something. Scarlet couldn't respond, too busy trying to steady her breathing and suppress the urge to vomit again. The scent of food from the microwave mingled with the acrid taste in her mouth, making her feel even more queasy.

Scarlet could smell the food. And smelling the food made her think of dinner. God, she ate a lot yesterday. Her stomach seized, a thick wave of sick poured out of her.

There was so much dinner. Lunch was pretty big too. Scarlet was going over everything she ate yesterday in her head, completely out of her control.

Scarlet leaned forward, her torso pressing into her knees. The weight, the gravity, it forced an even thicker wave out of Scarlet.

“Well there goes my appetite.”

Scarlet can make that out. Scarlet coughs, though she wanted to laugh. At least despite the puking, Natalia was still so self absorbed and self serving and…

There’s a hand on Scarlet’s back as Scarlet coughed, choking up more stomach contents.

The can is almost full by time Scarlet can stop vomiting.

“God, what happened?” Natalia questioned.

“I don’t feel well,” Scarlet said “I really… don’t feel so well.”

Natalia sighed softly, "Hey, it's okay. Maybe you should lie down. I’ll get you a new trash can…”

Scarlet nodded weakly, grateful for Natalia's concern despite their usual friction. Shakily, Scarlet stood, taking the few steps to her bed.

She collapsed onto her bed, the room spinning around her.

“Why did you get sick?” Natalia questioned, “Oh my god, are you pregnant?”

“No, absolutely not,” Scarlet said, “One of the girls… she had an upset stomach at practice. Maybe I might have a stomach virus," she admitted, feeling defeated and miserable.

Natalia's expression softened, her annoyance replaced with genuine worry. "Oh no, that's terrible. Is there anything I can do?"

Scarlet managed a small smile, touched by Natalia's change in demeanor. "Wow it’s almost like you’re human. At least a little bit.”

Natalia scoffed, “I am human last I checked. Go to sleep so you can stop interrupting my evening with your stomach.”

“I will happily go to sleep so I don’t have to hear another thing about your next routine,” Scarlet said, rolling over onto her side.

Natalia rolled her eyes, grabbing Scarlet’s blanket off her chair and tossing it over her, “It’s called a program, thank you.”

Maybe, just maybe, this tension wouldn’t stay forever. Maybe it would. But right now, Scarlet can’t make herself care.

[eldragon-x]

man its so fascinating how the black rose arc in rgu kinda. doesnt exists. like dont get me wrong its not skippable at all, it has plenty of important plotpoints and makes significant contributions to the shows overall themes but by the end of the arc it just kinda. didnt happen. its probably the most symbolic part of the show because of how heavily it leans into being surreal and weird

[cuddlingwithmydemons]

okay eclipse thoughts here we go

first of all: subz

bitch is soooo soldier coded it's not even funny anymore. his inventory is always too full of fighting materials for him to take his armor off during discussions. he stands around silently until directly spoken to and even then he usually turns the conversation to someone else. when i picture purple duo in my head i get subz standing just in front of vitalasy in full armor with a sword. after vitalasy was killed on the prison subz immediately took off after the assailant saying 'this shit doesnt slide'. his first thought was 'no way zam betrayed' no way the man he swore to protect would turn on him. no way. he didnt stop to question whether mapic and ro were in on it, they were there and attacking him and he wanted a fight. this man is a bodyguard and solider and knows nothing except build pretty base fight fight protect grind fight protect fight. he trusts zam still. he isn't sure about vitalasy. he pushed vi towards being the villain. villain arc was his original plan. his morals are a grey area molded into whatever shape is convenient for whoever hes attached himself to. im not sure he'll be able to hurt zam when the time comes. im not sure he'll be able to leave vitalasy.

next on the chopping block: vitalasy

what a fucking conman. knows his way around words and USES it. hes not very good at talking on the spot and kinda works himself in circles but he knows how to press buttons and get people either on his side or secure an enemy he wants to have. he'll tell you hes not the leader he has no power over people but his power is more subtle than a crown on his head. when things got heated in the zam discussion he rose to the challenge, yelling right alongside zam and bringing up all the ways zam had fucked up to get him to see reason. when it didnt work he switched to victim coding himself until jaron killed him and he realized zam had betrayed. the acceptance (defeat) in his voice when he asked if zam had done that haunts me. he didnt want revenge like subz. he didnt immediately go for the attack. he just wanted to talk. after he died he kept swearing. he said fuck live on twitch.tv multiple times because of the emphasis it would give to his anger. he typed it in in-game chat to show zam how angry he was. hes stuck unable to stand up for himself against zam because of the tyrant label hes surrounded himself in. he used subz's gum under their shoes metaphor at the end to loop in back around and told him they were gonna be great villains. terrible, awful, amazing villains. what do you mean he was supposed to be good? this was the point all along. all roads led here. trust him.

and lastly: princezam

this motherfucker makes me so angry right now i swear. mans is so traumatized it blinds him. he sees so much bad in all people he hides the good from himself. everything is black and white with him. these people are bad, these people are good, these things are bad, these things are good. he didnt have to betray. he couldve just left and things would've ended differently. but thats not right. thats not the princezam way. if he doesnt want to be on their team they must be evil. and doesnt evil deserve to be killed? after the betrayal he was joking with 3ht. he was laughing and joking and had already moved on from eclipse. the attachment ended when he decided they were evil. there was no more love. no more care. black and white. good and evil. imagine a man who is so so traumatized and scared of being alone that also has to always be so so morally correct. are any of his decisions going to be logical? are his conclusions going to make sense? he said himself that he wants to push vitalasy and see if he reacts. if he reacts hes obviously been evil all along and zam was right. he still trusts subz. he thinks vitalasy has been lying and manipulating him the whole time. he did exactly what mapic said he would do because mapic knows zams betrayals. how long until 3ht do something he deems wrong. will he be willing to go on alone?

[rosetheocto]

My Rants and Reviews on the Failtopia S2 Finale Outfits!

this post was inspired by the one made by @cosmo-production so please check out their post too! my review is under the cut

Major Failtopia Season 2 spoilers ahead!

Mar

yeah it’s the basic one, but i think that fits him! If I had to pick another outfit it would be the Pro one, but I genuinely can’t see him in anything else other than the boring chef outfit. I feel like if he wanted to change it he def could (I mean look at his imp outfit) but the basic chef outfit is very solid for him! If it ain’t broke don’t fix it! 7/10

Orion

I know the outfit is very clashing and has a bunch of colors, but in Dan’s defense: Orion’s makeup already has a bunch of colors, and when you look into it the colors the outfit has actually matches with the makeup a bit! and also, I kinda wish Dan didn’t have the makeup be as out there for the sake of those drawing fanart, but at the same time this is Daniel Failboat. Insane designs are expected. That being said though, I can’t change the clothes or makeup even if you forced me to. the context for it is just so freakin cute!! we all love great fathers in this household. He makes me wish I had a meaningful relationship with my dad. 6/10

Friend

I like it! I have a few minor gripes though. This may be a bit of a hot take, but I don’t like Zone (the hat) or Ship (the staff). Not in the Finale at least. I think Friend should’ve removed them both to show that they’ve moved on and don’t need something like Lee anymore. Symbolism and character arcs and all that other fancy stuff idk. Also I like that she looks more like a priest than a Cleric, it makes sense! He’s really religious in-universe and their war cry is literally “die, sinner :)”, so I don’t have any problems with that! As much as I like her in purple, he looks oddly good in a black and white outfit too! 8/10

Shrimp

listen guys I’m sorry but her outfit kinda sucks.. the bright pink hearts don’t really give off the same vibes as her first outfit did.. I get where Dan was coming from with it but I just personally don’t like the design :((

I think that he should’ve went with the emo goth outfit for her instead, especially since it fit her more and the fandom latched onto it like a moth to a light, but that’s just me. it gets a free half point for matching up with Bill though, 3.5/10

Erica

look I love it but the actual armor part is so overdesigned. I hate drawing that thing. that’s my only problem though the rest of her outfit is cool as hell!! Let’s go lesbians. 8/10

(and this doesn’t really count for anything, but don’t like her weapon, again I get the idea Dan, but she realistically would NOT use the giant arm 😭)

Chi

This kind of outfit fits her so well omfg. The stupid bowtie? The short sleeves and general lack of lab safety?? The triangle patterns??? It all just screams “Chi” to me! Thank you Miitopia for creating this outfit. Flawless. 10/10

(also another weapon mention, her using the ketchup bottle in the finale?? as someone who is obsessed with S1 of this series, Daniel, ty sm for including that.)

C!Failboat

the catsuit is very boring, but it is also very iconic. I like it. I’d give it a solid 7/10. But I don’t wanna talk about that one. I wanna talk about his outfit when using the Power of the Scythe.

oh my lord. this outfit. this is not me dunking on Daniel or Wafferscotch at all, I genuinely love their art and content!! but like. you’re telling me this man saved the universe in tracksuit sweatpants and an open button up shirt WITH HIS OWN MERCH ON??? He killed god in the Bee Movie shoes?? The Piss Adidas??? It just. doesn’t really fit the Miitopia vibes to me, and I think this could’ve been better as an outfit for ACNH. It could’ve looked much worse, but still. I think it’s a 3/10

Bo

perfect. love the callback to Rose (and I mean, they’re very similar characters, so it makes sense!) She also looks cool af in a suit. her new look can be strange at first but you 100% get used to it with time. And her multiclass was just chefs kiss. Absolute goddess, let’s go lesbians. 10/10

Chat

very good. very iconic. so glad this series came out before the Kirby Era cuz i think the lips would’ve ruined it. 10/10

Big Bill

It looks really comfortable!! I want this robe irl, I like the patterns! I surprisingly really like the pink for Bill! It stands out compared the rest of his appearance and I think that’s really cool!! the dark blue also fits him really well!! Half point bonus for matching with Shrimp. 9.5/10

Void

GOD TIER!! PEAK DESIGN!!! We all love Void in this household. 20/10

[livvyofthelake]

new lost ranking post the hurley episode i watched last night. episode 18? maybe. whatever

1. jack obviously. he’s never getting knocked off the top of the pyramid there’s literally nothing anyone else could do to make me like them more than jack…. nothing this show ever does will ever beat do no harm

2. sayid!!! his swag is like. so unbeatable… he just hits different AND he’s a total hottie too woah… loving his paranoid insane freak arc this season. the writers were like what if we killed his girlfriend and made him act insane. and i’m eating it up actually i mean i wish they hadn’t killed his girlfriend considering that was literally my good friend shannon who i miss deeply. but sayid is NOT moving on and i love it… need me a freak like that sorry

3. claire… maternity leave was HUGE… and that’s my friend belle she always ranks higher than she probably should because she’s my friend belle <3

4. hurleyyyyy :) my special little prince and i mean this… i’m such a hurley girl and yeah sure you can also chalk that up to the fact that hurley is the pet character of eddie and adam and i would love anything eddie and adam did forever and ever except that tron movie i could never quite get through watching. heart! anyway yeah i love hurley he’s my guy… hurley is so. me age 19 but different but the same. wow. if hurley could read some of my notes app poetry from 2020 he’d feel seen in a way that would motivate him to seek professional help. but let’s not get into that

5. ana lucia SORRY. she kinda sucks so fucking bad and yes she killed my beautiful girl shannon but that was only her fault as much as it’s a gun’s fault when someone uses it to kill someone. so i’ve never blamed her for that it’s just a bad situation which she will notttt be coming out on top of 😐. but i think she’s sooo cool in a woman who sucks way… and her cunty 2000s ass outfit is crazy… the black tank top and low rise bootcut jeans and chunky belt and zip up utility vest…. i’d dress up as her for halloween if i was the kind of person who dressed up for halloween or was willing to buy an ugly belt for a one wear costume. also her plot with sayid rn is soooo good they’re looking at each other just two paranoid FREAKS going. you aren’t crazy. and neither am i. let’s fucking kill these Others. it’s sooooo good… and she never makes the same mistake twice…

6. eko my good friend eko…. he’s so…. he’s just so kind… imagine having the patience and compassion to be nice to charlie right now. woah

7. kate. in her flop era rn and it’s DIRE. but we love her this is the highest i can put her right now i’m sorry girl you just can’t beat out eko and hurley and ana etc when you’re acting like this….

8. rose and bernard <3 soooooo excited for them next episode it’s not even funny… that’s literally rose and bernard….

9. libby. category five obsessed with that freak disease! she took one look at that loser hurley and was like he’s so fucking pathetic and weird. and i want him so bad. and i HAVE to respect her game. she said oh yeah i’m gonna talk him back from suicide and then it’s ON…

10. danielle rousseau… she literally slayed the house down in maternity leave… sorry queen for never including you in these lists before now my bad fr!

11. sun <3 she’s so. your girl friend who deserves way better but she’s so happy with her annoying and unlikeable man you can’t even tell her to dump his ass no matter how bad you want to

12. michael… where tf is michael… i miss him :(

13. new guy. i can’t very well call him henry now can i. wtf is his name… kinda like his pathetic gay swag. but he’s sooo annoying 🙄 and frankly i stand with sayid’s paranoid freak ass… but he’s kinda fun to have around i admit! love how he’s always playing mind games!!

14. locke admittedly has been slaying lately but i still think all his backstory episodes are lame and bad and also. as we say. an enemy of jack’s…

15. jin. he like. swings wildly between me hating him so bad i hope he dies and me thinking he’s soooo interesting and compelling and cool. the whole truth was a crazy episode in this way when it started i was like wow he needs to kill himself. and then by the end i was like woah why is he the most interesting man on lost island…. the way he literally can’t talk to anyone but sun as a physical storytelling metaphor for his closed off nature that prevents him from ever being truly known… wowie!

16. charlie. he’s flopping soooo hard this season. remember when charlie used to be a top five character. that’s crazy

17. sawyer. goes without explanation

[transmascutena]

what are some of your opinions on keiko and the other nanamis "friends"? I never got to really analize them, but the mean girls dynamic they have is kinda interesting and fittint in the context of the eternal school in which everyone is lost and wants to be special lol

i think keiko's episode is an over-hated one, but i understand why people don't like it much. its placement in the show feels weird with the pacing, and wakaba's black rose duel should have been the last (before mikage obviously) because it's the most climactic. i will say it's pretty funny to have utena be like "who even is this???" directly after having to duel her best friend though.

as for keiko herself i... don't really have that much of an opinion on her, and even less so aiko and yuko, as they're mostly in the show to give more context to nanami (and later her relationship to touga.) i feel for her, the same way i do for all the black rose duelists, their struggles and insecurities are very realistic and often relatable, but because keiko has the weakest connection to the main cast and because the desire to be special and the resentment of those who are was already explored much better by wakaba just one episode prior, it makes it a little harder for me to care about her character. am i supposed to think she's more interesting and sympathetic than any other girl touga ignores? <- this is something that comes up in nanami's episodes later on, but the effect keiko has on her is much more interesting to me than keiko herself is. they are the swarm nanami is afraid of being part of

overall keiko, aiko and yuko are pretty weak characters in my opinion, but i think they're supposed to be, and i don't see it as a flaw of the show, as giving them more screentime and development would be pointless and distract from the plot and the more important characters. they are effectively a look at what the ordinary students at ohtori are like, they just get a little bit more attention from the narrative because they're close to nanami (which they only are because they want to be close to touga, which ends up being part of nanami's character arc)

[talesofsymphoniac]

So I may have kinda forgotten to be thinking about the Shadow Girls a little bit. But I'm back on that because MONKEYS and ROBOTS

Okay so. It seems like Mikage is generally thought of as a foil for Utena (the Utena of the previous cycle perhaps?) but I actually think he has more parallels with Anthy.

The Shadow Girls have a couple different plays about a monkey-catching robot, and in one of them the robot is pretty explicitly a Mikage parallel (Tokiko tells the robot it pains her to see him this way*, Mikage being described as a human computer)

(*Tokiko is an Utena parallel and this whole arc Utena has been the one responding to the Shadow Plays)

And in a later Shadow Play, the monkey is described as "hiding behind a girl's face," and the robot captures her and takes her back to the alien spaceship, which returns to Akio's dick tower.

Chu-chu is a monkey, and if you go by the logic that he represents Anthy, that would double down on the idea that Anthy is the monkey that the robot is meant to catch. But the second shadow play happens after Mikage is out of the picture, in a filler episode between the black rose arc and the beginning of the apocalypse arc, so who is the robot kidnapping Anthy to bring her home?

Well. Robots don't age. Robots don't make mistakes. Robots have no feelings. Etc etc. Who else in the show is like that? (Or at least, who thinks of themselves like that-- a living corpse. A doll with no emotions of her own?)

Anthy's been ordered to capture herself, y'know?

Actually Anthy's role in the whole Mikage-Tokiko-Mamiya triangle is weird. She's like Mamiya in that she's sort of an object of other people's desires, this representation of forcing something to be eternal even if it suffers for it. And Mamiya is the one she impersonates, rather than Tokiko which might have been a little more straightforward. But I've also just explained why I think she's like Mikage too.

To be honest I don't think there's a one to one parallel going on here, but if there was, I think it's more useful to look at Mikage and Mamiya as representative of two aspects of Anthy. Mamiya is the Princess-- objectified, possessed, worried about. Mikage is the Witch-- manipulating and manipulated by Akio, wants to claim power over eternity, a phantom, robotic and emotionless.

And it kinda makes sense, as Mikage and Mamiya are kind of a unit in the black rose arc, with Mikage being manipulated by the idea of Mamiya (who is actually Anthy the whole time, to really get the metaphor tangled up)

And of course Tokiko-- the Utena analogue-- is the only one of the three who actually gets out.

[batsplat]

ok but what could be the motogp/casey stoner magical girl anime’s equivalent of rgu’s black rose arc……🤔

*cracks knuckles* okay admittedly I read this ask, had it jangle around in my brain for half a day and then read it back and realised I'd zeroed in on the 'casey stoner' side of the line and completely ignored the more general motogp prompt. since then I have had. some more thoughts. but they do come back to casey

so let's set out in proper scientific fashion and figure out what doing a black rose arc even MEANS. briefly summarising the arc, on the most literal level possible... it's the middle arc of the show, wherein characters proximal to the primary duellists get indoctrinated in a sham therapy session into fighting utena, a process symbolised by pinning black roses to their chests. she wins against all of them fairly comfortably in direct combat, managing to destroy the black rose and in doing so free the duellists. at the end of the arc, utena learns that the whole thing was orchestrated by mikage, a scholar frozen in time after burning down a lecture hall and killing the hundred boys within. he seeks to kill anthy, the rose bride, so that he can save his beloved mamiya by making him into the rose bride and achieving eternity. except his memories had been manipulated all along by the puppet masters of the whole show, anthy and akio, so that his memories of mamiya had been bastardised into what seems to be a version of anthy. mikage had been trapped in the school by false memories, has perhaps been dead all along, and had been used as a tool to bring utena closer to being able to achieve revolution. in the end, he too is discarded

which... okay, yeah, it's very hard to describe the show on a literal level, and I think in some ways the black rose arc is the one that's the most open to interpretation? icl it took me about three watches to really wrap my head around what on earth mikage's deal was supposed to be. which means you can also take the motogp crossover approach in several different ways... because of my own academic background, watching it the first time I kinda zeroed in on how the process by which the characters become black rose duellists is one of radicalisation/indoctrination into a cult. the process by which they are prepared to commit violence is built on humiliation, an experience where they want something and feel shame (or are made to feel shame) for wanting it. kanae is subjected to anthy's silently judgemental looks, keiko is made into a fool and an outcast by nanami, wakaba suffers a brutal rejection, and so on... it's not just that they have an enemy, somebody who treats them poorly - it's that a vulnerability is exposed that fundamentally threatens their self-esteem. it leaves them destabilised, unsure of themselves, with a fragile sense of self. when the characters go to seek guidance, they are quite literally being provided with a new sense of 'direction'. they are being guided towards finding purpose

the descending lift is a key part of the process, by forcing the characters to focus in on their negative emotions and let them consume them. the humiliation is strengthened, made more brutal - the voice instructs them to "go deeper" and bare more of their soul. they are expressing their vulnerability in front of a mirror that reflects their most twisted, painful desires back at them. subjected to the reflection of the negative emotions at the self... they are forced to make themselves weak in front of the voice, essentially debase themselves, and in doing so they strip away their own walls and barriers and mechanisms of self-defence. as the lift descends, so do they regress

the most obvious expression of this is the butterfly that becomes a cocoon (and then a leaf). utena is all about the process of becoming an adult, of achieving revolution as a metaphor for growing up, breaking the egg. but here, as an extension of anthy and akio's schemes, instead the characters are forced backwards in time. part of it is again this process of... well, ritually breaking down the characters, chipping away at their sense of self so that it can be reconstituted in a way that is useful to the order of the black rose. part of this is more generally about the show's themes of maturity and adulthood - the characters are being reduced, now governed only by their very worst impulses

it is at this lowest moment that mikage steps in to offer the characters their only solution. the only answer they have to somehow bring meaning back to their lives. all they have left to reclaim some kind of sense of self is to embrace mikage's vision of revolution. so you have a personal experience of humiliation, you have the character being guided towards a figure of authority who is supposedly able to help those in that kind of situation, you have a 'gradual' process stemming from externalised pressure to make the character focus only on their negative emotions, and eventually you have said figure of authority providing the character with the 'only' way out of the emotional turmoil and insecurity they are feeling. this route eventually leads to complete suppression of the self in the name of the cause and also... well, acts of violence. staircase model, my old friend! or if the staircase were a descending lift, I suppose

you may be wondering how I can possibly make this relevant to motogp and, well, *cracks knuckles again for good measure* let's see how this goes. I'm not going to make some big spiel about how becoming a rider (yes, even a vr46 one) is a comparable process of indoctrination or any of that. (there's some very broad comparisons, like how riders cannot choose to be assimilated into this strange and dangerous system but are instead sucked into it as children, following dreams that have been handed down to them by others... but I'm mostly gonna stay clear of that stuff.) what I'm more interested in is... hm, the emotional management aspect of sports, how delicate it is in what it requires of athletes. the eternal question of motivation, how you can bring yourself to put yourself out there and compete again and again - despite the eternal possibility of failure and, yes, humiliation. from here

'the challenge of managing vulnerability' is the key bit. on a very, very basic level, the process of growing up is about managing vulnerability, being able to manage your own emotions... there's a similarity between ohtori academy and the paddock in that they are both sheltered, closed off environments that send its young through unnatural, almost twisted approximations of growing up. their emotions are evoked by artificial scenarios, by competitions that aren't 'real' in the sense they aren't provoked by any naturally existing scarcity - but are instead elaborately designed shows designed to test its participants and, yes, reveal something of them. sports as a pure measure of human achievement is fundamentally hollow; it is only provided meaning by the ridiculously heightened emotions that are evoked by it. the characters transition into their new roles of duellists in a moment of vulnerability and it is only in this raw, unguarded state that they are able to fight

there's also another bit from a post I ended up not publishing in an exciting moment of self-awareness where I went, 'you know what, nobody cares about this', but it still exists in unedited form in my google doc. here (the post was about mozart + salieri, hence the references to music):

the idea here is basically that it's actually incredibly tricky to manage the exact right amount of self-awareness you should have as an athlete - and the emotions that come with it. you need to reveal yourself, to make yourself vulnerable, to be able to compete to your fullest extent. you need to debase yourself in front of a crowd, to accept the possibility of not just defeat but of humiliation, of the embarrassment of losing and how degrading that experience is. now, to stop yourself from actually going insane, everyone will need some kind of explanatory framework in their own head to process defeat. some of these narratives will by necessity rely on our good old friend delusion. young athletes cycle through victory upon victory and defeat upon defeat, often in ways seemingly inexplicable to themselves, which means their self confidence is fluctuating like a yo-yo on acid from generational levels of cockiness to the darkest self-loathing imaginable. some level of baseline self-belief, of thinking you will 'make it' despite all the odds being extremely not in your favour, is really kind of key to the process

the problem, of course, is that... so narrow is the emotional window that provides the ideal performance potential that it makes managing this window both crucial and horrifically difficult. maybe you can perform better when you're angry - or maybe you'll crash. or maybe you'll make a fatal error of judgement. you need hubris, but not too much. calm without passivity or complacency. joy might be the enemy of concentration. shame can motivate or it can make you retreat. your rival can spur you to action or paralyse you in your own inadequacy. and at the core, again and again, lies the concept of vulnerability. the moment you step into the arena, it is with the knowledge that it is possible for you to lose. competition is a moment of exposure, of revelation, of truth. this day may end in the gravel trap. you may humiliate yourself. you do it anyway - and to do so you need purpose, and to make sense of the defeats you need more purpose

plugging the autobiography passage again:

such a good passage, isn't it? to bring it back to the black rose arc... 'analogy' in the loosest of senses - you have moments of 'truth' in different forms. you have the truth found at the bottom of the lift, where the characters reveal their most painful insecurities - but it's fundamentally not a very balanced truth, is it, focused on the purely negative and self-loathing. they don't go out to duel in the name of passion, they are not duellists in the same way juri with her love for fencing is - which you can see from how they need to essentially steal the style of 'their' duellist to fight utena. there's no positive affect there. it's a power gained through vulnerability, yes, but one that is fundamentally self-destructive and exists in an ultimately fragile state of crisis. utena can free the duellists from their roles simply by cutting the rose; the student council members don't stop being duellists just because their roses are cut because this is something they care about for themselves. you can't be completely reliant on others to provide you with purpose in sports - some of it is going to have to come from some internal urge to compete, to win. no parental determination, desire, at times abuse can create an athlete out of nothing if their child is fundamentally unwilling (as ever, agassi's autobiography is very interesting about this). so while end of the world, in all the malevolence and abuse, may proffer a path towards meaning, towards revolution, to the student council members - it would be entirely useless if they did not still have 'hope in their hearts'. desire. the will to win. utena is able to defeat the black rose duellists with relative ease... she might not have entirely selfless motives, but her desire to protect anthy still stands up as being far more robust than a mere desire to lash out in response to humiliation. she wants to be anthy's prince, she wants to live up to this role - and in the end it means she will always be able to dig deeper than the black rose duellists

there's a few other ways we can torture this metaphor, while we're at it. "deeper, go deeper" is a phrase that to me is... very sports-coded, I talked about it in the mind games post I linked - going to the 'dark places' within yourself to win. to find release through the suffering, some form of revelation, reaching some kind of imaginary 'zone', to be able to perform at the highest level. only then can you achieve revolution... eternity, if you will. it's the performances where athletes dig the deepest that immortalise them, after all. but then, for all this talk of balance and some need for positive affect, of course there is a lot of negativity that feeds into the motivational process. the motogp twitter account posted a video today a few days ago by the time I actually post this... of our dear two time defending champion talking about how he primarily uses criticism to motivate himself

there's something ever so slightly comical about pecco talking about how, sure, he'd like to live by his 'go free' phrase and the associated ethos of just enjoying himself out there... but actually, he doesn't motivate himself through all that fun stuff at all. instead, he makes use of *checks notes*

reading something bad about himself

being told something bad about himself

making mistakes

when someone attempts to hit him in the mental side

well, that's nice! welcome back, casey stoner

am I saying pecco is going down the black rose arc lift to motivate himself? well, maybe I am. who's to say. a little bit!

you're getting yourself into the ideal performance window by basically... deliberately exposing yourself to criticisms, to degradation of the self, to the suffering of embarrassment and humiliation, dwelling on your mistakes, on those who do not believe you are adequate (or 'special', as in the black rose arc)... and, well, obviously I'm not saying the lift descent is a particularly healthy process... I'm admittedly a bit wary of the welfare implications of the sports equivalent. I actually had a long conversation last week before last about what essentially amounts to forms of digital self harm, this phenomenon of stars seeking out their 'haters', both within sports and other public fields... and, idk. there's 'being motivated by your rival being a dick about you' normal levels of spite and 'constantly subjecting yourself to what your cruellest detractors think of you' levels that seem distinctly unhealthy to me. without more context, you'd kinda hope pecco's sticking closer to the former type than the latter. casey also was a very spite-motivated athlete, perhaps somewhat in contrary to his assertion that he never got obsessed with rivals and didn't care who he beat. you see it with his whole 'ooh beating a spaniard at their home circuit' schtick, you see it with his 'yamaha rejected me so I'll show them' thing, quite frankly even his 'ah well mind games actually backfire because they motivate the other party more!!' line. he was constantly trying to prove a point to someone.... but was also extremely prone to self-criticism, to putting himself down, to being so perfectionist that it tipped over to being terrified of failing and crucifying himself for any mistakes. some of these things will have contributed to making him as good as he was - the same traits that tortured him also were what drove him to seeking perfection. sometimes, these roles of 'duellist' and 'athlete' may demand a fundamentally unhealthy emotional balance to excel at them

there's also something in how.... hm, mikage wanting to kill the rose bride so he can control eternity. the concept of 'eternity' is also big in sports, both in wanting to secure a legacy and wishing to preserve an un-preservable youth. inevitably, you will be replaced, they will move on from you, you cannot compete forever... mikage is frozen in time - and more than that, time is distorted in the ohtori academy. only a few like mikki even appear to notice it, constantly measuring it with his stopwatch as it continues to fluctuate around him. the uncertain nature of time is impossible to separate from how insular the academy is, from how it is cut off from the outside world, from how all point of reference is lost. sports does a similar thing in many ways, with the insularity heightening the stakes of this conflict, the occupants of that space living to different rhythms than the rest of the world.... the cycles of life and death, how rushed everything is, a youth that has to be captured and bottled before it slips out of your grasp, the calendar of races, of a travelling circus that touches the places it visits without belonging to it... valentino stretched out his career, even beyond a time when he was no longer competitive, due to his love for racing, his passion for it - a state of arrested youth, how he's been given the moniker of peter pan to go along with his own little band of lost boys. right at the opposite end lies casey, who achieved the truest 'revolution' early by leaving the cycle entirely, choosing to forsake this world that had constituted all that was of meaning to him - rebuking those who said he was wasting years of his prime, of the precious youth he still had one hand on, by stepping away. even though casey too had been striving for something unachievable.... the key thing about the 'revolution' is that it is something false, a mirage like the castle hanging over the arena, an ideal to be fought for without ever being attained. for casey, it was a quest for perfection that tormented him - so impossible is it for athletes to accept their own fallibility, their flaws. it can never be reached, because it is not an end point in and of itself. there is no definitive revolution that can be arrived at, no place of satisfaction, no easy way in which the power to revolutionise the world is granted to the duellists. all that remains is the process of working towards that revolution - that, in the end, is the only thing truly eternal

so, what does that process look like? you prepare yourself for the duel, you motivate yourself - either through positive or negative affect. athletes all lust after victory or fear defeat or both. utena ascends the staircase while the black rose duellists descend with the lift. for her, this also functions as a process of preparation, a repetitive yet effective way of bringing herself into the right mindset for the battle ahead and definitely not a way of saving animation costs

to me, it's key that those are stairs, and that there's a silly number of them. the black rose duellists are prepared swiftly, easily, with little effort from their part beyond the own horror of their emotions. they are not trained duellists and merely temporarily assume the mantle. utena has to work to even get to the arena - she has to put in an unreasonable amount of work, if anything. the demands to even be allowed to fight, to compete, are beyond what could be expected of anyone - and yet she willingly puts herself through it, because she wishes to fulfil an ideal she has been taught. the great athlete, the legend, the prince... it might work, she obviously does become an excellent duellist, for at least some of the time, she does manage to protect anthy.... but it's still one of the absurdities the academy is imposing on her, breaking her down as she no longer questions the surrealism of he world around her. she climbs the stairs because that is her role - and she readies herself for the battle she has been assigned

eventually, utena is allowed to both ascend and descend using a lift. now, listen, if you really want to get left field with this, you COULD say that her being allowed to ascend the lift rather than climb the stairs is... her no longer needing quite such an intricate method to emotionally prepare herself for the duel. she's integrated into the system now! she's an experienced duellist! she can get herself hyped for battle in a lift! but it's also a privilege she is being granted by the powers that be within the academy, which reserve the right to bestow meaning onto her, to single-handedly decide how worthy she is. and then, in the penultimate episode, the lift returns as akio attempts to break down utena. now utena is the subject, the patient, the one to be indoctrinated. she is invited to see herself as the princess akio wants her to be. she ends up re-embracing the ideal of prince (temporarily until anthy stabs her)... because that's what her power comes from. she'd never be able to find strength in the process of extreme self-degradation and exposing of one's own insecurities embodied by the descending lift. she needs to fight for positive reasons! some people are just like that, apparently

anyway, my pitch for how you'd black rose arc a specific period of casey's career... I reckon it's 2006, his rookie season in motogp at lcr honda. a seat that he'd had to scramble for, rejected by yamaha and not exactly high on options. he'd just finished second in 250cc to dani (if on inferior machinery) and was like.... well, he was definitely highly rated in the paddock, but perhaps didn't have the reputation of being particularly easy to work with. it's this version of casey:

as ever, casey was fast pretty much from the get-go. he had a very strong debut in jerez, exploiting a gap at the first corner after toni elias barrelled into valentino and finishing sixth. at the second race, after having been severely ill the week before, he rocked up like fifteen minutes before practise due to flight delays and ended up popping his bike on pole. that's also the race in which he had his very first battle with valentino, who came up to him to do the grabby hands thing on the cooldown lap. at the third race, casey came painfully close to winning - but scored his first podium of his premier class career

(side note, there is something amusing to how casey was yapping about valentino's disgusting yellow tainting the ducati when he's draping that australian flag of his absolutely everywhere he can, even in his rookie season. has someone maybe spent a little long away from home and feels the need to strengthen his own sense of self by plastering that thing on every available surface?)

anyhow - after that third race, casey's season went downhill. he crashed frequently enough to bag him the nickname of 'rolling stoner'

Like I had done my whole life I kept pushing and, of course, I kept crashing and I got slammed for it in the paddock and in the press, earning myself the nickname 'Rolling Stoner', which really bugged me. The pressure began to build as people questioned my talent and Ramon started to suggest that I was crashing because I wasn't physically fit enough. I knew this couldn't be the only solution, but l couldn't work out why I kept crashing. As a rookie I wasn't to know any better but people around me with experience should have helped me to understand the tyre issue. I would come in after a race saying, 'I didn't do anything wrong, I didn't make a mistake. I would know if I had.' But they would say, 'Well, you must have done because you crashed.' All the blame went to me and with everybody telling me it was my fault, I started to believe it. Ramon is a very good crew chief, extremely skilled at setting up a motorcycle, but I wish he'd listened to me a little more.

humiliation!! embarrassment!! others seeding uncertainty in him... being at the mercy of figures of authority who are giving him false guidance, but who he has to blindly follow. feeling unheard, beginning to believe what everyone says about him

he also had just a little bit of a temper back then, perhaps not completely familiar with the working process of top teams. but the crashes were not entirely his fault - they were (according to him) down to michelin seeing his potential but also exploiting his lack of status in the sport to essentially use him as a guinea pig for their new tyres. back then, this was how tyre suppliers handled things, and the whole thing was laughably uneven and unfair. whereas some riders like valentino were so successful and so influential they could generally lay claim to the best tyres (apparently with the exception of the actual title decider), others were at the mercy of the whims of michelin

Michelin had started to realise that I could do the lap times, especially on used rubber, so they started using me as a guinea pig. They would put me on a certain set of tyres for free practice and I would be happy as anything, right on the pace. Then on race day they'd say, 'You can't use that tyre.' They'd insist on us using a different tyre and then we'd find out on the grid that Dani or Nicky or somebody else was on the tyre I was planning to race on. Contractually we were obliged to use whatever tyre they decided on. [...] I kept pushing because I trusted them but there was some massive crashes which I thought were caused by the tyre combinations I was given at the last minute. [...] I started feeling like a crash test dummy and as the season progressed the situation got worse, to the point where I'd get angry and go off. I got a reputation as a spoilt brat. I am not making excuses but I was frustrated. Dad would come over to Europe to try to settle things down but the fact was I felt the tyres were causing me to crash. My confidence also took a hit and it took me back to the doubts I had in my first season of Grand Prix in 2002. I started to question myself a lot. Was it me or the bike? After a while I couldn't be sure. It was my debut season in MotoGP and I really didn't know what I was capable of. I'd proved I was competitive but the race results weren't showing what I could do. It started to mess with my head and unfortunately it seemed that my crew chief Ramon Forcada didn't have a lot of faith in what I was capable of either.

not only was this harmful for casey's reputation - it was also terrible for his confidence. as the autobiography passages describe, he wasn't getting good guidance about how to make the tyres work for him and inevitably the frequent missteps worked to erode his self-belief. after all, how could he know whether it was his fault or the fault of the bike? he told the team and the press these weren't his mistakes, but he wasn't believed... the paddock rejecting that he was to be taken seriously, enforcing a regression from the new 'adulthood' he had been granted by way of entering the premier class, but was illusory... which is where we get to the black rose element. it's repeated instances of humiliation - because there is something inherently humiliating to crashing. getting a nickname that makes it the thing people most closely associate with him. sinking into his own negative emotions, lashing out in anger at his own team, feeling the sting of embarrassment as well as frustration and self-doubt... and then, towards the end of the season, once again yamaha first seems to offer him a deal before changing its mind. another pattern he can't seem to break. casey has had plenty of self-belief in the past, not just dreaming of a title but believing he was capable of it - to the extent that he attempted to get to the premier class as quickly as possible, because he believed those were the titles that really counted. that's what he's here for... but what if it was all delusion all along, finally meeting reality?

which, yeah - it's those elements that make it very black rose-y to me. it's almost like... a touch of infantilisation, of refusing to take him at his word... he trusts these more experienced adults - in the same autobiography section, he talks about learning not to trust people just because they had a lot of experience. constantly choosing or being forced to listen to these guys who aren't giving him good advice, who don't have his best interests at heart, who don't have faith in him... and it chips away at him, it makes him angry and frustrated and will inevitably have contributed to some of the turmoil of his rookie season. he's being returned to the 2002 version of himself, a newbie in grand prix racing who didn't know what he was doing - and he doesn't know if he has a future in the sport. he wants to believe in himself, but maybe he can't. and it's just... creating this foundation of negative emotion that he would continue to use for the rest of his career to draw motivation from. the insults, the criticisms, the doubters, the haters... yamaha once again closing their doors before opening it a year later to some other young rider whose name escapes me. humiliation turned into a source of motivation. and once the process is complete, he emerges as the primary challenger of the champion (yes, yes, not literally, but vibes-wise obviously still THE big name at the time) in the following season

in the end, ducati gave him the call - he wasn't the first option, but he'd do. utena functions partly as a deconstruction of the type of story in which the ordinary wakaba would be the protagonist (ordinary girl romance protagonist surrounded by larger than life characters)... and the wakaba-centric episodes have akio posit that there are fundamentally 'special' people in the world and all those who can only hope to be special for brief, rare moments. in the meta-narrative of a show like utena, of course that is true, where some people have added significance by dint of being main characters in a story. in sports, too, there may be an unfortunate truth to it - an inevitability to the hand each athlete has been dealt. even if casey was publicly flayed and humiliated and figuratively descended the lift, like utena he was fundamentally still one of those 'special' people, whose natural talent meant none of his confidence was unearned. at ducati, he swiftly showed how he had been judged far too soon by the paddock. unlike the black rose duellists, he successfully challenges the champion. unlike the black rose duellists, he could never have been swiftly stripped of his status as duellist - even if there might be the occasional princess who attempts to trip him up and torment him. still, the bedrock of his determination in 2007, the steel that led him to a title, was ultimately established the year before. he was going to prove yamaha wrong for hanging him out to dry; he was going to prove the paddock wrong for ever doubting him. yes, the passion for winning is undeniable - but so is the spite. in seeking to achieve perfection, he found his motivation for the fight in his own way. and eventually, he would be granted the power to humiliate others... before eventually breaking free of this small world entirely

[antiradqueer]

I feel like radqueers are purposely trying to blur lines between harmful and harmless behavior.

I'm a paraphile that possesses some of the less savory ones (none of the big 3 and no-contact of course but nonetheless present, they'll stay unnamed but this is just a bit of context) and I've kinda gone through a whole character arc tonight. I went from not knowing much about radqueer, to knowing a bit more and considering I might be one, to knowing a lot and realizing I'm anti in the span of... A few hours? And through that process it just became really clear to me how manipulative rqs are. You and a few others managed to show me the ugly side- a side I would inevitably see but it's best that it was sooner rather than later- but at a glance when shown the right face it can be quite appealing to a paraphile. And it felt so... Manipulative? It's a slippery slope of ideology that starts with "accepting of all paras" to "pedophilia is okay" and I can see how it gets people, especially younger folks and those already prone to black and white thinking.

I want a space where I can be open about the things I experience and have to deal with as a paraphile with potentially harmful paraphilias and not have to worry about the people around me ostracizing me for something out of my control, and I can see how radqueer spaces are so enticing to those of my ilk. And it's coercive and dangerous and frankly really scary. It scares the shit out of me how close I sat at that precipice seeing the roses before the thorns. I hope anyone who didn't catch themselves at the ledge can manage to climb back up to pick out the thorns our and lick their wounds.

And I'm glad you're a rope they can grab onto.

Idk if this counts as a vent but I feel like I just need to put my thoughts into the world before I forget them, and show some gratitude. Keep up the good work

~ ❓❕

Thank you, I’m so happy our blog has helped you :)

And, yeah, I 100% get what you mean by blurring harmful and harmless behavior. It’s easy to see how they manipulate people into joining them. It starts off with “Do what makes you happy! Bodily autonomy for everyone!” which is a good thing, so one’s first impression is good. Then, it goes to “If you want to be another race, you can pretend to! Want a disability? Pretend to have one!” which may seem odd, but hey, do what makes you happy, right? Eventually, it gets to “If being a nazi makes you happy, be one! You know, kids like you are actually very smart, this is why kids can consent!”

[inbarfink]

Wakaba is actually the character I get most stuck on with ‘casting’ her on the Revolutionary Girl Utena ‘Shock Treatment’ AU, and mostly because I feel like I have too many good options to pick from.

You know, if Utena is Janet, then the obvious pick would be Wakaba as Betty Hapschatt, right? Main character’s best friend, the move from basically a glorified background character in RHPS to main character status in ‘Shock Treatment’ can be actually kinda meta, I can kinda see Wakaba pulling off some of Betty’s snark…

But in a way, she’s also a perfect match for Neely Pritt, the minor character whose character arc is, in a way, her rage and frustration about being a minor character.

(Also, they both have a terrible taste in men)

But also also, if Souji Mikage and Mamiya Chida are our Doctors McKinley (and frankly, it’ll be strange to not use Utena’s Evil Therapists for the Evil Therapists Musical), then it would make sense if their sidekicks were Black Rose Duelists. So Wakaba could be Rest Home Ricky or something (since Nurse Ansalong should obviously be Kozue, right? We all agree on that?)

I think I am leaning more towards Betty, cause, like wel.... I could do a Shock Treatment Movie AU where Juri is Oliver Wright…

And then also do a Shock Treatment Stage Show AU, and that one already kinda leans pretty heavily into being a Threesome Ending…

So that way I am covering both of the Big Wakaba Ships!!